Chapter Text
Another cheer rang out across the room as goblets and tankards were raised high into the air. Ale sloshed in cups, wine was drunk, and food was thoroughly enjoyed. Laughter and a dozen individual conversations all overlapped with each other, a cacophony of noise atop an already lively sea of music from the fiddles, lutes, and reed pipes that played in the hall. People danced in the center of the room, all swirling skirts and quick steps in the time with the beat. It was lively, happy, and without a care in the world. Satin leaned against the wall and sipped his wine, a small, satisfied smile pulling at his lips. He’d earned it, surely, after all the work he’d put into tonight. And all the coin.
He had made sure the wedding went off without a hitch. Aloisya deserved that much. When she had come to him, cheeks flushed and smile so large it must have made her face ache, Satin had known at once what she was going to tell him. Her new man Cedren had proposed, she told him. An honest woman, she’d grinned and twirled about his chambers in a burst of joy, I’ll be an honest woman. A wedded woman, Satin! Me! Me! And she had thrown her arms around him in joy, nearly squeezing the very breath from his lungs.
Cedren seemed a good man. Satin had made sure of that, too. He’d asked around the kitchen staff about him, investigated past connections and employers with a fine-tooth comb. He’d even made Larence help him keep detailed notes. The boy had chuckled but eagerly obeyed and together they dredged up every bit of information they could find about the life of Cedren of Torrhen's Square. No dark, ominous stain had been found, no string of torrid love affairs and scorned women, no anything. Manservant to one of the Tallhart lords, Cedren seemed a rather common Northman; staunch and stoic, honorable and serious, maybe a little on the shy side but Satin had even seen him smile once or twice. If anything, he seemed boring, but he made Ally happy. That was enough for Satin. Even still, that did not stop him from finding the tall, brown-haired man in an empty corridor one evening.
“I trust it needn’t be said,” Satin had whispered, leaning in and dropping his voice low but smiling all the while. “But if you hurt her... If you so much as try to touch her without her permission... If you make her cry, or strike her, or abandon her... it shall not end well for you. Am I extremely understood?”
A threat from Satin of all people could not have been particularly frightening, he knew. He was dainty, thin, and effeminate. He walked around smelling of roses, for the Old Gods’ sake and carried only a dagger at his waist instead of a proper blade. His wrist was still broken, anyway; it was not as though he could make use of a sword even if he did carry one. But Satin didn’t need large stocky shoulders, strength, height, or deadly steel to make his threat. The massive snow-white direwolf at his heel, red eyes shining like spilt blood in the torchlight, prowling behind him with his fangs bared was more than enough, and Cedren had nodded jerkily with wide eyes and a quiet “Yes, milord, as it please you.”
The wedding was a small affair, hosted in one of the halls within the servant’s wing of the Great Keep after vows had been sworn in the godswood. Kitchen maids, stableboys, and other servants bustled through in attendance, drinking and eating and making merry. Aloisya was radiant in her ivory gown accented in white fox fur. Its high waist, cinched with a silver silk belt, flattered the large swell of her belly. She looked beautiful, Satin thought, with her thick dark hair worn down braided out of her face and a touch of rouge on her cheeks. Her warm Dornish complexion, her loud Southron accent, and her smile like the summer made her seem almost out of place in the cold, grey North. Her laughing green eyes were bright and shining in the candlelight as she danced and swayed to the music with Cedren. It made warmth bloom in Satin’s chest to see her smiling like that, to see her so unabashedly in love. Whores weren’t supposed to fall in love, he remembered learning as a boy, and when they did, it could never be returned. Such was the way of things. But here was Aloisya, in love and joyous and married to a man who respected her. Congratulations, sister, he thought, have everything they said you couldn’t.
Satin spent the night happily. He’d walked Ally to her new husband and handed her off in place of the father she’d never known. He'd watched with keen eyes how Cedren watched her when they’d done the hand-binding ceremony before the weirwood. Like she hung the moon for him, Satin thought, like she was the only star in the entire night’s sky. He’d smiled when Ally cried and when Cedren had tried to subtly wipe tears from his own eye before they could fall, and he had cheered when Ally kissed Cedren on the mouth with so much unabashed eager excitement that she’d tumbled them both to the ground. He ate and made toasts and snuck little treats to Ghost who trailed happily behind him all the while. Jon was at dinner with Lord Glover and a handful of other lords tonight, but he had dismissed Satin with a soft smile. Go on, he’d said. Enjoy the wedding you put so much work into. I’ll manage one measly dinner without you. But when Satin had set off down the hall, he’d found Ghost insistent and dogged at his heel. Luckily, Aloisya was hard to scare, and she had taken the surprise direwolf-shaped wedding guest in stride. The beast spent much of the night trailing behind him or standing sentry along the wall in a spot that allowed him a good view of all entrances and exits like the good little guard dog he was. From that self-imposed post, Ghost watched as Satin danced with Ally, twirling her about the room as best he could with his one good hand to the lively music, and then danced a slower more formal dance with Jeyne.
This was not a party for the high lords and ladies of Winterfell, but Jeyne had come at his invitation. Dressed in a more subdued blue and grey gown of wool and silver accents, Jeyne had been careful not to out-dress the bride. She came without the finery or jewels she might have worn to court and instead in something simple. He knew she had been hesitant to attend and he’d caught her picking at the beds of her fingernails, but Satin assured her all would be well. That he, Ghost, and Larence would be there the whole time. She would be safe. His words had seemed to calm her just enough, and Jeyne had entered the hall on his arm with her head held high as it ought to be.
It turned out that Jeyne had not yet met Aloisya, though that had not surprised him. But Jeyne had made a very good first impression when she presented the bride with a wedding gift of a hand stitched cloth doll for her babe and a set of simple copper cookware for her home. Ally's eyes had gone wide as she’d curtsied deeply and she accepted them with eager hands and an excited smile. Aloisya never could resist a gift. They appeared to get along well enough, Satin thought with relief, though Jeyne had admittedly seemed a little overwhelmed by the audaciousness and forwardness of Ally’s bold personality.
“I ‘ear you’re Satin’s new little sister.” She’d grinned knowingly. “Well, he’s my brother too and I was ‘ere first. So, don’t you go hoggin’ him all to yourself, milady.”
Jeyne had faltered for a moment, perfect mask of politeness and courtesy falling away as her eyes widened and she glanced to Satin for guidance, but Ally had only laughed.
“I’m only playin’, milady. And if he's both your brother and mine, that sort of makes us stepsisters, now doesn’t it? Half-sisters? Sisters-in-law? Whatever you’d call it.”Aloisya had laughed and smiled and quickly won Jeyne over.
When not with Satin, Jeyne was with Ally, and when not with Ally, she spent much of the evening with Larence. The boy had come to assist Satin, to be his rather literal right hand, but he didn’t need much aid while he wasn’t working. So, Satin had let the boy enjoy the festivities and the food. He spied the two of them sitting together and speaking on a bench. Larence looked a little sullen and somber as always, and more than a little awkward with his back stiff and his hands sitting on his knees like he didn’t know where to put all his limbs. Satin couldn’t blame him for that. He may have been a fancy lord now, but Larence Hornwood was only four-and-ten. And no fourteen-year-old was lacking in awkwardness, no matter how well rehearsed their courtesies. Jeyne fiddled with her fingers in her nervous way and did more listening than speaking, but Satin had seen her smile once or twice and that had made him happy.
When the music started, the two danced. It was a formal, stiff thing, courtly and polite, hands hovering over each other as they turned about the dance floor but never quite touching. That had made Satin smile, too. Jeyne loved to dance, and he was happy to see someone other than himself willing to dance with her. That happiness was not enough, however, to stop Satin from catching Larence’s eyes once the dance was done and he had bowed to her. He trusted Larence, liked him even, and Satin doubted ill intent, but he still shot the boy a pointed, hard look as he held his gaze. Careful there, Satin tried to communicate without words, and hands to yourself. Larence seemed to understand when he swallowed and nodded. Satin supposed that would have to be good enough for now.
He’d invited Malryk, too, and the old man had even shown up for an hour or so, hovering mostly along the walls politely nursing a drink after he’d presented the bride with a large bouquet of flowers and a small vial that Satin recognized. It was perfume – distilled rose oil in truth – the same one that Satin was wearing tonight. Malryk must have had extra, Satin figured, from the batch he’d made. The memory brought a soft flush to his cheeks.
“This is for you.” Jon had said one night nearly a week ago as they readied for bed. He pressed a small glass bottle into Satin’s hand, filled with a clear liquid tinged ever so slightly with a pale blue hue.
“For me?” Satin inspected the plain unmarked bottle and popped the stopper. The rich floral scent of roses wafted up to his nose at once but there was something just a little different about it than his usual rose oil. There was a sweetness to it, like honey had been added in, and something sharp, too, fresh like mint. It was complex and sugary and pleasantly fragrant.
“Aye.” Jon said as he turned away and scratched at his neck. “You said you were preferential to the red ones because of your perfume. Maybe it’s foolish but I figured perhaps you’d like the northern type too, if it were an oil as well.”
That was all it took for Satin to recognize the scent. It was not rose oil mixed with honey and mint, he realized, but rose oil made from blue winter roses with their slightly different fragrance and unique undertones. Satin smiled down at it, cheeks warming, and drew in another deep inhale of the oil as his heart swelled in his chest. The scent was delicate and oh so sweet, sweeter than it had any right to be. Sweeter to Satin than he imagined it likely actually was, because Jon had been sweet enough to get it for him, because Jon’s ears and neck tinted just the tiniest bit pink. “Where did you buy this?” He asked quietly after a moment. One vial was not going to be enough, he knew at once. He’d want more, to keep and make him smile when he smelled it. “The perfumer in Winter Town only had the normal rose oil last I was there.”
Jon stood awkwardly for a moment, shifting from foot to foot. “I didn’t buy it. I asked Malryk to make it. It’s just rose petals soaked in oil, right? And he already has the flowers. He said it would be no trouble.”
Satin blinked at him and quietly thanked the Old Gods that of all the men in Winterfell Jon could have asked to make him rose oil perfume, the kind of perfume Satin notoriously wore each day, the kind of thing clearly not intended for Jon himself, the kind of item one might view as a rather intimate and personal gift, he had chosen to go to the one man who wouldn’t tell anyone.
“Do... you like it?” Jon asked after a long moment’s silence had passed and Satin saw a faint hint of unease in his eyes, something unsure and almost nervous in a way Jon rarely was. It made a slow, fond smile finally spread across Satin’s face.
“I love it.” He said softly. By it, he’d meant you but he couldn’t say that, so he settled for it. He’d worn it every day since then, rubbing dabs of it to the hollow of his neck, along his wrist, and in his hair. He’d even walked into his room one evening and found a small wooden case on his desk filled with half a dozen vials of the stuff. He had only smiled like a fool and applied another drop to his neck.
Malryk did not stay long at Aloisya’s wedding, just for the ceremony, dinner, and a few minutes of polite conversation, but he did join Satin along the wall with a soft bow before he left. The old man leaned heavily on his cane as he looked him over knowingly.
“There’s something different about you, my boy. New perfume?”
Satin pursed his lips and glanced away. “Perhaps.”
A small smile pulled at the corners of the gardener’s mouth. “Perhaps, indeed. And perhaps...” He muttered, dropping his voice and leaning slightly closer under the guise of resting his goblet down on the nearby trestle table. “I ought to have had our previous conversation with his Grace instead. It seems he, too, would benefit from it.”
Satin’s ears reddened. “I don’t know what you’re talking about...”
“No?” The old man asked with a raised brow.
“No.”
“As you say.” Malryk waved a hand graciously. “It has been some time since I last made such a rose oil. Not since the king’s aunt was stolen south. It was nice to work with it again, and nicer still to see it worn once more. Blue winter roses are more traditionally associated with House Stark than Poole but that is of little matter. It suits you.”
With a smile and a bow, Malryk saw himself back to the peace and quiet of his glass gardens. Satin fiddled with a stray curl as he watched the old man go. Jon had worked some of the gifted oil into the ends of his hair this morning, and he could still smell the faint sweetness lingering on each ringlet. It made that foolish warmth well up in his chest again, as Jon always somehow seemed to manage to do.
“Satin!” Ally called, laughter dancing through her voice, and he glanced over just in time to catch the small colorful object tossed his way. He nearly fumbled it with his clumsy left hand, but it was light and easy enough to cradle to his chest. He found a flower crown in his arms, the green stems twisted and tied together, it’s small white and red blooms dotted around it. Ally and a few fellow servant girls had deconstructed Malryk’s gifted bouquet, it seemed, and woven them into half a dozen pretty wreaths. “Put it on!” She insisted. “It’s my wedding; you have to!”
He sighed good-naturedly and slipped it over his curls with a playful bow. He wore it for a few moments before getting a much better idea. Ghost had passed the evening trailing behind him begging for treats and nosing at his good hand for pets and scratches. Satin had been more than happy to give them, sneaking him morsels of meat and cheese and scratching at the beast’s muzzle and that spot behind his ear he liked so much. The presence of the massive wolf meant most of the other guests gave him a wide breadth, but Satin didn’t mind. Ghost, Ally, Larence, and Jeyne were all the company he needed. He turned to the great white direwolf and smiled a toothy grin at him. “Your master has a crown. You ought to have one, too. Now, sit still and be good for me.”
Ghost huffed a dramatic breath and sat on his haunches, lowering his head with a great world weariness as he allowed Satin to crown him in a wreath of white and red flowers. The direwolf looked up at him, head hung in what could almost be called embarrassment as something akin to shame shone in his eerily human blood-red eyes.
“Oh don’t sulk like that, sweetness.” He whispered to Ghost and poked his wet snout with a dainty finger. “You look very handsome.”
The beast blinked at him like he didn’t quite buy that but didn’t shake the flower crown from the top of his head. Instead, he slumped down onto the ground at Satin’s feet, defeated and mopey, and sighed a deep sigh through his nose. It made Satin laugh.
Aloisya approached him not long later, slipping up to the side of him opposite Ghost, and linking their arms. She leaned her head on his shoulder and her hand on her swollen belly, and looked up at him with her lively green eyes.
“I’m so happy I could sprout wings and fly. Aren’t weddings lovely?” She whispered to him. At his nod, she grinned widely. “When’s yours?”
He quirked an eyebrow. “Mine?”
“You and the king’s, of course.”
Satin’s eyes darted around the room to make sure no one was in earshot and, content they were unheard, glared at her. “Ally...!” He hissed in warning.
“What?” She giggled. “It wouldn’t even be that ‘ard if you two worked together. Imagine this: you ‘disappear’ for a bit and go into hidin’. Then, a few weeks later, the most beautiful mystery woman arrives in Winterfell. She obviously charms the whole court with that pearly white smile and those doe eyes of ‘ers. And then the king is so taken with ‘er he simply must marry ‘er at once to the applause of all the North. I mean, you’ll need a dress that pads out your hips and your chest to give you a woman’s shape, and maybe a little paint on your lips but you’d pull it off easy as anythin’. You could call yourself Silk or Velvette this time or somethin’. And there you go, signed, sealed, delivered, married, and Queen of the North. Simple as that! It’s fool proof.”
He barely dignified that with more than an unamused raise of his brow. “How many times need I tell you that it isn’t like that between his Grace and I, Ally?”
“As many times as it takes for me to believe it.” She smirked and Satin rolled his eyes.
“I paid for this wedding...” He grumbled and crossed his arms. “Out of my own pocket, mind you. The food, the wine, the minstrels. Your lovely dress and your dowry, too. And this is how I’m treated? I see how it is.”
Aloisya threw her head back in laughter, shoving his shoulder playfully. “Well, ain’t you some fancy lord now? You got all kinds of money! What else are you even goin’ to do with it if not spend it on your sweet, darlin’ little sister?”
Satin laughed and acquiesced, shooing the bride off to go be with her husband. He watched her go, heavy with child but glowing and happier than he’d ever seen her. Cedren kissed her knuckles as she returned to their table, and he fed her a bite of a spiced apple tart from his own hand.
Ally had a point. Satin had money, more money than he knew what to do with and all of this, this entire small folk’s wedding with nearly two dozen guests, had been nothing at all to him. The coffers of House Poole were also technically at his disposal, but he left those in Jeyne’s capable hands unless she needed aid in managing it. Satin had found she had a head for maths when she put her mind to it, so he trusted her judgement. His own steward’s salary more than covered his costs, few and far between as they were. His pay had increased when Jon had named him the King’s Steward and increased again when Jon had named him lord. And still, Jon insisted up and down that Satin was not being paid enough, that he would see Satin retroactively paid his full salary once winter had been weathered and war won. As if Satin did not make more in a single month than he had in his entire life back in Oldtown.
And so, Satin found himself with more money than he could even know how to spend and nothing to spend it on. He’d bought a few new pieces of clothing to match his new title, two doublets in the deep rich blues and shining silvers of House Poole embroidered with cerulean swirls like water and embellished with stitched crows in flight on the cut sleeves, three pairs of tailored breeches in wool and doeskin, a pair of fine gloves, and a pair of fur-lined winter boots. Even then, he had not needed to pay for most of his new wardrobe. Much of it was Jeyne’s father’s – our father, he reminded himself again, our, our, our – that she had taken in for him herself. They were lovely, made of fine densely woven wool, embossed brocades, and some were even made of shining blue satin that reflected light almost like a pool of water. He found he liked that. His vanity certainly liked that. They were cut in the modest Northern style, for Vayon Poole had been far from some fancy Southron lord. They were simple but well-made, elegant without frills. He found he liked that, too. When he wore them and fastened his steward’s pin to his chest, Satin felt an odd swelling of pride in his gut.
But he could find little else he needed to spend his coin on. He paid no rent, no dues, for no meals and no wine. So, the coin sat unused. He figured he might as well give Aloisya a wedding day to remember and even all that had not amounted to anywhere close to a gold dragon. Not even a dragon, he thought to himself with a huff of amusement. Not even a dragon. Gods, how my perspective has changed.
So much had changed, he supposed, more than just his perception of coin and cost. He had changed, too. He had been Lord Satin Poole for a little more than a month. He still served as steward, he still felt the lingering eyes of those who did not want him here, and he still spent his days trailing behind Jon. That had not changed. But there was little else that hadn’t, at least just a little. He took his meals at the upper tables with Larence who was now a Hornwood, and with Jeyne Poole. With my sister, he still needed to remind himself, even now. My sister, my sister, my sister. He even had a chair in council meetings, with his proper place no longer being for him to stand at the wall behind Jon but instead to sit at his table beside him.
Jeyne often walked arm in arm with him through Winterfell. She called him brother for all to hear and see, and sat with him in the gallery at court and in the hall for meals. Jeyne was a good liar, he thought, and when she called him brother it did not ring false. Still, Satin did not doubt that many, if not most, did not fully believe the tale that had been spun. But Jeyne had sworn it, signed an official document of attestation, and it had been marked by the king’s seal. And so, Satin had gained a sister and a name, and no Northern lord had been so rash as to say their doubts aloud. At least, not where he or Jon could hear.
Even so, Satin was not fool enough to think his fancy new last name made them want him here anymore than they had before. The Greatjon’s heavy furrowed brow and Lord Flint’s pinched sour expression told him so. But Lord Glover had come to him just a few days after he had been given his name and caught him on his way from the council room as it emptied out. The older man had bowed and called him my lord with a polite expression. That had given Satin pause.
“Is there something I can assist you with, my lord?” Satin had asked, making certain to keep his back straight and his head held high.
“Not exactly.” Lord Glover said. “In fact, I wish to thank you for an assistance you have already given me. It is my understanding that your rather positive feedback on Larence’s service helped lead the king to his decision to legitimize my ward and make him a Hornwood. I love that boy like a son. I am relieved to see him now risen to the proper place he deserves. I would be remiss if I did not thank you. The boy has spoken... highly of you since entering your service. And I am glad to learn that you share a similar opinion of him.” Lord Glover bowed again and made to leave, pausing after a few steps. “I must admit, Winterfell has been running rather smoothly this past half-year.”
“His Grace rules well.” Satin said at once.
“Aye,” Glover agreed. “And he has good help. Good day, lord-steward.”
It had taken him by surprise, this shred of approval from the stolid and stoic Lord Glover but Satin had accepted it with a smile. He certainly, even now, would not call Lord Glover a friend or even an ally. But he would call him neutral. That was more than Satin could have ever hoped for.
Satin watched from his place along the wall. Guests ate, drank, and laughed. Ally and her husband danced. When she grew tired, easily winded these days from the growing babe in her belly, they found themselves to a bench and smiled sweet smiles at each other as they sat pressed thigh to thigh and hand in hand. Jeyne nursed a mug of mulled wine and listened as Larence spoke to her about this and that. She'd stopped picking at her nailbeds as the evening wore on, Satin noted and it made him smile. This whole evening had made him smile. He could feel the warmth radiating from Ghost at his side, his thick fur pressed up against Satin’s leg. He leaned down and scratched the massive beast behind the ear.
Guests came and went. The door to the servant’s hall was in a near constant state of use, frequently swinging open as people found their way in to greet the bride and groom and enjoy a little free wine, or as they left for the night in good cheer. No one paid much mind to who was about, which house they served or what their job in the castle was. All were welcome to the food and drink. The more the merrier, Aloisya had said, isn’t that what a wedding is for? But when the door opened about an hour later and Jon Stark, King in the damned North, stepped into the room, all the music and the chatter and laughter had stopped.
Cedren scrambled to his feet in shocked haste, then took a knee and bowed his head deeply in greeting. “Y-your Grace!” He stammered, and the rest of the guests immediately followed suit. Satin knew Jon hated when they did that, knelt and supplicated like he was more than a man, but Satin, too, pushed himself from the wall and took a knee. He’d not expected Jon tonight, had figured Jon wouldn’t want to come even had he not been busy with a dinner of his own, but Satin was not surprised to see him walk through that door; He’d had half a minute’s warning to his arrival when Ghost’s head had risen from where it was slumped on the floor, his red eyes widening with happy anticipation in a look Satin recognized could only mean one thing.
“Rise.” Jon said politely, motioning with his fingers as the gathered men and women stood once more. He crossed to the bride and groom and gave them a slight bow of his head as he greeted them both by name and offered a hand to Aloisya to help her to her feet when her belly slowed her down. “This is your wedding. I do not wish to interrupt.”
Cedren’s wide eyes only got wider, as though they were like to pop out of their sockets. “It is no interruption, your Grace. How may I serve you?”
Jon gave a small shake of his head. “You may serve me by enjoying your wedding and accepting this gift.”
Jon presented the groom with a bottle of arbor red, a wine likely far finer than anything Cedren had ever so much as sipped before. “To toast your new life together.” He said and then turned to Aloisya who looked up at him with her wide, crooked smile. To her, he offered a small envelope of folded parchment. Satin could see something small within, something that weighed the paper down and made it bulge out. “It is my understanding you are both residing within the dormitories at present. Is that so?”
“It is, your Grace.” Cedren answered at once.
“Savin’ up for a cottage in Winter Town, we are.” Ally added.
“Man and wife ought to live together.” Jon said and motioned to the envelope. “You’ll find a key inside. I’ve taken the liberty of having an old set of apartments in the servant’s wing emptied out and readied for you. It is small but private, and yours for as long as you both wish to reside within Winterfell’s walls. There should be room enough for all three of you.” He gestured to her belly. “When your time comes, I shall see a crib brought to your rooms as well. Consider this, too, a gift in advance.”
There was a moment’s pause as both Aloisya and Cedren only looked at Jon. A kingly gift, Satin thought with a smile, though surely it had cost Jon nothing at all but a moment’s thought and an easily given order. The servant’s quarters were his to distribute as he pleased and surely there were half a dozen cribs in storage. But what was simple for Jon was life altering for them. Ally snapped out of it first and she began to laugh, a joyous bright sound that echoed through the hall. Her excitement grew and grew until it bubbled over and she surged forward and threw her arms around Jon’s neck before Satin could cross the room to stop her. The embrace was a tight one as she squeezed him and thanked him profusely like a litany. A collective gasp spread across the room at the display and the guard stationed by the door immediately took a step forward to intercede, but Jon was composed and unflappable. He raised a staying hand to the guard and stiffened only slightly before gently guiding her back with a hand on her shoulder and a polite, if slightly strained, smile.
Ally beamed up at him, eyes glistening with tears. “I could kiss you! Your Grace, I could bloody kiss you!”
“Please don’t.” Jon said flatly.
She laughed again, bubbly and bright, until it slowly faded out to a warm smile. “You’re too kind, my king. We can't repay you this debt, you know.”
“A gift needs no repayment.”
That seemed to boggle Ally’s mind as she stared up at him in bewilderment. Satin recognized that look. It was one he knew he’d worn himself more than once before. Jon’s kindness had made him blank-minded and wordless more times than he could count. To be handed something for free, offered kindness for nothing in exchange – not sex, not money, not something, not anything – that was more foreign to a whore than the strangest unrecognizable food from the other side of the world. Even now, it still sometimes left Satin’s pulse racing and his mind unmoored. He had no doubt Aloisya felt the same. She blinked a few times as she struggled to find her words.
“If it please your Grace,” she finally managed. “might I name my babe for you when he comes? For all you’ve done for me. For us. I know I’m just some lowly servant and it ain’t much of an honor for a man like you to ‘ave the child of a woman like me named for ‘im, but I’d like to call ‘im Jon, if I may.”
Jon bowed his head. “You may name your babe as you like.” He said softly, then glanced over to Satin with a wave of his hand. “But perhaps you ought to name him for Satin. It was he who asked for you to be hired here, he who has helped you. I only gave permission.”
Aloisya scrunched up her nose almost comically as though a bad smell had wafted up to her nostrils. “But that’s such a common name! So boring! And your Grace’s name is so kingly and fine! I’d far rather that!”
A look of mild confusion momentarily crossed Jon’s face. “I had not realized that was such a common name in the south. Well, as I said, name the babe as you like.”
Satin stepped forward and gave her a look. “Don’t be rude, Aloisya.” He said with amusement. “Also, in Winterfell alone, I think I know... five, no, six, people who share his Grace’s name.”
“Well, you’ll know a seventh in a few months!” Ally said haughtily. “It is decided, and I shan’t be changin’ my mind!”
Jon gave a light chuckle. “As you wi—” He paused as he glanced over towards Satin, and to Ghost trailing behind him to come greet his master. He turned back to Satin slowly and narrowed his eyes. “Why... is my direwolf, the great and terrible symbol of House Stark, wearing a flower crown?”
Satin only grinned and shrugged. “Because it’s cute.”
_____________
At Aloisya’s encouragement – or rather avid, dogged insistence – and Cedren’s near-stunned silence, Jon was welcomed to stay a while.
“It’s you that paid for it after all!” She’d grinned when Jon politely tried to decline the invitation so as not to disrupt the wedding more than he already had.
“Satin paid for it.” The king corrected but Ally had only shaken her head.
“And it’s you that paid Satin, ain’t it? So, it’s your money in the end. So, stay! Drink! Eat! It’s my wedding; you have to listen to the bride, king or no. Ain’t that how it works or somethin’?”
So, Jon had stayed with a quiet sigh. The party restarted and the music played once more. Cedren cracked open his gifted bottle of wine and toasted his wife and the king with a reserved, almost nervous smile at Jon’s presence. But after a glass or two of the fine wine, he loosened up rather quickly. He danced again with Ally, kissed her knuckles and her cheek and her lips and repeatedly professed his undying love loudly as Aloisya sat there as smug as a housecat preening under the attention. Satin could not help but laugh and also could not help the relief he felt at knowing Ally’s new husband was a sappy, happy drunk and not an angry one.
Jon walked about the wedding and spoke with the commonfolk in attendance. Were they prepared for Winter, he asked. Is there anything they needed to do their work easier? He listened, he nodded, and promised what he could to ease their way. Satin trailed behind him and made mental notes of what would need to be ordered done on the morrow. It wasn’t much. Most made no request of him, seemingly too dazzled by the full force of the king's attention to complain. They love him, Satin thought with a small smile. And how could they not? Jon had more than earned it.
“Go on,” Jon whispered to him in a moment’s quiet. “Enjoy the wedding.”
“If you are working, my king, so am I.”
Jon raised a brow. “I am speaking to my people. That is hardly working.”
“For you,” he said quietly. “yes, it is.”
A faint huff of amusement fell from Jon’s lips. “Come, then, to work.”
They made the rounds easily. Jon spoke with each guest, no matter how lowly their station, and Satin mentally filed away any important details to dictate to Larence later for notes. When they were done, he and Jon found a place along the side of the servant’s hall. It was far enough off that they could be seen but not heard so long as they did not raise their voices. It was a good spot for them, a little isolated but still present, and it allowed them to watch the attendees as they danced and enjoyed themselves. Satin offered him a goblet of mulled wine he’d made sure had a fresh stick of cinnamon in it – just the way he knew Jon liked it – and took one for himself as he leaned against the rough stone wall at his side.
“I didn’t think you’d come.” Satin said quietly, keeping his voice low and drowned out by the music and ambient noise to all but Jon.
“Nor I.” He whispered in reply. “But dinner with Lord Glover went smoothly and ended earlier than I’d anticipated. So, I figured I ought to make an appearance for your friend.”
“You did her a great kindness.” At Jon’s dismissive handwave, Satin chuckled and then gestured lazily with his goblet to where Jeyne and Larence were speaking with the bride and groom. “It’s not often a servant’s wedding has a Northern lord, a lady, a direwolf, and a king in attendance.”
“Two Northern lords.” Jon corrected with a smile.
“Right.” Satin blinked sheepishly. “Two. Two lords, at least. I certainly don't count as Northern.”
“Of course you do. You’re a lord of a holding in the North. You’ve land to your name and a title here, not in the Reach. Thus, you’re a Northern lord.”
Satin gave him an amused look and a scoff of laughter. “Oh sure, I’m a staunch, stoic Northern Lord all hardened and tempered like steel by the cold of my many weathered winters.” He trilled dramatically. “Riiiight up until the moment they take one glance at me. Actually, they needn’t even have eyes with which to glance. I just need open my mouth and allow their ears to hear my commoner’s Oldtown accent come pouring out. They’ll guess pretty quickly where I’m from, wouldn’t you say?”
“That hardly matters. Born here or not, you’re a Northman now. It’s too late to be otherwise.” Jon sipped his spiced wine and made a quiet considering sound in his throat. “But I suppose your accent is rather sing-song... And decently strong.”
“Si—” Satin gaped at him, voice high and shrill. He raised a dainty hand to his chest before he paused himself, schooling his tone, lowering his voice, and leaning into hiss his reply. “Sing-song? I am not sing-song.”
“You most certainly are.” Jon insisted, a bemused smile pulling across his face. “You’ve got that up-and-down nature to your voice, all high-pitched and elongated vowels. I’d call that sing-song. Lilty, even. Why do you look like I've just slapped you across the face? Clearly you know how you sound.”
“That’s big talk coming from you of all people.” Satin said haughtily.
“Me?”
“Do you not hear yourself?” Satin asked, then dropped his voice an octave and adopted a terrible mimicry of a thick northern accent, the worst one he could possibly manage. He made sure to hit each consonant gutturally and drop each vowel like a bad mummer performing a farce. “All deep and Northern and gruff.”
Jon glared at him. “I do not sound like that.”
“You do.” Satin mocked. “You sound just like that.”
The rim of Jon’s goblet buried his scoff as he grumbled his response into his wine. “You’re insufferable.”
“Oh please,” Satin said quietly, returning to his usual voice and his admittedly rather musical Oldtown accent. “You suffer me just fine.”
Jon scowled but the expression had no heart and there seemed to Satin a distant warmth in his grey eyes. “Someone has to.”
That made him laugh and he had to cover his mouth to quiet himself so as not to draw attention. He schooled himself once more and raised his goblet, looking expectantly at Jon who quirked a curious brow.
“Just what are we toasting?”
“Suffering each other.”
Jon huffed in amusement and did as he was bid, bringing his glass up to meet Satin’s and clinking their glasses together. “To suffering each other, then.”
_____________
Satin’s mind had begun to feel a little fuzzy about half an hour ago, from the wine or the late hour he wasn’t sure. A bit of both, he presumed. It must have been, for it was nearly the hour of the owl and he hadn’t had that much wine. Multiple glasses, sure, but not that much. Just enough for him to feel good. Just enough for him not to think to shush Aloisya when she started talking about her life in Oldtown and about Satin’s place in it. In the pillowhouse, where they’d grown up together. He swayed vaguely on the bench they’d pull up next to the fire, Jon at his side as he listened to Aloisya’s excitable voice prattle on about some funny story from back in Oldtown. He wasn’t sure how in the hells she still had the energy for all this so late into the night but whatever well she was tapping for it seemed endless.
As the night had grown later, the few remaining guests had all come to find themselves sat around the fire on a few pulled up chairs and benches. Most had seen themselves out and to their beds for the night, until only the bride and groom remained alongside Satin’s odd collection of friends. Jeyne sleepily picked at a sweet biscuit dipped in cream as she watched Aloisya with dark eyes filled with both amusement and bemusement, Larence moped as he nursed a mug of honey-milk after Satin had cut him off from his ale over an hour ago, and Jon sipped from his mug of hot spiced wine and politely nodded along as they all listened to Aloisya’s gleeful chatter. On and on she spoke, gesticulating dramatically and cutting herself off with her own laughter in multiple places. Cedren watched her all the while with a sickeningly fond starry-eyed look and a dreamy smile on his lips.
“And you know something that always drove me mad?” Ally laughed, her wide crooked grin on full display as she pointed an almost accusatory finger at Satin. “It was always so damn frustratin’! All of us girls would be sittin’ there, gathered ‘round a lookin’ glass, all pushin’ and shovin’ to see ourselves. Primpin’ and preenin’ like dolls for dress up. I’m talkin’ rouge, khol around the eyes, paint on the lips, anything to make ourselves look all nice and you know what? All he had to do was roll out of bed and he’d look stunnin’! How bloody unfair is that! What business does a boy have lookin’ that pretty?”
Satin rolled his eyes, mind bleary and swimming from the wine as he hid his chuckle with a groan. "Ally, come on—”
“What? It’s true!”
“Please...” Satin waved a flippant hand. “I spent as much time in a looking glass as the rest of you and you know it.”
“Doesn’t mean it wasn’t true! And it ain’t stopped bein’ true, has it?” She giggled, slapping her knee. “And now ‘ere you are, come North to do it all again! You’re a boy, a man even, and you still manage to be prettier than half the bloody girls in the kingdom. No, not half, three-quarters at least! At least!” Her laughing green eyes cut to Jon and her grin widened as she winked. “Don’t you think so, your Grace?”
Satin’s smile soured before Jon could reply, but he saw his lips purse and his jaw tighten ever so slightly. A reaction swallowed and masked, Satin knew, and he didn’t like it. “That’s enough.” Satin snapped sharply, harsher than he meant. “His Grace may be doing you the honor of sitting here drinking wine at your wedding but he’s still your king. You ought to remember that when you speak to him.”
Aloisya’s smirk faltered and fell, and suddenly Satin was reminded of her as a girl in the pillowhouse when she’d get in trouble for talking back to a client. How her shoulders had rolled forward and her eyes had cast aside and the silly, playful demeanor she wore so easily had faded away. She blinked at Satin and glanced to the floor. “Sorry, milord.”
A frown settled heavily on his face as he chewed his lip. “You needn’t... you needn’t call me that.” He sighed and pinched the bridge of his nose. “It’s not me you need apologize to, anyway.”
Ally bowed her head. “I’m sorry, your Grace. I forgot myself.”
Jon’s face was a perfect mask of neutrality, hands folded neatly in his lap and back straight as steel. He inclined his head slightly in a tight nod. “Consider it forgotten.”
The others sitting around the hearth shifted uncomfortably in their seats, most looking pointedly to the ground. Satin felt a pair of eyes on him and glanced up to see Larence staring at him with a perplexed frown marring his face. A heavy silence sat around them, the only sound in the room being the crackling of the fire.
Beside him, Jon drew in a heavy breath through his nose. “Cedren.” He began graciously. “You serve Lord Tallhart, do you not? Come, let us stretch our legs and take in some air as you tell me how Torrhen's Square fares these days?”
The two men rose, and Jon motioned for them to walk together, asking questions Satin knew he already knew the answers to but allowing the groom to tell him anyway. He nodded along as if deep in thought about what Cedren was saying as Satin watched them go. They exited through a door that led to an outer balcony and disappeared into the dark.
Ally fiddled with her skirts for a moment, twisting the wool of her gown up in her fingers and wrinkling the fabric. “Are you angry with me?” She asked him quietly.
A heavy sigh fell from Satin’s lips. He felt the eyes of his younger companions on him. Jeyne’s dark eyes watched him with something akin to sympathy and a small, sad smile on her lips. Larence still stared at him, frowning and furrowing his brow as a sour look crossed his face. Satin cursed himself in his mind.
“No, Ally.” Satin said quietly after a long pause, though he wasn’t sure if the words were true or not. “But I don—” He stopped himself. “Let’s refresh our drinks, shall we? Come on, let me help you up.”
He brought her slowly to the opposite side of the room, to the long trestle table lined with what remained of the party’s food and drink. He busied himself mixing milk and honey into a glass for Ally, stirring it with a long wooden spoon before sighing and motioning her closer. He dropped his voice low.
“How many times must I remind you that you need to be careful about what you say? And what you imply.”
“I wasn’t thinking.”
“I know. But you must think. Do you understand the weight of the implication you just made? Were his Grace not the man he is, you could have been hanged for that. You cannot imply the king finds another man attractive. You can’t.”
“I’m sorry...” She whispered, her voice small. “It’s just that you and his Gr—”
“I told you it isn’t so. I meant it. I know you think you know ‘the truth’. But you’re wrong. And for the love of the Gods, I would not have you feeding these rumors with implications about his Grace and reminders of what you and I once were. Oldtown is behind us, Ally; Winterfell, before us. I am a lord-steward now and you are a married woman. The rest is irrelevant so let us not speak of such times. At least not... in front of others who needn’t hear of it.”
“I figured everybody knew...” She muttered, eyes trained to the floor. “What we were.”
“Knowing a rumor is not the same as knowing it for true, Ally. Just... please be more careful.” He paused and drew in a deep breath. Ally’s head hung and Satin could see genuine regret weighing heavily upon her face. He didn’t want that. He wanted her happy. It was her wedding day; she should be joyous. “Chin up, would you? Tonight should be a happy one. You’re married to a good man. Why don’t you go find him? Be with him, at his side where you ought to be.”
Aloisya gave him a soft smile and a nod before disappearing out through the door as well. Satin sighed heavily and leaned against the table, pouring himself a mug of water mixed with honey and drinking it down quickly. He was tired. The day had been long and the evening busy. His bleariness and buzz from the wine was long gone in an abrupt sobriety and he felt a slight headache starting to pulse behind his eyes. He glanced over his shoulder when he heard a set of quiet footsteps approaching.
“I suppose it’s true, then.” Larence said glumly as he fell into place beside Satin. “That your friend was... you know. I suppose it makes sense. She’s with child before marriage. She speaks so bluntly, even to the king. I’d heard some whisperings, you know, but I didn’t want to assume. But it seems it’s the truth.”
Satin looked at the boy for a long moment. His face was serious and solemn, his pale green eyes struggling to meet his own. Larence shifted uncomfortably under Satin’s gaze. That made him want to frown. “It’s true.” Satin said plainly. “She grew up in a pillowhouse in Oldtown. She followed in her mother’s footsteps because there was little else in the world for the child of a whore.”
“Oh.” Larence muttered, nodding slowly. “And... you knew her there?”
Satin bit back a sigh. He pitied the young boy next to him; he looked so awkward and stiff with each passing word. Satin offered him a small closed-lipped smile. “I won’t lie to you, Larence. It is so.”
The boy swallowed heavily, his brow furrowing further until it was so heavy it nearly hid his eyes. “And you... you weren’t a client, were you?”
“No.” Satin told him softly, simply. “I worked there.”
“Oh.”
“I understand if that makes you think less of me.” He said after a moment. “But I’m more than that now. And so is Aloisya. We did what was necessary to survive before we found his Grace’s generosity. He allowed us to leave that life behind and become more. Just as he allowed you to become more than a Snow.” Satin looked down at the boy beside him, saw his pinched expression, and sighed in quiet resignation. “Look, if it is your wish to be reassigned, I’ll ask his Grace to find you a new position so you needn’t work so closely with me anymore.”
Larence’s head jerked to look up at him, eyes widening. “What? No, it’s not...” The boy cleared his throat. “There’s no need for reassignment.”
That took Satin by surprise. “You’ll stay on? As my assistant?”
Larence swallowed and nodded slowly, as if finding and solidifying his decision even as he spoke it. “Aye. Who else would have me investigating servants to make sure they’re good enough men for their friends to marry? Who else would have the gall to cut off a lord’s wine and make him drink warm milk at a party?” Larence said lightly, brushing down his orange and brown doublet and fixing his collar. “And it wasn’t just his Grace’s generosity that made me more than a Snow, was it? It was yours. I know it was. You told him I was worthy of it, didn't you?”
“I told him the truth, Larence.”
The boy gave him a small, sheepish smile as he ruffled his own hair awkwardly. “I can’t speak to who you were, what you were, before because I only know this version of you. But this one’s a pretty good man. And I’d be honored to work with a good man. So, what do you say? Shall House Hornwood and House Poole be fine friends from this day?” Larence extended his hand to him stiffly, puffing his chest and raising his head up.
A slow smile spread across Satin’s face, and he felt a light tugging in his chest that he didn't expect. He shook the offered hand. He didn’t bother to hide how dainty his grip was or pretend to be some strong man like he might have if he shook any other lord’s hand. Larence already knew. There was no need to pretend now. “Let our Houses be friends.”
“If you need House Hornwood, it is at your side.”
“And House Poole at yours.”
Larence gave him a proud smile. “Look at us! Making alliances like proper lords.”
“Look at us!” Satin echoed with a chuckle. “All fancy and proper and—” Behind Larence, he spotted Jon. Sometime in the last few minutes, it seemed he’d returned to the room and found himself talking with Aloisya and Cedren. Ally’s smile was wide and Jon’s back was stiff, and that told Satin all he needed to know. “Ah, if you’ll excuse me, Larence. I need to go rescue his Grace from a dear, sweet friend before she says something else inadvisable and stupid.”
Laughter followed Satin as he skirted quickly around the boy and crossed to Jon’s side with a single-minded determination. Ally caught his eyes and giggled at him, once more her joyous, bubbly self.
“Before you march over 'ere and demand to know what I’m sayin’ this time,” She said with a grin. “just know that I was only biddin' his Grace goodnight and thankin’ him for his kindness! The very picture of propriety and decency.”
Satin raised a brow incredulously. “Really?”
Jon let out a small huff of air that was almost a laugh. “Aye. Just a goodnight. And rightfully so; it is late. We must all see ourselves to bed.”
“Ooooh yes!” Ally agreed giddily. “To bed, to bed, to bed! By your leave, your Grace, I hope you’ll excuse my husband and I because I have been waitin’ to get his hands on me for months! But he made me wait and wait and wait! You know, for honor’s sake or whatever you Northmen care about. But we said the words before your creepy tree and the king even blessed our union so we can’t get more honorable than that! Let’s go, my sweet. Our new ‘ome awaits, and I’ve been patient enough.”
She didn’t wait for permission. She simply dragged Cedren along by the arm, laughing all the while. They barely made it out the door before Satin heard her push him up against the stone wall of the corridor and kiss him wetly. Satin pinched the bridge of his nose and called out after them.
“So much for the ‘very picture of propriety’! Take it to your rooms, would you? We have to walk through there, you know!”
The only response was Cedren’s muffled “Sorry, milord!” before the sounds of their kissing were replaced by footsteps and fading laughter.
_____________
The fire had burned down low by the time they arrived back in their room at nearly the hour of the wolf. Satin supposed he was to blame for that. He’d been the one to dismiss the evening shift firetender when he’d come to Winterfell. It was his job, after all, and neither he nor Jon liked others passing through their rooms in the evenings. Satin had departed right from the council room for Ally’s wedding, and Jon straight to dinner with Lord Glover. Neither had been here to care for it, so the room was chilly and dimly lit when they arrived.
Jon hadn’t seemed to mind – he couldn’t feel it anyway – and he’d slumped down onto the bed heavily. He was deep in thought, it seemed to Satin. He’d been quiet on their walk back to their chambers and quiet as he leaned against one of the carved oaken posters at the bed’s corners. Jon watched him as he moved through the room, resting his cloak on the hook and slipping out of his boots. That in and of itself was not odd; Jon’s eyes often followed him when they were alone. Though, they’d glance away if Satin turned to meet his gaze. Satin was used to it, welcomed it, cherished it. But tonight, it somehow seemed more than usual.
His eyes followed him blatantly as he moved, like Jon’s head was on a swivel with a string that tied him to Satin. He glanced over his shoulder at him subtly. Jon’s face had no tells, his eyes their usual inscrutable grey he still, still, struggled to read. He simply watched. He turned to face him fully and gave him a look but Jon’s expression didn’t change. He seemed lost in thought, eyes watching but mind far away. Satin raised a brow.
“Is everything alright?” He asked quietly and frowned when no reply came. “Jon?”
That seemed to do it. Jon blinked his eyes a few times and came back to himself. “Yes?”
“Are you well? Were you stuck?” Satin asked, worry painting his voice as he took a step forward. It was late and he could see Jon was tired. The flames’ hold on Jon was always stronger when he was tired.
“Not stuck.” Jon assured him with a shake of the head. “Just thinking.”
Satin sighed with relief. “Copper penny for your thoughts, then?” When Jon only waved his hand dismissively, Satin continued. “Silver stag for your thoughts? No? How about a dragon?”
Jon huffed in amusement. “It’s nothing. Just... thinking about something your friend said.”
“Gods, what did she say this time?” Satin asked with a groan. She couldn’t have had Jon alone for long but surely she must have said something before he intervened. Ally always managed to say something. “Ignore her, Jon. She’s got a big heart but an even bigger mouth and not near enough sense to not open it even when it’s good for her.”
“It’s nothing.” Jon insisted. “No need to fuss over it.”
Satin fixed him with a look. “What is it? If it’s weighing so heavily upon your mind, tell me so I can help.”
Jon’s gaze lingered on him again and Satin felt his eyes slowly moving across his face as if looking at each feature individually. After a moment, he sighed, glanced away, and muttered something under his breath that Satin could not catch. “I mean it. It’s nothing.”
“As you say.”
There was only so much pushing he figured would be of any use. If Jon didn’t want to say, he didn’t want to say. That was the way of it, he supposed. Jon was a man who often left things unsaid, left them to dangle right at the edge of the tongue but rarely allowing them to pass the barrier of his teeth. Satin knew that better than most. So, he let Jon keep his words and his thoughts. The feeling of his eyes on him said enough.
And on him they were. Satin knelt at the hearth to tend the fire and at once felt the familiar feeling of a pricking at his neck. He smiled lightly to himself as he stacked the logs onto the hearth. He was much better at it with his still clumsy left hand than he had been at first. The task was a little finicky, but it only took a little stubborn persistence for him to get the wood stacked, the ashes swept, and the fire blazing again. Jon’s eyes lingered on him all the while. He wondered what it was she’d said to have him so deep in thought, and what about Satin it must have been to have Jon’s eyes on him so blatantly. An insinuation, it must have been, another blatant impropriety. Fool of a girl, he thought, fool of a girl who just won’t believe me when I say it isn’t so. He couldn’t blame her too much for that. He knew how it all looked. And how it would look if she could see them now. Sharing rooms and a bed and almost everything but kisses and their bodies as Jon stared and watched him like a wolf prowling after prey. He could almost hear the hypothetical smug tone in her voice when she’d tease him for it.
When the fire was tended and the room beginning to warm, he rose and brushed the ash from his clothes. He got himself ready for bed as much as he easily could unaided as Jon simply sat and watched. He brushed his teeth, changed his socks, and switched into his woolen sleeping-breeches. His nice blue and grey doublet was fastened with both laces and hook-and-eye closures. He could have gotten it if he tried, but he didn’t particularly want to try. He turned to the bed and found Jon still looking. Still looking and still staring and still thinking, thinking, thinking. Satin raised a brow. “Well,” He said slowly. “Are you going to help me undress or are you just going to keep staring at me?”
Jon blinked once, twice, and then thrice. “W-what?”
A smile tugged at Satin’s lips but he schooled it away. He held up his right hand, wrapped still in its stiffened plaster and linen cast and waved it at him. “My buttons, Jon.” He said as innocently as the Maiden.
He watched Jon’s brow furrow and then understand. “Right.” He muttered and rose quickly to his feet. He crossed the room in quick strides and set himself to work without further word. Satin tilted his head back for him as Jon’s fingers took hold of the ties at the collar and began to pull them loose. He worked diligently with effortless efficiency after a month of practice at the task. He glanced down at Jon, face calm and neutral, but Satin knew better. He knew Jon was still deep in thought. He must have felt Satin’s gaze because his eyes flicked up to meet his then dropped back to the laces he was slowly pulling apart.
“You really won’t tell me what she said when she had you alone?”
Jon’s brow furrowed and he made a face as he stared down at his task without pausing, something akin to confusion passing his eyes for a moment. “She didn’t say anything. Only thanked me for coming, for the gift too, and then bid me goodnight.”
“And that’s got you all deep in thought?” Satin asked incredulously.
“No. Not that.”
So, it was what she said before, then. Don’t you think so, your Grace? She'd asked. Don’t you think Satin is prettier than all the girls in Winterfell? Don’t you think? Don’t you think? An audacious thing to ask, but Aloisya was anything if not audacious. Do you? Satin thought. Is that why you can’t stop looking at me tonight? Satin smiled to himself as Jon tugged another lace free and unhooked another fastener from its eyelet, leaving his doublet half open.
Jon caught the look and quirked a brow. “What are you smiling about?”
Your eyes on me, Satin thought. I like your eyes on me. “Just... happy for Aloisya.”
Jon nodded slowly, gently tugging at Satin's belt buckle and sliding the leather through once it gave way. “Aye. They’re a good match, I think. She’ll walk all over him, of course, but he seems the kind of man to enjoy a wife like that.”
Satin laughed. “Every woman’s dream, certainly. A man whose all stoic and serious to everyone but her. A man of ice who just melts in the eyes of his lady love.”
“He did seem rather taken with her.” Jon chuckled.
“Oh yes, it certainly seemed so. And she, with him. That’s what makes me so happy for her. That she gets to be with someone she wants, someone she loves. That’s not... a thing a whore gets to have.” His eyes met Jon’s for a moment, and he watched his brow furrow and his lips purse into a frown. “But she gets to have that now. And I cannot be more relieved to know that. You know, in the godswood during the ceremony, she was so eager to kiss him at last that she knocked them to the ground in her excitement. It seemed to me that she was half a second from having him right there for all the guests and the Old Gods alike to see!”
A quiet laugh fell from Jon’s lips, and he pulled another knotted lace loose. “I suppose that’s one kind of an offering.”
“True love offered up for their creepy bloody eyes to see? I bet they’d like that, those dirty voyeurs!” Satin grinned, and they shared a chuckle. “Well, the Old Gods ought to have been awfully honored if she had gone for it – to witness a woman’s first time. Well, not first time like that. Obviously. That’s long gone. But, you know, her first time that actually means something. It’s different.” Satin paused for a moment, chewing his lip and suddenly feeling oddly sheepish. “I imagine it is, anyway. Surely, it must be. Different, I mean. I haven’t exactly, well, you know. I’ve never been with someone I actually wanted, either... So, I suppose I can’t say if it’s different or not.”
Jon’s amused smile had slowly fallen away and settled into a somber frown. “Not once?” He asked quietly. “There was never anyone you wanted?”
Satin scoffed and fiddled with the hem of his doublet as Jon’s fingers stilled on his laces. “No.” There’d been men he hadn’t been disgusted by, even men that he’d found decently pleasurable once they’d begun – few and far between as they were – but there’d never been a man he’d truly wanted. Never once had there been a man he’d have chosen to have just to have him. Not until Jon. “Not even one.” He didn’t like the look that crossed Jon’s face, long and almost sour as it was, so he shook away his thoughts and put a smile on his lips, something toothy and playful. “But who knows... maybe that’ll change some day. Maybe even soon. I mean, if it can happen for Aloisya of all people, why not me?”
A quiet noise sounded in Jon’s throat and he fixed him with a look. “Satin...” He chided.
“What?” He laughed, shrugging as his smile widened. “You never know! All sorts probably want to come to Winterfell to treat with the King of the North; we could have envoys from all over the world come for a visit. Maybe I’ll meet some handsome foreign prince, and he’ll take me away across the Narrow Sea to where it's always warm and sunny and we’ll make love on a beach. I don’t know.”
Jon made a face. “Okay—”
“Or maybe it’ll be just a sweet little peasant boy from Winter Town, all shy and flustered, and he’ll bring me flowers and I’ll be so swept off my feet I’ll let him lay me down onto his lumpy hay-sack of a bed.”
“Enough of tha—”
“Oh! Or maybe one of your Wildling men will come steal me! Tormund, maybe, or—”
A rough tug on his laces brought Satin stumbling half a step forward. He rather abruptly found himself nose to nose with Jon and the tight, pinched look on his long face. It made Satin need to bite his lip to hold in the laugh that threatened to burst out. “I said that’s enough, Satin.” Jon said slowly, his voice quiet and low and yet clear as day.
“Why?” Satin asked innocently. “You know, I’ve not had many male friends before. Don’t men talk about such things with each other? Fantasies and the like?”
“Not me.”
“Oh? Why not?”
“I don’t want to hear about you and other men.”
Jon Snow... Satin thought with a smile as he looked up at his long, sour face. Oh, how you give yourself away. “No?”
“No.”
“They’re not real men, you know.”
“Tormund is.” Jon said at once.
Satin had to bite back a laugh. “And I’d not have him. Not for wanting and not for all his little gold treasures. You’ve seen how hairy he is down there. No thank you. And the amount of grease in his beard... Repugnant. I’ve always liked a clean-shaven man, you know. Where I can properly see his features and his eyes aren’t half blocked by bushy brows. And if I were picking someone, I’d pick a good man. Not some brusque, loud, forward brute like Tormund. I’d prefer someone honorable. Someone... sweet. Maybe even someone a little icy until he melts just a bit, just for me.” He paused, looking up at Jon with a toothy smile. Nose to nose, he watched Jon watch him and saw a dozen tiny micro-expressions flash across his face and a dozen more flickers of emotion pass by his grey eyes. Satin’s grin only grew. “So, I suppose... I’d choose a man like Cedren. Shame Ally got her claws in him first. Guess I was too slow on the draw.”
Jon blinked once, drew in and released a slow, mechanical breath through his nose as his lips pursed tightly together, dropped his hands from Satin’s half open doublet and turned away. “You can undo your own buttons.” He groused as he started on his own doublet with short, jerky movements.
Satin did his best to muffle the laugh bubbling up in his throat. Jon’s ears and neck were red as he stripped himself down to his under tunic and his face was a failed mask of indifference. But Satin knew him too well not to see right through it. A snicker broke through his defenses, a silly half-caught sound of amusement that made Jon pause and turn to look at him over the shoulder with narrowed eyes. Another snicker escaped and then another, and then Satin was laughing properly.
“Quit it.” Jon grumbled but Satin only laughed harder.
Oh, my love, he thought as he laughed breathlessly, head thrown back and free as he uselessly covered his mouth with his hand. Oh my silly, silly, love. His giggles were so strong they almost made his stomach hurt and his face ache. Jon’s scowl only made him find it funnier.
“You are... ridiculous.” Jon muttered. “Insufferable, maddening, infuriating...”
Oh please, he thought as he giggled and cackled and clenched his belly, you’d have me no other way.
“Come,” Jon said after a long moment, voice still tight but Satin heard the amusement underlying it, the smile hidden beneath his tone. “To bed. You must be tired if you’re laughing like you've gone silly over nothing.”
“And how shall I sleep?” Satin asked through his laughter. “Shall I sleep in my doublet and get it all creased?”
Jon fixed him with a look but crossed the room back to him all the same. “Come here, then. I’ll get your damned buttons as long as you quit your laughing and get in bed without fuss. No fussing. No talking. No... any of that. Deal?”
No teasing, he added for him. As you wish. Satin grinned and pressed his lips together in a show of quieting his laughter.
“Deal.”
JainaSolosWife Mon 11 Aug 2025 04:43AM UTC
Comment Actions
Rosavalda_Freya Wed 13 Aug 2025 12:39AM UTC
Comment Actions
Beawake Mon 11 Aug 2025 06:49AM UTC
Comment Actions
Rosavalda_Freya Wed 13 Aug 2025 12:41AM UTC
Comment Actions
claudiaapologist Mon 11 Aug 2025 06:55AM UTC
Comment Actions
Rosavalda_Freya Wed 13 Aug 2025 12:43AM UTC
Comment Actions
Marvelgirl4life Mon 11 Aug 2025 01:04PM UTC
Comment Actions
Rosavalda_Freya Wed 13 Aug 2025 02:26AM UTC
Comment Actions
Marvelgirl4life Fri 15 Aug 2025 11:42PM UTC
Comment Actions
S0ph1e777 Mon 11 Aug 2025 04:32PM UTC
Comment Actions
Rosavalda_Freya Wed 13 Aug 2025 12:59AM UTC
Comment Actions
affinno Mon 11 Aug 2025 05:58PM UTC
Comment Actions
Rosavalda_Freya Wed 13 Aug 2025 12:51AM UTC
Comment Actions
AllTomorrows1986 Mon 11 Aug 2025 10:30PM UTC
Comment Actions
Rosavalda_Freya Mon 18 Aug 2025 07:34PM UTC
Comment Actions
whenthetidecomesrollinin Tue 12 Aug 2025 07:59AM UTC
Comment Actions
whenthetidecomesrollinin Tue 12 Aug 2025 08:00AM UTC
Comment Actions
Rosavalda_Freya Wed 13 Aug 2025 02:03AM UTC
Comment Actions
Bluewie Wed 13 Aug 2025 09:57AM UTC
Comment Actions
Rosavalda_Freya Wed 13 Aug 2025 09:26PM UTC
Comment Actions
bigguy800900 Thu 14 Aug 2025 12:02AM UTC
Last Edited Thu 14 Aug 2025 12:04AM UTC
Comment Actions
Rosavalda_Freya Mon 18 Aug 2025 07:47PM UTC
Comment Actions
Ashelihtl Fri 15 Aug 2025 01:18AM UTC
Comment Actions
Rosavalda_Freya Mon 18 Aug 2025 08:06PM UTC
Comment Actions
Lancaster2311 Fri 15 Aug 2025 02:06AM UTC
Comment Actions
Rosavalda_Freya Mon 18 Aug 2025 07:54PM UTC
Comment Actions
SunBaby Sat 16 Aug 2025 07:32AM UTC
Comment Actions
SunBaby Sat 16 Aug 2025 07:48AM UTC
Last Edited Sat 16 Aug 2025 08:42AM UTC
Comment Actions
Rosavalda_Freya Tue 19 Aug 2025 10:27PM UTC
Comment Actions
Rosavalda_Freya Tue 19 Aug 2025 10:27PM UTC
Comment Actions
SunBaby Wed 20 Aug 2025 04:02AM UTC
Comment Actions
Rosavalda_Freya Tue 02 Sep 2025 11:45PM UTC
Comment Actions
SunBaby Wed 03 Sep 2025 06:22AM UTC
Comment Actions
fivefootthreejontruther (Guest) Sat 16 Aug 2025 10:48PM UTC
Comment Actions
Rosavalda_Freya Wed 20 Aug 2025 12:47AM UTC
Comment Actions
Rosavalda_Freya Wed 20 Aug 2025 12:47AM UTC
Comment Actions
Edaigoa Sun 24 Aug 2025 02:16AM UTC
Comment Actions
Edaigoa Sun 24 Aug 2025 02:20AM UTC
Comment Actions
Rosavalda_Freya Tue 02 Sep 2025 11:01PM UTC
Comment Actions
Rosavalda_Freya Tue 02 Sep 2025 11:01PM UTC
Comment Actions
OnlyOneWoman Sat 06 Sep 2025 03:22PM UTC
Comment Actions
Rosavalda_Freya Sat 06 Sep 2025 03:39PM UTC
Comment Actions