Chapter 159: A Woman Who Wanted Only Gold
Ros had spent most of the morning asking questions about a king.
She did so carefully.
Men became suspicious when a prostitute showed too much interest in someone powerful. Women became jealous when they believed another woman had discovered a wealthy customer before them.
Ros knew how to avoid both problems.
She asked one person whether King Jon had brought a queen to Winterfell.
She asked another whether the enormous camp outside the castle truly belonged to him.
From a merchant who had supplied wine to the royal feast, she learned that Jon possessed gold and silver coins unlike those used anywhere in the Seven Kingdoms.
From a drunken northern soldier, she learned that Jon had no wife.
From a servant who occasionally worked inside Winterfell, she learned that no woman regularly visited his chambers.
That surprised Ros.
Kings kept mistresses.
Lords kept mistresses.
Even poor men who could barely feed themselves somehow found coins for prostitutes.
Yet the young king beyond the Wall had arrived at Winterfell with a thousand soldiers, ten giants, fifty enormous direwolves—and apparently not a single woman for his bed.
Ros remembered the way he had looked at her.
He had noticed her breasts when she leaned over the balcony.
There had been no uncertainty in his eyes.
No embarrassment.
No desperate hunger.
He had simply looked, enjoyed what she deliberately displayed, met her gaze—and laughed.
Ros could still hear that quiet laugh.
Most men were easy.
Show them enough flesh and thought disappeared from their faces. They stumbled over words, attempted to appear impressive, and imagined every practiced smile meant affection.
Jon had not behaved like most men.
That made Ros curious.
His appearance made her considerably more curious.
She stood before the small mirror inside her room and adjusted the neckline of her gown.
The woman reflected in the polished metal had long red hair, pale skin, full lips, and a body capable of making men forget their wives, promises, and good sense.
Ros understood the value of every part of it.
Her beauty was not a gift she offered freely.
It was a trade.
Men brought coin.
She brought pleasure.
Everyone understood the arrangement until men began imagining they had purchased something beyond her time.
Love.
Loyalty.
Possession.
Ros provided none of those.
King or farmer, every man eventually left her bed.
That was how she preferred it.
Still, as she remembered Jon standing beneath the balcony, she found herself hoping the king would return.
Not because of the stories.
Not because of the crown.
Not entirely because of the wealth.
She wanted to know whether his confidence remained once the clothing disappeared.
Ros smiled at her reflection.
If he returned, she intended to discover the answer.
---------
Jon spent the morning reviewing a treaty.
The final version rested upon the table within Winterfell's Great Hall.
Two copies had been prepared.
One would travel south with Robert and be preserved within the Red Keep.
The other would remain with Jon before eventually being placed within the royal archives of Winter's Heaven.
Scribes had spent most of the previous day correcting the language demanded by both kings.
The treaty recognised Winter's Heaven as an independent kingdom beyond the territory and authority of the Iron Throne.
No king, lord, or house within the Seven Kingdoms could claim Jon's land, demand taxes from his people, or interfere with his laws.
Merchants from either realm would receive protection while obeying the laws of the kingdom they entered.
Criminals could not escape justice merely by crossing the border, though neither kingdom would surrender an accused person without sufficient evidence.
Trade would remain open through recognised ports.
Weights, measurements, coinage, taxes, and harbour fees would be recorded clearly to prevent southern officials from inventing new charges whenever merchants arrived.
Most importantly, Winter's Heaven possessed no automatic obligation to participate in the wars of the Seven Kingdoms.
Robert continued to dislike that condition.
"This is not an alliance," he complained. "It is a promise that you will consider helping me while I promise to help you."
Jon looked at him across the table.
"You cannot help me."
Robert's face darkened.
Ned closed his eyes briefly.
A dozen witnesses stood throughout the Great Hall, including Catelyn, Robb, Barristan, Jaime, several northern lords, royal scribes, and representatives from Jon's government.
Robert looked around.
"Did you need to insult me before this many people?"
"You asked before this many people."
"I was attempting to make a point."
"So was I."
Ned intervened before the exchange became another argument.
"The treaty gives both kingdoms peace, trade, recognised borders, and laws governing their relations. That possesses greater value than a military promise neither kingdom may ever need."
Robert looked toward him.
"You have been my Hand for less than three days, and already you defend the other king."
"I am explaining the agreement you approved yesterday."
"That sounds dangerously similar."
Jon picked up the quill placed beside his copy.
"If you no longer accept the conditions, we can end the discussion."
Robert immediately pulled the parchment closer.
"Gods, no. We spent half of yesterday arguing over this damned thing."
He dipped his quill into the ink.
Before signing, he looked toward Jon again.
"When an army from Essos invades the Seven Kingdoms, I expect assistance."
"You may request it."
"And you will consider it."
"Yes."
"That remains an irritating answer."
"It will not improve because you ask again."
Robert muttered something beneath his breath and signed his name.
He pressed the crowned stag seal into black wax beneath the signature.
The scribes turned toward Jon.
Jon signed the second treaty.
The seal he pressed into the wax was unfamiliar to most people inside the hall: the crowned direwolf of Winter's Heaven.
The two signed documents were exchanged, examined, and witnessed.
Robert raised his wine cup.
"To peace between our kingdoms."
Jon lifted his own cup without drinking.
"To peace."
The witnesses repeated the words.
Robert emptied his wine and held the cup toward a servant for more.
The treaty had been signed.
For the first time, the Iron Throne had formally acknowledged that a kingdom existed beyond its authority.
Several northern lords watched Jon with barely concealed satisfaction.
Others considered the political consequences.
Jaime watched Robert.
Cersei watched Jon.
Ned watched everyone.
Robert accepted the refilled cup.
"We leave in two days."
The announcement quieted the conversations beginning throughout the hall.
Servants and officers had expected it, but hearing the king confirm the date made the approaching departure real.
Robert looked toward Ned.
"Your household will be ready?"
"It will."
"Your steward attempted to add four more wagons this morning."
"Three of them have already been removed."
Robert laughed.
"Good. At that speed, we may reach King's Landing before the next winter."
Vayon Poole, standing near the rear of the hall, looked personally wounded.
Jon's gaze moved toward Ned.
Two days.
Then his father would begin travelling south toward the city where Jon Arryn had been murdered.
The marked iron disc remained hidden beneath Ned's clothing.
That did not make Jon comfortable.
It merely ensured that distance would not prevent him from acting if the game turned violent.
---------
Robb found Ned inside the lord's solar later that afternoon.
Maps, ledgers, sealed letters, and reports covered the table.
Catelyn stood near the window speaking quietly with Maester Luwin. Jon remained beside the hearth, examining a report from the eastern coast.
Robb entered carrying the decision he had made concerning the mountain villages.
"Twelve wagons departed this morning," he said. "The grain should reach the first two villages within four days."
Ned looked up.
"And Lord Manderly?"
"He agreed to the price. He will send replacement grain before the next heavy snowfall."
"Did he place any conditions upon the sale?"
"He requested permission for three additional merchant families from White Harbor to trade directly with Winter's Heaven."
Ned glanced toward Jon.
Jon lowered the report.
"What did you tell him?" Ned asked.
"That the decision belonged to Jon."
"It does," Jon said.
Robb continued.
"But I wrote that Winterfell supports the request, provided those families accept the same inspections and restrictions as every other merchant."
Jon considered it.
"Send me their names. My officers will investigate them before granting permission."
Robb nodded.
Ned looked at his eldest legitimate son for several moments.
"Well handled."
Two words.
They affected Robb more than a long speech would have.
He attempted not to show it.
Ned gestured toward the chair beside him.
"Sit."
Robb obeyed.
Ned moved several reports aside.
"When I leave, your mother will govern Winterfell. You will sit beside her during every council and take responsibility for the daily decisions of the castle."
"I understand."
"You will receive letters from lords who attempt to pressure you because they believe your youth makes you easier to influence."
Robb's expression hardened.
"Which lords?"
"All of them."
Catelyn gave Ned a look.
"Some will do it more politely than others," Ned added.
Jon's lips curved faintly.
Ned continued.
"Do not mistake disagreement for disloyalty. A bannerman may challenge a poor decision while remaining faithful to House Stark."
"And if someone uses your absence to disobey us?"
"Listen first. Learn why. Then decide whether the reason deserves understanding or punishment."
Robb glanced toward Jon.
"Would you do the same?"
"No," Jon answered.
Ned looked at him.
Jon continued reading his report.
"My kingdom possesses different laws."
"That is a mild description," Catelyn said.
Jon ignored the comment.
Ned returned his attention to Robb.
"You govern the North according to northern law, not according to how Jon governs Winter's Heaven."
Robb nodded.
"What about the Wall?"
"Continue sending the supplies already promised. If Lord Commander Mormont requests additional men or provisions, examine what Winterfell can provide without weakening the northern villages."
"And the Free Folk?"
Ned looked toward Jon.
"Jon's people will remain beyond the Wall."
"The Free Folk beneath my protection will not raid northern lands," Jon said.
"And those outside your kingdom?" Robb asked.
"They have already learned the cost of crossing my borders."
Robb decided not to ask what that cost had been.
Ned leaned back.
"You do not need to solve every problem alone."
"I know."
"Knowing it and remembering it when men are waiting for your decision are different things."
Robb looked at the maps.
"Did you feel ready when your father left for King's Landing?"
Ned became still.
Rickard Stark had travelled south expecting to answer a royal summons.
He had never returned.
Neither had Brandon.
"No," Ned answered.
The room quieted.
"I was raised as a second son. Brandon was meant to inherit Winterfell. When the war began, I had no time to decide whether I was prepared. Men called me lord, placed armies beneath my command, and expected answers."
"How did you know what to do?"
"I did not always know."
Ned met Robb's eyes.
"I listened to men with greater experience. I remembered what Father and Jon Arryn taught me. Then I made the best decision available and accepted responsibility for it."
Robb slowly nodded.
"You will make mistakes," Ned said. "Do not hide them. A concealed mistake becomes more dangerous than an admitted one."
Jon lowered his report.
"And do not allow fear of mistakes to prevent decisions. Refusing to choose is still a choice."
Ned looked toward him.
This time, he agreed.
Robb absorbed both lessons.
Catelyn approached and rested one hand upon his shoulder.
"You will not be alone."
Robb looked around the room.
His mother.
Maester Luwin.
Jon.
The household officers who had served Winterfell for decades.
His father was leaving, but the North would not suddenly rest upon the shoulders of one unprepared boy.
"I will manage," Robb said.
Jon returned to his report.
"I already told you that."
"You normally say things as though everyone should immediately believe you."
"They should."
Robb smiled.
Ned watched his sons.
Leaving Winterfell had felt dangerous from the moment Robert made the offer.
That feeling had not disappeared.
But looking at Robb and Jon together made departure possible.
The North would remain protected.
His family would remain together.
And if something happened in King's Landing—
Ned's fingers briefly touched the hidden iron disc beneath his tunic.
He still did not understand it.
He only remembered Jon's instruction.
Throw it.
I will know.
---------
The sun disappeared behind the distant hills.
Winterfell's gates remained busy for hours afterward.
Wagons returned from nearby villages. Merchants departed before the roads became too dark. Patrols moved between the castle, Jon's camp, and the winter town.
Jon ate inside his command tent rather than joining Robert's feast.
Alex delivered reports from the military officers.
The giants would begin returning toward White Harbor after the royal party departed. Most of the thousand elite soldiers would accompany them.
Jon intended to remain at Winterfell for a short time, helping Robb adjust and ensuring the North remained stable after Ned's departure.
The fifty giant direwolves would not all remain near the castle. Their presence consumed too much food and frightened every ordinary horse within smelling distance.
Some would return to Winter's Heaven.
Others would be stationed at carefully selected northern locations.
The meeting lasted less than an hour.
When Alex finished, he gathered the reports.
"Anything else, Your Grace?"
"No."
Alex inclined his head and left.
Jon remained alone.
The camp beyond the tent continued operating in disciplined silence.
He should have examined the latest harbour records.
He should have reviewed the schedules for the ships returning north.
Instead, he remembered red hair illuminated by torchlight.
A deep neckline.
Two pale, round breasts pressed together as Ros bent over the balcony.
And the knowing smile she had given him when she caught him looking.
Jon leaned back in his chair.
He did not lie to himself about desire.
Ros was beautiful.
She wanted his attention.
And she offered a night without politics, hidden threats, royal families, or questions about the future of kingdoms.
Jon stood.
He left the reports untouched.
---------
The winter town grew louder darkness.
Robert's soldiers filled the taverns and brothels, spending silver accumulated during months upon the kingsroad. Northern merchants profited from their thirst while local guards attempted to keep the resulting arguments from becoming bloodshed.
Jon walked through the streets alone.
He wore a dark cloak, but he made no attempt to hide his face.
Concealment would accomplish nothing.
The people recognised him.
Some bowed.
Others stared.
A few drunken men became suddenly sober and moved aside.
Jon reached the brothel near the end of the street.
Warm golden light passed through its windows. Music and laughter escaped each time the door opened.
Two women stood near the entrance inviting passing soldiers inside.
Their voices faded when they saw Jon.
One immediately straightened.
The other stared as though giants might appear behind him.
Jon ignored both reactions and entered.
The room beyond the door was warm, crowded, and heavy with perfume, wine, smoke, and sweat.
Conversations died one after another.
A king entering a brothel possessed a remarkable ability to silence drunk men.
Jon's eyes moved across the room.
He saw merchants.
Soldiers.
Two minor northern nobles attempting to conceal their faces.
Women in thin gowns sat upon laps or leaned against tables.
Then Ros descended the stairs.
She had been waiting.
Jon recognised that immediately.
Her long red hair fell around her shoulders. She wore the same dark-green gown he had seen the previous night, though its neckline appeared even lower beneath the light.
Ros stopped halfway down the stairs.
Her eyes travelled over him.
Satisfaction entered her smile.
She had wondered whether Jon would return.
Now she possessed her answer.
Jon crossed the room.
People moved out of his path.
Ros descended the remaining steps and stood before him.
"You came back," she said.
"I did."
"I wondered whether kings visited places like this."
"Kings visit wherever they choose."
Ros's eyes brightened with amusement.
"And what did you choose?"
Jon looked directly at her.
"You."
The simplicity of the answer affected her more than elaborate praise.
Ros was accustomed to men pretending they entered for wine, conversation, or loneliness. Jon offered no false excuse.
She stepped closer.
"You do not waste words."
"I use as many as necessary."
"And how many will I require?"
"That depends upon whether you continue asking unnecessary questions."
Ros laughed.
Several men watched them.
Jon noticed.
Ros did as well.
She took his hand and led him toward the stairs.
---------
Her room occupied the upper floor at the rear of the building.
It was larger and cleaner than Jon expected.
A broad bed stood against one wall beneath several thick furs. Candles burned around the chamber. A small table held wine, cups, scented oils, and a bowl of dried fruit.
Ros closed the door.
The laughter and music from below became distant.
She turned the iron lock.
Then she faced Jon.
"Before we begin," he said, "what is your price?"
Ros paused.
Men usually asked before entering the room, and they often attempted to bargain as though purchasing grain.
She considered him.
"One gold dragon."
The amount was several times what she charged wealthy lords.
She expected surprise.
Jon reached beneath his cloak and placed five gold dragons upon the table.
Ros stared at them.
She picked up one coin and bit it lightly.
Real gold.
She looked toward him.
"What do you expect for five?"
"Your company for the night."
"Nothing else?"
"Honesty."
Ros raised an eyebrow.
"Men do not normally pay women like me for honesty."
"Men frequently pay for lies without realising it."
She set down the coin.
"What kind of honesty?"
"I am not purchasing affection. I do not want declarations of love, promises of loyalty, or whatever words you normally use to make men feel important."
Ros studied him more carefully.
"What do you want?"
"Pleasure."
His gaze descended openly over her body.
"And you."
The directness sent a small thrill through her.
Ros stepped closer until the front of her gown nearly touched him.
"Then you may be the easiest man I have ever served."
"You have not served me yet."
Her smile widened.
"No. But I am beginning to believe I will enjoy it."
Jon lifted one hand and touched the red hair falling over her shoulder.
It was softer than he expected.
Ros tilted her head slightly, allowing his fingers to pass through it.
"Do you always pay five times the requested price?" she asked.
"No."
"Why tonight?"
"Because I can afford it."
"That is a poor reason to surrender gold."
"I did not surrender anything. I purchased what I wanted."
His hand closed gently around her hair.
Ros's breathing changed.
"And if I disappoint you?" she whispered.
"You will not receive another five."
She laughed softly.
"Honest."
"You requested no lies."
"No. You did."
Ros placed both hands upon his chest.
She expected fine cloth beneath his tunic and perhaps the softness common among wealthy men.
Instead, she felt hard muscle.
Her fingers moved across him with growing interest.
The stories had not exaggerated his size.
She untied the clasp of his cloak and allowed it to fall across a chair.
Then she reached for his tunic.
Jon caught her wrist.
Ros looked up.
"You normally control how this begins," he said.
"Yes."
"Not tonight."
Something in his voice sent warmth through her body.
Ros was experienced.
She had entertained nobles, soldiers, merchants, and men who imagined roughness made them powerful.
None possessed Jon's complete certainty.
He did not need to threaten her or prove his strength.
It existed in every movement.
Jon released her wrist and lifted both hands toward the neckline of her gown.
Ros smiled.
"Did you enjoy the view last night?"
"Yes."
"I knew you were looking."
"You intended me to."
"I wanted to see whether a king could be tempted."
Jon pulled gently upon the loose fabric.
The gown slipped lower.
"And?"
"You returned."
"So did you."
Ros had no answer.
Jon lowered the gown from her shoulders.
The fabric gathered around her waist.
SCENE SKIP
Ros clung to him.
She had believed experience would allow her to guide him.
Instead, Jon learned every response her body offered and used it against her.
Her breathing became broken.
Her back arched.
She called his name without intending to.
Jon did not slow until her entire body tightened beneath him and a trembling release passed through her.
Ros collapsed against the furs.
She expected the encounter to end.
Jon gave her only enough time to breathe.
Then he turned her over.
Ros looked back across her shoulder.
The desire in his eyes made her smile despite her exhaustion.
"Again?"
"You accepted payment for the night."
She laughed breathlessly.
"You intend to receive the full value of your gold?"
"Yes."
The laughter became another moan as he pulled her hips toward him.
Hours passed.
The candles burned lower.
Music stopped in the room below.
The winter town gradually became quiet while Jon repeatedly discovered just how much Ros's experienced body could endure—and Ros discovered that even five gold dragons might not have been enough.
---------
Ros lay naked across Jon's chest.
The room smelled of sweat, extinguished candles, and the scented oil she had attempted to use before neither of them cared about it.
Her red hair covered part of Jon's shoulder.
She had lost track of how many times he had taken her.
More than any man before him.
Her body felt exhausted, satisfied, and pleasantly sore.
Jon showed no sign of similar exhaustion.
Ros lifted her head.
"Are all the men beyond the Wall like you?"
"No."
"Good."
"Why?"
"I would need to raise my prices."
Jon laughed quietly.
Ros smiled at the sound.
It was the same laugh he had given her from the road the previous night.
She traced one finger across his chest.
"Will you return tomorrow?"
"If I want you."
The answer would have insulted most women.
Ros understood it.
He had promised no affection.
No loyalty.
No future.
Only honesty.
She had accepted the arrangement before removing her gown.
"And if I am occupied with another man?" she asked.
Jon looked toward her.
"Then I will leave."
"No threats?"
"No."
"You will not have him dragged outside by your soldiers?"
"No."
"Not even thrown from the balcony?"
"Do you want me to throw your customers from the balcony?"
"It might improve your reputation."
"My reputation does not require assistance."
Ros laughed.
She moved higher across his body and brought her lips near his ear.
"You will return."
Jon's hand settled upon her bare hip.
"Confident?"
"I saw the way you looked at me."
"And now?"
Ros deliberately pressed her breasts against his chest.
"Now I have felt the way you touch me."
Jon rolled her beneath him again.
Ros's eyes widened.
"You cannot possibly—"
He kissed her before she finished.
The protest disappeared.
Outside the window, the first pale light of dawn appeared beyond the distant walls of Winterfell.
In two days, Robert's party would begin travelling south.
Ned Stark would enter the capital.
Baelish's game would move into its next stage.
But for the remaining hours of darkness, Jon allowed himself something uncomplicated.
No politics.
No promises.
No love.
Only pleasure shared with a beautiful red-haired woman who understood exactly what he wanted—and wanted the same from him.
End of Chapter 159
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Author's Note
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