🍂 satin flowers

—               “GRATEFUL?” The word lulled on his tongue, and he tasted it for a moment, slushed like wine through sharp teeth. The priest axed his body in Satin’s direction. Their field of vision, spared leeway by the sun, met level and unobstructed across the earth. Its grainy pebbles scratched against the palm of his hand, sending sharp tremors through muscles already wearied by exercise.

                 “How can one hope to gauge any God’s gratefulness? I’m alive, aren’t I?” An inquisitive brow hitched towards the other. He thirsted for information, yes; his service was errected on this little morsels of truth, on the daily experience of folk everywhere, all struggling in the Light. Perhaps not equal in their struggle, but toiling nonetheless, sometimes feebly and often the wrong way, but never in vain. The God drank all in. Only the absence of life, he’d felt, the numbing of the soul, could resemble any offense. It was abandon, and not pain, that most resembled things from the Long Night – things his God despised and fought against.

                 Beyond information, however, there was always genuine curiosity. It had always been. Thoros could recognize its reflection in the way he mingled with his brothers in arms, with the devoted self-forgetfulness he adopted the culture and manners of others. Even, blood be damned, in how easily he’d taken on the stag king’s manners. He saw it cast back at him now, in the way he gazed at a nameless servant from the far-off North. His eyes pooled with warm and flowing shadows. Their color, brown rather than black, dappled with silver flashes. “Is it gratefulness you seek, Satin the Steward?”

               SATINS NERVOUS HANDS TOYED with a stray pebble that his fingers located as a way of staving off all the thoughts of guilt he had for entertaining this man. But he had heard the stories, listened to the bards with his petal-lips slightly open in awe, of the red priest and his lightning lord, brought back from the dead by human hands and a god’s power. 

               He leaned forward so that there was less room between them, and looked nervously about as if there would be a septon standing sternly in some shadow waiting to admonish him for his interest. “Is it true...” Satin said in a hushed tone. “What they say about you and Lord Beric, and... and him coming back from the dead?” 

               As he leaned forward, the seven pointed star that hung around his neck swung free of the confines of the loose, low-necked black shirt he had taken to wearing in the heat of the capital. Embarrassed, with his cheeks burning red and his fingers working at double speed to stuff it back in his shirt with all the fumbling of a child caught in an act of perceived naughtiness. “I... um... I don’t know what I seek.” Perhaps gratitude was at the root of it, he wondered. 

              “Gods do not want my worship. They are not grateful for me kneeling at their altars.” He said, uncharacteristic bitterness on his tongue. That’s what a holy brother at the Sept in Oldtown had told him. He recited the words from memory, burned into his brain as they were from the humiliation of having to hear them. “But the Seven accept mine out of a wish that I might one day stumble off the path of sin and fully into their light.” He shrugged. “I am the one who should be grateful for that, I suppose.” 

He supposed Satin was right, though he felt no more human for them. He’d dug himself this lonely pit in which he was now forced to reside, though he found comfort in the fact he’d acquired one friend that was willing to see him rather than his long list of mistakes. And no, they most certainly would not be repeated. Theon would rather face a gruesome death than fail his adopted family twice.

For the first time, the soft and unexpected contact of another against him did not result in a flinch. Instead the Ironborn smiled, one that lifted his cheeks and touched his eyes, and for a moment, they appeared to hold a bit more life in them than they had over the last several months. He could not recall a time there had been anything worth breaking his frown for, or that might lift his spirits even a fraction from the trampled ground, but here it was, all golden curls and bright green eyes with a voice as smooth as silk and warm as honey.

“For you then.” Theon agreed. “There would be no proper rest for me in death if I knew you were sad, after all.” His words were followed by a soft chuckle, and it was easy then to forget the piling troubles around them, and the fact they were currently within the walls of a city they did not belong in. He came to wonder if he might once again see the days where he sat at a table among friends and family, worry free and pouring ale for the enjoyment of it rather than the effort to forget. 

While I can…

He blinked at that, smile fading as reality set in once more. There would come a day when Satin would be forced to return to the Wall. It may very well be the last day Theon saw him, and after that, his promised protection would mean nothing. They would hurt him there, he didn’t doubt it, and while he already intended to make mention of the attempted attack to Jon, he couldn’t help but wonder if there might be some way Satin could be free from his oath. “I will treasure what time we have. As little as it may be.”

                   SATIN BRISTLED WITH JOY to see Theon’s smile so wide across his face. He was never one to withhold his feelings, or his thoughts, especially when they were of benefit to others, so the sound of happiness that left his mouth was very much audible. “You are so handsome when you smile.” He all but cooed, determined to coax as many smiles out of him before he had to return north. “I could never be sad looking at that.” His intentions had been thinly veiled for a while, ever since he’d laid eyes on the kraken, if he was honest - and he thought he had waited long enough to be honest completely. 

                   Their friendship was bittersweet - to know that he could make Theon smile the way he had seen nobody else succeed, and to know that Theon wished to protect him the way nobody else cared to, was so sad when it had a very clear expiration date. Returning to the gruelling, harsh life he had come to know at Castle Black was too much for Satin to truly consider, it made his head feel heavy and his heart numb. Especially now that he knew he was going somewhere that his new friend could not follow. 

                  “We will have to make the most of it, then.” Satin smirked, his lips pulled into a wry, flirtatious expression. “I will need plenty of good memories to warm my soul when the cold winds come to the Wall.” Perhaps he could convince Theon to come swimming with him down at the beach where the water was warm and clear, or to visit the markets, or ride outside of the city gates for a day. Anything, he just craved his time and company like a man craved food after days without it. 

                  It had not been lost on Satin that Theon had not shied away from the touch of his shoulder, and he decided to take the calculated risk that contact was at least a little welcome. “Spend the day with me tomorrow.” He said quietly, bending one leg up onto the wall so he could turn and face Theon. “We can try and coax another smile out of you - it will be the least I can do after you helped me tonight.” That, and this - he leaned forward, bouncing curls pressing gently against Theon’s forehead just as his lips ever so gently brushed a kiss at the corner of his mouth. It was shy and sweet just like its gifter, and gone almost as soon as it had been given so as to preserve Theon’s level of comfort. “Thank you - I mean it.” It was the first kiss Satin had ever given completely willingly - not out of fear, or obligation, or because money had passed hands. He had liked giving it, far more than he ever had before.

Oh, he certainly would try. Already he was devising a way to approach Jon and discuss getting Satin a proper room to himself, away from the men of the watch and to an area he could consider safe from further harassment. If he would not fight back–as Theon had no right to tell him what kind of man he should be–then he perhaps could help him avoid future trouble.

“I would have reacted with nothing short of horror and disgust if I’d heard such things myself.” He would defend Satin’s prior actions, simply because he had expected them. It was only natural to want to distance oneself from someone who’d committed such monstrosities, even if he was proving to be far from the same man now. “I don’t want forgiveness. I don’t deserve it.” It was a painful thing to say, because he desperately did want to be back in the good graces of the Starks, but he’d also made his choice, and thus he was meant to pay the price. 

“But I feel a lot of things towards it…sometimes it becomes so overwhelming I almost feel hollow, lifeless…” He looked out towards the sea, wishing he could hear and see the waves from here. Somehow it was really the only thing that brought him a sense of peace, but he wondered if he would see it again should he be ordered to return north. “And you don’t have to call me ‘lord’. Just Theon will do. I don’t have much of a place to call my own in Pyke nor Winterfell, and I’d always hoped one might become a home in the near future. Now, I surely doubt it.” 

His lack of belonging, his relinquished power, it all settled over him like a dark cloud and made him feel of little value. Perhaps the day would come where he might feel a touch of happiness in his heart, but it felt like a dream shrouded in darkness, and such an overwhelming darkness it was. “Robb told me I was to remain alive and atone for my mistakes as punishment. I suppose that’s all that’s left for me now.”

           “IT IS A GOOD thing, then, that it is not my place to give forgiveness.” Satin said, mustering up the most confident smile he could manage. It was a crooked, shy little thing, but he was trying. “I am no Stark, and I have no true ties to the north - my loyalty in this lies with you, and in my believe that you are not that man anymore.” His vows meant little to him, and he would need several years more at the Wall to form any connection to the place stronger than the tug on his heartstrings for the Reach and Oldtown and the Honeywine. 

           “Your feelings of being hollow and lifeless are what makes you human, are they not?” Satin asked, well-versed in the arts of talking men down from their sorrows, though those sorrows had never been so deep and dark as Theon’s, and he could not remember ever doing it not swathed in silks, playing a part of comfort so that he might take coin for it later. “You understand the mistakes you made, and your conscience is making sure they are not repeated.” 

           Landed or not, Theon was far higher born than most Satin spoke with. He had a lord’s honour he thought, and the handsome face of one too - but he was grateful of the chance to know him by name. It made it feel as though they were on more equal of footing - he called the men he served as a steward, and those he had served at the brothel m’lord, but friends had names. “Theon then.” Satin said, his cheeks dimpling at the sound of his name rolled in the soft accent of the Reach he tried so hard not to lose up north. 

           Satin snickered at the irony - both he and Theon were at the bidding of Eddard Stark’s sons, being pulled across the country by the direwolves of Winterfell one by duty and the other by guilt. “Nevermind what Lord Stark says.” Satin’s lips pulled into a wry little grin, and he nudged Theon’s shoulder ever-so gently in good humour. “You need to stay alive for me - I should be so sad if I were not able to see you.” He fidgeted a little, his hands squeezing and tugging at themselves between black-clad knees. “There will be room for other things, amongst your atonement, I will see to it myself - while I can.”

Theon’s eyes softened, having thought Satin might scurry to the safety of the guards and leave him again rather than refer to him as a friend. He felt so undeserving of it, and yet so grateful that despite all the bad he’d done, Satin might see through it and offer him a chance. He could not remember the last time someone had desired him as a friend–even the Starks only seemed to tolerate him and thus he had not approached any of them as he had in the past, Robb especially.

“You owe me nothing, least of all an apology.” He replied quietly. It had been a justified reaction, and a story he would have only shown disgust for had he been the listener. Glancing in the direction in which the guards had departed, Theon tilted his head to the left in a motion for Satin to follow him. “We can go to the gardens if you like. I doubt there would be anyone there to disturb us.” True privacy could be found in his room, but he dared not invite Satin there and further risk panicking him all over again. If he was to be offered such a priceless thing as Satin’s trust, he would treat it with more care than anything else. 

As predicted, there was not a soul to be found in the criss-crossing paths of flowers, trees, and fountains. Some of the plants had started to wither due to the onsetting cold, but it was still a beautiful and peaceful setting regardless. He took a seat at the edge of the low stone wall lining the path, favoring the sound of trickling water nearby as he rested his gaze on Satin. “There’s no shame in defending yourself you know…especially from men like that.” 

Gone to the wall for killing a man trying to harm him….it didn’t feel right. Satin had taken an oath and forfeited what little freedom he had because of one rightful act to protect himself. “Whether you would call me a friend or not, I wouldn’t allow for him to do those things to you. If you can’t find it in your heart to fight back, then I will do it for you.”

                SATIN LOVED THE GARDENS here, he had spent many early mornings enjoying them before there were hoards of fancy lords and ladies the he might accidentally disturb or anger with his presence. Though he had never visited after nightfall, he hoped at at this time of night it would be as empty as when he usually visited in the mornings so that he might speak to Theon without unwanted ears listening in. There was much to be said, and all of it felt impossibly private for them both. 

                As Theon lead him to the gardens, Satin could not help but notice his limp and his heart tightened now that he knew the reason for its presence. Since they had last spoken, Satin had wondered if what Ramsay Snow had done to Theon had been the gods punishing him for his crimes - he did not think himself important enough to disagree with any god - old, new, drowned or otherwise, but he knew that was not justice. Satin had spent his whole adult life having his body used to further the desires and twisted joys of others, and could not help by wonder how he had been so quick to believe his treatment had been deserved - even for a second. 

                His eyes were watery and liquid gold like the Honeywine at sunrise as he turned them on Theon. “There is no shame in that, I know. But that is not the man I am - it never has been, and it never will, no matter what the Watch tries to make of me.” His cheeks warmed even despite the chill of the air at the thought of having a protector in Theon Greyjoy. “You cannot protect me from everything, m’lord.” Not once Satin was forced to return to the Wall and forfeit all contact with him. His life had bred realism in him, though the hopeless romantic in him that would never die was brimming with joy. “But I feel safer knowing you would try.” 

                Satin sat down beside Theon, making sure to not sit too close lest he spark discomfort in him. “There is shame in the way I treated your truths though.” When he had visited the Sept that afternoon, it had not been Theon’s forgiveness he had prayed for, but his own, for drawing such foolish, shallow judgements. “I was wrong. I am not afraid to admit it. All I have seen in you is honour and loyalty - since you told me about what you have done, I have been able to see that for what it was.” Satin sighed quietly. “I think it was remorse, regret and an attempt to be someday forgiven. I see no fault in that - what I said has not changed - I know you would not hurt me, and I have no doubt that you would do the same for anyone who did not deserve it. Not again.”  

the woman had been brought here under circumstances that she couldn’t speak about to anyone - that she’d been too terrified to speak up about, really. but her age and what she’d told the other workers when they deigned to ask questions about her were both what set her apart from the rest of them - and some had resented her for it. many of the men and women had been young when they’d been brought into this and trained. but jeyne had been different in that she’d been of adulthood when she was handed over. she had resisted the training at first, until it was made clear that it would be better for her to cooperate - the scars were a burden and a proof of that.

so to be greeted with a gentle tone and a genuine interest when she was at a weak moment - it wasn’t shocking, but it was comforting in a way jeyne hadn’t been able to feel in over a year. she gave a small shake of her head, tucking her black hair behind her ear and looking to him as she rested her chin on her knees. “it has not felt like that.” jeyne had blamed herself for that, and the emotional way she dealt with what had become of her life - and she’d felt guilty, because she was one among many who hadn’t had a choice in the matter. she wasn’t the only one and she was aware of that.

she stiffened when satin queried her and the immediate thought of keeping what she knew and what had been done a secret was firmly planted in her head. “no. i did not. i… have not met anyone here who had a choice.” jeyne’s expression turned into one of sheer distress and she would have felt panicked or cornered if satin had not phrased it the way he had, if he had not given her a chance that not many others did - to talk about why her whole world felt shattered, why she cried until it felt as if no more tears could possibly fall from her eyes. but she couldn’t. and at the mention of petyr, she was shaking her head once more. “i would not want to burden you,” jeyne told him, hoping it was the right thing to say, while trying not to show that she was scared of what would happen if she did speak about it. “how did you come to be here? did you… have a choice in it?”

                “FOR THAT I AM sorry.” Satin said with a gentle smile, wishing he had encountered her sooner. There was always a shortage of trustworthy souls in a brothel, Satin had found. “I have every intention of remedying that, Jeyne. I assure you.” At least until it came time for him to find passage back the Reach and to his regular life. “There are some who chose - the coin is better than what most girls can make doing anything else if they’re born with nothing to their name. Some just fancy themselves tougher than the rest of us and think it is better than it is.” Girls like that were knocked down a peg early, unless they found some kind rich lord to steal them away from being hired by the common folk. 

               “I come from Oldtown, a brothel near the Honeywine.” He said, worrying the silken edge of his robe between soft fingers - he did not like to share things about himself with those who paid for his services, sometimes he made up stories to add to his allure, others he just spun the conversation away from such topics - however, with a fellow haunter of these halls, he did not mind in the slightest. “I came to the capital for the Tourney of the Hand, to make some extra coin while there are so many people in one place. Littlefinger doesn’t have many boys, so I thought it worth my while.” He had been right, of course, but the man took a hefty cut of his earnings. Satin was looking forward to returning home, where the madam had always cared for him where she could and was a far more agreeable employer than the beady-eyed man who ran this establishment. “So that part was my own choosing - but I never chose this life. Not really.” 

               It had not been black and white - there had been no active choice on his part, but his hand had never been forced. He had merely grown up with the expectation that one day this would be the life he lead. “I was born at the brothel, the madam let my mother keep me on the condition that I earned my keep when I was old enough - at first it was just running errands and doing chores, but when my sixteenth name day approached, the madam sold my virtue for a high sum. I always knew it would be that way - and I was luckier than most to be allowed to wait so long.” He shrugged, long of the belief that being realistic was the only way to survive. “It would not be a burden to me.” He said, drawing his knees up close to his chest and resting his chin atop them. “But if you would prefer not to, I understand. We can speak of something else - I would like to know where your accent comes from, is it northern?” 

Someone that had made Theon felt so comfortable in his own skin upon their first meeting now left him uneasy and unsure how to act. It was odd, wanting to brush away his tears but at the same time fearing to come any closer to him, but he would continue to protect him, as his fondness for him remained despite the expected rejection he’d faced last they spoke. Satin had a kind heart, such a rarity these days, and he’d suffered enough in his past to be allowed any more of it.

“I will.” He assured him, confused by the lingering concern towards a man that had tried to harm him and had likely done the same to others. Perhaps that was the difference between actions that could and could not be forgiven, and idly Theon wondered if Satin would seek help for him if he were the one bleeding out on the ground. If he were to do the right thing, the just thing, he would leave him to die as so many others would.

Theon froze as Satin approached him, uncertain and anxious as his hand was taken, and the blood he hadn’t noticed until now, was wiped away. He’d done the same for Ramsay, carefully and gently attending to him after a shave to ensure he stayed cleaned and groomed without leaving a single scratch. The same being done for him, in some sort of payment for his actions, made his skin crawl. He hated it, and as much as he wished to pull his hand away, he did not. Satin was afraid of him, and he would not worsen it with any sudden movements or denial of his touch. “You don’t have to do that….” He urged, feeling sick for allowing it, but thankfully it did not last. The space between them reopened, and with it Theon was able to properly breathe.

“You could have, you would just rather be harmed yourself than bring it on anyone else.” It was all he could assume after hearing Satin’s story, and it saddened him immensely to think him so used to being the source of abuse, that he would have allowed that man to do as he pleased with him. 

Spying guards moving into the courtyard, Theon went to them, ushering them off to fetch help from one of the maesters as promised. They would be quicker than him anyway, as the cold air had already forced him into a limp. Now the only matter left to attend to was Satin, standing alone near his injured comrade. “He will be attended to soon.” More reassurance for Satin’s sake, when in reality he hoped they wouldn’t get back in time. “I can have the guards escort you to your room if you like. Just to make sure you stay out of trouble.” He offered a small smile, trying to shed just a little light on what had been proving to be a terrible night for Satin.

             “I KNOW.” SATIN SAID simply. His actions were not payment, nor anything he felt to be necessary recompense for Theon’s help, merely a desire to help him, to show him some kind of gentle kindness - and to remove the blood from where it did not belong on the hands of a friend. He had had plenty of time to think since their last meeting, and he had come to the conclusion that his initial stance had been too harsh. “But it is what friends do for each other.” 

            And they were friends. Satin was sure of that. It had taken some thinking, but it was what he wanted - if Theon could ever take him back as one, that is. 

            He missed Theon, and when he had returned to where they had been shooting the morning after, he had found his bow restrung with such care, and had spent the rest of the day barely present in his interactions with others as his mind was full of blue eyes and lazy auburn curls and kind words. Every man had made mistakes in his life, some greater than others, but Satin knew many who felt no regret for what they had done. Theon was a good man, Satin was sure of that too. 

            “That’s now I ended up at the Wall - I fought back against someone like that, spilled his blood everywhere and stopped his heart.” Satin let out a ragged sigh. “I couldn’t have done that again. Truly.” He saw that face in his dreams still, though the true nightmare was the life he lived at the Wall surrounded by so much black, snow, and roughness. 

            Satin’s hands wrung in front of him as Theon approached the guards. He was worried about being blamed for this, about how it might look - he had already been punished for so much in his life, he did not know if there was any worse outcome than death anymore. The guards took Theon’s word without question, and Satin’s mouth fell open at how easily they accepted that a man had been injured mere moments ago. He wondered how different his life might have played out if his father had been a high lord and not some nameless, faceless patron of a brothel. 

           “That is a considerate offer, thank you.” He looked over at Theon shyly, through golden lashes. Satin had no desire to return to the barracks where the members of the Watch were being housed while the Lord Commander went about his business in the capital - he had no wish to be alone, or to leave Theon’s company without apologising for his hasty moral call the last time they had spoken. He knew Theon was trying to stay at arm’s length for Satin’s sake, and he couldn’t bear it. “I don’t want to be alone. I owe you an apology - even before tonight.” He chewed nervously on the inside of his bottom lip. “Is there somewhere you know of where we could speak? I’m scared to be here when the guards return...”

Time alone had made Theon more perceptive. He was able to take in small details from his observations, read body language, anticipate the moves of others…even from his place in the dark with a mere mug of ale in hand, his eyes were ever moving. He would admit to being guilty of watching Satin when he’d approached the fire along the others cloaked in black, some strange pang in his chest at the last horrified look he’d been offered reminding him he was not worthy of the companionship of someone so gentle. Perhaps he’d be better off attempting to make friends with those bearing as much blood on their hands as he did.

He sighed and toyed with his mug, trying to rid himself of the thoughts. The later it grew, the colder the night became, but Theon was restless and had nothing to return to. He slowly rose from his place at the table, feeling the warmth of a torch fire brush his cheek and making him yearn for the comfort of a bed. Predatory eyes fell upon the hand at Satin’s thigh as he’d been left alone with a man that seemed far too hungry for something he had no right to. He was uncaring of the reluctance shown, pressuring all the more and making Theon’s blood boil. The sight of those wet streaks upon Satin’s cheeks stole what little control he had left.

The cold edge of his blade met the man’s throat, applying enough pressure to threaten that imperative thick vein at his neck. “Get your hands off him.” The order was as sharp as his sword, cold and lifeless in some ways, as he lacked compassion for men that forced themselves on those weaker than them. Theon could still remember the hands that pressed him into the ground, his pants being forced past his hips as he lay helplessly in offering for a man intent on fucking him there in the dirt. He could not stand the thought of the same happening to Satin.

Hands slowly withdrew, but the twitch in the man’s shoulders betrayed him. He’d been looking to retrieve a knife at his hip to thrust upward, yet Theon had been ready, angling his sword down and promptly shoving it between the would-be assailant’s legs. With a split cock, he wouldn’t be harassing anyone else any time soon, and no sooner did the scream leave his lips did Theon strike him hard in the side of the head with the hilt of his sword to silence him. He dropped, alive still, but likely would wish otherwise when it came time he awoke. Theon cast his gaze gently over Satin, wishing he could reach out to him and offer comfort and reassurance. 

But he knew what he was, what he’d always be, and he could not bear the thought of Satin flinching from him.

“Are you hurt?” From the looks of it, he was unharmed, but obviously shaken. Though mental and emotional damage could be far more relentless than physical, and he wished for him now to stay securely at Jon’s side where he would be safe. “You should head inside. I’ll send someone to collect him.” He said with a disgusted nod at the fallen man, half tempted to leave him there to bleed and freeze during the night.

               SATIN DID NOT WASTE even a second in taking advantage of the knife that was pressed against his assailant’s throat. In shock, the bruising force of the hand on his waist relented, and released him from it’s hold and his fearful daze so that he could back away as fast as he could, coming to hover a couple of metres away across the yard. He wanted to run and be rid of this night forever, to avoid Theon despite the mercy he had just shown him, but he found himself rooted to the spot again. 

               He didn’t dare to move, lest the situation worsened, but Satin found himself relaxing slightly as Theon moved to remove the knife and they could all leave unscathed and never speak of this again. Naive as ever, Satin let out a small scream that he muffled behind his hand as the other man went to take a knife from his belt, and Theon’s sword sliced ruthlessly down between his legs to stop him. Blood already pooled, and Satin could not look away - moments ago he had felt this man’s cock pressed against his thigh between their clothes, and now, he could not hurt him with it, nor anyone else, for that matter. 

               Satin was grateful, of course he was - he had never had a knight in shining armour to come to his rescue before, though he had spent his fair share of time daydreaming about one in his life so far. To think that Theon had defended him, despite the fact Satin had made it clear he wanted nothing to do with him the last time they had spoken. Satin was used to men doing things for him because they wanted something from him - his body, most notably - and yet Theon had stepped in with nothing to gain. The violence made Satin’s stomach turn, as it always did, and he found himself turning away so that he would not have to see the unconscious, bleeding man lying at Theon’s feet. Tears bled down his face again from shock, relief and fear, and his body wracked with silent sobs at what he had narrowly avoided, and what he had witnessed. 

               “We... we need to get a maester, or, or someone for him.” Satin managed to murmur, unwilling to think of himself when there was a man lying unconscious on the floor. It took a moment for Satin to let all his thoughts catch up with him - he could see the man in his periphery, and knew that would have been him if Theon had not come to his aid. 

for the first time since sitting at the table he took a sip from the cup that was filled with wine. he hadn’t had much this evening, but did his best to seem like he was having a good time through the coronation and tournament. in all honestly he didn’t even watch any of the tournament. although he was able to spend more time with his family, which had lightened his mood for the day. he missed them all terribly and it was nice to see them all again and sit with them all at a table while they talked and even laughed about dumb memories.

now they were off somewhere possibly enjoying the ball and he was sitting at this table surrounded by some northmen and wildlings. a comfortable group, but jon wasn’t too interested in keeping up conversations anymore. how everyone could be so unknowing blew his mind when he thought about it for too long. these poor souls had no idea what was coming for them… perhaps they all enjoyed this night because it could very well be their last.

a familiar voice appeared next to him and it pulled jon from his thoughts as his dark eyes moved to meet satin. he had a soft spot for his steward and wanted nothing but great things for him. part of jon wished that satin would have stayed in winterfell but another part was happy he was here with him. “there is a lot on my mind, satin.” he answered honestly before sitting back some, looking to the boy. “she was very pretty,” his eyes moved to find the woman who had just left. “but i am not in the mood to dance.” he wanted the conversation off of him and his eyes found their way back to satin. “what about you? those girls seemed to have liked you.” jon said and now he was looking for the group of girls that satin had been dancing with not too long ago. “you should be talking to them, not me.”

                   SATIN OFFERED AN UNDERSTANDING, dimpled little smile to the Lord Commander - he knew, as all the sworn brothers of the Watch did, that Jon held so much on his shoulders. More than these dragon rulers who fussed about with their scaled beasts and heavy crowns, while Jon had to come to their tables, drink their wine, and curry their favour for the fight that would have to be fought against those things that lumbered towards them. Satin’s skin crawled at the mere thought of them, and his body was riddled with fear almost constantly knowing he would have to return North some day and face them. Satin could not imagine what it felt like to be the man in charge, and could not sit by and let Jon shoulder this on his own. 

                   Satin’s eyes darted to the three girls he had been laughing and dancing with earlier, who had now turned their attentions on a group of squires who had been milling nearby. He shrugged, and let his gaze rest on the table in front of them. “There’s no point - what’s the use in starting something that can go nowhere?” He had taken his vows, and his place at the Wall, and despite the fact he had not chosen it, he was realistic enough to understand it was his reality now. “Besides, you’re much better company, even if you have grown allergic to fun.” Satin’s teasing was fond and a baited attempt to try and procure a smile from the Lord Commander. 

                  He may only have been his steward, but Jon was a man he considered a friend, and perhaps a hero of sorts, even if they were very different souls. True, they both carried a bastard’s surname and wore the black cloaks of the Night’s Watch - but Jon’s father had been a fancy lord, and his siblings were lords and ladies who were dotted around the room. Jon had been born for leadership, Satin could see that clearly, just as his true-born siblings had been. “Are you at least enjoying seeing your family again? I have to say, after hearing so much of them, it feels as though I am seeing characters from a storybook come to like or something.” He emitted a quiet giggle, trying to get the topic onto something that might make Jon’s demeanour a little less melancholy, even if it was just for a moment. 

It’s like seeing a ghost - had it not been for the constant antics of the wildlings, Alys would have forgotten entirely that the Night’s Watch and beyond had come South. Though the black cloaks and outfits of the Night’s Watch stood out amongst the rich colors, those she’d seen kept mostly to themselves. She hadn’t seen a friend dressed all in black besides Jon Snow, anyways - but the Wall was short on men, and a reunion with her was certainly not more important than their sworn duties. But she was wrong - here he was, running through the crowds: Satin Flowers in the flesh.

She wants to run to him, to embrace him, but she is stuck in place, floored by shock. A part of her wants to cry, with excitement and relief and a million other emotions. When she’d left the wall, determined and strong aback the same grey mare that had carried her on her flight North, she thought she’d never see him again, thought she’d never see any of them again. When he reaches her, all she can do is laugh, a burst of sound from deep inside her. “Satin - oh gods - you’re here! I didn’t know you were here!” A part of her realizes she sounds manic, but she trusts Satin to understand. For so long, she’s been choking back her emotions, hiding behind a politician’s mask, choosing assumed aloofness and arrogance over the weaknesses of vulnerability. But Satin - but all the men at the wall - knew her before that mask, and the shock of seeing him again makes her forget immediately all she’s become.

Taking the waterskin from him in a daze, Alys throws caution to the wind and throws her arms around Satin in a tight embrace. “Gods, it’s good to see you.” Releasing him, she takes a step back, pausing for a moment to drink heavily from the waterskin, thanking him as she hands it back. She wants to catch up, to ask a thousand questions about what he’s been up to since she left, but she starts small. “Did you come south with Jon, then?”

          SATIN WAS ELATED AT the sight of a familiar face amongst all these strangers, and he threw his arms around Alys and held her as tightly as she held him. He had worried so much for her, in the weeks since she’d ridden from the Wall with seemingly the whole world out there against her. There had been no word, at least none that Satin had been privy too, and on the long ride south his mind had wandered to thoughts of what fate might have befallen her - victory, he hoped.

          The Night’s Watch were a rough band of men, which made Satin an outlier among them for his soft, kind nature. He was not northern, and he had not known, or known of, Alys Karstark when she had arrived, snow crested and shivering atop a grey horse, but that had not stopped him from extending a hand of friendship to her almost immediately. He had brought wood to the chambers she was given to light a fire, and from that moment since had been a firm ally. 

          As he drew back, Satin took in the sight of her - checking protectively for any sign that she had befallen any serious harm since he had seen her off at Castle Black. She seemed more serious, somehow a little more guarded than she had been amongst friends, but Satin told himself he should not worry just yet. “I did, along with some of the others from the Wall. He wishes to speak to the new dragon king about his aid.” Satin sighed, green eyes sparkling with joy despite the circumstances of their meeting. “Come, let’s find some shade to talk under - I want to know how you have fared, and why you are so far from your snows.”

                SATIN’S SKIN CRAWLED AS an unwelcome hand inched up his knee where he sat beside the fire that the crows had built in one of the palace yards.The rest of the Watch had retreated indoors to sleep, though their presence would not matter - his sworn-brother’s hand had been on him all that time, just none of them had cared to say anything.

               There was little about Satin’s reaction that could be read as anything but uncomfortable, though he was too shy (and too afraid of the consequences) to do anything but bite down hard on his lip and squeeze his eyes closed hard so that tears slipped out of them. His back was straight as an arrow as a dirty, rough hand slipped around his waist and tugged him sharply closer, and as lips crushed against his neck in some mean, toothy approximation of a kiss.

               Satin had known this day would come, the way some of the Watch looked at him with such hunger and such hatred, seemingly waiting for a moment the Lord Commander’s eyes were turned away so they could prey on him like a crow on a mouse. He had defended himself before against this and lived to regret it, now clad in black as punishment, and he knew he had weathered far worse than this in the past - but that had been different, money had changed hands, Satin had been willing if not happy.

               “You’re not built for the Watch, Flowers. You’re wasted here.” Satin’s stomach turned with disgust as the man spoke in his ear and realised that he could never be anything but the boy from the brothel at Oldtown - he had nobody to rely on, not even himself, as empty green eyes brimmed with more tears and yet his mouth and limbs were locked still in fear.

Such easily acquired trust, which only meant those mentioned whispers had been limited. There was more to Theon’s lone nature than just his desire to be away from others, and if Satin had not heard, it would probably be best coming from him than one of the many that hated him. Better he shatter this idea Satin had of him now, rather than to deceive him until he learned the truth.

The mention of Ramsay cast a shadow over his features. It was all still so fresh, some of his more recent injuries having not completely healed, but he gave a single nod at the question. “I suppose the details vary from person to person, but it’s true I was his captive, and it’s true that he was…a very cruel man.” He clasped his hands, feeling the absence of one digit and the lack of feeling in another. “Many would say it was a justice well deserved, what he did to me, and I suppose I would agree with them.”

Values and ideals had all changed just as much as the angry arrogant attitude he’d carried with him, but there was also less of a sense of belonging and of worth. Theon was a shadow of a man, chasing endless debts he felt he owed–and in his heart, he knew there was not a single place he would properly fit. “Perhaps you and I would have met sooner, if I’d taken Luwin’s advice.” Luwin…who was now dead because of his actions. How many lives would have been spared, he wondered, if he’d stayed true to Robb Stark?

“I did terrible things, and I’m no different than most men of the Night’s Watch Satin. You’re right, I wouldn’t harm you, but I’ve harmed others.” It hurt him, to speak words he knew would chase away that sweet smile, but he was done pretending and he could not hide the vile things he had done. Satin had been honest with him, revealed things most would turn their nose at–it was only right he did the same. “I grew up with the Starks, taken hostage to ensure my father’s good behavior after his rebellion. Most my life I served Ned Stark, and then later Robb until the opportunity to return home came. I betrayed him to win my father’s favor, took Winterfell, murdered Ser Rodrik Cassell…allowed those boys to be killed and burned…” Listing it like this made him feel physically ill, eyes dropping to the ground as he felt his chest tighten. “I knew what I was doing was terribly wrong and I confided in Maester Luwin, who tried to convince me to take the black oath.” He was glad he hadn’t, despite the torment of Ramsay taking him shortly after, else Sansa might have been killed when Jon sought to retake Winterfell. He’d at the very least saved her from that, which allowed her to garner the support needed to win that battle, and as broken as he might be now, he was thankful for that opportunity to have done something right. 

“I’m afraid I don’t much deserve your trust…I’m sorry.”

                 SATIN’S MOUTH FELL OPEN, and he went to correct him - nothing like what he’d heard Theon fell victim to could be justice. Theon did not seem capable of acts that would warrant that, and he assumed it self-deprecating talk. Still, he did not wish to interrupt so he held his tongue, a line creasing between his brows as the story was spun. 

                For a moment, Satin indulged himself in the idea of Theon having come to the Wall - he could have had another champion alongside the Lord Commander, and a friend amongst the ranks perhaps, but the Watch was not a fate he would wish on anyone lest they deserved it. 

                That word: murder. So many had launched it at Satin when they had found him with blood on his hands, but he had been protecting himself, and tried hard not to think of himself that way. Theon would not need to protect himself against old men and boys and maesters - perhaps that made him deserving of such a title. Satin’s stomach turned at the description of the wrongdoings Theon had committed, and he had to bite at his tongue not to balk at his words. His skin crawled to know he had placed trust in a man who had killed innocents - children, even - and though he wanted so badly to react to Theon’s past the way Theon had reacted to his, he did not have it in him. 

                He prided himself on kindness - on never losing touch of it no matter how many patrons at Oldtown had mistreated him, no matter how many times the men of the watch picked on his for where he had come from. He wished to hold to kindness, and here, it seemed kindness was in honouring the memory of these blameless victims and not defending their perpetrator. 

                “You should have done it.” Satin said, trying to keep his voice even, but failing and falling prey to his emotions as tears clogged his throat and mangled his words. “You should have done as the maester said and taken the black - perhaps then your crimes would have been absolved, those lives paid for.” He was right, he was just like the men of the Watch, only worse - for at least they took the black and gave their lives to the realm for what they had done.

                The bow fell from Satin’s hands, and a hand wiped away tears born of confusion, and the shattering of trust. “I should go - the Lord Commander might need me.” They both knew he wouldn’t, but Satin was too polite even now to just storm off. “Thank you for the lesson - and the truth, I will ask the Mother to show you mercy.” With that, Satin turned and left, his body coursing with confusion and regret at having to turn his back on a man who had proved himself, until now, a fast friend and the object of Satin’s affections. 

she expected to be chastised for making too much noise, and that thought alone made jeyne wary about lifting her head to see who was looking back at her. the moment she realized that she wasn’t alone any longer, the girl did her best to stay the tears, to dry off the ones that were on her face, though it would do her no favors to act like she hadn’t been crying, if she had awakened someone from a dead sleep.

waiting for the rebuke and the anger, she was stunned to find a quiet response given back to her - and even more than that, the blanket put on her shoulders, which got her attention enough that she looked up from her hands and the curled position she’d been in. the kindness overwhelmed her and jeyne used all of her strength not to start crying from the sheer joy that a kind face was bringing to her. “oh,” she started, biting down on her lip. “i’m glad i didn’t wake you. it’s… happened before.” and they’d been angry with her, though jeyne could not fault them for that. it was just another added detriment to her circumstance.

she tensed when he sat down, but it was far enough away that she soon relaxed the muscles that had seized up, and tugged the blanket around the front of her, where her dress had slipped down, as she hadn’t fastened it tightly enough in her rush to get as far away from what she’d been doing as she could. her mouth tightened when he asked her name, but some sense of politeness and training still rang through her. “pleased to meet you.” she paused, nearly unwilling to give her name - but the ache for sharing, for having a normal conversation was almost heartbreaking inside her. “jeyne. i’m - new,” the brunette said after faltering.

               “EVEN IF YOU HAD, I would not have minded. In a place like this, we only have each other.” If they could not rely on the others in their own situation, they were lost and vulnerable to the many dangers that came with their occupation. He knew some of the older women who worked here had less time for those newly stepped through these doors, and their coping mechanisms for this life had turned their hearts mean and hard. Satin maintained great pride in not taking after them. 

              Satin averted his eyes respectfully as she fiddled with the front of her dress - he knew what it felt like to be watched by eyes that had not been given permission to look. He could tell she was new - he could see himself and many others in her, at the point in their lives when they realised that this was their reality. “You didn’t come here by choice, did you?” He asked gently, his voice low and measured so as not to wake anyone else. There were very few amongst their ranks who entered employment with the mistresses and brothel-keepers by choice, but there were some who sought more coin than they could get elsewhere - most had come here by necessity, to get off the streets at least, or be able to provide for their children, or had had no choice in the matter, like Satin, who had been born to this fate. 

Theon lifted his head, catching that glimpse of worry, of concern. Why would anyone care what opinion he had of them? There were far worse things to be than a whore, and there was not a part of him that felt entitled to judge Satin for it. It was something many would consider shameful and disgraceful, especially for a man, and he supposed now he could understand why Satin was out here alone, avoiding the constant glares of the men he’d sworn to fight alongside of.

“I have more important matters on my mind. Table discussion of the personal lives of other men don’t interest me much.” Besides, he was a target himself of the same thing–shame for being the Greyjoy loyal to a pack of wolves, and shame for turning his back on them in favor of his real family. Reputation meant little for the ones born in unfortunate situations, and that went for Satin too. He’d had no choice of who he was born to and in what matter of a place he was raised, yet it was still his burden to bear–unfair cruelty at its finest. 

“I’m glad for your company as well.” Theon replied with a small smile, taking a seat on one of the smoothened stone steps behind him–clear indication he had no intention to depart and end their conversation. “I imagine such a life wasn’t an easy one. There were many that came into those brothels drunk and considerably unkind.” He was guilty himself of playing rough here and there, but always to the enjoyment of his partner, never to strike fear into them or to seek some sick source of entertainment. “Is that why you flinch so easy?” 

The question was likely too personal, and Theon sighed and shook his head in apology. “No need to answer that of course. I’ve just felt the impact of cruel hands on me in the past and so I know the discomfort it brings to have an unexpected touch. I noticed your tension when I touched your back.”

                 SATIN’S SMILE WAS EDGED with sweetness and relief. He was overjoyed to hear that Theon was not disgusted by him, and paid no mind to the whispers about the secrets of others. In all honestly, he did not know how he would have consoled himself knowing that Theon no longer wanted to have anything to do with him. 

                 “It’s alright, I don’t mind. I trust you.” He had seen Theon from afar plenty, had heard what he had done for Jon’s flame-haired sister, and saw that his Lord Commander had vested trust in him in turn. That was enough in Satin’s book, especially paired with the kindness and gentility that Theon had already shown him. 

                Shoulders clad in black shrugged. “It was not easy, but it was all I knew - I was born there, grew up within the walls of a brothel, never knew anything else.” All he’d known was that, and the Wall - Satin often mourned for the life he’d missed out on, but for a base-born boy from the back-alleys of Oldtown, he supposed it was more than he was entitled to. “Some were unkind, some just rough-handed - there were a few I was fond enough of not to cringe horribly when they came calling. I got used to the bad sort, they outnumbered the others, and it’s made me skittish, especially since I left for the Wall.” 

                Green eyes turned gently on Theon. “I know you wouldn’t hurt me, Lord Greyjoy. It’s nothing more than a reaction of habit.” He wanted Theon to know that he did not view him like he viewed those men. “It is true then - what they say about you and Ramsay Snow? I don’t mean to assume, but... at Winterfell, it was hard to ignore the whispers.” 

Theon’s smile faded, wondering how it was that Satin could prove his loyalty and bravery in battle, but to no avail. Even the weight of his own crimes had been lessened in Jon’s eyes after he’d taken up a sword and fought to reclaim Winterfell. “And what is it that they can’t seem to forget? I know different reasons drive men to the wall, even something as simple as not having a place to go, but I fail to see anything about you that they would find so objectionable.”

Looks and first impressions rarely told the entire truth however, and Theon could only guess to what had brought him there. Perhaps he wouldn’t wish to speak of it, and out of respect of that–as he had plenty of his own he did not want to air openly–he could abandon the topic.

“Festivals, brothels, taverns–it’s true I was drawn to these places just to indulge and enjoy.” He huffed, a wry smile appearing for only a moment or two. “But things change, and I’m not so fond of the noise and clutter as I once was.” He hated being touched, grabbed, brushed against–the feeling of being surrounded and in the middle of a crowd in which he could not control or anticipate what happened around him–it was enough to fray his nerves even now.

“I don’t keep much company these days, but I’ve found comfort in the silence it brings.” He slid his fingers along the length of his bowstring, distracting himself with it, and wishing things could in fact go back to the way they were. Foolish desire, his own mistakes had brought him here and this was the price he paid along with the mistreatment and theft of a body he once prided. 

                   SATIN SWALLOWED HARD AND tried to steel himself against the nerves running riot in his stomach. He enjoyed Theon’s company, found him far more easy-going and agreeable than most, and felt fear at the prospect of telling him about the circumstances which had landed him at the Wall lest they repulse him and make him unwilling to speak to him again. 

                  “It is not the reason I had to take the black that motivates their hatred.” Satin said, measuredly as he tried to remind himself that it was better to tell Theon now and lose him early, rather than let himself get more attached and affording himself worse heartbreak in time. “It is what I was. I was born in a brothel in Oldtown.” Satin watched Theon carefully with both fear and a plea in his eyes. “I was a whore, m’lord. They cannot look past that, I am surprised you haven’t heard - it is all they talk about.” 

                  Satin tried to find solace in the fact that Theon had admitted to frequenting such establishments as where he used to work but knew that visiting brothels did not make a man instantly kind to those who worked within - especially not the boys. In fact, patrons were often worse, in Satin’s experience, for they lashed out with both disdain and sometimes guilt. 

                 “In that case, I am glad to have been able to share your company.” Even if it was not to last. When he thought back on it, Satin realised that Theon was often alone or sitting off to the side away from the crowds - he had just thought him shy, or reserved. Satin had heard the men talk about the Bolton boy, and that Theon had been in his clutches before the Battle for Winterfell, and he supposed it must have to do with that. The stories turned Satin’s stomach, so he had never listened for long. It did not seem fair, nor kind. 

“Oh, my apologies.” She smiled at his name. “Satin. That is a lovely name.” Myrcella assumed his awkwardness came from a place of knowing who she was, but when he asked her name, she felt a bit better. “My name is Lady Myrcella, of House Baratheon.” Myrcella still smiled, however, her voice got more quiet towards the end of her sentence, almost as if she was ashamed to claim that surname. 

“Ah. A steward. Did you already know how to read when you went to the wall?” She asked, signaling for a servant to bring them wine. “Do you feel like wine?” She asked, motioning for him to take his seat. “It wasn’t my intention for you to leave your seat. I apologize for my impetuosity, it is only that I’ve found an interest in the Night’s Watch as of late.” 

As the servant scurried over to them, she pushed the two goblets closer to her in an effort to make her job easier. “Hmph. I know that the Night’s Watch forbids carnal activities, but are you allowed ales and wine?”

               “THANK YOU, LADY MYRCELLA.” He said, with a shy smile. The women who raised him told him his mother had given him a different name, a more conventional one, but by the time he’d been old enough to recognise his own name he was known exclusively as Satin. The name had stuck, and it was all he had now, unlike this lady who had names and titles aplenty. “It’s an honour to meet you.” 

               A princess, or former princess, wishing to speak to him was a little overwhelming and Satin tried not to seem so tense in her presence. “A little, how to read signs and write my name, that sort of thing. I still don’t, really. There are more important things to learn at Castle Black.” How to fight and hunt and ride had been higher on that agenda, though Samwell had been working with him on his letters during what little downtime they had had on the journey to the capital. His cheeks pinked in embarrassment to admit his meagre literacy to Robert Baratheon’s daughter, who must have had the best tutors in the realm at her disposal. 

              “I do - thank you.” He marvelled at the way the servant came immediately when she asked, and smiled gratefully at her as she left to attend to someone else. “The rules are rigid, but not so much as to ban alcohol - sometimes, it’s the only way to keep warm.” Satin took a sip and let the good wine warm his courage now that there was no ice to combat. “What we have up there is swill, though, compared to this.”