Chapter Text
Clarke hums to herself, taking a sip of the provided wine. She rests her weight against the stone wall, looking down onto the gardens below. Grinning to herself as she watches the men rough house in the open field down to the side.
“My lady.”
Clarke rolls her eyes, setting down the goblet of wine and turning to the voice.
“I’m sorry to upset, but I am no lady,” Clarke dismisses easily, turning to find a stranger.
Blue eyes glance up and down, taking in the figure beside her. Also a woman, however, she is not dressed in a gown, instead wearing leather pants, with a blouse tucked into them. The blouse is lower cut, obviously an attempt to show some femininity in contrast to the pants, however, the leather still resembles armor.
“Forgive me, I am unaware of the customs still. Where I am from, any woman wearing a beautiful gown is given the respect of a lady,” the stranger states, bowing their head slightly.
“And where is this stranger from?” Clarke questions, grinning at the pink coating the woman’s cheeks, her eyes obviously having been drawn to her cleavage, thanks to the form-fitting dress.
“I am Alexandria Woods, of House Woods, deep in the North,” the woman says, finally introducing herself, green eyes meeting blue.
“I can’t say I’ve ever heard of the house,” Clarke teases, taking a step closer to the strange woman, “However, I am interested,” Clarke coos, her hand settling on her shoulder.
“I am sorry, my lady, I do not have coin, if that is what you’re wishing for,” Alexandria is quick to say, taking a step back and offering her hand, “I am called Lexa, by those who wish.”
Clarke grins, picking up her goblet of wine with one hand, and offering her other.
“I am Clarke Griffin, and I have already made the needed coin for this journey.”
“Griffin? I have not heard of your house either, my lady,” Lexa admits, bowing and pressing a kiss to the back of Clarke’s hand.
“It is not a house, I am a bastard, and thus, not a lady. I hail from Griffin’s Roost, in the Stormlands.”
“Should you not be Storm, then?” Lexa questions.
“More people pay to claim a Griffin than to calm a Storm,” Clarke smirks, taking a sip of the wine.
“With your beauty, I’m sure you’d be paid no matter what your name is,” Lexa admits, letting her eyes wander.
“Men would pay to stick themselves inside of a goblet if they needed to,” Clarke jokes, finishing the wine.
“Aye, men would,” Lexa agrees, licking her lips as she takes in the dark stain of Clarke’s lips.
“So, Lexa of House Woods, did you have a goal when you approached what you thought was a lady?” Clarke steps closer again, biting her bottom lip as she lets her eyes wander Lexa’s body.
“I merely wanted to spend time in the company of a beautiful woman,” Lexa whispers, looking into blue eyes.
“Were there not enough whores inside for you to choose from?” Clarke questions, her hand coming to rest in the center of Lexa’s chest.
“I saw you on the dance floor and your beauty is unrivaled by any of the whores around.”
“Perhaps they just wouldn’t give you time without the coin,” Clarke hums, moving one of Lexa’s braids over her shoulder, and leaning in.
“I wouldn’t blame any of them, however, you are the first I’ve spoken with tonight,” Lexa states, her head falling back as Clarke’s lips touch her neck.
“Most whores don’t know how wonderful a woman from the North can fuck,” Clarke purrs into Lexa’s ear, gently nibbling her earlobe.
“I uh,” Lexa sighs, her hands going to Clarke’s waist, holding her and she takes a step back, “I’m sorry.”
Clarke raises an eyebrow in surprise, looking at the conflicted woman. Lexa sighs again, her hands leaving Clarke in favor of playing with her braids.
“I’m sorry. My men have been pushing me to find someone to bed, and I picked you so you could deny me and I wouldn’t have to lie to them,” Lexa admits softly, looking at the ground.
“You poor thing, you’re heartbroken,” Clarke coos, grabbing one of Lexa’s hands, entangling their fingers.
“I’m sorry,” Lexa apologizes again, turning to rush away.
Clarke’s hand holds hers tighter, not letting her go.
“Come now, Alexandria, let’s give you a story to tell your men,” Clarke suggests with a grin, turning and gently pulling Lexa towards a door in the worn stone.
“I do not believe we are to be galavanting around the castle,” Lexa warns softly but follows the blonde woman.
“You would be surprised at how many secrets are hidden just past an unlocked door that men are too dense to realize,” Clarke says, Lexa’s hand still in hers as they enter the door.
“Where does this go?” Lexa questions, stopping at the top of the stairs.
“You will not know if you don’t follow me,” she grins, dropping Lexa’s hand and heading down the stairs.
Lexa takes a deep breath, looking at the long stairwell before her, torches lighting up the darkness, but not well. She can hear the footsteps of the blonde, having disappeared from view already.
“By the old Gods, forgive me,” Lexa mumbles to herself, heading into the darkness.
Lexa stands at the bottom of the stairs, looking around the large room in amazement. Lined around the walls of the great room are skulls, large skulls bigger than any animal Lexa has ever seen.
“How are these unguarded?” Lexa questions, stepping closer to one of the skulls, the teeth near as tall as she is.
"Guards are posted at the main entrance. They aren't too afraid of people attempting to smuggle dragon skulls," Clarke explains, walking through the rows of skulls.
"You could these ones," Lexa disagrees softly, looking at the smallest of the skulls, no bigger than a dog.
"Good luck getting out of the keep unharmed," Clarke scoffs, crouching to look at it closer.
"Don't touch it. Magic could still be within," Lexa scolds, reaching out and stopping Clarke from touching the skull.
"Ah, magic. I forget you Northerners believe in that stuff," Clarke admits, raising to face the brunette.
"You would too, if you've seen what I've seen," Lexa whispers, memories playing in her mind.
"And what have you seen? Alexandria from House Woods?" Clarke questions softly, looking into green eyes.
"Come on, Lady Clarke, let us find somewhere else to spend our time," Lexa says with a nod of her head towards the exit.
"Are you afraid of things long dead?" Clarke questions as they walk towards the exit, looking at the larger skulls, her hand reaching out, almost touching the skulls, air petting them.
"I am not afraid, merely know when to walk away," Lexa defends, climbing the stairs.
"Are you suggesting I do not?" Clarke questions, following the brunette, eyes drawn to her behind, well on display due to the leather pants.
"I am suggesting you have not seen the horrors I have, is all," Lexa defends, opening the door to the open air.
"Believe me, I have seen enough horrors of my own," Clarke admits, letting the door close behind her, and taking a deep breath of the clean air.
“Horrors of men and horrors of the unknown are very different, my lady,” she says, looking around the outside of the keep.
“Perhaps you would join me across town, and keep me company, and we can discuss the horrors we have seen?” Clarke suggests, grabbing Lexa’s hanging hand again.
“Perhaps we can discuss something besides the horrors?” Lexa suggests softly, turning to look into blue eyes.
“We can gaze upon the stars and discuss nothing,” Clarke suggests, nodding towards the exit.
Lexa smirks, following behind the blonde, enjoying the warmth of a hand in hers.
“What brings House Woods to the capital?” Clarke questions softly, as they walk around the balcony, heading towards the stairs at the far side.
“I’ve come to watch the great wedding, of course. There is sure to be a show,” Lexa answers softly, “Bringing in the new year with the blending of two great houses.”
“Are we not at war?” Clarke questions, her hand coming behind her back as she descends the stairs so they can remain holding hands.
“Aye, even war stops for such a grand celebration,” Lexa states, righting herself to Clarke’s side as they walk together, moving swiftly through the gathering people, growing more crowded.
“I’ve heard that there was a Red Wedding not long ago,” Clarke whispers, glancing at the brunette.
Lexa clinches her jaw, thinking of the past.
“Aye, there had been. I am here merely to help the remaining Stark make her way back North,” Lexa confesses softly, mindful of the eyes following her as they weave through the crowd.
“Is she not wed to the dwarf?” Clarke questions, looking around as they finally get to the street, only a few strangers standing around and discussing with themselves, no longer are they interesting as they walk the streets of Kings Landing.
“She is. It seems he is not as cruel as the king-to-be is rumored. He has sent and asked for handmaidens to remind his wife of home,” Lexa explains.
“And the North answered the plea?” Clarke questions, confused.
“The North is fighting to find a King, the least we can do is provide for the past,” Lexa states, raising an eyebrow as Clarke goes to the door of a house and drops her hand.
“So you believe there will be a new King named?”
“I am not to say, I have only brought two women of neighboring houses to serve Stark, as we have for hundreds of years,” Lexa dismisses the line of questioning, entering the small house.
“So you aren’t the handmaiden?” Clarke questions with a smirk, shutting the door behind her.
Lexa rolls her eyes, looking around the small apartment dwelling, “Do I resemble a lady of the court?”
“No,” Clarke answers softly, walking past Lexa, further into the house, brushing their hands.
“I must confess I thought we were going to watch the skies. I do not wish to-” Lexa cuts herself off as she notices a small spiral staircase, looking up to see a ladder also near the top.
“I do not have much, but I’ve spent a long time getting what I have,” Clarke explains, already climbing the ladder.
“How can a whore afford a dwelling with a roof?” Lexa wonders aloud, following the blonde, making sure to look down as she climbs, still mindful of the dress.
“I’m more than a common whore, I assure you,” Clarke answers truthfully, taking Lexa’s hand again as she looks around.
It is a small area on the roof, nothing much, but flat and the stars are clear above. There’s a small bench to the left, and multiple scraps of cloth thrown around the area, multiple colors staining the scraps of fabric.
“I confess, I enjoy the novel arts and am sometimes paid for the products,” Clarke explains, moving some yarn from the bench, pulling Lexa with her.
“You are a tapestry weaver?” Lexa questions, looking at, what seems to be, a mess of strings at her feet.
“I am. I also stain rocks and fabric, to create more. I believe it’s called painting, but I’m still learning how to craft the stains without damaging the cloth.”
“You are much more than a common whore, Clarke Griffin,” Lexa states softly, looking at the woman next to her.
Clarke can feel the heat in her cheeks, shaking her head at the idea that such a simple statement has caused the feelings inside her chest.
“Thank you,” she states softly, squeezing the hand in hers and looking to the sky, the sun setting somewhere in the distance, the high roofs of neighboring dwellings blocking the sunset.
“The castle which I reside in the North, it is much unlike this. Upon the top, you can see clear for hundreds of miles. The white snow looks like a blanket all around. Sunsets are much prettier in the south, as the snow makes sunsets blinding at home,” Lexa explains, enjoying the different colors of the sky.
“You sound like you might be enjoying the capital,” Clarke teases.
“If only I did not draw questioning stairs and disgusted looks for my choice of dress. I do enjoy the sunset, but I do not enjoy the warmth.”
“You can undress, if you wish. I will not touch, unless you wish me to,” Clarke suggests, her hand leaving Lexa’s grip in favor of resting on her knee.
Lexa’s hand covers Clarkes, holding it still, “If either of us were to touch the other, it would be I, touching you.”
Clarke smirks, leaning closer to the brunette on the bench, their thighs touching as Clarke angles her body. She turns her body, her breasts pressing into Lexa’s arm as she leans into the girl’s warmth, close to her ear.
“Can I not help another woman the way only women can?” Clarke questions, leaning closer, her tongue reaching out and catching a bead of sweat trailing down the side of Lexa’s neck.
Lexa swallows, holding back a noise as Clarke’s lips connect with her neck. There is a throb deep inside of her that she hasn’t felt in ages.
“Forgive me,” Clarke whispers, retreating swiftly and returning to sitting properly, “I had promised you a night without such intentions.”
Lexa licks her lips, her mouth suddenly dry, all moisture having moved somewhere else.
“Forgive me. I should not have come,” Lexa says, shaking her head as she stands up.
“Please,” Clarke reaches out, grabbing Lexa’s hand.
Lexa turns, looking down at the seated blonde. Her blue eyes remind Lexa of the clear skies back home as they look into each other.
“Please stay the night. I will not pressure you again, I swear by the seven,” Clarke begs, looking into green eyes, green like the gardens in Clarke’s memories of home.
“Why do you wish for me to spend the night?” Lexa questions, her eyes searching Clarke’s face, maybe dripping down to her lips for a moment or two.
“You intrigue me. Spoke to me as an equal, even after learning I’m a whore and not a lady,” Clarke confesses, her eyes also dipping to pink lips.
“I believe whores are more honest than the highest Queens, Kings are responsible for more death than any soldier, and the common folk have more intelligence than the maesters,” Lexa says honestly, looking away from the blonde, the tension too much.
“Those are big claims,” Clarke says softly, blue eyes trailing the body of the woman before her, yet again.
“Father says if I cannot fall a man, I could drive him to fall himself with my ramblings,” Lexa confesses softly, sitting down next to the blonde.
“Sounds like your father is a simple man,” Clarke offers her hand.
“Was. He was a simple man, believed in the laws and traditions given to him without question,” Lexa says softly, thinking of the man.
“There is nothing shameful in following orders of those above us,” Clarke grabs Lexa’s knee again, offering support.
“Perhaps if he didn’t, he would be alive for this wedding, instead of the last,” Lexa confesses softly, her hand covering Clarke’s once again, this time their finger weaving together.
“It is brave of you to come to another wedding.”
“If there is a Stark, we would rush into fire, that is the way,” Lexa says with a sigh.
“Sounds like you also follow the traditions of those before,” Clarke says softly.
“I do, but not without question. I am, however, still bound by my honor,” Lexa explains, looking up, the sky turning dark.
“There is too much honor for such an honorless world,” Clarke scoffs lights, running her free hand through her hair.
“That is quite a statement itself,” Lexa says, brows raising slightly.
Clarke shakes her head, “I apologize. I have heard of his honor for years and yet I still saw Ned Stark’s head on a spike, after he had claimed the new king is but a bastard. Many relied on the honor of Walder Frey and it took an entire army. Honor seems to be but a tool for those without honor to kill those who have it.”
Green eyes take in the blonde again, looking around the area.
“You are not a common whore,” Lexa states, standing and looking around the small area, her hand reaching for her knife.
“Calm yourself, you fool. If I was to kill you, I would’ve by now,” Clarke rolls her eyes.
“Who are you?” Lexa questions, glaring at the blonde.
“To you, I’m just a common whore, okay?”
“Common whores don’t speak like that. Do not know the whispers of the North. I will ask again, who are you?” Lexa questions, the metal of her blade shining in the near darkness.
“I have no plot against you, I swear it. I am but a collector of whispers,” Clarke explains, putting her hands up, “I do not know you, or about you.”
“Why should I believe you?”
“Why should you not?” Clarke challenges, “I know about whispers that you also know of. How does that paint me as worthy to be on the other end of your knife? After I have invited you into, not only my bed, but my home.”
Lexa swallows, looking at the blonde. Her hair almost glowing from the light of the raising moon, blue eyes shining.
“I was told to be careful of plots to end any Northman in the capital,” Lexa explains, putting her knife back into its holder.
“I have no intention of ending you, Alexandria of House Woods. If anything, I would like to pretend we could create more,” Clarke jokes with a playful smirk.
“Perhaps you are telling the truth,” Lexa admits softly, sitting back down, yet again.
“I am but a woman who has needs that get met more often than not,” Clarke explains, looking up at the sky.
“You are a strange woman, and I do not know if I trust you,” Lexa admits, looking at the blonde.
“I am not asking for you to, merely offering you a place to spend the night. The brothel is but down the road, if you wish.”
Lexa nods, looking up at the sky, taking in the beauty of the stars.
“No. I do not partake in brothels,” Lexa shakes her head.
Ignoring the way Lexa’s face scrunches up in disgust, Clarke raises.
“Come, Alexandria of house Woods, let us retire together for the night,” Clarke offers her hand.
“Just for the night,” Lexa states softly, taking Clarke’s offered hand.