Simple Servant - Game of Thrones

Chapter Seven

She folded his jerkin as he asked, "How was your day?"

"Lady Bellegere Otherys stopped by," Rosie said. "She bought my newest dress. The one I spent the last week making? Seventy Heads and a new friendship."

Arthur hummed and slid his arms around her waist, pulling her back against his front as he kissed her neck. He murmured against her as Rosie reached to weave her fingers through his hair, "Some of the bravos complain that their wives have nothing to do but complain." He chuckled. "I could mention that you need some help around here."

"More help means more dresses. More dresses mean more patrons. More patrons, more money, more money, more fabric to make more dresses, and so on," Rosie hummed, turning in his arms. The same sword still drifted deep in the sea that was his eyes. "You don't think they'll hate working for someone so much younger than them?"

"You just sold a dress to the most prominent woman in the city," her love said. "You should be charging them to work for you." She smiled and stood on her toes to kiss his lips. "Most of the bravos are my age or a few years older. Their wives would be the same or younger."

"Then maybe mentioning it wouldn't hurt," Rosie said thoughtfully. "Enough about me. How's your day been, my love?" He started sweeping the shop while she moved to the door to lock it for the day. Arthur told her Ferrego Antaryon invited him to the Sealord's Palace to speak privately, but he had put off accepting the invitation. "You must go. He's the Sealord!"

"Love, I can't make an enemy of the First Sword," Arthur said. "There's too many people in the city who love him. If Qarro challenges me, I'll have to kill him or be killed in turn, and we don't need that sort of trouble."

Rosie closed the shutters and latched them shut before turning and putting her hands on her hips. "So make the people love you more," she said. "Do what you did in that village along the Mander. Those people adored you even more than they did Margaery Tyrell."

"That's where the problems start," Arthur said. "Too much popularity too quickly for a simple guardsman will be seen as me reaching too high and will make enemies of the nobility."

"Then do it slowly," she countered. "Go to the Moon Pool, fight the bravos, build your name up over time. People still talk about the previous First Sword, Syrio Forel. I heard that's what he did. He built up, let's say, collateral with the commons and the nobility."

"I'm already exhausted as it is," Arthur said. "Going out at night to thrash poxy bravos around might just be enough to tip me over the edge and into the grave." He went to her and cradled her face in his hands. "And I don't need you worrying yourself until you follow me into it."

Rosie put her hands on his chest and sighed. "You still have to meet with the Sealord."

"I know this," he said.

She smirked at him. "The Braavosi dialect is rubbing off on you."

"I spend a lot of time with drunk Braavosi," he smiled.

Rosie laughed and kissed him before taking his hand and leading him into the back room. "I think you need some rest, my love," she pointed out, feeling his gaze on her behind. "You're exhausted, aren't you? Surely too much so for sex."

"Don't underestimate me."

She giggled. "Never."

Invigorated, he scooped her into his arms, and Rosie squealed excitedly. Arthur hurried up to the room in their little house, dropping her onto the feather bed before crawling over her and kissing her brow, cheek, chin, and left open-mouthed kisses along her neck. Rosie sighed contentedly and pulled his face to kiss his lips, relishing the taste of him.