The Brothel stank of burning pipeweed and fresh sex. Gendry had never frequented establishments like these. Mainly because he had no coin to spend on the company of whores. Had he been born a man of high status, it might've been too tempting to resist. Brothels were a place for men with money and power. Gendry was nothing of the sort.

Despite his adamance that Sorcha remain outside, he had yet again been ignored. However, Sorcha had raised some very logical points on the issues that may arise from their separation. Had she stayed outside the brothel, there was every possibility that a man searching for a quick fuck might spot such a stunning woman and decide she was better than any whore. This way, Gendry could keep his eyes on her. But Sorcha's innocence was as good as gone. He pondered how much she had to begin with, given her unabashed nudity thus far.

The tile was cold and cracked beneath Sorcha's bare feet as they made their way into the dimly lit foyer. The brothel was one of the finer establishments in the industry. Gendry knew that much, at least, from the ornate chaise and golden threaded throw pillows to high ceilings and arched doorways.

A haze of sensual incense permeated the air, illuminated by the tiny beams of sunlight filtering through gaps in drawn velvet curtains. Laughter echoed ahead, though as Sorcha heard it she could tell it was false. Then there were the moans, high and exaggerated to the point of dramatics and the accompanying primal grunts as the men reached completion.

Through every doorway was a whore and her patron. To the right, a man lounged across the settee as a dark-haired and porcelain-skinned woman bobbed up and down between his legs. Her body was in a state of half undress, fabric hanging around her waists, petite breasts swung as she bent on her knees to service him. Perched on the windowsill another woman was violently penetrated from behind as a man wrinkled with age wrapped his hand about her delicate throat and tilted her head back.

Gendry pulled Sorcha along with a protective hand around her waist. The man on the settee had fixated on Sorcha with a dazed hunger that could only mean one thing. Gendry strategically placed himself between them. Nose wrinkling at the sharp sound of skin slapping against skin, Gendry guided Sorcha with a hand resting softly on her lower back.

As they entered the pentagonal atrium, a scantily clad acrobatic woman hung from the center of the ceiling, entangled in swaths of silk. All around her were men and women in various states of intercourse, some still clothed and drinking from goblets of blood-red wine. When the acrobat saw them coming, she commenced a rehearsed routine of twirls and splits, spreading her legs wide before them. Sorcha's head turned to continue watching her work the silks as they passed.

"That is amazing. Gendry, did you see that? She put her legs a--"

"I'm trying to see as little as possible right now." His stiff response evoked a frown from his companion as they picked their way around the room. He was trying his very best to search for Nour whilst avoiding eye contact with any patrons and their hired lovers.

"Unfortunate for you. These women are quite talented." Sorcha muttered, tilting her head to study a particularly creative sexual position involving two men and a woman. "You act as if you've never seen a woman naked before."

"I've seen--" Gendry stopped and schooled himself. "I've seen a woman naked before. Many times, actually." His face had flushed a shade of red, not unlike an overripe tomato.
"I've seen you naked, haven't I?"

"I'm not a woman, doesn't count." Her response was blunt, as if that fact should've been obvious.

"Certainly look like one." He said it before he realized exactly how that sounded. Yes, he'd seen her naked, and yes, he'd found her overwhelmingly attractive- but he would never attempt to touch her in the way these men were handling the whores. These men were greedy, rough, selfish. They took what they wanted and were done with it. They thought of these women as playthings, objects. Despite their profession, these were still women, just as Nour was.

Sorcha grinned as a beautiful woman with braided chestnut hair and mossy eyes approached them. Her gaze honed on Gendry with a look of false lust that made him squirm in his shoes. She stopped mere inches before him and draped a delicate hand over his shoulder. He stepped back in surprise, but she was unperturbed.

"Hello, Darling. I see you brought your woman along." The prostitute batted her eyes seductively at him, then licked her lips as she turned her attention to Sorcha. With sweeping steps, she circled him and picked up a thick strand of Sorcha's curls. Her other hand trailed down her cheek, to her collarbone, and around until she stood behind Sorcha and pressed her breasts into Sorcha's back. A trail of goosebumps formed across her onyx skin, and Sorcha found herself leaning into the heat of the woman's embrace. "You strike me as a man who likes to watch. I'd be happy to take her—"

"No-" Gendry's voice was harsh as a winter wind. "We're not here for that." He pulled Sorcha away from her with a firm tug. The prostitute seemed taken aback, but the practiced mask of seduction returned almost as soon as it dropped.

"We're looking for someone." Sorcha declared, swallowing the heat that had rushed through her at the intimate touches of the woman's fingers.

"Well, if you'd like to be with one of our girls, in particular, take your pick." She waved a hand to the atrium full of beautiful women ready to serve him in whatever way he desired. Bile rose in Gendry's throat. He could have any woman he wanted for a price-- take them wholly and completely whatever way he wanted.

"I'm not here for sex." He tried to keep the disgust from his face.

"We do provide other services. Perhaps you'd just like to talk, be held?" The prostitute's voice softened the slightest bit with the offer, and Gendry had the feeling that these types of clients were preferred.

"I'm looking for a friend, her name's Nour." He spoke quietly, continuing to scan the room of naked women for his old friend. He prayed he wouldn't find her being taken by some dirty guardsman on the floor of a brothel.

"Who's asking?" The prostitute's demeanor had altered entirely with those few words. Her eyes had a steely edge to them, a look of suspicion. Gendry bit his tongue in frustration.

A firm hand settled on his arm, and Sorcha stepped forward. She reached out her other arm to the woman and pressed something into her hand. It was only when she pulled back that Gendry saw the shining silver piece in the whore's palm. She looked up at Sorcha in surprise. It was evident that she'd thought them to be nothing more than a pair of poor swindlers looking for a free fuck.

"We just want to talk to her. It's important." There was a moment of hesitation where the woman looked between Sorcha and the coin, seeming to deliberate before reaching out to snatch the money and tuck it in the bust of her dress.

"Make yourselves comfortable. I'll see what I can do." She nodded to an empty love seat against the wall.

"Thank you," Sorcha smiled gratefully, and the woman spared her a curt nod, then turned to stride through an arched doorway. Gendry had half a mind to follow her and ensure she didn't just take off with the coin, but Sorcha's hand on his arm kept him from following through. He turned to her in bewilderment.

"How the hell did you learn how to bribe someone?"

"We've been sailing with pirates for weeks." She shrugged, tucking away the coin pouch. "Where do you think?" Gendry shook his head and wondered if she would ever stop surprising him. He stood beside her, his muscles coiled tight enough that his head had begun to throb with tension. Sorcha pursed her lips as she watched his jaw work and his brows furrow.

Her hand trailed down his arm and brushed against his hand in silent comfort. As he felt her fingers intertwine with his, the anxiety clawing at his chest quieted like sweltering sunlight soothed by icy ocean mist. His lips curled up in the slightest show of thanks. It was a strange moment to find his heart fluttering in his chest, surrounded by filth and lust and the cries of pleasure. Yet there he was, trying to ignore the pang of something new as it was coaxed by such an innocent touch. The return of the prostitute rescued him from any further thought on the subject.

The blood drained from his face as he saw who followed after her. Nour's steps faltered, and her dark eyes widened just a fraction. It was enough to tell that she recognized him. Her surprise was wiped away like footprints in the sand and replaced with practiced poise. Nour rolled her shoulders back into a posture of regality.

The prostitute they'd bribed hesitated, letting Nour take the lead. Nour's dress was more elaborate than the others they'd seen, with a structured bodice and laced corset, the low neckline embroidered with deep blue and purple threads. A smile curved her lips as she crossed the room towards them, but it was not one of familiarity. It was the same hungry look of a hunter stalking its prey that the first woman had. Her dress trailed around her as she approached, and when she stopped before Gendry, the fabric took a moment to settle.

Nour gave him a seductive smile and leaned close enough that her lips brushed against his ear. The scent of orange blossoms and clove surrounded him, and a pang of nostalgia shot through him. It was undeniably her. Though a much more expensive and well-crafted perfume, it reminded him of the little bottle of oil Nour's mother would make from the leftover orange peels when they had the means to buy the sweet fruit. Every last bit of their meals would be used, as was a necessity when you lived a less than charmed life.

Gendry remembered breaking into Nour's mother's bedroom together and stealing the tiniest drop of oil just to sit on the front step and savor it. Of course, their theft never went unnoticed, as her parents could smell it on them clear as day, but they let the children have their fun and savor the small luxuries. Nour's hot breath warmed his skin, and he had to resist the urge to embrace her.

"Play along. There are eyes and ears everywhere." Her hands pressed against his chest and trailed downward with tantalizing strokes. While he might've found it an inviting interaction-- with Nour, it felt deeply wrong for her to be touching him this way. She was just a girl when he'd last seen her, practically his sister.

"My Lord, it is wonderful to see you again. As requested, we have a private room ready for you and your Lady. If you would follow me, I can take care of you personally." Her voice curled around him and brushed along his skin like fine silk. But this voice, this woman, was foreign to him. Instead of warming his core and stirring his lust, it felt like a violation. So inherently wrong coming from Nour's lips that he could barely keep a hold of himself not to flinch away.

He chose to focus on the warmth of Sorcha's hand. Not the succubus before him. Even as Nour took his other hand and led them through the atrium to a central arched door. The wood was heavy, and it took a little shove of effort for her to open it. A few patrons watched them as they passed, but none lingered. It was frowned upon to stick your nose in others business at establishments like these. Almost every man in attendance had a woman at home with a belly full and three more babes running about her feet.

The prostitute they'd bribed carried up the rear, focusing intently on Sorcha. Gendry recognized the reverence in her eyes, something that he believed only Sorcha could evoke from someone. It evidently wasn't just men who found her irresistible. But the woman stopped just inside the door, averting her eyes to Nour, who dropped Gendry's hand the moment they were inside the room.

"Cecile, ensure that we are not interrupted for any reason." Nour gave her a meaningful look, one that commanded obedience.

"Yes, Madame." Cecile dipped into a curtsey, her chin lowering and chestnut hair curtaining her face. Gendry watched as she exited and sealed the door tightly behind her. The room plunged into silence. The cries and slaps cut off, and now it was only three. Nour hurried over to the door, fishing a key from the skirts of her flowing dress. The fabric hissed across the floorboards as she turned the key and clicked the lock into place. She turned then and rested her back against the door, her hands pressed behind her back. All seduction had evaporated, and in her eyes, Gendry saw his friend.

Sorcha stepped away, finding a seat to tuck herself away. They needed a moment. The air around them charged with longing. Not romantic, but a deep familial love that spanned time and distance. Gendry and Nour stared at each other, neither truly believing the other real. Then a gasp ripped from Nour's breast as if her emotions had suddenly tipped the scales and could no longer be held.

That was all it took to send them hurtling towards each other like magnets. Nour threw her arms about his neck, and Gendry let out a huff as they collided. His arms wrapped about her waist with such desperation that he didn't even know he'd done it until he felt the shuddering breaths as Nour sobbed.

"I thought you were dead." She muttered, wiping furiously at her charcoal-rimmed eyes. The makeup smudged a dark like across her cheekbones. Nour stepped back, attempting to compose herself enough to address him in more than muttered sentences and half intelligible sobs.

"I nearly was." His eyes darted to Sorcha, who'd busied herself with the shimmering trinkets that adorned the office. She was obviously listening, he knew her well enough to tell when she was eavesdropping, and she almost always was. Nour produced an embroidered handkerchief from her dress pocket, something he was positive she'd made herself, and wiped her nose with a great sniff.

Gendry eyed her person closely. She had changed so much since he'd last seen her. Her face, once plump and soft, had sharpened and thinned. Angular cheekbones, striking almond eyes, and a body that belonged to a woman, not the girl he'd grown up with.

"You look... Different." He wasn't sure exactly what to say in a situation like theirs, but judging by the quirk of Nour's eyebrow, that was not it.

"Different?" She scoffed. "You always did have a way with women, Gendry." There was an upturn to her rouged lips that kept him from sweating. Nour reached up to fiddle with the jeweled pins holding her hair in place. The silence that followed sobered him. His joy at reuniting with his friend could only last so long.

"What the hell happened, Ninni?" His voice was barely above a whisper. Nour's eyes darkened. Not with anger, but deep, festering pain. Her vague amused smile didn't dip into a frown as he'd expected. Her expression remained the same, but her eyes told another story. "Madame?"

"The position opened up unexpectedly a few weeks ago." Turning her back to him, Nour snatched a glass decanter from a nearby table. Unexpected, meaning the previous position holder had met an unsavory end. "The king can be a little overzealous when it comes to pleasure." With a flourish, she placed three steel goblets in a neat line. Wine poured into each with a babble.

"Why are you here to begin with?" Gendry watched her back closely, watching her steady hands as she poured each drink. She seemed unfazed by the turn in the conversation when he felt as if he'd drunk a bucket of acid.

"Not all of us can be so lucky as to be an apprentice." She offered him the goblet and took it without thinking. When he registered the wine in his hand, he placed it aside. He didn't have the stomach for spirits, not in a place like this.

"I know that, but a whore? You must've had some other choice." He pressed as Nour carried the second goblet over to Sorcha. She smiled in thanks, holding the goblet with both hands and swirling the liquid to examine it closer. "You used to make your own dresses. You have skills."

"None of the seamstresses want a filthy girl from Flea Bottom in their shop." There was the slightest bite to Nour's tone. She took a sip of wine to hide the scowl. "What was I to do? Women don't have the luxury of finding work round every corner. The taverns have enough wenches to pour mead and clean up piss. I had no marriage prospects, no parents." She draped herself across an upholstered chaise and looked into his eyes with such anguish, his heart clenched. "Don't you dare judge me, Gendry."

Her chin tilted up and to the side with pressed lips. It was as if she was preparing for another onslaught of questions and outrage. Nour had spent the last four years of her life carving herself into marble. Survival was more than food, water, and shelter. It was tact and seduction, perseverance and impenetrability. To do the things needed to get by in a cruel world such as this, she needed to wrap herself in armor. It was painted across her at that moment with every crease of skin and coil of muscle.

"You're right." Gendry swallowed hard, the lump in his throat so hard that it felt like a stone lodged within. "I'm sorry. I don't know what you've been through. We do what we can to survive." He dropped his eyes to the floor in shame, his cheeks flaming. It was almost impossible to place his childhood friend with this woman before him, but as her steely eyes softened upon him, he could catch the slightest glimpse of the girl he knew.

"The years have not been kind to me. I've had to work for every inch I've gained. I earned this position, and it may not be a seamstress or a baker, but it's work. I take care of these women like I would my own family."

"You made the best of your situation. That's more than most can say." Nour's body relaxed into her seat, the tension leaking from her face and softening into a smile. A clunk sounded as Sorcha set the goblet unceremoniously down on the table. The sour expression she had told Gendry that she'd tried the wine.

"And who might this be?" Sorcha stopped what she was doing and looked over at them-- definitely eavesdropping. Nour looked between them expectantly.

"Uh, this is Sorcha. She's my--" Gendry hesitated, trying and failing to find the right label for what their relationship was. Partner? Friend? Should he continue to claim her as his wife, even when the circumstance didn't require it? He had to admit that the thought of Nour believing him married to a beautiful woman like Sorcha was a tempting thought. "Traveling companion." He settled on the title with a bitter taste in his mouth. Nour bit back an amused grin, evidently not believing him for a second.

"Still can't lie for shit." With a laugh, Sorcha took her acknowledgment as an invitation to drop the act of busying herself. She stepped towards them and sat down in an adjacent loveseat, looking Nour over as she did.

"You are very beautiful," Sorcha stated as if it was merely a fact, not a compliment.

"As are you." Nour smiled a truly genuine smile. A wave of nostalgia washed over Gendry. How he wished they could reunite under more joyous circumstances. "How did this oaf end up with a woman like you on his arm?" Sorcha laughed, her nose scrunching in its familiar way.

"Well, I'm not sure you'd believe it if I told you the truth." She admitted, not sure what truth she should share with this woman. Gendry seemed to trust her, love her even, but they'd been apart for almost four years. Nour's position as Madame was evidence enough that things change drastically within that period. But just how much had she changed? "It's a very long story."

"I look forward to hearing it." Nour nodded over the lip of her goblet. Her gaze shifted to Gendry again, and the mirth she'd regained in Sorcha's company abated. "But I'm afraid you've returned to a different city than you remember."

"What do you mean?" His brows pulled together, and he took a seat next to Sorcha. Nour swallowed, balancing her cup on her knee.

"Just two days after you left for The Wall, Gold Cloaks stormed the city, searching for King Robert's Bastards." Gendry's pulse quickened. She knew she had to know. Nour was no fool, and it wouldn't surprise him if she'd worked out his lineage before he even did. Her eyes were searching as she dared to continue with her statement. "They charged into this very brothel, though it was months before I arrived. Estella, she'd given birth a week before to a daughter. The Gold Cloaks ripped the babe from her breast and slew it before its mother." There was a sharp intake of breath from beside him as Sorcha's hand flew to cover her mouth. Nour's jaw worked with emotion.

The impact of baby Barra's slaughter was felt in the brothel to that very day. Estella's death followed three months after the incident. The grief of losing a child had been too much, and she'd taken her own life within the brothel's walls. It happened the very first week of Nour's employment. Lord Baelish was a cruel man. There was no pretending otherwise. His first order had been to clean the mess and dispose of the whore before any patron's saw. None of the women were quite the same since.

Nour had spent hours on her knees in that room scrubbing at the deep rust colored stain. She's scrubbed until her skin was raw and cracked, until the bleach mixture stung and her eyes were bloodshot from tears. They'd lost family. First with baby Barra, then with Estella. To Baelish, Estella was nothing more than a wasted asset.

"They slaughtered every bastard in the city, save one. They searched Mott's forge, beat the shit out of him looking for you. But you were already gone." Gendry sat back in shock.

"He knew," Gendry whispered, his eyes glazed with realization. "Mott-- He knew who I was."

"I feared they would figure out his motives in sending you away and kill him for interfering. Luckily Gold Cloaks aren't known for their intelligence." Nour's words only just pierced the surface of Gendry's tumultuous thoughts. "We heard whispers that they'd found you, run you through on the way to the wall." Sorcha placed a hand on his thigh, light and comforting. The touch pulled him from his thoughts enough to sputter out a sentence.

"I was beating myself up, wondering what I'd done to warrant sending me off like some deadbeat criminal." He ran a hand down his face. "I hated him. I used to imagine what I'd say if I ever got the chance, how I'd tell him how much I resented and loathed him for what he did. But, Mott did it to protect me." Within a few moments, Gendry's life had changed once more. Everything he believed to be true was turned on its head. He hadn't been betrayed years ago by the closest thing to a father he ever had. Mott was protecting him.

NOTE

Okay we got a bit risqué in this chapter with the brothel but I didn't go too hard in the description cause it didn't need it. What do you think of Nour? Is she trustworthy? Any predictions and hopes for the next few chapters?