< A SIMPLE, QUIET LIFE >

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TESHA WAS GLAD TO COME HOME AFTER WORKING THAT DAY. She'd had to clean up after a particularly long and involved "meeting", between several patrons at her place of business and their clients. Most would find it completely disgusting, but Tesha had dealt with all amounts of bodily fluids for the past few years; it wasn't something that ever phased her.

Sometimes while she cleaned, the girls would sit with her and talk about their affairs. Tesha didn't mind hearing about their clients, she knew that talking about it was a sort of comfort in a way to the girls. Sure, most of the girls enjoyed their lives for the most part, but after a few years of your body being used for nothing but other people's pleasure, such thoughts tended to take root in a particularly dark place of the mind.

Tesha refused to use the word "whore", when describing the women in the brothel. While hypocritical bastards berated and verbally abused the very women they took pleasure from, Tesha had grown to have a sort of respect for them. After all, they had quite a bit of confidence in their bodies and skills, enough to put themselves out there for all the world to see, and here, in Littlefinger's brothel, where they lived a fairly decent life. Fine clothes, to appease their clients of course, decadent food and drink, jewels, room and board. Things could be a lot worse than working in Petyr Baelish's brothel.

Some said that everyone who worked for Littlefinger was an offer, but that wasn't entirely true. Yes, Lord Baelish had offered her extra work, and Tesha had had to be very careful in her words when she declined. Treading cautiously, she reasoned that she made much more money with her current duties than she would selling her body, and if she did accept, she would not have time to manage the jobs she already had, and it would be fruitless if she fell behind on her other duties. Baelish hadn't bothered her again, but she remained wary in her steps after that. Refusing Petyr Baelish wasn't something that most loved to tell the tale of.

One of the newer girls, Ros, from the North, had quickly become fond of Tesha, just for having respect for the girls in the house. Ros had quickly wormed her way into the confidence of Lord Baelish, becoming one of his trusted girls. Such a position had it's benefits, but it could be quite dangerous as well. Crossing the Master of Coin was often a fatal thing to do.

When Tesha reached the door to her and her mother's home, she stopped suddenly, hearing more than just her mother's voice inside. There were two horses tied up outside the stone apartment, and by the look of it, they weren't simply common horses.

She could make out two voices besides her mother's, both male, both grown. Her mother sounded nervous, though she couldn't quite tell what they were speaking of. Coming out from her hiding spot, she walked through the door, making her presence known. For a low born bastard, she was very good at intimidating people, her stance almost commanding, and strong.

Her mother stood by the far wall, her arms wrapped around herself, and Tesha understood immediately that her mother was uncomfortable in these men's company.

When her mother's attention drew to her, so did the two men, whose backs had been to Tesha's.

She immediately knew the two of them were high born, and by the looks of their clothing, they most certainly were not southerners.

Tesha kept her face hardened, her shoulders tensed as she crossed her arms, mirroring her mother. She narrowed her eyes as she watched the men, suspicion etched into every one of her features, "Who are you? What do you want?"

The older man eyed her, his eyes darting across her features, taking in her deep brown eyes and hair, and her stance that seemed to command fear and power, and his thoughts were immediately confirmed. Jon Arryn had been right. Such a contrast to her mother behind them, whose auburn hair was fading with a combination of age and excessive sunlight, and her sharp green eyes that were flecked with gold.

The man seemed troubled, the lines on his face that had been drawn by age, made it seem as though he spent the majority of his life with a frown. He seemed aged well beyond his years. Tesha remained in the doorway, her eyes glancing to her mother's worried face before returning her gaze to the man before her, her expression hard as steel.

He turned to face Tesha's mother, Brene, "Is this her?"

Brene swallowed thickly, her eyes darting from the man to her daughter, and she remained silent.

He turned back to Tesha, taking a step toward her, and she held her ground, "My name is Eddard Stark, I'm the Hand of the King."

At that revelation, Tesh tensed more, glaring at him with suspicion, "And, why are you 'ere, milord?" She should have been far more respectful, but seeing her mother so fearful, she had quickly fostered a dislike for this man.

He seemed unfazed by her rudeness, understanding her suspicion, "I understand that my predecessor came to call upon you more than a few times, is this true?"

Nerves bottled in the pit of Tesha's stomach, and she breathed in sharply through her nose, "Aye, 'e did. Many times."

"Why did he?"

Tesha allowed herself to breath a little more, but kept her stance strong, "Asked us questions. When I was born, 'ow old I was, if I was doin' good with me work. Asked if we ate enough, if we was healthy," she paused looking to her mother, silently asking if she could continue. Brene nodded, but Tesha could see her hands twitching nervously.

Tesha continued to answer the Lord Hand's questions, "Then, 'e started askin' me mum about me father."

Lord Stark watched as the two women tensed, and he turned back to Brene, "And, do you know who her father was?"

"Course I know," Brene snapped. "And by the sound of it you already know as well." Tesha was somewhat surprised by her mother's abrasive tone. Her mother was always soft, and gentle with people, it was usually Tesha who was harsh with people, in the slums you had to be harsh every once in a while or you'd be in for a good arse kicking.

Lord Stark nodded towards Tesha, still speaking with Brene, "And does she know?"

"No. She doesn't, and she's not gonna know neither." Brene seemed to have found her confidence inside her fit of worry, and was now devoted to protecting her daughter, as she had been from the day she found out she was to have her.

Tesha on the other hand, was now far too curious for her own good, but when she attempted to speak, her mother cut her off, "She deserves to be happy, and live a good life. What good would knowin' that type of thing do?"

Attempting to diffuse the woman's temper, Lord Stark spoke up before she could continue, "If it is your wish that she remains uninformed, then that is your decision. I will not speak a word."

His companion had been ready to diffuse the situation in his own way, but knew that it would only make things worse. The Hand of the King turned back to Tesha, and proceeded to ask her questions, "I hope you don't mind me asking you a few questions of my own," his voice trailed off, and she knew his first question.

"Tesha."

He nodded, continuing, "And are you well?" She nodded. "And your work?"

She cleared her throat slightly, "I work in one of Lord Petyr Baelish's brothels."

At that, Lord Stark and his companion were clearly uncomfortable, and she rolled her eyes at their assumption, "I'm not a prostitute, milord. I cook, and clean, and help watch over the other girl's babes."

"I did not think-"

"Yes ye did. It's alrigh'. Most people who work for Littlefinger are in that line of work." At that, she managed a small grin, "My work's good. Pay's well. Can't complain."

He nodded, and chuckled lightly at that. "Aye," he said, "Well, I suppose we should be going. Take care, Tesha."

Once they had left, Tesha turned to her mother, whose bravado seemed to have worn thin, "That's the second high born that's come to us, mum."

Brene nodded solemnly, walking to sit on a stone seat in the wall.

Tesha continued, "They came fer a reason mum. Why've they come? Why've they asked us these questions?" When her mother shook her head, Tesha refused to simply give up on her questions as she always had. Both Hands of the King had come asking questions, and she herself now needed answers.

"Why'd they ask who fathered me, mum? Who was my father, mum?"

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Tesha hadn't been surprised when her mother refused her, but that didn't stop her from being angry.

High borns didn't just come to your door to check up on the smallfolk, especially not the Hands of the King.

When Jon Arryn had first come knocking, Tesha had been more than suspicious of the man's intentions. Why would he care who fathered her? She knew the man who had helped in giving her life was probably nothing more than a drunken fool, and she hadn't a single thought as to who he was. Nor did she care. So why did Jon Arryn and Eddard Stark care?

In truth, while suspicious of him, she had grown to like Jon Arryn's visits. He would bring food for her and her mother, and seemed to genuinely care for her well being. When she heard that he had died, she had been slightly saddened. The old man had been good to them.

But the smart part of her, hoped that Eddard Stark's visit would be the last thing of the high lords that would ever affect her life.

She didn't know how terribly wrong she would come to be.

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