"Are you going to get my sister a present for her name day?" Loras asked as they made their way through the harbour market. The first few trade journeys the fleet had made, Jon knew, had been hard and full of trials, but then some unknown benefactor - an old friend of Uncle Arthur's, apparently - had deposited a chest of gold to sponsor them and, apparently, given his own good word for their venture, and since then things had been going boomingly.
The ships already owned and being made would be paid off within two years rather than the projected fifteen, since trade was going swimmingly and Uncle Arthur's friends seemed determined to send some funds back with the ships every few moons. The pick-up in trade was reflected in the harbour market, which was livelier and far more colourful than Jon could have even imagined when he first saw the grey corpse of it almost two years ago.
Jon did not particularly like to think on his future Lady Wife. It was not that he disliked her. He had never met her himself, but he liked Loras, and Loras only had good things to say about his sister. It was that Jon did not know her, and it was the fact that he could not imagine being married at all, let alone within the year. He wished he could feel enough of an adult to accept such a thing as possible, but he simply did not know how.
"I do not even know what she might like," he said, keeping his eyes of his own feet. He knew Loras wanted him to be deeply in love with Margaery, and he knew that in turn was only a reflection of how much Loras liked him. He loved his friend all the more for finding him worthy of his sister, for wishing them every happiness in the world. Jon just simply did not know how to deal with any of it, let alone this Lady of Highgarden he had barely managed to exchange a few letters with through Loras.
Loras, infuriatingly tall as he was, wrapped an arm around Jon's shoulder and pressed his jaw to Jon's temple, holding the pose for several long moments, long enough for Jon to relax into it and let go of a few of his screaming fears, for now at least.
"It is a good thing I know my sister better than anyone, then, is it not?" he said, flashing a grin at Jon. He wrapped a calloused hand around Jon's wrist and pulled him along as they made their way through the throng of Dragonstone sellers and Westerosi buyers. Jon might have stopped to be impressed all over again at how his uncles had managed to make Dragonstone a centre of trade between Westeros and Essos once more if his future goodbrother had given him half a chance. Instead he found himself in the booth of a merchant peddling Myrish lace. "Roses," Loras told him, and gave Jon a gentle push in the back.
Jon still felt lost, but the salesman certainly did not, and Jon left a moment later with several yards of Myrish lace to be delivered to the castle before dawn. "It seems so impersonal, though, does it not?" he asked. "Anyone could have got her that."
Loras shrugged. "She will be happy with it," he said. "She is sowing her maiden's cloak, did you know? She told me in her last letter. She cannot wait to meet you."
Jon sucked in a nervous breath. He did not even want to imagine what marriage might be like if he were not already best friends with his future goodbrother, but it was daunting even still, and he hated the fact that he was sending off something as trite as a few yards of lace anyone might have bought. He may not wish to be married yet, but he wished even less for himself, let alone his future wife, to be unhappy.
Being a worthy husband, when he had once been nothing more than a bastard, was beyond daunting. And he did not wish for just some estranged political union. If he had to be married, he wished for himself and his wife to be friends at least. He may not have ever been on good terms with Lady Catelyn, but he knew his Lord Father and Lady Catelyn loved each other dearly, political marriage or not. That was what he would want, but he had no idea how to forge it.
It was just when they were leaving the market that he stopped short before one of the local craftsmen who were trying to ply their trades to the passing merchants. The man had a selection of jewellery in substandard dragonglass and crude metals displayed before him, but despite the inferiority of the materials, his pieces were truly beautiful, at least in Jon's eyes. He came to a stop, looking the jewellery over before looking up at the man himself.
He was the age Jon imagined his own grandfather would have been had he survived the Mad King's reign. Jon glanced back down at the intricate carvings displayed, then up again. A quick clearing of his throat was enough to get the man's attention. "If I were to get you green dragonglass and some gold, could you make me a rose necklace?" he asked.
The old man's purple eyes widened and he nodded his head, looking at Jon with more reverence than was strictly necessary. "Certainly, My Lord."
Jon nodded. Glanced back down at the pieces. "For a cut of your income, I might keep supplying you with superior materials, if that is acceptable to you?" he continued. "Depending on how the rose comes out, of course."
The man gave a deep bow before clasping Jon's hand to signify a deal struck.
When they were a few paces out of earshot, Loras turned to him with a grin. "See," he said. "That was perfect. She will love you for sure."
Jon felt himself flush. "I do not even know where I am going to get her marriage cloak," he confessed. "It is supposed to be made by my female family members, but Aunt Dacey cannot sew to save her life. Lady Catelyn hates me, and my sisters are still children."
Sympathy flashed across Loras' eyes, and Jon was reminded yet again why this was his best friend. It was not just that Loras was the only person his own age he had had a chance to be around in a long time. It was the fact that for all Loras' flash and pomp, he was good and kind and honourable, in his own way. It was the fact that Loras, despite the differences in their backgrounds, had somehow understood him, had liked him, had managed to sympathise with Jon's position in life for all that he did not understand it. Loras had never once uttered the word 'bastard' where Jon could hear, and Jon loved him for it. "Ask the bannermen," Loras said at last. "They all love you. Surely one of them will have a wife who will sew the cloak for you."
Jon grinned, and knocked his shoulder against that of his friend - well, his elbow, really - and led the rest of the way back to the castle.