The next morning, Jon woke before the sun. His blanket was half off, the air cold enough to sting his nose. He sat up slowly, rubbing his eyes. For a while, he just looked around, still half asleep, until his gaze fell on the small table near the bed.
The soaps sat there in a crooked line — pale, uneven little lumps. He stared at them for a moment, remembering yesterday. It had worked. It really had. Elsie had used it, and it worked better than he'd even hoped. He should've felt proud.
But when he picked one up and brought it close, the smell hit him again — that same faint stink of fat and smoke. It wasn't as bad as before, just… stubborn. It clung to his fingers, to the air, like something that refused to leave.
He frowned. "Still not right," he muttered. "Still smells like stew left too long."
He turned the bar over in his hand, the light from the small window just starting to creep in. The soap was hard, smooth in some places, rough in others. It worked fine — maybe even great — but no one would want to use something that smelled like boiled bones. Not Lady Stark, not Sansa, not anyone with a nose.
He sighed, leaning back a little. "It's clean, but it's not… nice."
He set the soap back down, looking at it like it had personally challenged him. "I just need a scent," he said, as if talking to himself — or maybe to the stubborn little lump in front of him. "Something that smells good enough people want to use it."
He rubbed his hands together and looked out the window. The sky was still gray, the courtyard below quiet. "Alright," he whispered. "Let's fix this."
After training, Jon was wiping sweat from his face when Robb came up beside him, grinning.
"So," Robb said, nudging him with the wooden sword, "what's this thing you're always working on lately? You sneak around more than the kitchen cats."
Jon rolled his eyes. "It's nothing."
"Nothing?" Robb smirked. "You've been stealing pots from the kitchen and making strange smells behind the stables. You sure you're not turning into a lady, mixing perfumes?"
Jon snorted, trying not to smile. "You'll see soon enough."
"Oh? A surprise then?" Robb said, leaning closer.
"Something like that," Jon said simply, grabbing his cloak. "You'll find out when it's ready."
He didn't wait for Robb's next question. Instead, he left the training yard, still breathing hard from the drills, and made his way toward the rookery. The stone steps were cold under his boots,and the air inside smelled faintly of parchment, feathers, and old candles.
Maester Luwin was already there, sorting through a pile of scrolls. His gray robes brushed quietly against the floor as he moved.
"Maester Luwin?" Jon said, stopping by the door.
The old man looked up, adjusting his chain. "Jon. You're up early again.
That's good discipline. What brings you here? More questions about history or your sword drills?"
Jon shook his head. "No, not this time. I need… scents."
"Scents?" Luwin repeated, tilting his head.
"Yes," Jon said, stepping closer. "Something that smells nice — strong enough to hide bad smells."
Luwin's brows lifted. "Ah, perfumes, then?"
Jon rubbed the back of his neck. "Not perfume exactly. Just herbs, maybe. Things that smell good when boiled or burned."
The Maester gave him a curious look, his mouth twitching slightly like he was hiding a smile. "You're an unusual boy, Jon Snow. Most lads your age ask for sword oil, not mint and flowers."
Jon shrugged, a bit embarrassed. "It's for something I'm making. It needs to smell better."
Luwin chuckled softly, then turned toward one of the small shelves. "Well… there are a few ways to make things smell less foul. Dried mint leaves work well enough, though they're sharp on the nose. Pine needles too — strong and easy to find near the woods. If you want something finer, lavender or sage, but those are rare up here. The mountain herbs also have a strong scent, though they can be bitter."
Jon's eyes lit up. "Could I use any of those? Maybe mix them?"
"In theory, yes," Luwin said, rummaging through a drawer. "But be careful. Too much mint will sting the eyes and skin. And if you use the mountain herbs, test them first — some are not as friendly as they smell."
He finally pulled out a small bundle wrapped in thin paper and handed it to Jon. The faint scent of mint and pine drifted up. "Here. These should do. They're dried, but they'll still release their oils in warm water."
Jon stared at the bundle, a small grin tugging at his face. "Can I really have them?"
"You may," Luwin said, smiling. "But if I find you've turned the kitchen into a forest, I'll have you cleaning out the rookery for a week."
Jon laughed under his breath. "I'll be careful. I promise."
"Good," Luwin said, nodding. "And Jon?"
Jon looked up. "Yes, Maester?"
"Whatever you're making," Luwin said, his eyes kind but sharp,
"remember — even small things can change a household. Sometimes more than swords do."
Jon didn't quite understand what he meant, but he nodded anyway, clutching the herbs. "I'll remember that."
He turned and left, his boots echoing softly against the stone steps, already thinking about how he could make the next batch smell like something people wanted to touch.
Elsie found him later that day near the back gardens, crouched low by the herb patch. The ground was half frozen, and his fingers were red from digging. She was carrying a basket of linens, face pink from the cold.
"There you are," she said. "I thought you'd burned yourself with that pot thing and died."
Jon didn't look up. "Not yet." He brushed dirt from his hands. "Help me pick some of these. Maester Luwin said mint and pine might work."
"Work for what?" she asked, stepping closer. "Another one of your smell tricks?"
"Not tricks," Jon said. "It's an improvement."
Elsie snorted, half-laughing. "You and your words. Fine. Hand me the basket before you ruin my patch."
They worked quietly for a while, the frost crunching under their boots. Jon picked mint and pine needles, and Elsie added a few dry flowers that still clung to the cold stems. When Jon crushed a leaf between his fingers, the air filled with that sharp, clean scent. It smelled alive — crisp, cold, green.
"That's strong," Elsie said, sniffing. "Better than that dead smell last time."
Jon smiled faintly. "Then maybe this time it'll work."
Later, behind the stables again, he melted one of the rough soap bars in his dented pot and stirred in the herbs. The fat hissed and spat, the air filling with a strange mix — part forest, part smoke, part something new. Elsie leaned over, squinting into the steam.
"Well," she said, "it doesn't make me gag this time. That's something."
Jon grinned. "Then it's working."
By the next morning, the smell had softened — faint mint and pine, gentle but fresh. When Jon rubbed it between his palms, the scent clung faintly to his skin. "Better," he murmured. "Still not perfect… but better."
That evening, when Elsie's mother, Mira, came looking for her, she found Jon and Elsie behind the kitchens again. The girl was helping him pour the last of the soap mixture into small wooden cups. Mira's nose wrinkled the moment she caught the faint trace of smoke and mint in the air.
"There you are," she said. "What's this smell now? You two boiling another beast back here?"
Elsie turned, startled. "Mama! No—it's not like that. It's… the same thing I used before. Remember last week?"
Mira frowned, confused. "The thing that made you look all shiny and clean?"
Elsie nodded quickly, excitement bright in her face. "Yes! This is it! The one that made the dirt just come off. The water turned black, and my hands—see?" She held them out. "It's this soap thing Jon made!"
Mira blinked, glancing from her daughter's hands to the strange pale lump on the table. "That ugly thing did that?" she said, pointing. "You're not joking?"
"No!" Elsie laughed. "It's the same one I used. Jon made it from fat and ashes—well, and herbs now. It smells better, doesn't it?"
Mira stepped closer, still frowning, still not believing. "You're telling me that lump's what made you look like you borrowed a noble girl's skin?"
Jon rubbed the back of his neck, mumbling, "It's not much, really. Just… something I remembered."
Mira picked up one of the small bars, sniffed it, and raised her brows. "Smells like the woods after rain." Then, still suspicious, she dipped her hands into a bucket of water nearby and rubbed the soap between her palms. White froth formed almost instantly, the gray dirt lifting away. She froze, staring down as if she'd just seen magic.
"Well, I'll be—" she whispered. She rinsed, rubbed her fingers together, and gasped softly. "It's gone. All of it. My hands are clean. Even the cracks look better." Her voice carried more awe than disbelief now. "Feels soft, too."
Elsie grinned wide. "Told you!"
Mira looked between the two of them, half laughing, half shaking her head. "You mean to tell me this is what you've been hiding? This little lump of miracle fat?"
Elsie nodded quickly. "We were waiting to show it. It's still not ready, Jon says."
Mira sniffed again, smiling despite herself. "Not ready? Feels ready enough to fool the gods." She held her palms up, amazed. "I haven't felt my skin this smooth since I was a girl."
"Just don't tell anyone yet," Elsie said quickly. "We're keeping it secret for now."
Her mother raised a brow. "A secret? With something that makes me this clean?" She gave a short laugh. "Good luck keeping that quiet, love."
"Mama!" Elsie groaned. "Please."
Mira only smiled and tucked the soap into her apron. "Alright, alright. My lips are sealed. But if the maids notice tomorrow, don't blame me if they drag it out of me."
As she left, still rubbing her palms and shaking her head in disbelief, Elsie looked at Jon, sighing. "She's definitely going to tell someone."
Jon just smiled. "Let her. It's better when people see for themselves."
Elsie frowned, but a small grin tugged at her mouth. "You really think so?"
Jon nodded, eyes on the small bowl of mint-scented soap cooling on the table. "I do. They'll see."