#&helvis.t

It set her on edge, the maesters' insistence that even cured, she remain bedbound until her strength returned to her. It had only been a day, and the fatigue had not yet loosened its grip upon her bones, but Helvis was too uncomfortable to rest, and too weak to rise. Still; she had instructed the servants to air out the room, clear the stale sweated out air, put out the fire, and asked for some reading to be brought to her. Her eyes could barely concentrate on the words, yet even that offered a respite from the haze her mind became, left to its own devices. The poison had wrung her dry. She had not realised she would be so weak before it. She had never been likely to take ill, as a girl, and even moons ago had escaped the clutches of the wasting illness that had ravaged the Stormlands. Are you a frail old woman, now, to be felled so easily? It must change, if she was. There were too many who required her guiding hand now, for her to let her breath give way.

She was in the middle of swallowing a tasteless broth when there was a knock on the door. "Syrenna," Helvis nodded, lowering the spoon from her mouth. "Good that you have come. Have you broken your fast yet?" There was much to speak of, but not before... she looked over at the servant who had brought her her meal, and apparently been strictly instructed to watch her complete it. To her, she added: “You may go; my daughter will make certain I do not choke on water.”

King's Landing always offered much to complain about. A long few days' travel had left Helvis saddlesore and weary with it, pained in the legs and restless. At Storm's Ends she might take a comfortable turn with a lady in the godswood, ease the pains in the shaded comfort of the anwercient trees... but the Baratheon manse in King's Landing offered no such retreat. The gates to the Red Keep were closed, and would remain so, Chayton had been informed, until the day of the invitation. The city was too vast and too ripe for a walk, and yet with no other avenue, Helvis found herself with a lady's maid and a nervous guardsman, walking the shaded streets by the manse.

The streets here were busy, always, so much unlike the villages that had sat at the base of every home she had ever known. Even the little sept, no more than a seven-sided hall, though with well-painted icons upon the walls, had people within, even at this morning hour. Helvis would never understand how such a surfeit of life could suffer itself in such close quarters; why they withstood it. Her maid handed the makeshift septon there a handful of stags in and they took their leave.

On her return, she saw a familiar presence, and paused. A large party had halted the passage of any other who wished to make use of this street, and the gathered gold cloaks were making a nuisance of themselves rather than offering aid. Helvis sighed and turned to stand in the shade, until the disagreement resolved itself... and found another that she recognised a small distance away, watching these same proceedings.

"Lady Arryn," Helvis greeted, approaching. “What a pleasant happenstance. I had wondered whether you would be in attendance at the Kingsmoot.”

what is honor compared to a woman's love? what is duty against the feel of a newborn son in your arms… or the memory of a brother's smile? wind and words. wind and words. we are only human, and the gods have fashioned us for love. that is our great glory, and our great tragedy. dependent multimuse affiliated with @103ac.

lady helvis baratheon née selmy — intro . threads . musings . wanted connections

shiera waters — intro . threads . musings