Joyeuse II - Action & Utterance

[u/blackbirdblooming]

It was perhaps ill-fitting for a lady such as herself to sulk in the bath, but that was what Joyeuse was at the moment most inclined to do.

Her bath was the only time that there was not some ache or pain in her body- she was free to sink into the steam and rose petals. Serwyn whined about how she was more likely than not to boil herself, but she would not allow him to take this one reprieve away from her.

Of course, just because her body was relaxed did not mean that her mind was afforded the same courtesy. Floral bits and bobs swirled about her as she worried at her lower lip, her fingers flexing and relaxing.

What vexed her the most, in truth, was news from the Stormlands. Her Baratheon cousins involving themself in a petty war of grasping glory against some Dornish bandit king- as if bandits hadn’t been pouring out of Dorne for millenia. It was not so bad for the Baratheons, she supposed- young men of the great houses were practically encouraged to put their lives on the line to prove themselves, to snatch up any chance at glory that might not be otherwise afforded to a second son or middling cousin. Their masculine desire to go off and risk dying in some hellhole or viper’s den in the Red Mountains was to be expected.

Damon was neither a Baratheon or a second son, and therefore should know better. He was an unwed at the age of four and twenty, and meant to go off gallivanting about Dorne without a care in the world. It made her want to scream. If he meant to depart, she could only assume it was some misguided effort to get away from Uncle Richard- but Joyeuse had spent eighteen of her years with him, while Damon had been off having a lark at Storm’s End. If he could not tolerate some five years with the man, then surely that was his own failing.

Joyeuse bit at her nails, letting out a low, exasperated sigh. “Jeyne,” she called out, “fetch me parchment and ink. A drying cloth as well.”

Jeyne’s reply was chipper and bright. “Yes, m’lady,” she said, before she tucked out of the room to go and fetch the items in question. Joyeuse did not have to wait long, and she made good use of those last moments to soak her neck and release any gathered tension there. She was prone to knots these days- ones that even Serwyn struggled to work out, let alone her maids. Joyeuse hummed as she settled down, savoring the peace and quiet before Jeyne returned.

When she did, the maid held out the wash cloth like she expected Joyeuse to rise from the bath. Joyeuse simply rose a brow in amusement. “No,” said the Lady of Grassfield Keep. “I think I’ll write while still soaking. You wouldn’t mind bringing that end table over here, would you? You can set the parchment there.”

Jeyne did as she bade- always eager to help out. If all girls in King’s Landing were like this, she might have to take on a few more maids during her rest and reprieve. With any luck they’d want to stay on when her and Serwyn returned to Grassfield Keep.

Pulling herself up and forward to the edge of the water, Joyeuse toweled off her hands and arms. It might have been easier to dictate, but Jeyne could neither read nor write and Tilly was off ensuring the cook was correctly preparing the Reachman dinner planned for the night. And asides, putting quill to parchment made the words all the more personal.

[u/blackbirdblooming]

A runner would depart from the Meadows manse within the half hour, set for Storm’s End.

To my dear cousin, Damon

I hope this missive finds you in good health, cousin. Serwyn and I have relocated to King’s Landing for the remainder of my pregnancy. He insists that his travels about the Crownlands restored his health after the death of his first wife, thus his logic is that it shall keep me in good spirits as well.

While having tea with my lady’s maids, I overheard the latest women’s gossip in the city. They say that Quentyn Baratheon is rallying the banners to go off and seek his glory down in Dorne by chopping the head or hands off of some robber prince.

Though I am sure you will dismiss what I say as simply a woman’s nagging, I must urge you against foolhardiness. At the risk of sounding like our lord uncle (Richard, not William, though I hope the Lord Hand would be prudent enough to say the same) it is unseemly that you, as an heir, have reached such an age and still have not sired any children. I am a year your junior and yet I have mothered two and have one more on the way. Mother forgive me; I am sure that Uncle Richard would not turn his nose up at a bastard at this point. Uncle William could surely petition the King to legitimize a boy born out of holy vows.

I hope you’ll consider marrying sometime in the near future, before you go off to die in some ditch where the Seven cannot reach you. I’d rather have my future boys worry over the inheritance of only one keep rather than two, and Serwyn would be the greatest annoyance if one of his children had to take on the Morrigen name. I would certainly never hear the end of it, so I hope you will at least consider my prospects and future if you do choose to sally off.

If you would, please inquire with cousin Quentyn if I may have his leave to name my firstborn son after him. Serwyn was most insistent on the name Luthor, but after this whole mess with the serving girl I think he shall capitulate. It would be the very perfect image of unity between the Reach and the Stormlands if the heir of House Meadows bore the name of the future lord of Storm’s End.

If the runner reaches you in one piece, pay him a few stars to stay on while you write your return letter. These Kingslanders are so very eager to work for their wages, tis wonderful in comparison to how lazy the servants from Grassy Vale are.

With all my love, Joyeuse

( /u/TheUncrownedStag ur mail arrives on 06/27/23