"I am many things, a widow, a daughter, a princess, a queen. But that isn't who I am. I am a storm that you should not want to meet. I am the queen of storms."
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JOANNA BARATHEON FELT WARMTH COME TOWARDS HER EYES AS SHE OPENED THEM. She was surrounded by essences of roses, which scent she fairly loved. It was foreign, the feeling of the new day as it has always been during each time she would wake from this unpleasant sleep. But nevertheless, she was just thankful she was alive. She should be. For life was never something that was given more than once and she was lucky that she managed to survive this again. Some easily succumb to illness and have no proper medication or help whatsoever. She only need look around to see how lucky she was to be alive right now.
"You are awake, my lady." She looked towards the door that opened, Joanna saw maester Pycelle, his ragged brown cloak and heavy iron chains hung from his neck. "You had frightened everyone, my lady."
"W-what happened?" She asks the aged man, trying to sit up. "All I remember was holding my brother and then..."
"Your illness shook you, my lady." He informs her in a small tone, pouring some medical ailment on a cup for her to drink. "It won't come back fully but it seems it will show once in a while."
"I won't die from it, will I?" She asks worriedly. She has no plan to die yet, not without her brother and not without living her youthful life.
The aged man handed her the cup, which she took gently and drank obediently. "No my lady. It will not kill you. It's somehow...inside you for as long as we know it. The King demanded a cure immediately but I can only do so much as always. I have written to the Citadel and asked them of more help, as always."
The girl had always hated that she was ill. She never liked that there was some mystery behind it, it didn't make sense to her why the Seven would put her in such a misery. The misery of not knowing what's wrong with her bothered her. What if one day she would have an attack and suddenly die? She shuddered at the thought.
"What happened in King's Landing whilst I was gone?" She asks as she casted her eyes around the window.
The grand maester was silent as he eyed her, pausing. He really think he shouldn't. King's Landing was a mess right now. The Hand of the king, Jon Arryn had just died, only hours ago. His wife and sickly son had fled back to the Vale. He was sure that the girl need not more pained news gracing her ear. After all, she had much on her plate already and it wasn't something so common.
"Lord maester, I order of you." The golden doe told the aged man of the Citadel. "Tell me."
"The lord Arryn had gotten ill." Pycelle had said truthfully. "I was tending to him in your absence, my lady. He sadly was plucked from the living by the Seven a few mere hours before the sun arose."
Joanna could not believe it. Jon Arryn was dead. The idea of it seemed rather off and suspicious. She recalled seeing him jolly and rather well during her and Joffrey's name-day. But in a mere few days of her absence he passed on to death's hands. She felt her heart pounce harshly at the thought of her dream a mere few nights as well.
