|All is Not Well|
|Summary:||Anais visits Pyrs with concerns for her husband.|
|Related Logs:||Give me More|
|Maester Pyrs' chambers|
|Wed Jun 06, 289|
Various fragrants and odors, although bottled permiate in the maester's 'personal' chambers. Besides the main door of entry there was another door that would lead to where the man's bed was stationed along with private effects not having any relation to his duty. A raven squaked in it's cage while Pyrs combed through a large tomb with one wrinkled and thin skinned finger, searching through the text as he waited for the mixture within a small kettle to cook.
One might have expected Anais to stop by the maester's quarters earlier, given her ordeal, but she's stubbornly insisted that she's fine, outside of not eating for three days. Now, though, she finally appears…if not for a check up of her own. She knocks lightly at the outer door, leaning her head in tentatively. "Maester?" she calls in a low tone. "Are you in?"
Loyan, this particular ebony feathered raven, answered the lady's inquiry with a high pitched caw, causing Pyrs to gaze at the corvidae with mild amusement before admitting, "Yes yes, come in." It was far too much effort to leave his table however Anais is afforded a turn of his head, thick eyebrows raising high before settling. "I've wondered when you would visit." As it should have been the other way around. Marking his place in the tome, Pyrs closes it for the time being and turns about, fully facing the woman. "How are you settling in m'lady?"
Anais steps carefully into the room, hands at her skirts to keep them from brushing anything. One might get the impression that the Maester at the Banefort was not exactly accommodating to visitors. Or at least visitors with a tendency to be overly curious and touch things. "I'm all right, thank you," she answers with a small smile, taking just such a curious look around. "I didn't- I mean to say- Well. There were people who needed more attention than I did. I wasn't injured."
A muted snort comes from the Maester while shaking his head, "What makes you so less deserving than they?" Pyrs asked while a hand made a gesture inviting the woman to sit on a stool if she so wished it. "If memory serves me correctly, at the hopefully not so near in the future of Lord Jerold's passing you will be the Lady of this Keep." Duh. "Injuries may fester beyond just what our eyes may see." With a wooden spoon the maester begins stirring the mixture.
Anais moves to perch on the stool, hands braced to either side of herself and feet swinging a bit. "I don't think there's any medicine for what ails me, Maester," she answers simply, lifting one shoulder in a shrug. "My pride may be a little bruised, but there's not much to be done about that." Quiet, she reaches up to tuck a curl behind her ear, watching him as he works. "Hidden injuries like Jacsen's can cause trouble, I suppose. Do you know what finally woke him?"
As she speaks, occasionally a brow lofts upon Pyrs features to encourage her spreading of burdens. "You would be surprise what cures are out there for even the most unconventional ailments." He turns around on a direct path for the shelves of various labeled items. A few are uncorked, sniffed and then returned in search of something else. "I do. Lord Jacsen is going through a difficult time m'lady." With a couple of bottles gathered in hand the maester soon returns to the table, setting each one down gently while still engaged with the lady Terrick. "He'll be short tempered, foul mouthed and perhaps even abusive." Pyrs pours a little of the contents of some brown thick liquid that smelled god awful. No strain on his nose however. "I've taken away his medicine." Like one would a toddler's toy.
Oddly enough, Anais seems more relieved than upset, sighing softly and slumping just a bit on the stool. "Oh, good," she says quietly. "The medicine, I mean. Not the- the temper and the like," she adds with a wave of her hand. She pauses, brows furrowing in a frustrated frown. "That came out wrong. What I mean to say is that I came because I was concerned about the Milk of the Poppy. Maester Gwyllam had thought before his episode that he might be partaking too much of it, and I didn't know if anyone had told you, or what the situation was, but I do know he's- I don't know. How would I know if he was off? He was ill for more time than we spent as normal newlyweds."
A small cloud of smoke rises from the iron kettel, filling the air with a foul odor. Pyrs would appear to be undisturbed by it. "He was partaking too much, truth be told." He told his Jacsen's wife without reservation. "I've reviewed Maester Gwyllam's dictations. Quite thorough." A nod to his predecessor. "For now as he is weened off the medication the lord will be unruly, upright difficult in fact but better for it." Another pinch of some white powder is added to the heated mixture. "You'll know lady Anais. He'll be immensely different than he is now." Pleasurable in fact, the man raises his head and smiles a little. Wrinkled lines deepen along his weathered features. "Permit me to worry about his well being hmm? And yours. Are you sleeping? Eating?"
"What about the pain, though?" Anais asks as the maester discusses weaning Jacsen off of his medication. "Is there- I mean, is there anything else to be done for it? I'd be glad to help, if there's anything I can do." Which has nothing to do with the fact that he's gotten most of his care from the Dornishwoman who attends him for the last few years. Nothing. "I eat as much as I can, with the rations," she adds to his question. "And I sleep. Some. I've never been a sound sleeper, though. A few hours here, a few hours there." She braces her hands on the stool, sitting a little straighter to peer at what he's mixing. "What are you making?"
"Milk from the Poppy is indeed strong, numbing to most if not all pain sensations and your husband has been relatively free from it. What he may believe is pain is perhaps a masked desire. We may never know, until he is better, if it is true pain or not." The maester lifts the cloth top of a clay bowl, within are dozens of writhing earth worms. Using a thick and padded linen, he takes the handle of the kettle and slowly pours the dark brown mixture within the clay bowl. "And this is normal for you hmm?" The man asks just as he finished the kettle and return it upon the stan. "Loyan's food. He is a picky little brat. Eats far better than you or I that is a guarantee."
"Sort of normal," Anais allows, shifting guiltily on the stool. "I mean, it's true, I've never been a sound sleeper. But I find it hard to go to sleep at night here, where I can't hear the sea. I always heard it at home," she explains. "I just don't feel tired, though. When I am, I sleep for a little bit. Not usually more than a few hours at a time, though." She watches as he pours the liquid over the worms, patently curious. "What's in it? I never thought about what ravens ate. Outside of corpses, that is."
"Grounded livers, fruits and some remaining animal parts scrounged from the Kennel Master." He answers while taking the bowl over to the apparently very anxious raven who caws loudly for it's meal. "Fresh corpses." The man corrects. "This one prefers his meals sweet." He opens the caged door before slipping the bowl inside. Loyan dives into the wiggling mess with delight while flapping its wings. Pyrs smirks before his frame turns about, fully facing the lady. "We all need our evening rest and our full meals. Try not to create an imbalance of either hmm? It would be quite easy for me to habitually create a sleeping drought for you to consume nightly though it would only mask your problems without addressing them."
He's shifting closer to the table and both hands are set flat upon the surface. "In my early days of living in the citadel I could not sleep for many nights. I believed it was because of my excitement to finally have been accepted. When they arranged for a new young man to share the same chambers as I, I discovered that evening that sleep came much easier. It turns out he was a heavy snorer." Pyrs smirks a little, "As were my brothers. A musical chorus of irregular and God awful teeth grinding, choking and throat vibrations. And yet some part of me felt comfortable with that." After a moment he also adds, "If you cannot live near the sea lady Anais you may have to bring the sea with you."
"No, I'd rather not take a sleeping draught," Anais shakes her head. "I want to be able to be there for Jacsen if he wakes in the night." There's something else behind those words, though she pushes it back as she slips down from the stool, taking a tentative step toward the raven's cage. "Are they as smart as everyone says they are?" she asks, still keeping her hands clasped firmly in front of herself.
"A noble desire." Pyrs returns, perhaps paying compliment. His aged steel colored eyes follow Anais' movement towards Loyan, still happily massacring his prepared meal. "Quite intelligent. They are thinkers. Problem solvers and immensely patient creatures. I've begun seeing if I may train this one to count." On a dejected tone he adds, "Only to three thus far."
"That's higher than some bandits," Anais says with slightly forced cheer, looking over with a small smile. She takes a step back from the cage, looking to the maester. "Will you let me know if things change with Jacsen?" she asks. "I'm trying to be a good wife to him, but sometimes it feels like I'm at a massive disadvantage when he's surrounded by people who've known him his whole life and certainly know him better than I do."
"Indeed, it is." Pyrs slips both hands into his robe out of habit rather than seeking its warmth. "I will." He tells her. "Truthfully you are. It may take years until either you or your husband are comfortable enough with each other. You each had your own lives and now this time should be used to build one together. Though I wouldn't fret on it, I am told, or I have read in books, that good marriages take effort from both sides."
"Yes. Well." Anais wipes her hands on her skirts, watching the raven. "I left my own life to be a part of his. I don't- It's just that he has options, and he doesn't have to look to me, but he's the only person I have to look to. And now I'm-" She stops, stepping back with a small smile. "Now I'm rambling. I should get back to work. Thank you," she adds. "It's good to know you have my husband's best interests in mind."
As Anais rambles the maester's brow wrinkles deeper. Troubles and concerns he'll never have nor experience. Such is the life for a noble woman. "You're welcome." He tells her, allowing the woman to believe what she wished. "Good day Lady Anais."
"And you, Maester," Anais dips her chin. And with that - hands still clasped neatly in front of herself, she departs the maester's chambers.