@1910560 || Ilja (or whoever <3)
She had been writing until her eyes were near crossing, letters in different languages and scripts, letters to be sent north and south with messengers to more isolated farmsteads offering coin for any surplus from the autumn harvest, letters to home inquiring about the winter stores there, none that had yet been sent but still, the dowager queen had spent hours putting quill to paper and her legs demanded a walk and eyes a break from candlelight. They left the Danish wing of the castle, making the well worn path to the outside. The air was refreshing- crisp and cold, as if she were plunging into the ocean on a hot day rather than stepping out of a stuffy and heated fortress.
They stood in the entranceway for a moment, adjusting to the cold icy air, before setting off on their walk. It was less than rare to end up near the training camps in one of the yards- she had never been a stranger to them, and it was always best to have an idea of who the strongest fighters were. She stood to the side, watching the match in front of her, making silent notes. “Do you know who that is?” they asked, nodding to one of the fighters.