The Stone in the Stag’s hoof.
-The weak warmth of the South was not unfamiliar to Violet; though she still found it a little too chilling, on occasion, she had become accustomed to its subtle sunlight and cool breezes over the time she had spent serving a number of lords and ladies in Kings Landing. Yes, many members of the aristocracy had employed her, though she had stayed in one house no longer that four months. It seemed that the great houses of Westeros did not appreciate her particular strengths the same way they did in the khalasar. And now, it seemed, she was to be assigned to a potential king, though out of spite more than any display of her merit. The lord she currently served under was none too happy with his house’s forced allegiance to the youngest Baratheon, so was apparently handing her over both as a way of being rid of her for good and as a false gift to his new ruler. She was unsurprised and relieved. Had his hands wandered any further, she may have cut one off, and she would quite like to keep her head securely attached to her neck. Curtsy, her Lord whispered in her ear, and she flinched in disgust at the imprint his breath left on her neck - her knees bent, however, and her impractical skirts were lifted just slightly in this ridiculous show of subservience. “My name is Violet, Your Highness. I represent House Rambton’s pledge of allegiance - I am here to serve.”
@xingrenly