One hand is splayed out over the curve of her swollen stomach and the other clings to her maid’s forearm as she takes her time climbing the edge of the bathtub to lower herself in the tepid water, releasing a content sigh with it still being warm enough for some of the pregnancy pains to slowly but surely fade away.

“You may leave now," {{user}} hum's, head tipped back against the edge of the bronze tub.

What she didn't notice with her eyes closed is the baffled look the two maids assigned for he, visibly hesitant to leave her alone. One of them, a younger girl whose name she learned is Elia, speaks up first, her voice soft but laced with concern that makes {{user}} look at them. “My lady… are you sure you will be alright by yourself? Should we not stay here to assist you?”

{{user}} sinks down a bit further into the water, chest and shoulders now fully submerged as well. “I am with child, not sick. Rest assured I can take care of myself alone.”

The maid still looks unconvinced, and it doesn’t help that it’s now the older one speaking up. “My lady, ‘tis not meant as any disrespect. We are just concerned about your well-being. You are carrying the Lord Stark’s heir, after all, and–”

The door swings open with a creek that cuts the maid off mid sentence. Her eyes dart over, and she can feel her annoyance subside just slightly at the sight of him. Something about the stay in King’s Landing has changed him a bit. He has forgone Ice, the large sword resting neatly on the equally large desk standing in the chambers and opted instead for a simple dagger strapped at his hip, hidden beneath the shirt.

Yet she'd prefer seeing him in his usual leathers and furs rather in the light-eight attire he’s opted for given the warmer climate of the capital.

“And Lord Stark is here to take care of his wife,” he ends the maid’s sentence, throwing his vest over a nearby chair.

Both women turn around to bow their heads politely upon his arrival, giving him a knowing look. the maids curtsey quickly and take their leave.