Festival of Roses

Having finished his meager breakfast that composed of bread, fruit and water down mead, Simon headed towards the keep, entering the gardens. Since his services were not required yet and as he had had the time to prepare the day's lecture the day before he allowed himself a simple indulgence. A walk among the greenery in this case. He strolled slowly, meandering among the bushes and trees, trying to recall which of them had medicinal uses.

Behind the Keep, where the surrounding wall was deeply embedded in the shores of the Blueburn, the walkway offered a pleasant view of the opposite shore. When the Keep had been built, the ground had sloped sharply to the water, and quarried stone had been used to build a level foundation. Garden beds had been installed at the edge of this artificial cliff, arranged into a number of comparatively private seating areas.

It was one of these where Simon happened across a woman in septa’s garb. She was as still as a statue, hands folded, looking out over the water.

Simon paused for a moment to regard the woman. It wasn't as if he didn't get along with the faith. He simply chose not to interact with the faith, just as his colleagues tended to do. They left the matters pertaining the Seven to the clergy and focused on more mundane matters. As far as he knew, clergy saw no problems with this division of labor. So the young maester stood there, pondering if he should turn back and leave the septa to fer devices or if he should try to sneak past her.

“Don’t stand there with your mouth agape, boy, it’s rude.” The Septa hadn’t so much as turned her head, she just stood, motionless as stone, speaking with a tone of authority.

"Yes, Septa." Simon nodded, straightening himself as he did so. Seeing that there was no escape, he began to pave towards the older woman. "Good afternoon. I hope I didn't disturb your prayers." Or whatever she had been doing.

The Septa hrmmed, “makes no difference now if you did or you didn’t,” she finally turned to look at the young man. She looked more youthful than her tone might have suggested.

"I guess that is the case. But at least I can leave the Septa be, if I did." he suggested, softly squinting his eyes as he was trying to make sense of her age.

“Can I assume that you didn’t simply stop to stare at me? Or have you been at the Citadel so long, you’ve forgotten what manners are?” The septa’s gown was plain and unadorned, but on a long chain, resting low on the swell of her breasts, was an iridescent crystal. It refracted the sunlight, casting a tiny halo of colour on the fabric beneath.

"Yes Septa." Simon bobbed his head. "I am sorry Septa." he murmured, his steps finally taking him to her. Turning to look around, Simon muttered. "Quite a garden the Meadows have here."

She nodded primly and turned as well to look out over the river once more, "they are a fitting place for reflection and contemplation. Is that what brought you here this afternoon, maester?"