Breaking Point

A number of days had passed since Helena had been ousted, though very little had actually changed… Aside from moving from a crowded common room to gaining a room in one of the abandoned buildings yet to be repurposed and the whispers surrounding the sudden favoritism; most leaning into the rumors of Helena being a bastard of a noble, Helena went about her days as normal.

Spent most of the day in the forge, either finishing the orders of the various fronts that worked their way to the rear encampment, or taking care of maintenance for the numerous men that filled the camp. Avoiding the camp wenches like the plague, and joining the few fellows she had managed to find for a number of rounds of warm ale and shitty wine which occasionally ended up in a drunken brawl somewhere amongst the camp. Though, Helena took great care in managing how much she was drinking, as she had no intent on getting drunk enough to lose her wits. There was far too much to lose… Unlike the others, she couldn't pull her tunic off and wrestle in the mud, nor could she just step away to take a piss.

Helena liked to think of herself as delicate where and when it mattered, and she wouldn't have her modesty shattered as a drunken mess…

As Helena lay in her bed of straw, wearing little more than a sheer shift; one of the many that she had 'inherited' from her Grandmother, Helena curled a strand of hair around her finger as she gazed up at the ceiling, slowly shifting through the memories of her Mother.

Most of them were blurred—unfocused, but those that had been forcibly recalled were vivid and disgustingly clear… Helena's skin crawled as she felt the echoes of her Mother's final moments in all their vileness, but it was the truth of the world—

Helena sighed, as she pulled her thoughts from the swamp of her mind, finding that particular line of thought to be an endless hole she'd never find the end of, yet there were no stars to count to distract her mind and no axe in her hand to busy her body on this sleepless night. The camp restrictions keep Helena from moving freely when the sun has set… It was either left out by the fires and tents surrogate outskirts of the village; which was more used to 'fluff' the perceived numbers of the camp, among fires, straw men, and the fellows you drank with. Or, remain in the confines of the building/room you are assigned…

Thus, Helena was left lying there staring at the ceiling, with naught but her thoughts to occupy her mind; something that Helena had learned over the past few moons was incredibly dangerous… There were times where Helena lost herself in their final moments, drowning in the echoes of their emotions and fueled by their desires for the briefest of moments… When she was crowded, Helena would occasionally spot her grandmother's corpse laying behind her at her feet while the surrounding chatter would blend with that mocking Essosi tongue… Her body would tense, and her thoughts would grow dangerous but the flowing Westeros tongue couldn't be overlayed by memories, coming paired to the sensation of reality. Those recalls couldn't compare, and would slowly fade into the background…

As for when she was alone, it was her Mother's final moments that seeped in through the depths of her mind, and Helena could only close her eyes in an attempt to push them away as the echoes of touches washed across her body, the shadowed sensation of her arms being bound, her legs being held and split—

Helena grit her teeth and violently shook her head in an attempt to dispel the recall from the forefront of her mind, though on this sleepless night it was a hopeless endeavor…

It would recall over and over again, the echoes of that memory dancing upon the darkness of her sight, twisting shadows into man and thoughts into reality as it all became far too REAL…

That flurry of shadowed emotions, mere echoes of their true self manifested as a tornado that drew in every thought leaving only the rampaging winds of emotion to fill her mind. Her Mother's sobs, screams, then the pain of biting off her own tongue washed through followed by that dull shadowed taste of iron, of rot, of decay filled her mouth…

Helena's eyes open to find a number of people filling her room, with Theobald; the wandering maester with two fingers upon her wrist that had been held in place by two people, one of whom she held by the face, her fingers pressed tightly against the beak of a bassinet—

Helena's mind feel blank, and her body relaxed while her fingers released the bassinet and her posture turned to lean against the wall at the heads—end of the bed, her voice soft yet held an unmistakable depth no longer hoarse from the lack of use, "I apologize…"

Theobald broke out into a ravenous chuckle, "Don't be like that! I've never seen such ferocity in a night terror, the poor lad that came into check on you after hearing your pained howls nearly lost his life when he came to your bedside, if he hadn't been wearing a gorget the apple of his throat would've been shattered… Now that you've seemed to have calmed down, would you like to explain exactly what had happened?"

As Helena's mind moved to process her situation, while acknowledging Theobald's words in the background, her gaze hastily shot down only grace a sigh of relief when she found that she had chosen so sleep in a rather beaten tunic and loose breeches instead of a shift, Theobald, ever the talker hadn't even stopped, "I have to say, would you donate your body to science if you happened to pass away…? I know I've said before that I have long since turned away from dissecting corpses, but for you I'll go back to my old ways— Ah! Definitely won't break my vows to those psychotic monks… To a bunch of dusty old men sure, but those muscle bound, mountain goat—like, masochist monks?! NOPE."

Helena sent a glare to the side, finding a twinkle of amusement in Theobald's eyes as the two men at his side heaved a tired sigh, it seemed they had grown tired of his ceaseless chatter as well…

A long breath fell from Helena's lips, which brought a pause to Theobald's endless chittering, "I was simply recalling the raid upon my village. Nothing more than a violent night terror—"

Theobald wiggled in his seat on the floor, a wide smile coming to his face, "The very same village as our residents' blacksmith?"

Helena's eyes narrowed, wondering how he had such knowledge… She hadn't told any except from that boiste— Lord Baratheon—

As if a bright torch appeared in her mind, illuminating a number of stars, Helena rapidly connected the dots. The look in her eyes stared at the maester changing into a sharp glare… Though his smile only widened, "From the look upon your face, you've finally realized something."

Helena unleashed another long breath before shaking her head, "I assume those present already know?"

Theobald tilted his head in mock confusion as his smile twisted further upward, covering his whole face in wrinkles, "What ever would you mean?"

"I've told you that I'm not interested in your games."

"It isn't a game of my own creation—"

"Yet, it is a game all the same."

"Indeed. Though, this is a game you can't avoid, for it is being played by powers you can't deny..."

"No, I will not be dragged into such a game. As I had told that boisterous braggart, I had learned something I shouldn't have, and wished to leave. That cunning wolf at his side said I would have passage unharmed—"

Theobald tilted his head forward, a weighty chuckle slipping through his lips, "Have you been harmed? You don't seem to understand your position… A lowborn, a bastard by your own admission, has no weight to their word when speaking about High Lords… Let alone one on the path to be King…"

Helena frowned deeply as her gaze turned sharp, though she had a number of words to retort… To retort now would only bring a blade upon her neck… She wouldn't be sent to the wall, such a thing wouldn't be offered to a woman— "You finally understand… You don't have a choice."

Theobald's words only serve to grate at Helena's patience, and her lips pressed into a thin line as emotion drained from her visage… Those cold steel—blue orbs stared at Theobald's who twitched under her gaze, his voice old and worn slipped from his lips in little more than a whisper, "…Fascinating…"

Helena momentarily weighed the option of killing the maester, and taking her chances against those in the room… She'd surely die, of that there was no doubt… Though her mind was swamped with the thought of how many she'd take with her before they finally cut her down… Would she surpass her father at this moment?!

Helena's mind slowed as she denied herself such an end… It wouldn't be what her parents would have wanted…

Thus, Helena could only bide her time, until the moment arrived. A moment that Helena couldn't understand, but felt would be the opportune time to break free from the game she had been forced into…

Theobald let out a sharp breath, his smile returning to his face, "For a moment I thought you were going to throw your life away… It would be truly disheartened to see such a bright woman snuff out her own flame—"

"Quiet," Helena sharply spat, her expression the epitome of contempt, "I care not for your endless chatter. Now, if you would leave me so I may dress, and prepare for the day ahead. Unlike you, I have much work to do and not enough time to waste with ceaseless drivel."

"Oho, your vocabulary is truly expansive. I wonder who taught you…? A forgotten maester? Oh?! Can you read and write as well?! Ah! You will truly change how the game is played!"

Helena's frown only deepened as Theobald's words never came to a halt…

-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-.-

[1 Week Later]

A few days had passed since then, and much had changed… The whispers surrounding Helena seemed to grow, yet the most disheartening change was that of the look in her grandfather's eye… No longer did he see her as that incredibly bright temporary apprentice that he didn't need to supervise, but as an unfamiliar figure who witnessed the death of all that he held dear and withheld such information…

Every passing day only served to darken the veil that draped over her mind, with her intrusive thoughts growing bolder and bolder as the darkness deepened… What little light she held within this rear encampment had been snuffed out by powers beyond herself, by a maester she was on the cusp of swearing to the Gods that she'd kill…

Why must people forcibly involve themselves in matters that don't involve them?! Why must she be dragged into a Game for a Throne she has no ambition for?! Did they think she was weak?! A fool?! A mere piece upon the board that would move as they pleased?!

Helena's patience had begun to grow thin… and it snapped on one particular drunken night—

"Theo," A hiccup slipped through the lips of Jeoffry, a rather plump fellow from the Stormlands who had lost a leg due to infection, "How come your hair's so long…? Don't you worry it'll catch fire in the forge?"

A faint laugh broke through Helena's lips as she shook her head, "I keep it tied up and wet when working the forge, and it being wet help beat off the heat of the—"

Helena's words came to a choked stop as a body was thrown atop of her sitting figure, scrunching her forward as a few slurred shouts rang. Helena didn't immediately register them as a sudden tearing pain washed across her head, and she realized some had pulled—yanked her hair flinging her body to the side while whomever had done it looked down at her body in confusion wondering why whatever he had grabbed wasn't thrown, only to realize he had grabbed a person—their hair…

Yet, the brawl didn't pause, instead it grew as Jeoffry yelled out, "GET ME UP! BILLY! G.E.T. ME UP!"

"BASTARD—?!" The man couldn't even finish his words as he was tackled into the dim fire, the man's armor smothering the flame as two thuds rang out in the barely lit darkness of night, followed by three, then twelve, until the whole of this area of the inner—outer camp was pulled into a brawl that the passing patrols simply ignored, knowing that such things happen often amongst the injured soldiers and normally everyone comes out relatively unharmed from their previous state. A few may 'seep' early, or those that come out with bruises and scrapes even the occasional broken bone that the odd maester is all too happy to amputate, but can occasionally be talked down into a splint…

As for Helena…? For a moment she was trampled, the heavy footsteps hitting against her causing the perpetrator to stumble over her frame, before she found her feet amongst the sparse crowds of flying fists and wrestling men, then she was tackled back into the ground and wailed with a number of hits that fell against her guard, her arms shifting with every impact as it reverberated up her arms. A momentary pause came from the blows, whether hesitation or whatever else, Helena's left hand shot out almost slapping the offender in the face, yet that was only to find her opponent as she snapped forward using her core to lean upward and twist as her left foot planted against the ground, with her her right hand brought to her chest Helena connected an elbow upon his skull with a satisfying impact that sent him slumping to the side.

Pushing his weighty frame off, Helena moved to rise to her feet only to catch a dimly lit silhouette stumbling towards her a hand seemingly rested upon his head, Helena moved not interested in learning—caring if the man meant any harm as she kept low and moved forward with a powerful stride her left hand striking just below the ribs—

A pain jolted up Helena's arm as her fist hit metal, but she didn't cease as her right shot out with a crisp smack that fell upon the side of his head bringing a heavy silence down upon the brawl.

Helena was tired, she was drunk, her call throbbed with a pain she never experienced, and she was not happy. Not happy at all.

She walked up to a person at random, gave them a heavy shove, then smacked whomever stood next to them… Starting the brawl once more, and her open hands turned to fists, they were heavy and moved with a quickness as she stepped into her every punch, leaning away from blows that land upon her guard and retaliating violently, landing blows against leather, skin, and metal as whenever one fell she moved to the next…

During this moonless night, Helena felt unstoppable as her fists fell one after the next, and by the time she had dropped the eighth man since the start of the brawl Helena found her breath drawing heavy and her arms tired. Yet, her mind craved fire more as all the stress she had built up was loaded into every swung fist, each landing with the weight of the grievance she carried.

Thus, she continued, intent on swinging upon none were left standing, though perhaps that was far beyond Helena as after the tenth she felt beyond exhausted, and the others seemed to feel it as the brawl had practically come to a halt and…

Helena cast her gaze around and saw that everyone had kept a fair distance from her frame, for a moment she felt puzzled until she entertained a single thought that seemed to come from nowhere. Fear…? Were they scared of her…?

Then her gaze fell behind her, and despite the moonless night the torches off in the varying distance cast a dim light allowing her to see the silhouettes of bodies laying upon the ground, before her gaze shifted to those lingering in the surroundings…

Then, the whimpers, groans, cries of pain found her ears and her body tensed as she furrowed her brows… Once again her surroundings escaped her senses… Had she purposefully ignored their cries, whimpers, and groans without even realizing…?

Yet, she didn't feel anything, when it came to their whines… What did those compare to the pain that Father and Mother—

A frown settled onto Helena's face, wondering when she had begun thinking such things… Did she see the life's around her on the same level of those who had brought upon her birth… Two beings who had reached apotheosis through each other. Could these humans even compare…?

Helena stared down at her hands as she fell into a silent contemplation… Was this the reason why it had been so easy to kill those bandits? To not feel even the faintest guilt for the lives she had taken, or those she had beaten tonight… Or was it simply due to the origin of her birth that caused her to be this way…

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(A/NStats -

Main Level: 21

Strength: 8 [||||||||||||—————] -

• Basic Knowledge [Leverage]

Agility: 6 [||||||||||||—————] -

• Basic Knowledge [Breathing]

Vitality: 7 [||||||||||||||||||||———] -

• Minor Uncommon Illness Resistance

Combat -

Defense: 3 [|||||||||||||||||||——-] +

Warfare: 0 [|||||——————] +

Axe: 3 [||||||||||||||||||||||||—] +

Bow: 0 [———————] +

Hammer/Mace: 0 [||||||—————-] +

Spear: 4 [||||||||||||||———-] +

Sword: 3 [|||||||||||————] +

Unarmed: 7 [|||————-——] -

• Basic Knowledge [Stance]

Skills -

Alchemy: 0 [———————] +

Blacksmithing: 7 [||||||||||||||||||||||—-] -

• Basic Knowledge [Iron]

Bowery: 0 [———————] +

Carpentry: 6 [||—-———-——] +

• Basic Knowledge [Rough Building]

Drinking: 5 [|—————-——] +

• Tempered Gut

Herbalism: 3 [|||||||||||————-] +

Horsemanship: 0 [———————] +

Houndmaster: 0 [———————] +

Hunting: 0 [———————] +

Lockpicking: 0 [———————] +

Maintenance: 10 [|||-——-———] -

• Basic Knowledge [Tools]

• Basic Knowledge [Weapons]

Pickpocketing: 0 [———————] +

Reading: 2 [|||||——————] +

Tailoring: 7 [||||||||||||||||||||-—--] -

• Basic Knowledge [Linen]

Stealth: 3 [||||——————] +

Total Level: 62

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(A/N: A considerably shorter chapter [~2900] words simply because I found a decent ending place… Which happened to be a cliffhanger…

Anyways, hope you've enjoyed, until next time,

White_Dog