westwhere | "Darkness reigns at the foot of the lighthouse."

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"Darkness reigns at the foot of the lighthouse."

WHO: Daenerys, Five, Jon Snow, Mingyu and Lee Chang
WHEN: January to 1/28
WHERE: The Lighthouse (Plot Roll Stuff!)
WHAT: The mirror calls and must be assembled
WARNINGS: Violence, mind control, dragons, talk of death. Anything else will be added.

Drogon's habit of bringing gifts from the lighthouse had increased. It was still only trinkets and tattered bits of clothes, often singed, but something he was clearly proud of. The influence of the lighthouse still seemed to hold him, as he often flew off even as Daenerys called to him. Using a stern voice, showing the whip once in desperation, none of it stopped Drogon from flying to the 10th floor.

What was truly disturbing was that Drogon often seemed to circle around, low to the entrance of the lighthouse, screeching at her, as though demanding she follow him. For several days, Dany resisted, knowing that whatever was in the lighthouse was likely to be some curse or ill omen. Had it not enchanted them into paranoia and greed? No one had been hurt, but actually stepping foot in there might trigger something far worse.

Or she might find something worse.

Much like the House of the Undying, there was a part of her that wanted knowledge. She wished to know what was inside, what magic was fueling it and why it seduced her dragon so easily. That thought, along with the alluring call of something, haunted her dreams. Each time she woke, she had to question if it was dragon dreams or something more?

The fourth day, she followed Drogon, hesitantly crossing the threshold.

The atmosphere was heavy, but still humming with...something. The surroundings weren't very pleasing. There was dust, cobwebs and everything you could imagine in a land that seemed almost dead. Each floor did not improve. There were no visions, no sounds really except some sound of glass in the distance.

Drogon flew ahead, screeching whenever she fell behind. Step by step, stair by stair, she climbed. One floor passed and then two; higher and higher, she followed her dragon as he called to her, luring her ahead with a dark promise. It was an enchantment in itself. A part of her wished to find that last right door, the one in the House of the Undying that lead to the center of it all, where the Undying waited for her. Here, it was less clear what she would find, but there was at least a promise with the Undying.

The scene she found was an odd one. Unnerving, true, but also...rather beautiful.

There was a mirror on the floor or rather the shards of it and Five seated in the middle of it all. Light glistened over the different shapes of glass, some small and some large, all varying in grooves and curves. It was no simple puzzle, but Five seemed intent on assembling it, solving the mystery of it all.

"What is this?"

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He shrugs. “I try to deserve people’s trust. But some trust more easily than others.” And I am bastard-born. He doesn’t speak the words, but they are always there when he thinks of what someone might think of him.

The shards of glass glitter as he looks out across the room. Pretty, the way they shimmer, like light on water or light on a blade. Ice in a meadow. Perhaps his sister would like to see it: he’ll consider that later.

“We should find out,” he agrees. “We have little to do but wait until the ship comes. It can’t hurt to fill the time. What have you done so far?”

She's clearly pleased by his acquiescence, as well as willingness to do this by her side. This mirror that was as bright as the moon, she didn't wish to enjoy it alone but share it with a man she respected. Side by side, they could finish it. True, there might be others, but Jon was her choice to bring in, Jon was who she wanted to share this with.

She beckoned him, kneeling on the floor as her hand swept carefully over the corner she assembled. "Only this much. It took much time to find the pieces that fit together. I thought a corner was a better place to start than the middle. It will make it easier to expand on."

She liked the idea of being side by side, working on such a focused project. At the moment, she would have him to herself. Even Drogon had disappeared, likely looking for the only resident, eager for more scraps or trinkets from him. "Sit by me."

He sits, then takes note of what the edge of the glass looks like, the shape of it, then searches the floor with his gaze, looking nearby for something that will match it.

“Are they all stirred up, or have they landed about where you’d expect if a great piece of glass fell?”

"I can't say. I wasn't the one who found it. I think Five may have tried to sort the pieces before I came. If I had seen it, I might know better. It was difficult to put that edge together. The pieces were mixed." She wondered now if Five had found it this way or if, perhaps, he had to search for the pieces.

Somehow in their time together, they had never spoken of it.

It also didn't matter very much. It was the mirror that mattered. "Drogon lead me here."

“He’s different now?”

On the journey, Drogon had swooped up to the lighthouse and back long before anyone else had reached their destination. But that he had been willing to leave Daenerys much at all had seemed as strange as anything else.

“Might be he wanted you to come here all along.”

As Jon speaks, he peers again at the pieces of the mirror closest to them, then more closely at ones a little further away. It’s becoming clear to him that this has to be done, though he could not say why. And it will not be so hard to do it, not if they put their heads and eyes together.

“Did Five say how he found it?”

"He seems to like this place and the lighthouse keeper. It was his things Drogon brought me." It seemed strange at the time, but now she doesn't think much of it. It was enough that her son was keeping her company again, though he had flown off once more.

He wasn't as possessive as she might have feared.

"Perhaps, but he was more forceful recently with it. He might have known that I would want to see this." She turned another piece, testing it against what she had assembled, but found it too small to fit. Another piece was too jagged and also set aside.

"Five said something about teleporting here." Whatever that meant. "Each time he tried somewhere else, he was brought here. Beyond that, I can't say. It's important, so it was lucky he found it."

“Tele…” He shakes his head, because he doesn’t know the word, but that Five kept being brought back to the shattered mirror is strange. It suggests great importance — that this is a task they must complete. Why did she wait so long to bring me here? They could be so much further along by now if he had not tried to sleep.

“Do you want me to bring you pieces that I think may fit, or do you want me to work just as you do?” His voice is low, hushed, captivated.

Then, “Here.” He points to a shard a few feet away, then reaches for it with care. It will fit against the growing edge of her corner of the mirror.

She shrugged at his attempt to repeat the word. It made little sense to her as well. It was some form of magic, that was all she knew. Perhaps it was like a glass candle or some such thing that Shadowbinders would know? It didn't matter. They were here now and they had the chance to assemble the mirror. It was a stroke of luck and fortune...as well as meant to be.

"If you see ones that will fit, show them to me, but it would go faster if you work as I do." Two heads, both clever, bent over this were surely to accomplish much more. Still, she murmurs a thanks to the piece he pointed out, pressing the shards together.

It was thrilling in a way she couldn't describe. As though she achieved some great feat. Better than winning the throne or peace. "So long as we are not distracted."

A solemn nod, and he pulls away from her, starting with his own shard, then gathering a score more and beginning to turn them this way and that. After a few minutes bent over them, he’s able to connect two of them.

“Not many silvered glasses up in the North. I had a little piece of metal for shaving, up in the Watch. Once I had a steward of my own, he was just a boy… he could not shave me yet. So I kept on doing it myself.

“He’s a good lad, Olly.”

"It doesn't seem you prefer to shave very much." She leaned over and ran her fingers against his beard. Even as Lord Commander, he was not afforded much luxury. She had wondered what the Night's Watch was like in that regard and it seemed they lived on meager supplies.

Was it for honor or because they had so little? In a way, it linked them further. He had to do without, as did she.

"Would you have tolerated someone shaving you?" He seemed more eager to do things himself. "A boy though? That's a pity. He has seen so little of the world and won't see the pleasures of family. It seems you are close to him to trust him as your steward."

“I was. Haven’t seen him since I left Castle Black.”

Why did he leave? His sister had needed him. The North had needed him. Before he could return, they had made him their king.

Hadn’t they?

“Beards want trimming. I trim when I can, when I must.”

He isn’t sure why she has her fingers in his beard now. That’s familiar, forward — but she is a forward woman, so it isn’t a surprise.

But it is a distraction from their task.

She had meant to tease him, but her hand had lingered longer than it should. Flirting was natural with Jon Snow and he was as dour as Quentyn Martell had been, though she had not flirted with the latter. The touch is over not long after and she returns to her task, trying to remember if she ever had a mirror this beautiful before.

"Perhaps he has taken command in your place?" She offered, sensing that he wasn't certain about the boy's fate. It had to be something good though? There was a threat to the North, but that threat hadn't come just yet?

"This mirror reminds me of the ones I had seen in Qarth. Qarth is the greatest city that ever was or ever will be." It had been from there to Meereen for her. For that seemed to be what she remembered...or was there something she was missing? No, it must have been from Qarth to Meereen.

“No, it was Edd who I gave command to.” Of that much, he is sure. “A good man. He pretends to be a sour man to make himself sweeter. That is to say…” Ah, he can place another piece. “That is to say, I trust him.”

He listens to her speaking of Qarth. “So far away. I always wanted to see the rest of the world, but there was no way for me.” But he finds that it isn’t hard to believe that Qarth might be the world’s greatest city, far greater than King’s Landing. He cannot remember why it is that he dislikes King’s Landing, except that the Lannister woman lives there, and she is false. “If I ask my father, when I return, might be that he will give me leave to visit Qarth when we are free of the Dead.”

"So he is like you?" Somewhere in that is a compliment. "You must bring me to the Wall when I come North. I should like to see the defenses as well as the supplies needed to help them. From the way you speak of things, it must be very meager there." Hard living. It was sad to hear that of a place that used to be one of honor.

"Perhaps Olly is his steward then? If you gave him command, then it seems likely the boy would help him." Now it was a mystery, almost as good a one as this mirror. Another piece fit, the mirror expanded and grew slowly.

She nearly sat back on her heels, but the mirror held her firm. No, there was something in that that was false. Where was it? His father? Was that the part that made her pause. She was almost certain that she had heard of Eddard Stark's death, but could she really be certain? "Your father-" she tested the waters with this, not wishing to look a fool. "Didn't he go to serve as Hand?"

“Aye,” he says, unconcerned. He doesn’t see any more matches in the pieces he has, so he begins to move away, to collect a few more. “But to King Robert. Not to the boy kings.”

Then he shakes his head and turns back to look at her. “I do not make myself sour, Daenerys.”

But the pieces did not fall into place as easily as they were in her hand. She was not wrong, Eddard Stark had gone to King's Landing, but she had no memory of him returning to the North. He was dead, she was certain of that. There was only real question she could ask, though it was lost behind her hair. "How are you king and not your father?"

She peeked over at him, not daring to look too long from the pieces in her hand. "No? You mask your face in sour expressions as though a cloud hangs over you." Brooder, he was a brooder. "Your warmth is locked away."

He shakes his head at that. He does not know, only that his father was far away, unreachable; only that Jon had fought the battle and won it, and he is his father’s son. That he is his father’s son is enough for some people.

For the moment, he is more surprised by her accusations. “That isn’t true. I’m not sour — I’m not cold. I try to be kind enough, when I can be. When I am not called on to be hard.” There are times when a king must be hard.

But hasn’t he heard that people oftentimes find him cold? He frowns, then begins to attend to the glass shards again.

"Is it not?" There was something freeing about attending the mirror with him. There were no real barriers, only the focus that was needed to fit the shards together. They worked together on this and perhaps that gave them a stronger connection. Or perhaps she was so happy in the presence of the mirror, she didn't mind being forward in this way.

Even if she was married. How long had it been since she thought of Daario? It was strange, but he hadn't really entered her mind for some time.

"I tease you and you bat it away with a serious expression. I smile at you and you seem almost flustered." She had to assume not many girls paid him much attention, but that seemed wrong, even in her current state. He was far too beautiful. "Must you always be hard then? A ruler should be approachable as well as firm."

“None of my people should be fear to petition me.” He is not defensive — he does not feel defensive — but she has it wrong. He is not flustered when she smiles at him. He is not cold to his people, unless someone tries to gainsay him when he is doing what is necessary.

He hesitates, then rubs his beard as he looks at the floor. None of these pieces looks like a match for anything he has.

“You know that I am a bastard, aye? You know what that means?” Does she have no way of understanding why he would shy away from teasing by ladies, wedded or no? “If I played, and teased, with every woman who isn’t my wife, would you think better of me?”

"I admit I do not know the North or its people, but of the two men I have met from there, you both have dour countenances." She frowned. There was something with Ser Jorah that made her stomach turn, but she could not think what. He was not in Meereen. So did he return home?

That earned a look, as difficult as it was to draw her attention away from the mirror. "I know you are, but what does that matter?" It was surprising to her that she should think less of him for it. In all the men and cultures she had known, there was no shame of bastardy among them. "There have been great men that were bastards. Blackfyres, Waters and Sands. I may not be well versed in Westeros history, but I have heard of some."

But it was a fair question. Would she think better of him if he teased other women? If he were like Daario perhaps? No. She would never trust him. But there was something there that she thought but might normally hesitate to say. "I would think you roguish, but I would not trust you. I would rather you played and teased with me."

No luck, no luck, no more matches. He moves slowly along the floor, frowning, trying not to cut his palms or his fingers or his knees.

And he is quiet for a long moment. “I’m not a green boy, Daenerys. Everyone I’ve ever played with and teased is dead.

“Why would you want me to do it?”

"That doesn't mean to shut it away." She held out a piece that she thought might fit his puzzle, her palm flat as the glass glittered in the night. "I have lost many as well, but I wish to be happy and live as other girls do. I am a queen, but I am a woman as well."

It was a question she couldn't fully answer. She could only shrug her shoulders and turn back to her work, placing another piece together. Another surge of relief passed through her, pushing out any awkwardness or shame. She was happy, as she wanted, with this mirror. It may be cold and sharp, but it loved her back.

"Why does any woman want a man to notice her? Perhaps she likes him?"

He lets out a disbelieving little laugh, helpless.

“I couldn’t fail to notice you. Don’t think I don’t like you. It’s just — “

Sometimes, I don’t know what to say to you.

“I try to be a good man. I try to live with honor. Have you made it your task to make me playful? Ask my sister: I spent a lot of time sulking in corners when I was a boy.”

Daenerys likes him, but she doesn’t like him. That thought makes something in him fall, just a short space.

She expected he noticed her. There were enough indications that she was fair enough to look at, but still she preens a little inwardly that he admitted it. She felt more beautiful because of it. Even without hair, even with scars from her burns, he noticed her.

"You are not good with words or you think you are not." She guessed at his thoughts. He always did seem to choose his words carefully, too carefully. "So long as you don't hold back because you fear me. I wouldn't want that."

She found another shard that would fit the ones he assembled and slid it towards him. "I think I have. There isn't much joy here save for what we find among ourselves. I rather like being a simple girl next to a simple boy, teasing him and poking at him to play. Isn't that something you have ever wanted?"

There is a husband somewhere in her memory. Daario? It was hard to say. It was someone who tried to kill her. There were better husbands to remember.

Edited 2022-01-31 11:23 (UTC)

“I’m no poet. I can make an alliance well enough.” But it is true that he would rather watch and listen than talk, true that he chooses his words with care unless he forgets himself, as he just had.

“We are not simple people. There was a time — “

A match. He seizes on it, presses the two pieces together. A sliver is missing between them.

What would Ygritte have thought of all this? She would not have understood why they must make the mirror as whole as they can, but the rest… she would have agreed with Daenerys, and then, in her good-natured way, she would have threatened her.

“I think you would like the Free Folk. Some of them.”

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