"Darkness reigns at the foot of the lighthouse."

[thebrideoffire]

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?"

Comments

[thebrideoffire]

She caught a glimpse of his scars again as he changed his shirt. Those deep gashes and what they meant, they were all the more poignant now. There were others added, perhaps faint, but still real. She did her best not to stare at him, aware that it might make him feel a bit uncomfortable.

Instead, she put together a meager meal for him, but likely to be welcome and nourishing. "If you want more, I will give you the rest. Better to let your stomach grow used to the food." Had he felt hunger there? Fatigue? Something other than fear and pain?

She turned back to him, wishing she had a bit of wine. Something strong to steady her nerves and help her feel in control once more. She was trembling, feeling the cold more than she might normally. It was almost as though she were back in the water, infected to the depth of her bone. It was pathetic, to feel so small and helpless, so afraid.

"I can take the shirt and wash it later, if you like?"

[northerndragon]

“Just a little, so I don’t wake from hunger.”

He is not sure that he’ll wake from anything just now, except being done with sleep: his limbs feel as heavy as his eyelids. His stomach is empty, but it is hard to say how long it’s been since he’s eaten. It had been a while even before he had been pulled into the mirror. Which accounting of time is right? Hard to say anymore.

He turns to her and tries to smile, though just now, it is a thin and rueful thing. She is shaking, and he means to reassure her.

“You don’t have to wash my shirt. You don’t have to do anything. Sitting with me is enough — more than enough.”

[thebrideoffire]

It's a bit disconcerting that he is attempting to comfort her when he is the one who truly suffered. In an effort to brush her bodily response aside, she presented him with a soft smile. Perhaps she was being ridiculous, but she couldn't shake the sudden loss of him and how deeply it affected her.

"Then I will sit with you." She murmured, offering out the plate. She might wash his shirt anyway, once he was asleep. He would need it later, most likely. She could also predict that she needed to do something with her hands, some sort of work to help keep her mind from her anxiety.

"Here, eat."

[northerndragon]

He takes the plate and eats like what he is: a starving soldier. No grace. It is all to the good that Sansa is not in the room. He is not sure she would correct him, but he can imagine the look on her face, how it is a scandal that he has undressed in front of the Targaryen, and how his table manners are wanting. But there isn’t even a table in here, and in certain places at certain times, that sort of propriety isn’t important.

When he has finished, he feels somewhat better.

“This food… how’s it compare to what you get in Essos?”

[thebrideoffire]

It's not a question she expects from him. She had usually volunteered information about her past, but he hadn't asked very much. It makes him seem less formal and stiff. It's enough to allow her to relax a little as she drew her knees to her chest. Holding onto something, yes, that was the way to avoid trembling.

"It depends on if it was my childhood or after my dragons were born." However bad his time in Winterfell might have been, there had always been food for him. "There were always assassins, so my brother and I were constantly fleeing. Often we had to rely on the charity of others, those who wished to profit from our name. Other times, we lived a very poor existence. So food was scarce for us and far worse than this."

Far, far worse.

"After my dragons, many wealthy and powerful people wished to host me, but only as a curiosity. They were generous and the food was rich. Meereen at least afforded me the same banquets, but without the expectations of hosts." She considered something before adding. "I always had a fondness for Honeyfingers."

[northerndragon]

He listens, but he feels like he’s watching from some distance away.

“For the rest of it, I am sorry. But what are honeyfingers? Some sort of cake?”

[thebrideoffire]

'Some kind of cake'? She simply shook her head. Northerners. Apparently both Ser Jorah and Jon Snow had the same response. If she did someday become queen, she would see them baked and sent by the cartload to the North. Perhaps they would know true delicacies then?

"They were made in Tyrosh and a bit different than simple cakes." No she is not defensive about it, not especially for the reminder of Jorah.

"What food do they have in Westeros?"

[northerndragon]

“I don’t know what they eat down south. I’d say to ask my sister, but — “ He hesitates, frowns. “The Lannisters were not kind. They didn’t starve her, but I don’t know how much she likes to think on it.

“For me… when I was a boy… I liked apple cakes. I liked roasted chicken covered in honey, any sort of good meat, roasted turnips. In the Watch, men eat blood sausage, dried meat like this,” (he means what he has just eaten,) “whatever stew the cook can put together. And now… a lord’s table will always be rich, but we do not feast too carelessly. We put up what we can for the later days of winter — the leaner days.”

A wave of exhaustion passes over him, and when he finishes speaking, he stifles a mighty yawn.

[thebrideoffire]

She wants to respond, but it's clear that he's exhausted and after the ordeal, he needs his rest. His strength was likely drained completely. It seemed to take all of his energy to even get down the stairs. No more conversation or holding onto his company, he should sleep.

Dany placed her hand on his shoulder. "Lay back. I'll stay with you while you sleep."

Whatever possessed her to brush his hair from his face, gently stroking those dark locks. She wanted to soothe him, to urge him to rest.

[northerndragon]

He frowns, nods, stretches out in what passes for bedding.

Her flirtations had, perhaps, not been fully welcome, but her care is. He is not used to it, except in the case of a wound. “Thank you.”

It only takes a few seconds for him to roll to his side. The torn skin all across his back doesn’t hurt as much as it had at first, but it isn’t a comfortable thing, either. More than that, while he doesn’t like resting on his back, he also doesn’t like it being open to the room. When he closes his eyes, there is a yawning blackness all around, with just a shimmer of light at some of its edges.

He begins to struggle to sit up.

[thebrideoffire]

His sleep doesn't seem to last as long or seem truly calm. She placed a hand on his shoulder, attempting to urge him to stay on his bedding, but if he pressed on, the urgency of her touch would fade and would help him up.

Where she had been stroking his hair before, now her attention was fully on what may be wrong or how she should help. It was clear that sleep would not come easily for him, which perhaps she should have predicted. After the darkness of the mirror, closing his eyes might only bring it back.

"Lie back, Jon. I am here with you."

[northerndragon]

He hesitates, then murmurs, “All right. All right.” He relaxes, back on his side and trying to sleep again. He can think of something else: some sort of feast at Winterfell. Firelight, mead, old strong stones all about. A warm bed and a fur coverlet.

What can one small woman do? She had not been able to keep him from being pulled through the mirror, though it is better that he’s the one who was. None of them has been able to change anything for the better in this tower — not really, not as much as he would like.

“Just don’t go.”

[thebrideoffire]

She stretched next to him, letting him feel her pressed against him. Her fingers ran through his hair, brushing them back from his face. He would know she was with him, feel her even in his sleep. Whatever plans she had of cleaning his shirt while he slept, that was removed at his request.

She would not risk frightening him by slipping away. Perhaps also, she wished to know he was here as well.

"I won't. Sleep." She whispered.

[northerndragon]

He’s too weary to think much further on what this reminds him of. They are sheltered, at least, not just trying to survive a night spent on cold snowy ground. Any monsters here are different than the ones north of the Wall. The girl pressing against him is not trying to discomfit him, but the opposite.

Old stone walls and a warm fire. He tries to push the profound dark out of his mind, every time it tries to descend. A fur coverlet; a cup of spiced wine. No one to steal him away, nothing to tear at him. He is not alone, because he has a guardian. That’s enough, for now.