westwhere | ...This Curse Has Run Its Course

[It started with scratches, faint at first, but growing wider each morning. Her first thought was that Drogon had been naughty since her return. It wasn't as if it would be the first time she woke with scratches on her. The dragons, before they got too big (not that it stopped Viserion), would curl on her shoulders and dig their claws into her skin. It wasn't as if she was careful in her day to day activities or delicate, something always would create a cut or a scratch.

But when it started to hurt noticeably, she started to grow frustrated.

Slipping out of the house she shared with others, Dany sought out a remote pond. Once she was certain no one was around, she pulled off her vest and tried to angle herself to get a look at the scratches on her back.

She wasn't really that shy with showing skin, given what she had to wear in Qarth, but lately, she absolutely hated the idea of being looked at or touched. It made her skin crawl to consider, so it was easier to keep away from people she cared about. But, even with that rationale, there was a part of her that admitted it would be easier to check her scratches with someone to help.

As it was, she was practically turning in circles, trying to get a look in the pond's surface.]

Seven Hells.

Edited 2022-03-11 06:55 (UTC)

[He hadn't noticed the scratches at first--it wasn't as if he could look in a mirror, after all. And night terrors were nothing new. But he could hear the slight rasp developing in his voice. That was obnoxious. Was it something in the animal blood he'd been choking down? Something to do with that black water?

No, the locals were quick to notice the cuts, and offer a diagnosis. At length.

A town full of religious scolds was bad enough, but this curse obsession of theirs was absolutely intolerable.

Fine! There was that family curse they'd foisted on him, wasn't there? Some deer-obsessed moron had gotten some hunters killed. Provincial drama. A bit of charity would balance that out, right? Drag a few carcasses back to town, make a show of penitence, and get the whole thing over with.

But the forests had been getting more unsettling, especially at night. He'd been avoiding it when he could, but... No. He wasn't going to put up with this nonsense any longer. He followed a deer trail through the forest, on the lookout for--

Well. Not this.]

Just seven? I always heard there were nine. [And damn all of them, the deer would probably avoid the area if they saw her in the pond. His life was just full of minor inconveniences at the moment, and they were starting to gang up on him.]

[She jumped at the voice, quickly pulling on her vest and tugging it tight over her chest. He didn't seem in the best of moods and she couldn't say hers was much better. The scratches ached, protesting her hurried movements. Dany grit her teeth against the pain, doing her best not to let it get her further disgruntled. She was already annoyed enough to have been seen.]

Seven in my world, nine in yours. [She had been here long enough to know the difference between worlds and that what she knew might not exist in his.] It is an expression, unless you follow the faith of the New Gods.

[And she was explaining this why?]

What are you doing out here?

[She thought she got far enough away, no one would find her.]

[He means to speak with Daenerys.

It’s been some time since their arrival, and he has kept busy, with the cursed woods and the cursed house and the cursed village. It is not the first place he has ever visited that he would call cursed: there had been a reason why Craster’s wives had chosen to burn down the keep that had been their prison. There is a reason why he gives a little inward shutter when he thinks of Hardhome. If given his way, he would leave this place as soon as they could… but he has not.

The Merchant had been incensed. Furious. The way Jon might have been if the sleeping people had been men of the Watch who had been killed, all defenseless. Is this place our reward for it?

But there had always been a ship coming for them.

Now, he tries to take the opportunity to talk to Daenerys. She has been keeping to herself since their arrival — keeping to herself more and more. Before then, she had made herself present, almost too present. She had touched him too much, and he could hazard a guess at what she might want from him. Still, he likes her well enough, and her new absence feels strange.

So it is that he had been approaching the house she’s been staying in when he saw her slip out, all furtive. That is peculiar enough. He follows her at a distance, meaning to speak to her when he catches up.

When he arrives at the pond, though, it’s to find that she’s taken off her vest. Her back is bare and all covered in scratches.

It isn’t right that he should watch her like this: he has to make his presence known.]

Daenerys.

I wanted to know if you were all right, but —

[He has averted his gaze from her bare back. Not so long ago that his was deeply scratched, and she wanted to look after him.]

You’re not. What’s happened?

[Jon was the last person she wanted to see, which naturally meant that he'd appear. Hurriedly, she pulled on her vest, hoping to cover her bare breasts before he saw them. The scratches though, he had clearly seen that. Some part of her skin had been seen, it made her shudder with revulsion.

The boat had been different. There, she had been happy and overcome with sailing again. Even the storms didn't diminish her excitement. It was easy to be around Jon then. Since coming to the village, she preferred to keep to herself.

Whether it was Drogon being kidnapped or her occupation with the curse, she didn't have time to expend energy on Jon. Mothering him, showing him affection, there was nothing in her for that. It was pushed down by disgust for any such gesture. She wanted to be alone.

She didn't bother to hide her exasperation, unable to summon any pleasantries.]

It is nothing. Scratches from the night.

[Which could be taken one way, but she brushed it off.]

The bed is too coarse.

[It’s possible. These houses are cursed, haunted, the way everything else seems to be. His falls down every day. There is no reason why her bed couldn’t be coarse.

But he has a rash on his face, still mostly covered by his beard, that isn’t explained by the house. And some days, he finds it more and more difficult to speak. Even now, his voice is raspy, more raspy than is its wont, and it shows up when he goes to speak again. From what he has seen around the village, he is not alone in this.]

Doesn’t look like nothing.

If the bed is coarse, trade houses with me, at least for a night or two. It might help you rest.

No thank you. [It's a terse reply, largely brought on by how sore her back felt as the leather vest rubbed against it. The scratches would open again and she'd need to wash again, leaving her vulnerable for interruptions like this.

She does hear how raspy his voice is and how he doesn't sound like himself, but she doesn't feel the same level of concern or overwhelming worry for him. She notes it, dismisses it and continued to withdraw into herself.]

It isn't your concern, ser. [Usually it's "Ser King", but there's no mirth, no teasing in her voice. Only a strain, making her feel as vulnerable and repulsed as when Jorah kissed her on the ship.] It sounds as if you have your own condition to think of.

It’s nothing.

[The way she’s speaking barely qualifies as cool courtesy… but more than that, it’s unlike her.

Isn’t it? He knows her a little: he would not say that he knows her well.

He hesitates before speaking again.]

It isn’t my concern, but I would help if I can. I would return the help you’ve given me.

It looks like it must hurt.

[It does hurt, which makes it difficult to do much else. It hasn't become so bad it's inhibiting, but simply moving around was a great effort. There is a part of her that wants to accept his help, but the louder part had taken control. It shied away from him, his presence and his comfort, her stomach turning at the idea.]

I did nothing that needs repayment. When I helped you, I did what was right. [Which isn't completely true. There were other motives, but those didn't want to manifest now.] You are far too concerned with honor and debt. Sometimes, someone is kind to be kind.

[She's lashing out without knowing why. Jon's presence seemed to raise her ire more than anyone else.]

It isn’t debt. Maybe I’m trying to be kind for its own sake, too.

[By now, her hostility is too pronounced to ignore or explain away. It colors the air between them.

He hesitates again, pressing his lips together before he speaks.]

— Have I done something to offend you?

You have shown no real interest in being kind to me. You have remained aloof. Now I am to think this offer is simple kindness?

[She doesn't mean to lash out this way or show such hostility. He's not to blame, but it was hard to shake the effects of the curse. Not even knowing what was causing it. Only that it made her want to get away from him and break whatever bond they had.

But still, she hesitates at that question, unable to really give an answer. No. He didn't offend her, but his presence had somehow.]

You are as you always have been. How could that offend me?

[He is still, as she says this, and remains still for a long moment before responding with a sharp nod.]

And “as I always have been” is aloof, aye? [He scoffs.] Aloof and disinterested.

What would this offer be if not simple kindness?

What else should I call that? Aloof and disinterested are the most I have seen from you.

[It's obvious that this is annoying him a little, or perhaps offending him. She would never be so blunt and harsh, as she knew who Jon was and liked him for it. Honesty and a genuine personality, it's what she wanted and loved in him.

He was far better than Daario, but if Daario were here, he'd be treated the same.]

I have no need of pity or simple kindness. Scratches will heal. These are not the worst that I have suffered.

[He would not say that he has been aloof and disinterested with her, only honorable. Is that what she’s speaking of?

If it is, why is she angry about it now? There is a bitterness about her, one that he still can’t comprehend.]

And if they worsen instead?

[He raises his hand to scratch at his beard.]

What exactly do wish to do about it? It isn't as though you can heal it with a touch. If it worsens, then I shall suffer an infection. I have survived burns and dehydration. Small scratches won't be the end of me.

[He's pushing on this a great deal, frustrating her. It was strange though that he was insistent on helping her. Since when had he shown so much energy towards her?]

Shouldn't you worry about whatever is wrong with you?

You could clean it, or see a healer, but….

[He shrugs with a little grimace, a glance around, an expression that says there’s some kind of misfortune in the air. He is not sure that he would trust the healers about these parts. It seems to him that the whole place is poisoned, in one way or another.]

Whatever is wrong with me doesn’t matter.

There’s another reason I wanted to speak to you.

I could, but both would be my decision.

[It's dismissive. She doubts that she would see a healer, preferring to take care of the wounds herself. It had been her intention to clean it here, but Jon interrupted it.

It was rather ironic that he was dismissing his wound, given she was doing the same. If anything, it made her feel as if he was less genuine. Less the man she thought he was.]

Is it about the alliance?

The alliance? No.

[He rubs at his beard again, frowning. The skin underneath is rough and red.]

It’s about the children. The ones gone missing.

[Her first thought is Drogon, having been stolen by the bandits. Whatever her distance, she did care about children and the dangers they might be facing. So, he had her attention now.

Even if she wasn't very warm.]

What about them?

Some of us mean to go look for the cause, in the woods.

[His gaze from his edge of the pond is level, but troubled.]

It seemed something that might interest you. I remembered — well, am I a fool?

[He already knows the answer to that, if he knows anything at all, but he means, has he misjudged her? What she had done to try to aid the people of Taravast, and how much she has put herself near him since then, made him think that she would be eager to join their party in the woods.

Now, he isn’t as sure.]

The woods are not safe. There are odd things happening with the animals. They seem to stare at something. Venturing into the woods means preparing for some supernatural force.

[Not that it was an issue. Given how often she put herself in danger just to save the innocents, she naturally would be drawn to something like this. It certainly pulled her heart and overwhelmed him with worry, but...

...well, Jon was there and she couldn't bear to be near him. He made her skin crawl, her stomach turn and her body turn cold. Wandering in the forest with him, she was repelled at the idea.

Children though, how could she leave them? It was clear on her face that she was worried and tempted before she looked up at his face. The compassion was smoldered by distaste.]

I will search for them. [Alone, if that was not clear.] Where does the trail begin? Where were they last seen?

Dealing with the Curse

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Finding the Concubines

Finding the Tomb

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