westwhere | ...This Curse Has Run Its Course

[A beat of silence passes.]

Why did he feel that way? They weren’t his wives. They weren’t forced on him.

I am not the sort of man to — well, but if he had them, he must have wanted them.

[She glared at that.]

No, they weren't forced on him, but they were his wives in a sense. It might not be a marriage like you are used to in Westeros, but concubines aren't mistresses or whores. They are part of a family, beneath the first wife, aye, but still married to the man!

[She was getting heated and did her best to calm down. Pain and sickness pushing her to a darker mood.]

Do men in your society necessarily want wives? Noblemen, perhaps some of them don't, but are expected to marry who they are told because of wealth and status. Marriage, sadly, is often a contract.

I very much doubt Quentyn Martell wished to wed me, but still he traveled to Meereen to ask as his father directed.

[He tries not to react to the outburst. She isn’t herself. So while his expression is nonplussed, he’s calm when he speaks.]

You mistake me. I only mean that what he did doesn’t make sense. If he had concubines, he wanted to have them. He wasn’t told to take them on, or expected to, unless things are very different here.

So why did he act as he did, towards women he must have wanted at some point?

It might be expected of him, but in truth, I don't know why he treated them that way. Some men have no regard for the women they are bound to.

[Some men try to poison their wives with locusts.]

I haven't looked at the deeper meaning or thought of how to cure this curse. [And really, it seemed almost impossible alone. With her current attitude, others might not speak with her, as understanding and compassion was needed.

She needed someone who could connect with others.]

Would you help me?

[He makes a little gesture to indicate his bafflement.]

I will try. I will do what I’m able, only I’m not sure how to do it. Not sure how to solve the trouble that I’m meant to solve, either. It isn’t so different.

These men, were they from the ruling clan here? I’d understand it more if they were, or if one was the son of the next. Men look to their fathers, when they can.

I am not certain his father was still living. It seemed he inherited his wealth from an early age. Perhaps that is a factor, as he had none to look to. Though... [She bit her lower lip, turning her gaze away.] I had no one either and I try to be better than I am.

It is possible he only cares for himself.

[Just like Viserys in the end.]

What is your curse?

A man… [(He makes an ironic little face: this is closely tied to what they’ve been talking about)]… he met a girl who had nothing. A beautiful girl. She seduced him, hoping to become his wife, but he made her his mistress instead.

She agreed to it, then spent the rest of her life making his household miserable and setting his children against him. Don’t know if they were her children, too.

So what do I do? Marry them in death? Find a way to unite the father and his children?

Edited 2022-04-01 02:04 (UTC)

[There is a part of her that sees the irony in his curse. Though she hadn't seduced Jon nor had she tried. Being a mistress was more likely than a wife, given her curious state.]

The curse is his? Perhaps you could find a way to settle his descendant's household? Or perhaps there is a way to separate them? She seems to have driven him to a miserable death.

I don't know who the curse belongs to. It must be his, at least partly. I don't know how he died.

[Something seems to go out of him: his shoulders fall and slump.]

I don't know anything.

[He rubs at his beard again. It's bloody itchy.]

Is there no way to find out who the curse belongs to?

[She notices the change. A part of her wishes to reach out and touch his hand, ubt she recoils from the idea.]

Then we start with his family and ask more about him.

Do you have beard lice? It seems to be troubling you.

Beard lice?

[He makes a face at her. There must be places where it happens. He is lucky that it didn't happen at Castle Black. But it isn't his problem now.]

No, it's a rash. Like it's burning, sometimes.

Burning? It might become infected.

[She's surprised how quickly her concern pushed through her apathy.]

Have you considered shaving it to see what might be wrong?

I'm not going to shave my beard off. Then the hair will be trying to grow through the rash.

[Past that, he will look like a green boy. He finds he does not wish to tell her this.]

Might be there is an ointment somewhere. A compound.

[Might be that no one here will give it to him.]

I will ask. It would be better to try and heal it now before it is infected or spreads.

[And she thinks she might be able to convince one of the healers.]

Do you suppose it might be magic of some kind? It seems we must always consider that here.

[Which she might need to get used to. It seemed possible in their world too.]

Your back -- is that magic, or just a rough bed? My beard -- is that magic, or just lice?

[He shakes his head. It can't matter much: either way, her back is scratched and his face is burning.]

If it's magic, might be that herbs won't solve it.

We should still at least try.

[It was better than taking the chance of further injuring themselves. She hadn't really thought about herself, finding herself still concerned for him, no matter the distance and coldness.

She swallowed her feeling of sickness as she approached him. Fingers moved over where he had scratched, searching for any signs of bites or gashes.]

It must still only be skin deep.

[When she approaches, he looks for her distaste... and he holds very still as she touches his face without any invitation.

It pains him to be touched like this, and he gives the smallest, slightest wince. But it has been a while since she was so forward with him, and he finds that -- he finds that --

He's missed it.

Seven hells.]

Must be. Or it comes from inside. If all of this is the curse, it must -- inside and outside.

[But he says this softly, his eyes locked on hers.]

[He holds her gaze for a long moment, leaving her questioning what he might be thinking and feeling. She might have enjoyed something like this before, given how deeply she criticized him for holding back, but it's too much for her now.

She pulled her hand back quickly, taking a few steps back.

That intensity made her feel ill, even as a warmth spread over her face.]

It will progress. [She touched the small of her back, her fingers coming back sticky with blood] Perhaps no matter what we do.

We must follow where this path leads.

[He still watches her, but he doesn't try to take her hand. She is beautiful, he decides again, and he doesn't like to see her in pain like this.]

No. We follow it back to where it came from.

[She shivers under his gaze, her hand sweeping over the silver fuzz covering her head. Here he was being open in some way, but she was closing herself off.

It was the curse, but perhaps also a level of fear. How many men had betrayed her trust? Jon, Jon was different, but she couldn't bear another hurt and possible rejection.

Did she like him that much? That she was afraid of what they shared?]

I have an idea where to begin. I worry though, if I'll be turned away.

Why do you think they might turn you away?

[He hasn’t moved, and apart from a slight frown, his expression hasn’t changed.]

I am not myself, as you can see. My appearance as well. With the fox spirits and other dangers, they might see me as...as a threat.

[A small girl, lithe and delicate, save for the roughened parts of her skin. No hair to speak of, only a pair of sad and tired violet eyes. Alone, save for Jon. No Drogon, only him to help her, as she tried to push him away.]

[He shrugs, but he is not unsympathetic.]

They took us in easily enough. They know of the curses: it was a condition of our acceptance here. Don’t see why they’d turn you away for doing as they asked.

[Maybe it was insignificant and rather pointless to be worried, but she felt it all the same. It was likely she was afraid of what might happen as she tried to undo the curse. It wasn't something easily explain, but still rooted in her.]

I suppose so.

[She's noncommittal in her response, looking back towards the lake.]

It will be sorted eventually.

[He nods, a gesture much more firm than her noncommittal response.]

It must be.

Dany —

[He has never called her this before, not with intent, but it slips out of his mouth now.]

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oh no

Sorry Jon

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