westwhere | ...This Curse Has Run Its Course

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.]

[She's startled by the sudden intimacy, the use of a name that hardly any used. She whirled around to stare at him wide eyed, so surprised that the curse didn't color her response.

She could ask him what made him call her that? What gave him the right? But those questions died on her tongue. She can only meet his eyes, feeling tongue tied.]

[He speaks to her gently after she turns around.]

Ask one of the other ladies for aid with your back. Ask Wen Qing, or Moiraine, or Yennefer. I think one of them might be willing to help. Some sort of poultice, or something that will make it trouble you less.

I do not know if it will be any better if it is a woman touching me. All touch, it feels sickening.

[Her voice was sad, hurt by this sudden need for isolation and how it affected the people she knew.]

Even if there is a poultice, it is unlikely that it will heal for long. I imagine it will grow worse the longer this goes.

[He thinks of reaching out to appeal to her, but if she hates to be touched, it would be unkind. So he doesn’t: only with his look.]

Even if it doesn’t heal for long, it may still give you some comfort.

Take the comfort, if you can, even if it’s only a little. I don’t like to see you suffer if there is no need.

Edited 2022-04-03 07:21 (UTC)

[He is being open in a way she wasn't used to normally, which was confusion enough without the curse. She wrapped her arms around her waist, wincing a little as a few scratches opened.]

You should consider talking your advice as well.

[Something in his face is a little more closed than it had been a moment ago.]

I am well enough. The dangers here feel more familiar than they did in Ellethia. Not the same — I’m not enough of a fool to think that — but a troublesome forest and an undead lord make more sense to me than a mirror in a lighthouse.

Edited 2022-04-04 03:41 (UTC)

[It's a painful reminder, the mirror. Her mistake and her ignorance had pulled him into something dangerous and life threatening. She should have known better or fought more.

She nodded.]

From the Wall? That is how it is familiar?

[A solemn nod.]

Aye, from the Wall, and north of it.

Though this place is not as cold. There were times in the Haunted Forest and in the Frostfangs when I thought I’d never get warm again. And things up in that forest —

Well, I saw a White Walker there. First I ever saw.

[It's less hard to believe in the Others after their time here. The undead seemed different in these two different worlds. It was little surprise Jon felt more at ease with this.]

What did it look like?

Like a strong old man. They stand tall. They are wizened, all blue and white, and their eyes are all blue, with a cold burn.

They shriek like… well, like what they are. Never heard anything like it.

[He is very still, and there is little emotion in his voice just now.]

I think I dreamed of them one night. I remember that at first I was my brother Rhaegar on the Trident, but after, I was riding Drogon and raining fire down on armies that turned to water.

[He hesitates.]

When they meet dragonglass or Valyrian steel, they shatter like ice and melt away.

Do you often — have that sort of dream?

On occasion. I remember having one before my dragons were born.

I turned into a dragon, wings tearing from my back.

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oh no

Sorry Jon

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