eastbound | [un: whitewolf] video (backdated to before current event)

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[un: whitewolf] video (backdated to before current event)

[Jon looks rough, and he sounds it, too. Under his beard, his face is mottled, and he rubs at the affected area occasionally as he talks. His voice is a low rasp.]

I am seeking my sister. You might know her as Alayne Stone. Girl with long dark hair, but might be that you can see the red in it.

She has been missing for several days. I fear that she is lost in the forest, or that someone has taken her, or —

I don’t know what to think. She is simply gone.

One other thing. It’s not so important as finding Sa— as finding Alayne.

Will you tell me what you’ve done for your curses? I’m having a bloody hard time even thinking of how to set things right with mine. [He rubs at his beard yet again.] Harder still when my mind is on my sister.

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[He shrugs.]

I don’t know what the Citadel has. A lot of books and ravens. I sent my friend — my brother — to study there, but all he’s found is your dragonglass on your island.

[Is Sam his brother anymore? He has none left, only a sister now. And she has gone, too, in a way.]

Candles don’t help, unless they can be made into arrowheads and blades.

Edited 2022-04-30 08:43 (UTC)

Obsidian must be in a number of places or else glass candles would not be available for tribute gifts or in possession of sorcerers and maesters alike.

[She's a bit amused at the idea that Dragonstone would be the only source available to Westeros. Even as uneducated as she was, she had seen walls and gates made of dragonglass. She was gifted dragonglass when she arrived in Qarth. Such things didn't seem difficult to procure. No different than seeking a loan from the Iron Bank.]

The candles give visions and knowledge. They could show you where the Others are, where they move and how they move. Traveling across lands through such a means but never being seen by other men. That seems quite a boon.

It isn't the candle that is remarkable. It is that magic is appearing. Glass candles haven't burned for hundreds of years. The Others have not been seen for thousands of years. Dragons were thought long dead.

Does this not seem like more than a coincidence?

I don’t know what is and isn’t a coincidence. Maybe the magic is something to do with your dragons, or the dragons are something to do with the magic, or they all have to do with the White Walkers, or the magic is to do with them both, the ice and the fire.

[To know so little is frustrating to him, but it’s also the way of things.]

Maybe we’ll clean out some storeroom and find one of your candles.

[He says it bleakly enough that she’ll understand his skepticism.]

What we might have isn’t what we do have. I wish it was.

[Ice and fire. It sounded like a song.]

If you do, perhaps we can communicate through them? Or you may see my dreams?

[She's teasing again, trying to make him feel a bit lighter in the face of loss.]

Though what you have may be something you need?

[Or want?]

[He is not so distraught that he cannot recognize that she’s trying to jest, maybe to lighten the air, so he tries to respond in kind.]

What sort of things would I see in Daenerys Targaryen’s dreams?

[Dragons, he imagines, or clouds in the sky that look like them.]

That would depend. Dreams vary. Sometimes they may mean something, sometimes they are what we wish.

[She can think of several that she would not want to share with him. Disturbing dreams or erotic, that might disturb him. Men with blue lips that felt cold.

There were better ones. Ones of home with a red door.]

Simple wishes a girl has. A good life with a man she loves and a warm home with a red door.

[Anyone might want that — might dream of it. Except for one thing…]

Why a red door?

It was the only home I knew. For the brief time we were there in Braavos.

I used to dream of Winterfell… the only home I had known. But it was no home in my dreams, it was - a dead place, and empty.

[He realizes that he’s still holding her hand between his — it is not unpleasant to do it. He gives the back of her hand another reassuring little pat.]

You might paint any door red.

[She thinks she should pull her hand back, but the pat is comforting and she doesn't mind his touch. Not at the moment.]

I thought that once. Painting every door of the Red Keep red.

It needs more than that to be a home.

It was your family’s home for hundreds of years. It will be again.

[But he’s also staring at her as he says this.]

If we ever find a beacon, that is. If we ever get far enough east. If the Merchant hasn’t decided to leave us on our own. I helped dispose of those bodies back at the lighthouse, but — I don’t know if he understands.

So you do have some hope.

[She flushed under his gaze, breaking it a moment to duck her head, but soon found herself looking back. It wasn't flowers or the gifts Daario brought. It wasn't sweet words and courtly attempts at wooing.

But it was something and she liked the way it made her feel and she liked the heat he brought to her cheeks.]

I would rather have someone than a red door-

[Never really realizing how that might be taken.]

Someone?

[A slight nod. It might be acknowledgement, or encouragement — he isn’t thinking of which.]

They would be lucky, I think.

[A compliment!]

[Her smile was shy and curious, aware something passing between them.]

Do you truly think so?

Truly?

Truly.

[He doesn’t mean the throne she intends to sit on; he thinks, instead, of the way she tried to care for him after his time in the dark mirror. He thinks of her curling against his back so that he might feel safe enough to rest.

She looks more shy, more girlish, than he can remember seeing her before.]

Do I seem to you like a liar?

[Half jesting, half helpless.]

No.

[She knew from the start that he was no liar. There were few truly honest and loyal men in the world, but Jon Snow seemed to be among the rare sort. She liked that about him.

She liked that she felt as though they met before. Or that she had seen him in some dream or other.]

I simply never can predict how you feel.

[It has rarely mattered how he feels. He does what must be done, not what he wills.]

Jealous of a man I’ve never met.

[Might be he shouldn’t have said that. He looks almost apologetic.]

[She can't suppress or hide the wide grin on her face. Shy, overjoyed and pleased. So many emotions that ran together and fed the other, all of them driving through her like wildfire.

She pulled herself and moved closer to him, their linked hands falling to their side. She was close, close in a way that seemed to trigger rivulets of blood streaming from her back down to her legs. Thankfully hidden by her clothes.

It seemed a moment from one of the romantic stories she loved. A moment to kiss or embrace, a moment for something more. That she even considered this made her head spin. But before any of it could come to be-

-there were the sounds of pleasure in the distance, growing louder and louder as the woman neared climax. Dany blushed.]

There are a number of lovers nearby. It seems that this place enflames passion, constantly enflames.]

[She seems happy, moves closer, her violet eyes all wide and charmed. He doesn’t know what to say or do next.

Before he can decide, he hears a wail — no, a panting moan - somewhere in the trees. Not close, but not as far off as he’d like, either. And he realizes what it is.

He is not exactly embarrassed, but it would be better if it weren’t happening, or if it must, better if it happened at another time.]

Is this the way of it? Off in the bushes?

[He’s mildly incredulous. At this time of day?]

This is the better outcome. We had to force them from our hut. I believe they were using my bed at one point.

[She glanced towards the bushes, amused at the very least. Her stomach still roiled and turned, already pushed to its limit by her moment with Jon. Hearing them, more blood seemed to spill and sickness started to surge.

She did her best to cover her discomfort, not wanting to ruin the moment, even if it was already interrupted.]

It is more troubling at night. Their stamina doesn't seem to wear out.

[A chuckle, with a hint of discomfort in it. Even if he isn’t exactly embarrassed by what’s happening, it’s still something that you usually pretend not to see or hear.]

I’d offer you a trade, from time to time, but the place I’m staying in falls to pieces every morning. That’s only a little better.

[It doesn’t occur to him that he has just suggested that they sleep in each other’s beds.]

[She caught the meaning, though wondered if she were overthinking it. Still, she held onto it, now better aware of him.]

Perhaps then it would be better to sleep outside? The Dothraki say the most important moments should happen under the stars.

[She could be accepting in her own way.]

Wouldn’t you hear them all the —

[Oh.]

I suppose it’s good that someone here is happy.

You like to look at the stars?

I learned to have a better appreciation for them than I used to.

[The woman finally seemed to be reaching her end. Blood started to sprinkle at her feet, dotting the ground around her. Unless he was staring at the dirt, he would at least not notice such things.

Much to her relief.]

I like simple living. Sleeping under the stars, simple charred meat to eat, being muddy and in leathers.

[She ran her hand over her head, rubbing the fuzz there bashfully.]

I know you are the same.

[He never really said so, but she suspected this. His manner was someone who preferred the simple life.]

[Thank the gods — any that are listening — that the woman seems to be finishing. It occurs to him that it may be more than one woman, and that thought in his head brings a faint pink tinge to his cheeks.]

Don’t like being muddy.

[A pause.]

But I can’t say I mind it much, either. I like walking in the woods, or looking at the stars. Hunting and roasting the meat. A good rabbit or pheasant. Sweet cool air.

oh, Jon. You’re gonna *wish* this is all Sam found!

Jon, really, did you listen at lessons?

Yes, but also no

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cw mild sexual reference

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cw: mild sexual reference

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oh, Jon. You’re gonna wish this is all Sam found!