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Post by The Forgotten God on Oct 18, 2012 18:38:51 GMT -5
With that the meeting ends.
The king and his advisros retire to discuss events, and Kal Stark sinks like a stone onto a chair.
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Post by Arania Stark on Oct 18, 2012 19:04:26 GMT -5
Arania watched the King and his advisors depart, allowing a tremulous sigh to escape her. "Now what? Do we just sit here and wait for them to decide if it will come to war or not?" She crossed her arms over her chest, hugging herself. "At least we are no longer hiding in that wretched little tent." Last night that tent had seemed a palace, just to be enclosed by four walls. She looked from Amelia to Kal, realizing that once again she was indebted to the north.
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Post by The Forgotten God on Oct 18, 2012 19:08:07 GMT -5
"I think you're free to go," Kal says, "or stay, whatever you prefer." His voice is distant but he looks at her intently.
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Post by Arania Stark on Oct 18, 2012 19:16:28 GMT -5
She met his gaze. "I'd rather stay, if no one minds. I don't think I could handle my mother or ny sisters right now." She frowned. "If it were up to her, I'd never leave her side again, I'm sure."
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Post by Amelia Royce on Oct 18, 2012 19:25:44 GMT -5
"It could have happened to anyone," Amelia said, offering a smile. "It's just... you got unlucky, Arania... very unlucky. Your parents will understand. Although they will probably be overprotective now, you are right."
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Post by The Forgotten God on Oct 18, 2012 20:03:01 GMT -5
"No one minds," Kal says. He looks at a stain on his sleeve, where he seems to have reopened his wound. "Oh damn."
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Post by Arania Stark on Oct 18, 2012 20:53:41 GMT -5
"Unlucky more than once. It seems my curiosity got te better of me again." She sighed. She wouldn't even bother asking to go to Essos now. She glanced at Kal when he swore, noticing a bit of gore on his sleeve. "Perhaps you should see a maester after all." Tonguing the raw wound were her molar once had been, she added, "I know I should. Do you know the way?"
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Post by The Forgotten God on Oct 18, 2012 20:55:38 GMT -5
"I do. Follow me." He extends a hand in a slightly joking but still polite gesture.
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Post by Arania Stark on Oct 18, 2012 21:10:25 GMT -5
"Why thank you," she said loftily, taking his hand as though they were about to begin a minuet. She smiled tentatively. "Do you see it, when I smile?"
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Post by The Forgotten God on Oct 18, 2012 21:31:37 GMT -5
"Your smile? Yes, it is quite nice," he says, then follows, "Other than having a puffy cheek, you'd never know." They walk into Maester Walther's rooms. He is a round man of middle years. Kal lets her go first.
"Well, this is certainly...unique. Usually it's the young men missing teeth...hmm...I can cast a fake tooth, if you'd like?"
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Post by Arania Stark on Oct 18, 2012 22:31:03 GMT -5
It was a relief to know that her smile wasn't ruined.
She looked at the maester levelly. "I'm not concerned about replacing it, I only worry that infection might set in. Its quite swollen now, and even with milk of the poppy I can feel the pressure." Only the Gods knew where that knife had been before he dug it into her gums.
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Post by The Forgotten God on Oct 18, 2012 22:34:57 GMT -5
The maester nods. He pulls a long, thin needle from his kit, then runs it through a candle flame for about fifteen seconds. "I must lance the wound to purge the blight. It will hurt. Would you like more poppy to numb your mouth?"
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Post by Arania Stark on Oct 18, 2012 22:37:19 GMT -5
She shook her head. "I don't want to become reliant on the stuff. Just do it."
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Post by The Forgotten God on Oct 18, 2012 22:40:23 GMT -5
The maester looks nervously at Kal. He nods and gets a rope. "You're going to want to bite on this." when she does, the red-hot needle stabs into her mouth, and only both of the Stark's hands holding her stop her from writhing in pain. The needle is quickly withdrawn, and she is given a lot of whiskey. "It will cleanse the wound. For the gods' sake don't swallow it."
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Post by Arania Stark on Oct 18, 2012 22:58:43 GMT -5
It hurt worse than she had thought. She felt the pressure leave, and her mouth filled with the iron tang of blood and the sickening taste of infection. The whiskey burned her tongue and stung the wound. She was all too eager to spit the entire mess out. The wound throbbed. "I don't think you quite prepared me for that, Maester Walther."
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