driftfleet | This month's wanderings

Entry tags:

cole

This month's wanderings

Who: Cole and anyone who doesn't get away fast enough
Broadcast: No
Action: Everywhere but the Marsiva and Tourist. Sorry Fenris, the Three Twins is fair game again.
When: During this month.

[Cole does this thing, where he parks the Pathstone alongside other ships, and then visits. He does this in a big circuit and then keeps doing it.

He likes visiting. Be prepared to be visited!]

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Only if you'd like to tell me one. I understand if you'd rather focus on what you're learning.

Oh no, I promised you a story ... and so I shall.

[He thought about it, and went with the Legend of Valyaria.]

Three thousand years after the Long Night ended in Westeros, across the sea in Essos, settlers in the Valyria peninsula discovered that dragons had settled there. Using powerful magic the Valyrians tamed the dragons, and learned to breed and control them, using the creatures to establish an empire that spanned across Essos after consuming the former Ghiscari Empire, creating a society that was fueled by magic. The Valyrians even spread as far as a set of islands off the coast of Westeros’ Stormlands, where the Targaryen family emigrated with their own dragons.

After 5,000 years of prosperity, however, the Valyrian empire collapsed in disaster. A cataclysmic event spurred by the Valyrian’s heavy use of magic (and the volcanic mountains they had settled in) tore apart the Valyrian peninsula, with many dragons and Valyrians perishing in the aftermath.

As former citizens rebelled and established the Free Cities of Essos, the Targaryens and their three dragons thought themselves to be the last surviving Valyrians. In an attempt to ensure that the Valyrian legacy would survive the cataclysm, they looked to Westeros....

[Cole doesn't know what the Long Night is, even if he can hear the importance of the name.

But he listens attentively, nodding along and not interrupting half as much as he used to while listening to stories.]

[Tyrion ends the tale there, because after that is the war for Westeros, and he is fairly certain he does not want to go onto that many thousands of years of history.]

There are many more tales - but rarely do they end well.

[It doesn't feel like a story. It feels like a piece of history, unending, spinning on and he follows the thought.]

Drogon is wild as his namesake, reaching and expanding, like heat, burning, consuming.

[Tyrion stopped, and stared for a moment, before gaping at the younger man.]

I ... yes. Yes he is.

You can't tame them, you know. You can control them, with whip or whisper, but they're never tame. They're birthed by death.

[There are knots upon knots and tangles and he hugs his legs tighter, closing his eyes.]

...Well, I don't think anyone could tame them, outside their Mother of Dragons. Perhaps I only wish to hear them whisper back.

[It was twisted - a whole twisted history that may be digging it's claws into poor Cole. Tyrion frowned, as he stated softly.] If you are in my mind, Cole, for your own sanity you should get out.

She cannot tame them. They might choose to listen, but they are never tame. They scream at the sky and they burn with the heat of death.

[He rubs his face, nose wrinkling.]

No? Maybe. No. Not your mind. Webs and weaves, woven words.

I can't help your hurts, even though they cry and cling to me. I can skim and swim in the outside where it hurts less, where it just is.

Well, then I am glad that they are listening intently, then.

[Tyrion's smile is a tired one.]

Which are you talking about? My pain, or all our pain?

Yes.

[All of them, but especially Tyrion. His soul is a mess of knots and pearls that might be too far formed for him to unpick. He so badly wants to help him, but he doesn't know how.

Like Dorian. So vastly much worse than Dorian.]

I'm sorry. I want to make you feel better, but I don't know how. I usually know, but this time, I don't.

Cole ...

[He smiled a little then, before reaching over to put his stubby hand over Cole's, patting it gently.]

Do you know how much it means that you wish to help, at all?

[Cole's hands were large, broad and long and just a little too bony to be truly elegant. He looks at Tyrion's hand and then to his face.]

It... does?

[Tyrion's were far too small and stubby - so there you had it. He nods his head solemnly.]

There are few who have cared for me, truly and honestly, without coin being involved first. There was Pod, of course, and my younger nieces and nephews. Jaime - ah, dear sweet Jaime. [A bitter sweet smile, before he focused on the here.]

You care because I am in pain, nothing more. I ... am grateful.

[Cole touches Tyrion's hand, interested in the differences between them, but he's still listening.]

Jaime wouldn't lie to me, whatever father says, if Jaime says it's true, he wouldn't lie to me, he lied to me, why couldn't any of them stand to see me be happy?

[His hand tightened on Tyrion's.] I'm so sorry. It all hurts so deep, I can't fix it. But I do care.

[Grief etched over his face at that memory, pulled in, but it felt good to hear it on someone's lips and not just swimming around in his head drunkenly.]

The question that ties together all the other knots of pain, Cole.

[He squeezed back, his voice quiet.] I am glad. And I shall do you the further burden of now having me care for you, spirit-boy.

Why is that a burden?

[He takes his hand back. Prolonged touching is still unfamiliar to him.]

Oh, because horrible things happen to people I honestly care about. Or you might end up betraying me. It could go either way.

Horrible things already happened to Cole. Me. Us.

I don't think I know how to betray someone.

[Tyrion is now the one who looked pained at that.]

Then you have my deepest sympathies - and - well, find that you have a distinct disadvantage to the rest of us.

[Cole's nature if to be guileless and honest most of the time. Deception just doesn't come naturally. Betrayal makes even less sense, committing such a deep hurt against someone.]

I know when people are going to hurt others, though. It screams from their eyes and hearts, bleeding brackish black across their words and hands.

[Things flash across his memory, her soft kisses at their wedding, a heavy gold coin tossed to her, his jeering mouth and the light blazing from the statue as they drag him by his arms down to the cells.

He hums softly instead, looking at his feet, toes pushing against the worn leather.]

Why aren't toes better at picking things up?

Well, then you do have an advantage there. I never know when people are lying to me.

[he sighed, and Tysha's song clings to his brain once more. His morbid thoughts are dragged out, though, to Cole's ... rather random ones.]

I would have to say because they are short.

[Cole feels music and hums it briefly, rocking back and forth and then pushing it out with another song, the song everyone knows about the Mockingbird.]

But why aren't they longer, so they're more useful?

[He starts humming a song about a Mockingbird, while he looks critically at Cole's toes.]

I imagine so our shoes would still fit us.

Oh. Okay.

[For Cole, that's a valid explanation. His critical thinking isn't very acute.]

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