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Touch of the Stranger – Whisper of Danger

Chapter 2

She knew the answer the day the growth ruptured, right there in the great hall as around her the evening feast was taking place. She was doing her best to ignore the searing pain as she was listening to Rohanne of Tyrosh talking about her children when the other woman suddenly paused and asked, "Should I summon the Grand Maester?"

"No," Dyanna said, summoning all her willpower to not scream with horror as she felt her skin breaking and something flowing out from the wound. She needed even more efforts to restrain herself not to look down. She knew that the cut of her gown cut the growth, so it should be hiding the wound, whatever it was. A faint smell wafted to her nostrils and she clenched her throat and lips not to throw up. The discharge, whatever it was, was smelling vile and she fought the desperate urge to rise and run before anyone else could feel it. Only later would she get to learn that her sudden silence and clear lack of interest to what Rohanne was saying – indeed, she didn't even notice when the other woman stopped talking – would be taken as a new proof for the disdain King Daeron's family showed toward Daemon Blackfyre. Now, she was focused only on making it to the end without showing that there was something wrong.

That night, she sent all her handmaidens away and took a deep breath before lifting her shift and staring boldly into the looking-glass. The wound was red-whitish and dripping, and fierce. Dyanna slowly forced her unwilling fingers to touch it and they came wet with blood and puss. The brief contact sent a new flare of pain up and sideways, to her armpit.

Perhaps it would heal, now that it had broken.

Dyanna went to the curtain concealing the basin and washing items that she used before she went to bed. She reached for a linen, dipped it in the water prepared for her face and almost screamed when she touched it to the wound. The burning sensation sent her reeling back. It took a while before she regained control over her hands enough to soak the linen into cold water. Now. That was better.

The heavy curtains on her windows suddenly sprang to life with the dance of torches from the outside. A squad of guards was going to relieve the ones who currently stood on their posts. That meant that the hour of the bat had come! How had she let herself lose her awareness of time?

Prompted by her fear, Dyanna ran back into the main chamber and threw her nightgown on. It didn't look nearly as nice as when her women or Maekar helped her arrange it but it hid her from view. She sat in a chair and was just reaching for the book she had been trying to read lately when her husband entered.

"By the Seven, what a day!" he murmured, barely sparing her a look. "I didn't really believe my father would receive him with honours. What's next, finding a torch to better look for trouble with?"

Dyanna could never be accused of feeling undue favour for Daemon Blackfyre but she could understand her goodfather's hope and efforts to avoid conflicts. Maekar turned to her expectantly. "Are you going to tell me what your problem with Lady Rohanne was?"

She wasn't quick to answer. She was thinking of how he never said the Tyroshi woman but Lady Rohanne. How often had he heard his mother being referred to as the Dornishwoman? More than he could count, most likely. That was what Dyanna was called behind her back by many as well. She had been surprised to find out that she and the Essosi lady had many things in common. Perhaps under different circumstances, they could have been friends. Of course, they barely saw each other since Rohanne spent most of her time in their seat being with child or recovering after giving birth to one as Daemon did his thing at court.

"What do you mean?" she asked.

"I was seated too far away to see for myself but word has it that you didn't even tried to feign listening to what she was telling you. That you have derided her."

Mother help me! The last thing she wanted was to offend Rohanne… or draw her goodfather's disfavour to herself and Maekar. His antipathy for Daemon was well-known; if her goodfather believed that she had meant to disdain Rohanne publicly, he'd probably decide that Maekar had put her to it.

"I am sorry," she said quietly. "I was just thinking. I didn't realize that I was ignoring her. I'll try to make up."

For a moment, he stared at her but Dyanna had learned to keep her face away from the lamplight in their chambers.

"You'll do no such thing," Maekar finally said. "You're entitled to your own thoughts. And you didn't actually scorn or insult her. I will not have you abase yourself for nothing."

Perhaps Dyanna should have insisted out of fear of making things worse. But then, Maekar started undressing and she forgot about Rohanne of Tyrosh. "Stop!"

He paused and gave her a bewildered look.

"You cannot stay here," Dyanna said quickly. Even if he didn't see the abscess, she could not let him sleep in a bed where blood and puss leaked from her incessantly. Only the Seven knew if she wouldn't get him ill with something. "I don't feel this good and I'll sleep better if I'm alone in bed."

Maekar clearly thought that this was the biggest lie she had ever told him. She had always insisted that she rested better when he was here where he belonged – when headaches rendered her mindless, when she had been in the final days of her pregnancies even. Only three days after both births, she had invited him back in. "What's wrong with you?" he finally asked, still looking at her incredulously.

Dyanna looked away. She was tired of rising before him so she could paint her face before he saw the cruel marks there. She was tired of fearing that his hand would accidentally brush against her breast and feel the growth. But she was ready to do it to no end if it would keep him at her side. Without him, the bed was too big; without his warmth next to her, she was just the Dornishwoman who should have never aspired so high.

But it was much easier for him to see now. And Dyanna would never forgive herself if the vile discharge harmed him in any way.

"Please, Maekar, not now," she said. "I am tired. Let's not get into it. I'll just sleep better if you aren't here, that's all."

The wound was so painful, so unsightly. She could not let him see it. Until it healed over, he should not see her naked. He would never look at her the same way again if he did. But could she really use the means she knew were going to work? Her whole being rose against it. Using weak spots that had always made her fiercely protective of him, turning confidences shared as they lay on one pillow against him? No, she couldn't.

But she didn't need to. Silently, he turned and left the bedchamber without looking back.

Dyanna slumped down in her chair. Just for a while, she told herself. Just until it heals over. It'll be only a few days, she reassured herself and that helped her not to call him back.


It didn't heal over. Not in a few days, not in a few weeks. In about a month, it engulfed much of her breast. The pains accompanying its growing were such that sometimes, she woke up at night unable to move a muscle as the demon cackled, grabbing her breast, twisting it, lancing it with needles of fire until the Stranger shrugged and released her for that night. She drank milk of the poppy, increasing the amount without noticing until one day, she fell asleep and dropped Aerion on the floor. Till the end of her life, she wouldn't forget the moment she woke up some time later and saw her arms empty and her babe on the carpet. When she grabbed him, her heart leaping out of her chest, she thanked the Seven for her own lavish ways. The extremely thick Myrish carpet had cushioned the fall. Aerion was just sleeping, not feeling the least bit inconvenienced. In fact, he started wailing the moment his mother snatched him from his comfortable place and started examining him for injuries, shaking with fear.

I am getting dangerous, Dyanna thought despairingly. For everyone. From this day on, she was careful to never stay alone with the children. Soon, it turned to shortening her time with them overall – she couldn't hold them and she was in too much pain to be able to pay attention to what they did for long.

"Remove the evil thing, Mama," Daeron said again and again, imploring her.

I wish I could, she answered in her head and wondered how he could know. He seemed to know many things that he shouldn't and that made her worry about him.

Pain started encroaching upon every aspect of her life, as much as it encroached upon her beauty. Pain and exhaustion. Everything was too much for her, even the aromas of her beloved gardens. Soon, Dyanna found herself unable to keep all of her old ways – she simply didn't have enough endurance. She had to choose what she'd give up and the first thing to go away as her afternoons of poetry and music where the best in the lands attended. Then, word had it that she stopped returning visits to her guests – and it was true. Just not out of haughtiness as people believed. She started alternating between charities and petitions – and retiring early from the evening feasts. She had staked everything on the belief that as long as she made public appearances looking as glamorous as possible, people would not think twice of the reasons she was cutting those appearances short. They didn't.

And Maekar had not tried to get back to her bedchamber even once. She had not truly expected him to. He was a proud man. He'd never intrude where he wasn't wanted. But the indifference he was facing her reluctance to admit him back was very troubling. In the beginning, he had searched for her eye with a silent question, a hope that he'd never speak aloud. He no longer did. Was it possible that he had already found someone else? If so, Dyanna would look even more hideous to him. He'd refrain from seeing her even more. But that was a cold comfort at night when she lay paralyzed with pain and wanting him back, vowing that in the morning, she'd tell him to come back. She never did.

She was now bathing in private and donning her shift on her own, so her handmaidens would have nothing to talk about. She swaddled her breast in three or four layers of soft linens that would absorb the discharge that kept leaking and mitigate the disgusting stench as much as possible. By now, the lesion was red and black, and grainy. Like rot. Her flesh was rotting and Dyanna could no longer deny to herself the reality of it.

But the person who first saw the abscess was not one of her women. It was her goodsister, the Princess of Dragonstone. Dyanna couldn't believe her bad luck – to have the most agonizing attack of pain in Jena's presence! She didn't cry out but she couldn't stop her body from reaction, from collapsing on the floor – and then Jena saw.

Dyanna was very grateful to her for not revealing her secret to anyone. For a day and a half. Because as the night of the second day grew near, she heard the sound that she had feared for months – the opening of the door as she was in her bathtub, fully exposed.

She'd never forget the horror on Maekar's face when he took in everything that she had tried to hide from him. She looked down to the ugly mess that her flesh had become, determined to stay this way for as long as she lived.

"Gods," Maekar said, barely audibly.

"Did Jena tell you?" she asked behind the curtain of her hair.

"No," he said. "Dyanna, was that it?"

She nodded. Her chin started trembling and she didn't trust herself to speak.

He came close, reached down and took her out of the tub, wrapping her into the soft blue cloth for drying off. Without any effort, he carried her to the fireplace and placed her on the bear pelt closest to it.

The sudden change from warm water to air had left her shivering but Maekar started drying her off immediately. Still looking down, Dyanna followed the movements of his hands, strong and capable to deliver death as easily as she could deliver a good stitch – but they were shaking as they patted her skin with the linen, as if he was afraid to rub her dry.

He covered her with a blanket and Dyanna instinctively curled in a way that wouldn't let the lesion take even the smallest part of its weight.

"Why didn't you tell me?" he finally asked. His voice was hollow, his face set up and Dyanna knew that he understood the meaning of what he saw.

"I was scared," she admitted. What a relief it was to be able to say it! "I didn't want it to be true. I don't want to die, Maekar. I didn't want to have you turn away from me…"

"So you chose to hide from me instead?" He still sounded incredulous but when she nodded, he looked away, fighting an emotion that Dyanna could not recognize. "You thought I would just turn my back on you?"

"It's so ugly, Maekar," she tried to explain. "It's so unsightly, so disfiguring. It robbed me of my beauty, it's filthy and I… I am so ashamed."

"Ashamed?" he repeated and then took her hands in his own. "Come here," he murmured and took her in his arms. Dyanna slumped against him, melting with relief. Now, the fact that she had not told him in the beginning made her feel so stupid. She had deprived herself of this for months. "I can't believe that such a smart woman can be so stupid," he added, holding her close.

Now, the sobs came, the weeping of sweet relief. She didn't even try to contain her voice, the tears of release turning to howls of fear and then back. The wetness in her hair told her that he, too, found it hard to contain his emotions.

"Come on," he said when she finally went quiet against him, having exhausted her fears and pain, and relief, and voice. "You need to rest."

They had already missed the first courses of the feast, so Dyanna didn't protest when he put her nightgown on. She even showed him how to help her with her bandages but he only placed one, refusing to stifle the lesion with many layers of cloth. She wanted him to stay here, with her. She had missed him desperately in the separation that she had forced on them. But when he started undressing, alarm won out. "You shouldn't," she said. "It might be… dangerous."

He shrugged her concern off and when he lay down next to her, Dyanna was ready to accept it, accept anything to feel his warmth again.

"The Grand Maester will see you tomorrow," Maekar said and Dyanna silently agreed, snuggling close. There was nothing that she wouldn't do for him, even showing her breast to the Grand Maester despite knowing that it would be no use. No one knew of a cure.