video; un: ironborn

[reek]

I’ll not congratulate anyone for the beginnings of this cure.

[ Oh, look, it's that guy who pisses everyone off. The corner of his mouth quirks into a cruel smirk, but his teeth are clenched too tightly and his eyes burn too fiercely for any proper smile. It’s a struggle for him to remain as guarded as he would prefer, and there are cracks in his armor: he’s clearly angry and upset. ]

My sister was among the ill. Was. I have been informed that she has since returned to the pods—still uncured.

[ He tries to keep his tone even and cold, void of emotion, but his voice breaks ever so slightly. He and Asha weren’t close, not like he’s known siblings should be, but it’s a deep cut to be abandoned again, and it hurts to know that one of the few people he felt he could trust in this place is gone. Clearing his throat, he continues.]

Which leads me to the question at hand. What reason do I, or the worried, or any of the ailing, have to trust the maesters here? Healers--whatever name you may know them by. Months, this has gone on, to the point where someone is gone and remains unhealed.

[ He knows better than to critique those who have done nothing but help, but his anger is directionless otherwise, so he chuckles cruelly, and that cheshire smirk widens. ]

They’ve been all but useless.