* foam / maiden.

mouthful of white hot fire, tongue coated in poison, ragged nails painted in my own blood; there is a hunger in me, something vicious; a thirst to be celestial, godly, divine ─ and yet. valdis greyjoy. princess. foam maiden.

[ironwore-blog]

P Y K E 

look at me     my hair; your hair splayed over this stone.

        my eyes; your eyes watching this knife.             the sharp edge of it with the sea reflected.

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L A E N A H ─

There was not a day that went by that the lack of the sight of the sea from her window didn’t cause an aching disappointment in her chest. It was rare for her to give into her fancies, always feeling as though she should be doing more for her House than she did but after a quick check of the ground and upon seeing everything was in order, Laenah had been unable to ignore the urge she felt to see what she craved. Saddling her horse and declining the offer of guards, the brunette had rode for the coast with only her falcon for company.

Not a moment too soon she arrived at the place that her heart cried out for, finally silenced as soon as her toes got washed over by the surf. Eyes closed she titled her head upward, worshipping both the sea and sun in the same heartbeat. Overhead Korzion soared and see opened one eye to regard her companion, smile on her lips as she did. The peace that she felt was soon interrupted however from cries further down and without a second thought she takes off running towards.

A instant sense of regret hits her that she perhaps should have brought more guards with her when dark eyes land on the scene of what she can only think is a raid on a small village but Laenah knew that she had to take some sort of action, even without the safety and protection of their blades. Quickly glancing at her quiver, a total is made of her arrows and keen eyes match each one to a man on the sand. Hesitation grips her once again, the teachings of Lady Westerling echoing in her ears before she buries the chastising words and decides that for once things will be done her way. Not the Dornish way, not the Sarsfield way, not the Westerlands way. Hers.

Calmly, with a focus that came only from a deep sense of calm that the actions she was taking were solely her own choice, Laenah shouldered her quiver and drew an arrow, nocking it. Inhaling, the brunette drew back the bowstring and took aim at one of Ironborn. For a moment she considers where to place her arrow but decides that there’s no need for death when she simply means it as a warning. Exhaling she releases and the arrow finds a new home in the man’s leg.

Another arrow is nocked before she walks calmly towards the group, focusing on the woman who had an aura of control around her. “I suggest that you take your men and go or you will soon find all of them with the same ailment.”

@ironwore

( ✨*°*. ) → the islands that surmised the k i n g d o m of iron were mostly barren spits of land connected by water-corroded bridges; what grew there was limited and barely enough to feed an entire population of men, let alone serve as means of trade and commerce to support their livelihoods. the first men had been forced to leave their shores with axe and arrow to s c a v e n g e for food, meeting with violent resistance from the men of other lands. so began a feud between all the lords of the shores and the kings of iron that had never seen an end; valdis desired an end, if only for the betterment of her people. there was such bias against them that she desired to d i s p e l yet for all the rumors, the tales of the stubbornness of the ironborn were not mere lies, so deeply rooted in tradition and history that alliance with the green landers seemed unthinkable, suggestion met with scorn.

    ( she had been h e r a l d e d firstborn and so the problems of her people fell upon her shoulders ─ the call of sea silenced, the echoes of the drown god’s trumpet pushed aside for matters of men. )

    the watcher calls for axe and shield, land rising in the horizon stirs the heart of her men and a grudging smile was offered, acquiescing c o m m a n d to her second whilst raiding preparations were formulated. the villagers cower in their huts though a few brave fools venture outwards, roughly made swords in hand. they were quickly felled with carefully aimed arrows, the slow rise of the ironborn chant e c h o i n g through the air. 

    ( a fear tactic, words that held beautiful meaning yet brought the worst bloodshed. lips part in a wide grin; deny, deny, deny her true nature yet valdis was a reaper at heart, seeking to claim and conquer. )

    s h a r p look was given to the warriors as the village surrendered without much fight, the cries of mothers and children resounding through the woods surrounding them as provisions were gathered, livestock tied up and gold taken; the thirsty gaze in the eyes of her men did not go amiss, heaviness in the heart that quickly turns to c o n f u s i o n as the encroaching man was brought to his knees by an arrow, the woman that would had been his victim fleeing from his grasp.

    immediately, shields were lifted, hands searching for axes and swords that had been tossed aside for gold and wheat. through the dense overgrowth emerges a woman with her chin lifted in a c h a l l e n g e; clever enough to notice that valdis held command, clever enough and dangerous enough that a small smirk was given in acknowledgement, hand raising to quieten the other men.

    “how do you mean to take us all by your lonesome, milady?” mocking, mocking usage of the t i t l e as she swaggered closer to the woman, hands away from her body to show that there was no weapon concealed upon her person. “you’d get one or two of us, aye, but we’d soon overpower you. and the guards you might have, hiding in the bushes.” no responsible guardsmen would leave his lady by her lonesome; no respectful man would allow his l a d y to challenge ironborn raiders. “no one has died.” a small pause. “well, three people have died. honorably, with swords in their hands. you can run back home and we will be gone before you know it. why concern yourself with these smallfolk?”

[ironwore-blog]

N A I A ─

WHAT HAD BEEN MEANT  to be a gallant celebration had turned to a grim tragedy, the visions of shadows growing and bringing harm to those who came into contact with them was still far too present in naia’s mind; each time her own dark hues blinked, the scene replayed. she wanted to go home. the unease that encased her frame was overwhelming – she was lucky to be alive, and yet, she could not help but to believe she was also unlucky, for no other reason than the fact of just how such a gruesome murder scene had come to be. darkness, shadows, sorcery… the servant’s tale. she doubted she was the first person to think of the rumors that preceded her no matter where she went, or to think of the story that had been spun of how she and her brother had come to be. she needed space. 

FINE LEATHER GLOVES  are deposited on the small stretch of bar in front of her, midnight cloak wrapped around her frame with the hood still donned, pale hands grasped around a tankard of warm cider. a trip to winter town by herself with none of the people who know her by look able to find her is a safe haven she doesn’t wish to give up. but the creak of the stool next to her turns her stomach, dread an ever present look on her darkened face. she could be hopeful, tell herself that it’s finntan or her uncle, but she knows better – neither would have come upon her so silently. a long swig is taken from her tankard before naia sighs and steels herself, gaze slowly turning to the body next to her.  ― ❛  i would think that seeking out someone with such a reputation as mine during these times would not be very high on your priority list. ‘lest you think i had something to do with it.   ❜

( ✨*°*. ) → like v e r m i n, they had scattered, following the winds that would lead them back home to the salt rocks of the iron islands. those bred upon the golden shores of pyke carried steel in their hands before feet had gained stability yet most were cowards at heart, set in the old ways of the drowned god, fleeing at first mention of witchcraft and s h a d o w figures. ironborn were looters, picking coins from a dead man’s purse and enslaving widows and orphans ─ that was her ancestry but valdis would not let it be her heritage. while the other captains boarded their vessels with great haste, she had chosen to stay, daring a few others who were brave of heart to lend her an a x e, should the need arise.

    she would learn the truth and avenge her fallen captain ─ an honorable cause, to conceal true pain at the sudden lost of a friend intertwined with the aching emptiness left behind by a brother, still m i s s i n g from her side. 

    “... and do you know of my reputation?” happenstance had seen her following the hooded figure to a tavern in winter town and crowded surroundings had seen her seated by the side of the very person she had followed. valdis did not make it a point to know much of the g r e e n l a n d e r s and their gossiping nature but evidently, the woman seemed to carry some kind of personal stigma upon her person, to act in such defense. “apologies if i cause insult, but you hardly seem the kind to be able to conjure up such fiends. the shadows come from asshai, my lady, all s e a f a r e r s know that.”

[ironwore-blog]

L Y A N N A ─

           Banners danced in the wind, sigils imprinted on the light fabric so that the strong could be easily distinguished in the sea of bodies, visitors all with the same purpose in mind…vanity. Each house wanted to win for different reasons, but the root was always pride. Somewhere among the the great lords, her own brother would be stood with a winter sun emblazoned on obsidian toned armour. Her cheers would accelerate when she saw him, that familiar bond causing her to swell with pride. For their king, admiration would shine on her features like the sun she was meant to be. Such a show was far less forced than it had been for his predecessor. Lyanna had taken to watching the women in court, curious of their nature and intent. Even if she cared very little for them, she needed to know who to mark as an enemy or ally. Something about the ironborn irked her, but she did not let it show. When the princess began to speak, the raven-haired lady made her polite responses,

“Perhaps, those stubborn men who make war will have all the distractions and glory they need in the tourney, rather than declaring bloodshed on another kingdom. We may only hope for it,” Lyanna declared, despite the tremor in her stomach. Power meant more to her than peace, and the North should never look weak.

( ✨*°*. ) → she was not so far removed from the g r o u n d that she believed northern women incapable of the poisonous bite that their southern counterparts were so well-versed in ─ despite the alarming amount of women with swords hanging from their hips and axes strapped to their backs, she was not charmed by the north by any means. attendance had been more of a gift of c o m p a n y for her travel-weary brother rather than a show of respect for the newly crowned wolf king though she grudgingly could not deny admiration for his reputed prowess in battle. her brother had good sense, to desire a stronger alliance with the north, for having calder stark as an e n e m y would be no small headache. the lady who spoke appeared beguilingly soft and valdis felt compelled to temper her harsh islander brogue into something of equal politeness. 

    “is that what y o u hope for, my lady?” blunt question as head inclined in a small nod of acknowledgement. “in a tourney, there are winners and losers ─ the losers will no doubt seek to bolster their pride by seeking revenge. who will you support in the events?”

[ironwore-blog]

( ✨*°*. ) → she bore the emblem of her house with a p r i d e that rivaled many men, kraken pinned the the leathers of her vest as a bow was lifted and testing for strength. though her hands were used to the weight of an axe, valdis found her comfort in archery, despite the quality of the standardized weapon in her hand leaving much to be d e s i r e d by experienced warrior. perhaps it was wise, to make certain all were of equal standings when it came to the competition, lest argument arise over the results. reminder of a ceasefire throughout the tournament had been read over the feast in the hall, as though such warnings were to be heeded when spirits were h i g h with wine and women ─ too many hands had rested upon pommels and veiled threats had been thrown across tables to believe tentative peace had been accomplished, the weight of another war settling heavy upon her shoulders.

    “if this all comes to an end without anyone threatening war or sustaining deliberate injury, it will be nothing short of a m i r a c l e.”

[ironwore-blog]

V A Y O N ─

“So long that I’ve forgotten, no. But still, too long.” Vayon smiled, the familiar lilt of his sister’s voice signaled home to him more than even the sound of waves crashing against the rocks of Pyke or the wind whistling through the sails of his ship. He had missed her, he always did, and relief flooded through his veins at the sight of a few golden strands snaking their way from beneath Valdis’ hood. They were so different to look at, one golden crowned like the sun on shallow water, the other as dark as the shadow of a ship’s hull on the open ocean, and yet brother and sister had the same eyes that knew great loss, and the same iron-forged bond between them. 

Vayon tugged on the reins of his black mare with care, Kelpie had travelled a long way through snow she was unused to, and though Vayon had no particular affinity for horses, he appreciated her need for rest just as he did.  The two of them had come miles from the coast, leaving the Kraken’s Kiss with his crew to venture to Winterfell where he had been dreading this moment, no matter how used to it he had become with Valdis. “There’s not much to speak of.” He was tired of coming up short, finding nothing and returning home without the lost kraken, but he was never tired of searching - he could not let himself be tired of searching when Victarion was out there somewhere. “No luck, again.” He scrubbed a hand through snow-speckled black hair wearily. “I’m sorry.”

( ✨*°*. ) → the loyal steed was escorted down the icy path that lead to winterfell’s stables, a b a r r i e r between the two siblings whilst courage and composure was gathered ─ by brother bearing bad news and by sister who remained hopeful despite predicting the words that would leave his lips. disappointment colored their youth in streaks of grey and white, grasping at whatever bit of rumor and murmured hint with eager hands and then grasping at each other for c o m f o r t after yet another failed search. she longed to have her family united once more yet she dreaded what they would find, if they ever did find her lost brother.

    how much would he have changed, being away from the salt and sand of their islands? he spent more years away from them than he did with them and by the gods, she was a f r a i d of the man he might be. “do not apologize.” soft reprimand, as the reins of his horse were handed off to a stablehand and finally, finally her hands reach for his, cold fingers firm and reassuring. “we will try again and again ─ we will find him, i feel it in my heart.” how tall vayon had grown, how wise he seemed with his weary eyes ─ yet still a boy, still her y o u n g e r brother despite his maturity. ( comfort the little ones, her mother had murmured, for that is what you are good at. stay soft, but hide the iron beneath your smile. ) “but for now, we must think of the north and it’s new king... we will strengthen our kingdom so that when victarion returns, the iron islands will be stronger than ever.”

[ironwore-blog]

V A Y O N ─

Vayon had made it to Winterfell in good time, insisting on sailing to Deepwood Motte and riding from there to the seat of the Direwolves, though it seemed he was still among the last to arrive if the crowds milling about already were anything to go by. As he and his small entourage of ironborn entered the stronghold’s gates, he could not help but be impressed by the scale of this gathering. Cold as it was, there were people from all corners of the kingdom about in the courtyard like a collection of foreign jewels - Lannister reds, Tyrell greens, Stark whites and everything in between. Adding the black of his own house, he dismounted from his horse, and rubbed its nose in reward for a journey well made while he looked around for the stables.

The Greyjoy prince bowed his head politely at a passerby, and wondered if they might be able to help him, now that he was here in new territory. “You wouldn’t be able to point me in the direction of the stables, would you?” He asked, schooling his usually gravelly tone into something more appropriate for this setting knowing that he didn’t exactly paint a picture of trustworthiness, in his rough riding clothes and with the huge battle-axe he carried strapped to his horse’s saddlebags in full view. 

( ✨*°*. ) → they brought the s a l t in the wind with their arrival, the sight of sea roughened men finding their feet upon snow covered ground gentling the sharp corners of the smile she bore. dark hood was drawn atop her head, covering the golden tresses as the familiar figure of her brother rode through the gates ─ she would never admit it, but a sudden sense of r e l i e f flooded through her at the sight, easing the tension that had stiffened her muscles since he left for his voyage. past memories had turned her into something wary, protective over her own ( over the ones that r e m a i n e d ) and constantly worrying when one left the cold comfort of the islands to search for the lost prince.

    “has it been that long, brother, that you’ve forgotten your own sister?” soft words were almost carried away by the harsh northern wind as she rested her palm against the neck of his steed ─ a silent gesture of t h a n k s for bringing him back safe to her. hood was withdrawn slightly, the bright blue of her eyes visible, sparkling with amusement. “come, i will take you to where my ægir rests, while you speak of your journey.” unspoken question lingered overhead ─ she knew he still hoped but it pained her to keep faith in his beliefs; she longed to give up the search, to forget but g u i l t would not permit it.

[crownlessrp-blog1]

“ I AM STANDING BETWEEN WILL AND GOD; HALF SHIP, HALF SEA, ALL SIN, ALL SERAPH. ” - Scherezade Siobhan

FULL NAME: Valdis Greyjoy

AGE: Twenty-Nine

HOUSE: Greyjoy

TITLE: Princess of the Iron Islands

OCCUPATION / VOCATION: Princess of the Iron Islands, Lady Captain of the warship – Sea Witch, Shipbuilder

ORIGIN: Pyke, The Iron Islands

CURRENT RESIDENCE: Pyke, The Iron Islands

ALLEGIANCE: House Greyjoy

TRAITS:

+ Innovative, Devout, Empathetic

- Impulsive, Unconcerned, Candid

BIOGRAPHY:

The waters had been calm that afternoon, salty breeze drifting through the open window of the Iron Queen’s room as she labored with birth pains to bring her firstborn into the world ─ Valdis Greyjoy had been a quiet little thing, barely emitting a squall before settling into her mother’s arms, bright gaze unseeing but focused on something beyond the warmth of the room. Golden of hair, the princess quickly earned many sweet monikers pertaining to her gentle nature even as a baby ( quick to smile, easy to soothe the maids had said ) though many questioned the strength she would possessed as an adult. To end such whispers, her father had given her to the Drowned God ─ forgoing the usual tradition of a small tub of seawater, she had been taken to the seas itself and was held beneath it’s waters.

The babe emerged, blue and presumed dead, small body still for minutes before a soft cough was emitted, water spilling from pale lips ─ her answering cry resounded through the Islands, loud enough to silence all naysayers. ( Foam maiden; angry, angry at her return to land when all she desired was the sea and salt and sand between her toes. ) She kept to her peculiarities as a child, toddling after her father on the rickety bridges of the Islands and sitting with the ship builders as they worked, bright gaze watching and learning. Still as sweet as she had been as a baby, Valdis was never seen as a nuisance, merely a silent bystander. A comfort to her mother, who went on to bearing three strong sons for the Iron King, brothers whom she loved dearly ─ fingers had touched her first weapon the day little Vayon had been born, a girl of four struggling with her father’s battle axe. He had laughed, a harsh sounding thing and ordered for one to be made for his daughter the very next day.

( She had sworn to keep them all safe, to divert her fanciful thoughts away from the sea and sailing and adventures and focus her gaze on her brothers instead. )

It had been an ominous day ─ large, foreign ships amassing in the distance and Valdis, ever watching, uneasy with their presence. She had thought to gather her brothers and keep them safe, heading first for the youngest of the three boys, a babe that would need her protection the most. Yet screams had broken through the monotonous sound that was a constant on the Iron Islands and as she went for the door, she found it locked. She was helpless, cradling the boy she favored above the other two ( inseparable, they had been, with no place for a sister between them ─ naturally, she had went for the baby first ), tears streaming down her face as she listened to the screams. Two at first, before the sound had broken off into separate directions ─ one close, growing louder by the second and the other, further away, dimmer and dimmer until she no longer heard two voices; only Vayon’s shrill cries.

A failure ─ words never said to her but evident within the gaze of many who remembered what the Iron King had done. The oldest of the children at nine, a girl adept with her weapons and yet she could not save him. ( They expected too much of her, soft and sweet and entirely of the seas; if she had not been held down, she would have swam away long ago. )

She remembered, clearly than many perhaps, the words her mother had said, the vow the Queen had sworn before killing the King and the vow her mother had made her say after, fingers tight around an axe. ( The only one who knew her daughter was of the sea, of the Drowned God ─ never meant for the earth. ) But still she whispered the binding words, the solemn promise to keep the Iron Islands safe, to never cease her search for her brother and to keep watch over the remaining two fiercely.

( Some part of her dies every time she returns to shore, turning her back against the waters but she had sworn and she would not fail. Not this time. )

A promise uttered that she still keeps to this day, at the helm of her warship, scouring the seas ( and ignoring the call of the waves, tickling at her feet ) for her lost brother or upon her Mother’s seat, iron rule enforced by honey golden princess. All spare time is spent designing and building more ships to send after the lost prince, an obsessive habit to silence the cry of the sea in her heart and to ground her feet to the Islands for a while longer ─ at least until Victarion is found.

FACECLAIM: Alyssa Sutherland

[ironwore-blog]

─ tag dump.