indra:
( tw: slavery mention )
It felt as though she could hear the steady beating of her heart ready to burst from her very chest as they crossed the plank aboard The Leviathan - a journey she had taken many times before, and yet this time her steps felt as though they were a ticking sundial, time slipping through her fingers. Time that she could easily remain ignorant and wishful, praying that her own blood had turned into something else, someone else … and yet, at the same time, she knew her blood had not changed as a person at all. He was always wiling to do what he needed to do according to his own beliefs, which were known; what he thought had become of the Iron Islands, how weakened they had become as a result of progressive policies that simply were not them.
There were times where Indra had agreed with him, the idea that they were shifting into something the world would never accept and understand of them; that they were caught between the deep wants to become better people, and the realistic limits that their culture, society and resources would allow them to be able to. Some kingdoms were able to promote literacy, as they had seemingly endless amounts of coin and enough fertile lands to ensure they could focus on such matters.
The Drowned God had given them this as a test, as a challenge - they needed to prove their might, their fierceness by taking what it was they did not have. They were demons that had learned how to swim, and despite how it may weigh heavy upon their own hearts and minds in the privacy of their rooms, it was simply how things always were. Indra did not believe it was right, however she did not believe it was wrong either.
Slavery was commonplace among the Free Cities, with only a notable few withholding from engaging in such practices; it was a matter that was known, and so, Indra found herself hardly reacting to her brother dabbling in it. “Westerosi meaning Westerlander…from the sack, I assume.” She trailed off, remembering that day, how they had rows and rows of women lining up into vessels, how her, Regnar Drumm and Alexej Goodbrother had championed bringing home a rich captive. enough to barter with. What she found herself disturbed about, was his choice in doing so knowing their Greyjoy King had banned such practices; and why in secret?
“His profits were not within the Blacktyde ledgers.“ She spoke, her tone betraying her feeling of confusion, and ultimately, of hurt; in knowing she would have to stand by and watching what befall traitors. She knew Morra could not make an exception for her, and wondered whether she would even be allowed to talk to her brother - there was nothing ill between them, only a distance. "Which means, he did not want me to find out … because you all would have found out.”
There was a pause, sinking into a chair within the captain’s quarters as she looked upon him; there were times where Ivar had ended up playing the role of a brother more than he had, due to their physical proximity. She looked upon him for wisdom, for guidance; he was rough in his experience, and yet, that advice was always the best. Blunt, straight forward, to the point.
“Does he mean to take the crown with the coin he gained?”
Morra’s vision for the Iron Islands wasn’t something shared by all those living under the religion of the Drowned God, that much Ivar knew. The way of life of their people was too deeply seated, with long-standing traditions and beliefs that wouldn’t bend and mold in a short period of time. For his part, there was much Ivar himself didn’t want to be changed about the way of life of the Ironborn, finding pride and freedom in it. But when the bonds of family were broken and brutalized in the way his father did; and the glory of being who they were was bastardized in such a way that they were nothing more than mere thieves and murderers fighting easy battles... Ivar couldn’t claim to support anything the man who fathered him once stood for. Perhaps he’d taken it too personal in that way, a matter that to him was more about not letting the memory of Dalton Greyjoy win than anything else. So he supported his sister because he needed her to triumph over the ghost of their father, because she deserved it; because they could have no better retribution than rebuilding over the ashes of what Dalton once held dear.
And House Blacktyde under the rule of Indra’s brother was every bit what the old ways of his father represented. It was no wonder that Lord Blacktyde was choosing the coward’s way of scheming a betrayal, stopping so much as to deal in slavery to get his coin and build himself up with it. “Of course not. He wouldn’t leave a trail that easy to follow,” he mentioned, though a part of him did wonder if Indra’s brother bothered to conceal his dealings more so to avoid having her learn the truth above anyone else. That bastard didn’t trust his own sister, leaving her in the dark of as he conducted his plans in secret, which Ivar thought was rather telling. Then, Indra’s next words only confirmed those thoughts for him.
“I’m sure he does. He hasn’t amassed that wealth to sit on it or bathe his home in gold,” the Master of Ships replied without an ounce of hesitation. His words were harsh if only because he worried about the safety of his siblings, about the safety of the young woman before him, and he could feel the looming threat of Lord Blacktyde too close. But it was Blacktyde and who else? Brothers in arms, allies and friends might have turned against them already without them knowing...
