we do not sow

[patrocles]

MODERN WESTEROS - T H E I R O N I S L A N D S

The Greyjoy words said, “We Do Not Sow”, and the ironborn never did. But they did industrialize and quickly. They never stray far from the water for long, as there’s always an homage to be paid to their Drowned God. But the iron price means something different now.

[krakenmaron]

— jeyne westerling

Though Jeyne did much of her work on location – very few of the events she planned were actually in Oldtown – she still had an office in the city. It was rather small, when compared to other firms, but she enjoyed her coworkers too much to work entirely remotely. The past few weeks had been hectic. Coming down from the murder of Balon Greyjoy had been difficult, more difficult than Jeyne was happy to admit. She worried over it at times, about the state of the country, about the Greyjoys – or, at least, about one Greyjoy in particular.

Her thoughts were on Maron now as she walked toward the reception area, purse in hand with a leather jacket slung over one arm. Was it too early to text him again? As she pondered the thought and turned a corner, however, Jeyne’s eyes widened. “Maron?” she asked, her voice incredulous, surprised, at the sight of him. Heels tapped quicker on the wooden floors as Jeyne nearly threw herself into the man’s arms, her own winding around his shoulders. “What are you doing here?” she asked, her voice muffled against his neck. As she pulled back, the smile on Jeyne’s face grew. “Not that I’m not pleased to see you, of course.”

He turned away from the receptionist when he heard someone coming towards them, and he was quite sure (and completely unashamed) that his face lit up at the sight of her. It had been a heavy week or so, and his very being ached with the pressure of cameras flashing in his face and journalists examining every one of his expression as he and his siblings bore his father’s coffin out of the citadel and the endless hours of menial fallout meetings on base that ground at his tolerance like sandpaper.

His arms went around her waist and as she hugged him tight, he did the same right back, making her feet hover off the ground until he set her delicate heels back on the floor. “I had to be in Oldtown for work.” Maron smiled against her hair at the affirmation of how happy she was to see him. “Thought I may as well make the trip worth my while.” He’d planned to apologise for showing up unannounced, but her smile made him think he probably didn’t need to. “Would you happen to have any time to get lunch or something?” His voice was low enough that only she could hear him as a few faces popped around doorways to see what was going on. “I’d suggest dinner but I have to be back in King’s Landing by tonight.” 

[krakenmaron]

@thegildedseashell​

Maron took the stairs two at a time to the address that he had up on his phone. Work had threatened to drain him, and he wasn’t sure how many more meetings about managing the aftermath of his father’s murder he could sit through before he started experiencing Targaryen levels of madness. In his capacity as a Greyjoy, and in his capacity as a high ranking member of the Westerosi Defence Force, he’d been all over the country meeting with countless faceless officials from every sector, trying to find some sense in the untameable chaos that had become his life.

The request for his time in Oldtown had brought some order to said chaos - and he’d been as fast to okay the meeting as he’d been to get in contact with his old mentor for an odd request. Gawen Westerling had come through, and though he had been confident all this time (he’d even been excited like a schoolchild waiting for the bell to ring) he found himself a little nervous as he was faced with the receptionist of the small, tastefully fitted-out shared workspace. “Uh... I’m looking for Jeyne Westerling - would I be in the right place, by any chance?” 

[krakenmaron]

[text] Wait… are you serious?

Renly Baratheon: i rarely joke, baratheon

Renly Baratheon: so yes, i am serious

Renly Baratheon: my brother is currently drunk on my doorstep and asking for you to come get him 

Renly Baratheon: something about you two being drinking buddies i dont fucking know

[krakenmaron]

[text] I’ve seen every episode of Grey’s Anatomy like 3 times. I practically have a PhD. (from robb)

robb the knob: yeah, a PhD in being a total dumbass, maybe

robb the knob: sometimes i wake up in a cold sweat when i remember the fact that one day the political future of the north will rest on your Dr Mcdreamy-loving shoulders

[krakenmaron]

[text] I can’t take you seriously when you’re using that many emojis.

jeyne: thats so rude 😤🥺

jeyne: rollam taught me how to use emojis when i came to stay with you guys

jeyne: please have some respect for his craft  🐠🦑🦐🦞🦀🐡🐋🦈🐬🐟🐚

[krakenmaron]

[text] You need more friends… or a therapist…

Shireen Baratheon: i typed out like 9 bitchy responses to this but you’re probably right honestly

Shireen Baratheon: takes a kid with daddy issues to recognise a kid with daddy issues though, just saying

[krakenmaron]

[text] Do whatever you want. I don’t even care anymore. 

TG: i know you don’t theon that’s been clear

TG: leave me out of this shit -  i didnt want anything to do with this when dad was alive, and that hasn’t changed now

[larmoyante]

All the hardest, coldest people you meet were once as soft as water. And that’s the tragedy of living.

Iain S. Thomas, I Wrote This For You (via larmoyante)

[krakenmaron]

— theon greyjoy

If they were looking to send a message, it was damn well received. With the exception of Maron, the family was shaken and in a vulnerable moment of disarray. Balon had always been the strongpoint and head of every decision and operation, and now he was gone, leaving them in a cloud of confusion. Eventually they would have to get into his office and dig through every private file. Theon had a strong feeling they may just discover a few more dark secrets they hadn’t anticipated. 

Theon paused as he heard the edge of anger in Maron’s voice. He wasn’t a good liar, he never had been, but now wasn’t the time to go spilling every dirty deed he’d done for Balon over the years. “I did enough clerical work for him to know that a bad transfer could have led to this.” He answered quietly. Not a lie, yet not the whole truth. Theon recorded those transfers, then personally delivered what was demanded each and every time. Two halves to a very illegal demand Balon constantly made.

Until things calmed down gave Theon no semblance of certainty for how long Maron would remain with them. “We need you.” Frustration burned as he said it, because surely the murder of a parent would be enough to keep him here longer than a “little while” before he ran off again. “This isn’t going to be a quick fix Maron, and who’s to say whoever did this doesn’t keep picking us off?”

Maron knew Theon couldn’t lie. When they had been little kids, Alannys would call Theon into the room when she thought Maron was telling a fib because he was far worse at bluffing than his elder brother, who was already a notorious teller of untruths as a child. He could tell that there was more to the story than Theon was letting on, but now was not the time to delve into that. The anger already bubbling up in him at the mere suggestion that his and Balon’s understanding (that had changed the course of Maron’s life dramatically) had not been honoured was testament to that - it was not a conversation they should have when Maron could not physically leave this house. 

The muscles in his jaw clenched, and his brow was set in a furious frown. “My place is not here, Theon. It hasn’t been for a long time. I wouldn’t expect you to understand.” He wanted nothing to do with the nefarious business his father used to fund his campaigns, he wanted no part in having his plans for his life changed yet again in the name of family - he wanted his own life away from all this. Or did he? Now he had to confront where he stood without Balon Greyjoy’s imposing form in the way. He missed his family, but he wondered if there was truly a place here for him anymore. 

“This place is crawling with cops now. Whoever did this would have to be stupid to do so again tonight.” Maron said, though he wasn’t so sure. The two members of the household security team who he’d ask to keep in close proximity to his mother for the rest of the evening was testament to that. “They took out the figurehead - I imagine that’s where it’ll end for tonight.” Maron was doggedly practical in times like these. 

[mancandykings]

[krakenmaron]

— rodrik greyjoy

Rodrik let out a dry laugh at Maron’s quip, catching the shirt and shaking it out to look at it, mouth stretching, obviously impressed. “Far be it from me to cripple you any further, little brother. I can’t imagine how hard it must be having a specimen like me for a sibling, much less marring you further.” His dry tone implied his jest, of course, but what was a sibling conversation without a grain of truth in their words? “A birthday present, huh? At least one of our parents paid enough attention to their kids to know them well enough to shop for them.” 

Despite his brother’s words, he didn’t close the door before he began to undress. A few swift, agile movements later, Rodrik was shaking his shoulders free of his shirt, and in a few more seconds he was wearing the new one, his fingers fidgeting with buttons once more. “You should have told her she’s a few hours late for that.” He’d been operating for a few hours now with a crimson stained torso, and even though no person was brave enough to suggest he change, there had been enough worried looks to let him know his deranged appearance was probably unsettling guests as much, if not more, than the word of his father. His head shook at the next statement that fell from Maron’s lips, though he wasn’t miffed in the slightest. “Fine, next time one of our parents drop dead, you go talk to the family and assure all of their many feelings alright?” His brow rose, challenging, of course, but, still, not caustically. The sardonic vibe was just normal between them. Perhaps it was the most prolific of the Greyjoy traits after all. “D’you know if they’ve cleared the kitchens? I’m about to starve.”

“It has truly been a long and arduous life of standing next to you, Rod.” Maron said dryly, rolling his eyes in way that spoke of the unbreakable bond of teasing that existed between the two brothers. The four Greyjoy siblings were all as different as each other, and while that had created a rift between Maron and the younger two, it had only made his relationship with Rodrik stronger. Two sides of the same coin, their mother had used to muse when they’d been young enough that they both lived at home and were regular executors of each others pranks and tricks. “I don’t think that dad even knows what days our birthdays are - well, knew.” He shrugged.

“You and I both know that’d go down with our family like a cup of cold sick.” Maron had never been the most diplomatic Greyjoy, nor did he find it easy to show sympathy in front of people he cared very little for. “You decided to be born the oldest, that shit is always going to fall to you.” Maron’s coping mechanism had always been to run when things got hard, and the barred doors were the only thing between him and getting as far away from 14 Valyrian Way at this very minute, no matter how much his family needed him right now. His father used to say that made him a coward, but he wasn’t around to tell him that anymore. That, at least, felt good. He idly picked at dirt underneath his fingernails as his brother changed out of his grisly, red-stained shirt as he leaned against the doorframe waiting for him. “I think so - there wasn’t anyone in there when I went past so it’s probably free game.” He yawned. “Now that you mention it, I’m fucking starving and I’ve been drinking pretty non-stop since I got here.” Probably not a good combination now that the cops were here ready to interrogate them all. “Let’s go get something to eat. Surely there’ll be something in there.” 

[krakenmaron]

— jeyne westerling

She shrugged her shoulder in response, though a small smile played at the corners of Jeyne’s lips. “Don’t worry,” she mused. “I won’t get arrested for perjury on your watch.” A brow lifted and Jeyne exhaled carefully as she removed her heels and set them on the floor next to Maron.

“It’s the lemon, I think,” she said, reaching for the whiskey glass and bottle she’d set on the tray. “It makes it a bit more sour so the sweetness isn’t too cloying.” She opened the bottle and poured three fingers worth of whiskey into the glass before handing the bottle to him. “I brought the glass for me,” she said by way of explanation. Jeyne preferred her liquor cold and the ice cube in her glass allowed the whiskey to travel down her throat with the smoothest of burns.

Jeyne nodded as her hair fell around bare shoulders. “I know you’ll be fine,” she said quietly. “That doesn’t mean the road to fine will be particularly short or easy.” And, truth be told, Jeyne had become rather fond of Alannys Greyjoy over the past couple of years. “I’ll help where I can.” The words were said with a stubborn fondness, as if daring him to talk her out of it. Jeyne’s heart was kind, but there was a strength to her spine that did not often bend under pressure. “Everyone seems alright. I made sure the food and drink service didn’t stop. No one’s allowed to leave yet.”

Maron’s admission, the labored breath, struck a chord inside of Jeyne and she reached her hand out further. Perhaps she was overstepping – there was something strangely intimate about running her hand through his hair – but though he was not mourning the loss of his father, she thought he was mourning something else. Perhaps the relationship they should have had, perhaps the loss of his freedom. Perhaps he was simply distressed for the rest of his family. Either way, Jeyne’s fingers began to card through Maron’s hair slowly, her fingertips soft. “You sound very human to me.” Her voice was little more than a whisper. “I’m sure they will need you, but you don’t have to figure it all out right this minute.”

If it hadn’t been for the famed Greyjoy tolerance for alcohol, Maron wouldn’t have taken the whiskey from Jeyne at all. But he wanted his thoughts to slow down, and his heart to beat a little closer to normal time. Every eye in the house seemed trained on him wherever he showed his face in this house, and he knew it wouldn’t be emptied for hours yet. He felt claustrophobic in this house, vast as it was, as if the walls were closing in on him to trap him here.

Still, he took a liberal sip (read: gulp) that burned its way down his throat in a way that made him shiver with discomfort before he screwed on the top and set it aside. “I need to stop fucking drinking or I’m going to be in trouble when the cops want a chat.” He smiled at her, though. “That’ll have to tide me over until this night is done.” The sigh he let out was weary, and came from the cage of stress and fatigue that had solidified around his heart over the course of the last few hours.

“Thank you, Jeyne. Truly. I don’t know what we’d have done without you tonight.” She was practical in a way that none of the Greyjoys were on a good day, let alone on a night like tonight, and far removed enough from it all that she seemed like she was keeping it together. He’d make sure that a very worthwhile bonus was sent her way in the morning - they’d been talking about taking advantage of his father earlier, and what better way was there than that. 

Maron’s entire body tensed as her fingers carded through his hair, but it took only a few seconds for his body to relax a little. He wasn’t used to letting people in, or to taking comfort from the presence of others, but he appreciated Jeyne’s touch as her fingers wound through his curls, cut shorter than he liked for work. “I suppose I’ll figure that out in time. Now that my dad’s gone it feels like there’s much less pressure to know everything immediately. Right now I need to figure out how to get the cops off my ass, and make sure my mother is safe. Not much matters after that...” He ran his hands over his face. “I just want to get out of this fucking house.”  He wanted to go home - not to the house he’d rented here in King’s Landing, not to Dragonstone, but home at Pyke, on the cliff facing west and his room that faced out to the ocean that stretched forever. 

[krakenmaron]

— rodrik greyjoy

January 7, 2:02 AM.

Considering the wing reserved for family was crawling with people he would rather avoid, Rodrik opted to slip into one of the spare bedrooms and use it’s bath to clean up. He didn’t have time to shower, of course, but the blood on his hands and shirt were now dried and caked on, making Rod not only uncomfortable, but also a beacon for stares he could do without. Leaving the door to both the bed and bath open, he turned the hot water wide open, and as steam filled the marble clad room, he went about washing his hands with a barely concealed vigor. After his hands were back to their normal color, he reached for the buttons on his shirt, intending on removing it to put in the bag he’d been given, but as he looked up from his hands he spotted someone standing in the room through the reflection of the mirror. 

Momentarily, his hands paused and the muscle in his jaw flexed as his cool blue gaze wandered the length of his visitor. “There are over a dozen rooms and even more bathrooms to choose from,” he said, no hint of the usual joviality to be found in his tone. The wear of the night hung obviously on his tired face and sounded clearly in his words. “And while normally I’m not one to worry about giving a free show, I think I’ve earned a bit of privacy tonight.”

Maron was dealing with this situation as he dealt with most situations in which he felt like a ship being wrecked in a storm beyond his control - he kept his head down, and his mind busy, consoling himself with the small satisfaction that came with managing this situation at least in part. He’d been checking on his mother, letting her know that he’d been granted extra leave so that he could stay with them all a little longer to help get this mess under control. She’d been grateful, and it had done at least something to make him feel needed in this family he’d become so distanced from. 

It was Alannys who had asked Maron to find his older brother. She’d found a shirt to replace the blood-soaked material that he was still wearing, but when Maron had seen how shaky she still was, he had offered to take it to Rodrik instead. “Don’t kid yourself. I have to go gouge my fucking eyes out if you open up even one more button, Rod.” Maron snickered, balling up the shirt and throwing it at his brother. “Mum sent this - I think she was saving it to be your birthday present, but I don’t think she wants you walking around looking like this is some kind of slasher film.” Perhaps it was a macabre thing to say on the eve of their father’s murder, but Maron was coping in his own way. “You haven’t earned shit from me. I’m hiding back here until this place isn’t crawling with people.” 

[krakenmaron]

— theon greyjoy

There was a rushing in Theon’s head that made Maron’s voice sound muffled, but he looked up, trying to ignore the metallic smell of blood on his hands. Rodrik had been pale in the face, as had Asha, and their mother was still in the depths of shock before true grief could set in–Maron however, looked unbothered, strangely tranquil, and not for the first time Theon was thinking to himself he should harbor that same strength.

He hastily brushed his tears away with the back of his arm–a childhood habit in the face of his brothers. “They took out his heart Maron…” He whispered. “Who the fuck does something like that?” And how long would it be before they targeted the rest of their family? He hadn’t realized his hands had been trembling, and he clasped them together tightly as he shook his head. “Part of me feels like I shouldn’t care. That if it were one of us, he likely wouldn’t shed a tear.” He sniffled and swallowed thickly, eyes looking at Maron, but not quite focusing on him, and his voice dropped further to avoid detection from anyone else. “But I keep thinking…did something get fucked up in the books? Was there a mistake on my end somewhere I didn’t catch…” The men he dealt with for these trades were typically ruthless, and if someone didn’t get paid, or if a shipment didn’t get where it was supposed to go, it would make sense for there to be this kind of retaliation. 

It could also be some political standoff that finally toppled over the edge, for the Greyjoys, and Balon in particular, had no shortage of enemies. His active stance as an anti-monarchist drew as much distaste as it did support.

“What do we do?” There was nowhere else to turn to for guidance right now, and as unreliable as Maron may have been in the past, he was needed now.

Maron was no fool. He knew that his father had plenty of enemies, and not all of them were merely political. The adversaries in the Commons were nothing compared to those he dealt with behind closed doors - the ones that Maron had worked so hard to stay away from no matter the cost. 

The heart being missing, and the ironborn curse written on the wall had shaken Maron more than the personal nature of the death itself, but he was trying to keep that twisted detail at the back of his mind. “Someone who clearly wanted to send a very direct message.” A contrary eyebrow shot up. “Wrong. If it was Rodrik or Asha, he’d have been fuckin’ bawling.” Maron joked, voiced black with malice. 

Like a hawk, Maron’s eyes narrowed, and his arms were crossed defensively across his chest. “How involved are you in dad’s books, Theon?” He asked, anger bubbling in his stomach. He had done so much in his life, given so much, on the assurance that it would keep the littlest kraken away from the trouble that swirled in Balon Greyjoy’s shadow. He hoped Theon’s involvement was limited to Balon’s political pursuits - and denial had him believing it. 

“We just have to be there for mum, I guess. Help get this sorted out so it doesn’t reflect poorly on her.” He sighed. “I’ll stay in town for a little while longer until things calm down. The right course of action will show itself once the cops clear us, and we can move forward.”

[krakenmaron]

 — jeyne westerling

She supposed another woman might have asked Maron if he’d done it, if he’d allowed such ambivalence [ or resentment; she had no reason to know the truth ] about his father to fester into something more sinister, but the thought did not occur to Jeyne, who, though she had not seen him in years felt confident in the fact that patricide was not on Maron Greyjoy’s list of accomplishments. Her lips turned upwards and she tucked a lock of hair behind her ear. “It’s not exactly lying.” One shoulder shrugged and Jeyne crossed her arms in front of her chest. “You didn’t do it, so it’s really more…allocating the resources toward those who might actually be suspects.” She gave him a smile, genuine and shy in a way that Jeyne often was not. “Daddy would probably agree.”

There was a brief moment when Jeyne wondered where she should sit – should she sit on the bed or next to him on the floor? – but that conundrum was solved as she neatly sat at the edge of the bed, with her legs tucked underneath as the crimson skirt fanned around her. “You’re welcome. I grabbed a little of everything. The fruit tarts are quite good – I actually put them as far away from where I was tonight; otherwise I’d likely have eaten most of them.” Jeyne bit the inside of her cheek, not wanting to talk his ear off. Perhaps it was nerves, though she had been unused to such feelings in years.

It was strange, Jeyne thought, to be in the room with Maron when so much hung in the air between them. There was the weight of his father’s death, the weight of his mother’s grief, and she supposed there was also the weight of the night’s unspoken intentions. They did not know each other, not truly, but there was a feeling inside of her that made Jeyne wonder if bonds formed on the shores of The Crag and in back gardens smoking cigarettes while drinking tequila were stronger than those formed from sharing a bed.

“I’m compartmentalizing, mostly,” she admitted, her gaze flicking down. “There’s too much to do and I’m no use to your mother if I’m a mess.” Lips twitched once more into a small flicker of a smile and Jeyne flexed her fingers before they absentmindedly grazed Maron’s hair. It was a subconscious act, perhaps borne out of a desire to offer whatever comfort she could and Jeyne let out a soft sigh. “I’ll do that,” she said quietly. “Thank you for thinking of it.” It was quiet for another moment.

“How are you handling it?”

“He might.” Maron chuckled, knowing that Gawen would probably side with him even if very few people chose to do the same. “I still wouldn’t do it.” He shrugged. Perhaps he didn’t have a reputation for being particularly honourable, but that didn’t mean there was any truth in that. 

Maron didn’t particularly like sweet things, but he reached for the tart first. He trusted her judgement, and had fond memories of stopping by the Westerling household when he’d been at the Crag to find a plate of something Jeyne or her sister had baked sitting on Gawen’s desk. It was delicious, and the sweetness did a little to combat the dry, chalky taste of shock in his mouth. “These are kinda good. You’re right.” He admitted between mouthfuls, until it was little more than crumbs on his thumb. 

“Do what you need. Don’t worry about us - we’ll be fine when the crowds and the cops are out from underneath our feet. This is all insane, I promise you I don’t expect you to be entirely in work mode anymore.” Maron replied matter-of-factly, though with his own kind of stilted empathy. “Although I know my mother is grateful for your help. This has been... a true nightmare for her. She trusts you, I think, to know what to do.” He smiled at Jeyne. “I tried to tell her I was going to check on the guests earlier. She told me very vehemently I’d best leave it to you.” 

Maron shrugged. “Pretty well. I think.” Better than Theon or their mother, at least. But they were different, they cared about Balon Greyjoy - Maron could not boast the same. “This must sound insane, but I can’t say I’m mourning. I mean, you heard the way we spoke to each other earlier. I won’t miss him.” He sucked in a laboured breath. “It distresses me what this will do to my family though - they haven’t needed me for a long time, but they will now. I guess.” 

[krakenmaron]

— jeyne westerling

January 7, 1 a.m. 14 Valyrian Way @krakenmaron​

Jeyne carried a small tray through the family quarters of the Prime Minister’s residence. On it sat a covered dish, a fifth of Northern whiskey, and an empty glass with a perfectly spherical ice cube. Neither the guards nor the detectives moved to intercept her and she turned away from the corridor that led to the room Balon Greyjoy had been found murdered in. It was quiet in this part of the house, too quiet, especially as she knew that the din was much louder in the rooms where the guests currently resided. 

She expected she’d be interviewed near the end of the evening. As the principal planner for the event, they’d likely want to make sure stories lined up - including her own - and she’d seen little reason to wait around, especially when they knew how to find her. She’d seen Maron Greyjoy taking control of things and she knew that he’d need to be a pillar for his family, especially his mother, though she wondered if he was remembering to take care of himself. It had been clear that there was no lost between the Prime Minister and his middle son, but something as sudden as a death, with its macabre details, would shake even the hardest of hearts. 

[ And if she was being entirely honest, she knew that law enforcement would be looking for motive, for opportunity. It would not take a rocket scientist to figure out that aside from the obvious suspects - the Targaryens - there would likely be suspicion cast upon the Prime Minister’s sons. ] 

Jeyne found him in a room near the back of the house and she knocked lightly on the door that was already somewhat ajar. After setting the tray on a nightstand, she shut the door, leaning against the back of it, head tilted to the side. “So would it make your life easier if I just told the detectives we were fucking back here when your father was killed?” 

It was silent for a second before Jeyne lifted one shoulder in a small shrug. “That’s too much isn’t it?” She shook her head and gestured to the tray. “I brought you something to eat.”

This house was huge, because of course it was, and despite Maron had never lived here and visited excruciatingly rarely, there was a room that his mother had set aside that she called ‘his room.’ In reality, he’d slept in it precisely once before vowing to stay in rented apartments whenever he deigned to visit the capital these days. It was easier that way, but that wasn’t to say he hadn’t found himself grateful for a place to go where he couldn’t be disturbed.

He sat on the floor at the foot of his bed, his back against its edge, shoulders hunched and his head resting on his hand as he spoke on the phone to one of his superiors at Dragonstone. It would be longer than expected before he was back at the base seeing as his family were going to need him now more than ever, and without Balon around he had no reason not to stay here to support them. 

When he heard footsteps in the hallway, he said his respectful goodbyes to his commanding officer and hung up the call, looking up with a smile of relief at the flash of crimson that he could see in the crack in the door. 

“It’s actually a better alibi than I’ve currently got.” He sighed, wondering if he should locate Robb Stark somewhere in this crowd for when the moment came that interrogators turned their attentions to him. “But I think your father might kill me if I was to let you lie to the Military Intelligence on my account.” Besides, 

He chuckled. “It’s fine.” And telling of what Maron wished had been happening at a back room at this party when the chaos went down. “Really? Uh, thank you.” It hadn’t been something he was expecting, but he appreciated it more than she could know - he felt so isolated here, and to know somebody had wondered not only where he was but how to help him was a little overwhelming. 

“How’re you holding up?” He asked, looking up at her with protectiveness palpable on his words, nodding for her to come in if she’d like. “I know this can’t be easy for you... not when so much of this event was on your shoulders. I’m sorry this has all happened while you’ve been involved with my family. Let me know if you need anything to keep things under control.” He paused, reaching for the covered plate and putting it on the floor next to him so he could idly pick at its contents. “A friend of mine here tonight’s a lawyer - I’d like you to have him with you when you speak to the cops. Just to be safe. If you don’t mind.”