bathed clean, it was as though a completely new man sat in front of ronan greyjoy, they were warm and flushed and unguarded, without the layer of grime that had served — for so long — as a barrier between them and the real, violent world awaiting outside of greenstone. if he had been listened to, steffon would have never left the safety of those rocky crags. thank the gods that his mother had been kind, had offered him the love he never knew, had encouraged them to cross the vast channels of open sea leading, ultimately, to the man he loved. because that was the truth, despite their reluctance to say it. even with the kraken’s cold, his rigidity, the way that his words came clipped and never overstayed their welcome, the rat liege had fallen. no kingdom - driven union could have ever created something so true.
in westeros, not many marriages were built upon true affections. steffon was assured that theirs would break such cycles, would stand true as a pillar of love and devotion as unforgiving waves whipped around them. it was enough to steal away any fear that the liege had towards the waters. ronan’s arms would protect them and, he supposed, if they no longer needed to travel in order to see one another, his crosses across deep oceans would be fewer and only called upon at times of noble gathering. “you are not weak,” the words came as a whisper. steffon’s hand rested against the alabaster skin of ronan’s chest, and he felt the soft thrumming of the heart caged within it. the maesters spoke of krakens having three organs beating, as one, in the cavities of their bodies, but they were sure to only sense the spluttering of one ; steffon knew that he belonged within that warmth, and that the love ronan had for him was not shared.
and there it was, that forbidden and dirty word that neither of them had yet managed to muster. steffon had learned at a young age what it was to be in love. he had seen it in the eyes of his parents back in flea bottom when, despite their aching stomachs and their growing fevers, they had never once looked away from one another. they had seen it, too, within the faces of lord and lady estermont, in the glittering of their gazes when they looked upon both each other and their three children. as they gazed back at ronan, the tips of their fingers and toes turning wrinkled like a forgotten prune at the bottom of his pocket, he knew. there was no doubt that this, between them, was …
“love.” wide - eyed, he stared at ronan with unparalleled intensity. “because you love me ? that is what you were going to say ? ” as though possessed by the spirit of a boy much younger than his eight and twenty years, they bounced excitedly upon his lap. “say it. i dare you to say it. and then — ” leaning forward, he closed the space between their lips for another kiss, “ — speak of my new title. liege of pyke.”
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