maron greyjoy
It seems like an age ago, the night they had met at The Crag. His mind had been so full of lies and deceits that he’d barely stopped to appreciate a moment he would now hold tight to his heart for the rest of his life. Perhaps he had not expected to follow through and marry her then, but his God had had other plans for them - plans Maron had certainly not seen fit to put a stop to in more recent days.
“And I you.” Maron replied, his voice deep and quiet and for Jeyne’s ears only. She had given so much to him - love, patience, loyalty, infallible counsel and more sweet softness than he had ever received from anyone else before. She was the single greatest thing that had ever happened to him, and he hoped one day to be able to verbalise that in the monumental way that he felt it. “I wish it could be more, or at least more often… it does not come so easily to me as other things. I’m sorry for that…” He had been raised to be hard as the Isles he had been born on, and had grown wary of letting his thoughts and feelings be known after the Rebellion had lain to waste every close bond he’d had. Time would change all that, and he knew Jeyne had the patience and faith to give it to him. In the meantime though, he would find ways around his shy, uncooperative tongue. Ways like eating the cake from her offered hand with no apparent haste, and putting his hand on the small of her back to guide her through the throng of people - ways like the surprise that he had for her today. “As much as I would like to spend the day here licking honey from your fingers, we do have somewhere to be - come, it’s not too far from here now.”
Maron loved her. That knowledge filled Jeyne’s mind every morning when she woke and every evening before she drifted off to slumber; though Maron mightn’t say it nearly so often as she did, it was clear in every look, every touch, that she had slowly become the brightest star in his world. That, to Jeyne anyway, was worth more than any title that could ever be bestowed upon her. The corners of her lips turned upward and she allowed herself to press against his side with a gentle hum. “There is nothing I am more certain of, my love.”
Her brow furrowed as Maron explained – as he apologized – and she lifted her forefinger to his lips in a shushing gesture. “That you make an attempt at all makes my heart swell,” she said, her voice softer and her gaze careful, the words chosen precisely. Jeyne appreciated that Maron tried, appreciated that he had begun to slowly let her into his thoughts and emotions in a way she would not have been involved before. But she would not have him think that it was not enough, for he had turned out to be more than she could have ever dreamed of. “Never apologize for loving me as best you can, my love.”
The laugh that filled the space between them was rare, Jeyne usually offering sweet smiles or soft glances instead of something so simple as a giggle. “Very well, sweetling,” she responded, focusing on the feeling of his hand on the small of her back as something warm coiled deep in her abdomen. Perhaps his hands would move over other parts of her later. “Am I allowed a clue as to where you are taking me? Or shall I continue to practice the art of patience?”












