s e a s h e l l

"She appeared gentle as a doe, all petal-pink lips and soft curls wound into braids, but Maron had seen her snap bones clean in two, had seen her cut rot from a man’s arm just as easily as he’d seen her cut the threads of her sewing on the nights she sat alone by the fire outside her tent. Perhaps she was not rough, but she had some iron in her."

[seashellofthecrag]

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?”

[seashellofthecrag]

maron greyjoy

“Aye, you are not alone in that.” Maron smiled, squeezing her hand in reply. They had come a long way in a short time, since the days at the wedding in Highgarden where they had been a united front to keep up appearances but little more when eyes were not turned their way. There were no eyes now, no courtiers to keep up appearances to or enemies to prove stability in front of - there was no reason to give attention and adoration to Jeyne other than that he wished to, and he felt better than he had in weeks with her hand in his and his responsibilities firmly on the other side of the crowds. 

“Twice as many - I don’t like to be told not to do something.” He smirked. “As I’m sure you have gathered.” The look of delight on her face made him just as happy as the kiss he was given, and though he adored the cakes, the saffron-scented honey tasted far better when he was allowed to taste it from his wife-to-be’s lips. “If you could manage to pry the secret recipe away from the Tyroshi, I doubt it would be so hard. Not that I can claim to know much in that area.” He shrugged. “There’s no need for any of that though - one word from you and ships would sail all the way to Tyrosh and back just to get you one.” Maron hummed, the words said distractedly as his eye skirted the markets in his shy way that often accompanied his sweeter words to Jeyne that he was still unsure of.

Sometimes, Jeyne was still shocked by the attentions Maron now bestowed upon her. But being surprised by his actions made her no less enamored. Loving him had come easily – perhaps too easily – and now it was clear for those who knew her to see just how exactly Maron Greyjoy had become her entire world. “No, you don’t,” she murmured. “I gathered that much from you in the first moments we met.” Lips turned upwards at the smirk on his face and she tilted her head to the side, braid flicking over her shoulder. “It makes it all the more gratifying when you listen to me, sweetling.” Her mouth twisted into a soft smirk that she had adopted mostly from him and the exhale that escaped her lips indicated contentment.

She lifted the cake to his lips next, offering him a bite in a way that she would never feel so comfortable doing in public had they not been so anonymous. But no one was looking for them here, none had seen them, and she did not want to worry about should and could and shouldn’t. “Is that so, my love?” Jeyne’s tone was soft and her words light but there was a sparkle to her eyes that only existed for Maron. “You know I shall love you, Tyroshi cakes or not,” Lips curved upwards in the way they often did when she was about to speak whatever sweet nothing had entered her head. “But I will admit that you give me a certain warmth when you let your guard down and simply speak what you think.” She pressed another quick kiss to his mouth, caring little for the crowd that surrounded them.

[janepetras]

[ofnymeros]

@seashellofthecrag

[seashellofthecrag]

theon greyjoy

It was odd, he thought, to have a brother that he’d thought only considered him as such due to their blood alone, and then to have Robb, who’d taken the mantle yet lacked the actual familial tie. If Jeyne truly believed Maron would make an attempt to treat him better than he had in the past, then he supposed he would offer that chance. It was, in all honesty, what he’d wanted since he was a young boy.

“My mother…” He breathed. “I do look forward to seeing her again.” And if the Drowned God would answer the prayers pertaining to his safety, perhaps he could utter one of his own in hopes his mother might gaze upon him with recognition. He’d been warned her mind had not fared well after his capture and Rodrik’s death, it would cause him great heartache to reunite with such a dear loved one only to be viewed upon as a stranger. “She’s easily one of the few things I remember so well from Pyke, her face unchanged in every dream I’ve had…” How did she look now, he wondered.

Theon found himself looking in Maron’s direction again, expecting some sneering remark out of habit, but nothing came. The threat of losing his life had certainly made an impact here, one that left his heart feeling full and gave him a sense of belonging he had not known until this moment. “I had always thought I might have to make a choice my heart could not bear…but it all has seemed to fallen into place as it was meant to.” There was a standing alliance, and Theon could continue to aid Robb as he always had (without his constant lingering in the northern camps of course). Once the war was won, they could all part on well terms, and who knew, perhaps one day he might serve as a negotiator between the Iron Islands and the north given his connection to the both of them. “You won’t have to my lady.” He assured her.

A breath of relief rushed from his chest, and it seemed with that news, he appeared more at peace and relaxed. He’d thought to mourn them both, guilt having festered at the thought that they had been killed in their attempt to save him. It had been a harrowing thing to see before darkness had finally taken him, and he made note now to locate them both at some point and assure himself they were recovering.

“Oh?” Theon asked, raising a brow curiously. From the way Jeyne spoke of her, she was clearly not fond of her and he was not surprised Wylla had exhibited some disrespect towards his family–something none with iron in their blood would tolerate. “She makes a habit of speaking before thinking.” He scoffed lightly. “I’m not surprised she would not be welcome here if she found it wise to antagonize Maron.”

Though she had not yet met Lady Alannys, Jeyne was looking forward to it nearly as much as she was looking forward to her wedding. They still exchanged ravens, of course, but it was not the same as meeting someone in person or holding them in a tight embrace. “She looks forward to seeing you again as well,” she admitted. “I did not write her of your disappearance; I saw little need to upset her when I knew we would find you again.” The blind faith she had in Theon’s survival and in Maron’s action was, perhaps, second to none but Jeyne did not regret it. “We will return to Pyke soon and you can see for yourself. Once you’re better.” It seemed important to remind him of that caveat, for she had seen well how men liked to pretend they had more strength than they truly possessed.

Part of Jeyne had been worried, that after all Maron had done to save him Theon would still choose to return to the North, to sit at the side of a king and refuse to return to Pyke. [ She had not wanted to think about what such an action would have done to her betrothed, who had lost a brother and a father already. ] There was a relief in the knowledge that he would stay with them, that he knew he belonged to them. “It has,” she agreed with a small smile. “I am pleased you will be with us, where you belong.” She reached out and squeezed his hand, her lips curving upward even further. “Much as Maron may love me, I imagine you will make a much more amusing drinking companion.” Her voice was light, tone teasing, as if saying anything too deep would scare him back to the Northern wasteland he’d come from.

“She certainly seemed to care little who she was speaking to,” Jeyne responded, lips thin at the remembrance of the conversation she had overheard in the Ironborn encampment. “And while your brother does not handle insults easily, he handles them much less so when they appear to be directed at me.” She shook her head as she fussed over Theon’s blankets once more. “I believe there was the insinuation made that since I was the reason you had been taken in the first place, Maron ought to ensure your safety personally.” She sniffed, still annoyed. “And there was the assumption that he was going to do nothing; that grated on me in particular. He had already decided to send the three fastest ships in the fleet after you and had decided to seek out the mainlanders to form a plan.” It seemed important for Theon to know that Maron had not simply acquiesced, that he had made the choice on his own how much he would work to save his brother.

[seashellofthecrag]

harry hardyng

Inspired by the lack of inspiration that had been Cersei Lannister’s gathering, the Young Falcon had been struck with an idea. In truth he had enjoyed the other evening well enough, if only because he knew how to turn a bad night into a good one. But a determination had filled him to provide a good night for everyone and looking around the room at his handiwork, he was almost certain that he had achieved his aim. Dressed from head to toe in blue so that he would be easily recognisable as host, he had been making his way around the room ensuring that everyone was having the best of time - one that they would talk about for years to come. 

( perhaps if he were being honest he could admit that he had not only chosen the blue to be more easily spotted but perhaps to remind everyone of his ties to House Arryn and the position that he might one day hold ) 

Laughter poured out of him as one guest took to a table to serenade the room, turning to whoever was nearest him to share his enjoyment of it all. “Now this is a party, even if I do say so myself.” There was still an air of confidence behind his words that erred on the side of cockiness but he felt if it was justified at anytime then tonight was the night. Mostly though he had meant it in jest, anything to bring a smile to someone’s lips. Noting their empty hands, he motioned towards where they were all being served intent on steering them towards the alcohol. “Come, let’s get you another drink.”

Jeyne was not certain what to expect from the celebration that had been held in an inn near the Red Keep. She did not know most of the attendees, though her future status as Lady of the Iron Islands meant that she probably should. With a goblet of strongwine in her hand, however, Jeyne worried little and took another sip as she offered her betrothed a secret smile from across the room. The strongwine made her uninhibited in a way that she only often was with Maron, and as someone began to serenade the room, her eyebrows knit together and a wry smile rose on her lips.

She lifted her goblet of wine and took another heavy sip, nearing the end of the most recent pour. She set it on a table, her hands free. Turning to the man who spoke, she realized that it was the host of the evening. Her smile grew more genuine. “I would believe it is that,” she agreed. “And, as host, you would be quite remiss in not saying so.” Jeyne allowed him to steer her back toward the alcohol, pausing only to reach for her goblet once again so as not to dirty another.

“Thank you,” she teetered slightly through the crowd of people, the alcohol having gone to her head. “Though I may have had just enough. I would not want anyone to have to carry me back home.” She laughed slightly, the sound mixing with the others easily in the air.

[seashellofthecrag]

maron greyjoy

— @seashellofthecrag​

Despite the crush of people and the cacophony of noises that filled the marketplace in the bowels of King’s Landing, Maron found it hard to focus on anything other than the feeling of Jeyne’s dainty hand in his as they pressed through the crowd together. Gone were the gold krakens, and the markers of their status as lord and future-lady of the Iron Islands, and in their place were the rough, practical clothes that Maron had worn before Jeyne had arrived with her needle and thread and her incredible patience and the simplest dress his wife-to-be owned. 

The chance to turn his back on the constant tirade of things that needed his attention was welcomed with every fibre of his being, and Jeyne’s company somewhere where they were nameless strangers was a novelty too good to pass up. “Try this.” He said, handing a few coins to a merchant in exchange for a cake practically oozing honey marbled red with the pigment from the saffron that was laid on top. “It’s a Tyroshi honeyfinger. They’re all I ate one spring when Victarion took me to Tyrosh - he had to ban me from eating them.” He held it out to her with a laugh. “You’ll love it.”  

There was something freeing about walking among the crowds in King’s Landing with little responsibilities in the current moment. Jeyne had worn her simplest dress, a plain cut of black wool with just the hint of gold thread at the neckline; in King’s Landing, where Baratheons still held the throne, none looked twice. With her hand in Maron’s and a simple braid swinging behind her back, Jeyne felt that she could almost pass for any woman spending the afternoon with the man she loved. She squeezed his hand slightly, eyes fond. “I like this,” she murmured. “Just simply being with you, my love.”

It was rare for Jeyne to hear Victarion’s name from Maron’s lips; he had not taken the death of his uncle easily and neither had she, if she was being honest.  A mischievous smile passed over her face. “And how many of them did you eat after he banned them?” Her head tilted to the side, her gaze curious as she leaned forward to press a quick kiss to the corner of his mouth. Jeyne reached for the cake and took a bite, small and dainty. After she swallowed, her eyes widened. “How marvelous!” she exclaimed. Her brow furrowed and though she had never cooked food before, she found herself wondering. “Do you think they would be difficult to learn to make?”

[seashellofthecrag]

rodrik forrester

open starter : harry’s celebration 

he had never been this uncomfortable in his life. ever since that one incident at robett glover’s nameday feast, rodrik had made sure to avoid parties and celebrations whenever he could. he had never loved to drink, his small talk was a little too small, and crowds made him feel less and less at ease. but the familiarity of the northern encampment had become almost too familiar of late, and the eldest forrester had wanted a moment away from the mess of war and the rigour of spending each waking moment amongst his fellow soldiers. as powerful a leader lord hardyng was, he had arranged the perfect event for everyone - highborn, lowborn, everyone in the middle. it was one night where petty arguments over kings he didn’t care for and realms that mattered little to him were left outside of the inn, and rodrik needed that momentary relief. 

he sipped on a horn of ale until he could feel the tangled knot of his reluctance loosen, retreating into a dark corner where nobody would bother him. but the inn was overfull with people from every corner of the seven kingdoms and beyond, the air thick with the din of roaring laughter and chatter. gathering to his feet, he wove his way through the thicket of guests, finally getting another drink before bumping into someone and watching the ale slosh all over the floor. 

“ my apologies, ” rodrik said to the person he knocked into, a faint smile of apology on his face. he quickly downed what was left in the cup - little though it was. “ i didn’t see you there. ”

She would not have come to a party like this on her own. Jeyne enjoyed a good drink now and again and she enjoyed her japes and jests with Maron and Theon, but she was not the type who went out to taverns or inns to drink until she could not stand. But the host of this particular gathering was a friend of Maron’s and, as he had so few of them, she had not complained about attending.

[ She would not have even so much as thought of complaining if she’d realized just how good strongwine could be. ]

The future Lady Greyjoy held onto her goblet as she walked, her black and gold skirts swishing against her legs. There were more people here than she had envisioned; Jeyne was used to crowds, but she was realizing that at least the Ironborn would move out of her way. She could certainly not expect the same from mainlanders. She tightened her grip as she moved through a throng of people and it was not until someone bumped into her and dropped his ale – on the floor, thankfully – that she looked up.

Jeyne offered a soft smile at the Northerner. She did not recognize him, though she did not know many Northerners; fewer, now that Theon had agreed to stay with them. Now, however, she shrugged a shoulder. “I feel as if you should be apologizing to the ale,” she remarked, eyebrow quirked as it often did when she delivered a jape. “I imagine it must feel incredibly underappreciated, being all over the floor.”

[seashellofthecrag]

@aryaundcrfoot​ Harry’s Rager of all Ragers

Cheeks flushed, Jeyne wondered if she, perhaps, had imbibed too much wine or just enough. She was used to the ale of the Ironborn and the strongwine that had been served from Dorne had hit her harder than she’d expected. She supposed it mattered little and she lifted another goblet to her lips as she looked around the inn, finding it to be filled with more highborns than she would have expected. Her eyes crinkled at the sides and when she turned her head, she saw a Northern woman.

In her current state, Jeyne could almost forget how much she detested the King in the North, for it was his own rashness that kept her on the mainland instead of sailing back for Pyke to marry the man she adored.

It was the wine that moved her legs and loosened her tongue and Jeyne sat down opposite the woman, rearranging her skirts carefully – too carefully – to ensure that the gold kraken on the side was visible. “Men can make such fools of themselves, don’t you think? Even under the influence of alcohol, I’d hardly want one of them pawing at me like that,” she mused, her eyes moving around the room as she watched some of the men there trying – and failing – to garner attention from women who were clearly uninterested. An uninhibited laugh escaped her lips and she set the goblet of wine down on the table. “Except my sweetling.” Her head tilted to the side, her hair held back by the intricate braids wound around it.

“You’re a Stark,” she said as she looked closer at the woman. “The tolerable one.”

[alllovelythings]

[seashellofthecrag]

@lordreapcr

[seashellofthecrag]

princess arianne martell

she knew she was expected to be in rage - to be upset at her father. the question must have ripened in everyone’s minds, especially those who didn’t know her at all. but for once in her life, arianne felt nothing but respect for him: risking oberyn for her was an act of love, and reminding the others that dorne trusted none of them was an act of strength. perhaps they would never go back to how they used to be, when she was twelve and interrupting banquets just to give him a goodnight kiss, but she knew now that her father was more than just a man or a prince; he was a viper through and through. and that gave her hope. 

“ i promise you, it’s not usually much of a pleasure, ” arianne began, the air of jest clouding her words, a tired smile curled across her lips. a part of her wanted to sail for sunspear before nightfall: to feel the warm sand beneath her feet and the cool marble walls against her fingers. but another part of her was simply happy to be back amongst her own people - with her friends and her cousins, the only people she had ever trusted. “ but i do seem to be in better spirits today. ” at theon’s mention she raised her eyebrows in question. arianne didn’t know him well, but they had been captives together. it counted for something, didn’t it? “ and how is his brother faring? ”

the princess of dorne shook her head at the question, brows knit together in brief confusion. “ is this going to hurt? because i might need wine. ” the arm had been giving her grief for days now, slowly getting worse and worse as days ticked by aboard euron’s ship. “ and you can call me arianne. ” she shot jeyne a questioning look. “ you seem to know a lot about healing, my lady. did you learn it at a young age or was it the war? ”

An incline of her head was the response to Arianne’s slight jape. Lips quirked upwards at the corners and Jeyne set some of her items on a small table so that she could better help the other woman. “I am happy to hear that,” she said, her words open and honest. After seeing Theon so debilitated, she had worried – greatly – at the other captives and Jeyne was thankful to see that the Princess Arianne looked more energized than others. “Theon had a dislocated shoulder and some malnourishment,” she said. “But he is on the mend. Maron is with him; I’d not have left him alone otherwise.” It was only after she spoke that Jeyne realized she had called Maron by his first name in public. It was not something she did often and her cheeks began to flush at the informality of such an action.

Jeyne offered the other woman a smile. “You may call me Jeyne,” she said with a soft smile. “I believe I might have an inordinate amount of pride when I become Lady Greyjoy and will, once it happens, insist on formality with even my closest of friends.” Her lips twitched in amusement and she began looking at her supplies as she looked over the other woman’s arm. “I was always interested in healing,” she responded. “My father allowed me to learn from our maester at The Crag. When I became betrothed to Lord Greyjoy, he had no problem in allowing me to continue. I suppose it’s worked rather well for all of us,” she admitted with flick of her eyes up to the other woman’s.

She opened a jar of saltwater and bit her lip. “I think you may want some wine,” she said, belatedly answering Arianne’s question. “We Ironborn are reborn from salt and iron and the saltwater that comes from the sea will cleanse your wounds. But it will be painful, yes. The Drowned God gives life but He does well to remind us we can do nothing without Him.”

[seashellofthecrag]

theon greyjoy

Theon was still so gullible to believe those stories as well. As a child he should have learned quicker than he had about how false Maron could be, but perhaps it had been his blind admiration that allowed him to trust every single word his brothers uttered to him. It had made sense now to think the disdain in Maron’s voice had been sincere, and so Theon had made his assumptions and remained at Robb’s side–yet once again, he’d been wrong in properly reading his brother. 

He had secretly wanted to have the same value as Rodrik, to be an equal among his siblings rather than a source of amusement for them. How it had pained him to think he might never be accepted then and now, and how his heart had ripped nearly in half as he tried to seem unbothered by it. Nothing had amounted to those hopeless moments on the ship however, when he had truly felt he had no family to speak of. 

It was the first smile to touch his lips in a long while, unshed tears glistening in his eyes a moment before he managed to blink them away. “I would not miss it for anything, even if I must drag myself there in this state.” Touched again by the love they had for him to see him a part of a momentous occasion, even if it meant putting off a few days more. Part of him almost wondered if this was a dream brought on by his head injury, and if so, he’d be content to not waking from it. 

“I’m not sure I was ever meant to return to the north.” He admitted. “Even Robb would see me home after Jon claimed his throne.” And it reminded him he both desired and fretted speaking with the northern king. “As long as you are mending my injuries, you can rest assured I would not be against you.” Theon lightly laughed. “I’m much too dependent on you for the time being.”

His left arm shifted so that he could gently lay his hand atop hers. “Thank you. I can’t claim to be the type to make friends easily, but he is one of few.” And speaking of friends….

“Any word of Asher Forrester? Or Wylla Manderly? I saw them both attacked while I was being dragged away and I had feared the worst…”

It had taken Jeyne a long time to learn to read Maron, but once she had, it was nearly as easy as breathing. She expected it would take Theon some time as well, but she was merely thankful that they were both, seemingly, willing to put in the effort. “You are brothers,” she said softly as she ran her hand over Theon’s forehead to feel for any sort of fever. Content with what she found, she moved her hand away and looked him over to see if there were any wounds she’d forgotten about. “And he will likely not apologize for the past; it is not usually his way. But, moving forward, I believe he will be better.” There was an honesty, an earnestness, in her tone that made it clear Jeyne believed the words that came from her lips just as much as she wanted Theon to believe them as well.

Thinking of her wedding made Jeyne smile. Most women her age prepared for weddings for moons, worked tirelessly on dresses and cloaks. But Jeyne was more excited about the marriage to come than she was about the wedding itself. Her lips lifted into a smile as she saw tears glistening in Theon’s eyes and she patted his hand softly. “We will not ask you to do that,” she said with a small shake of her head. “Besides, what would your mother think of me if I were to bring you back to Pyke like this, hmm?” She hummed and a brow rose.

Jeyne stood as she cleaned up some of her tisanes and she refilled the water glass with some that had been boiled for safety. “At this point in time, Theon, even if you wished to return to the North, I am not certain Maron or I could bear it.” Her head inclined and she was sure her voice carried, but she had long ago learned she did not need to hide her thoughts from Maron.

Jeyne inclined her head. “They are safe and were not taken,” she said with a small smile. “Though I am not entirely certain the Manderly girl would be welcome to visit you here. There was an interaction between her and Maron while you were away.” Jeyne’s lips thinned as she thought about it and she sniffed in a manner that made it obvious her feelings on the other woman. “She feels much too free to speak to others in a way that is not the most respectful of the station they hold.”

[alllovelythings]

[seashellofthecrag]

@lordreapcr

[seashellofthecrag]

maron greyjoy

Before Maron had managed to warm to Jeyne, with his web of plots keeping him from bridging the distance between them, it had been wide-eyed little Rollam Westerling who had been brave enough to sneak out from under his mother’s watchful eye to come down to the beach and ask him questions about his boat. Maron had not had it in him to say no to his games or indulge him, despite being at the Crag in the midst of a war. He had been easy in his praises of his older sister, and fascinated by the ships more than Maron had suspected any mainlander child would be. “Rollam would be perfect.” He laughed quietly, a rumbling sound like waves crashing against a longship’s hull. “I hope he can keep a secret, though I suppose by the time he returns home everything will be over and done.” 

It was a comforting thought, that vows would be said and Jeyne could never be taken from him by will of her mother or father, or any other person that might think to come between them. She would be his wife, and he would spend his whole life trying to be worthy of the title of her husband. In the meantime, he would continue his dogged effort to cleave out a place for his Isles - their Isles - on the political landscape after the war was over. He would not make her his lady and shackle her to a destitute, crumbling pile of rocks - they would lead the ironborn into a flourishing departure from the Old Way, no matter what it took. “I will learn to. He did not ask to be taken from us, and his place is at Pyke. I know it is what mother and Asha would want.” 

He looked down at the blood on his hands, splattered on his sleeves, and smeared across the slate-grey fabric of the doublet he’d worn to oversee the loading of the ships. “I should, you’re right.” He’d barely managed to think about the practical aspects of his promise, but he could count on Jeyne to fill what he forgot. Calloused fingers tore idly at the knots at his throat and his wrists, pulling the thick, salt-roughened fabric over his head, moving back towards her to snag a kiss as he unlaced his thin linen undershirt too. “I do think that would make rather an impression, no? To show up soaked in blood, teeth bared?” 

Jeyne had warmed to Maron easier, though she wouldn’t admit it, when she had seen how he treated Rollam. If the large, gruff Lord Reaper of Pyke could show kindness to her innocent little brother who annoyed even her some days, Jeyne had known that there was something special inside of him. And it had taken her long enough to see it. A shoulder shrugged at Maron’s words. “He will either keep it or he won’t. It will matter little once we are married.” A half-smile rose on her lips. “I find, my love, I’m much more excited about being married than I am about the wedding. I think I will enjoy working to give you heirs.”

There seemed little more to say about Theon, at least right now. He was gone and Jeyne very much believed they would find him, but she did not want to dwell or to bring Maron into melancholy. “Aye,” she said, her eyes shining as she repeated the words she had said earlier, her tone sincere. “I am so very proud of you.”

She had not expected him to begin undressing right in front of her, but Jeyne supposed she should not be overly surprised. She had seen him in various states of undress over the time they’d spent together, and she expected she would spend tonight in this very bed, fingers tracing over the scars on his shoulder as if doing so would carry him off to sleep more peacefully than nightmares.

“It would make quite the impression of the fearsome Lord Reaper of Pyke,” she murmured, her eyes alight as they flicked over him. A soft pink rose on her cheeks as he unlaced his undershirt and though she was well aware of what was underneath, Jeyne could not stop the feeling of heat that coursed through her veins. Lips met Maron’s once more before curving into a playful smile. “And I think, Maron, my love, it would not be entirely remiss to remind them that you are not to be trifled with. You may not be so arrogant as to wear a crown on your head and call yourself a king, but you rule our people just the same as they rule theirs.” Her lips twitched. “No blood, but perhaps the baring of teeth?” An eyebrow quirked and one hand moved out to run over his side, fingers lingering just above his hip.

[seashellofthecrag]

maron greyjoy

“I’m glad we’re on the same page.” He smiled, though the answer did not surprise him in the least. It did flatter him, however, to hear that she wished to be his wife at all. It seemed strange to him, even after so many years, that a woman like Jeyne had not only resigned herself to a marriage with him, but had come to want nothing more than it. He was no fool - he knew he was not some charming, valiant greenlander man that a Westerling lady must have expected all her life, nor had he proven himself loyal, or particularly truthful at times - yet here she stood calling him sweetling of all things, and kissing him with no shyness anymore. 

“It is right that Theon should be there. He is my brother, and he had proven himself a loyal friend to you.” Maron smiled, a small, secret thing. “He was always mother’s favorite too - she’ll be so disappointed if I don’t bring him home.” To have Jeyne’s pride meant the world to him. He had come to find the bearings of his actions with where her approval lay, and this felt right if it meant she saw something admirable in him. “It is a shame we cannot have your father there too for the ceremony… but do you think it would be too suspicious if we invited little Rollam? It would only be right that your family is represented, and he is the most rational of all, is he not?” Maron alleviated his regret at her not being able to have her father present with such a joke. 

Jeyne’s words furrowed his brow, and he fondly took her cup of wine from her hands and took a sip before returning it to them. “I know… I know I have done wrong by you in the past.” He sucked in a breath laced with fatigue. “But what I did to Theon… it’s so much worse. It seems an impossible thing, for him to see past that. We terrorised him, Jeyne. Made his life hell, for years.” Maron shook his head, his voice tinged with an uncharacteristic openness that was rare even to Jeyne. “But I’d like not to be that person to him anymore. When we get him back…” If we get him back. “I hope that I can learn to know him as a brother.” It would take time, and work, but he knew it was the right thing. 

Their wedding had, for so long, seemed as if it was ages away and Jeyne was gratified at the knowledge that she would no longer have some tenuous future date hiding in her periphery. It was on the tip of her tongue to mention that, from what she’d seen of Theon, he was still a loyal brother to Maron as well, but something – perhaps pragmatism – stayed her lips and instead she offered him a wan smile. “Then that is what we shall do, my love,” she hoped her voice was reassuring, but as Maron mentioned her younger brother, Jeyne’s voice grew fonder. “He has become consumed with sailing,” she remarked. “I do not believe it would take too much to justify a quick trip to Pyke so that I may meet your mother.” [ Jeyne had no intention of telling her parents about the wedding before it happened, knowing they would want it in a sept, would want to make it an event instead of the sacred promise in front of the Drowned God she wished it to be. ] “Besides, my mother will likely insist on a chaperone and Rollam would suit, don’t you agree?”

Her gaze remained steady as Maron spoke, as he admitted his treatment of his brother to be worse than his initial treatment of her. Jeyne’s lips thinned, the only visible reaction she would allow, though as Maron spoke of what he wished to change in the future, her free hand reached up to brush along his jawline. “Aye, sweetling, you have made mistakes,” she responded quietly, as if speaking louder would damage the cocoon that had enveloped around them, where they were free to speak their secrets aloud. “And you will make mistakes again. But, I think,” Jeyne paused, her fingers delving into the curls at the nape of his neck. “That all is not lost where Theon is concerned. Once we get him back, I know you will do what is right by him.”

It shocked her sometimes, how her anger at Maron’s actions had turned over time into a trust so deep that she doubted even the Drowned God himself could shake it. Jeyne took another sip of her wine. “You should likely change, sweetling,” she said softly. “I imagine you do not want to meet with Southron kings covered in blood.”

[seashellofthecrag]

princess arianne martell

she had asked to not be disturbed, still exhausted from the ordeal of the ship, and wanting a moment’s peace alone. but arianne was not built to be alone: she had immediately begun to wish tyene or sylva had joined her, that maybe they could crowd together and laugh like they were little girls once again. she missed her uncle, but she had finally shed all her rage for her father - understanding him for the very first time. after elia, how could he have possibly trusted any of the others to save a dornish princess when they had only lied and betrayed him the first time? he would never have allowed oberyn his campaign if he had no choice.

she bristled at the intrusion before realising who it was. “ lady jeyne, isn’t it? ” arianne asked, stern and calculating at first, before breaking into a sweet smile. the greyjoys had no cause to save her from that ship, nothing beyond an old friendship and doran’s good opinion of the lord reaper, but they had anyway. and that was something the martells would never forget. “ i was lucky - i didn’t suffer as much as the others. ” she was relatively unscathed; just painful bruises that mottled her skin blue and green and purple, and a wound that was giving her grief. “ but i do have a cut on my arm - if you could help me with that? ”

It had shocked her, the knowledge that the Dornish would not join the rest of the Great Houses to rescue those missing, shocked her in a way she had not been since the day on Maron’s ship when she had taken most of his earthly possessions and thrown them into the bay. Jeyne wondered if that had influenced the elder woman’s movements going forward, if she had felt abandoned by her people, but she was much too polite to ask. Instead, she had brought her healing bag and her skills in hopes of giving the woman a speck of kindness that most others had not.

At Arianne’s question, Jeyne offered her a smile in response, used to ignoring tones in a way she had not been since before she’d begun traveling with the Ironborn. “For now,” she said, voice soft yet sure,  a light flickering behind her eyes at the knowledge that soon she would be Lady Greyjoy, with all the responsibilities – and enjoyments – that came with it. “It is a pleasure to meet you, Princess Arianne,” Jeyne’s gaze was steady as she looked over the Dornishwoman, nodding. “You were luckier than some,” she agreed. “I believe Lord Greyjoy’s brother will take days before he is able to return to his feet.”

She nodded as she moved closer, reaching for the other woman’s arm so that she could inspect it. “It looks as if it might be infected, which would not surprise me given the condition of Theon.” Jeyne bit her lip. “Are you averse to saltwater, Princess Arianne?” she inquired.

[seashellofthecrag]

theon greyjoy

He breathed a sigh as the cool damp cloth ran against his forehead, helping to ease his headache and soothe the sting to that accursed cut still attempting to heal. He let his eyes drift shut a moment, feeling Jeyne lean over him, and while he would have flinched away at anyone daring to touch his injured shoulder, he trusted her well enough by now to not agitate his wounds. Sure enough, she sparked no pain, though even if she had, Theon doubted he would have felt it given the words whispered in confidence to him.

His eyes opened, wide with surprise now. Jeyne was no liar, and as hard as it was for him to believe Maron had resorted to prayer for him before taking the lead in his rescue, he did believe it. How many times now had he told himself that Maron hated him? He’d absorbed the insults, offered his help where he could, trying somehow to get in relatively good graces but never feeling he could. For that reason, he’d stuck with Robb.

But Maron had saved him, and here he was now, watching over the both of them a short distance away.

His dry lips parted for the water, feeling the desire to guzzle the contents until he choked on it, but he took his time, feeling a little more content when the now empty goblet was pulled away.

Family. His eyes went back to Maron for a moment before returning to her. He was with his family, and if they truly did not want him there, he would be dead already. “I know I do.” He found himself admitting to not just her, but Maron too, and there was some strength in his voice given the water to soothe his throat. “And I think…” You have to choose, Robb had said, and perhaps, now was the time to. “…I think it’s time I came home. I’m a Greyjoy…” A son of Pyke, an heir to the Seastone Chair, brother to the Lord Reaper. These were things he could not forget, despite his love for the Starks. “The north was good to me, but it’s not where I belong.”

Relieved at that bit of news, Theon relaxed further, his fingers curling gently around her hand as she took his. “Loras Tyrell suffered far worse than I did, if you might have a moment to spare to help him, it would be a favor to me.”

She could tell, from the widening of Theon’s eyes, that he was surprised by her words. Jeyne could not blame him, not truly, though it saddened her that something so common as a brother praying for another would be so shocking. “In time,” she mused, setting the cloth in the water once more. “You will learn to read Maron’s actions much more than his words. He is so very adept at spinning stories; sometimes I think he might even believe them himself.” Her tone was fond, loving, and she moved her eyes over Theon’s face, attempting to see if his own eyes were glassier than they were when he’d first been brought to them.

There were many things Jeyne expected to hear from Theon’s lips, but his wish to return home, his acknowledgement that he belonged with them warmed her more than she could have ever imagined. For a moment, she was quiet, as if saying anything would upend the fragile peace that settled over the tent and take away the words that had worked their way deep into her heart. She set the goblet onto the side table and adjusted Theon’s blankets carefully as her lips curved upwards into a wide, yet genuine smile.

“I am happy to hear it,” she said quietly. “Maron promised me that once things were settled and you are well, we will return to Pyke to marry. We have waited long enough and I am certain your mother is eager to see you.” She wished, most days, for nothing more than her marriage and yet she could not imagine marrying Maron without Theon present. “I understand the North will always be part of you, Theon, and I would not take away the relationships you have made there, nor the love you have for it. But I will not pretend we will not be so pleased to have you with us. So long as the two of you do not join forces against me, of course.” Her lips twitched in clear amusement.

She had not seen Loras Tyrell for more than a quick moment and at Theon’s admission, Jeyne nodded. “I am sure the Tyrells have ensured his comfort,” she said soothingly. “But once it is safe to do so, I will take an escort and check on him. Maron can stay here with you.” She was hoping they would take the time to talk, though she would settle for a cessation of hostilities between them.

[seashellofthecrag]

theon greyjoy

Her hand was soft, warm, soothing…much like his mother’s. He’d come down with illness when he was young, playing far too long in the rain after she’d told him to come inside and warm by the fire. Waking the next morning with a terrible cough and chills, she’d remained next to him, stroking his hair and forehead until he was well enough to scurry about once more. Here and now, it made him feel oddly at home. 

“We?” He asked softly, glancing behind her and noticing for the first time that his brother was there as well–distanced, but there. He thought he might wake in a northern tent, dealing with the rough worn hands of maesters, but this was admittedly better, even if he was certain Maron had only saved him from their uncle with a small push from Jeyne. He looked uncertainly back to her, clearly not convinced his brother might have felt anything beyond relief at having Theon out of the way.

He curled his hand lightly into a fist, feeling the strain of muscles from that small movement alone, and he worried how long it might be before he could properly draw back his bow. Being confined to a bed and unable to fight was not something that settled well with him, but he would adhere to her orders for him, for now. He still needed to check on a number of others, and see with his own eyes they were safe.

“Thank you.” He told her quietly. He wanted to say he should see to it that Robb was alright, but he wasn’t sure he was much in the mood for another verbal lashing from Maron. “The others are safe as well, right?”

She felt a quick rush of exhaustion fill her, though Jeyne pushed it to the side. It had exhausted her, the worry, and it was not until she needed to worry no longer that Jeyne finally felt the after-effects of it. She sucked in a breath, slowly, as she rinsed the cloth, wrung it out, and mopped his brow once more.

“Aye,” she responded, a soft smile on her face. “We.” She knew that there had been such little love lost between the two brothers of late, but Jeyne had seen the worry on Maron’s face and as she leaned over Theon to check the bandage she’d placed on his shoulder in hopes of keeping it in place, she whispered. “He has prayed in the sea for your safe return often since you were taken and he led the Ironborn personally in hopes of rescuing you. I find it unlikely he’ll admit to it, of course, but he is not a good liar, your brother. Not to me, anyway.” Her smile was warm as she pulled back, though she did not leave the side of the bed.

Jeyne reached for a goblet of water that was on the table next to the cot and slowly lifted it to Theon’s lips. “Drink it slowly,” she instructed, keeping her voice soft so that she did not cause him to jostle. “And there is no need to thank me. You are family, Theon; you belong with us.” The words were genuine and Jeyne hoped that the look she gave him was reassuring, for it was doubtful she would let him out of her sight again soon in the future.

At his next question, she nodded. “Aye, they are. From what I could discern quickly, you were hurt the worst, but everyone else was brought back safely.” She reached for his free hand with her own and squeezed ever so lightly. “Just worry about getting better.”