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[icekraken]

more prompts for your feels

“  what am i supposed to do when i can’t even trust my own mind?  ”  “  i have to believe death is the end. because all that waits for me in the afterlife is a debt of sin i don’t think could ever be paid off.  ” “  what do you see when you look into my eyes?  ”   “  it doesn’t always have to be you, you know?  your shoulders aren’t the only ones that can bear the weight of the world.  ”   “  i don’t think hearts break. shattered things can only be broken once. but torn things can be mended again and again until it’s all scars and stitching.  ” “  i can’t remember what it’s like to be truly wanted.  ” “  every time you look at me i feel invisible.  ” “  loneliness is a slow and cruel poison.  ” “  i’m afraid that if i let you see every side of me, you should shrink back in fear or disgust.  ” “  for once in your life, what is it that you want.  ” “  i’ve been wrapped in my sorrow for so long, i’m afraid i’ll feel too cold without it.  ” “  i just want to see you smile again.  ” “  can’t you stop running for one second?  ” “  i’ll be here. when you’re ready to talk.  ” “  being strong doesn’t mean never asking for help or admitting you’re in pain.  ” “  don’t shut me out. please.  ” “  don’t look at me like that.  ” “  the world isn’t made up of heroes and monsters. just broken people balancing between the two.  ” “  i just wanted to do something good for once.  ” “  why can’t you tell me what’s wrong?  ” “  just trust me. please.  ” “  why can’t you let me in? what are you so afraid of?  ” “   you’re so worried about losing me/them you’re missing everything in front of you.  ”   “  i’m not leaving you.  ” “  you’re not alone. i’m here.  ” “  you see everyone so clearly except yourself.  ” “  don’t you understand? i love you. and nothing you’ve done, no matter how much of a monster you think you are, is gonna change that.  ” “  i find broken things interesting. maybe that’s why i like you so much.  ” “  i want to be whatever it is you think i am.  ” “  you see the good in everything. that’s why i like it when you look at me.  ” “  i’ll still be here when you wake.  ” “  i promise i’ll never hurt you again.  ” “  as long as i have you, the rest doesn’t matter.  ” “  what did they do to you?  ” “  i’m not sure i should leave you alone.  ” “  i won’t hate you. i know you think that’s what you deserve but it’s not.  ” “  i want to love the parts of you that you hate.  ” “  i’m scared of what you’re becoming.  ” “  i’m sorry, i’m not what you think i am.  ” “  you’ll always have a home with me.  ” “  what happened to you?  ” “  i thought i’d never see you again.  ” “  you’re such a fucking coward.  ” “  i envy anyone who has the privilege of being loved by you.  ” “  you scared me.  ” “  please, don’t ever give up on me.  ” “  i’m not giving up on you. not ever.  ” “  i know you love me. but it’s not the way i want to be loved.  ”

[icekraken]

neithergodsnormen​:

Robb could scarce remember a day of his life where Theon was not a part of it. The Iron Isles had rebelled when he was quite young, and so he had grown along side the young Greyjoy. He saw Theon as more a brother than his father’s ward. More a brother, than just a friend. A brother, not a hostage. His mother did not understand how much he trusted Theon or why. She did not trust him, and Robb wondered if it was because he was Ironborn or because he was a ward of a rebellious lord.

None of that mattered to Robb. Theon Greyjoy had been among them men that had started the naming of him as their king. Theon had sworn to follow Robb until their dying day, and Robb trusted the man that he had grown looking up to. And he had. He had grown looking at Theon as the sort of person he wished to be like. Confident and charming, always smiling and easy to approach. Nothing really seemed to shake the kraken, Robb… Robb felt like he would be crushed under the pressure of responsibility. Could he live up to his father’s legacy? Would he make his father proud? Would the lords approve or would they see him as more a southroner. Perhaps his insecurities were because he’d been born in Riverrun. He may have been born to inherit the North and was raised there, but because of the war he hadn’t been born there. A thought that had plagued him for years, and still did, even as the North named him king. The first Stark King in nearly 300 years.

“I think more than a pint would be needed, and I do need my mind.” He could not help the laugh that left him at Theon’s suggestion of a drink. Already the giants sat on his shoulders were lessening in weight, just by the few words that Theon had spoken. “I have won every battle so far, but Tywin has years of experience… What if he is biding his time, letting me feel confident?” What if I am not as good a commander as my men think I am. What if I fail them. Thoughts came unbidden once more to his mind. He was still more a boy than a man, and he was facing someone more than thrice his age. “I don’t know what to do to secure victory of the war, more than just the battles. One can win every battle and still loose the war.”

It was interesting seeing this change that had gripped Robb since the men united beneath him, looking to him as far more than the mere eldest son of the Stark household. Not long ago, they’d joked together within the heated walls of Winterfell, teasing Jon before stepping into the bitter cold to continue their training. Those years were behind, and the path ahead would become more bloodied with each league they marched. 

“You doubt yourself.” It was said as a matter of fact, for despite how strong Robb appeared in the eyes of his men, Theon knew he held vulnerabilities that he dared not show to anyone outside of his circle of trust. He was glad of that, for only a fool would keep to themselves without seeking the advice of others. The young kraken turned his eyes to the busying camp, a chilling breeze slipped through the mouth of the tent and between the plates of his armor. He missed the comfort of a warm bed and thick furs, having remembered the luxury of his capture despite the relentless jabs he received because of it. He loathed those that reminded him he didn’t belong, but it had lessened at Robb’s side, and he was grateful for that.

Breathing a slow sigh, he came closer, welcoming himself to a vacant seat that was pushed closely to the table bearing maps and scrolls. Alone, they could skip the formalities, be the same as they were before all of this, but should anyone enter, Theon knew his place. “The Lannisters have time to prepare, but so do we.” He said in a hushed tone. “We need to rally more men. Show them the extent of the force prepared to fight with you.” An idea struck him, but given the consequences that had loomed over him his life for daring to head back to Pyke caused hesitation. “I am my father’s only heir. Let me go to him and perhaps I can convince him to send you aid. Surely he would desire to strike out against King’s Landing.”

[icekraken]

neithergodsnormen‌:

@icekraken​ hit the like for a starter

Robb was pacing around the rooms he had chosen to occupy in Riverrun when he heard Theon enter his room. Theon was his closest friend, the person that he trusted more than anyone else that had been in that room shouting the words ‘King in the North’ and he felt a small relief at the sight of him. It still felt as if he had a thousand giants sat upon his shoulders, unable to have time to keep grieving his father. No, he could not stop to grieve that loss until his sisters were safely back at Winterfell and Joffery was dead. 

Grey WInd barely lifted his head as Robb broke from the line he had been pacing, the now king making his way to his best friend’s side. “Theon, thank you for coming to see me. Your presence is more relief from my mind than you could even imagine.” He had to find a way to make this war work, had to find a way to beat the most ruthless commander that had lived in half a century. A few battles were nothing, he needed to find a way to destroy Tywin and what better person to discuss ideas with than the son of the man who had smashed the Lannister fleet not even a decade ago.

Theon’s respect for the eldest Stark had stemmed from a young age. He’d been nothing but a frightened boy, wretched from the arms of his mother to remain a hostage of the north, something that no doubt made his father’s blood boil in shame for his last heir to be so shamefully dangled before him as a means of control. What he had not anticipated was the genuine love for the Starks Theon had come to develop, considering them a family to replace the one he had lost so many years ago. Robb was no exception, and from the moment the two of them had met and playfully sparred in the courtyard he’d been relatively glued to the man’s side. 

The message relayed that Robb requested him had him abandoning his task of fletching arrows in ready for the next battle that was well on its way. Robb’s tactical prowess was commendable, for they had crushed their enemies so far with minimal casualties. He was clever, and above all, willing to listen to counsel which offered several different vantage points for the task at hand. The goal was a great one, but Theon had no doubts Robb would achieve it.

“Has anyone mentioned the benefits of a pint of ale?” Theon replied with a wry smile, looking to lessen the tension he could clearly see bearing down on, not only his closest friend, but his king. “Tell me. What has you troubled?” It could be no more than the usual he hoped, but once Robb had a thought in mind, it seemed difficult for him to shake it.

[icekraken]

satincrow‌:

There was NO QUESTION that Satin believed his new Lord was a good man. He had just spared his life! Yet he didn’t argue. If he wanted to think badly of himself, he wouldn’t stop him. After all, a Lord who was a bit humble was easier to deal with than the opposite. There was nothing more dangerous than a master who thinks himself too good.

“Well that’s a relief,” he said, the beginnings of a mischievous smile gracing his lips. “I’ve been hurt the most by men who thought themselves honorable and good. So I prefer the bad men I suppose.”

He sat down gratefully before the food and wine. “Thank you, my Lord,” he said, already trying to adopt the highborn speech he assumed a squire would possess, and not run his words together as much. He tried to eat delicately as well, though he was ravenous and soon his growling stomach got the best of him. He sighed in pleasure as he filled his mouth with warm bread. But his pleasure was short lived as Lord Greyjoy began to ask how he had ended up at the wall. 

“Oh that. Well, it turns out I was a better brothel boy than I was a thief” he said trying to make light of it, but under Lord Greyjoy’s gaze his throat tightened and he knew he had to give more of an explanation than that. “I was born in a brothel in Oldtown. The Silk Rose. My mother was one of the girls there and when I came of age, I worked there too. But I got it into my head that life held more for me so I left.” He cringed at having to hear his own naive explanation. “I made it as far as Gullstown before I was arrested for stealing from one of my clients. While I was in the dungeons a man came round, asking for recruits to the Night’s Watch. It was either that or risk losing a hand. So, I volunteered.”  Another mistake… suddenly he realized he was trembling again, his fingers worrying at the bruises on his face that were beginning to heal. 

“As for why I left. It’s an ugly story my lord… you won’t want to hear it…” he said before trailing off. “I should never have left Oldtown,” he whispered more to himself than Lord Greyjoy. “At least there, I was paid for my trouble. But at the Wall… they… they never even ask.” He fell silent at that, his charms failing him.

It was no surprise he’d lived the life of a brothel boy, as he clearly had the beauty that would make so many want for him no matter the price to be paid. If Theon were not so troubled, or in the complex web he’d tangled himself in that pulled at his loyalties, perhaps he would be offering empty promises and sweet laced words to try to get this one in bed with him. The thought however, was far from his mind as he listened to the tale unravel, and he felt empathy at hearing Satin had been another victim to the lack of choice life had offered him.

“You won’t have to return there at least.” Theon offered. Perhaps they could return him to Oldtown, though trouble may find him there for his desertion. The Iron Islands would not be kind to him, by the Drowned God they were hardly kind to Theon, and he had been born there--an heir to his father’s throne, now reduced to a stranger that was suspected to hold more loyalty to the Starks than his own blood. In some sense, there was truth to it, for every step he made to try to prove himself to his father felt like a terribly wrong thing to do.

“Tell me.” Theon went on, leaning forward now as he clasped his hands. “Is there somewhere you are wanting to go?” He was thankful for the distraction at least, something to pull his mind from the growing anxiety of Robb sending men to reclaim Winterfell, and the complete silence on his father’s end that would inform him whether to hold the keep or not. To abandon it now would be an utter failure, and some part of him began to wonder if that was what Balon wished for. He was cruel man. If he had not cared to save Theon as a boy, why would he offer him any love now?

[icekraken]

satincrow‌:

Satin didn’t flinch as the Lord’s eyes focused in on him. Instead he opened his dark ones even larger to take them in. They were blue grey, the color of the sunset sea and just as troubled. He scarcely dared to breathe as he awaited his answer and when the answer came he felt himself crumble. If he had not already been kneeling he would have fallen to his knees. But since he was already there, he rose shakily, his heart pounding. 

“Thank you, thank you m’lord,” he said, wringing his hands together for some inexplicable reason. It was as if his body were slower to catch up with what had just happened. He had been saved. He just wanted to be away from everyone’s sight for a moment. To crumple into a corner and sob for joy, for grief, for everything he had been bottling up inside since he had taken it into his head to leave Oldtown.

Before he knew it, he was following the Ironborn Lord into the keep’s warm hall. The first thing that struck his senses was that it was warm. He almost broke into tears right then at that grateful realization. It had been so long since he had experienced warmth. True warmth didn’t seem to exist this far north- and certainly not in any corner of Castle Black that he could find. He wondered at how wealthy the Lords who kept this castle must have been to keep the fortress so warm this far north.

The Lord’s voice managed to reach him through his reverie. His voice was warm too. Warm and gentle and it seemed to make everything in his chest go soft.

“Satin. I’m from Oldtown,” he said. Now, as when he had first come to Castle Black, he had been presented with the opportunity to change his name into something that sounded less like that of a brothel boy. But again, he was too proud ( or too stupid ) to change the name his poor mother had thought so fine…  He didn’t know it it was the sudden thought of his mother or the sudden, unexpected gift of life, but tears laced his voice as he thanked the lord again.

“You are so good. You are a good man, m’lord.”

The gratitude did nothing to warm his heart, if anything, it made him feel far worse. He stopped just outside the door to the quarters he had claimed as his own, what once felt a fine victory to have the Lord’s room as his own, now feeling as a weight on his very soul. “Satin.” He tested the name, finding it rang with the softness that did not belong at Castle Black. How he’d ended up there was a mystery, but it was no surprise he’d sought an escape. A pretty face like that, with those doe-like eyes, hardly belonged in such a place.

Good? Would a good man have allowed the murder of two boys? Would a good man have killed Rodrik Cassel for merely exhibiting the anger that was rightfully placed? Not at all.

“I’m not a good man.” He said quietly. “Best you figure that out now.” His guilt weighed on him, exhausted him, but it was too late to turn back. He’d burned his bridges with the Starks, all he had left now were the Greyjoys, and he wasn’t even certain they would ever fully accept him. 

Theon walked briskly into the bedroom, pushing the door shut as Satin followed, as if to somehow protect them both from the monstrosities outside. “Winterfell has been taken in Balon Greyjoy’s name, I’m to hold it.” For now. There had been no word from his father since, no clue of the approval that Theon was desperately seeking. “No one beyond this room will likely be friendly to you.” With horrified and enraged northerners, and violent Ironborn, this was not a good place for traitors--something that could be said for both of them.

“I’m Theon Greyjoy.” He could not even gloat with his new titles, and he had been so known for being one to proudly brag in the past. “Food, water, and wine on the table there. Take time to recover, somehow I doubt the present calm will last.” He sat heavily in the chair by the fire as he said it, one hand running through his hair as he heaved a sigh and tried to focus on what step to take next. No work from his father meant no guidance, and here he was alone trying to reign in the chaos he’d unleashed. 

“For what reason were you sent to the wall?” He asked, leveling his eyes with the flickering flames before him. “And what sent you on such a high risk escape?”

[icekraken]

ofsecondsons‌:

asher was prone to dramatics, to flair and show and performance; he knew this, everyone knew this. perhaps his reaction was too much, as he often was too much, but it did not change the guilt that racked his heart. that, in truth, had been racking his heart for weeks now. seeing that theon felt similarly, asher couldn’t help but let out a bitter laugh at the irony of it all. “look at us, two sorry idiots if i ever saw them.” it’s a deflection, of sorts, but asher quickly sobered up once more, shifting his focus fully back to theon.

the raw, bitter truth of it all was that asher had missed theon, that he would swallow his own guilt and failure to have his friend back. during his long years in exile, friends had been hard to come by; only a sellsword could know so intimately how untrustworthy, how disloyal, a sellsword was. since his return, he’d regained his siblings, but kept his distance from most else. theon, though - theon had become something of a friend without knowing asher was an exiled lordling, a disgrace, and had stuck by him even after finding out.

“we’re never going to agree on this, are we?” asher observed in a rare moment of rational thought. “i could have done more, i should have done more. i am not used to losing, theon, particularly not when fighting for a friend.” the fierce earnestness still shone distinctly in his voice, but the tone had lowered to match theon’s. sucking in a deep breath, he ran a hand down his face. “so. what now?”

A small smile reclaimed his lips as the mood lightened, glad they were both alive to find humor in an otherwise heavy situation that had taken a toll on them both. If Theon could rid his memory of the long days trapped on his uncle’s ship, wounded, dehydrated, and overwhelmed with grief--he gladly would. If anything, Euron had certainly instilled a fear in him. Who knew his own family could be this cruel in the pursuit of power. Theon had been nothing more than a bartering tool, and if that failed, he would have likely been tossed to the depths.

“No.” Theon replied simply, but beyond that, he did not try to argue further with Asher’s stubborn stance. Instead he offered a supportive hand on the man’s shoulder, scoffing lightly at the question. “We take advantage of the fact we’re both alive and well, I suppose. The fighting is well on its way to returning, and who knows if we could share a drink after the next conflict.”

He tried not to think on the deaths that were still to come, for all wars demanded steep payment, and he was not so foolish to think that he and everyone he cared for would return to their homes safe and unharmed. “Besides, you owe me a drink for not paying me a visit while I was healing. I had to endure a number of annoyances with no relief from it.”

[icekraken]

alyssastokeworth‌:

Alyssa couldn’t make this man out, and she didn’t like that. Well, it only made her more curious of what was going on inside of his head. He didn’t seem entirely present at the celebration, and she wondered why. Perhaps something personal, or something much bigger. The war was bound to bring change and loss and sadness to many. She wondered what it had brought him. For now, she wanted to enjoy this time, and took the bottle offered to her, taking a heavy swig from it, before setting it back down. “Hmm, that’s interesting.” She admitted, licking some residual wine from her bottom lip.

“I don’t believe so either.” She smiled. “Lady Alyssa Stokeworth.” She introduced herself, giving a sarcastic, half-cursty. She so wished she had made out who he was or where he was from, other than the North, but alas her skills had failed her this one time. She would be sure to remember him once she heard his name. “And you are?”

A more genuine smile broke across his features at her gesture, also impressed by the way she drank her wine without regard to customs expected of women in public settings--especially a Lady. She reminded him a bit of Asha, albeit much more tame of course, and for that, he liked her. 

“Theon Greyjoy.” The lost kraken living among the wolves of the north. By now he was used to the looks, and the mutterings, taking it all in stride after his recent discussion with Robb as to where exactly he belonged. Lingering among the northerners likely still earned him some distrustful rumors, but he was here supporting the Starks and nothing more. “Careful with the amount you drink, my lady. I can only guard so many drunks tonight.” He teased with a chuckle.

[icekraken]

satincrow‌:

(  Discussed starter for @icekraken​  )

Satin clasped his hands together as he was shoved roughly forward. So this was it? After everything he’d survived- the dungeons in Gulltown, the harrowing trip to the north in chains, and then the living death that was Castle Black. The unwanted hands upon him in the nights, the beatings… to escape all of that, only to be thrust before this Lord who looked to be no older than himself and to lose his life at the icy edge of a northern blade. 

No, No… Satin’s whole body shook with the denial as he frantically sought some way to stop what was about to happen to him. He had been through too much, far too much to give up now without a fight. His knees crashed to the ground as he desperately sought the man’s eyes in front of him. Eye contact… Ayana had always taught him the crucial importance of that. Make them see you as a person, not an object and they will be less likely to hurt you. 

The man who stood before him was imposing but he looked to be around his own age. As Satin’s eyes flickered over his clothing he realized that he was not a northerner, but Ironborn. He had had a few Ironborn at The Silk Rose. The Ironborn were fierce but not as cruel in bed as their reputation would have one believe. Not nearly so cruel as the northerners turned out to be… Perhaps this one could be reasoned with.

“Please, M’lord, you don’t have to do this,” he stammered, “We are both strangers here in the North. But their laws need not apply to you. I know… I did wrong to run but… I had cause. Please…”

His hands had been so coated with blood already. Still the screams echoed in the back of his mind as he went on pretending, all the while screaming himself. Kraken or wolf? It had been a long imposing question, and his heart had ripped at the moment he had been forced to choose. Robb would never forgive him, by the Drowned God he could never forgive himself, and yet he was still here, holding the home he had secretly come to love over the years.

But this was not his home, and he was not a Stark--no matter how much he wished it.

Theon was tired already, what goodness left in him feeling cold and numb, and still these voices gnawed at him to do more, to make himself known as a Greyjoy rather than a Stark pet, and for it to be forever remembered. The blood still soaked into the ground, the looks of horror and disgust thrown his way....this was not how he wanted to be remembered. In his heart, he knew it was wrong, all of it, but he’d been lashed with cruel words for years and had been so desperate to belong.

A call to punish a captive that had broken their oath, and Theon allowed his thoughts to drift to Jon, dread burning in his gut that he might have to turn his sword, truly, on one of the Stark children he’d grown up with. Bastard or not, Jon had been a brother to him, even if Theon had not treated him as such more often than not, but upon seeing the young man forced to the ground on his knees, Theon was allowed a small sliver of relief.

It didn’t last, for once again he was being pressed to swing his sword, and he was certain he lacked the strength to do it.

Grey-blue eyes met those of the captive, and he knew had Eddard been here, or Robb, there would be no pity extended. The law was the law, and as the new Lord of Winterfell (something that sickened him now) he should bring down judgment. 

If I could run...I would.

He dared not say it, but it was there in his gaze and his hand tightened on the hilt of his sword. No, he couldn’t do it. Perhaps this was weakness, but it would make him far weaker to finally crack in the presence of his men. 

“The laws of the North are not mine to withhold.” He said sternly, finding some sort of strength to harshen his voice. “But given no one is allowed to leave Winterfell, you will serve as my squire until I decide further what to do with you.” His men seemed content with that at least, sneering as they shoved the man forward, and Theon turned, heading back inside so that he might find a moment of peace in this chaos. 

Only once they had entered the keep’s warm halls did he speak, his voice far softer than before. “What is your name?”

[icekraken]

alyssastokeworth‌:

closed for @icekraken​ || the stark wedding celebration

Northerners were still a whole new culture to Alyssa. Parties everywhere were the same generally and served the same purpose, but it always fascinated her how differently the people acted at each one. She was surprised to see younger children running around in the beginning. She half expected a brawl or two to play out only for each side of the very loud altercation to suddenly laugh and embrace each other. It was almost admirable how close each house seemed to be here, at least for the most part. She came to gather understanding for what the King in the North had planned next, but this night did not seem political except under very hushed whispers that even her skilled ears hadn’t picked up just yet.

Until she could find someone interesting to converse with, and perhaps get a piece or two of information. She decided to immerse herself in the party and actually enjoy herself. She always loved a good party, but ever since the death of King Robert, she always felt as if she was in defense mode. Constantly finding vital messages to bring back to her sister, loyal to House Martell and inherently neutral for the time being. She couldn’t see the harm in her presence in that sense. Downing a cup of ale, she winced a little. Gods, I need wine. She sighed, turning on her heel and flashing a smile to the first Lord she set eyes upon. “Pardon me, do you happen to know where I might find some wine? As it turns out, I’m not much of an ale person.” She shrugged, a small laugh escaping her lips.

As joyous as an event this was meant to be, Theon could only partially share in Robb’s joy. He’d been all smiles at first, assuring the northern king of his support while inwardly he flared with worry and anxiety. Now was not the time to openly accuse Robb of making foolish mistakes, even if Theon could speak freely in his presence. No, for now he would drink enough to take the bristling edge off his shoulders, and keep an attentive watch over those nearby that had not accompanied them from the north.

A voice to his left drew his attention and Theon cast his grey-blue eyes upon the woman beside him. She was not familiar, though it was fair to say most people in this city were not. It made him feel shame at times, to know better the names and faces of the northern men in place of the Ironborn present with his sister. 

“Here.” He had a bottle resting near his hand, already half emptied of its contents, and pushed it towards her. If he were not careful, he would easily drink it all himself, and then what use would he be? “I don’t believe I’ve had the pleasure of meeting you, my lady.” He said, offering a small smile. She was pretty, he’d admit to that much, and considering the lack of value in most company around him, he would settle for her. 

[icekraken]

ofsecondsons‌:

asher was certain the shock at theon’s words must be clear as day on his face. always an open book, even he was shocked by the intensity of emotion the other man’s apology awakened. a part of him wanted to scream, another part of him wanted to cry; caught in the middle of it all, asher could only stare at theon for a long moment. “forgive you?” he asked, as if the words were a foreign language unfamiliar on his tongue. “did you just ask me to forgive you?”

it hadn’t stopped replaying in his mind, the attack on that awful night. the raw fear when he learned his sister had been taken, the hopelessness when he thought on how he’d failed theon, they’d all made regular appearances alongside memories of gwyn in his nightmares. for once in his damned life, asher was completely, brutally silent, processing his emotions internally, thinking before he spoke. “yes - let’s take a walk,” he responded hollowly, casting a faint smile at theon as an afterthought. “i’ve missed yours too.”

the admission was soft, gentle, but asher waited until they were away from the constantly listening ears and the thrum of loud voices before he responded to theon’s earlier words. “do not ever apologize to me, not for a single second of that night.” his voice sounded harsh even to asher’s own ears, thick and loud with earnestness. “don’t you dare apologize when i couldn’t fucking save you.” during the rescue mission, asher had cut down a dozen men and would’ve gladly gone through dozens more to get theon and mira back. did he know that? “you could have died, theon, and it would have been because i’d failed you.”

He was acting strange, Theon thought, and he stared at Asher in clear confusion of the question before his invitation was accepted. Perhaps he wasn’t to be forgiven then...and such a thought made his heart feel it had fallen to the pit of his stomach. He did not want to be thought of as weak, and he certainly did not want to lose companionship in Asher for his own failure that night. He couldn’t help but worry on Asher’s tone as they departed, the heat of the packed room giving way to cool air and silence.

It was then Theon was met with a response that had clearly been held back until now, and his brow furrowed at first, for Asher had never spoken to him this way. But it all made sense. Theon had grieved, had felt the pressure of guilt for that night--but Asher had as well. He’d done so much in an effort to get to Theon and it had been for nothing, and now he wondered (with some amusement) if the two of them had been beating themselves over the other this entire time. It would certainly explain the lack of visitation as well.

“Failed me?” Theon countered, though his voice remained calm in contrast to Asher’s own. “You nearly gave your life for mine. In the battles I’ve fought, no one has ever rushed to my side so recklessly that they void their own safety. No one has ever done for me, what you did, and I will not soon forget it.”

[icekraken]

valeheir‌:

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.”

Theon came to wonder how long the drinks would pour, and the laughs would last. What had transpired in Highgarden was proof that no alliance and agreement for peace among old enemies was genuine, and that someone, regardless of what side they fought for, would be tempted to slide a dagger between ribs. It was the nature of men to be violent, this he knew, this he had been taught since the day he was born in Pyke--and further realized after having both brothers killed and himself dragged away to the north. Men were violent. Many were cruel.

Most were also stupid.

Theon was someone who enjoyed indulging, but he’d been unsettled since arriving in King’s Landing, and he would remain as such until he was fully healed. Drinking helped, and perhaps things would be safe during these celebrations and parties, but they were also a good time for awareness to fail and for an opportunity to arise. He had his share of enemies, yes, but it was Robb he worried for now.

Lifting his eyes as he was spoken to, Theon gave a half-amused cock of a grin. “You’re awfully proud of yourself, aren’t you?” He could appreciate a cocky attitude where it was due, for he had a terrible habit of bragging himself, but any further teasing fell away as Harry motioned towards the mugs being filled. Yes, drinking was a good idea to relieve this stress, Theon thought. Robb was safe enough for now (and perhaps he was foolish to think as such, but he would be miserable enough without the aid of alcohol). “Drink with me then, and we’ll toast your night of success.”

[icekraken]

ofbearislands‌:

                         open starter || northern celebrations

Dacey found it disconcerting for the words ‘Lady Stark’ to be slipping from her lips to address someone other than the late Catelyn Stark, so for this reason while she attended the festivities celebrating her King’s new marriage, she stayed away from the guests of honor.  Or at least, that is what she told herself.  There were many other feelings at play in her mind, but ones she refused to acknowledge, out of loyalty, out of unwillingness to cross boundaries, and afraid of knowing the true thoughts on the matter.  

And much like before, while waiting for peace talks, Dacey was much too high strung to really enjoy any sort of celebration, and instead she found herself pacing the borders of the encampment, mug of ale in hand untouched.  The feeling in the pit of her stomach was back, boring a hole through her stomach, making it near impossible to drink or eat or be merry, no matter how merry the circumstances were.  Last time, she had not acted on that feeling, and Catelyn had ended up dead, and later people went missing.  And even now, as they celebrated their return, the hand of fear would not loosen it’s grip on Dacey’s innards.

And this time, it felt worse, and she knew the reason why.  Robb’s new wife brought along with her a whole carriage load of new things for Dacey to worry about.  The only strength the North had over the other kingdoms were their absolute unity and belief in their King.  But after Robb’s announcement of his new wife, Dacey heard whispers.  And for people to be whispering around Dacey, a sword known to rarely leave the King’s side…That said more about their discontent than their words ever could.  Dacey could see their strength, their one virtue over others splintering before her very eyes.  And that made her very uneasy.

Uneasy enough, that as her ears pricked to a noise behind her, in a fell movement her mug was dropped and lost somewhere on the bed of leaves below and bow was suddenly in hand, arrow knocked and ready to be let loose, pointed at the source of the noise.

“I’ll warn ye, the rest of the camp may be in their cups, but I am not and my aim is true.”

Theon’s growing agitation had pulled him from the masses of celebration and into the quiet of the night, seeking solace from his doubts and worries by drawing the cool air into his lungs. Perhaps he should mount his mare for a short ride, though the continued throbbing in his arm and head urged him to refrain from doing so. He’d been warned it would take time to mend, but he feared time was not on their side, and what good was he if he could not properly protect Robb?

His sword was still at his side, but there was a dagger hidden beneath his cloak that he would be more favorable to grab should he need to defend himself. Many claimed they were safe for now, but no place felt truly so, especially here in a city he had always hated solely for the ones that inhabited it. 

Noticing someone lingering around the edge of camp, Theon drew towards them, solely out of curiosity. So few in this area held his trust, and with many of the guard staying close to the vicinity of the wedding celebrations, there were few to keep a proper eye on camps. One crunch of his boot on loose dirt placed an arrow ready to fly, and what a lethal shot it would be should the archer release her hold.

“There are still plenty that would argue your aim is lacking when compared to mine.” He could not help himself despite being on the receiving end of another crucial injury should she decide to shoot him--though he highly doubted it given his closeness to Robb and her clear respect for him. 

They had never gotten along--bad blood and all--but their common interests kept them from doing more than striking out with their words. Robb had asked Theon a number of times now to behave himself, and he only ever did so in the king’s presence. “What happened? Could the drunks not even tolerate you tonight?”

[icekraken]

And again with the smolder….

[icekraken]

ofsecondsons‌:

asher wasn’t avoiding theon, per se - asher didn’t avoid people at all, not really. the issue was not with the man himself, surely, for asher had been so relieved when he learned of his safe return, had cut down a dozen men in the fight for the hostages simply because they’d dared take someone from him. no, the greyjoy bastard had done nothing wrong, it was himself asher felt anger towards, and that just wouldn’t do. though never shy of his own emotions, asher’s self-confidence had withstood everything that had been thrown his way, from his father’s disapproving looks to the sharp sting of losing his love. to feel it falter, to feel the sting of his own failures so acutely - that was one thing asher had little experience dealing with.

and so he’d celebrated theon’s return from a distance, making sure through third parties perhaps a bit too anxiously that the other man was healing, was at the very least alive and back on his feet. it was better this way, for asher was certain theon could not wish to see him either. no, not when their last meeting had shown asher so wholly unable to save him. it was best that he stayed away.

he’d been drunk since he arrived in king’s landing, he was sure of it. with no real responsibilities as the entire damned realm dawdled and tread on the tumultuous pause they called peace, it had taken little time for asher to grow bored of it all. the endless feasts and parties, at least, offered asher the chance to cause a little ruckus without any real consequence. catching himself quite tired of an argument he’d started with some uptight reach lordling, the appearance of theon caught him quite off guard, and for just a second his smile faltered and something quite like panic blinked in his eyes. covering himself quickly, asher offered his arm to show the healing scar. “don’t worry, my opponents looked far worse,” he grinned, all confidence he was shocked to not feel. but, gods be damned, he had missed theon, he truly was happy to see him again. “and how are you? are you - okay?” asher faltered, knowing as he spoke that he was avoiding the question.

The sight of the healing wound resurfaced that aching guilt, and for a moment, Theon was tempted to reach out and gently touch it as if that might ease his own aching sentiment. There was plenty on the matter that he wished to say, both apology and gratitude needing to be expressed, and he had hoped Asher might appear at his bedside while he had been trapped there on the mend so that he could speak it. Visitor after visitor had been met with the hope it was him, and yet Theon had been met with silent disappoint when he never came.

“Better than I was.” He replied, managing, just for the moment, to offer a small smile. “Forgive me though...” He continued before he could stop himself. “Had I not called to you that night, you would not have been injured at my expense. If I harbored half your strength, I would have been better use to us both.” It kept replaying in his head, the sight of Asher barreling through men, swinging left and right while Theon struggled with the few pinning him to the ground, beating him in the back of the head. 

Loud laughter reminded Theon they were in a boisterous setting, and he’d long grown tired of it. “I’m eager for a moment of fucking peace if you would join me. I’ll admit I’ve missed your company.” He was fond of Asher, and his pride usually kept him from admitting anything of the sort--but given this was a man that had recently near died for him, he was entitled a bit more honesty than most. 

[icekraken]

ofstormlands‌:

@icekraken​ | renly + theon | the wedding

it was no surprise to anyone - once he’d stopped drowning himself in wine and denial and quippy, hurtful remarks thrown at almost everyone - that renly hated weddings. he’d hated weddings since the second he’d fallen in love with loras and realised they could never marry, and then he’d somehow hated weddings even more when loras had died in an accident the gods themselves could never have predicted. was it his own fault for being bitter? yes, but could anyone really blame him? also yes, but it wasn’t as if renly overmuch cared. the lord of storm’s end masked his biting words with his characteristic baratheon charm and blue eyes always bright with mischief he’d cultivated into an art form. and if anyone at the king in the north’s wedding objected, well. he objected to their drab, grey clothes and boring prattle about honour as well, so they were even.

“ theon greyjoy, ” renly began, nursing an empty glass of piss poor arbor wine yet wearing an easy smirk like it was a velvet doublet embroidered specifically for him. despite…well, everything, tensions between them had cooled since leaving highgarden. and while the stormlord had seen the youngest greyjoy after the man’s uncle had wreaked havoc on the allied camps and simultaneously made stannis seem rational in comparison, he supposed he might as while chance another conversation. one murderous bastard’s relative to another and whatnot. “ are the wedding celebrations making you emotional? ”

Theon’s mood was soured for a good number of reasons, and no promise of ale or wine or whores would considerably lift his spirits. He’d become quite good at falsifying a smile for the sake of every happy fool stumbling around him, but truth be told he craved a warm bed and a good night’s sleep--though he hardly believed he would find such for a long while.

His name falling from someone’s lips pulled him from his own thoughts, eyes sliding to the Baratheon with a sincere lack of joy to contrast the grin being offered to him. Renly was no longer someone he considered a foe, yet he’d hardly begun to cross the line to consider him a friend. Thus was the curse of Theon’s lack of trust for most, but his company, compared to what was available, was welcome. 

“Renly Baratheon.” He mimicked, fingers toying with the edge of his own glass before lifting it and taking a hearty drink. “If the emotion you are referring to is irritation, then yes.” A Stark wedding should not be taking place here, and Robb’s lack of patience, even if Theon could partially understand the haste, forced a lesser celebration than it should have been. “Refill your glass if you’re going to pester me. I’m in need of someone to get drunk with.”

[icekraken]

@ofsecondsons​

King’s Landing was a rightful shit city. Of all the places Theon had been forced to drag himself to on foot and horseback, this was by far the worst. What temporary alliance in place hardly mattered--to him the Lannisters were snakes, and he had no trust nor comfort in being within their walls awaiting the ships that would take them on. To make matters worse, he still wasn’t feeling well enough to fight. Euron had made his life hell as his captive, and while the bruises and cuts were fading, the damage further done to his hand and arm had yet to be mended to the point he could properly swing his sword or draw back an arrow. The best he could make do with, was a dagger. 

Already on his second glass of ale and making a point to ignore the number of people around him absentmindedly feasting and celebrating, Theon was considering heading back to the room he’d been given when he caught sight of Asher’s familiar form moving about the tables nearby. Last he’d seen him, he was struggling to come to Theon’s aid, very nearly losing his life in the process--though Theon had been convinced he had in the madness of the fray.

He rose from his place at the table, grabbed another full glass of ale near the massive keg, and approached the man to offer it. “I’d begun to worry. They told me you lived but not to what extent you were injured.” He said softly, offering a smile. “How are you?”

[icekraken]

Galavant (2015)