But She Doesn't Know HOW - Blog Posts
she should not have spoken, a fact that rings so painfully within her temples as she watches his attention turn to her – as she watches eyes that had forgotten about her flicker back with life at remembrance of her in the corner. it was a mistake she made often enough now, the reminder that as a bastard she was meant to be not seen nor heard, whereas the position she'd been so used to had been anything but; a lady of her standing was used to being present and in center, used to having eyes upon her . . . sansa would've given anything to slink back into the shadow of the corner of the chamber now, back into the forgottenness of her seat, to where littlefinger had told her to play her role as little mouse to listen and little else.
“ father does not wish for me to sit with you. ” she replies coolly, placid as her gaze shifts back to her embroidery. it was easier to not look at him, to not acknowledge features that held a sickening familiarity she could not explain – looking at him made her think of robb. of bran and rickon. in her trailing thoughts, she forgets the placement of her needle; forgets that which her hands know better than all else, and before sansa can stop it from happening, her needle plunges into the soft flesh of her index finger.
embroidery clatters to the floor as if it's bitten her, metal sticking from porcelain digit, before she plucks it out and sticks the pad between her lips, brows wrought together. a shake of her head, a moment – or is it several? before sansa, no, alayne, lifts blue eyes to meet maron's once more. “ my opinions hold no weight here, they are as useful as the difference between whether you choose to do something based off of your indiscrimination or your indifference, lord greyjoy. which is to say . . . not at all. ”
she shifts up from her seat, stretching long legs from where they'd been tucked so gracefully underneath her as she stands to full height before bending just as carefully to retrieve her embroidery. with it in hand once again, she sits down in the chair petyr had previously occupied. “ what has he promised you? ” no fineries, no sweet, simpering smile; she doesn't play that game anymore. “ in his letters to get you here, what deal has he offered that you found so entrancing to brave the probability that he would not simply have you thrown from the moon door? ”
HE SHOULDN'T BE HERE . far removed from all he knows and all he's comfortable with , strangely in the hands of a man he knew not to trust . what had driven him to answer Baelish's invitation , the young Salt Prince couldn't say anymore . curiosity , perhaps . the scent of a chance he'd be stupid not to take ; the scent of an offer he might benefit from . home was far behind him , usurped and out of reach , and allies were few and far between . . . and while he only vaguely remembered the man from the few times Stannis had brought him to court , he knew better than to underestimate Littlefinger . a man with a liar's tongue and the morals of a sewer rat didn't survive in the world without cleverness . and it was the clever people , one shouldn't insult .
all the way through the long and daunting conversations , he had shoved the notion from his head that nothing but thin air lay below his feet for miles upon miles . he had swallowed the unease and erased the memory of his fall , down , down into the abyss the day Robert Baratheon had laid siege to Pyke and life as he knew it had ended . to say the Eyrie unnerved him would be an understatement . and still , the Greyjoy sat , apparently calm , listening , conversing . . . breathing a sigh of relief at Baelish's laughter to his last statement and the view of his back leaving the room , to find a servant . more wine . more food . more everything .
what he had not expected , was a voice piping up from a corner of the room he had almost forgotten about .
quiet , busy with her work until now , he had initially noticed her and still looked somewhat surprised to eventually hear her speak . the name had slipped his mind , but her connection to Littlefinger had not . and that , perhaps had been the most surprising aspect of it all . brows arched , his bright , ocean - blue eyes settling on her petite form in a way most would describe as unsettling , but his voice remained a calm singsong . " ah , but indiscriminately is not quite the same as a lack of thought and care , is it ? " he tilted his head ever so lightly . " just because I'd be willing to kill anyone does not mean I wish to kill everyone . the Vale is quite safe , my lady . no worries . "
those he wished to see dead were plundering the Reach after all . far enough from the kraken's grasp , no matter how long it stretched its tentacles .
" why won't you sit with us ? take part in the conversation ? " a gesture towards one of the empty chairs at the table , and a touch of a smile in the corners of his lips . cocky , no doubt . self - assured . for but a moment , one perhaps could see the likeness between him and Theon , were it not for the fact that unlike his younger brother , Maron breathed and lived Ironborn . he smiled and spoke calmly , washing a feeling of ease and humor into these godforsaken halls , but underneath it all lingered an undercurrent and the unpredictable nature of the sea . " after all , it seems like you have some opinions yourself . "