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 to be better, ylva | 2c? if that works?
 direct link • Jul 11 2017, 06:04 pm
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mention of domestic abuse, she a saltwife so like yea |:

To be good was something for which Lavinia had always striven. For the majority of her life this had not been a difficult task; she was not naughty by nature, and had always been a subservient and obedient daughter. Impishness was not within her nature, and she had always erred on the side of caution when it came to making practical decisions. No matter the circumstance, Lavinia often focused on goodness and virtue; after a while it had become second nature.

Her parents had never raised a hand to her, and she had never given them cause to consider it. She wasn't certain that they had ever raised a hand to any of her sisters, either; for the most part none were rambunctious, and the little ones learned from their older sisters just what to do and how to do it.

Having been taken into Myls’ “care” some months ago had been a brutal awakening, both literally and metaphorically. He was not a kind master, but he was now her husband, to the best of her understanding. He had not taken kindly to it when she had called herself his wife, him having reserved that title for the dead woman that he still held a candle to. While that was now an obvious misstep on her part, she still was left vexed by the culture that she was now forcibly integrating into, and by the darker desires of her master.

She understood very little of the Drowned God, save that he seemed like a fucking wanker, and less still of the lack of care that Iron Islanders seemed to hold for anything but glory. Though did Myls even desire that? She did not know, and could not fathom it. She needed help, help from someone who understood her culture but moreover understood this new and brutal culture in which she was now trapped.

Gossip swilled around the house, spoken by servants who had rarely tried to engage her as a person when she was home, which lbr is always. Word of various Iron Islanders spread, and one in particular interested her above all others. Lavinia inquired further with her husband, pleading that she only desired to see her so that she could learn to please him better. It was not a lie, but it was not wholly selfless, either. She had long been battered and bruised by him, and she was ready to live a life of reduced pain, if she count not avoid pain altogether.

The trip by boat was short, and awkward. She did not yet know where she stood with Myls, but since he had tricked her with kindness and then broken her spirit by force, they had been on touchy ground with one another. Some of her bruising had been deep and lingered, turning an ugly yellow-green now only occasionally interspersed with lightening blues. Most of her body was covered now, but still some areas remained; her chin was still littered with bruises crimson and yellow, and a soft circlet of purple lingered under an eye.

But this was progress. She had asked him for something and he accommodated her, and had been kinder to her now than in the past. Lavinia was led through the halls at Ten Towers, and then to the Lady Ylva. "Lady Harlaw," Lavinia said, her eyes moving about the unfamiliar room. The woman herself was intimidating, her face pretty but still threatening, and Lavinia wondered if perhaps this had been a bad decision. "I thank you for agreeing meet with me," she stammered, having lost her effusive bubbliness that she had once possessed.

 direct link • Jul 24 2017, 05:39 pm
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There were few on the Iron Islands who understood the ways of the mainland. Ylva’s cousin Theon Greyjoy was one, close friend to the wolf King in the North and married to a Riverland Princess. But Theon was weak, and his ties to the mainland made him appear moreso. He was not a leader, nor were his ideas those that the Lords of the Iron Isles wished to see to fruition. Her cousin Harras, too, knew of the ways of the mainland. His mother had been a Serrett and he had fostered at Silverhill, one of few born in the isles to be raised to knighthood. Unlike Theon, Harras had been intelligent enough to use his learnings as a knight to his advantage, while not straying far from the customs of the Ironborn. Thus he had the respect of his crew. Baelor Blacktyde was another who had spent much time on the mainland, eight years of his upbringing having been spent in Oldtown. Still a Captain and a reaver, he took no saltwives and was a devotee of the Faith of the Seven.

And then there was Ylva.

Ylva Harlaw had not spent a great many years on the mainland as her cousin and former lover had. In fact, she’d hardly been there a full one. She arrived in King’s Landing for the wedding of Jon Targaryen during the First Andal Moon of the Smith, 298 years after Aegon’s Landing. Two moons later she was wed to Ser Tybolt Crakehall, and another six months after that he was dead. But her decision to marry on the mainland was not one that had been made for her. For many years Ylva had questioned her faith in the Drowned God. She had blamed herself for his decision to take her father and brothers during the years of the plague so that they might dine within his watery halls. If only she had been better - if only they had all been better.

While the Drowned God had bestowed upon the Ironborn the right to reave, the lives of Ironborn women were still somewhat traditional. There was the occasional woman, such as her cousin Asha Greyjoy, Queen of Salt and Rock, who captained a ship and reveaed just as often as a man. It was said that the sea gave such women the appetites of a man. But more often women were expected to remain at home and keep the children and household. It was saltwives who warmed their husbands’ cabin beds. Saltwives who, though taken from their homes during raids, had the privilege of traveling the seas. Most were too stupid to know their luck. Too soft to enjoy such a lot in life. For that they deserved the treatment they got.

So when word came to her that a saltwife wished to meet with her, Ylva was uncertain how to feel. Everything she was raised to believe about saltwives made her almost offended that someone of such a status would have the audacity to request a meeting with her. But she was not a cruel woman, and she could relate to the feeling of being thrust into a new environment. Life at Crakehall was not what she had anticipated, and the Ironborn woman had felt miserable and homesick more often than not. If nothing else, curiosity had gotten the better of her more so than compassion and she had agreed.

When she had moved to the mainland she had thought to convert to the Faith of the Seven. Thought that a faith that included worship of women, that believed women represented wisdom and guidance, must be better than the suffocating faith in the Drowned God. But once on the shores of the mainland she had felt differently. Now she found herself reading of the different faiths once more, searching for answers she never seemed to find. Some days she could not bear to read anymore, torn between her head and her heart. This appeared to be one of those days; Ylva sat in her uncle’s library but the books on the table before her remained closed. It was there that the young salt was brought to her

Steel blue eyes flicked up from the spot she’d been staring at on the table, roaming the pale face marred by bruises she’d likely earned. Ylva did not offer sympathy for such marks, nor did she sneer. Her stare was cold and uninviting, expression unwavering as she spoke. ”Do not make me regret such an accommodation.” She sat up a little straighter, studying the woman. ”Sit,” she commanded, though her voice was not overly harsh, ”And tell me what it is you wish to speak with me of.”

 direct link • Jan 03 2018, 11:34 pm
28 years
ASHLEY • she/her • 1876 posts

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