ivar-greyjoy

[ivar-greyjoy]

indra:

( tw: slavery mention )

It felt as though she could hear the steady beating of her heart ready to burst from her very chest as they crossed the plank aboard The Leviathan - a journey she had taken many times before, and yet this time her steps felt as though they were a ticking sundial, time slipping through her fingers. Time that she could easily remain ignorant and wishful, praying that her own blood had turned into something else, someone else … and yet, at the same time, she knew her blood had not changed as a person at all. He was always wiling to do what he needed to do according to his own beliefs, which were known; what he thought had become of the Iron Islands, how weakened they had become as a result of progressive policies that simply were not them.

There were times where Indra had agreed with him, the idea that they were shifting into something the world would never accept and understand of them; that they were caught between the deep wants to become better people, and the realistic limits that their culture, society and resources would allow them to be able to. Some kingdoms were able to promote literacy, as they had seemingly endless amounts of coin and enough fertile lands to ensure they could focus on such matters.

The Drowned God had given them this as a test, as a challenge - they needed to prove their might, their fierceness by taking what it was they did not have. They were demons that had learned how to swim, and despite how it may weigh heavy upon their own hearts and minds in the privacy of their rooms, it was simply how things always were. Indra did not believe it was right, however she did not believe it was wrong either.

Slavery was commonplace among the Free Cities, with only a notable few withholding from engaging in such practices; it was a matter that was known, and so, Indra found herself hardly reacting to her brother dabbling in it. “Westerosi meaning Westerlander…from the sack, I assume.” She trailed off, remembering that day, how they had rows and rows of women lining up into vessels, how her, Regnar Drumm and Alexej Goodbrother had championed bringing home a rich captive. enough to barter with. What she found herself disturbed about, was his choice in doing so knowing their Greyjoy King had banned such practices; and why in secret?

“His profits were not within the Blacktyde ledgers.“ She spoke, her tone betraying her feeling of confusion, and ultimately, of hurt; in knowing she would have to stand by and watching what befall traitors. She knew Morra could not make an exception for her, and wondered whether she would even be allowed to talk to her brother - there was nothing ill between them, only a distance. "Which means, he did not want me to find out … because you all would have found out.”

There was a pause, sinking into a chair within the captain’s quarters as she looked upon him; there were times where Ivar had ended up playing the role of a brother more than he had, due to their physical proximity. She looked upon him for wisdom, for guidance; he was rough in his experience, and yet, that advice was always the best. Blunt, straight forward, to the point.

“Does he mean to take the crown with the coin he gained?”

Morra’s vision for the Iron Islands wasn’t something shared by all those living under the religion of the Drowned God, that much Ivar knew. The way of life of their people was too deeply seated, with long-standing traditions and beliefs that wouldn’t bend and mold in a short period of time. For his part, there was much Ivar himself didn’t want to be changed about the way of life of the Ironborn, finding pride and freedom in it. But when the bonds of family were broken and brutalized in the way his father did; and the glory of being who they were was bastardized in such a way that they were nothing more than mere thieves and murderers fighting easy battles... Ivar couldn’t claim to support anything the man who fathered him once stood for. Perhaps he’d taken it too personal in that way, a matter that to him was more about not letting the memory of Dalton Greyjoy win than anything else. So he supported his sister because he needed her to triumph over the ghost of their father, because she deserved it; because they could have no better retribution than rebuilding over the ashes of what Dalton once held dear.

And House Blacktyde under the rule of Indra’s brother was every bit what the old ways of his father represented. It was no wonder that Lord Blacktyde was choosing the coward’s way of scheming a betrayal, stopping so much as to deal in slavery to get his coin and build himself up with it. “Of course not. He wouldn’t leave a trail that easy to follow,” he mentioned, though a part of him did wonder if Indra’s brother bothered to conceal his dealings more so to avoid having her learn the truth above anyone else. That bastard didn’t trust his own sister, leaving her in the dark of as he conducted his plans in secret, which Ivar thought was rather telling. Then, Indra’s next words only confirmed those thoughts for him.

“I’m sure he does. He hasn’t amassed that wealth to sit on it or bathe his home in gold,” the Master of Ships replied without an ounce of hesitation. His words were harsh if only because he worried about the safety of his siblings, about the safety of the young woman before him, and he could feel the looming threat of Lord Blacktyde too close. But it was Blacktyde and who else? Brothers in arms, allies and friends might have turned against them already without them knowing...

[ivar-greyjoy]

She has never desired his / death, but wished for it as one wishes for rain.

Sue Sinclair, The Drunken Lovely Bird; from ‘Orpheus Meets Eurydice in the Underworld’

[ivar-greyjoy]

@wcrdsarewind

[ivar-greyjoy]

Location: Dorne, Sunspear Closed starter for @wcrdsarewind​ (Regnar) / Set during the Dornish Ball

The Iron Islands would always be home to Ivar Greyjoy, though he had to admit that from all the other places he’d seen in his journeys, Dorne was a very close second in terms of feeling like somewhere he belong. He’d grown up with stories of these lands from everything his mother ever told her; with pictures painted in his mind with her soothing words as she lulled him to sleep when he was a boy. After visiting the lands of the Martells for the first time, the Master of Ships knew he’d always been drawn to come back again and again. The reason that brought him and his people here this time could still make his blood boil, but at least for the night, the Greyjoy lord was allowing himself to delight in the food, the drink and the dancing.

The wine helped considerably to brighten the man’s mood and having been asked to a few dances with Dornish ladies invigorated the Ironborn giant. Stepping away from the dance floor for a bit, Ivar spotted Lord Drumm and went ahead to pour two glasses of red wine nearly up to the brim. He plopped down by Regnar’s side and set their drinks on the table. “My friend. Drink with me,” he grinned.

[ivar-greyjoy]

Ivar Greyjoy’s attire for the Dornish Ball

[ivar-greyjoy]

Turgut Alp in ‘Diriliş: Ertuğrul’ - Season 3, Episode 13

[ivar-greyjoy]

maron​:

Closed starter for @ivar-greyjoy​​​

Location: Sunspear, Dorne

Maron went to the training grounds, wanting to get some sparring done. He didn’t like sparring with anyone other than his crew or the Ironborn, knowing that most would go easy on him because of his title. The Ironborn wouldn’t go easy on him, they would go hard as if they were facing an actual enemy on the battlefield. Maron believed that was the proper way to train, your enemies wouldn’t go easy on you during battle. Plus, this was how Maron came to be as strong and respected as he was among the Ironborn. After sparring for some time, under the watchful eyes of the Dornish soldiers and others who were taking advantage of the morning breeze to train, Maron noticed his brother standing on the sidelines and quickly called a break. Walking up to his brother, his bones were hurting and he knew he was going to have a hard time moving later but he didn’t care. “Brother! Have you come to join us?” He asked with a smile. 

Ivar got word that some of the Ironborn would be spending part of their day in the training grounds, so he strapped his twin blades to his back and went over there along with his crew. He’d had enough days of sweet indulgence since his arrival to Sunspear, and the volatile part of him that came alive with combat was eager for a fight. He remained on the sidelines for a bit, watching his little brother fight, a subtle smile of price on his lips at the sight of Maron. So many doubted him, and yet he rose to become one of the most formidable fighters Ivar had seen.

“Brother,” the burly Ironborn grinned, his hand landing on Maron’s shoulder once he approached. “I see you’ve been showing them what sparring really looks like”. His brother’s crew and his own had gathered and a devilish smirk made its way to his lips. “What do you say?” he tilted his head towards the crew of The Leviathan and The Black Wind. Their own people wouldn’t pull their punches, they wouldn’t hold back— Now that was an interesting challenge. “I think we can take them”. And sure, Maron and Ivar Greyjoy were formidable fighters independently, but together they were an unstoppable force of nature, the scourge of the Drowned God himself.

[ivar-greyjoy]

Location: Dorne, Sunspear Closed starter for @purpleeyedwaters​​

It was a very welcomed surprise to spot the familiar face of his dear friend in the middle of the bazaar. It often went like that, never quite knowing where in the world the purple-eyed beauty would be and then running into her during his travels. Judging from her expression as she saw him, she was pleased to see him as well. “Ah, my beautiful, beautiful Selene,” the big man grinned as he walked over to her, using the usual greeting despite it lacking the flirty nature of their first passionate encounters. Word around was that she’d retired, and he could sincerely say he was happy for it, for she had a certain blissful air to her that he didn’t think he’d seen before. “Well, well, look at you. Dorne suits you well,” he said, going over to hug his friend.

[ivar-greyjoy]

indra:

why did it feel as though she were attempting to clutch onto something that was desperately slipping through her fingers; whether that was the idealism that had rooted deeply within her mind, or the little parts of innocence she had regarding what it was her family were clearly up to, she had no idea. only an increasing thudding in her chest at the look that crossed over the features of ivar sat opposite her, for despite his brash and loud personality, he was a man grounded in reason. if he truly believed there was little left to resolve, that could only mean there would be one result…

taking a drink, almost shaking the idea from her shoulders as a slight shudder came over her, she gripped onto the goblet and downed it. there was only one thing that would be expected of her, and that was to assist in whatever it was the correct course of action would be; and yet, would she have to walk down the halls of her home, with the blood of those she has known all her life upon her blades? many upon the islands believed her to be far too quiet, not rowdy or loud enough to fit in with their culture, and this continued here; she remained silent to the words of ivar greyjoy. 

he knew something, and it was enough to cause her gut to twist. what cruel joke was this, what strange snare had she found herself entangled in. “you clearly know.” she commented, her tone her usual dry, blunt sounding voice though it were tainted with a sense of anxiety and worry. what was it being sprung upon her now, for the love of the drowned god? “so tell me. i want it to be you.” 

( tw: mention of slavery )

Ivar gave a curt nod in response, for it was evident that he did know. A part of him almost wished that there were still room for doubt, that Indra’s brother could be summoned to explain his side of the story with facts and erase suspicion. It was far simpler, and far more complicated all at once, for Ivar himself had seen the vile actions of the Blacktyde lord while he was in Essos and sailed around Slaver’s Bay.

The Master of Ships felt his jaw tighten and he ended up fishing for some coins inside his pocket, setting them on the table. “Not here,” he said and quickly got up. He beckoned for Indra to follow him and the pair made their way along the docks to reach The Leviathan. If there was one place where he knew he could speak and no unsuspecting ears might catch his words, it was aboard his ship.

Ivar and Indra entered the Captain’s cabin. His expression had considerably darkened and merely thinking about having this conversation with her had a sobering effect on the Greyjoy lord. “I wasn’t just sailing around to my heart’s content when I was in Essos, Indra. My sister wrote to me with... alarming news, so I investigated the matter for her,” he began, “There were rumors that your brother was selling people. Not thralls, Indra. Slaves. Westerosi folk taken to Slaver’s Bay to be sold. And the rumors are confirmed. I’ve seen it with my own eyes”. House Blacktyde would pay for that crime; for the disgrace of it as well as the betrayal and duplicity towards their king. It was only a matter of time.

[ivar-greyjoy]

Do you think Indra can be trusted?

“I think so, yes,” the Greyjoy lord answered without even a hint of doubt or hesitation in his voice. She was the only Blacktyde who had Ivar’s trust in such an unconditional manner. “Indra is her own person before she is a Blacktyde, and in the time I’ve known her she hasn’t even given me a reason to doubt her”. It wasn’t in his nature to doubt friends, and if everyone was damned by the sins of their families, Ivar himself would have been punished countless times in the name of his father. He could only hope that in this case, Indra continued to prove him right.

( @indrasblacktyde )

[ivar-greyjoy]

dahlia:

where: dorne, iron islands quarters who: @ivar-greyjoy​

they had travelled for what had seemed like centuries, at least for dahlia, that is. her stomach had hardly grown accustomed to the rocking of boats and the urgency that they had to move, it was a whirlwind. still, she very well could not have stayed without the greyjoys around to look out for her. the bastard was not sure what exactly happened or the history of the situation, and part of her was scared to ask. it had certainly effected ivar in a deep way, and she understood that. her own region was having its own issues, from the letters she had received from similarly minded friends. while she kept some distance between them, out of respect, she could not help herself in at least checking on him.

she walked through quick enough, searching for him at every point before finally laying blue irises on him. gods, he looked stressed. it was an air that was familiar to her, the distraught grimace wrapped in tension. “my lord…” she huffed before moving toward him, stopping short of him. her usual method of handling conflict-driven stress was within reach, but she stopped herself short of instinct. regardless, the genuine concern she had for him was plain across her face. “you will wrinkle such handsome features holding such tension in your face like that. it isn’t good for the digestion, either.” she remembered reading that in a medicine book once, long ago. “may i fetch you anything? food? dornish wine? prostitute?”

As the true Ironborn that sailed south with their king towards Dorne, Ivar vowed to kill Lord Blacktyde for his betrayal, for his fucking scheming against his sister, his house, his people. Their voyage ended and even as they were safely welcomed into Sunspear by Morra’s kin, the Master of Ships continued to feed thoughts of wrath and vengeance. He was still his raucous self, albeit to a lesser degree; and to anyone paying enough attention to him, it wasn’t that hard to see that Ivar had been affected by such a defeat... by having to flee from the Iron Islands while the fucking vermin of Blacktyde occupied Pyke.

The Greyjoy lord sat in silence in one of the chambers given to his kin, only the sharp sound of him diligently passing one of his blades over a whetstone echoing in the room. The sight of Dahlia stopped his motions and he set his blade aside, sheathing it as she approached him. She still called him ‘lord’ and he wished she might someday feel comfortable enough to use his name instead. “I did not know such things,” he answered, a subtle smirk crossing his lips, but the smile didn’t really reach his eyes. She seemed worried, about him or something else, but being who he was —a big, violent Ironborn lord and captain—, worry wasn’t something he was used to receiving. Who felt concern over the well-being of a burly giant like him? “I’m not in the mood for any of that, to be frank. But thank you,” he said with a firm nod. He did wish to keep her company, though, but he didn’t voice it out, not wanting to ever impose his presence around her. God, how he wished she might stay even for a bit. No words stated it, but he could only imagine his guarded, vulnerable gaze might have given it away.

[ivar-greyjoy]

TRUTH SERUM: How worried are you about the Blacktyde threat?

“I am sufficiently worried,” he admitted. He'd have to be an arrogant fool of epic proportions not to be. “They have shown the extent of their treachery and brutality,” the Master of Ships added, a somber expression on his face. “And mark my words; for all they’ve done, they will pay the highest price”.

[ivar-greyjoy]

@dahliaflcwers

The OA: Part II

[ivar-greyjoy]

@kingvmorra & @princemarongreyjoy

[ivar-greyjoy]

[ivar-greyjoy]

indra:

His loudness, no doubt aided by the ale he seemed to be downing as though it were the elixir of life and he were a man who were on the brink itself, was something of a comfort within the bustling crowds of various fleets passing by them. The docks were always the beating heart of every island within this land of sea and salt; and whilst once they had all gathered to cry out screams of independence, of kneeling to a King that was their own once again, many had accepted Rodrik Greyjoy for all he was. And yet, when his demise and his time ultimately came for the warrior of the seas, many had not expected Morra to result victorious at the Kingsmoot.

Indra remembered how the crowds cheers and screams grew quieter and quieter, until she were the only one standing; and those yells came again, to crown a new ruler. She would never forget that silence though, that silence of those realising what they believed to the unthinkable was occurring before their eyes; that silence was thunderous in itself. “Perhaps someone ought to, someone other than me, to bring him closer to the fold.” She knew her brother was complicated, though surely his hesitation would ease once he listened to the King’s inner circle directly, as opposed to any other lords who would agree with him.

“If I did, people would merely assume me to be biased.” She had no inclination of what it was he had gotten himself caught into within Essos following the Sack of Lannisport, and considering their ledgers had always been in perfect shape, she assumed her brother had been using his personal inheritance to further build upon Blacktyde’s navy. “Matters can be resolved, if we refrain from conversing through letters and speak directly. Do you not think it is about time?”

“Aye, someone ought to,” he replied with some disdain present in his voice, “That someone isn’t me”. Ivar Greyjoy wasn’t a man for diplomacy, his sister was far better at it, even other council members had a better skill with words than he did. He was a captain, he knew ships and battle, he knew brute force and the ways to weaponize the tides. Ivar pinched the bridge of his nose and let out a heavy sigh. “God knows if anything can be resolved at this point...” the Master of Ships muttered, his voice low and gravelly.

“I hold you in great esteem, Indra. But know this: that does in no way extend to your brother,” he admitted in a far serious tone, his mild slur betraying the amount of alcohol he’d been having through the day. Was it time to settle matters between Greyjoys and Blacktydes? Perhaps. He doubted it, however, since his sister would have to take some action against what was happening in Essos. Indra’s words sounded almost too idealistic to him in that moment. “Ask your brother about his enterprise across the Narrow Sea,” he abruptly mentioned. “Ask him, Indra,” Ivar repeated and then downed what remained of his drink, then forcefully setting the empty pint on the table.

[ivar-greyjoy]

dahlia​:

she felt stuck in some sort of liminal space, somewhere between a mythical beast of numbing proportions and a whirlpool of emotions. dahlia wasn’t sure which loss hurt worse: the loss of home, the loss of stability, the loss of frog, or the loss of– frog. it was certainly the loss of frog. at least he had been consistent, but that made him far too irreplaceable. and the pang seemed to grow further and deeper as the sun set. her provided rooms were nice enough, and dahlia struggled to not let its dreary walls swallow her up at any given moment. she sought solace from the racing in her brain in the only person she seemed to really know in pyke.

and even by basic standards, they were merely next door to strangers. she found her way in and kept a distance. she had always been unapologetically blunt, devoid of most shame. alas, she felt embarrassed that ivar knew why she was there. he surely deserved some less dramatic company, and even then, dahlia felt that was barely scratching the surface. something about lords being so sweet made her uneasy. “i am sorry to bother you, i just….hard to sleep around here still,” she joked as she picked the hangnail on her thumb bloody. nervous tick. “i don’t really know….what to do.” she had an impulse to sit beside him, but something kept her feet chained to the floor. likely the trauma that bonded her to forever apprehension. “what do you do all day?”

“not used to not being busy, and i will earn my keep, also. nothing is free, i do know that.”

Knowing the reason why Dahlia was here led Ivar to give the young woman a decent amount of space to herself accustomed to the change of scenery, as well as to deal with whatever she needed to deal with in regards to... well, that bloke she’d loved. Ivar had no clue what Dahlia might need from him; a friend, a confidant, or perhaps nothing at all. He was playing it by ear, really, attempting his best at treating her with the respect he knew she deserved and had so long been denied. “Nah, please. You’re not a bother at all,” the Ironborn dismissed her apology with a casual smile, taking note of the underlying uneasiness in her demeanor. “Takes a bit to get used to it, I suppose. I was born hearing the waves crashing at all times and the wind howling, but I can imagine it’s a big change for you”. Though Ivar was willing to bet it was more than the sounds of Pyke that Dahlia was struggling with.

“Please, take a seat, he suggested as he got up from the bed, leaving it free for her to take a seat without being discomforted by a man’s close presence. Ivar walked over to his desk and reached for an amphora to pour her a glass of water. “I sit on council meetings with my sister when I’m summoned. I mostly spend my time training with my crew. We go out to sail around the islands when the ocean calls. There’s the occasional drinking and betting at nights,” the man listed off a few of his daily activities, though he honestly doubted Dahlia would find much interest in any of them. “You’re a talented seamstress, Dahlia,” Ivar said as he walked back to her to offer her the water. “We have need for work like yours here as well. I could take you to the market tomorrow if you wish, introduce you to some people you could start doing business with”.