Chapter Text
The sea seemed endless to her. She had never seen so much water before. Standing by the side of the ship, she stared into the blue of the sea.
The days spent on the Driftmark passed unnoticed, Ivy tried not to interfere in royal conflicts and her future husband fully approved of this approach. She was stressed by this strange ambiguous state. Lord Strong accepted her father's offer and agreed to marry. The engagement was announced. She will never forget how the guests at the party stared at her, this news definitely shocked everyone. But since that evening at the Red Castle, she and Strong had barely spoken. Although he took her on a trip with him, he continued to avoid her, constantly spending time with the queen, now terribly saddened by the tragedy that happened in Driftmark. The lack of attention didn't bother Ivy much, after all, this marriage wasn't for her, but for the good of the family. She had already gone through one terrible marriage with Bolton, who liked to skin people alive, so the any second one would not scare her anymore. Besides, Lord Strong didn't seem threatening to her, unlike the short-tempered and violent Stilgar, who couldn't look at her. He had never disturbed her peace when they were in the Velarion domain.
She was distracted from her thoughts by a powerful gust of wind, with which Vhagar flew over the ship, shaking everything around. Ivy couldn't resist falling to the deck floor. She was about to get up when she saw Strong come up to her. Larys looked down at her leg and noticed the scars on her thigh, which Ivy immediately covered with a skirt. Pretending that he hadn't noticed anything, he held out his hand to her.
"These monsters... It's hard to get used to them... "
Ivy takes his hand and is amazed at how soft his skin is, even compared to her own, and then rises with his help.
"I've never seen them, especially up close."
"Vhagar is one of the largest and oldest individuals." he explains, "She was present during Aegon's Conquest," Larys smiled meekly, "You will get used to it, my Lady." He looked up at the sky. "Let's go to the cabin, it's going to rain soon."
Already in the cabin, Ivy sits on the bed and curiously watches Larys. There was some mystery in him, he was not like other men. Did his illness play a role in this?
He sat down in an armchair, crossed his legs and folded his cane next to him. Clasping his hands together, he began a conversation:
"Lady Forrester, when we return to the continent, we will go to Harrenhal to celebrate the wedding. You believe in the Old Gods, don't you? Would you like a ceremony according to your religion?"
Such politeness surprises her.
"Lord Strong, I'll be honest with you, I haven't prayed to the Old Gods in years, but the Northerners would appreciate this act. So I agree to the ceremony..."
"Good..." He sighed before saying the following: "Tell me about your deceased spouse. Why haven't you had children in so many years of marriage? "
This kind of question takes Ivy by surprise, she didn't really want to talk about it. In fact, she didn't talk about the details of her marriage to anyone. And she didn't want to remember the things she had to endure. She looked down at her hands, which were already nervously clutching the fabric of her dress. Of course, Larys saw it.
"Did Lord Bolton treat you badly?"
"He didn't leave these scars on me. If that is your concern..." Ivy explained, "Stilgar wasn't the best husband, but he took me under his wing, which helped me and my family a lot." she raised her gaze, "You probably know that he was not young and was married before that. His wife died and in marriage with me he continued to love her. He preferred to ignore my existence. That was fine with me." She almost said more, but it seemed too obscene to discuss.
Larys looked at her with unbearable sympathy. Did he feel sorry for her?
"To endure it for so many years. It must have been difficult for you."
"Actually, we found a way to get along," she forced a smile, trying not to think about the humiliation she had endured. Stilgar never consummated their marriage. Fortunately or unfortunately, he couldn't.
It wasn't uncommon for him to force her to watch him skin criminals. He found a perverse pleasure in this. Just like in her scars – he forced her to strip naked and show them to him so that he could satisfy himself. At such moments, she stood with her face to the wall and prayed that everything would end soon... At first it was like that. But soon she began to feel a disgusting pleasure from it herself. From a young age, the boundaries between violence, humiliation and sexual satisfaction got very blurred for her. She's ashamed to admit it. As well as the nature of the scars on her body. Sometimes the pain somewhere inside her became so unbearable that Ivy looked for ways... Let the pain out. That's how her first cuts appeared. And to her horror, Stilgar liked that.
Quite by a chance, she found a common language with him. Violence. Horror. Pain.
Larys did not bother her with questions anymore, fully realizing that it was not so pleasant for the his future wife to talk about it.
"I remember the time when you were a lady-in-waiting to the Queen. It's amazing that that perky girl grew up to become such a wise woman. I expected that you would remain the same as I saw you at the tournament, when you dressed in armor to replace your younger brother in a duel." he also remembers that she almost got killed there.
I'm not wise, I'm broken – Ivy wanted to say it, but she only smiled, remembering her last escapade in the King's Landing before her father decided to marry her off so that she wouldn't disgrace their family again.
In Harrenhal, their wedding was celebrated with a very lavish feast, which was attended by many honorable guests. At least this event made it possible to forget about the gloom of this gigantic old castle. To Ivy's surprise, a wonderful dress was prepared for her, embroidered with red thread that formed a pattern of weirwood leaves. Little things like that really made her feel like she was in for a real celebration. All day long they accepted congratulations, wishes and gifts. Ivy had to sit at the table with her now husband all evening, since he could not participate in many entertainments, he could not even dance with her, although he asked her not to deny herself the pleasure. According to tradition, the groom had to carry the bride in his arms to the bedroom, as Stilgar did at their wedding. But, considering Larys's condition, they left just holding hands.
Already in the bedroom, Ivy, who believed that they would bed, allowed Larys to begin to untangle the ties on her corset. He did it slowly, in a tense silence. Ivy could hear herself breathing. And him, too.
However, as soon as he finished with the dress, he declared that he needed to get to work, and retired to his desk, leaving her in confusion. Ivy watched him as she held the falling dress. When Larys sat down, she still let the dress fall to the floor. He involuntarily glanced at her, but looked down at the papers he was trying to read. Climbing onto the bed, Ivy covered her nudity with fur blankets, remaining seated to observe her husband.
"Am I... disgusting to you?" Ivy asked suddenly, looking at him.
Larys swallowed and looked up.
"No. Not at all. I..." he carefully picks the words and looks at the papers as if looking for what to say. "I respect you, Lady Forrester."
"And it seems to me that you feel indifference towards me." She said with great confidence.
"I know that your first marriage was forced. Just like this one. "
"Do you pity me, Lord Strong?" — it's hard for him to withstand her gaze. It impossible to deny her guess. However, it wasn't just about pity. "Or do you consider yourself pathetic?" The phrase made the words get stuck in his throat. No one had ever dared to say that to him before.
"I don't want to make you suffer."
"Don't, then"
"...The pleasures of the flesh are much like the weaknesses of the flesh. They make you vulnerable. That's why I prefer to deny them. "
"You deny all that makes you human. All that lives is vulnerable. And you're too scared to be so. We all get hurt, it's one the core meanings of existence."
"Not all that breaks grows stronger. Some broken things never recover from the damage."
"But you seem to like broken things," she gazed at his cane, that was cracked before, yet renovated with use of amber and decorated with a firefly.
"I have this unconditional love for all sorts of broken things I see." he smiled, pleased by the fact that she noticed such a detail. "Maybe because they make me think of myself. They're Imperfect, as I am. Flawed. And I make them perfect with a touch of love and care that makes them glow in different light. "
Ivy thinks about what he said, recognizing these feelings.
"Is this why you agreed to marry me?" she bites her lip, feeling how hard it is to hold the urge to cry. "Because I am flawed?"
"No... no, my lady..." he instantly tensed, as if he was afraid that he had insulted her.
Ivy couldn't decide what was worse: pity or indifference. So she stood up, holding the fur blanket to cover herself, and went towards the door. She didn't care if someone would see her. Ivy simply couldn't stand the very thought of staying a second more in a room with this man. She didn't know she had pride left, but she definitely felt how it hurts now.
Larys stormed after her as fast as he could. Limping, without his cane, he grabbed her wrist just before Ivy reached the door handle.
Furious, she looked him in the eye and saw regret. It's surprising, he managed to stop her.
"I apologize if I said something to hurt your feelings… I should've said that… It seemed to me that it would be right if we really become husband and wife only after marrying there and if... consummate the marriage after swearing before the Old Gods."
Ivy was concerned, whether he was sincere or made it up right now.
"Don't lie to me."
"Ivy..." he swallowed. "Initially, I thought that we could come to an agreement. I never intended to get married. Create the appearance of marriage, but just live together. No one would have found out and your family would have been safe. You could live peacefully with me side by side… "
"Do you know what Stilgar asked me to do?" she interrupted him and was terribly angry, "To bed his brother in order to give birth to a child that would look like him. Another little Bolton. He didn't want to do it himself. Any contact with me for him was like betreying his dead wife. I can't take this kind of humiliation anymore."
Ivy wanted to break free from his grip, tried to push Larys away, but in the end, he lost his balance and they fell down together. That seemed to calm Forrester down a bit.
"...I'm sorry, I didn't mean to."
Larys seemed to be in pain. Needless to say, even walking is difficult for him. And now Ivy had fallen on top of him, knocking him down. For some reason, he liked the way she wasn't afraid to fight back. She even pushed him away in a fit of emotion, not worrying that he would fall and get injured. As if he wasn't crippled at all and she was blind to this flaw in him. She didn't feel sorry for him. At that moment, Larys understood why her pride was hurt by his excessive courtesy.
Staring at the ceiling, he endured the pain and took a deep breath. He felt the weight of his wife's body on him, she inadvertently pressed him to the floor. He looked at Ivy and carefully tucked a strand of her dark hair behind her ear.
"I deserved it," he confessed ruefully, looking into her worried blue eyes, "I will try to make you happy, Lady Forrester..." he whispered, stroking her head.
"You will do it if you will be a worthy husband to me. A real husband. I... I'm tired of pretending... and..." she didn't finish, Larys pressed her head to his chest and kissed the top of her head.
Larys felt responsible for this girl. He couldn't help himself, even though it contradicted his beliefs. It will make things difficult.
Once upon a time, the one named Lady Forrester taught him how to fly. The best thing he could do to return the favor was take care of those she left behind.
The next day, at dawn, he took her to the lake to fulfill his promise to her – to seal their marriage in the tradition of the Old Gods. Very gallantly, he helped her into the boat, and then sat down himself and they sailed to the Island of Faces, which was shrouded in a haze of fog. Ivy had heard about this mysterious place, but had never seen it firsthand. Many weirdwoods crowded this patch of land with other trees. Ivy didn't understand why Strong didn't just choose to hold the ceremony in the godswood at the castle, but she didn't argue, she was curious. He escorts her deep into the grove, where they stop at one of the weirwood trees. There was an inexplicable atmosphere of peace here, as if this place existed outside of space and time, separated from the whole world. Ivy had the feeling that many eyes were watching them. She was a little uneasy.
"You said that you haven't prayed to the Old Gods for a very long time..." Strong looks at her and Ivy nods at him. "Then who listens to your prayers?"
"Seven, I hope."
After the vows were pronounced, Larys traditionally laid his cloak on the ground, sheathed in the colors and symbols of his house. Ivy sat down and waited for Larys to get down next to her, but he is having a hard time because of his leg. Ivy nevertheless looks down at his leg out of curiosity and it makes him feel embarassed. Strong kisses her gently, runs his hand through her hair and touches the hairpin that falls out of her curls. He looks down at that hairpin for a moment, lost in fleeting thoughts, and then purses his lips and looks at Ivy. She kisses him again, and he lays her on her back, ending up on top of her. Reaching under her skirts, he gently strokes her thigh, feeling the scars with his palm, his fingers... it makes Ivy shudder. No one has ever touched them. Just few people have even seen them. A little nervously, Larys unbuckles his belt, Ivy tries to help him, but he manages on his own. When he lies on top of her, she notices for the first time how thin, delicate he is, even, in comparison with her, larger and more muscular. Perhaps she is much stronger than him physically. She might even be able to throw him off without any problems. Well... a typical Northerner. If she wanted, she could even leave him here and sail away on a boat. This funny thought even almost made her laugh.
Burying his face in her neck, he slowly enters her and moans. For the first time, she felt some kind of pleasure from it. Strong treated her carefully, even unnecessarily carefully, as if he thought this was her first marriage. Yes, not the first one. But it was the first time she had really laid down with someone. He realizes this later, when he notices the a bit of blood. He looks surprised and worried at the same time. Ivy saw the unspoken question in his eyes, but she didn't say anything. They were both silent. Making love to a man she barely knew was awkward, but she could see that she wasn't the only one experiencing this discomfort. There was an inherent timidity in their movements.
Ivy pesses Larys against herself with trembling hands and looks at the branches of the trees stretching into the high blue sky. Birds were singing in the distance, she could hear the flutter of their wings, the murmur of water, the rustle of grass somewhere under their bodies. The sensations suddenly intensified, a shudder went through her body. She felt good, but at the same time, something caused the primal fear to grow within. Breathing raggedly, she grabbed a protruding weirwood root and moaned in pleasure. A cascade of sensations surged through her. The feelings she felt went far beyond her body. It seemed to her that she was very small, that her soul and body were a drop in an endless ocean. At the same time, she was everywhere. In everything. In the red crown of the Weirwood foliage; in the melody that the birds were singing, fluttering in the sky; in the gust of wind that draws patterns on the water surface. This feeling stirred her up, and then suddenly calmed her down.
Larys hugged her tightly, burying his face in her hair and burning her skin with his breath. Ivy whimpered in a strangled way when the tension suddenly gave way to sweet relief. She kissed her husband on the neck, running her hand over his bare thigh. Larys shuddered at this and exhaled raggedly, pushing deeper and pouring into her.
They lay there for a moment, still dressed, not parting, until their hearts began to beat more steadily.
Ivy seemed to be stunned by the sensations. She greedily inhaled the cold air to somehow ground herself in reality.
Stroking her cheek, Larys gently kissed the corner of her lips.
"Did I hurt you?" He whispered.
Ivy shook her head wearily. She had hurt herself so many times, cutting her arms and legs. First, where no one will see, and then indiscriminately, just to exchange the pain of the soul to the pain of the flesh; in order to quickly forget shame, disgust, and sadness, longing… She didn't feel any pain right now. Moreover, Larys was very careful with her, very gentle. Ivy did not imagine that her first experience would be pleasant. Looking into Strong's eyes, she runs her palm over his chest, which is bare because of the untied shirt.
"It felt good."