she did not want it.

Legitimised by aegon for his own benefit swayed by his vile councilmen to wed her off to some old overweight and widowed lord known for his less than honourable behaviour towards all women including his late wife a young girl no older than seven and ten, her fate was sealed the day she begun walking towards the septa draped in silks and laces from her soon to be lord-husband’s own house, house greyjoy the man being lord greyjoy a widower of seven wives soon to be counting, although he was no lord simply acting lord and maerella bawled her eyes out day and night from the upcoming weeks of her betrothal but as she nears closer and closer her eyes go wide at not the sight of an old man but rather a strapping young man taller than herself with piercing dark eyes that seemed as cold as northern ice and messily combed brunette hair which reaches his neck immediately recognizing him– Dalton Greyjoy the nephew of her supposed to be betrothed

with a shaky breath maerella quietly takes her place beside dalton confused but refusing to protest as she would rather marry the blood thirsty man than become another unknown wife of his father her own hazelnut brown eyes averting from him the rumours of him tiring of women rather quickly making her fearful, her gaze turning to you for assurance and guidance trying her hardest to not buckle under dalton’s stare although his eyes are on the septa whos words become a murmur to maerella she can feel it, her grasp on the sevens sigil necklace wrapped around her palm to swing as she walks with her hands her hands together and fingers intertwined swallowing the lump in her throat her eyes leave you

“I do.” Maerella repeats the words, barely listening but she knows she is expected to agree to the marriage to enforce a union between the blacks and you, the last green alive to ensure no unwanted war continues