Theon planted his feet underneath the wooden bunk and crossed his arms behind his head; he pulled his elbows up to his knees, feeling the familiar strain through his abdomen. It's something he had done for months, starting back in Winterfell. The small cabin hardly allowed for more movement, but he had improvised. It was a strain, and after 30 of them he moved to his stomach, pushing himself up on his arms and slowly back down the floor. This had been impossible at first, throwing his shoulder out of its socket once and trying in vain to balance on his mutilated hands. But he had gotten better, stronger. He had decided not to go back home looking as a weakling. Politically, a weakling he may be, but he could not fathom remaining a skinny wraith in front of the Ironmen. After what seemed endless repetitions of the exercise, he lightly collapsed, his arms shaking.
He made his way up to the deck, finding Jeyne staring out over the water, the surface completely calm. The surface was of glass, the stirring against the boat the only hint that it was fluid. The crew sat idly around, occasionally adjusting a sail, but moreover enjoying a rare moment of serene weather. Theon knew as they did- that often this calm sea was a precursor for a squall. He put his hand over his wives, and a smile touched her lips but she did not tear her eyes away from the water.
"I used to dream of the sea. I had never seen it, but somehow I knew what it looked like. Never resting, always changing."
"You a natural, my very own salt wife", he said, his arms snaking around her.
"Salt wife huh? How many of them wear your kraken?" Jeyne asked jokingly.
"None but you my love." He whispered, placing a small kiss on the back of her neck, before clearing his throat and straightening up, trying not to seem too tender in front of the men. Theon puffed out his chest and headed towards the small kitchen, grabbing grog, stale bread and cheese. The cook eyed him suspiciously, biting down on a smoking rolled piece of paper, the small bits of ash from the end landing on his protruding belly.
'I can't even garner respect on one ship.'
Theon was quite proud of himself- he had managed not to vomit. Not to vomit in his cabin, or haul himself up on deck to stretch his neck over the side and wretch. The pride faded though into concern for Jeyne, who began vomiting as the serenity of the weather indeed gave way to giant waves, thick sea spray and mist. The trip was not a terribly lengthy one from Seagard to Pyke, but was a notorious triangle of warm streams from the South, cold from the North and deep ocean currents from the West. Whirlpools disappeared and appeared, sometimes swallowing entire ships- and crews- in a matter of minutes.
He had cleaned up their cabin as best he could, which became a filthy mess of vomit, spilled ale and dead roaches, drowned in the various spills. Jeyne had finally gotten used to the tossing and turning of the floor beneath them, and finally emerged, braving the waves to gulp down fresh air. He held her arm gingerly, relieved when her color turned from a sallow green to a cool, pale flush. She smiled weakly at him, burying her face in his throat and he stroked her hair as she took deep breaths.
"That's better", she said weakly.
"M'Lord! Take your Lady down below!" the First Mate called to him and Theon followed the man's outstretched hand. He bit back a scream as he saw a black sky forming over 50 foot waves.
The next day passed oddly. They didn't leave their cabin, eating on three muffins and grog left from supper. Jeyne sprained her wrist, having been knocked off of her feet by a hitting wave. Mainly they stayed huddled together on their bunk, not bothered by the smells of the damp ship.
"I have to go up there", Theon said to her seriously as darkness passed over the ship again.
Jeyne stared at him, her brown eyes wide with fear.
"What? Why?"
"Because I am supposed to be their Lord. Not very Iron of me to remain shut in my cabin like a craven. Greyjoy's are not supposed to fear the sea, fear the Drowned God." He got up, grabbing a dagger and securing his bow and long sword underneath their bunk. Jeyne grabbed his arm. He stilled.
"Jeyne. Do not stop me…please. I have to remember being a Lord's son. It was another life, like a dream. But it's what people expect now. Lock the door behind me." She let go of his arm, kissing his fingers. He ran a hand down the side of her face before quickly leaving the bunk and she crossed, only wearing a white under-shift and slid the bolt into place. She lurched forward as another wave crashed against the hull, and re-injured her sprained wrist. She remained on the dirty floor, kneeling, tears streaming down her face.
"Gods, of the old and the new- of the Heart tree of my mother and father and homeland, and the Drowned God, a stranger to me but the God of my husband. Forgive me for my silence. Forgive me for my doubt. In my suffering I Move your eyes onto me with kindness and help, onto Theon. Give him strength to do what he must. To survive this squall, to be the Lord he was supposed to be. I promise the cruelty has been beaten out of him. The arrogance cut away. Please let me be strong with him." She continued the mantras in her head, finally settling under the damp blankets and trying to ignore the sound of the crashing water, the lurches of the deck and the muffled screams of the crew above. Her lips spoke the words silently, until all was black and she rested.