Eden walks down the jetty with her hands in her pockets. She's been getting used to the ring on her finger. All her life, she's never worn more jewelery than earrings. The sun's shining down on her.
"'Tis good to have a ship again," he replied. "Even if 'tis not mine."
And, though he wasn't going to mention it, it was good too that she had went out of her way to see him. She wasn't his son, would never take the place of his true sons in his heart, but he would never see any of his real sons again and she was as close to a substitute as he would allow anyone to be. He loved her, in his way, and so he just liked it when she came to talk to him.
Eden slips her cigarette between her lips and bends her head to light it. The ring on her finger catches the light and, when she lets her hands drop, she looks at it for a long moment.
"Babe asked me to marry him," she says, sudden, sharp. Better to do it like ripping off a plaster.
It was an odd thing to realize but the truth was pretty much everything that Davos knew about weddings, between both the poor and the rich, didn't apply on the Island. There was no question of asking for the families permission or arranging a dowry or it being done in a sept or the exchange of family cloaks or anything else that came to mind.
From what he saw of Caspian's wedding there wasn't even a bedding. At least, he thought, there wouldn't be a massacre either.
He hadn't said anything, he realized, though he could feel that a pleased smile had spread over his face unbidden.
"You agreed to, I take it?" he confirmed because he supposed that the option to refuse was open to her here.
"Congratulations," he told her with all sincerity, still smiling. "I wish you the best, of course."
He was not a tactile man and he rarely initiated physical contact but it felt like something more was called for so he reached out and pulled her into an embrace.
For a moment, she doesn't quite know what to do with the embrace but, in the end, she relaxes into it, curling one arm around his neck, cigarette held between two fingers.
"Of course," she says, voice slightly muffled. "It's not like we've set a date, Davos. Don't get over excited."
"I don't know how they do things where you come from," she says, flicking ash from her cigarette and tipping her head back to blow smoke up at the sky. "But, the way we do it...I need someone to give me away. It's supposed to be my father, but, even at home, that wouldn't have bloody worked."
"It wasn't the case with my own wedding," he replied, "but with the rich, they have cloaks. The father removes the maiden cloak and the husband gives her the bride's cloak. So she passes from one's protection to the other."
He shrugged, a little sheepish about what the ritual implied. "Waste of a good cloak really."
He knew what was being asked of him but there was a part of him that didn't want to say it until it was spelled our for certain. It seemed a great show of faith in him and one he wasn't certain he could live up to.
"It's how we do things," says Eden, with a brief shrug of her shoulder. "And I think that Babe's got enough on his bloody plate marrying me, so we'd better let him have the wedding turn out how he wants to."
Eden walks down the jetty with her hands in her pockets. She's been getting used to the ring on her finger. All her life, she's never worn more jewelery than earrings. The sun's shining down on her.
Somehow, she manages not to smile.
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"Sure you're not coming down with something, Davos?"
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And, though he wasn't going to mention it, it was good too that she had went out of her way to see him. She wasn't his son, would never take the place of his true sons in his heart, but he would never see any of his real sons again and she was as close to a substitute as he would allow anyone to be. He loved her, in his way, and so he just liked it when she came to talk to him.
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"Babe asked me to marry him," she says, sudden, sharp. Better to do it like ripping off a plaster.
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From what he saw of Caspian's wedding there wasn't even a bedding. At least, he thought, there wouldn't be a massacre either.
He hadn't said anything, he realized, though he could feel that a pleased smile had spread over his face unbidden.
"You agreed to, I take it?" he confirmed because he supposed that the option to refuse was open to her here.
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"He had it made. It's got my name on it. He means it."
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He was not a tactile man and he rarely initiated physical contact but it felt like something more was called for so he reached out and pulled her into an embrace.
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"Of course," she says, voice slightly muffled. "It's not like we've set a date, Davos. Don't get over excited."
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"True," she says, and she takes a long drag. "I've actually got something to ask you."
She can't believe she's doing this.
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He shrugged, a little sheepish about what the ritual implied. "Waste of a good cloak really."
He knew what was being asked of him but there was a part of him that didn't want to say it until it was spelled our for certain. It seemed a great show of faith in him and one he wasn't certain he could live up to.
"Your way seems better."
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She snorts and drags on her cigarette.
"That a yes?"
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