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They have been on the sea for three days, sailing from Meereen to Westeros. Most of their company have become seasick with the rolling tides and grappling winds, trying to stick their feet on the ground like a person trying to grasp a bar of soap in the bathroom. Most, as for the Ironborn this means days of celebrating. Their alliance with the Dragon Queen was successful, their sight blessed with the three dancing figures in the sky and their survival surer than they were when they were only half of a fleet running away from the Crows-eye. They have gained ships, a promise of queenship and independence and even more allies as they heard that the Reach and the Dornish were coming to join them. When was the last time the Iron Islands even had allies? So yes, they were celebrating. Better to drown at the bottom of the sea full and hearty than be on the receiving end of a dragon’s breath if Euron had gotten to her first.
Three days and nights of steering a fleet. Three days of partying, drinking and making bets with their queen and newly found friends on who vomits at first daylight (so far, Tyrion Lannister was winning). Three days of sulking for Theon.
He finally found some peace in his cabin on the Black Wind, Yara’s flagship, after escaping the chaos that was happening above deck. The last two nights were easier: be seen drinking then after the brawls begin leave quietly. Escaping the party happening on his own ship, though? Impossible. Even if he was safe, the raucous laughter and creaking wood tiles were harder to ignore than when they were a ship away. The worst part was it would be faster for her to reach him –
Speak of the devil. The booming knocks made him jump, they got louder and louder until it shook the whole cabin. Theon didn’t even need to ask who it was as he makes the move to open the door.
“ – I KNOW YOU’RE IN THERE! Open the door you little shit! Or I’ll use my husband and make a new one for you!”
He opens the rickety thing and glares at her. “You don’t even have a husband!”
She grins. “I was talking about my axe.” Yara looks flushed, giddy even, carrying two mugs of ale as she pushes towards him and sits on the sole chair on his cabin, settling down the drinks on the table beside it.
“I’m not drinking that,” He felt the need to say, staring at the second mug of ale Yara has brought with her. The last time Yara forced him to drink was in Volantis, he became so drunk he started crying and recounting his life. Watching the grizzled and hardened Ironborn try to comfort him would have been funny if it wasn’t emasculating every time he encounters them (they would pat him on the shoulder and tell him that their doors were open or if he needs someone to drink with.) He apparently cried so hard they had to barge in his sister’s room and get her to calm him down. It was a horrible experience for everyone involved.
She snorts, “That’s all for me. I’m too lazy to go up again.” Her gestures are sluggish, obviously intoxicated. She wiggles out of her coat.
She always does this. I can’t believe her! “Can you not?”
“Then don’t look.”
“This isn’t your cabin! You have one that’s ten times bigger than mine, and if you walked a bit more, you’d be there!”
Yara gives the verbal version of a shrug. “You know the girls are staying on that one. Also it’s my ship. My call.”
“Again, why not there? I bet they’d enjoy the show,” Theon grumbles as he faces the door.
“Because I don’t want to? Theon stop acting like an affronted septa, we grew up together and we did this all the time as kids.” He heard her kick something metal. “Why should it bother you?”
“BECAUSE!” He cannot believe he has to explain this. “We were kids back then, it’s acceptable, but now we’re grown adults! You’re a woman, I’m a man, It’s common decency.”
A beat. Then she guffawed unladylike. “That’s the stupidest thing I have ever heard! Not even you follow that, baby brother! Besides, you make it sound like I’m in my birthday suit in all my glory when I only took off my coat and armor. When we dock, remind to me get new ones. My body’s all sore from it and I can barely move in that thing. I can’t even run in it! Makes you question why I’m still alive.”
When he didn’t say anything or move from his position, she says, “Oh for fuck’s sake Theon get out from the damn door! I didn’t come to just to see you glare at it and watch your back all night.”
Theon grudgingly plops in his bed. Not like he has anywhere else to go. His cabin is adorned with a bed, the low table and chair his sister is currently occupying and a fireplace. Not humungous like Yara’s, but with his books, clothes, armor and weapons it is enough to be cozy. It almost feels like home. Almost.
The two say nothing, comfortable with the bellowing and riot above them. Theon has not felt this overflowing joy from a group of people for so long. While he’d rather sleep and read his books, he was happy for them. With them. His childhood memories were fuzzy, and at Winterfell he was always taught that the Ironborn were raping, reaving, sea savages who were devoid of human emotion and the type that would do anything to survive (he couldn’t be more relieved that this wasn’t the case).
As a youth, he found a sort of pride in it that he will one day rule over such ferocious creatures, but the truth was he was slowly forgetting about them.
What were they truly like?
How did they brave storms? What was that part of the ship that controlled direction? Why did Rodrik and Maron hate him?
How did his mother’s voice sound like?
What does his sister look like?
No, the Ironborn were not entirely blameless, but they aren’t monsters either. It was easier to forget that about them, to forget everything, for he was only a boy that missed his home. To think he wanted to lord over them one day simply because he believed it was his birthright as a man. Theon couldn’t be more wrong. People do not inherently deserve anything, they have to earn it, and if Yara could make her people this happy, in the middle of the ocean and towards certain death, then perhaps she deserves all the more to be queen.
Not that he’d ever tell her that. It’ll just go over her head, with the “First Queen of the Iron Islands” thing.
His reverie was broken when something fell on the floor, most likely the books on the table that Yara was using as a foot stool.
“Yaaraa,” Theon drawled the syllables.
“Sorry,” She says, not sorry at all.
“Those were my books.”
“Yes, they are in your cabin.”
“This is my cabin.”
“And this is my ship. So technically, everything is mine.”
“…”
“…”
“...”
“Can you pick them up?”
“No.”
“Please?”
“No.”
“Please?”
“No.”
“Yara – “
“That’s Queen Yara to you.” She huffed.
Theon tried not to show his sarcasm too much. “Yara Greyjoy, First of her Name, Lady Reaper of Pyke, Daughter of the Sea Wind, Queen of Salt and Rock, Queen of the Iron Islands, may thee put thine humble servant’s belongings in their rightful place?”
“That’s more like it,” He can hear Yara holding her laughter, and he rolls his eyes. “Who am I to not to grant my loyal subject’s request? They’ll stay on the floor though.”
“Whatever.”
“What did you say?”
“Nothing, dear sister.”
“Do you think that’s what Jaime Lannister says in bed?”
“What.”
“When he’s with Cersei Lannister. Duh. I heard they had children with each other, so do you think that’s what the Kingslayer moans when they fuck?”
Unbelievable! Theon throws her a pillow and she deftly catches it, bringing it to her chest. She doesn’t dodge the second or the third pillow he throws her, and she doesn’t seem to mind.
“What the fuck? What got into your head – I don’t even want to know! Can you try being normal for once in your life?” He smothers himself with a pillow. He can’t stand to look at her and acknowledge her existence after that mental image. Only child, Only child, only child, only child –
“It’s a reasonable question! I’ve never seen twin incest before – “
“For the love of the Drowned God, please stop.” Does that mean she has seen incest? Ugh. Traitorous brain!
“And besides, it’s better than thinking about – “ He spots her picking up his books incredulously. “The Geography of Island Kingdoms? Economics for Babies? Trade 101?? Farming???” She brings it up to his eye level, essentially saying ‘what the fuck you left our amazing party for levels of soil nutrients?’
“What? You’re the one who wanted independence. Shouldn’t we know what that entails?” Theon hides his inner sigh of relief. At least she is no longer talking about incest. “Daenerys wants to change our way of life. But that was your plan all along, was it not? No raiding, stealing, and reaving. How are we supposed to feed our people? You know our lands are inhospitable.”
Yara took a moment to answer. “Are they really? Or is it just the teachings of our history and elders to further push us into the culture of our forefathers?” She swirls her drink thoughtfully.
Theon considers it. “You think it’s just a saying to resist and discourage change?”
“Has anyone actually tried farming the land? I’ve been to the Reach, Dorne, Braavos, even all the way to Asshai and Yi Ti, and it seems vegetation can grow anywhere, even in the hottest and the driest places. What’s stopping us? Rocky soil? Dragonstone seems to be doing fine, and it even has less farming land than us. Minerals? I’ve observed that the more there are minerals underground, the richer the soil. Too much rain? That’s fair, but perhaps we should use different types of plants and observe what grows better in our climate. Maybe it is difficult which is why our people resorted to raiding, which is easier. But difficult does not mean impossible.”
“Look who’s talking about farming,” He teased, “But you have a point. After all this is over, we should get a maester to study and record our land, or fuck it, the whole Iron Islands. Maybe there is something there we did not bother to check?”
After seeing his sister’s nod, he continues, “But Yara, let’s say the lands ARE barren, which is only one part of the problem. What do we do then?”
One look at her eyes he knows she has already come to the same conclusion as him. She takes one long swig before she speaks, “Trade,” her fingers trailing the cover of one of his books. “I didn’t come all the way there without a plan, Theon. I met with the remaining leaders of Astapor, Meereen and Yunkai. With Daenerys burning all their ships, the masters dead and tens of millions of people out of work, they did not know what to do. It is the reason when Daenerys left the city to fend for themselves, the people looked to the slavers again for guidance. For them perhaps, slavery is better than a meaningless life. It gives them purpose. It is all they know,” Her voice went soft at that, “Where do they even begin? The Dragon Queen spared no one, and suddenly all the intellectuals, judges, teachers, merchants, governors, doctors – gone! In one night. Without ever teaching their craft to their property. Only the translators were taught to read and write, with a mountain of knowledge no one knows how to decode. Their economy and their infrastructures are in ashes. Their people? Taught only to follow orders their whole lives. Their governance? Barely put together.”
Yara takes another swig of her ale, “So, where do we come in? I know what you are thinking, and yes. We will bridge Westeros and the Free Cities. We become their trading galleys. We set up trading routes at sea. We bring over their goods to Westeros and Westerosi goods to them. We will dominate every port on two damn continents, with the Iron Islands as an important port. Using our ships, we bring over experts, books and maesters from Westeros that could help them rebuild. Some will teach governance. Maybe those from the Reach will teach agriculture and farming, while the Dornish impart on how they survive hot weather, seeing that both countries have the same suffocating environment. Yours truly will teach them navigation, sailing, shipbuilding, seafaring and fighting.”
“At the same time, we bring their products here to Westeros, while we get cuts, higher dividends than the rest and an exclusivity contract. Most of their exports will be food, which solves our first problem. Expect there will be pirates but we are not called Ironborn for nothing. The people of Westeros then do not have a choice but to like us. The male population is decimated from years of war. There aren’t enough farmers. The Tyrells are allied with their sworn enemy and will most likely hike up the prices. Their houses and lands are razed to the ground. In the coming years, there will be a famine and we will only be the steady of suppliers of food and decent competitor to the Reach. How can you bite the hand that feeds you?”
“The Free Cities does seem to have a surplus of labour,” Theon adds thoughtfully, “while Westeros have a lot of work. It’s a good plan,”
“Damn straight.” She grins and raises her ale.
“Except there’s a language barrier-“
“Bah –“
“And Braavos will certainly put up a fight-“
“Merceneries against our Ironborn?” She shakes her head proudly. “Not a chance.”
“Don’t you know what they say about the Faceless Men?” He levels her. “They’re a real threat, Yara. Even Ramsay seemed to fear them.”
“…you mentioned him.”
“What?”
“You mentioned him,” Yara repeated, more softly. “You called him Ramsay than Master.”
Theon paused. Mouth agape. He had lost his voice. She’s right, Meek whispered in his mind.
They (him and Meek) avoided mentioning him at all costs, names give birth to power, and if they are not named then perhaps the monster is not real at all. Yara didn’t even acknowledge his existence (especially after that drunken sobbing) and the Ironborn, though thought him weak, followed by example. They followed her to the depths of the sea, so why not this? Though he knew they knew the extent of his torture with the way they cast their gazes upon him, which then is immediately clammed up by a whistle by whichever superior they heed to. Deep inside Theon wants to earn their respect – that he too is capable to be by Yara’s side, he too despite his brokenness is as Ironborn as the rest of them. There it goes again, this innate desire to prove himself worthy crawling out of whichever hole he buried the child Theon into.
But he really did mention the monster. These past few days, he blessedly doesn’t even think about him anymore. Yes it hurts, yes it took parts of him away, pieces he could never take back, and yes it hurts to even glance at his reflection. But today, tonight, Theon, and Meek by extension, felt safe in doing so. That speaking his name did not incite fear or anguish like it did before, like the syllables rolling of his mouth will not summon the monster right there and then and hurt him.
This time, Theon will never be hurt like that again. Not unless Yara is dead and her bloated corpse is sent to the Drowned God. Yara will be shrieking and kicking if Ramsey’s shadow even comes within ten mile radius of her ‘sweet little baby brother’.
He no longer fears that he has to face his ghosts alone. He rests in that fact, that his sister, who has the subtlety and sensibilities of a ten legged kraken, even noticed this change shows him being safe in her hands.
Theon found his footing again. He stumbles, he falls, his leg is scraped and beaten, but he finds it. Later than others, but never too late. “Would you prefer I call him that?”
Yara scoffs and throws her had back. “Gods no. I like this better, baby brother. After all, he was no master. You are the only master of your fate. Like a rebirth born from salt and stone.”
“Yet you are the master of the Iron Islands’, Yara.” And mine as well, he wanted to say. Theon gazes at her, his rough and unyielding sister watching his every move for any sign that he might break. Not to humiliate him, but to get ready to catch him.
He wants to tell her. His lips formed the words, closing and opening.
Thank you Yara. For the first time, I am grateful I am alive. If I am to believe in something, it is that you will be a good ruler.
He can see it – their priest uncle laying her the crown of wet and thorned seaweed, her kneeling before god, the ocean, and their people. Her toothy grin like she did when they were kids when she beat their brothers. Theon being by her side amidst all of it.
I want to witness that day. I want to be in that uncertain future. I am sure in what tomorrow will bring knowing you are the one steering.
Instead, Theon toasts and raises his glass. He was taught the words, but not their use. They were never ones to be sentimental, and besides, Yara will just tease him for being a ‘sappy little shit.’
“I’m looking forward to it.”
(But she knew. Yara knew, when he asked for her permission to fight for the Starks. Not because he had felt a debt to them, but because it was his will to do so. She had no right to stop him. Yet he asked, for Theon loved her before all else.
“Go,” She knew he wasn’t coming back. They made no promises they cannot keep.
Yara let her heart mourn. First when they took him, second when she found him in that cage.
Ah, she’s going to lose him again…
Third – and the final time – now. The Iron Queen closed her eyes. In her mind’s eye is the babe who had smiled at her, and only her in that dark sleepless night. The Starks may have all else… but Theon cannot die if he was dead to begin with. The night king cannot claim him.
“What is dead may never die.” She breathed, the waves rose. She exhaled, the waves receded.
You will always be home, Theon.
“…But kill the bastards anyway.”)
“When were you one to defer loyalty? Especially to a woman?” Yara teased, her eyes twinkling.
“It’s hard not to when there are three dragons flying above you edging to rain fire.”
“Do you think she likes me?”
“What.”
“The Dragon Queen,” Yara leans forward like a gossiping teenager. “Do you think she likes me?”
“Uh, what’s not to like?”
“Stop it. I’m serious. I heard she left her boytoy back in Meereen.”
“For you? Pfft. Hardly.” Theon rolled his eyes. Damn her, now she’s infecting him.
“Rude!” He dodges another pillow. “I mean I’m quite the catch.”
Theon cringes. “Stop.”
“We’d be formidable together!” Yara gesticulates wildly, “My ships, her dragons – “
The boat lurches forward. Theon wants to puke. “Ugh, I’ve had enough of you for the day, go to your own ship or just even above deck and take the wheel from whichever drunken man is on it,” He hurls.
“Bah, Harrog is doing just fine! Listen to me, I cannot talk to my mates like this, they look up to me. You’re the only one I have left, Theon!”
She drunkenly rambles on (like how amazing her and the Dragon Queen’s wedding night will that she’ll be swearing off penises for life) that Theon inwardly groans and prepares himself for another long night. I just want to go home…
...But Yara feels like home, is home, so perhaps he’s home after all.