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“To peace and friendship,” Daenerys says.
Everyone raises their goblets. “To peace and friendship!”
Theon, however, visibly winces when he takes a sip.
Before Tyrion can comment, Yara Greyjoy takes her brother’s goblet. To Missandei, she asks, “Would you get my brother some barley tea and milk?", and adds, "Not much of a drinker, this one.”
“Really,” Tyrion says. “Funny, the boy I remember-”
“My brother’s a man, now,” she interrupts. “And besides, I’ve heard that, by the time you were sixteen, you could drink the Hound’s weight in wine.”
More interesting than the words is the way Theon gave a tug on her breeches just before the second half of her second sentence. It was so quick and discreet, he doubts anyone but him noticed.
Raising his goblet, he responds, “Touché, my lady. But in fairness, if I could only drink my own, I’d be dead drunk after only a cup or two.”
She clinks Theon’s against his, drinks, and firmly declares, “None of that Westerosi polite formality. I’m no lady by their definition of the word and proud of it. And whatever boyish insults Theon once subjected you to for your dwarfism, neither of us will now.”
Daenerys smiles at him, and Missandei reappears.
Taking the pot of tea and pitcher of milk, Yara tells her, “Thank you.”
Setting down a bowl, Missandei says, “I brought some lemons, as well. That’s how many in Essos drank theirs.”
“Oh, how many did they usually put in?” Yara asks.
“It depended, Highness. For those who had want of a sharp drink, three or four. For those who simply wanted a soft drink with a pleasant tang, anywhere from half a lemon to two.”
Cutting a lemon in half, Yara hands it to Theon. “Queen Daenerys has told me you’re good with languages. Do you know what the Ironborn spoke before we adopted the Common Tongue?”
“She can speak the language, but yours is more a question of history than linguistics,” he interjects. “Meaning, I can answer that.”
Everyone continues eating as he does, and he notices Yara wordlessly cuts all Theon's foods requiring cutting into smaller than necessary pieces and Theon refills her goblet when it gets low. When Theon pushes his plate aside, before Missandei can take it, Yara scrapes a spoonful or two of eggs into his cup of tea. “Finish it,” she orders.
Nodding, he does.
She pours him more tea, hands him the milk, and cuts another lemon in half.
…
After their meal, Missandei begins trying to teach Yara the old Ironborn tongue, and he announces, “I remember you to be quite the archer, Theon Greyjoy. Let’s see if you still are. The Unsullied could use someone to teach them.”
To everyone but the siblings’ surprise and discomfort, Yara suddenly grabs Theon’s arm and stares into his eyes.
He nods.
Letting go, she immediately resumes mangling the language Missandei is patiently speaking.
“That sounds good,” Theon agrees.
Shaking his head slightly at Daenerys’s look, he gets out of his chair. “This way.”
…
“You don’t eat much,” he notes. “And you gravitate towards softer foods. After Winterfell, you were held captive.”
Theon nods.
“By whom?”
There’s a moment of hesitation. “Ramsay Bolton.”
“Oh, gods, what did he do to you?”
Before Theon can react, he realises he really doesn’t want to know. “Don’t answer that. If talking would help you, it will need to be with someone other than me. Frankly, I’m not interested in what you suffered. I am interested in the fact you’ve managed to survive it. Prince, again. Perhaps, someday, King.”
Theon makes a small sound. “I’m still one of the most talented archers you’re ever to likely meet, Tyrion Lannister. I still think your family is a pack of lying, thieving, arrogant cowards. I’m still not sure of you. But I’m not the same desperate, overconfident, merciless boy I once was. My sister is everything to me. I’d die to protect her. I’d kill to. I don’t want her throne.”
“With no cruelty intended, you aren’t everything to her.”
“I wouldn’t want to be. Even after everything, she loves me. Her love doesn’t come with cruel demands. Even after everything, my love is something she still wants. You understand the first part. With no cruelty intended, I’m truly sorry that, aside from your brother, you’ll never have the former.”
“Not even from him, anymore, I imagine,” he mutters.
At Theon’s questioning look, he shakes his head. Pointing out the nearby Unsullied training, he says, “Let’s go see how true your boast holds.”
Theon smiles slightly, and he'll privately admit it’s a nice one. There’s pride and amusement in it, but mostly, it’s a simple show of happiness.