Yara stood on the deck, her heart still pounding in her chest after their run towards the boats. Her first mate was already at the wheel, men were shouting orders, and as she turned and gazed out over the sea, she saw her fleet with hundreds of loyal men on scores of the best of the Iron Islands' ships. And all were making sails to go follow her as their leader.

Escaping might not have been what she had hoped for when she entered the Kingsmoot, but it was what she had planned for. Naturally, she hadn't foreseen that she would be losing the Kingsmoot to her uncle. Nor that he openly admitted that he had murdered her father.

While it was true that there was no love lost between Yara and Balon, he had been her father, and more importantly he had been the King of the Iron Islands. The ironborn had chosen Euron Greyjoy over Balon Greyjoy's eldest heir simply because in their eyes choosing a kinslayer was better than choosing a woman. Yara knew the Kingsmoot didn't represent the real ironborn. A ireal/i ironborn worked on the sea. Those who had called out Euron's name were fools who had all stayed ashore for too long. Yes, it was true that an ironborn paid the ironprice, but never without using his or her head first. Yara didn't want to rule idiots and when she returned those men would rue the day, they had chosen Euron Greyjoy over her. If any of the stories about her uncle were true, they would rue it sooner than that, which was a small comfort.

For a few, short moments before her uncle had arrived and made his proclamation, she had thought it would be Theon she would be running away from. Gaunt and small, Theon might be, but despite everything that had been done to him, Theon had given a compelling speech. And he had kept his word and supported her. In the end, she had been half afraid that he would crumble in front of the gathering. She could see how close he was, but he had not, and for the first time in her life, she had been proud of her little brother. And grateful. Then her uncle had come and as Theon and Yara locked eyes while the ironborn chanted their "Euron! Euron! Euron!" they both knew they had lost. Madness and bloodthirst were already in the air. As Aeron Damphair held his sermon prior to the baptism and coronation, Yara led Theon away. She told him of the fleet waiting outside the bay, and together they had made a hasty retreat along with those of Yara's crew who had also been present at the Kingsmoot. They emerged onto the beach via the old King's Rift known only to a few men outside of Balon Greyjoy's stronghold. The rest of the Iron Fleet were waiting off shore well away and out of sight from the Kingsmoot hill.

Her eyes roamed Black Wind's deck and her gaze found her brother among the rest of her crew. Theon was skinny and battered looking, but he did his best to help the men set sails and her heart swelled at the sight. Yet as he pulled the ropes along with the other men, she couldn't help but notice the way he sometimes winced or moved in stiff, somewhat jerky motions; as if he had to force his body to obey him. Yara knew that his apparent clumsiness wasn't simply due to the fact that Theon had never truly worked aboard one of the ironborn ships. For a man mostly grown up inland, he seemed to know his way around a ship surprisingly well. No, it had to be what he was hiding underneath his clothes which caused him trouble. He had to be hurt from the torture in the hands of that Bolton bastard. She had noticed that Theon was missing a finger. He'd never once taken off his gloves in front of her in the time he'd been back and maybe he missed more than one? Perhaps the bastard had taken some of his toes as well? From the way Theon carried himself, Yara reckoned he had to have been whipped, too. She frowned but didn't interrupt him in his work. If her men were to respect Theon, she couldn't mollycoddle him. But even among the ironborn, a wounded man wasn't expected to work as hard as the rest of the men, and neither would her brother be.

As soon as the ships were well on their way, Yara grabbed Theon by the arm. She clenched her jaw in dismay when he flinched at the unexpected touch. "Come with me, brother" she said gruffly and dragged him along with her below deck.

Theon stood forlornly inside her cabin as Yara roamed through her small sea chest. "Here," she exclaimed triumphantly and turned towards him flashing a stoppered, stoneware jar. The smelly salve inside it worked small miracles on wounds, scars, and sore muscles and she hadn't paid the iron price for it, either. She had given the healer what he demanded fair and square after learning firsthand on her own body how well the greasy ointment worked. Besides, if you always paid the iron price there'd be no healers, fishermen, or farmers left. Yara had no need of jewelry or fine clothes, but medicines were essential and she would never pay any iron price for such items.

She unstoppered the jar. "Take off your clothes," she said.

"What? No," Theon said, pushing back against the wall. He wouldn't meet her eyes which angered her.

"Take off your clothes, brother. I saw how you winced with each step up on deck. This will help you feel better. Trust me. Off they go."

"Please," he whispered. "I don't want to. I don't want you to see."

Yara laughed trying to disarm him. "You don't have anything I haven't seen before."

At Theon's downcast gaze, she frowned.

"That's not what I referred to, Theon.

"Listen to me, I've seen men with worse injuries than yours, I'm sure. I've treated men with parts torn off or hacked away. What you have or haven't got is nothing new to me. Besides, I'm your sister. Let me help you."

"Please, I don't want your help. Let me put it on myself," he said. He breathed unsteadily. "I don't want to take my clothes off in front of you. Please."

By now, he was shaking. tremors were running over his body, and miniscule nerves twitched under the thin, bruised looking skin below his eyes. Yara wanted to scream at him. Or throw something hard against the walls. Instead she placed the jar back inside the chest, and walked over to him. She took hold of his face gently, her thumbs stroking a few stray tears away from his hollow cheeks.

"Shhh, Theon, you have nothing to fear," she said. "I will be quick about it. You're in pain, little brother. No, don't deny it. And you can't put this on your own back. And I know you try your best to hide it, but you don't seem to be able to move much without causing yourself more pain. Let me do this for you, Theon, please. You can keep your smallclothes on," she added hastily. "You don't have to get naked in front of me."

The look of gratitude and relief on his face hurt to look at, but he nodded once and so she deftly began to untie the leather strings on his armor to think of something else.

"I can do this myself," he muttered which made Yara smile crookedly. She had a sudden memory of helping Theon dress, when he was just a little boy and she had been no more than a gangly teen. Most of the time Theon had been an annoying little brat like all young brothers, she figured, but he'd also been such a happy, little boy. Always laughing and up to no good unless their father or elder brothers were around. Theon had been their mother's favorite, but Yara had loved him. It was impossible not to. She still loved him.

As the shirt slipped over Theon's shoulders and covered his head, Yara did her best to remain calm.

Theon's entire upper body was covered in scars. Not just from whippings, but from what looked like random knife cuts, flayings, and even brandings. A large X had been branded into each of his upper arms and the lines of one more was showing just above his britches on his lower back. His right nipple had been cut or torn off which made her swallow hard. The many scars from the flayings had healed into gnarled messes which had to pull at his skin whenever he moved and turned. Where the skin wasn't ruined, it was smooth and soft. Like that of a young man's. Something suddenly stung her eyes and her vision became blurry and she had to blink a few times to get her sight back.

She had been wrong when she told Theon, that she had seen worse injuries than his. If she had, they had all been on dead bodies, not on a young, living, and breathing one. The Bolton bastard would pay.

Theon removed his gloves. His faced was a little flushed and his hair was a mess and she had to fight back a sudden urge to smooth it. As she had expected, only one finger was missing. A few nails were growing back though and she guessed the gloves help protect the sore fingertips. As he removed his boots and britches, she noticed that all of his toes were intact apart from nails missing there as well, but his feet bore marks of having been penetrated and broken. His legs were as lacerated and covered in scars as his upper body had been.

"Go lie down on the bed. I'll do your back and legs first," she said in a hushed voice.

He didn't look up at her at all as he went over to the bed and stretched out on his stomach. She took the jar, sat down next to him and smeared some of the lotion on her palms allowing the ointment to warm up a bit. Then she began to rub it gently into Theon's back. At first, he was rigid but gradually as she talked about old times, about going to Meereen, and nothing at all, he began to relax. By the time, she reached his feet, he had fallen asleep. When she was done with his backside, she covered his body with her blanket.

"I'll do your chest tomorrow then, brother," she whispered and kissed his hair lightly before leaving the cabin.

Theon woke up feeling warm and comfortable. For a few moments, he lay completely still enjoying the novel sensation before realizing he wasn't where he was supposed to be. This was Yara's cabin, Yara's bed, and her blanket that was covering him. This was not right. He should be up on deck working, or at least in one of the hammocks in the crew's quarters. He had to go find her and apologize to her.

He got out of bed and quickly got dressed. It wasn't until he pulled on his long boots that he noticed that he had dressed without hurting. The mixture Yara had rubbed into his back had stung at first, but it had slowly begun to almost numb his skin and warm his sore back. For a brief moment, he contemplated removing his shirt once more to add some of the ointment to his chest himself but he decided against it. Yara might not want him to and he couldn't just take her salve without asking her permission? He had to hurry and find her and let her know that it had been a mistake that he had fallen asleep and that he was still here and that he was very sorry. His heart began to race and he felt terrified, until he belatedly remembered that she was his sister. She would not punish him, would she? He grabbed the door for support in order to steady himself a bit and took a few deep breaths before he went out the narrow door.

To be continued...