Everything had been going so well.
From the meeting in Mereen, flirting and coming to a quick mutual understanding.
To time spent enjoying each other's company, days walking the cool pyramid side by side, discussing tactics for the coming battle and the many pressures and pitfalls of being a woman who leads thousands as opposed to the myriad kings and princes who came before them.
They bonded over their regretful fathers, utterly disappointing brothers (Theon apart of course), a sorrowful lack of sisters and a wry, subtle humour which saw both women tease the other without hint of malice or pointed barbs.
Yara's initial overt interest never waned, but instead melted into a quiet respect with a heavy dose of yearning on the side. It was obvious the Targaryen was no simple beauty and the more they talked the more she suspected Daenerys had faced more hardship, pain and obstacles in her young life than anyone had a right to. The Khaleesi had enough men falling over themselves to bed her that it felt churlish to add to that burden.
So even though the Iron Born (and her men would have laughed themselves hoarse to learn of this) would have liked nothing more than to take her to bed and ruin her for anyone else, permanently, she found herself quickly deciding she would be whatever this small, extraordinary, golden-haired slip of a woman needed her to be to help her 'break the wheel'.
And if that was a confidant who shared teasing grins, reassuring words but not said bed, then so be it.
After all, that's what the pleasure houses of Mereen were for.
And if she only took short, blonde whores to bed since arriving in the port city, what of it?
She was the rightful heir to the Salt Throne and she would do as she pleased.
Yes, considering their position before they arrived at Mereen, everything had been going very well. The mere fact that Euron was still breathing felt like an abundance of salt in a particularly painful wound but with the Targaryen's promised help, that would hopefully resolve itself sooner rather than later and then it was only a matter of seeing the Khaleesi onto her Iron Throne before their alliance paid for itself.
They had indeed been wise to come here.
Though every time the Lady Reaver Of Pyke caught herself staring at Daenerys like a starving man stares at that one piece of fruit he cannot quite reach, that wisdom wobbled somewhat on its foundations.
"Theon?"
"Yes Sister?"
"If you catch me staring in the general direction of the Mother Of Dragons and it seems I'm daydreaming or overtly lost in thought, do me a favour?"
With a small frown, Theon replied, "Very well. What?"
"Hit me as hard as you can upside the head?"
"WHAT? Why?"
"Never you mind why. You'll be doing me a favour is all. Just do it." Yara growled.
But Theon's frown remained. "But you'll just hit me for hitting you!"
Yara sighed, resigned. "No. I really won't."
Theon watched his sister stride away with a purpose, though he could not for the life of him think what.
