Morning found Yara waking to a splitting headache and a mouth that felt like a rat had died in it. The previous week. It had not been a good death.

Groaning, she hoisted herself to sit up and cracked an eye. She was in her own bed. That was something at least.

The previous night was fuzzy and confusing and she held her head in her hands and tried her best to make it all coalesce, but the pounding in her temples roundly beat back her efforts until she finally gave up, flopping back, groaning heavily anew.

She was going to find Pen and give him a direct order never to let her touch a drop of ale again. Pfft, who was she kidding? She'd probably have a tankard as soon as her bloody hangover was gone.

Speaking of hangovers, there was only one sure way to wake up a brain addled from sleep and drink.

With a strength of will most men would have paid coin for, she rolled out of bed and looked down at herself, frowning. "Hmmm, least I didn't lose all my clothes gambling again…"

Throwing her door open and wincing at the BANG! she determinedly put one foot in front of the other, eyes slitted against the harsh morning sunlight, until her bare feet hit the beach, then she shed piece after piece of her remaining clothing as she went, until she reached the water and, blessedly naked, dove into the chilly waves.

The bite of the icy brine instantly cut through her hangover and she surfaced, spluttering, throwing her head back, a shower of water spraying off in an arc as she attempted to get her wet hair out of her eyes. Rubbing at said eyes she slapped at her cheeks and shook her head rapidly, making a ridiculous sound with her floppy, relaxed lips.

Breathing deeply, she floated on her back for long moments. Gradually she felt more human so turned over and made her way back to the shore, striding out of the gentle surf naked and dripping wet.

The last piece of clothing off was the first piece on, which was fortuitous, because that's how Daenerys came upon her, dripping wet, dressed in just her rough shirt that hung at mid thigh.

"Oh!" The Queen of All Westeros didn't let out strangled squeaks. Of course she didn't. Anyone who was listening must have been mistaken.

Yara's eyes shot up, going wide as platters, eyebrows crawling up her face. The leather trousers she'd been about to slip back on hanging limply in one hand.

It was a faintly amusing scene – two powerful women, Queens no less, staring at each other with their mouths hanging open. Gently lapping waves were the only sound for several beats, until Yara firmed her jaw, then she was all action, furiously snatching up her clothing piece by piece in double time like a crab picking tasty morsels out in the deep.

She was almost back to her hut before the Mother Of Dragons could gather her wits enough to speak.

"WAIT!"

Iron door latch in hand, the Lady Reaver Of Pyke stopped but didn't turn round or speak.

"I…" and of course, Dany's words failed her just at the moment she needed them most.

Of course Yara knew she would eventually have to talk to the other woman. She couldn't run forever. She knew it the moment she'd swooped down on Drogon. But the Drowned God take her if she wasn't going to do it at a time of her choosing, when she was fully clothed, not soaking wet and especially not moments after battling the worst hangover she'd had in years. She would give herself precious time to repair her mask and gird her loins. It was the only way she'd survive the conversation. IF she survived intact at all.

Nose nearly touching the rusted Kraken on her door she bit out a clipped, "I'll be at the castle this evening. Find me in the Throne Room. We can talk then."

And with that she escaped into the blessed sanctuary of her cabin, slamming the door behind her and leaning back against it, as if that simple act would prevent Daenerys storming in if she had a mind to.

The Targaryen predictably wore a frown as she watched her quarry flee.

Yet again.

"Oh I'll find you then all right! If you think running to Castle Pyke will save you you're sorely mistaken Greyjoy!" So what if she was muttering to herself all alone in broad daylight? Luckily there were no witnesses, apart from the rusted Kraken, and he kept his own council.

Deciding a good flight would be just the thing to ease the tension brought on by a repeatedly elusive Greyjoy, she turned, marching off towards Drogon. Perhaps by the time she landed again she would have an actual plan of attack fleshed out.

Once she had her dragon underneath her, she finally relaxed, eyes shut against the air as it rushed past her. She let him go where he pleased, not caring where they were, just that she was airborne.

Waves whipped by below her and she watched them, eyes becoming unfocused in her contemplation. She was Khaleesi, Mother Of Dragons and no feisty female pirate was going to best her.

It came to her then. She had been far too tentative. Too mindful of blindsiding Yara. Yara Greyjoy was a direct person who usually did not mince words or suffer fools gladly. She said what she meant (present situation apart) and took what she wanted. No apologies, no regrets, no second guesses. Direct.

"I should've kissed her the moment I set foot on Pyke, consequences bedamned!" Instead, she'd let the other woman continually twist and squirm away like a slippery fish on a line. No matter if it was to the drinking hall, her cabin or a bottle, she should never have allowed it. She would never have allowed her to escape to Pyke had she known of her plans in advance.

But by the Old Gods and the New, she'd allow it no longer.

So she would go to the Greyjoy Castle and she would break down every door and overturn every stone until Yara was cornered.

And then, by all the Gods new and old, she would listen to what Daenerys had to say, without interruption or deflection.

She would enjoy stretching her wings a little longer, then she'd return and busy herself, attending to Drogon as before, seeing his bed set alight yet again and more sheep delivered and then she'd attend to her own comfort - find herself some food and something to drink. Then, fortified and sated, without a single care left to attend to, she would meet the Lady Reaver Of Pyke in her lair and have it out with her once and for all.