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In that dungeon, she had lost track of time.
First, there was that shameful parade, with her hateful uncle pulling from the chain in her collar at his pleasure. She couldn’t see Ellaria and Tyene (it was Tyene, right?), but she knew they were behind her, walking in chains. A crowd surrounded them, hurling insults and pelting the Dornish women with rotten produce.
Murderers!
Whores!
You’ll burn in the seven hells!
But nobody seemed interested in her. Nobody but HIM.
As the people of King’s Landing cheered for Euron, he grinned. He pulled the leash, forcing Yara to come closer to his mount.
“See this, little niece? The people of King’s Landing, cheering for your uncle! Your father would have been proud! Too bad he is dead.”
Yes, because YOU killed him. If she could have, she would have punched all those teeth out of that mouth of his. She would have torn out his tongue, like he did to his men. She would have…
“Cheer up, niece! Today is an important day for your uncle!” He kept grinning.
She kept her mouth closed. She would not give him the pleasure of provoking her into responding.
“You have nothing to say? Tsk tsk.” He smirked at her. “That’s not the Yara I know.” He pinched her cheek, in an imitation of a sweet gesture. Then the chain went slack, a signal that he was done gloating. For now.
Every so often, as they made their way to the Red Keep, he did the same thing. He would tug at the chain, force her to get close to his mount, and taunt her, with his accomplishments.
He had destroyed everything. Her father, knocked off a bridge. Her men, killed or mutilated. And her brother...
Theon.
The whole scene flashed before her eyes again. Eurons's ship, ramming hers. Fighting Euron, losing the upper hand, finding herself with his ax at her neck. And the worst part. Her brother had abandoned her. One minute he’d been fighting like the ironborn he was, but all it had taken to break him down was… Fine, it didn’t matter what it was. She was not even mad at him, she knew he couldn’t have saved her. But to see him just run off and jump off the ship broke her heart.
Her musings were interrupted by anot her tug at her collar.
“We’re almost there, sweet niece! Ever been to King’s Landing? Sorry about the smell of shit.”
She stared straight ahead.
“I wish little Theon could be here too. Family is very important to me, you know. Too bad about the cockless wonder.”
She couldn’t help it. “Don’t say his name.”
“Aww, is wittle Yara upset? Be mad at him, he’s the one who abandoned you. But I must say, I was impressed by that leap of his. Think he survived? Nah, probably not.”
He was right. Yara bit her lip. Theon was probably dead now. If so, she envied him.
It was not too bad at the dungeon. One of Euron’s men (a different man each time) brought her food twice a day and water. There was even a bucket that got replaced regularly.
But those men didn’t speak to her. They couldn’t have, even if they had wanted to. They didn't even bother looking at her.
There would be no answer to her questions. What was happening to the Dornish? The Dragon Queen still had her dragons, right? Had she forgotten about Yara?
She kept telling herself that there was no point in worrying about things she couldn’t know about. Instead she thought of her mother, and how she had been before her father’s rebellion, her brother’s deaths, Theon’s abduction. Gentle, beautiful, a smile on her face and not a smirk, and a sweet word for everyone.
Theon kept coming to her mind too. The baby who wouldn’t stop crying but one day, he had smiled at her. The tot who liked to make her laugh. The chubby little boy who had wanted to cry but held back his tears as he walked off Pyke next to Ned Stark. The arrogant ass who had tried to get inside her breeches when he came back to Pyke and who had needed to be put in his place. The man who had come back, scarred and broken, pledging to serve her. The brother who had spoken for her at the kingsmoot.
She’s your queen!
Against her wishes, the other Theon who came to mind was the ruin they found at the Dreadfort. How he had fought when she and her men tried to pull him from his cage. He had told her later, much later, that he thought it was a trick from his master.
Is that what is going to happen to me? What I am going to become?
“No,” she said out loud. Theon had survived the monster who had flayed him, cut off fingers and left him without a manhood. How had he done it?
She would figure it out. She was Ironborn. What is dead may never die, but rises again, harder and stronger.