Homemade Dynamite (ON HOLD) | Yara Greyjoy

chapter three

The wind on her face cooled her head down a little, but not much. Not enough. She spotted a group of men sitting on crates or leaning against the railing with big cups in their hands. Millet, one of the shorter ones, waved her over, handing her a cup.

"Don't drown in that," the man to her right said, making Deema smile, although not because of pleasantries. "A bit big for a woman your size."

She knew she shouldn't, but the man's words just begged for it. She chugged most of the ale down in one sitting. "Don't talk to me about drowning, I've escaped more sea-deaths than you can even imagine," she gestured for a refill, sitting down on one of the crates. "Don't sit here in silence, I was promised some stories."

And thus, stories were being told. Deema mostly listened, wanting to know who she was dealing with. Millet decided to tell a couple himself. Some were under her leadership, but he surprised even her with a doomed love story in the end.

"When are you going to talk, Deema?" She turned around, only to find Yara sipping a drink behind the group, listening in. Gods, was this woman really dying to get under her skin?

"What do you want to hear?" She turned fully to the woman, not backing down from the challenge.

Giving her a lazy grin Yara took a few steps closer, settling near some of the empty crates. "Tell me something we've never heard before," she leaned back and sipped her drink. As much as Deema did not want to acknowledge it, Yara had an effortless elegance that made it hard to look away.

The wind was blowing hard, Deema's hair already coming loose, but she smiled. She could feel Millet's eyes on her, careful eyes that begged her to not speak too much, to not get carried away to prove she was the most dominant one. Deema didn't care.

"There was this captain, who had died," she began to tell the tale of her own, a tale she never told about herself. So, it was about an unnamed captain, who lived and breathed seawater, who could heal people, who could not drown, but drown others so beautifully. It was a long story, but no one stopped or interrupted her. She finished with a satisfied grin and a sip from her drink.

"It's all just a tale, of course," Millet said quickly, but Deema was looking at Yara, who didn't express any emotions.

"That's too bad," the captain said.

Smiling once more, Deema shook her head. "You'd all be shaking if it were true. You'll never know the true power of the sea."

"And you do?" Yara fired back without missing a beat.

"No, but certainly more than you."

***

The yelling was what brought Yara to move, wondering what had happened. The sight of Deema juming overboard and her friend hauling rope around was what made her stop. Had she actually seen that right? Did Deema, cocky, arrogant Deema, jump overboard?

"What the hell is going on?" She willed herself to move again.

"Artes fell, the woman jumped after him, we couldn't stop --"

"Come help me," the boy, Millet, said, dropping the end of the rope in. "They'll be fine, don't worry." He sounded calm, it had been his captain, whom he seemed rather fond of after she saved his life, at least.

Yara helped tie the thick and heavy rope. "What, this has happened before?"

The rope was tied, and men were leaning over the edge, holding their breaths waiting for the surface to ripple. "Can't live on the water for years and not fall overboard, she's an excellent swimmer."