Homemade Dynamite (ON HOLD) | Yara Greyjoy

chapter six

She could read the man well. He'd spent nights away, certainly he had found some company. She knew the pain was sharp at first, but Millet spoke through the pain. "She calls herself Maggie," He gritted his teeth. "She has beautiful black hair, and makes the best pies."

She saw the pain ebb from his face. "You should bring me a piece, then."

The man chuckled and stayed under her hands for a moment. Deema had spent many night healing her men between the waves. It was a known feeling, a thank you, because words had never been her strength.

The man sat up slowly, moving his arm and shoulder. "Thank you," He said, standing up. She took his hand with her unharmed arm. "Why didn't you heal that?"

"Have to show I fought," Deema felt better. She was tired, but nothing a few hours of sleep couldn't fix. "We should get to the ship."

Millet nodded once, and without a goodbye, they left for their different ships. He had done a good job at choosing their place. It was close enough to the ships, but hidden enough to provide privacy.

Yara had told her they were going back to the Iron Islands after the battle, leaving some ships with their crew behind to look after the holdfast.

Despite feeling better, Deema had to drag herself all the way to the ship. She knew the ship was going to be empty, she was surprised by just the handful of people stumbling around.

They were busy, getting ready to take off. Some hadn't been to battle, but the ones who had looked battered. She knew she shouldn't, but at the sight of a handful of men barely able to speak, worry laced through her. Where was Yara?

Her body was aching, both in pain and healing. As she went belowdeck, Yara got out of her cabin and the two bumped into each other. Deema hissed in pain, grabbing her arm.

"What happened to you?" Yara asked, and Deema only then realized that she looked... there was still blood on her face, and surely her face was swollen. The holes in her blouse and the dry blood over her clothes didn't help.

"Looks worse than it is," she was relieved. Yara seemed okay. Better than that even. Besides a few cuts she seemed to be unharmed. "Just my arm. Got something to stitch it?"

She felt bad for not helping the hurt men on deck, but she didn't know if she could trust them with her secret. Didn't know if it was worth it. But Yara frowned at her and nodded, opening the door to her cabinet.

"Don't need the royal treatment," Deema said with a chuckle, although the last of her energy was quickly leaving her body.

"Sit," the captain looked as tired as anyone, and in a rather bad mood for having won. Deema sat on the nearest chair, watching the woman dig through a chest.

She looked fine, but Deema had to ask. "Are you..." she stopped herself, mostly because she didn't know what was the best way to say it. But it spoke for itself, because as Yara turned around, she answered.

"I saw my men getting killed," she dropped the supplies in Deema's lap. "What do you think?"

She sucked in a breath and nodded. "Hurt?" She asked then, pulling her blouse over her head. The captain shook her head and watched as Deema poured something prickly over her wound.

It had been a long time since she'd cleaned wounds like this. She'd never stitched something, but she guessed it couldn't be that hard. Besides, in a few days she could heal it herself.

"I did mean it when I asked what happened," Yara crossed her arms, leaned against her desk. She watched the woman fumble with the needle.

"Put on a fight," Deema grinned at Yara, finally able to thread the needle. "Got lucky."