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Theon looked over the sea at the gathering clouds, wondering which way the storm would turn. With his luck, it would be in their path. Yara would know, he thought.
"Storm's comin’," Harrag's gruff voice sounded in his ear. They were both nursing their wounds, but Harrag wasn't as used to pain as Theon. The Ironborn begrudgingly let him take charge after beating Harrag into the sand. Theon wasn't necessarily happy about it, but Harrag was the the idiot who tried to kick him... there. Who would think having a bastard cut your cock off would be a tactical advantage? Still, it felt good to win again, so good he let out a mad laugh and smiled wide. No one could take a hit like Theon, not after living under Ramsay Bolton.
"Wind's in our favor. Prepare the sails-"
"I know how to sail, eunuch," Harrag spat as he turned away.
Theon breathed deep to calm himself before he grabbed the larger man's cloak at the shoulder, pulling him round. "Aye, your men chose to sail under a eunuch over the man who got his ass beaten by one. Now, prepare the sails should the winds pick up."
Harrag scowled, but nodded and shoved another sailor while he barked orders. Theon looked back over the water. Jon said he was a Greyjoy and a Stark. Is that what this was? It was all he ever wanted to hear, but he didn't know what it meant now any more than then. He didn't feel any less the coward than when he dropped his sword and jumped into the sea. He would have cut her throat and then yours. It was safer. Euron still terrified him. He didn't have a fucking idea how he was going to get Yara back with one ship. The only thing he did know is that his uncle wasn't sailing to Pyke.
No, he was too much like Ramsay. Theon knew how to spot tricks after being dealt so many. Euron wouldn't give up a prize like the Iron Throne so easily. He could wait out the war with the dead and conquer any survivors. He could use his fleet to conquer and pillage Essos. He could build an even larger army while the war of the dead raged. Ramsay wouldn't just hide in Winterfell, he would ride out to meet Stannis. The Master wasn't afraid of anything, even the dead wouldn't see him run-
Theon pounded his fist on the railing, focusing on the pain radiating up his hand. Breathe. Breathe. Not now. He couldn't get lost now. Don't listen to him, to Reek, to the part of him that wanted to hide and stay safe.
Theon felt sick to his stomach, but he swallowed down his fear. He sometimes had trouble remembering before Ramsay, the person Theon used to be. He remembers he was arrogant and prideful, lusting after women and unable to wait to claim his name as Prince and then King. He wanted respect, to know his place in the world. He tried to be like his brothers, the ones who beat him and sailed and were Ironborn. But Theon had been a prisoner most of his life and Ramsay made him a prisoner again. Ramsay taught Theon a lot about his place. He was much better at serving than being served. He was smarter at listening and following than leading and commanding. In the moment he had been free, he ruined everything. It was hard now, because he had to be Theon of House Greyjoy and House Stark. He had to lead the Ironborn if he wanted to save his sister. He had to face Euron to give Yara her fleet back, to help Jon and Sansa.
Sansa. Sansa is in the North. Just past Last Hearth and the Karhold. Winterfell wouldn't be safe long against the dead if the Wall fell.
Theon was terrified to lead.
An old memory stirred, something deep and hidden. "It means you're not stupid." He had told Robb that, once, when he called the bannermen to defend his father. Their father. Robb's hand was shaking. Theon swallowed. He had to try to be like them, like Lord Eddard, like Robb, like Jon, like Yara. Even like Sansa. She never yielded to Ramsay. She told him his name.
He peered at his gloved hands, gripping the railing with whatever strength his broken fingers had left, his breath fast. Essos. Euron would go to Essos. They would sail back to Meereen, talk with the Second Sons and find out where Euron could gather forces. A new ship - one without sigil. Don't be seen, be nothing. No one will ever see you coming that way. Theon had a lot of practice in being nothing.
He pushed himself away from the rails. Theon had new orders to give.