Zokla | Theon Greyjoy

Chapter 20

Lyarra was selfishly glad Theon was not among the fallen.

She hadn't vocalized it, but she thought it, which she regarded as a terrible thing considering how many had actually managed to be lost.

She'd gotten not a single moment to rest even after the battle ended, having immediately set up areas to assess injuries in the courtyard. She began preparing tonics for those less hurt, pastes for those being bandaged with deeper wounds, and numbing or sleeping teas for those who needed limbs amputated.

Theon would be fine, given some time to rest. She thanked every god she knew existed for it. She sat by his side, gripping his hand tightly and whispering prayers when he slept, squeezing his fingers whenever he gave a groan of discomfort. She willed the ingredients in the paste to seep in faster, to heal him so he might be better within a matter of days.

They burned their fallen when the sun rose. Lyarra supported most of Theon's weight as they overlooked the pyres built, all their soldiers lined at random to demonstrate their unity in such an important battle. Among the fallen were Ser Jorah Mormont, the young Lady Lyanna, marking the end of the Mormont line. Edd, the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch and Jon's friend, had died as well, along with Beric Dondarrion of the Brotherhood Without Banners and the Lady Melisandre.

The amount of bodies made Lyarra feel sick to her stomach. As glad as she was that many of them had survived– Houses Umber and Karstark were among the ones with the fewest losses, which she was grateful for– it ached to know that these people never knew of their victory. Would not be with them as they celebrated the end of the White Walkers.

"We're here to say goodbye to our brothers and sisters," said Jon. "To our fathers and mothers. To our friends. Our fellow men and women who set aside their differences to fight together and die together so that others might live. Everyone in this world owes them a debt that can never be repaid. It is our duty and our honor to keep them alive in memory for those who come after us and those who come after them, for as long as men draw breath. They were the shields that guarded the realms of men. And we shall never see their like again."

The lords and leaders were given torches to light each pyre. Lyarra could tolerate the smell– what she couldn't tolerate was the sight of the burning bodies. She turned away, placing her face on Theon's shoulder. Black smoke billowed up, drifting away into the wind and carrying with it the souls snuffed out.

Dinner had been tense, despite its celebratory nature. Daenerys seemed lost in thought, at least whenever she wasn't speaking. She'd named Gendry the Lord of Storm's End to reward his bravery and grand herself an ally in the Stormlands, legitimizing him as Robert Baratheon's son. She'd watched silently alongside Lyarra as Jon drank with the wildlings, as Theon and the Ironborn seemingly began a competition against the Knights of the Vale to see who could eat more.

Perhaps she was too preoccupied thinking of the fight to come.

Lyarra followed after Daenerys when she saw her leaving the dinner early. Silently, she'd been allowed into her chambers, the two seating themselves by the fire.

"To Ser Jorah," said Lyarra, each of them still holding onto their cups.

Daenerys smiled weakly. "To Lyanna Mormont. Named... for your aunt."

"Yes," said Lyarra. Perhaps Daenerys had forgotten that; the emphasis seemed misplaced. "Just as Ned Umber was named for my father. I was named after my grandmother. The first Daenerys, I recall, brought Dorne into the fold as part of the Seven Kingdoms. Now you will sit the Iron Throne and bring us all into a time of prosperity."

This didn't sound all that pleasant to her. She hesitated, then said, "Can I trust you, Lyarra?"

She blinked. "Of course, Your Grace. I'd hoped that by now we'd established that rapport with one another."