Find your place in the world, she said, make use of the rest of your life.

Theon had half the mind to turn around and leave Yara the moment she started her lecture about how he had no purpose in life anymore, how he had to go out and find one for himself, that he couldn't spend the rest of his days fighting for her.

It was too late now, and whilst his sister dealt with securing ships for the dragon's fleet, he had used his time to wander around Meeren. Maybe he'd hear her, but only a little, and use the time for himself.

But those moments, those quiet minutes where he didn't have the noise of the Ironborn talking in his ears, of Yara pestering him to make sure he was alright... they were the worst ones.

He could remember Ramsay, the torture. He'd never forget the pain, the smells of his flesh starting to infect at certain points, how he had to sleep with dogs. His mind was only ever quiet when there was noise in his ears.

Which was what brought him to the small garden, secluded and rare in Meeren. The Slaver's Bay — if it could even be considered that anymore — seemed to be pure desert at times, a hive of orange and yellow brick buildings.

That was when he saw you, and he swore his hands clenched so hard he could feel his nails piercing his flesh. You.

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