Chapter 7Chapter TextSansa touched Theon's face as he tried to turn away, hiding his missing eye from that last awful struggle. They'd killed Ramsey even if it'd cost. Not that they'd expected to survive with an angry god making the very walls tremble as she cleansed the Boltons from life with their own blood. "What is it Theon?"
"You're safe now." His shoulders were the closest to unhunched they'd been since she'd seen him once more. "You've got Jon, and that god, Winterfell. I want…"
"You want to go home." She should have expected that. And in a way she had. "You will be welcome in Winterfell if you choose to return." It was funny, a year ago she'd have wanted to claw his eyes out. "This is your home too, you helped me retake it. You protected me from him. At the end."
Theon trembled, shaking his head while squeezing his remaining eye shut. "No, I didn't. I let him hurt you."
Sansa's hand dropped to his forearm. She just held onto him. It felt like her revulsion at the reminder of what they'd both suffered would choke her if she tried to speak. Instead they just stood there, not looking at each other, consumed by grief, and sorrow. Sansa finally broke it when she felt like it wouldn't strangle her to do so. "I hope you find what you need with your people."
"I...need to go home." Theon shuffled. "It's where I'm supposed to be."
She gave a sharp nod. "I'll send a party of three men to ensure you reach the coast safely." It was all she could do for him. Afterall, he was Ironborn and a traitor no matter the regret he'd bled over his actions.
"I don't deserve that." He looked at her then, but he quickly pulled her into a hug, his frame shaking ever so slightly. "If you have need of me, send word to Yara. Not that I'm good for anything."
Sansa hugged him fiercely back. She pulled back at the change in sound from the courtyard, shouting. Releasing Theon, she turned on her heel and opened the door, ignoring her tallies and work to ensure nothing of what was unloaded was wasted. "What's happened?" She demanded.
"Banners approaching from the south on the King's road." Brienne looked like she'd half run to the door of the solar at the news.
Sansa's mouth thinned. Her next test had arrived then. "What sigil on the banners?"
"The merman." Brienne reported.
Sansa took a deep breath, House Manderly. A house that had accepted Bolton rule. But also a house that owed everything to House Stark, and whose loyalty to her father had been absolute. Many of their own men and blood had died at the Red Wedding. They were northmen, no matter their Andal blood. "Send Podrick and five men to guard Walda Bolton. Then I want archers on the wall."
"Should I send someone to fetch Daisy?" Brienne asked, her hand on the hilt of her sword.
Sansa drew herself up. "No, this isn't her fight." She strode forward, she would meet her guests in the courtyard. Brienne would have returned to her side by the time she reached the courtyard. As she walked she spotted Bower jogging towards her, face pale. She spoke quickly. "Bring bread and salt to the courtyard, and clear the center of it."
"What if they attack?" He asked nervously.
She lifted her skirts slightly. "Then it is a good thing we have the best archers in the North and walls to stand on."
Sansa stood strong and unwavering as Lord Manderly walked through the gates, three knights and a half dozen men at arms accompanying him, the rest of his force waiting some distance back from the walls. He'd made no sign of attack, but he'd brought nearly four hundred men armed and prepared for battle.
The Lord of White Harbor was a huge man, too large for a horse. He'd stuffed himself into Northern gear, though the gorgot cut into him awkwardly, his thick wool gambeson tight and near to bursting. Somehow he was smaller than he appeared in her memories from childhood. As he entered he looked upon her with an unnamed emotion. He came to a halt before her and then dropped to his knees. "My Lady."
////
Lord Wyman Manderly hadn't believed the letter bearing the grey wax and seal of House Stark. Its contents had been as unbelievable as the seal itself. But he'd known he had to handle it himself. His son would hold White Harbor. So he'd called for a wheelhouse and as many men at arms as could be raised in a scant few days and headed immediately for the road.
He hadn't dared hope his plots and schemes would prove unneeded. That the Starks could return to power without war. That the traitorous and murderous cunts, the Boltons, were already dead. But as they'd approached Winterfell and he'd seen the grey banners with wolves upon them, he felt something like hope and a flicker of joy.
There were carts and small folk around the castle. As they approached the small folk disappeared into the nearby town or into the castle itself. But there was no real fear or panic, mere caution to it. Why there were enough carts to have looted a fortress he didn't know, nor need to know immediately. The presence of archers on the wall and lack of welcome told him his reception would be uneasy.
So he'd ordered his company to halt. He hadn't brought them here to fight after all. Heaving himself out of his wheelhouse he breathed in the cold northern air. He looked at his men. "You six and you three, with me." And then he walked towards the gates, his selected guard following him.
As he walked he noted the wagons. They were bothering him, why were there so many wagons? There was no reason for it. If he kept his head he would have to ask. The carts in the courtyard were piled high with barrels and furs and bags of grain. It looked like loot from a victorious battle, but while well manned Winterfell did not appear to have the army for such a victory.
But as he entered his attention was riveted to the woman standing in the center of the courtyard. She may have the red hair and blue eyes of her Tully mother, but every inch of her bearing and manner was Stark. Her face cold and severe, her gown of deep green with grey wolves upon the breast and thick woolen cloak with fur tickling at her jaw was as northern as it came. Sitting behind one shoulder was a giant white wolf with nearly glowing red eyes. Standing behind her other shoulder was a knight. The courtyard parted before her, but full of men at arms, more blasted carts, and various small folk who'd clearly been in the process of unloading.
His chest ached at the sight of the daughter of Eddard Stark so cold and hard. Gods knew what she'd suffered married to Ramsay Bolton and before that at the hands of the Lannisters. He and the rest of the North, to their shame, had not moved to save her. And yet here she stood. The truth was so painfully clear, she was the Lady of Winterfell, she was victorious where all the rest stood proven useless with their plotting and hatred. Which left nothing but what was her due. He dropped to his knees. His men followed suit behind him. "My Lady."
"Lord Manderly." Her voice was cold as she stood before him. "What brings you to Winterfell?"
Wyman bowed his head further. "To throw myself upon your mercy and pledge my own and my house's fealty to you and House Stark once more."
"Yet you've brought a force of men to my door to do so." The courtyard was completely silent as all within it listened.
He didn't dare look up past the hem of her dress. "Over a thousand years ago my ancestors made a promise, swore oaths in the Wolf's Den before the old gods and the new. When my house was alone and beset upon, in peril of death and extinction, the Starks took us in. Protected us, gave us land and dignity. And in return we swore to always be loyal. Stark men to the bone. I have tried to serve your family and I have failed House Stark and you."
"Then I will once more take your oath." Her words spoke of acceptance and possible forgiveness. Her voice did not.
Wyman drew his sword, the old words falling easily from his lips. "I pledge my loyalty to House Stark, to serve as your Bannerman and come to your aid whenever called upon."
"Will you stand by me, now and always?." Lady Stark asked the traditional words.
He replied with a deep sense of rightness. "Now and always." And he meant it.
Lady Stark waved forward a servant who was holding bread and salt. "Then you must join us for our feast tonight to celebrate the destruction of the Dreadfort."
His eyes widened as he finally looked up. Gods be good, she was serious. That's what the carts were. It answered one question and raised a thousand in its place. But it was not his place to ask, so he waved two of his men at arms forward and they helped him rise to his feet. He reached out accepting the bread and salt, chewing it with relief and respect for his liege. "My men and I encountered a small herd of elk during our march here. May I offer the meat to your tables for this fortuitous victory?"
"The meat would be most welcome." Lady Stark looked at him evenly. "We have much to discuss on the morrow I believe?"
"Of course my Lady." He gave her a bow of his head. "I have much news of the North and my fellow Lords that should prove useful to you." Wyman would tell her everything, and hope she believed him.
Wyman had come to understand several important facts in the few hours he'd been in Winterfell. As the white wolf had suggested Jon Snow had come to his sister's aid, though he did not seem to currently be in Winterfell personally. The servants, men, all of them trended towards unusually young and devotedly loyal. And equally odd was the woman of Yi Ti blood who dressed in slightly ill-fitting men's garb that the men showed deep respect and almost reverence towards. And it wasn't just the men he realized as he was offered a seat at the head table. The left seat, the right already offered to the foreign woman.
"Lord Manderly." Lady Sansa gestured to the open seat to her left.
He wondered if it was an insult to fill the right hand seat with the odd foreign woman or if it was merely a matter of rank. It made him uneasy to not know what the status of Winterfell was. Though it was clear his forces were at least in part needed. He accepted the seat without complaint. "Lady Stark, your cooks certainly seem to have done well."
"The men have been looking forward to tonight." She looked at the men at arms and common folk who had crowded into the great hall and around the tables. "They have gone above the call of duty and loyalty in recent weeks."
Wyman sipped from his cup. "That is good to hear you have loyal men."
"It is." She took a bite of her meal, her court manners perfect and above approach. Her attention turned to the woman beside her. "Ser, I took the liberty of having one of the seamstresses prepare a modest wardrobe for you. I cannot apologize enough it has taken so long to do so. You should not have been required to wear Roose's things for so long."
The woman with the title of Ser's face flickered with some surprise. "Thank you, you didn't have to do that. But it'll be nice to be wearing something that didn't belong to a man I killed." Her lips twitched up.
Wyman's eyes widened slightly, ah. So that's what happened, at least in part. A foreign agent, poison maybe in exchange for a place in the Stark household perhaps? Certainly a likely possibility. "Killing that man was a service to the North, I thank you for doing so when so many of us couldn't rid ourselves of the leech."
"Yes, I had heard your son was held prisoner at the Twins until recently." Sansa looked at him, her eyes sharp and intelligent.
Wyman straightened slightly, his knuckles whitening as he spoke. "And they forced me to betroth my granddaughters to those traitorous weasels. I'll be glad to have a raven to tell my eldest he can rid White Harbor of our Frey watchers. Not that I was going to let my girls marry into that thrice cursed family."
"That certainly must be a relief to be free of any possible family ties with House Frey." One of Sansa's brows rose slightly as she looked at him.
He gave a nod while taking a drink of wine. "Right bastards the lot of them." Wyman knew now wasn't the time to profess his plans for overthrowing the Boltons. She would speak to him in the morning. "Your brother, Jon Snow, I thought he'd be here to support you my Lady?"
"Jon Stark." Sansa corrected without hesitation. "And he's taken an army to remove the Ironborn from House Glover's lands."
Wyman calculated that in his head, the time given in the letter for the planned Lord's Moot. It was more than enough time for a man of military experience and a small army to secure the northwestern coast. A bold move, it left her vulnerable here in Winterfell, but would give her a strong position to levy for the position of Warden of the North. But one detail confused him. "Jon Stark?"
"And who will contradict his name? He is the oldest surviving son of my father." Sansa sipped at her wine, though her gaze was challenging.
He laughed outright. Good for her, her time in the south hadn't taken the North out of the girl. "Certainly not I." Wyman raised his cup towards her, toasting her damn balls. He washed down his humor. "I brought the Senchal as you requested in your missive, I wished to see the truth of your victory before preparing to bring more. I will of course rectify this immediately. Your Senchal has taken ill on the road unfortunately, it may be a few weeks before he can take the position properly." Which of course the blasted man had to have gotten sick.
"The change in control of Winterfell was abrupt, your caution is understandable." Sansa replied.
Wyman accepted the words though they left him cautious. He did not intend to be rude however. Looked back to the foreign woman he spoke. "Tell me, how did the Bastard die?"
The woman knight looked smug as she cut into her elk. "I'm not the one who took care of that psychopath Ramsey."
Wyman paused as he saw the expression on Sansa Stark's face. She looked like a wolf, satisfied from a meal well eaten. A hint of teeth showing as she continued to eat her diner. He outright chortled at that. "Fucker deserved whatever you did to the cunt."
"Can't agree more." The woman looked at him, she was bright and less reserved than Lady Stark. "The flaying thing, super gross. But hey, Lady Stark here's been whipping their old people into a workforce of her own."
Wyman's gaze snapped back to the men in the hall. They were rowdy but clearly pleased and in high spirits. The age, the reason they were all so young, their loyalty to the Boltons would have been weakest, the few of an older age would be small folk from Winter Town.
Sansa neatly took a bite of her meat.
"Most impressive my Lady." Wyman would have slapped her shoulder if she was a man. As it was he just set his cup down firmly twice in a row. "I'll send for some of my most experienced staff. But that's for business."
Once more the woman on Sansa's right spoke up again. "About your House, how did a mermaid come to be your sigil?"
////
Sansa's back rested against the door, her eyes closed as she pressed one hand against her chest and felt the moment of silence and privacy. She hadn't been alone or slept for two days now. But Winterfell was secure and she could rest, for one night. Only she needed to speak with a god. If only briefly.
She took a deep breath, straightened her gown, and stepped away from the door. There were questions she needed answered before she spoke with Lord Manderly on the morrow. Holding off his open curiosity during dinner had been exhausting. With that in mind she picked up the latest raven from Jon and the Deepwood, and left her chambers.
Sansa was in the maester's hall when she saw Wolkan approaching her. "Maester?"
"Lady Sansa." He dipped his head slightly as he reached her, causing her to halt. "I came to warn you about the man, Fitz."
"What about him?" Sansa refused to show her unease. Quietly she prayed the man wasn't showing signs of harm.
Wolkan looked shifty, his voice lowered. "He's god touched my Lady. His mind cracked from it. I can understand nothing of what he is doing, but I know that it is brilliant, leagues beyond what any mortal should know. His mind jumps and hops instead of flowing. Her Holiness's concern for his behavior if she was not here was well founded. He is not right."
"Is he dangerous?" Sansa asked carefully, not that she could be rid of him if he was. But precautions must be taken.
His fingers twitched nervously. "I don't know, likely if he wanted to but he's half mad, and will certainly give much insult to any around him. The Smith has poured too much into him and now all the rest of us appear dimwitted in comparison and he is easily frustrated."
"See to it he is escorted and his escort knows of his condition. I will not allow harm to come to him." Sansa had sworn to protect him, being addled by godly blessing probably should have been expected of one claimed by one god already. Though Sansa had a feeling that Daisy was not the Smith.
Wolkan nodded with a relieved sigh. "That is wise my Lady."
"Go see to it, I need to speak to her Holiness." She stilled as she noticed his aborted gesture as if to hold her back. "Yes?" And oh her voice was cold then, a shot of panic she would never show in the face of the gesture.
"It's just Fitz is with her Holiness at the moment. And Lord Manderly, is he aware of the nature of our other guests?"
Sansa wished she could sigh. "No, but it is useless to imagine concealing that from him though how we can prove it without requesting her Holiness perform like a pet dog I don't know."
"I'll give it some thought, till tomorrow my Lady." He gave a polite bow before leaving.
Sansa gave herself a second to regain her composure completely, she couldn't risk showing the slightest crack around a god. And then she continued on her way through the halls. The rooms she'd assigned to the god were those reserved for the most important guests, the finest rooms outside of the Lord's chambers. When her father had been Warden it had been the rooms set aside for visiting Lords. Perhaps it had been rude of her to not give up the Lord's chambers but it had cut to think of and so she'd been selfish. There'd been no complaint for which she was grateful.
As she reached the door she could see light spilling out from under the door, the faintest sound of voices. Sansa reached up and neatly rapped her knuckles against the ancient wood. A shiver ran down her spine as the faintest of vibration in the air as the door opened without visible cause. Looking in she saw her two foreign guests sitting close together on top of the bed, papers spread out on the covers. Fitz's hands were splattered with ink, streaks of ink in his hair, likely from running his hands through it with inky hands.
Daisy was looking up at her, a curious tilt to her head. "Lady Stark, I expected you to be asleep already?"
"I wished to speak with you first." Sansa saw the open trunk, the new clothing she'd ordered made within. "The clothing is to your liking?"
Fitz's eyes flicked to the door and then back to Daisy. "Since w-when can you do that?"
"Space was boring, Jemma and I were really bored and there was nothing to do like 90% of the time. And there's no internet here and it's been two months." Daisy shrugged as her eyes ticked back to Fitz. She waited till a sort of considering expression crossed Fitz's face. Then she slid to her feet with a sort of grace that was cat-like as she returned her attention to Sansa. "The clothing is beautiful. But I wanted to talk to you about it."
Sansa carefully didn't take a step back as Daisy passed her on her way to the fire. She noted the kettle hanging over the fire the god retrieved. "Would you have preferred a different cut?"
"No, the pants and tunic combo is totes practical. And it's all gorgeous." Daisy took the lid off the clay pot on the small table. "Tea?"
Sansa gave a slight nod at that, she was glad of the offer. It showed a lack of hostility, and an offer of peace. "Yes, thank you."
"Am I wrong to think the fact those tunic...jackets? Whatever the outer top clothing is, looking kinda like a weirwood tree is purposeful?" She poured the water into the pot, before setting it aside.
Sansa took one of the seats by the table. "You're not wrong." She'd been impressed by Granier's work with the clothing. The fabric of the jerkins, tunics and jackets were all made out of different shades of grey and silvers. The thread was white and silver, embroidering twining across the fabric, red weirwood leaves stitched across it. "The old gods brought you here." And clearly the woman was some sort of god, whether that was one of the old gods or not Sansa was unsure.
"I can hear your weirwood trees." Daisy took the seat across from her. "The air, the roots and leaves and just all of them are vibrating at a different frequency than anything I've ever felt before. I don't know what they are, but if your old gods are real, dressing up like one might be a really shitty idea. I'm not one of your old gods."
Sansa wasn't sure what to say to that. She was saved by Fitz snorting from the bed.
He looked over at Daisy, it was like he barely registered that Sansa was there. "You're a demi-god at least."
"What, like Hercules?"Daisy scoffed, laughter in her voice. "Should I find a Greek choir? Maybe find a toga?"
Fitz's fingers twitched."You're an I-I-Inhuman." He waved a hand. "Ancient race of human hybrids. What's a demi-god but a chi-child of a god and a human? Inhumans are Kree and human monsters bred and designed for war. Name a b-b-better option for where the Greek stories of humans with super-supernatural abilities came from?"
"But the Kree aren't gods." Daisy frowned.
Fitz groaned. "Wha-What even is a god? Are the Asgardians gods? You were made to kill them. And what ca-can kill a god but a god? Not to mention apparently you got dosed with the Centipede Serum. There's a certain lev-level of logic to it. Demi-god goes through trials and trib-tribulations, ends the line of the evil gods that created you, in a final act of sacrifice in battle your father figure gives you a golden elixir that took you from powerful enough to level cities to being able to destr-destroy whole worlds." His arms moved as he spoke. "At this point you're as much a 'god' as anyone or anything is. You're probably actually immortal n-n-now considering the serum."
"That's ridiculous…" But as Daisy trailed off the weight of his words felt more real.
Sansa barely dared breathe. If a fraction of what she understood was true the implications were terrifying. Not that she knew what several of the words he used meant. But the context made the meaning clear enough for Sansa to understand that if true the woman before her was horrifically dangerous. Not that she'd ever doubted it.
"Ok, but that aside, pissing off the magic trees is probably a shitty idea." Daisy crossed her arms, looking at Fitz. "Inhuman, or demi-god or actual god or whatever I am from a...I guess philosophical point of view? I'm still not a fan of the idea of making ancient magical things mad at me."
Fitz pressed a hand against his forehead. "You're missing the point. We should have d-died."
"Which time?" Daisy scoffed.
He stared at her, unamused, the smile sliding off Daisy's face. "The Chronicom's portal wasn't set, there wasn't a destination. We should have ended up lost in a space between the fabric of reality. But we ended up in a tree."
"Wait, you're suggesting the magic tree summoned us? Cause that's what it sounds like you're saying." Daisy was visibly baffled.
Fitz rolled his eyes. "This is why I ha-hate magic. But how'd we survive the tree? You can't have matter in t-two places. If the portal was how we ended up in the tree we-we-we'd be dead." He brought his hands together, threading his fingers together. "Matter can't exist where other m-matter already is."
Daisy hissed, moving to her feet. "That's some bullshit." Her lips pressed together and she made an angry humming sound. "Fuck."
Chapter 8Notes:Sup!
Chapter TextWyman Manderly was barely holding his tongue as he entered the great hall to break his fast. It'd been masterfully done, but that lady knight or possible assassin, the one given the seat of honor, had neatly aided Lady Stark from answering questions at dinner. His eyes landed on Lady Stark, already at the head table, a book open before her as she broke her own fast. He smiled as he approached. "Lady Stark."
"Lord Manderly." She looked up as he approached and took his seat from the night before. Her eyes flicked to the book in front of her. "I was just reading about the construction of glasshouses."
He chuckled as he sat, a bowl of porridge filled with nuts and fruits was set in front of him. "Are you thinking of building more, my Lady?"
"Yes, we have had a long summer and it's ending. Anyone with eyes can see that. A summer this long will be followed by a long winter, one we are ill prepared for." Lady Stark turned a page in her book.
Wyman noted the book of ledgers, with exacting handwriting in it. It was a sign the girl had a good head on her shoulders. "War will come from the south once word reaches them the Boltons have fallen. Winter or no winter."
"A southeron army invading through the Neck in winter?" Lady Stark stared at him like he was a fool. "They have no navy large enough to threaten us, and so long as we hold the Moat only a fool would stage a land invasion of the North in winter. The Hand will be forced to offer us terms to prevent that, whether Queen Cersei approves or not. If it requires that I kneel for a season, then I will do it to give our people time to regain our strength."
His brow rose as he stared at the woman before him. "You would consent to the rule of the bastard Tommen?"
"I am willing to do what is necessary to protect the North. My brother lost it, and his losses and the Boltons have ruined us. Just preparing for winter will nearly beggar us, but it must be done or we will freeze in our castles while the small folk freeze in their huts." There was a cold fury in her tone, a steel spine.
Wyman chewed on his morning meal as he considered that. "I will be honored to help facilitate trade with Essos, and of course my men are your men. But we have enough men and the will to fight to prevent the southerners from ever taking the North."
"I would agree with you, except we have more to contend with than a normal winter." She faced him fully, her face was in that moment Ned's in the face of his duty. It forced Wyman to straighten his spine as he faced her. As she spoke it was with a certainty that was rooted deep. "Magic is returning, we all know that. Reports of magicks, dragons in the east, shadow demons in the south. But the old gods are waking too. The Long Night is here."
He paled, there could be no question she meant it. And even in White Harbor he'd heard dark rumors of magicks across the narrow sea. Not to mention in the war. Everyone knew the tale of the shadow demon said to have killed Renly Baratheon. But those were stories? "What proof do you have?"
"My brother fought them, he killed an Other. The Night's Watch is on the brink of collapse. He let the Wildlings through the gates, and they will fight with us against the dead." There was no doubt in her face, and no lie there either. "And the old gods have moved. I may have stabbed Ramsy, but the fall of house Bolton took an hour. The men who did not kneel and repent died where they stood. The Dreadfort is rubble, the earth itself opened and swallowed its halls. I'm not entirely sure what her true name is, but she's given the name Daisy Jonson."
He knew that name, the woman from the feast. "You can't mean…?"
"She came out of the face tree." Sansa's skin paled ever so slightly. "You are free to see the damage, but she came from the tree. Her power is unquestionable and she is dangerous. I understand it is difficult to believe, but it's the truth."
Manderly opened his mouth to reply, but then stopped as the subject of their conversation entered the hall, and she wasn't wearing the clothing of a dead man. Instead she looked like a weirwood, the fabric deceptively like bark, the embroidered leaves bright in the morning light. It was instinctively wrong to see a person so clearly not of the North wearing the colors and symbols of their gods. But the response of the servants and men at arms ambling through the hall was telling.
Not an eye was raised towards the woman and her garb, in fact the people showed a quiet reverence, moving out of the way without question or thought. It'd been the same last night now that he thought of it. There'd been no unhappy murmerings or looks at her place of honor at the table. And now as she returned to it there was not a single man who appeared to see it as anything but her's by right.
"Lady Stark, Lord Manderly." Daisy raised a hand in greeting as she sat. She focused on Lady Stark. "You and Fitz were right." She accepted her bowl from one of the servants. "The tree wasn't unhappy about the clothing. Which that's a weird sentence I never expected to be saying."
Lady Stark replied like that was normal. Though considering the giant direwolf sleeping by the great fire, perhaps Starks were just better at dangerous creatures. "Then you've decided."
"I'll do it. However I have a feeling I won't get much done this morning. I think one of the washer woman got me to agree to watch like a whole herd of small children. Honestly it was kind of impressive." The woman looked fairly confused at how she'd ended up in this position as she took a bite of her meal.
Wyman swallowed his scoff at the thought this, this was a god? But he held his tongue, though he intended to have answers, and proof.
"Your companion will continue his work in the maester's halls then?" Lady Stark asked.
Daisy, the would be god, shrugged slightly. "Probably? But I wouldn't be surprised if he goes poking around your smithy."
"I hope he finds it to his satisfaction." Lady Stark flipped several pages in her ledger before giving a pleased nod. "The smith survived the initial purge and has four apprentices."
Daisy winced slightly. "I'll accompany him if he does, he can be a bit…" She trailed off as her eyes snapped to the entrance of the hall. "Fitz?"
And sure enough, before Wyman could comment on the fact no one was coming into the hall other than a servant carrying one of the benches from last night out, a curly haired, and clean shaven man came jogging in. There was a nervous fluttery energy to him as he moved, eyes locked on Daisy as soon as he entered. "I figured it out!"
"Sorry." Daisy shot a look at both of them, before returning her attention to the...agitated man. "Figured out what?"
One of his hands ran through his hair as he slapped a sheet of paper down on the table. "I was w-w-wasting my time trying to establish whether th-this world is flat or round. The time and scope of trying to discover tha-that simple fact would take me days. But then it occured to me. You can just ch-check."
"You want me to try and feel the entire realm? That's insane." Daisy was looking at her...whatever the man was to her.
Fitz scoffed. "That we know of, your abilities have gr-grown. But no, you can just go up and ch-check." He pointed upwards at the ceiling.
Daisy opened her mouth and then winced. "That's going to suck. It's fucking freezing that high up."
"You won't be up th-there long." Fitz waved off, his gaze not moving from her.
Daisy lowered her spoon. "You're going to get weird if I don't go check right now aren't you?"
"We n-n-need to know these basic things before I can even th-think of building a beacon home." He was looking at her with pure judgement.
And Daisy sighed, seemingly unaware of how tense Lady Stark had gotten at the way the man spoke to her. Instead, the woman turned to Lady Stark. "Sorry, it would seem I need to go attempt to fly very high and get very cold and wet." She stood as she spoke.
Lady Stark considered the woman for a moment. "I believe Lord Manderly and I would join you to witness this. I find myself curious about what exactly it is you are checking for."
Lord Manderly had been fascinated at the curly haired man, Fitz's, rambling as they walked towards the courtyard. The man was addled, but Wyman knew enough of the sea to at least grasp the possibilities of what he was suggesting. Though the concept that the woman before him could fly that high was ridiculous. But he followed regardless.
As they reached the courtyard, Daisy easily stripped her outer tunic off, leaving herself in just a fine white shirt from the waist up. She clapped her hands together. "Right, step back."
Lady Stark did as requested. "May you find what you wish to."
"Fingers crossed." Daisy grinned, and then dropped to a crouch, her hands open, palms towards the ground.
Wyman felt the hairs on the back of his neck stand up as the entire courtyard fell silent. He could almost swear he saw the air beneath her hands waver. The ground beneath her cracked, denting downwards a solid inch in a perfect circle around her. And then she was gone in a burst of power that buffeted outwards as she flew upwards fast as an arrow. His head snapped backwards as he tracked her course as she vanished above the clouds. "My god."
////
Sansa noted that Fitz had taken several large steps backwards and immediately followed suit. She could tell he was waiting for the god's return. How he was alive considering how he spoke to said god she didn't know. But it was horribly clear he was far closer to her than a simple friend or dear companion. Lovers they may not be, but that hardly mattered if her regard was enough for her to ignore his tone and requests phrased like orders. And distance clearly wouldn't be an option for safety from the god if the worst came if she could damn well fly. Not that she hadn't been aware, but seeing was different than merely knowing. "How long will she be up there?"
"Not long." Fitz frowned, using one hand to shield his eyes. "It was more of a jump, she'll co-come down once she's reached the ze-zenith of it." He didn't even properly acknowledge he was speaking to her, his focus still riveted upwards.
Sansa raised a brow, he could certainly never be allowed anywhere without an escort till the servants and men were accustomed to his manner. If he failed in manners towards her, he was likely worse towards the staff. That level of rudeness would get him killed. She didn't reply however as a hurtling dark shape fell through the clouds.
The figure was hurtling towards the ground head first, arms and legs tightly pressed together as she streaked downwards like an arrow. Terror felt like it was choking her, no one could survive that. Then Daisy tucked and rolled in the air, feet over her head till she was coming down feet first, her arms held out and down. There was a great burst of...perhaps wind, but it felt more like pure pressure slamming into the ground, followed by Daisy who landed on her feet, her descent slowing from inhumanly fast to merely foolishly fast. She wobbled slightly and then tipped over onto her ass.
Daisy was breathless as she sat on the ground, face wide as she laughed. "I take it back, that was awesome." She was soaked to the bone, but excitement practically radiated from her.
"Bl-bloody ops agents." Fitz grumbled as he jogged over, holding out his hand. "Well?"
She laughed again as she accepted his hand. He easily pulled her to her feet as she replied to him. "Round, we're on a planet."
"Get a cloak." Sansa ordered a man as she realized Daisy was shivering.
Daisy grinned. "I've got it, don't worry." Her eyes closed, her brow furrowing in concentration, and then steam rose from her clothing and hair all at once. Her eyes snapped open. "That said I'm going to go change, that felt supes weird."
"How fa-f-fast did you just manipulate the vibrations in the water?" Fitz's eyes widened as he reached out catching the fabric of her shirt's sleeve, clearly feeling the temperature of it.
And then the strangest thing happened, Daisy gently brushed his hand off. But that wasn't what Sansa noticed however, it was a barely noticeable stiffening of her muscles under the fabric. If she hadn't been down to breaches, boots and a thin shirt Sansa would never have noticed. Sansa also wouldn't have noticed without years of watching her captors for the slightest change. The reaction indicated...disquiet, unease at the contact with a man who every other sign implied was as close as blood to the god.
"Our heating system went out when we were looking for you." Daisy replied with a sort of mild exasperation. "I said we got bored."
Fitz blinked. "The applications if you've ma-mastered that degree of fine control." His head tilted slightly, brows furrowing before he nodded. "That will help. We need to esta-establish now if we're in the same reality as h-home."
Sansa politely waited for Lord Manderly to finish drinking his wine, the man needed it. It wasn't everyday a person witnessed and accepted the presence of gods. "Are you prepared to assist in guarding the North from the Long Night?"
"Yes, yes of course." The man was pale as he set his wine goblet down. "If you forgive me my Lady, how do you intend to secure the North? I will of course assist." He was pained as he looked at her.
She stared at the man she did not trust, not that she trusted any but Jon, and even then it was a trust that he would not harm her intentionally, not that she could trust his actions. There was a measure of trust she felt in her sworn sword, the lady Brienne. The honorable woman was too like Sansa's father for her to ever fear hidden blades from there. But it was a short list of those she trusted in any form. "Securing the North is not what I require your assistance with."
"How so? I mean no disrespect, but I and those in my confidence had meant to find your brother Rickon and place him in Winterfell and rid ourselves of the Boltons that way." Wyman's shoulders slumped as he refilled his cup. "It shames me to admit it, but we'd thought you lost long ago my Lady."
Sansa felt the burn of that. She'd long since known that for all the loyalty the men owed her as a Stark, had long since been spent. Her rescue had become incidental long before Robb had died. The battle of the Blackwater had been her last true hope of rescue. "I am Sansa Stark of Winterfell, and this is my home." She stared at him, daring him to refute her. "I have never forgotten who I am, even if it seems my people have."
"To our shame my Lady." Wyman bowed his head, real or convincing enough shame portrayed in his actions. "We failed you, we failed your family. But you have my word, by the old gods and the new I will not fail you again." He set a leather wrapped package of letters on the desk. "This is all I have as proof I never was loyal to the Boltons. What evidence there is of our plans to restore a Stark to Winterfell."
She opened the leather package, there were dozens of letters inside. It made a great deal of sense the North would seek to restore a Stark. The bannermen of the North were loyal, more so than those of the South. And they'd suffered the loss of their own sons and men at the hands of the Boltons and Freys violating guest rites. It made sense. She didn't need to read these missives to be inclined to believe him. "Tell me what did you have intended for me in these grand conspiracies of yours?"
"We thought you a lost cause once the bastard had you. If you survived a marriage to a loyal man to care for you and provide what comfort could be given and as safe a life as we could manage." He didn't add the likely use of politically rewarding whatever house this 'loyal man' came from.
She gave a barely there nod at that. "You meant to make Rickon the Warden. Do you know where he is then?" Her heart beat in her chest with painful longing at the thought of her brother alive, and not merely lost, possibly alive, possibly dead.
"I've had word he was on Skagos." Wyman replied without hesitation. "Mors Umber went to find and fetch the boy if possible. He was to hide him at Last Hearth till we had an opportunity to attack."
Sansa breathed in at that, she would not let the flicker of hope grow. "Then we can hope they have good news when I return Lord Umber to them."
"Greatjon?!" Wyman's eyes widened. "The Freys have him."
She looked at the Lord. "Not any longer. My men should be returning with him any day now."
"That will go far in securing the North under your rule my Lady. But if I may, that alone will not be enough. Not with winter so close."
Sansa knew her position, house Manderly was needed. For their harbor, their ships, their army and their reputation if she meant to succeed. "Then it is a good thing my brother has an army, is removing the last of the Ironborn and with that acquiring Lawrence Snow. Not to mention I have the men preparing a gift of gratitude to House Cerwyn for what they suffered under the Boltons for their loyalty to my family. A hundred head of cattle, fifty head of horse, fifty bags of grain and ten thousand gold dragons. Once my brother returns those houses that willingly betrayed House Stark will be reminded of why we have ruled the North for eight thousand years."
"You mean to legitimize Lawrence as the last issue of the late Lord Hornwood. House Umber, Cerwyn, Manderly, Glover, Hornwood, likely Mormont if you sent your brother north. That would be a strong power block my Lady." He frowned, rapping his fingers on the table, clearly reading the implied insult in no offers of gifts, only a lack of punishment for House Manderly. "You mean to attack the Karstarks, Dustins, and Ryswells then?"
Sansa knew she was cold as she replied to that. "The Karstarks are kin, and turned against us despite it. Took part in the killing at the Twins. Their house will be turned to dust. I won't have their name survive, like the Greystarks and the Frosts before them they will cease to exist."
Lord Manderly shivered slightly. "The Dustins and Ryswells share ties of blood and marriage with house Bolton."
"And their names will survive for that reason, though I will exact a price upon them for betrayal all the same." And she would. The North would never follow a leader who forgave treason without penalty, and kinslaying without vengeance. Just as loyalty must be rewarded, so must disloyalty be punished.
He bowed to her words without question. "I will send word to my son, what is your trade proposal for Essos then my Lady?"
Sansa ran her fingers through Ghost's thick fur as she sat by the fire. She felt steadier like that, especially with something as dangerous as Daisy in the room with her. "So you've decided on a religious order then?"
"I was thinking about that." Daisy certainly looked her part as she stood in her new garb. "What would you say to an order of knights? I can ensure their loyalty is to the old gods, and the Starks who still hold to those gods."
Sansa pondered that. She knew as well as anyone that meant little, but it left a leash she could seize once this god left. "If you believe that is for the best."
"I do." Daisy handed her a small stack of papers. "My proposal of what such an order would encompass. I'd have to figure out a moral code, nothing hard to follow but simple enough it shouldn't be twisted out of context with time."
Sansa felt the familiar dry tongue and confused concern at this action. This god owed her nothing, no request for permission, none of it. "I would appreciate that greatly."
"Good, I'll see to it." Daisy sighed and handed over another list. "In the meantime this is what Fitz needs for his tools."
She stared at the materials and raised a brow at it. It'd be expensive, in some cases difficult to acquire everything. But certainly not impossible. "It will take time."
"I understand." Daisy paused, she frowned. "I'm sorry for him, he won't take it well. But he'll understand even if he doesn't like it."
Sansa was brimming with questions about the discrepancies there. But instead she asked something softer. "How long has his mind been...fractured?"
Daisy flinched looking away. "It was my fault." Her voice had a bitter edge to it. "That first time it was my fault. But now...so many terrible things happened and Fitz…. He needs to heal but without Jemma I don't...I promise he's a good guy. A kind one who is brave and caring, he's just broken right now."
"I offered you both my shelter and protection so long as you were here. He has that. The men understand that he has seen too much." Sansa had met plenty of brilliant men who were said to be touched by a god. Genius, perhaps even a gift. But she felt they'd misused the term having met one who truly was god touched. There was a madness there that equaled the greatness. A curse nearly as much a gift.
Daisy gave her a brief, grateful look as she stood. "I'll be on my way then. But thank you, for everything."
Which left Sansa feeling left footed once more. What sort of god thanked a mortal for mere room and board? "It is nothing."
Chapter 9Notes:Shout out to my beta ur2close! Also to directorBlaze and atonguetiedwriter for letting me drown our group chat in brainstorming for this fic. Also the tea that sustains me.
Chapter TextDaisy slapped Hogg's back. "I've been looking for you Hogg."
"You, you have?" His voice cracked as he stared at her with wide eyes.
She beamed, poor kid had to get used to her eventually. And at least his fear hadn't turned to distrust and caginess like so many SHIELD agents had. "I have a project you can assist me with."
"Anything your Holiness." He practically glowed, his spine straightening, chest puffing up.
She was grateful she'd been reading and asking questions her entire time here. "I refuse to leave a legacy of people forming something awful like the faith militant in my name." Which that book had been disturbing. Horrible times. "So, proactively making sure nobody goes around murdering people in my name."
"You need to talk to Wilbur Thatcher." Hogg nearly bounced. "He's got learning ya know. He can read and write."
Daisy felt a sort of resigned misery at that. She was creating a damn religious order. Mack was never going to let her hear the end of this. "So where can we find Thatcher?" She was never going to be able to keep a straight face talking to someone and calling them 'Wilbur'. Poor fucker. It was almost as bad as Poots.
Daisy folded her legs under her as she sat on a barrel in the storeroom, Hogg sitting on a pile of bags of grain, Thatcher having set his accounting work aside and writing as they spoke. She cleared her throat. "Right, so I've never been good at the whole...dealing with hero worship thing? I mean the shrines of me thing always was kinda weird."
"So no graven images of you?" Thatcher asked, holding his quill above the sheet of paper.
She shrugged. "Not like punishable if you do but prefered for the not thing."
"So a symbol people can use instead?" Hogg asked eager to help.
Daisy nodded. "That'd work. What about that leaf and direwolf symbol you made Hogg?"
"That's…" Hogg trailed off looking uncomfortable.
She sighed. "I'll take that as it won't work." Daisy bit at her lower lip. "Could we use the leaf with a direwolf on it as a symbol for anyone who follows me? A different symbol can be used for me personally."
"You want to dedicate your holy order to the Starks?" Thatcher stared at her in confusion. "But you're a god."
Daisy turned a coin around in her fingers. "I won't be here for forever. I intend to leave once Fitz makes a portal or beacon or something." She saw their confusion. "A door between worlds." And yup, there was the usual reaction to realizing what the hell Fitz was doing. Awe and horror. "Once I'm gone any order I've left behind should follow Lady Stark once I've left."
"You wish to leave your followers in the service of Lady Sansa Stark when you leave?" Thatcher's eyes were wide.
She didn't quite understand what the big deal was. Sexism probably. "Yes."
"I'll see to it." He scratched his quill across the paper.
Hogg spoke up, his voice slightly squeaky. "What'd you like for your personal sigil or symbol?"
Daisy paused considering it. It wasn't exactly a thing she'd thought she'd ever have to do. But then she was a SHIELD agent. "Pass the paper, I'll draw it."
Thatcher passed his notes, quickly ensuring there was a fresh sheet up on top of the portable desk. It was a bit like a wooden lap desk really. She'd had a blue one for her laptop back on the Zephyr. "You'll want to make a nicer version of it, drawing isn't really one of my skills." Her cheeks heated slightly at that, failing art class for drawing dicks on the desk hadn't been fifteen year old her's greatest moment.
With careful scratching with the quill she sketched out the eagle of SHIELD. Fortunately their logo was a fairly geometric version of an eagle. And it was on fucking everything so it wasn't like she couldn't draw the thing in her sleep. She knew she needed more than that though if she meant to create a religion which...so weird. So she carefully did her best to sketch a leaf on the eagle's chest. Setting the quill down she passed the desk back to Thatcher.
He looked at it and then passed to Hogg. "You've got some skill with charcoal?"
"I can do something with this." Hogg looked at her. "What bird is this?"
Daisy refused to flinch, no matter how much she hated being lost from her team again. "An eagle" She considered it, it would probably help. "I was called Skye for years, and I lived in the sky."
"Of course your Holiness." Hogg bowed his head, awe in his voice. "I'll bring you my best work."
She smiled at the poor kid. "Good, in the meantime the direwolf and leaf one, can that be made into brooches for anyone who wishes to follow whatever order I end up with?"
"I'll speak with the blacksmith." Hogg agreed.
Thatcher spoke up. "That is, our order would need to know what your commandments, your moral code is."
"Fuck." Daisy brushed her hair out of her face. "Right...not my thing. I don't care about petty things, or dumb rules."
Thatcher gave a nod. "When is it acceptable to kill?"
"Self defense, in defense of others." Daisy knew she was in a medieval hellscape. And Hydra had proved sometimes death was the only way. "If found guilty of a crime warranting execution."
The quill slid quickly over the paper as he wrote. "Sex?"
"As long as both parties want it and you know, adults, I don't care." Daisy was firm on that, years of catholic orphanage had ensured she wasn't even touching sexual rules. That shit was dumb, pointless, and hurt people.
Hogg's face scrunched up. "Even if one of the people is already married?"
"You mean adultery?" Daisy sighed. "Look, adultery is crappy, and sucks, but in the same way muddy roads are crappy. Not great, and there are definitely social consequences, but I don't care? It's just normal, regular, crappy, not a violation against humanity."
"Oh no. Yeah I definitely do not care about virginity. That's a dumb thing to expect of someone. It doesn't hurt anyone either way. It's a stupid social concept and really unfair to judge women and men differently on the whole thing. How much sex you have has nothing to do with your character or morality or whatever."
"Stealing is bad but like there's some nuisance there? Like if someone steals an apple because they're hungry that's way different than someone who steals to make themselves rich. Also who are they stealing from? It's about harm done, not specifically the act itself."
Daisy groaned. "Again, harm done. You have to fairly judge the person based on what harm they've done. Did they hurt other people? Did they mean to hurt other people? How badly did they hurt other people? And reparations for harm done are important. The whole 'Do unto others as you would have them do unto you'." Which...Daisy paused. Wait a minute, she was creating a religion...she could just straight up rip off the nice parts of different earth religions. The love others stuff, the whole buddhist thing of training yourself to do good. Actually, she liked the idea of the whole 'putting morals into action requiring intelligence and sensitivity thing' was kinda awesome. Hippy god it was. She had this.
////
Jon rode high in the saddle as he and his men came up over the hill. He frowned looking down at the encampment down by the beach. "Tormund!"
"We can take the fuckers." Tormund's face was flush with excitement as he unslung his axe. Man was clearly living to eradicate the last pockets of Ironborn now that the Deepwood Motte was once more in Glover hands. A week of chasing Ironborn stragglers throughout the country was clearly the most fun the Free Folk had had since they'd crossed the wall.
Jon drew his sword. "We'll need to be fast."
Jon barely got his sword up in time to block the swing of his opponent's axe. Bracing his arms he kicked the Ironborn in the gut, sending the man backwards, nearly bent in half. His sword whistled through the air as he brought down in a powerful arch, slicing the Ironborn's head clean off. He turned, sword raising, prepared to defend himself against the next foe only to find that had been the last of them.
"Got ye're blood up that did." Tormund roaded as slapped Jon on the shoulder. The forcing nearly knocked him over.
Jon's lips twitched up, but he fell serious as he looked at the remains of the Ironborn shore camp. "Take what supplies you want, we burn the bodies with the rest."
One of the Free Folk let up a cheer as they located a barrel of ale.
Jon felt a flicker of warmth as he saw the men inspecting the meat on the spit over the fire, happily testing the edges of the now dead Ironborn's weapons. He was making a difference here. The coast was nearly free of the last dregs of the Ironborn.
"What's got you all moony?" Tormund stared at him in suspicion and mild consternation. "We fought, we won, there's food and drink. What more do ya want?"
He wiped his sword clean before sheathing it. "We should turn for Winterfell soon."
"You southern cunts." Tormund made a sound of disgust and marched off to claim his portion of the ale.
Jon chuckled low in his throat as he followed behind Tormund. It would be good to be home again.
////
Fitz angrily slapped plaster on the walls of the room he'd been given near the stables and smithy. It fit the requirements he'd had for a lab space, and if he was generous being near the smithy was probably good. But for fuck's sake. How was he meant to do anything in these conditions?
"Maybe glare at the walls a bit more and they'll combust." Daisy teased as she stepped into the room. She looked around. "This is pretty neat."
He stared at her in disbelief. "It smells like m-manure."
"There's a stable like twenty feet that way." She jerked her thumb towards the far wall. "And it's the middle ages. There's horses everywhere."
Fitz stuck his brush into the large pail of plaster before lifting it and slapping it onto the wall again. "H-here to help?"
"Duh, just had to make sure I didn't accidently create like a murder cult or something." Her nose wrinkled as she grabbed a brush and approached the plaster pail.
He grumbled as he continued his own work. "I don't know h-h-how you can sta-stand this place."
"Well I'd kill for a cup of coffee and a laptop." Daisy's brush hit the wall with a sort of wet 'plop'. "And the flaying people alive thing was deeply disturbing. But it's not the worst."
Fitz stared at her. "What could be worse than this prim-primitive hell hole?"
"The Framework, Kree slave colony on an asteroid, Florida." Daisy raised an eyebrow. "And Jemma was on a desert wasteland in eternal twilight with an evil squid monster when she got trapped on another world."
His shoulders slumped. "Fair."
"I mean she had to go full Rambo to survive." Daisy teased gently as she worked. "Very hot, but very unexpected."
Fitz groaned. "We're c-cursed, it's like the universe itself won't let us be t-together."
"That's crap." Daisy set her fist down on her hip and looked at him. "After everything you two still have each other, still love each other more than anyone I've ever seen! And I'm a god now apparently, so I declare you uncursed. I didn't spend a year trapped in the Zephyr hunting you across the universe for Jemma just to watch you give up because your new lab smells a bit like horse manure."
Something dark in his chest untwisted ever so slightly, the ugliness sinking slightly in the face of the unwavering belief he was faced with. "I might be despairing p-prematurely."
"Ya think?" Daisy slapped his shoulder. "Besides, you know Jemma and Enoch will totally be trying to find us on their end." She frowned slightly. "Why are we painting your new lab with lumpy white paint?"
Fitz rolled his eyes. "It's pla-plaster, it'll reflect the light b-better."
"Huh, neat." Daisy dunked her brush back in the mixture.
He felt a deep well of exhaustion as he worked. "I'm g-going to have to invent e-electricity." The scope of what he needed to make just to attempt to ascertain where they were was massive. "We're going to b-be here for a whi-while."
"Well there's some magic ice zombies I have to kill to pay for all your lab stuff." Daisy slapped her brush back against the wall. "And I'm apparently making a holy order of knights sworn to me. But years of mean nuns and Sunday school paid off."
Fitz had a terrible feeling. "D-daisy, what did you d-do?"
"Created a hippy free love religion all about compassion and understanding by ripping off the love bits from the Bible and Buddhism." Daisy grinned at him.
He spluttered. "That's pla-plagiarism!"
"We're on a different planet where they don't have running water. I think I'm good." Daisy was irritatingly smug at that.
Fitz gaped at her. "Th-they hack people with s-swords and like..stone p-people. No one w-will believe a word of tha-that!"
"Also human sacrifices are a thing here." Daisy looked disturbed. "Do you want to wake up to a human heart offered up on a plate for my dark godly powers? Cause I don't. So they can work out loving thy fucking neighbor." She shrugged. "Besides, idiots keep trying to stab me everytime I go to a new place here and I've just been freezing them solid. Nobody's going to question that."
He groaned, his hand slapping over his eyes. "This is going to b-blow up in our f-faces."
"Probably, everything we do blows up in our faces." Daisy patted him on the shoulder, it didn't help. "But nice castle with fireplaces. Chin up, we're not in the frozen woods with the ice zombies. Could be worse."
Fitz really wanted to bang his head against the wall they were painting. It'd make him feel better. He had a sudden bolt of inspiration. "You n-need titles. Qu-quake."
"Fuck."
Fitz snorted into his mug of ale at Daisy's horrified expression. "T-technically you're a princess."
"Jaiying was an elder not a queen." Daisy stared at him, clearly ready to crawl out of her own skin at the concept of being a princess.
He shrugged. "So D-daughter of the F-f-first Elder of Af-Afterlife?"
"Horrifying, but probably correct. I'll add it." She scribbled the title to the list. "I can never use like...any of these. But they are better than Destroyer of Worlds so maybe not."
Fitz's lips twitched, she looked a bit like Skye had in the bus, curled slightly, hair falling around her shoulders in the dim lighting. It was...nostalgic really. "Don't f-forget Skye. Or wh-whatever your hacker handle is."
"I still think referring to myself as a Daughter of Blood is the alcohol talking." Daisy pouted. "I mean daughter of a psychotic serial killer father doesn't sound great but really? We're redoing this when you're sober. Why can't you have dumb titles?"
He snorted outright at that. "Uh I'm n-not the god." It was warm sitting like this. Felt a bit like old times really.
////
Wyman watched from his window as a large party left out the front gates of Winterfell. The whole castle was abuzz with activity. It was frankly impressive how quickly Lady Stark had taken a bunch of untrained boys and small folk and turned them into a working force. He lifted a sealed letter and placed it in his knight's hand. "Sir Flint, take this and ride to your father and give it to him. You are to stop at every inn, tavern, and keep between here and there and spread the word, Lady Stark has ended the Boltons and a Stark once more rules in Winterfell."
"That will slow my journey?" Sir Flint replied cautiously.
He set a bag of silver stags on the table in front of the man. "I'm aware."
"I'll leave immediately." He paused slightly. "Do I say anything about the god?"
Wyman hummed. "No, just that the old gods are waking and there's rumors of the longest winter in living memory on our doorstep."
The knight grabbed the bag of coins. "I'll see it done."
"Good, send in Sir Locke after you. I have a similar mission for him." Wyman was pleased as he watched the knight leave. He would ensure the North knew they had a Stark again. Lady Stark would need it, and he would give all the aid he could to her. The people would follow a Stark who united the North, girl or not. He'd see to it. She already was proving far more practical than her glorious but dead brother had been.
Wyman let himself settle in the chair in the room he'd been given. He clasped his hands as his fifth knight of the morning he needed to speak to come into his rooms. "Ah, Sir Locke, please take a seat."
"You have orders for me?" The man asked, his voice gruff and to the point.
He gestured to the seat before him. "We have work to do."
////
Sansa carefully stitched the cloak she was preparing for her brother. She didn't cease her efforts as Brienne stepped into the room. "Yes?"
"Maester Wolkan and the blacksmith apprentice you wished to talk to are here my Lady." Brienne's dependable and calm presence was a balm.
Sansa looked up. "Send them in." She set the sewing aside, straightening her skirts. As Brienne opened the door for Wolkan and the boy she was as proper as she'd ever been to face the court in King's Landing.
"Lady Stark." Wolkan shuffled slightly as he entered. He paused to grab the boy's shoulder and haul him further into the room. "Come on boy."
She noted the boy. He had the shoulders and build of a smith, and the looks of house Moss. It made it rather humorous how he seemed to be desperately avoiding looking at her.
"My apologies, Lady Stark." Wolkan began. "But thank you for listening to my suggestion on the matter of Fitz. The knowledge the Smith must have given him is incalculable."
Sansa held up a hand, his eager words falling away. "It was a valuable suggestion." And would have to be framed exactly right if they meant to survive if these actions were discovered by the god who valued the man. She looked at the boy. "What is your name?"
"Crann Snow m'lady." He turned his hat in his hands.
She softened her features, that would explain his discomfort in her presence. Especially as he clearly was not a bastard raised in his father's house. "You are a blacksmith Snow?"
He nodded. "Aye, senior apprentice at the Dreadfort."
"And you can read and do figures?" She continued, though she knew the answer to all these would be yes. Wolkan wouldn't have brought the boy if they weren't.
Snow gave another jerky nod. "Aye...master Ham wanted all us boys to be able to do the books and take orders when we were good enough for our own forges."
"Do you have a specialty in the forge?" Sansa considered him, the boy was too afraid of being in the presence of a great lady for her to get a good read on him. But in the short term he could work, even if he turned out to not be ideal.
His eyes flickered up, real feeling in his words this time. A thrum of pride, maybe even passion. "Silver work, m'Lady."
"The lad's got a good head on his shoulders." Wolkan spoke up. "I had him read from the Seven Pointed Star for me, and his maths are as good as any merchants."
She let her mouth pull into a slight tilt of approval at that. "Very well. Crann Snow, has Maester Wolkan explained why you've been brought here?"
"No m'Lady." He was looking at her now, his eyes carefully not meeting her's, but certainly on her face and not the ground.
Sansa could work with that. "Her Holiness came with a companion, his name is Fitz. So long as they remain in these halls they are my guests. But her companion, Fitz, is Smith touched."
"He's mad as a bag of cats." Wolkan sighed. "But brilliant." Man sounded positively wistful.
Sansa raised a brow and looked at the Maester till he realized his error in speaking over her. Once he bowed his head, shuffling a step backwards, she continued. "He strives to create a door between our world and the world of the gods, I believe. He requires assistance. Assistance I would like you to provide." And to take detailed notes on the workings of the man in order to preserve any advantage the man's mind might bring. Of course it couldn't be phrased like that. "A second pair of hands for his work, which I understand to be delicate, to keep his notes, ensure he receives any supplies or tools he requires. You would of course make a good living should you accept the position."
Crann blinked, but then nodded. "I'd be honored to do that m'Lady."
"Good, then Bower will explain your duties to you." Sansa hoped this paid off. Yes she was installing a spy besides the god's companion. But she meant the man no harm, rather she wished to know who was in her home and if he was as brilliant as reported any knowledge gleaned from him was likely worth the risk. It was how Cersei had described it, you lived or you died, there was no middle ground. And risks like this were the only way she would live. Opportunity didn't wait.