Chapter 19Notes:Sup! My best friend/roommate and I have been forcing my wife to watch GoT with us in preparation for House of the Dragon. She is deeply bemused and vaguely bored. Also I kinda hate myself for how fucking hyped I am for House of the Dragon.
Chapter TextSansa stared at the broach Pordrick had brought to her earlier. She spun it between her fingers thinking. It was a very specific symbol, a direwolf's head on a weirwood leaf. She couldn't seem to take her eyes away from it.
"What's wrong?" Jon asked, his face frowned as he put his sword down.
She ran a finger along the edge of the broach. "Rickon's lessons?"
"Good, he's got spirit in him." Jon chuckled. "Fights like the Free Folk. Wolkan is teaching him his letters."
Sansa gave a slight nod. "The Lords won't accept him if we don't make them. They hate the Free Folk too much."
"He's a boy." Jon protested, but sighed as he unhooked the cloak she'd made him, laying it over the back of a chair. "We can protect him till he's old enough."
Sansa let the matter fade. There was nothing to be done other than what they were already doing. "Pod brought me one of the broaches Daisy had made for her followers." She tossed it to him.
He easily caught it, his frown deepening as he looked at it. "Sansa what is this?"
"It's an entire religious order dedicated to House Stark by a god who regularly bows and dedicated her ruin of House Bolton to my name." Sansa looked up at him, catching his dark eyes as they widened in understanding.
Jon spoke slowly. "Is she courting you?"
"Mayhaps. According to Crann, the boy I have assisting Fitz, she has taken a female lover before." Sansa felt her brow crinkling. "Lord Manderly thinks so. But I...her motives confuse me."
Her brother moved the chair, so he could sit directly in front of her. "We're not selling you to her in exchange for a few victories."
"Lord Baelish plays a game when he tries to understand a person's motives. He assumes the worst, what's the worst reason they could possibly have for saying what they say and doing what they do." Sansa looked at her brother. "The scale changes when that person is a god."
Jon nodded, setting the broach aside. "The worst she could want is to destroy our world."
"But that doesn't fit her actions at all." Sansa replied, looking at the fire. "Unless she means to play with us, or gain something before doing so?"
Jon shook his head. "Why play with the children then? Or read books she clearly finds boring?"
"So at least our god most likely does not intend to destroy our world. Conquering it doesn't fit either." Sansa was unused to people with power being so uninterested in credit or recognition. Even Margaery only helped the poor because of the recognition. For all she thought Margaery did care in her own way, her actions were for herself.
Jon made a low sound. "Couldn't her goals be what she's said they are? Maybe I'm foolish, but she's done what she said she'd do."
"Build a beacon between worlds." Sansa had seen some of the notes from Crann. Whatever Fitz was doing was beyond her comprehension, as well as that of Wolkan's. "She said she was paying us back for our hospitality." She looked at Jon. "The Free Folk kidnap their brides don't they?"
Jon blinked at the change in topic. "Yes?"
"What would one of them think of a crown of flowers?" She had a feeling she'd found an answer she'd been looking for.
He seemed to catch on as well, his lips twitching. "They'd think it foolish. You think she doesn't mean it as a courting gift because it's not her people's way?"
"I believe I need to speak to our god." Sansa stood.
Jon stood as well. "Sansa, if you're wrong. If she means it…"
"She hasn't taken offense at anything short of being called a forgein, murderous whore." Sansa was still baffled by The Greatjon's survival. "And Lord Umber still lives. Bruised and a broken arm but he still draws breath."
He looked like he wanted to wrap her in a blanket and keep her from the whole world outside of the room. "I could come with you?"
"Thank you, but no." Sansa smiled softly at her brother. "You'll need to hunt down Rickon."
Jon huffed. "Aye, he'll of escaped his lesson's by now."
Sansa raised her hand and knocked on the door of their divine guest's chamber door.
"Come in." Came the muffled reply.
Sansa entered the room and her face flushed. Even the most daring of court ladies from the Reach and Dorne covered more skin than Daisy was showing. She shut the door behind her, her years in court the only reason she wasn't the color of an apple. "If you're indisposed I can come back later?"
Daisy's eyes were closed as she moved in a slow series of deliberate movements. Her garb was...strange. They must be the undergarments of the clothing she'd been wearing when she arrived because Sansa had never heard of, let alone seen clothing that stretched how this fabric did. Her breasts were covered by a tight black garment that covered them, and little else, thick straps over her shoulders. Clearly some form of support. Her legs were...a type of trouser perhaps? They could have been painted on however, the legs ending mid calf. The lack of clothing wasn't what Sansa noticed outside of a brief shock at it. It was the scars. The woman was a tapestry of silvery white and bumped skin from past injuries.
"You're fine." Daisy spoke, her eyes remained closed. "Did you need something?"
Sansa swallowed her embarrassment and disquiet. "I wished to ask you a question if you were amenable to such a thing."
Daisy's eyes opened. She must have seen something on Sansa's face because she lowered her arms, her strange movements stopping. "Alright?" She stepped towards the fire and lifted a kettle of water off and carried it to the side table. She poured the water into a clay mug. "Tea?"
"Please." Sansa had a feeling this conversation was going to take a while. Especially since she hadn't settled on how careful she should be with her words.
Daisy hummed, and filled a second mug before carefully lifting a strainer with leaves in it.
As she prepared the tea Sansa took in the room. Of course she knew what to expect, but it was interesting to see what her guest had done to these rooms in her time here. The answer wasn't much. Everything was neat, you could hardly tell there was a person staying within them. The clothing the god likely meant to wear later was laid neatly on the bed. There were several containers of what seemed to be tea, a wash basin sitting by the small mirror. Laying neatly on top of the chest were the strange gauntlets she'd been wearing when she'd first appeared.
"You have no idea how awesome it is you have tea here. I'd kill for some coffee, but tea's good too." She held out the second cup to Sansa.
She accepted the warm cup. "Thank you." Sansa considered the causal body language. "You've never spent much time in a royal court have you?"
"More like no time." Daisy scoffed, set her tea down while grabbing the white shirt laying on her bed and pulling it on over her head. "Not that this whole...thing isn't super interesting but not my thing." She waved at herself. "Sorry, if I made you uncomfortable. You guys are uh..way more conservative about your clothing."
Sansa raised a brow. "You typically wear small clothes in public?"
"Uh, oh no." She laughed. "But cramped living quarters and regular expected time in the gym, communal showers." Daisy shrugged. "And these aren't my underwear or small clothes? They're workout gear, meant to not keep heat in when you're training. Also not get gross with sweat."
Sansa sipped at the tea to avoid saying something stupid at that thought. "I saw the broaches you had made for your followers."
"Oh good." Daisy picked up her tea with a slight smile. "Do you think they'll work? Course the boys aren't trained enough for much of anything yet. But you know, once they've gotten a bit better."
Sansa had a feeling she'd been right to come here in that moment. "Are you courting me?"
Daisy chocked on her tea, her eyes wide. "What?" She was paying full attention to Sansa now as she wheezed. "No? I mean not that you're not great. Very crush worthy. Really you've got the whole intelligent woman in power thing going on. But uh..not what I was going for?"
"So you're unaware that's what your actions appear to be?" Sansa inquired, mostly amused now as a weight lifted off of her shoulders. She wasn't...dealing with the interest from a person she couldn't say no to. Which was a terrifying situation. One she'd been living with for years now, to actually be free of it was...she'd think of it later.
"Uh that'd be a no." Daisy set her tea aside, crossing her arms. "How am I courting you?"
Sansa's fingers were warmed by the cup in her hands. "You outrank everyone." Her voice was even as she explained, keeping careful focus on the woman to ensure she wasn't taking offense at it. "If you were a sworn sword like Brienne it would be to be expected. I'd likely have awarded you a title for the taking of the Dreadfort."
"Wait but...shouldn't I be expected to like..I don't know, make some gesture or something more than just helping?"
She raised a brow. "You've ruined my enemies, brought back the entire contents of one of the great fortresses of the North. You're dedicating your own religious order to me. There is hardly a grander gesture to be had. You bowed to me."
"And that means I'm courting you?" Daisy asked slowly.
"There are very few reasons for deferring to someone who you outrank as completely as you outrank every human in the world." Sansa saw understanding dawning on the woman's face.
"Oh." Daisy blinked. "How do I fix it? Cause I'm going to take a wild stab in the dark that having a woman romantically pursuing you isn't a good thing in this world."
Sansa wasn't sure how to feel about the easy acceptance and immediate offer of help. It was not what she'd come to expect. Though perhaps with Daisy she should. "Typically no. However if you were considered interested only a fool would attempt to make a proposal."
"And you'd like to not get married just a couple of months after everything." Daisy just looked understanding. She nodded, lifting her tea cup again and sitting down on top of the trunk of clothing at the foot of her bed. "How far do you want to take it?"
She paused. "Take it?"
"Well I can just keep what I'm doing with some pointers on how not to fuck it up." Daisy shrugged. "But if you want I'm game for faking a thing. Easiest cover in the business. I think I've faked a relationship with half my friends at this point. Fitz still gets grumpy about the train."
How the woman managed to be baffling so utterly just constantly was… "What?"
"If a young couple showed up looking to start a new life would you pay more or less attention to them than a single new person come to make a new start?" Daisy asked, cocking an eyebrow.
Sansa paused. "The couple."
"Exactly." Daisy grinned. "So if you want to scandalize everyone I'm totes game."
She opened and then shut her mouth. "That won't be necessary." Her mouth twitched upwards. "Though it would be amusing."
Daisy laughed, leaning back, her elbows resting on the end of the bed. The sheer casualness of it confusing, but reassuring. "So what do I need to know?"
Sansa paused as it clicked. "You're bored."
"So bored." Daisy agreed immediately. "I don't think I've just...it's weird. Which means I'm so down for like whatever." Her head cocked to one side, a slight frown on her face. She held up a finger as she stood, staring at the wall next to the window curiously.
Stepping to the window, the latch unhooked without being touched and opened as Daisy half lunged out of it, arm reaching out. She grabbed and hauled a very familiar looking person into the room.
Rickon rolled across the floor. As he looked up, his lips pulled back as he scrambled to his feet. He blinked, the half snarl falling off his face as he spotted Sansa's expression.
Daisy laughed. "Hi."
"RICKON!" Sansa barely resisted grabbing him by the ear. "Climbing and listening to conversations that don't involve you is unacceptable! What did you think you were doing!?"
////
Rickon sat on the ground, his legs crossed as he faced his very displeased sister and her apparent god. He was still unsure about that even if she didn't smell human. He knew the old gods, and they weren't...whatever she was. They were the wind in the leaves, the water in the earth, the creak of the trees. Not...a walking talking creature like this Daisy. His eyes flicked away from the...creature, to his sister. "I was just making sure you were ok."
"You can't climb like that! Especially with it getting colder. Once there's ice on the walls you could slip. Don't you remember Bran's fall?" There was a strange...stiffness to Sansa, as if she was restraining herself. It was odd to his eyes, like a hunter waiting, poised to strike but hesitating yet not that at the same time.
His jaw set mulishly. "Yes, but he was pushed."
"Rickon you're important, rightful Lord of Winterfell." Sansa lowered into a crouch before him, her dress pooled out around her. Her back easily open to the creature behind her. But her eyes kept Rickon's attention on her. "But more than that you're my brother. I can't protect you if you don't let me. And climbing like that is reckless and dangerous. I can't stop a rock from falling, or ice forming."
He crossed his arms. "How'm I supposed to watch you if I don't? You're all...secrets and saying stuff weird. And I don't know what she is but she's not human." He jerked his chin at Daisy.
"If you had asked I would have told you what I could." She held his gaze. "We are surrounded by enemies, and to survive we have to do things we don't want to do. But we can't be fighting each other as well. Or insulting our allies." She gave a pointed gesture towards Daisy.
Rickon wiggled slightly, he understood what she wanted.His eyes flicked to the creature. "Sorry."
"No harm done kid." Daisy smiled. "And your wolf can smell I'm different can't it?"
He nodded. "You smell off...like...it burns slightly? But you're not a god. I know the old gods and you're not them."
"No I'm not." She grabbed her clothing off the foot of her bed and stepped towards the side door into the solar off the guest chambers. "I'm going to go get dressed all the way. Don't worry about finding someplace else to like talk." She shrugged.
Sansa looked fully at the creature, person. "Thank you, it's very kind of you."
"It's your castle." Daisy waved off, and then left the room, the door closing behind her.
Sansa turned back to him and sighed. "Join me?" She straightened, her movements elegant in a way he didn't even remember mother being.
He gave a jerk of a nod, and then climbed to his feet and followed his sister to the wooden table and chairs by the window he had been hanging on outside of. Slipping into the chair he looked at her guiltily. "I'm sorry."
"Do you understand what is happening?" Sansa looked at him, her gaze measuring though not unkind.
Rickon swallowed, it was a test. Like when Osha had left the hunting to him and Shaggydog. "You retook the North." His words were slow. "Our bannermen found me an' Osha. The Lannisters will attack to try and kill us how they killed Rob and mum. An' the dead are coming. It's not safe anywhere really. But the bannermen are loyal, you and Jon are going to fight the dead."
"That's true." Sansa reached out, taking his hand. "You're the only surviving legitimate son of father's left. We don't know if Bran's still alive. Which makes you 'The Stark' of Winterfell, the North is yours by right. One day, when you are a few years older the North will be yours. But our position is weak right now. We need to secure the North if we mean to survive. Our bannermen are loyal because our house made them loyal. They won't follow a weak house."
He felt a sick feeling in his gut. "And we're weak."
"Until they choose us once more as their liege Lords we are vulnerable." Sansa squeezed his hand. "I know we don't know each other anymore. Not really. But we're family and that means something."
Rickon felt a sick turning in his gut. This was familiar to words about duty and honor that Robb had spoken, and Father, and everyone in his vague memories of early childhood when he'd had a home. "You're leaving."
"I am, not for long." She looked...terribly sad, but unshakable. "It's necessary if we want to survive. And you will stay here. There must always be a Stark in Winterfell, and you're too young to go to war."
He shook his head. "No. You can't leave me! I won't stay! You'll die and I'll be alone again!"
"Rickon…" Sansa breathed in, her calm not cracking, her sorrow merely deepening. "I will do everything in my power to come back. Jon will too. But if we don't do this we'll never be safe. I need you to be strong. I know it's terrifying, and Winterfell doesn't feel like home. But I need you to be a Stark. And to do your duty no matter how much we might not want to."
Her words wrung something in his chest like a gong. He knew he was a Stark. Even scrambling over stones in the skin of Shaggydog he'd known. Osha wouldn't let him forget, his bones wouldn't let him forget. He hated it. "Bran saw the ocean come and drowned Winterfell and then left, leaving it to burn! We were hungry and cold and lost. And then Bran left! I was supposed to protect him, but he sent me away! And now you're leaving. It's not right."
"No it's not." Sansa cupped his cheek with her hand. "But it's necessary." She pulled back, her eyes releasing him. "Lord Manderly and Lord Umber will run Winterfell while I'm gone. Osha will be here to care for you. And I'm leaving Brienne to make sure you don't try to sneak out and follow us."
He crossed his arms, leaning back in the chair. The big lady Knight wouldn't let him go anywhere. And he doubted Osha would help him escape. "I could help! I'm a wolf."
"You're a warg." Sansa said the word 'warg' cautiously, like it was a term she was still accepting or learning. "And a boy. When the Long Night comes we'll all have to fight. Even you, but it's not here quite yet."
Rickon's frown deepened. "You can't protect me."
"No one can protect anyone, not completely." Sansa's face turned cold as she pulled back the rest of the way. "But I won't bring you to war and our enemies' doorstep." And her voice was unwavering now. It reminded him of his vague recollection of their father.
He bit at the inside of his lip. He wanted to rage and cry about how it wasn't fair. But he knew it wouldn't do any good. "You have to come back."
"I'll do everything I can to do so." Her face softened slightly. "I'll be with Jon and whatever Daisy is."
Rickon looked through his curls at her. "She's not human, but she's not a god."
"I'm beginning to understand that." Sansa paused before continuing. "Now, will you eat with Jon and I before we leave tomorrow? I would like to learn who you are now."
Rickon felt an ache at that. "I wanna know you too." And he did. She was a ghost returned alive. Only she was different than he remembered, more like his faint memories of their parents than of his memories of her. But colder, sharper then they'd ever been. She was more wolf than either of their parents had ever been. And he understood wolves. And maybe...maybe he was starting to understand the strange creature that was his sister.
Chapter 20Notes:(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter TextFitz glared at the glass beakers he was using. What would Jemma do? This was a project she'd be doing far better than him at. Chemistry was her thing. "Right." He was going to do something stupid like flip the table if he kept staring at his failiers to make a chemical slurry capable of at least holding a reflected image. He jerked away from the table. "I'm g-going out. Don't...touch anything."
"I can do that." Crann nodded eagerly as he scrambled out of Fitz's path.
He sighed, his assistant had stopped being useful since the whole Daisy tossing that Umber fellow around incident. God fearing morons were the worst. Grabbing the gloves he's been given he tugged them on, and then awkwardly pulled on and fastened the cape. He looked ridiculous. But he'd learned better than to ignore the fur lined thing.
As he walked out of his workshop the cold bit at his nose. He hadn't been out of his workshop much. His eyes tracked the stone walls. It was surreal to be in the castle. Deeply impractical even if the damned thing was larger than any castle he'd heard of on earth. His nose wrinkled at the ever present smell of horse shit. Striking out he avoided the curious look of the men in the yard. It was…awkward.
His steps were heavy from the weight of the fabric he was wearing. The cold settled around him as he walked. It felt alien here, more so than his time on Kitsen or traveling to Kitsen had. They were so bafflingly unadvanced. The lack of electricity...running water...how did they accept this level of existence? Shaking his head he tromped into the great hall where food was generally kept for the staff around breakfast and dinner. He was still unclear on what exactly was supposed to happen for lunch, but frankly he didn't care.
Stepping into warmth he shook his head. The weather reminded him of a miserable study abroad science camp he'd gone on in Norway. Terrible trip, astronomy had never been his passion. If he'd known how much Jemma would love it and how much aliens would factor into his life he'd have paid a bit more attention to the field. He didn't bother to unhook his cape, he didn't feel like freezing considering the doors were open.
"Ah! Fitz!" The large mammoth of a white bearded man in sea green clothing and merpeople sewed on everything, greated in a booming voice.
Fitz winced slightly, but headed towards the table where the man, the wild looking feral kid, the idiot Daisy had thrown into a wall, Wolkan, and a few others he didn't particularly recognize. Dinner conversation, lovely. Although maybe it was a chance for his mind to turn off for a while before getting back to thinking about creating chemical slurries for at least getting something of a reading of radiation and light waves on this god forsaken planet. "So it's proper supper time?"
"Aye, come join us. We were just regalling young Rickon here with our war stories from the Rebellion." The large man boomed….Mannerly or something like that. No, Manderly. Yes that was it.
He gave a slight nod, he could do battle talk shop. "Oh r-right, sounds fun." He slid into the seat he was usually directed into by Daisy or Crann. "What's t-the Rebellion?"
"It was a war some years ago before we all got fat and old." Manderly laughed. "It was a war against the Mad King after he burned our Lord Rickard Stark and his heir Brandon Stark alive when they went to the capital to demand Lyanna Stark be returned after she was taken."
Fitz blinked that was...well that was some awful shit there. "Y-you won then?"
"Aye we won alright. Killed all the Targaryean fuckers." Umber clanked his mug on the table loudly.
He gave a slight nod. "Good for y-you, I think?" Fitz barely bit back a sigh as he realized dinner was going to be hot stew...again. It comprised around eighty percent of meals since they'd let him stop eating broth. Admittedly he'd run for the hills if someone tried to feed him anything undercooked or the slightest bit raw. He was not getting food poisoning in a world where he had to wipe his ass with fabric that was re-washed.
"Have you been to war?" Manderly asked as he took a large bite of his own stew.
Fitz stirred the thick food. "Well yeah, I'm an a-agent."
"My father was in the last Blackfyre Rebellion." Wolkan spoke, his voice soft as if he wasn't sure he was allowed.
Manderly chuckled, his attention leaving Fitz. "Did he?"
"Rode under House Valerian during the war. He didn't talk about it much, but he was there when Maelys." Wolkan seemed proud as he spoke. "Lost his leg, but gained land and a minor title."
Umber grunted. "You ever fight before you went and forged your chains?"
"No, didn't have the stomach for it." Wolkan drank from his cup.
"Bah, when your blood is up any man can be a killer." Umber contradicted without thought. It was rather galling that Fitz agreed with him.
He nodded. "Everyone's c-capable of v-violence."
"You don't look like you could kill anyone." Umber scoffed.
Fitz's brow rose. "You'd t-think wouldn't you." He lifted his spoon out of his bowl of soup. His nose wrinkled as he flicked the broth off of it. Turning towards the kid he eyes him. "Men l-like Umber here are i-idiots. They'll w-whack at a person till they c-can't get up and then move on while p-patting themselves on the back for being g-good killers."
Umber made a sound of outrage, but didn't interrupt.
He tapped his spoon against his neck. "You cut the c-c-carotid artery right and you're enemy will be d-dead in twenty seconds. Do it wrong and they m-might make it a couple of m-minutes. Intelligent and o-obvious, but effective." He moved his spoon tapping by his armpit. "Brachial," his hand continued to tap at where the arteries were as he named them. "Renal, Iliac, Femoral. You h-hit a man's artery and he's done. If you can't hit s-something else, go for the g-gut, plenty of organs a m-man can't survive if they get hit and t-there's no one to help on h-hand. Spleen, liver, kidney, small intestine, stomach, gallbladder."
"That's enough, you'll scare the boy." Wolkan spoke up, though his voice sounded shaken. He should feel shaken.
Fitz ignored him, his hand still raised slightly from where he'd been tapping the corresponding locations. "But those gut w-wounds will take a while to kill your o-opponent. Better to s-stab up between the ribs for the h-heart or lungs. No s-saving a man here from tt-hat." His free hand smoothed his hair slightly. "If you stab someone, always pull your knife or s-sword or whatever out. Leaving it in gives them a c-chance of survival. Course killing isn't some glorious t-thing. It's messy." His nose wrinkled. "It smells, takes forever to get the blood off."
The kid tipped his chin up. "I know that. I've hunted for Osha 'an me for ages."
"Then you've got more of the right of it then these men." Fitz gave the kid a nod. There was a potential there. "Don't fight with honor or r-rules, you'll get killed. It's about who's left living and who's d-dead."
Manderly cleared his throat. "I see you've fought regardless of your appearance."
"I've k-killed in fights. But I've a-also had the prisoners b-brought to me so I could pull their insides out to see what m-made them tick." Fitz could feel the phantom of the blood from the Framework on his fingers. "Always found torture distasteful, all the screaming gets b-bothersome after a while." He tilted his head, huh, this wasn't him...or maybe it was. He took a bite of his soup.
////
Sansa found that traveling with an army was a new experience. It was slower, louder, and more complicated than other forms. She pretended not to notice the smell from the trench dug at camp every night for the men to relieve themselves. Why anyone thought the smell of shit would offend her after years in Kings Landing she didn't know. "The scouts have returned?"
"Apologies my Lady." Davos gave a stiff tip of his head. "We hadn't thought to summon you yet."
Jon shifted, opening his side for her. "They've just arrived, we were just preparing to hear their report."
She took her place besides her brother, eyes falling on the lead scout as he straightened automatically at her attention. "Don't let me interrupt then."
"Go on man, what did you and your men find?" Davos urged the man.
The man looked like one of Glover's men. "As we approached Barrowtown the fighting men were gone, looks like the levees have been raised." He hesitated slightly before continuing, his eyes flicking to the side slightly. "We didn't approach Barrowtown closely, but the banner's of house Ryswells are flying as well from the towers. Roads leading to the fortifications are well traveled. The defenses are raised, the curtain wall is prepared for a seige."
"So it'll be a siege then." Jon's voice was solemn, his face sorrowful yet resigned.
Sansa looked at the map. "If the Ryswells are here as well does that mean they've decided to make a united stand?"
"Almost certainly." Lord Glover rubbed at his beard as he reached out, moving two wooden figures with the horses of house Ryswell to Barrowtown on the map. "Makes things more dangerous."
Sansa was confused at that. "If our enemies wish to gather it makes our march shorter does it not?"
"Aye, but it means they'll surrender less easily." Jon considered the map. "We have the wargs see what they can learn about the fortifications. Though we'll need to strike hard and fast once the gates come down."
Davos had a slight twitch as he spoke. "What will your god require for that magic?"
"I imagine some normal tea." Sansa looked at the man. "She does not require blood sacrifice to use her powers."
He gave a jerky nod. "Well that's a relief. If you're sure?"
"I've seen her use her abilities, and she hasn't used blood sacrifice, any type of sacrifice yet." Sansa wondered where the vague sense of protectiveness came from. But then Daisy had risen above every negative fear and expectation she'd had. It was the least she could do to defend the god from assumptions of monstrousness.
Jon spoke. "My sister is right, until her Holiness shows the cruelty magic practitioners are known for, it is not worth insulting the woman over it."
"My apologies." Davos deferred to Jon.
Sansa burned at that, but held her tongue. "Will this change our forward approach?"
"Yes, we'll need to be prepared to move forward quickly. The men will need as many shields as we have." Jon looked to Bower. "Do we have enough shields for the men to all carry one?"
Bower's eyes flicked to Sansa. He waited till she gave him a nod of assent. His attention back to Jon. "Two thirds of our men have shields. All of the former Bolton forces are archers or shieldmen. Lord Manderly's forces primarily have shields, but Lord Glover's favor axe's and spears. The Wildlings don't have proper weapons m'Lord."
"If we place our archers to the back they can thin the defenders on the wall while those who can defend themselves charge through the gate." Jon set the wooden figures of their forces outside the walls of the drawn walls of Barrowtown. "We'll need the wargs to see what areas they're focusing their defences."
Sansa watched silently as Jon and the men drew up plans and possibilities. This wasn't how she conducted war, her war was a war of a thousand words, letters and politics. But she would need to know this if she meant to stand as Rickon's regent. She had to learn this form of war as well, no matter how unsuited to it as she was.
Sansa watched as Daisy whacked at her men, forcing them to work with their shields. It was entertaining, but even she could see the progress her men were making. Especially as Joran dug his heels in and held his ground. Of course he didn't manage to keep that up for more than a few seconds, but he did manage it for a few brief seconds. She was struck by the kindness as she saw Daisy helping the man back to his feet. There was an ease, not an ounce of fear in the man.
It was remarkable. Sansa watched as the men circled up, happily congratulating Joran, elbowing and bumping into Daisy without a hint of fear. They weren't afraid, they trusted her. They had to know more than anyone what she was capable of. A couple of the men noticed her. Sansa stepped forward, no point in standing awkwardly. "Daisy, men. I see training is going well?"
"They're getting better." Daisy grinned. "How can we help Lady Sansa?"
Sansa noted the men showed perhaps less manners but more respect as they all ducked their heads in awkward deference. "I am no expert in martial prowess, but I can see improvement."
"They're getting there. Give them a year and they'll be a force to be reckoned with." Daisy's face was proud as she looked at the men who were puffing up at the praise. She rolled her eyes. "Go help the others with shield drills."
Sansa watched as they eagerly moved to do as instructed. There was genuine comradery there. "They don't fear you."
"It's weird." Daisy looked genuinely confused. "It usually takes ages for trainees to get used to not waiting for me to kill them."
"Have you ever killed a companion?" Sansa asked curiously.
Daisy flinched like she'd been slapped. "Trip. I've hurt a lot of people without meaning to. And when I was under Hive's control...it's a deserved fear."
"My apologies, I didn't mean to bring up painful memories." Sansa apologized, and she found she meant she was sorry for the pain, not afraid of the consequences of possibly insulting the god.
She shook her head. "It's alright, it's a fair question. "How'd the strategy meeting go?"
"Difficult. The Ryswells are at Barrowtown. It seems our enemies mean to make a single stand against us." She held her tongue on the frustration she felt at the older men deferring to Jon and ignoring her as a stupid girl. It was fair, she had been a stupid girl for so long. "Even with you bringing the gates down the battle will be bloody."
Daisy crossed her arms humming in thought. "Have you considered fighting honorably isn't the only way?"
"What do you suggest?" Sansa looked at her sharply.
Daisy hummed. "Well, you're more familiar with castle defenses than I am. But if you had a small team enter at night, what would be the most useful location to secure to ensure the battle cost fewer lives?"
"The gate, it's designed to be held from attacks from inside and outside." Sansa remembered Tyrion speaking of his uncouth mercenary's plan to invade the Eyrie. "The Wildlings climbed the Wall, the fortifications of Barrowtown are nothing compared to that."
Daisy gave an approving nod, her lips twitching with a pleased slant. "And I can jump shockingly high."
"You could have brought this strategy to the Lords leading this army?" She questioned curiously.
She huffed. "I don't lead armies, and frankly it's become pretty clear I am actually terrible at interacting with your whole noble culture here." Daisy clearly spotted Sansa's disbelief at her explanation. Her countenance fell slightly more serious. "I'm not staying here for long. I don't need or want them to follow me, or respect my abilities at planning attacks. And the more exalted my position, the larger the stability problem you'll have when I leave. So take credit, you'll learn enough you won't need to for long anyways."
"Would you teach me tactics?" Sansa found herself asking. She had nothing to offer in return, but mayhaps she didn't need to have something to offer in return other than friendship with this strange god.
Daisy laughed, but nodded. "Sure, not that I'm some super smart general. Like normally don't lead more than a half dozen agents or a trainee class. And I've got almost zero clue about your weapons and shit. But sure."
"Thank you." Sansa smiled ever so slightly.
Sansa cleared her throat, catching the attention of the men as they argued about strategies for getting through the gates with as little loss of life as possible. "My Lords, have you considered taking the gate the night before the battle?" Her brow rose ever so slightly as she looked at the startled looking northern Lords.
"Begging your pardon m'Lady, but we can't just attack the gate the night before and take a break before taking the rest." Davos spoke carefully.
She looked to Tormund who was actually listening to her. "Your men and women climbed the Wall. Ten thousand feet of ice with nothing but bone picks and poor rope. Could you climb the gates with better equipment during the night?"
"Aye we could do that. Tormund chuckled deep in his throat. "Sounds better to me than facing you southern fools in the field. Stannis crushed us."
Sansa continued before anyone could interrupt, a problem she'd have to address eventually. "Once we hold the gate, it would certainly be a statement of strength would it not? In fact their defences would not last long would they, if we were capable of simply taking any of their defensive towers whenever we want? Especially if we send our best archers up into the gate along with the Free Folk?"
Jon nodded. "It's a good plan." He seemed to frown slightly. "They'd have to go before the moon rose. And it'd need to be fast."
"So if her Holiness were to assist it would be nearly assured to succeed?" Sansa added, carefully watching the faces of the men.
Lord Glover scoffed. "It's not honorable but that'd take it alright. Traitors would be right fucked. And I say fuck 'em, no need to show honor to honorless bastards."
////
Jon entered his sister's tent. He barely spared a brief glance at the men at arms outside of it guarding her from harm. He trusted Ghost far more to keep her safe. "Sansa."
"Jon, has something happened?" She looked up from her writing. It seemed she was always writing these days. That or sewing clothing for Rickon or himself.
He was...grieved that she never stopped working. "What was the price for her Holiness's support?"
"Nothing." Sansa looked bemused at his disbelief. "Truly. I think she prefers this to using her powers to bring down the gate."
Jon looked at his sister, so much older than her years. "Would you tell me if there was a price?"
"I...no. Not if I didn't think it necessary." Sansa admitted.
He stepped to her, taking her hand. "We have to trust each other. We can't fight everyone else and each other. I can't protect you if I don't know what to protect you from."
"I am trying." She squeezed his hand back.
Jon sighed, but nodded. "Tormund is eager to work with 'our' god. I'd be worried if Lord Umber didn't still live."
"There is that." Sansa looked to where Ghost was laying by the side of the small bed brought for her comfort. An allowance she'd been against initially. "We're so close to controlling the North. It doesn't feel real. I doubt it will till the Lords have named Rickon Lord Stark."
He sat on the chest of goods at the foot of her bed. "Aye, it was never supposed to be us was it?"
"No it wasn't." She was..surprisingly open. "Father wouldn't approve of how we mean to fight this battle."
Jon didn't question the weight of their father's expectations. "He's not here now. He'd want our family to survive." His brow furrowed. "He led men to battle in the Rebellion. I have to believe he would understand the cost and compromise it demands. We're saving lives with your plan. That means something."
"I'd like to believe you are right." Sansa replied.
And he wanted to believe he was right too. But he'd done so many things he doubted his father would be able to look at him. "What matters is the living and the dead. The rest isn't important."
"No, I suppose it isn't." Sansa's gaze turned back to him. "Tell me of the Night's Watch."
Jon gave a deep sigh, lending forward so that his arms rested upon his knees. Where to even begin in explaining what it really was. The ugly truth everyone had known but never told them. "It's hard, and the men are hard.-"
Notes:The reason taking the gate tower is important is it gives a launching point for the army that doesn't involve having to get breach any of the outer defences. Also its a pretty terrifying threat to have just taken the central jewel of defense the place has the first night you're there. There's an implication of how fast the battle will go. Like in a proper siege taking the first chunk of the outer wall is supposed to take a long time, like years. Sieges work if the enemy is dying in droves trying to get over your walls. If they can just...sneak over your walls and overrun you in the night like...you're fucked. You're super fucked. Because if the army is capable of taking the gate house in the night without much effort, and then they don't keep going. It means they could have, but they didn't as a threat.
Chapter 21Notes:Sup! I appreciate all the comments so much guys! Thank you, I'm still surprised so many people want to read this super weird crossover.
Chapter TextTormund attached a climbing hook into his belt. "So I hear ya'r some kind of god? You don't look like a god."
"I'm not a human." Daisy, dumb name for a god, replied as she slung a large coil of rope over one shoulder.
He eyed the apparent god. What was the south with shite like Lord Crow coming back from the dead, and now whatever this woman was. But she was a fighter, he could see it in her eyes. "So what are you?"
She paused and then shrugged. "I give up on defining it. Tomorrow you can try to stab me and decide what you think I am." Looking at the great distant shadow of the castle ahead of them. "Up to climbing some walls?"
"These walls are a joke. You should see The Wall, now that's a challenge." His voice rumbled as he tossed some rope to one of his men coming on this mad adventure.
Daisy laughed. "Well I hear I'm helping with the dead so I'm sure you'll get a chance to show me a 'real' wall."
He frowned as he realized she didn't have a single metal or bone pick on her. "How you planning on climbing if you've got nothing to climb with? You'll need more than rope."
"Yeah I won't need those. We just need the rope. But like, if you want to lug it around, be my guest." She turned, helping one of her followers with the mess the boy'd made of the rope he was trying to coil. Her voice was vaguely amused. "Start over, come on hand it here."
Tormund turned to Drykul. "I don't understand these southerners."
"They're cunts." Drykul agreed.
Tormund trekked behind the odd southern god. Her steps were as quiet as his and the other Free Folk in their raid party. He grinned, teeth flashing as they made their way through the brush towards the stone walls. His blood was up as they moved through the cavernous darkness. There was no light, clouds having covered the stars even. Only years of running through the wilds of the true north kept him from tripping like the idiot southern boys joining them.
He grabbed a boy before he could faceplant. His voice low as he chastised him. "Watch your feet or ya'll lose 'em."
The boy gave a sort of jerk, and then continued to move.
Tormund shook his head, holding the laughter in. Idiots were incapable of this sort of thing. Ah, they'd set the idiots to rights or they'd die. Either way it'd take care of itself. He came to a halt, grabbing the idiot boy before he could walk into the actual castle wall. Stepping closer to the god he kept his voice as low as it got. "We start climbing."
"Not yet." She pulled the heavy coiled rope off of her shoulder, dropping it to the ground. Her voice was barely audible. "You'll know when to start."
He blinked as her dark shape crouched close to the ground. "I thought the plan was to climb up and drop ropes for ya'r archers?" It wasn't like the fools could do it without the help.
She didn't reply, she just vanished in a gust of air straight up. The rope uncoiling straight up after her.
"Huh. Guess she didn't need the picks." He ignored the sounds of alarm from the others. Glaring at the dark shapes of their party he hissed. "SHut it!"
Tormund grabbed the rope that'd settled, movement ending. He gave it a sharp tug. "Right, climb up ya fuckers."
Climbing up a wall without ice, with a rope, was significantly easier. His feet found the divots and mortar of the stone wall. Barely any effort at all. The rope was easy on his hands, All too soon he was reaching the top of the wall, a light breeze in his hair. He accepted the inhumanly strong arm that hauled him up over the lip. "Everything's easier in the south."
"Powers." The god wiggled her fingers.
Tormund huffed, and set about dropping another rope as the god continued to help people up and over the bulworks. His eyes paused on the slumped guards. No blood, clearly not alive. Well maybe the southern shits hadn't been talking out their asses when they called whatever the woman was a god. She certainly wasn't human. He drew his sword and took position by the wall, ready to stab anyone who approached their dark spot along the wall. It was disappointingly quiet.
Tormund slit a man's throat, barely flinching as an arrow whistled past his ear and into the neck of a man in front of him. He looked over his shoulder as he dropped the body. It was the boy who'd been tripping all over the place. "Nice shot."
The kid gave a nod as he notched another arrow, and then moved to continue the work.
Tormund snorted. He threw his knife into a startled looking man stopped at the top of the stairs. The fool collapsed as they clutched at his chest. Striding forward he looked for the next weak southerner in the gatehouse. They were cutting through these idiots like a knife through butter. He grinned showing his teeth. This bit before they had to barricade themselves into the central defensive structure of the wall was fun!
////
Sansa looked up as Lord Glover ducked under the flap of her tent. "Here to tell me the demands I intend to levy on Lady Dustin and Lord Ryswell are too harsh as well, Lord Glover?"
"Not at all my Lady." Lord Glover was a grim man, the weight of his years drawn deep into his face. "I approve. It's time for teeth to be bared."
She felt something settle under her skin at that. "Then what brought you here my Lord?"
"Your choice to place Mors Umber's son in Barrowtown, he's too young for the honor. If you mean to award House Umber there are older sons not in line to inherit to choose from." His position was deferential as he spoke.
Sansa straightened as she focused on him entirely, turning away from the offer she intended to give the traitor Lords in their hall when they came to surrender. "The older sons of House Umber will be expected to fight in the wars ahead of us." She raised a brow. "I intend for Ned Umber to marry Sera Dustin and take the name of Dustin when he does so. The two are of similar age, and he's young enough he may survive."
"Stability then." Glover grunted in understanding, he chuckled. "You mean to let House Dustin to train their new and unwanted heir."
She gave a slight gesture of assent. "They have no male heirs in the main line, giving them an alliance with House Umber, an heir young enough they can have some influence, and removing their alliance with House Ryswell. An insult, but a survivable one."
"I need to know, are you capable of what will follow if they refuse your terms?" Glover looked at her, face set as he weighed her.
Sansa didn't blink in hesitation. "I am."
"You won't be remembered the way your father is." Glover's eyes squinted slightly as he looked at her.
She raised a brow at that. "Was that ever even possible as a woman in these times?"
"No." He huffed. "I suppose not." Glover shook his head. "Are you prepared for Lady Dustin? She's a right sharp tongued Lady. 'An Lord Ryswell is her father. You'll be standing against the Ryswells, not the Dustins."
Sansa considered that, the man was measuring her, but he was trying to help. It was...a good sign. "I'm aware, Lady Dustin will speak for both herself and her father. But it's Lord Ryswell who will decide on what happens. Am I wrong?"
"You're exactly right." He gave a sharp nod. "I see I'm not needed here. Apologies my Lady."
She carefully soothed the man's pride. "Your support is appreciated. And I would hope you will continue to offer your council in the future. I would be a fool to ignore the advice of a seasoned and loyal lord, like yourself."
"My Lady." He bowed to her, and if she wasn't mistaken there was respect in his voice. Important progress for their position.
Sansa stood on the hill, wind whipping past them as they watched the party from Barrowtown approaching. She reached out, taking her brother's hand. It might be a sign of weakness, but it wasn't that she needed his presence at her shoulder, she wanted it. It steadied her and warmed her in ways she couldn't quite explain. She hadn't had family besides her since her father's head had been cut off. She didn't want to question whether trusting her brother made her weak or not. Instead she just squeezed his hand and drew strength from his quiet presence.
The approaching party wasn't large. Lady Dustin was clear to be seen, her greying hair tied into a widow's knot. Her gown was voluminous and fine, if out of fashion for at least a decade. Riding by her side was her father, Lord Ryswell. Lord Ryswell was old, he'd of been of age with Sansa's grandfather if he'd lived. The man's hair was grey from root to tip, clothing thicker than the weather called for, likely a requirement at his age.
Riding with them were twenty household guard for each house, a few lesser members of each House. It was a sign they meant to surrender fully. They'd have sent word not, come personally if they meant to fight. It was a good sign.
Sansa waited, unmoving as the party pulled up twenty feet from them. She watched as they dismounted. They would come to her. It was petty, but image was important. So she waited for them to come to her. Jon besides her, Lord Glover, Lord Cerwyn, and Mors Umber behind her. The sigils of House Flint, Manderly and Mormont attached to the tents behind her.
The wind was cold as the party dismounted and walked towards them. Leading the walk was Lady Dustin, as expected. The woman's face was tight and sharp. She came to a halt. "Lady Stark. It would seem we have much to discuss."
"Indeed." Sansa waited for them to accept their defeat. This meeting was not on their terms, they couldn't be allowed to think they could fight this. If they tried it would be war. A brief and bloody one, but war all the same time. A thing she needed to avoid.
Lord Ryswell spoke, his voice scratchy as he spoke. "Shall we retire to discuss terms?"
"Two guards for each of you, Lord Ryswell, Lady Dustin." Sansa turned and walked to the tent already prepared for this meeting. Her brother would ensure her back was safe and her orders followed here.
Stepping into the tent she moved to the Lord's seat already prepared for her. Taking her seat she watched as everyone filed in after her. She didn't gesture or request the bread and salt be offered to their guests. A slight and a threat that would be noticed.
Lord Rywsell dropped into the plain chair set out for him. He breathed deeply. "You could learn better manners when dealing with your elders."
"I wasn't aware treason was rewarded by propriety and concern." Sansa settled as Jon came to a stop, standing beside her seat. "Now, you requested this meeting."
Lady Dustin spoke, she hadn't taken the seat offered to her. Though she wasn't near as aged as her father. Instead she stood tall and proud. "We're here to surrender, as you well know. You've made your point, Lady Stark."
"Then I'll give you my terms for accepting your surrender." Sansa gestured for Lord Cerwyn.
He stepped forward holding the written out terms of surrender. He handed a set to each of their honored 'guests'. "Lady Stark's terms." His voice was stiff.
"I would hear from Eddard Stark's daughter's mouth what these terms are." Lady Dustin looked at her. "It was a shame to us all what happened to your brother. I'd know what price we'll pay for accepting those crimes."
Sansa gave a slight nod. "Both House Ryswell and House Dustin will surrender five hundred thousand gold dragons to House Stark. Three hundred head of sheep, one hundred head of cattle, five tons of grain, and fifty head of horse. In addition your forces here gathered will leave tomorrow under the command of Mors Umber to secure Moat Callin. A force of fifty men at arms sworn to House Stark will be hosted in each of your ancestral homes from this day till such a time as you have re-earned my regard and trust."
No one spoke. It would cripple them. The price was large, and one that would take years to recover from. And yet Sansa continued.
"You will each give up your titles and positions as Heads of your Houses. Lord Ryswell, you will be succeeded by your eldest son Roger Ryswell. Your youngest son Roose Ryswell is to be surrendered along with yourself to Winterfell as promise of your House's continued loyalty and good behavior." She turned her attention to Lady Dustin. "In the case of House Dustin the line of succession is less clear. As such I shall settle the matter. Your late husband's oldest uncle had a single son, who in turn had a single daughter before his death at the Red Wedding. For this I will name his daughter Sara Dustin as heir. The seat to be controlled by the oldest male Dustin, Rickard Dustin as regent until she comes of age. She is to be betrothed to Ned Umber, son of Mors Umber. Upon their marriage he will take her name and serve as Lord Dustin in turn."
Lady Dusin's fingers dug into her father's shoulder. But still said nothing.
Sansa finished her final terms, the utter nails in the coffin of their houses current positions. "Of the remaining gold in your Houses' coffers thirty percent is to be used to purchase goods from Essos to feed your people through the coming winter."
"And if we fail to accept these terms you mean to put our heads on pikes, as well as every member of our Houses." Lady Dustin's voice was tight.
Sansa refused to blanch at the threat she was making. "I have no desire to make a mockery of your corpses. I'd have the bodies burned, as all dead in the North are to be burned now."
"Burning the dead is not our way." Lady Dustin managed to look down her nose at her. "You can't mean you follow that Red God of Stannis's?"
Sansa's lips twitched ever so slightly. "Hardly. I follow the old gods as House Stark has done since before the Age of Heroes. The dead need be burned due to the threat coming for us all." She looked to Jon.
He took a step forward, his face as solemn as always. "The dead are coming. The Long Night is upon us."
"You jest?" Lord Ryswell balked.
Jon looked at the man like he was two feet tall and stupid. It was rather impressive how much disdain he managed. Considering he did it while looking sincere just added to the effectiveness of it. "I saw them in the Watch, fought them at Hardhome."
Sansa spoke, bringing the attention back to the matter at hand. "Accept the terms and we can focus on the dead. Fail to do so and I'll ensure you aren't a problem when they come."
////
Jon paused with a sort of pleasant surprise as he saw Tormund and Daisy laughing as they entered the great hall of Barrowtown. It'd been all solemn resignation as the fortress was handed over to House Stark. But these two looked like they'd had a night out at a tavern. It was...not a pair of people he'd have expected to get along. He stepped forward. "Tormund! Your Holiness." He gave a dip of his head to the god.
"Jon!" Tormund laughed, stepping forward and hugging him.
He eyed the man. "I'm surprised her Holiness hasn't killed you already."
"Bah! She's got guts. Did ya know she can fly?" Tormund slammed a hand down on Daisy's shoulder.
Daisy snickered as she rocked from the force of the show of affection. "Told you I didn't need climbing picks."
"You did." Tormund grinned. "But you didn't say you could fly!" He looked at Jon. "You would find a god who could slit a man's throat without hesitating and fly."
Daisy didn't move away from the hand on her shoulder. "So the whole diplomacy thing went well I see."
"They accepted Sansa's terms." Jon was kind of terrified of his sister. She wasn't the bright girl commanding other girls in sewing circles any longer. Now she commanded war negotiations.
Tormund's arms dropped back to his sides. "Aye, we figured that. What with the lack of gutting bastards."
"We'll have to spar if there's time before the army marches out tomorrow." Daisy eyed Tormund part amused, and part evaluating. It was...frankly weird.
Jon was oddly curious to see that. "We'll see, for now my sister would speak with you. Both of you."
"Cool." Daisy said as if that was a response that made any sense. "Nice I wasn't needed for any shock and awe." Her brow furrowed. "Probably a good thing really, and hey, you get to fly with me once this gets wrapped up."
Jon felt himself pale slightly. It wasn't that he was scared of heights...or doubted the god's power. But the concept of flight hanging onto the woman's shoulders like a terrified kid was daunting. "It should be soon, with our army intact, and no need for marching further into the Rills to root out the Ryswells our campaign will be much shorter."
"We leave for the Moat tomorrow, yes?" Tormund checked as they walked through the hall and towards the rooms that were being prepared for their forces.
Jon nodded. "Aye, the army leaves under Mors tomorrow."
"We can have our fight in Winterfell then." Tormund turned to Daisy.
She grinned, bumping into Tormund genially. "Sounds good, and hey, the boys could use fighting with your men. It'll be good for them. Especially getting their asses kicked by women who aren't me."
"You southerners don't fear women rightly." Tormund agreed.
Jon considered that. "I don't know, I think they're learning to fear my sister."
"She's had her moment. Call to action or whatever you want. And she's got enemies and people to protect." Daisy looked...impressed. "They should be afraid of her."
Tormund made a sound of understanding. "If she's like you Pretty Boy, I might just get the appeal. Well you with tits."
"How has a woman not stabbed you yet?" Daisy stared at him, brow furrowed in genuine bafflement.
Tormund's rough laugh was deep and booming. "I have been! It's how you know you've got a woman with fire in her."
Jon bit back a laugh, his mouth pulled into a smile despite himself. "I've found the courtship of the Free Folk very violent your Holiness."
"Yeah...if I stab someone they're not standing back up." Daisy adjusted one of the metal gauntlets on her arms.
Tormund laughed, slapping the god on the back. "Good for you. You might not be kissed by fire like me, but you've got fire in you."
Jon smiled genuinely at his friend as they paused for a rush of servants to move by carrying out old bedding. "Not that the romantic customs of the Free Folk aren't interesting, but I believe my sister wishes to speak about our movements going forward, now that things have changed."
"Sorry." Daisy gave him an amused if genuine look as she fell more serious. "What's the status of the army?"
He settled as they continued to walk through the halls. Though their progress was slow, the endless servants keeping the halls fairly clogged. "Most of our forces remain outside the walls, but some three hundred are now inside. We have tonight to secure Barrowtown to prevent them from backstabbing us."
"You weren't expecting to win so soon." Tormund's eyes glinted. "Fighting in the true north gave you harder enemies. These southerners are weak."
Daisy was clearly holding back a comment at that. But her good humor was still clear.
"You'll have more time to fight, for now we have other matters." Jon finally reached the door being guarded by men in Stark colors. Opening the door he gave a relieved sigh at the sight of his sister paging through books of House Dustin's accounts. The chaos around her of the room being cleaned out of Lady Dustin's belongings and prepared for her while she was already in it was expected. "Sansa!"
"Jon." Sansa smiled in welcome. "That was faster than I was expecting."
He unhooked his cloak. "I found them in the Great Hall. Your relief for their position at the gates beat me to them."
"Good, we have a great deal to discuss." Sansa straightened, closing the ledgers she'd been bent over. "But first, Tormund. Are you and your people willing to follow Mors Umber?"
Tormund's shoulders squared. "We'll do it. Knew it was coming anyways." He threw a look at Daisy. "Only if your god is there and swears to not let us be killed off."
"I won't be there all the time." Daisy cautioned. "But I can follow Mors's division. At the very least once you reach the Moat."
Tormund gave the looked full of teeth. "That's good enough. So long as you swear it."
"I swear it." Daisy replied without hesitation.
Jon breathed out in relief. Whatever had happened in the taking of the gatehouse had endeared the Free Folk enough to the god for them to have her favor. Favor that should protect them without him there to keep old grudges from flaring against them. "Tormund, if you would leave some ten of your men to remain as protectors for Sansa?"