Chapter 22Notes:Sup! Yes, I do call Jon a pretty, pretty princess in this chapter, and it amuses me
Chapter TextBrienne grabbed Rickon Stark by the scruff and hauled him off the wall he'd been about to climb. "No climbing the walls."
"I wasn't gonna climb high." He pouted, crossing his arms as he glared at her.
She prayed to the Seven to give her strength. "You're supposed to be learning the Northern Houses with Maester Wolkan."
"It's boring." There was a distinct whine in his voice.
"As a future Lord you need to know your Houses." Brienne used her grip on the back of his jacket to direct him into the castle and towards his lessons. "It's your duty."
Rickon didn't dig in his heels, which at this point was basically a victory.
Brienne accepted the silence. She wished with every bone of her body she was by Lady Sansa's side. But if this was where she was to be, then it was where she was going to be. It was reassuring to know she had made the correct choice forgoing motherhood. Children were far superior from a distance. As she dragged the boy past the Great Hall she gave a short nod to Lord Manderly. At least Rickon's aversion to sitting still was the greatest challenge they'd faced.
////
Daisy adjusted the decorative jacket thing as she finished the last of the buttons. "They don't know I'm not human here?"
"It's important, I'd rather not have to deal with another Lord Umber." Sansa replied dryly from where she was reading the correspondence she'd demanded be brought to her.
Daisy looked longingly at the surprisingly comfortable thing called a gambeson she'd been wearing. It was so lovely and dark navy blue. Dirt and blood smears perfectly hideable. The fancy stuff was white or grey...she felt guilty everytime she found a dirt smudge. "Lord Umber knew, he just didn't believe. And like uh, me shaking the ground for effect or making the air real cold is going to stop being impressive."
"Forgive me, but I doubt your power will ever not inspire awe." Sansa set one of the letters into one of the five piles she was forming on the desk. "And the more Lords who believe in your divinity the better. It gives weight to your status."
She accepted she was going to wear the clothing that showed every speck of dirt. "Are you sure you want Jon and I to leave for the Umber force tomorrow? We could delay it a day or two, help secure everything here."
"Yes, Davos and Lord Cerwyn will be enough for now. Especially with the size of the force being left behind." Sansa looked at her curiously. "What's wrong? You've never worried like this before?"
Daisy blinked….when had she gotten attached? "We're in a nearly hostile stronghold and you're sending like 90% of us out immediately. It's risky. And I happen to know you now, and badass though you may be, I don't think you can defend yourself properly if someone decides to shank you."
"I'll have guards, and I have no interest in leaving myself more vulnerable than is required." Sansa set the missive she'd been reading down. "Is there a threat you believe I'm missing?"
She frowned. "I don't think so but...I don't know, there's something off with your Stormland knights."
"Off how?" Sansa was paying full attention to her.
Daisy bit her lip as she tried to put it into words. "It's probably nothing, just like distrust cause of their red priestess. But they're super twitchy when they spot me, and I'm kind of allied with you."
"Ah." Sansa leaned back slightly in her seat. "I'd noticed that as well." One of her fingers tapped on the arm of her chair. "Do you think it's an immediate threat?"
Which wasn't that the question? "I don't know, but you'll be without Brienne, Jon, or me here to ensure no one tries anything." Daisy hopped up onto a table, letting her legs swing slightly. "What if I left the guys who've sworn to me with you? I'll need Joran with me, but otherwise. I know you planned on them going with the army to the Moat since they're getting to be really good archers. But they're religious, I trust that loyalty more than your knights. And the Manderly men."
Sansa clearly seemed considering as she looked at Daisy. Finally she gave the slightest nod. "I can see the value in that. It won't be difficult to adjust the guard rotations. But you'd be willing to give your followers to me like that?"
"Obviously." Daisy shrugged at that. It wasn't like she had wanted them in the first place. "It's messing with me how fast it all went I think.
And are you telling me you're not suspicious of possible treason in your ranks?"
Sansa shook her head. "No, you're right." She sighed, her shoulders softening. "I've been careless.
"Hey, don't go brood about it. You've been working yourself like crazy. Like god knows how you're juggling everything." Daisy was fairly sure had Sansa been a SHIELD agent she'd have turned the bureaucracy of it all into her bitch.
Sansa set her quill aside. "I'm not delegating enough am I?"
"Probably not." Daisy considered that. "You haven't built up much of a close council outside of Manderly and Jon."
Frustration painted itself across Sansa's face. "And who should I consider a council member? Davos? I barely have met the man let alone have a measure for him. Lord's Glover and Mors leave for the Moat. Perhaps when they return."
"Lord Cerwyn is basically a puppy." Daisy was not impressed by the man, vaguely amused, but not impressed. "A loyal one who has at least enough of a brain to be more useful than he is being right now."
"A fair assessment." Sansa gave a long sigh, looking at the fire. "I have learned that trust is for the naive. It is hard to give that trust despite that."
Daisy hummed. "Trust is...brave. Especially when you know the risk."
"Brave not foolish?" Sansa asked, and there was a bitterness there.
Daisy's brow furrowed as she looked at the thick carpet on the floor. "Coulson trusted me despite everything. When I was nothing. He went out on a limb for me. And I proved everyone else right, I was working for an enemy group. But he still gave me a second chance. I earned his trust back. Through everything, I saved his life, I took two...basically arrows? To the gut for him. When everything turned to ash I stayed. Coulson had a way of believing in people that made them loyal. Trust has a way of surprising you."
"All these Lords and Ladies were loyal to my father. They were loyal to my brother. And they betrayed them despite that. Your Coulson clearly was betrayed as well. If I take the risk of trusting these people and they betray me, the North will likely fall. Without the North there will be no one to stop the dead."
Daisy wasn't Coulson, she couldn't inspire like he could. But she had a feeling inspiration wasn't what Sansa needed. She was too logical for blind belief. "If you keel over from stress what will happen exactly? Cause Jon'll brood his way to death. And Rickon is eleven."
"A necessary gamble of faith." Sansa lifted a small stick of wax, turning it over in her fingers. "So much of leadership is a gamble. Choose wrong and the cost is death. Fail to choose and the cost is death."
Daisy nodded. "It sucks." She hopped off the table. It was funny...and yet.. "Do you trust me at all?"
Sansa held her gaze. "More than I should." Her lips twitched. "Though I don't understand you."
Daisy laughed. "I think that's a compliment."
"It is." Sansa paused slightly. "Thank you, for the advice."
She hesitated at the door. "Anytime."
////
Fitz cracked open the crate of materials that'd arrived. "Oh f-finally." He lifted up a piece of the seaweed inside the crate. It was something useful at last. He looked up to where Crann was opening one of the other crates. "It's the b-brine?"
"Exactly how you wanted it." Crann lifted a bottle of the corked and highly concentrated salt water.
He closed the lid, delighted. Between this and the silver he had a start at getting ahold of iodine and silver nitrate. "This is Jemma's area. B-but I can make t-this work."
Wolkan shuffled over, looking at the contents of the wagon that'd arrived from White Harbor. "How will this be of any use to you? It's just salt water and seaweed."
"It's not wha-what it is, it's what I c-can make from it." Fitz hopped off the wagon. "C-rann, get it into the w-workshop."
Wolkan folded his hands into his sleeves in front of him. "What will you make from it?"
"Che-chemical compounds I can s-see the in-invisible with." Fitz didn't expect any of them to understand the concept of radiation or magnetism or just anything he was trying to measure. Wolkan was the smartest person there and he wouldn't have been able to keep up with Fitz when he was ten, let alone now. "I-I need to know that to g-get home."
Wolkan made a considering noise. "Is it only useful for seeing the unseen? Or do these compounds have other uses?"
"Hmm. Iodine is a dis-disinfectant." Fitz mumbled distractedly as he watched Crann moving a crate. His eyes were sharp, they couldn't afford it to be dropped with how long it'd taken to get this in the first place.
Wolkan asked a question then that actually made Fitz freeze in horror. "What is disinfectant?"
"Ex-excuse me?!" Fitz gaped, as he stared at the man. He ran a hand through his hair. Dear god the man was serious. "Y-you can't...h-how do you n-not die from infection!? A p-paper cut could kill you! R-rusty nails!"
Wolkan's eyes widened in sudden understanding. "You can stop infection." He looked at the crates like they were made of gold. "This will let you stop infection? You're sure?"
"Y-yes!" Fitz trembled in disbelief at the horror. He could have died from a damn papercut!
////
Jon pressed a kiss to the crown of his sister's head. "Stay safe."
"You as well brother." Sansa caught his forearms and squeezed. "Don't get stabbed."
He huffed. "I'm more worried about being dropped."
"I'm sure our resident god will try not to." The tiny flicker of humor was a relief to see. It was rare on his sister's face afterall.
Jon was not particularly comforted at her words. He found the whole idea of being flown across the North terrifying. Not that he'd say so. "I'm sure you're right. You generally are."
"Only generally?" Her voice was dry, but her eyes were bright.
He chuckled. "You can't always be right." He looked over her shoulder at the man wearing the sigil of her Holiness's followers. "I see you have more protection than expected?"
"Daisy offered, and I agreed." She folded her hands before her.
He noted the knight of the Stormlands standing at guard to his sister's other side, as well as a man in Manderly colors. "Good. I'll see you in Winterfell. Four moons turns at most."
"Send word when it's done." She instructed, though he thought it was as much her need to keep on top of the political situation as it was her own way of requesting news he survived the fight ahead of him.
"Aye, I'll do that." Jon took a step back. "Well, can't avoid it forever." He turned to Davos. Davos was a good man, he'd stand by his sister.
Davos gave a nod to him.
Finally he turned around to face the god that was about to fly him across the continent. Jon winced as he realized exactly how ridiculous he was about to look as he saw the rope. "Is that necessary?"
"Unless you want to fall." Daisy grinned as she looked up at him. "Also you're gonna want to take that cloak off.
Jon stepped closer. "You're going tie me to your back aren't you?"
"Yup, kinda need my arms for the whole flying thing. So no carrying you like a pretty pretty princess." And she was clearly deeply amused by this.
He carefully unbuckled his cloak. Folding it he moved back to his sister. "Keep it safe for me?" It was his most precious possession after his sword.
"Of course." Sansa accepted it from him.
Taking a deep breath, he turned and walked back to the god. "Is this enough?"
"You're good. So, how do you feel about piggy back rides." She winked as she offered her back to him.
Every bone in his body cringed at the thought of holding a woman as closely as he was about to hold Daisy. But he accepted it was necessary. Ygrette would have laughed at how awkward he was feeling about it. He cautiously stepped behind her, raising his arms and wrapping them over her shoulders. He wasn't actually that much taller than her.
Daisy snickered and looped the rope around their waists. She glanced over her shoulder at him and raised an eyebrow. "You're not going to shock me dude. Tighter against me you are, lower the chances of you falling off."
"Right." Jon's cheeks heated, but he did press himself flush against her back at that.
She tossed rope over their right shoulders, before leaning forward and yanking the end between their legs. Repeating the process she soon had them tied together vertically and horizontally. As she tightened the last knot she sighed. "K, I'm going to crouch down. Try not to puke."
"Puke?" Jon felt a sudden spike of alarm.
Daisy ignored him, yanking them both down into a crouch. "Hang on." She reached up with one hand to ensure his grip around her shoulders was tight. And then her hands dropped, and then it was like his stomach dropped out from under him, the wind pressing down, and they were gone.
Jon staggered three strides to the side, dropped to his knees, and puked into the grass. His body shook as his fingers dug into the ground. Ground, sweet ground. The awful vibrations were absent, it was just him, his own body and solid ground, still air. "Sweet gods."
"That really threw off my balance. Sorry about nearly crashing into that one tree." Daisy touched his shoulder.
A wave of vibration washed over him, his damp to wet clothing turned hot and dry. It was one of the strangest sensations he'd felt...not even the strangest of the day. But still strange.
He looked up at her. "How are you standing?"
"You get used to it." Daisy patted his shoulder. "Once you're ready the army is just over that hill. I kinda missed a bit."
Jon wiped at his mouth. "I'd rather ride five hundred leagues on horse than do that again."
"What, not walk five hundred miles?" She grinned.
He frowned. "What? Yes, walking five hundred miles would be better?"
"Come on." She grabbed his arm and hauled him to his feet. "I've got a song to teach you. And we've got a short hike."
////
Rodrick Ryswell, formerly Lord Ryswell threw a pitcher across the room. It shattered against the wall. "Fucking Starks!"
"Sit down father." Barbrey Dustin replied tartly as ever. "It's not good for your heart."
He glared at her. "We're ruined."
"I told you that Roose Bolton would damn us. The Lords of the North would have rebelled eventually. And every scream from that girl's throat, from Ned Stark's beloved daughter's throat as the bastard raped her only brought it inevitably closer. Her weeping damned us long before she brought her army to our doors." Barbrey poured herself wine as she eyed him with familier judgement.
Rodrick hated that his fury was not enough to keep him on his feet like it would have when he was a young man. But he wasn't young anymore. Hadn't been for a great many years. So filled with spite he collapsed into a great fur covered chair by the fire. "That girl has stripped us of our dignity. Our wealth and standing. My son rules a broken house."
"Roose took a risk. He thought he could usurp the Starks. And with all the boys dead save Ned's bastard who was on the wall perhaps he could have. But the Starks are beloved. Nearly every House in the North lost sons in the Red Wedding. I lost members of my House in that abomination against the gods!" And his daughter was seething at that. "But maybe Roose could have held the North, but his bastard wasn't a mad dog."
Rodrick knew his daughter was right. "Fuck Starks."
"I did, if you remember my youth. Not that Rickard would allow his children to marry in the North with his foolish Southern ambitions. But if that wolf girl had demanded we grovel on the ground we would have been forced to do so. We lost, our survival is more than we had right to expect." Barbrey took a pointed drink of her wine.
He grunted at the memory of when he'd dreamed of marrying his daughter to Brandon Stark. She'd have been Lady Stark of Winterfell. He'd been willing to accept Ned as a second best for his daughter once he'd known of the betrothal to House Tully. And then he'd been forced to realize Lord Rickard would not marry any of his sons to the North. So he'd married his daughter to House Dustin. It'd been an insult after the Stark boy dishonored his daughter.
Barbrey huffed. "You seem to miss that by being in Winterfell we'll be placed to advocate for our Houses. Hostages of course, but we still have our heads."
"That girl will have wiped out more ancient and noble Houses than any single forbear of hers." He stared into the flicking of the fire. Two Houses gone once the Karstarks were dead. And if she turned those two to dust he had no doubt House Frey's days were numbered. Three Houses.
His daughter clucked her tongue. "We thought her irrelevant save as a martyr, a lack of imagination."
"How have you resigned yourself to this? Yesterday morn you were Lady of House Dustin, had an army, Barrowtown, dignity. Now it's gone. Our armies march to Moat Cailin without us, you rule nothing, and our homes are no longer ours." He was..exhausted. A lifetime growing his House. Marrying his daughters into two of the most powerful Houses in the North. Alliances, trade, years of work he'd given all the years of his life to and it was just...gone.
Barbrey picked up her sewing. "We wagered and we've lost. And unlike the Karstarks our heirs can rebuild and our heads are attached." She began to unspool her thread. "If that boy of Ned's speaks true, having a Lady of Winterfell with a will of iron is our best hope."
"You think the Long Night has truly come?" He was tired then. Because he didn't want to believe. But he did. He felt in his heart, in the memories of his ancestors of monsters long since defeated but not destroyed.
Barbrey's hands stilled. "If Ned's son says it's here and wildlings follow a Stark then I believe him."
"Aye...I do as well." Rodrick admitted, and didn't that damn them all.
Chapter 23Notes:Is this so many hours early its kinda ridiculous? Yes, yes it is. Is this because my entire county is supposed to flood and my internet is patchy at best in this weather? Also yes. So congrats! Early chapter today, I'm off to hunt down some lunch and thank foresight my house is raised and on what could optimistically called a hillock...its higher than the neighbor houses. Chances of being flooded 1%, chances of waking up to find myself living on an island 35%.
Chapter TextSansa carefully placed the token representing Mors Umber a league from the walls of Barrowtown besides the tokens representing the rest of her southernmost army. Once she had the Moat and House Karstark was defeated, that was it. She'd have secured the whole of the North. No house would dare stand against her without blatant cause. It had to be enough.
"If I may m'Lady, how do you plan to fight the dead?" Ser Davos asked cautiously.
She looked at the map. The North was vast and wild. Whole regions near untamed and the War of Five Kings had devastated their population. The only boon from that was that there would be less mouths to feed in the coming winter. A dark and unwanted boon. "My brother is the general. For now we can only prepare. Man the Wall as best we can and hope we have time."
"Forgive me m'Lady, but I've seen the Wall. Even with the men you've sent they have no hope against our enemy." Davos gave a pointed look to the pitiful tokens placed on the Wall.
Her jaw tensed ever so slightly. "And what would you advise?"
"Don't rightly know. But you haven't called your banners yet? Not all of them anyways. Why?" Davos' furry brows pulled together.
Sansa pressed her palm to the map. "Four moons and I can. But until the Lords repledge themselves to House Stark they are free to ignore my call. We cannot afford for that to happen. And it will happen."
"I see. Have you considered sending word you need to man the castles on the Wall? There are nineteen of them and only three are manned. Even with the Bolton men you've sent there are not enough men." Davos spoke, a quiet intensity in his voice.
She could practically feel the sincerity from the man. His survival with a man like Stannis made more sense the longer she was around him. Her brother had not been wrong, though he clearly shared the same priority as Jon. "And where would you see me find those men? I could march the entire North to the Wall and it would likely not be enough. The materials to repair fallen castles, the defenses...it's more than the North alone can do. And we will stand alone in this."
"Your mother was a Tully, your cousin will be Lord of the Vale when he comes of age. Surely you have allies you could call upon?" He questioned.
Sansa felt rage at the thought of calling on Petyr for support. She knew she would have to, but it made her skin crawl, her teeth felt like fangs at the thought of allowing him near her again. "I will write to Lord Baelish once the North is secured. He will come with the knights of the Vale if I ask."
"I suppose the Riverlands have been too ravaged for much help to be hoped for from that quarter. Retaken by your uncle or not." Davos admitted as he listened to her words. "Surely some Houses would come if called?"
The truth hurt. "I will write to those Houses that remained loyal until the end as well as my uncle, though it would be foolish to expect anything from the Riverlands." And didn't that burn, that she could beg and plead and it would be worth less than nothing. Though perhaps that was the stupid girl she'd once been speaking. The Riverlands were devastated, more so than the North. And House Stark was responsible for that.
"This war has ruined us all." Davos looked at the table.
Sansa didn't disagree, it had. "Of the six knights of the Stormlands here, give the names of the three most suited for guarding to Lord Cerwyn."
"Of course m'Lady." Davos agreed. He paused. "I didn't mean to cause offense by asking for your war plans. I'm afraid I know little more than you when it comes to the mechanics of war."
Sansa needed every man to support her as possible. Especially a man who clearly was valued by others as Davos was. "Your desire to focus on the dead is not wrong. Merely untenable at this moment." She looked at him. "Ser Davos, I am told you are a good man. In the days to come don't forget that is a rare trait."
"Thank you m'Lady, I think?" Davos seemed to see something on her face. "I mean no offence, but I've survived this long. I'm no stranger to evil men, M'Lady."
Sansa gave the slightest of nods to him. "We have that in common Ser Davos." She stepped away from the map. It was of little use to her save to keep track of where her forces were. "Tell me, can you read?"
"Somewhat. Not well, or quickly. But I know my letters." Davos had a pride to him, his chest puffing slightly, he lowered his head slightly as he defended himself. It was fascinating to see.
She kept her face as soft as she allowed anyone to see her save family. "Is there a knight among those here that you trust who is more familiar with the business of the noble houses and capable of reading with speed?"
"Aye, Ser Musgood." Davos named promptly.
She hummed as she sat at the desk, pulling out a fresh piece of parchment and dipping the quill into the inkwell. "In that case I have need of your service. I would send you, Ser Musgood, as well as the two other knights not being used in my defense to the ancestral holdings of House Ryswell. Once there I need accounting of their holdings, military strength, and stores as well as other assets. I would also be grateful for any copies of correspondence. I can afford to send you with fifty men at arms. A further fifty would join you in one to two moon's time. Once your numbers are swelled, you as well as Ser Musgood are to return to Winterfell."
Davos frowned ever so slightly. "Will you be secure with those forces gone? It wouldn't be a bother to stay long enough for more men."
Sansa raised a brow as she looked at him. "For a man eager to face the dead you seem willing to delay when unnecessary." She waited for him to give the slightest of a tilt of the head. Good, he'd understood. "Time is not a commodity we have at our disposal. You and the men will leave tomorrow. I will be secure with the remaining hundred twenty men at arms. It may not be a large force, but the Dustin and Ryswell forces have been emptied so that they may march under Mors for Moat Calin."
"Very well m'Lady." Davos bowed his head in acceptance.
She might have time to sleep properly, that'd gone better than expected. "Thank you for your service Ser Davos, if you could send Lord Cerwyn in after you."
"Of course, I'll see to preparing the men before supper if you don't mind."
////
Rickon carefully stalked Hogg. The man was bent over a patch of earth where he and a few of the other men were doing something to the dirt. He crouched, ready to pounce. His focus had narrowed entirely to his prey. Shaggydog was a flicker away from his mind, their thoughts blurring ever so slightly as they prepared to make their move.
"RICKON STARK!" Brienne bellowed as she came striding out into the yard after him.
////
Daisy punched Tormund straight in the face. It was...deeply rewarding. The sexism of this world had been getting to her. An excuse to punch some guys in the face was satisfying. She felt a buzz of excitement as she watched Tormund react to the punch.
His head had snapped back from it. He looked back at her, faint dribble of blood from one nostril, his eyes bright, excitement practically zipping off of him. He looked frankly elated at having been punched. "HA! Ya're strong as an ox!"
"Come on." She dropped back into her sparring stance, her weight carefully balanced. Her hand beckoned as she waited, watching his movements.
He ducked coming in low, a fist swinging in for her central mass from the left. His feet were rooted.
Daisy blocked the blow, absorbing the weight of it, bent, and kicked hard enough to send him stumbling back a solid foot. She didn't give him time to recover. She spun while following him, chambering a second kick she struck out at him.
Tormund was ready this time. He shoved his shoulder into her calf as he closed space. With a grunt he bum rushed her as best as possible in the stride and a half he had.
Hooking her calf around his shoulder, she let her weight drop fully on the shoulder, driving him downwards with her weight.
He grunted as he slammed into the ground, Daisy didn't manage to get a proper pin in place however. Clearly Tormund at least had a proper grasp on combat without swords. Man was a wrestler, she realized as he rolled, knocking her to the ground with him as well as off of the top of him.
Daisy backhanded him in the gut. She didn't pause, rolling upwards and then punching downwards for his head.
Tormund managed to grab onto her shoulders by not trying to avoid her fist. It helped she hadn't gotten enough space to put weight into, and frankly holding back slightly so as not to accidentally break something of his. He hauled, in an attempt to get her under him. A mistake.
She slammed her knee into his groin. As he wheezed she broke his grip on her, and hooked around him, getting a grip around his neck with her arm. Tighting her grip she choked him.
He squirmed to get away, his hands trying to dig into her arms. Unfortunately the thick wool of her gambeson kept it from doing more than mildly bruising at worst.
Using her right leg, she caught his leg and forced him to straighten, keeping him stretched too much to generate enough force to have a hope of breaking free. With that she tightened enough to cut off his air. She waited till he started to go limp. Daisy shook him once, then rolled off, coming to her feet.
Tormund gasped, sucking in air. He wheezed, one hand on his throat.
"Damn." Mors clapped as he looked at her with newfound respect. "Not afraid to get dirty there your Holiness?"
Daisy grinned, excited at the fight. "Fighting isn't clean."
Tormund grunted, his voice rough. "You went easy on me." He glared, though it was rather ruined by the excitement.
"Why'd you come at me without a weapon?" Daisy counted amused.
He grabbed a sword, his face wild with excitement. "Won't make that mistake again."
One of the men with the horse head sigil of house Ryswell glowered, speaking up. His voice was snide. "Weak wrestling with some wildling savage. Some 'god'."
There was some murmurs of agreement from the men from of House Ryswell and Dustin.
Daisy raised a brow looking at the man. She flicked her eyes up and down the man's figure. He was just old enough to imagine himself a man. Likely around her own age, but his beard was thick and curly. Oddly reminded her slightly of Miles. It didn't endear him to her. "Five seconds."
"Wha?" He frowned, clearly missing the sudden danger he was in.
She turned, not bothering with a stance. For this idiot, and to make a point she'd stop moving like a human. And cease matching her opponent. Her voice was cold as she spoke, she could see the men sworn to her stiffening. "It's how long I'll need to make you cry without bothering with power. Or are you afraid of me?"
He sneered, puffed slightly, and stepped forward not bothering with a weapon. Idiot. He took a lazy swing for her. His form was far worse than Tormund's had been.
Daisy swatted his arm ruthlessly aside. The force of it overbalanced him, nearly toppling him into her. She didn't even have to step forward. She just jabbed the pressure point in his neck, and twisted ruthlessly.
He dropped with a scream, his limbs falling limp, collapsing under him like a puppet.
The crowd of men fell utterly silent.
Daisy used her foot to roll him over, her face stayed impassive as she looked down at him. He was clearly in agony still. Nerve clusters were a bitch. She looked over to Joran. "He'll be fine, eventually. Move him."
"Holiness." He replied sharply. Joran and another of the men moved forward grabbing the imobile idiot and dragging him out of the way.
She didn't wait for Tormund or Morse to recover and laugh it off. It was important her position was not questioned. Too much depended on her status as god preventing anyone even imagining treason till Sansa had established her control. So she looked to the other men who'd clearly agreed with the idiot who'd just been dragged away. "All of you, come at me."
No one moved.
Daisy let the ground vibrate just enough to be noticed. "Now."
////
Mors Umber found himself agreeing with the Wildlings...it was a situation he'd never thought he'd find himself in. He'd spent his life crushing Wildling raiders that got past the wall. Thought of them as savage fools for daring to try. He was being forced to accept some of his own Northerns were apparently far stupider than any Wildling. Maybe past the Wall they culled the village idiots? He noted the look of open glee on the Wildling leader's face.
He looked at the...depressing culling of the idiots who'd thought to mock a god. They were at least alive? "Has she used her magic or powers once?"
"You southern fuckers have all the gods and magicks down here." Tormund uttered. "Pretty Snow died and came back. That woman's strong as a bear."
Mors crossed his arms as he let out a low whistle. Damn, the god had just lifted a man straight up. She was just standing there holding him up, his feet kicking as he clawed to get his throat free. And then he was chucked into another moron who'd thought now was a good time to attack. "Oh, that one grabbed a shield."
They both winced as Daisy promptly kicked the shield so hard the man half flew a solid six feet back before hitting the ground. There'd been a crack...the shield was definitely fucked.
"Think she's got giant blood in her?" Tormund asked.
Mors stared at the idiot...how was he smarter than the men at arms for proper Northern Houses? He looked back to the god who was...not a tiny woman, but not tall. She also lacked the distinctive bulkiness that came with giant heritage. Heritage he himself had. "You ever see a giant bend like that?"
"Think she really is a god?" Tormund prodded as they watched yet another poor sod get crushed with depressing ease.
Mors remembered the look in his nephew's eye. "Aye."
"Well, good thing she's on our side." Tormund was entirely right.
It was...actually fighting the god before them for real would be a fast way to die. Mors was going to punish these idiots. They deserved it for trying to fight a god. "Half rations for all these morons." His brow furrowed as he noticed a concerning look on the face of a dark haired wildling on the other side of the crowd. He jerked his chin towards the man. "That idiot going to be an issue?"
"Eh? Lokmir?" Tormund chuckled. "He might try to steal her. Doubt it'll go well for him."
Mors watched the last of the men that'd dared doubt a god hit the ground...it had been as close to a massacre as possible with her restraining herself from killing the idiots. "If he dies?"
"Then he dies. But what a way to go?" Tormund's laugh was deep and almost admiring of the stupidity of possibly attempting to 'steal' a god.
They both straightened as Daisy turned and strode to them. She stepped carelessly over the idiots who were at least smart enough to play dead and stay where they'd been tossed. There were quite a few moans. Daisy came to a halt as she reached them. "I maybe slightly broke a few. Sorry." She did not sound sorry.
Mors cleared his throat. A woman who didn't even reach his shoulder shouldn't inspire actual fear in him. "Reckon they earned any damage you did to them."
"Tormund, I'll spar you properly tomorrow." Daisy actually looked vaguely regretful about that.
Tormund didn't reach out to slap a shoulder, or otherwise touch as he'd so casually done before the show of skill just given. But he didn't shirk back from her. Mors had to give the Wildling credit for that. "Looking forward to it!"
////
Fitz dumped the glass container of dirt into a pan of water. Touching the top metal pan lip he pulled the strainer up. He lifted slowly, separating the silt from the more valuable minerals. He frowned as he heard the scrapping of the door….he was going to have to sand the bottom of the thing to stop that. His eyes flicked over and stilled. "Er...h-hello?"
"You talk funny." Rickon's shaggy mop of hair stood out as the tween shuffled into the workshop, closing the door that he'd just squeezed through.
Fitz's frown deepened. "T-that's rude. Didn't y-your parents tell you not to s-say that?"
"They're dead." Rickon stared at him without flinching, the slightest hint of teeth to his expression.
He considered that. "Oh." Well this was deeply awkward. He looked at his future tesla coil, nope, too delicate. "D-do you want to help?"
"If I can hide here." Rickon shrugged, those his eyes were flicking around the bits and pieces around the shop.
Fitz stood up and grabbed the crate of glass jars. "Y-ou can fill these w-with oil from the barrel there. T-then you put the cotton stopper i-in." He set the crate on one of his empty tables.
Rickon shuffled over. "Just that?"
"Don't spi-spill the oil. It is v-very flammable." Fitz picked up the crate of cotton wick stoppers for the oil jars. Setting it down he made sure the kid was watching. With that settled he grabbed the funnel and set it in a jar. Scooping a ladle of oil, he poured it. Setting it down he lifted a stopper and carefully capped it. "Y-ou can do it?"
Rickon rolled his eyes. "I can do that."
"G-good." Fitz nodded and moved back to his bench. He had an enamel pipe to finish preparing for the coil.
Rickon spoke up, interrupting the silent work they'd both been doing. "But really why do you talk funny?"
"Hypoxia." Fitz managed to get out without stumbling over his words. "I-I didn't have air f-for too long."
The kid's head tilted. "You were choked?"
"D-drowned." Fitz replied, his tone clipped. He didn't like talking about his brain damage.
Rickon set his work down. "How'd ya drown?"
Fitz dropped his hands, tools hitting the table with a clang. "A trai-traitor dropped Jemma and I t-to the bottom of the o-ocean in a metal b-box. We w-were under for h-hours. I broke u-us out but the-there was only enough a-air for one of us. S-so I gave it to Jemma. She s-swam us to the surface. B-but I was d-damaged. No air a-and the brain d-dies. S-so I re-relearned to use m-my hands. A-and my v-voice. S-so I h-have a stu-stutter." He glared at the kid. "I-is that wha-what you wanted t-to know?"
The boy blinked, his head tilted. "I didn't mean ya'r stutter. You just talk funny. Daisy kinda talks funny but in a different way too?"
Fitz hadn't felt this dumb in years. His accent. The kid meant his bloody fucking accent. Of course, he had a Scottish accent and Daisy an American one. He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I-it's an a-accent."
"Accent...I've heard that word. What's it mean?" Rickon asked with that stupid honest curiosity that children had.
He took a deep breath. When he got angry like this the stutter got worse and he'd been angry for nothing. Settled, he replied. "Accents are-"
Chapter 24Notes:I broke, the Christmas music is on. I'm weak to the holiday spirit guys. My wife rolled her eyes and left the room at hearing Jingle Bells. 🎅🏼
Chapter TextLady Dustin felt the humiliation of being forced to wait for permission to enter what had up until three days ago been her own solar. But she bit back the irritation, she'd lost. It was the height of arrogance and stupidity to act as if she hadn't. So she waited for the knight with the heraldry of a Stormlord's house to knock, and announce her as 'Lady Dustin', before opening the door for her to enter.
She swept in, dropping into a formal curtsy as the door closed behind her. "Lady Stark."
"Did you require something Lady Dustin?" Sansa Stark asked from where she was seated by the fire. Her gown was fine, but more practical than grand. Though not a hair was out of place, not a movement without thought and control.
Barbrey Dustin straightened. "I wished to discuss my father."
"Ah." Lady Stark's voice was clear and there was no doubt she'd understood the meaning immediately. She gestured to the chair across the hearth from herself. "Then it would seem we will be here for some time."
Barbrey's eyes swept her solar as she accepted the invitation to sit. She nearly rolled her eyes at the Stark banner sloppily strung over the mantle of the fire. There were papers and chests open, the room barely contained chaos. It would seem their Lady had been busy. However her eyes froze as she realized there was a third person in the room. Clearly passed out in a position that could not be comfortable, was the strange god, half curled in the window, book dropped on the floor beside her.
Lady Stark clearly noticed what had stalled her movement. "Daisy, you can stop pretending to be asleep."
And sure enough, the god's eyes cracked up, her lips twitched up as she straightened, the fakest sounding yawn coming from her lips. "How'd you know I was faking?"
"Your opinion on my sending Davos and near half my men to the Rills is noted. I do not regret it, protective shadowing on your part or no." Lady Starks voice was shockingly dry and unruffled. "I believe you will find this discussion more interesting than the crick in your neck you're attempting to gain over there however."
The god's mouth twitched up into a full and proper grin at that as her feet dropped from the window sill to the ground. "Fair."
"If I'm interrupting I can return later?" Barbrey offered cautiously as she observed the situation. She was unsure of the power dynamic here. Unsure even of the actual divinity of the woman in garb evocative of the face trees. But she knew enough to know that a misstep here could cost her greatly.
Sansa's eyes turned back to her. "That's unnecessary. I take it from your presence that your father is not taking his change in circumstances well?"
"He holds no love of House Stark, not after the many insults over the years. Deserved or no." Barbrey may be willing to work within the new position she found herself, but she would not lie or mask the truth of her history.
Daisy hopped up onto the table, facing them. She remained silent as she listened. There was a light to her eye that Barbrey identified as intelligence. God or not the woman was a threat if she wished to be. Politically at the least. Not to mention the baffling fact she was there at all….she'd left with the army days ago.
Sansa spoke. "You refer to my Uncle and Grandfather's treatment of you and your House?"
"My father wanted nothing so much as an alliance with House Stark. I wanted nothing more than to be a Stark when I was your age. And if your family had been as honorable as claimed I would have been." Barbrey had loved Brandon Stark as a girl, thought they'd be wed. Given him her maidenhead without hesitation. And yet here they were. "Did you know your father brought back my husband's horse but not his bones? He brought back his sister's bones but couldn't bring my husband's who died for him."
The wolf girl leaned back in her seat ever so slightly. "And for that reason as well as your blood ties to the Boltons I have spared your lives. If House Stark had not dishonored and shamed you and your father's Houses I would have erased you from history as I have done to House Bolton and soon House Karstark." Sansa paused, seeming to consider her next words. "And as I will do to House Frey when summer comes again."
Barbrey tilted her head slightly. She had no idea how stupid, noble Ned Stark and his perfect southern wife had produced a daughter like the one before her. "Mercy that I am not ungrateful for. However men are slower to accept strikes against their pride than we women. And acceptance does not mean forgiveness or forgetfulness."
"No, I should not think it would." Sansa lifted a cup of what looked to be heated water, perhaps tea to her lips. "And yet you came to me."
Barbrey could work with an intelligent woman like the one before her. "My father resents the loss of position, the gold, animals, food, and army forfeit to you in our defeat. If he is left to sulk and brood I believe he will do something...inadvisable."
"And you wish for me to assign him a task to keep him diverted from treasonous thought and deed. Something unlikely to happen should I leave him to rot in Winterfell." Sansa continued to prove her quick understanding. "I am not adverse to providing your father with a task. In fact I find myself with more to do than I am capable of. However I would be curious what you would suggest would suit both his skills and temperament."
Barbrey held the Lady of Winterfell's gaze. "He is a competent man. Under his rule House Ryswell has gained more power and influence than it's had in its long history." She gave the slightest gesture of deference to the Lady. "And it's greatest ruin. Give him an army and one of the castles along the wall to reman and hold."
The god laughed, her voice pleasant as she spoke. "On the opposite side of the North as his power base, a chance to regain honor in battle, and far enough away from the Northern court to not ruin you and your families chances." She looked amused if approving, her eyes moved to Sansa. "Am I missing anything?"
"What do you want in return for this information and wisdom?" Sansa asked her, though she showed no surprise at the 'god's' words.
Barbrey wondered at that, but held her tongue. There would be time enough to learn the form this Stark's winter court was taking. "That you remember I gave it to you."
"I won't forget." Sansa's words sounded like an oath. "We leave for Winterfell in a week's time. I will consider your words between now and then."
That was a yes, or at least a form of it. And a good sign for the future Barbrey had to look forward to. She stood then. "I believe you when you say the Long Night comes. For that, and to avoid the ruin of the house that is mine by marriage and my house by birth, I will serve and aid you as I have sworn. But do not mistake that for liking you, Lady Stark."
"I will not. Know if you or yours betray me I won't hesitate to mount your head on a pike."
And she believed her. "Understood my Lady."
Sansa looked away grabbing a thick roll of parchment. "Good, in the meantime I would appreciate your thoughts on this."
"What is it?" Barbrey asked cautiously as she accepted the parchment.
Her voice was clear as she replied. "Preparations Barrowtown will need to make for the coming winter to survive. However this is not my home and it has been yours longer than I've been alive."
"You're stripping us of our food stores. There is little recovery from that." Barbrey was..confused.
It was Daisy who huffed in amusement. "And your army of hungry mouths are gone. Fewer people, less food. Kinda equals out don't you think?"
"That's…" Barbrey looked down at the neatly laid out numbers of Barrowtown's stores and population. "You want House Dustin to engage in rabbit breeding?"
Sansa raised a brow. "They breed quickly, for little cost, and the meat will be invaluable."
////
Lord Manderly watched from the window as the little wolf Lord and the men of the god trained. It had become clear with every day the god had known exactly what she was doing in training the men. Already they had gone from foolish boys with swords to men who'd hold the line against most forces. Not great swordsmen, or warriors, but good soldiers. But it wasn't them he was watching, it was the boy who by rights would be Lord Stark, Warden of the North and who all their hopes for the future of the North would be pinned. And yet...the boy's bony, narrow shoulders and wild temperament did not fill Wyman Manderly with hope. "It is a good thing Rickon has a sister to be regant for him."
"Aye, now isn't the time for a boy king." Greatjon agreed, his voice a rumble. "Let the South have their bastard boy King, we have a Winter Queen who will rule till our King is a man grown."
Manderly chuckled. "You agree our future is in independence then?"
"We bowed to Dragons. And then we bowed to a Stag for the love between the Stag and our Lord. But a Lannister bastard? Never." Greatjon's arms crossed as he looked down upon the training yard as well. His face set in surety and conviction.
Manderly gave an agreeing nod. "We owe better than asking our Lady Stark to make false oaths to the Lannister bastard, whether she'd sacrifice her honor for us or not."
"Aye, there is that." Umber chuckled. "She won't be pleased with us if we name House Stark King's of the North."
He smiled at that. "No, she won't." A thrum of pride ran through him. They had a good leader. One he trusted more than he had hoped to trust a Lord or Lady. "But she'll accept. Afterall she's as Northern as we are. It galls us all to bend the knee. Torhenn Stark should have fought the Dragon Cunts instead of bowing to them."
"It'd be easier to crown Jon than it will be to crown Rickon." Greatjon sighed as they watched the boy's body language inevitably fall more in line with the wolf in human skin he was as he sparred.
Wyman frowned as he considered it. "Would it be? Jon Stark follows his sister's orders already. He's practically bent the knee to her. And he's a bastard. The boy down there is a boy. A boy being guarded by two older children of House Stark. Give him a few years under his sister's hand with his brother leading his armies and I think he'd be a fitting King."
"There is that." Greatjon frowned though. "Ned always did say that the Starks were a pack. He may have been more right than I thought." He seemed to shake himself from the thought. "So, how're we planning on not losing any important bits for going against Lady Stark's plans?"
He laughed, and the thing was it wasn't even a joke. "I reckon we give her brother a throne and a crown and she'll have to forgive us eventually."
"Forgiving?" Greatjon looked at him in disbelief.
Wyman grinned. "Jon'll talk her out of taking our heads for it."
"Strange world this. Gods walking around, dead marching for us, the daughter of House Stark the one needing to be pacified by the House's son. Damn conundrum is what it is."
"Aye, it is at that." Wyman noted the wildling woman at the edge of the yard watching the wolf boy with hawk like eyes. "Can't forget we're fighting side by side with the wildlings. Never thought I'd hear a Northern call a wildling ally, yet here we are."
Greatjon grumbled, but gave a nod. "Those fucking giants and wargs are bloody useful, gods damn it all."
"If our enemy wasn't the dead I'd have no doubt of our inevitable victory. Damned shame. I'd give good gold to see the fucking Lannisters try and deal with a giant swatting them like flies on a log." He hadn't forgotten his loses to the fucking lions. And he never would till they'd paid for it with rivers of their own blood.
The Greatjon's eyes turned slightly starry. "Shove a log straight up the Freys' asses." His manner turned serious once more. "The Wall won't hold through winter."
"No it likely won't." Wyman felt a shiver at the thought of the endless night and cold coming with the dead. The weather and darkness would suck the life out of them well enough without the dead to help them to their early graves. "We'll need to draw them south. No sense fighting them at the Wall once they break through. Best retreat and set the battlefield further south where we can prepare it better."
The other man grunted. "Aye, you're not wrong with that. Best hold the Wall as long as we can though. Whittle down their numbers best we can."
Wyman allowed himself hope they'd survive.
////
Daisy felt the controlled vibrations she was becoming more and more familiar with. She didn't look away from the delightfully fuzzy cow she was petting. No one had ever told her cows were adorable. Though she expected most cows didn't looked like poofed up walls of chunk with big brown eyes. This cow had eyelashes a drag queen would kill god for. "At last you've left your lair."
"Lair?" Sansa asked as she approached the side of the pen some of the cows to be sent to Winterfell were in.
She shifted winking at the lady. "I mean you're going to turn so pale you'll blend in with the snow if you avoid daylight much longer."
"There is a great deal to do." There was a long sigh. "However, you are not entirely wrong."
Which was as good as saying she was entirely right coming from the woman who cared about appearances as much or more than Pepper Potts. "I know I'm right." Daisy turned to face her friend, though she continued her gentle scratches between her new favorite animal's ears. "Not going to pet the cow? It's as fuzzy as it looks."
"I'm content not to risk it." Sansa barely avoided looking at one of the several cow patties decorating the grass where the cows were penned. The smell was...distinctive.
"Fair, but lame. I haven't touched something this soft in like...wow I haven't been around animals in a long time." Daisy blinked at that. When was the last time she'd even touched an animal that wasn't some sort of alien she was punching? And she meant like animal aliens, not alien aliens.
Sansa didn't comment on that. "Do you have news of the Northern host?"
"Another week and Mors and the army will reach Moat Cailin. I'm a couple days out of date with Jon, but he and the other part of the army were half a month out from the Karhold according to him. He did have a hangover from drinking with the Umber men and Free Folk though so whether his guess was accurate is…?" She shrugged.
There was softening at word her brother was safe, perhaps also at knowing her goals were advancing. But Daisy was getting the feeling that goals and politics were second to family to her friend.
Sansa allowed herself to lean ever so slightly against the pen's fencing. "Do you intend to remain here in Barrowtown for long?"
"Another day, maybe two. Long enough to make sure nothing's wrong." Daisy didn't like how vulnerable Sansa was at the moment. "You do know that no one is going to judge you for weighing your life as valuable enough to guard?"
Sansa's eyes moved the cow. "I'm aware. However it's not their opinion I'm chiefly concerned about. The quick surrender of the Dustin's and Ryswells has given us a rare opportunity. The Rills are south enough we might have time to construct glass houses if they begin the work soon enough."
"Theoretically, and I do mean that in I haven't done it before even if I probably can. I might, might be able to turn sand into glass." Daisy winced slightly at the suddenly sharp look on the lady's face. She raised a hand. "I'd have to try. If you could get me some sand I can try and figure it out. But it's just heating it hot enough really and well…" She shrugged.
Sansa's eyes had that look in them. The one that meant she was doing math that frankly was horrifyingly impressive in dark ages and in any age at the rate she was doing it. "I can have sand brought to you within the hour."
"I'll see what I can do. Might take me a while to get it though." Daisy brushed some of her hair behind one ear. Her nose wrinkled as she felt the strands of her hair. "How do you keep your hair so perfect? Like I'm half tempted to chop mine off. I've never worn my hair in a braid so much before in my life!"
Sansa took the sudden change in topic in stride. "Have the servants not provided soap and the appropriate mixture for your hair?"
"Oh they've been great. Joyce back at Winterfell even manages not to stutter in terror when she sees me. But like...it's greasy. I'm barely keeping it appropriate for leaving my room." Her nose wrinkled. Even when she was living in her van her every third day trip to the gym for their showers had left her fresher than this hellscape allowed.
Sansa seemed to pause. "You have been using the wooden comb and powder though?"
"Uh wasn't sure what that was….is that important?" Daisy had a feeling she was about to feel like an idiot.
Sansa suddenly very clearly controlled face in an effort not to laugh was a clue she'd been right. "You apply the powder to your hair and use the fine toothed come to remove it. The powder binds to the oil in your hair."
"Huh...that is...surprisingly cool." Daisy scratched at the cow's nose. "I might still cut my hair, that seems like a lot of labor with hair as long as mine."
Sansa genuinely seemed concerned at that, though she hid it quickly. "Perhaps giving it some thought before you find sheers."
"I mean a dagger would work." Daisy enjoyed the slightest twitch that produced in Sansa. "Hair is important here isn't it?"
"I'm being silly, and vain. A woman with short hair is no more scandalous than your or Lady Brienne wearing trousers." Sansa softened.
Daisy smiled at that. "Well your hair is gorgeous. But I think I'd go crazy spending as much time on mine as I think you do."
"You must think me silly to spend so much time on my appearance when there is so little time to be had." Sansa looked away, it was said with the tone of a woman who'd been told that for years and had come to believe it in part.
She gave the cow a last pat before stepping to the fence and leaning against it. "Do you know how many hours I've spent doing pull ups?"
"Pull ups?" Sansa asked, her eyes bright in that way that Daisy was learning meant she was bemused.
She laughed, "Come on, I'll show you." Daisy slipped between the bars of the fence and out the other side. "My first SO was obsessed with them, he was irritatingly right." It was six steps to a slight overhang. She hopped up, easily catching the edge and pulling herself up. She did an easy set of ten, before dropping down.
Sansa paused. "Impressive, I think?"
"It took work. Like felt like my arms were on fire when I first started. Hours and hours of work. The boys are going to really hate me when we get there. But it's something I'm good at now. I punch people, whole warrior/agent/knight thing. You're a leader, that comes with needing to look a certain way. The time you spend to look like a leader isn't wasted. I mean do you know how many drycleaning runs I've done for Coulson?" Daisy paused. "Picking up Coulson's clothing after it was cleaned."
Sansa actually stilled at that. "But your Coulson was human?"
"Yup." Daisy popped the 'p' with some prejudice. The confusion was occasionally hilarious.
The great lady finally sighed and shook her head. "Come, you should eat in the hall if you mean to leave soon."
"Let me guess, it's stew again?" Daisy was mostly adjusted to the oatmeal, weird savory porridge, meat pie, stew, and roast meat for minor celebration. The bread was fucking delicious. Like frankly the shitty bread they had on base could go die. Like just damn.
Sansa looked at her, the slightest pinch to her brow. "If you would prefer something else I'll see to it that the cooks prepare it."
"What? No it's fine. Honestly your food is so much better than space." Daisy's nose wrinkled at the memory of the food on the Zephyr. "Dry, the food was all very dry and bland."
Sansa hummed. "For all the wonders you've described I find it surprising the food was not better."
"I mean it could have been? It was just never a priority." Daisy did miss cereal though, something about milk here and it being warm and frothy was deeply weird to her. "Also while pull ups were taught to everyone cooking was not. Which looking back was a bad decision. I think we caught our kitchen on fire about once a week."
"Surely you had a cook?" Sansa asked.
Daisy couldn't help it, she threw her head back and laughed. Ignoring how the various peoples in the square turned silent to watch. She just...the image of Fury recruiting kitchen staff wasn't leaving her head. And thing was they had been a thing before Hydragate. So it was a distinct possibility.