Chapter 34Notes:Sup! So glad it's the weekend, all hail naps.
Chapter TextFitz's hands were shaking with excitement as he directed Daisy's cult in dragging what was needed out into the muddy courtyard. He dropped his hands to his hips, elbows sticking out to the sides. "B-be careful w-with that!"
"They've got it." Daisy grunted as she carried the entire tesla coil, that was seven feet tall, out of the lab and out into the open courtyard. She set it down carefully, before stepping back. Restrained excitement radiating off of her. "What's next?"
He grabbed the chainmail glove he'd made and stepped to her. "W-we ground you and t-the glove."
"You're using me as your lighting rod?" Both of Daisy's brows shot up.
Fitz caught her hand and slid the glove on. "Y-you're chance of s-survival if this goes wr-wrong is much b-better than mine."
"Thanks Fitz, real comforting." She flattened and then clenched her fist before opening it up again. "Very cool. So what do I need to do once it gets going?"
His eyes flicked to where the bike power generating contraption was being set up under Crann's watchful eye. Right, he'd double check that once he was done getting Daisy prepped. "I a-assume Lincoln and y-you did electric safety?"
"Hacker, I built my own computer rig in a van. I know how not to die from electric shock." Daisy rolled her eyes. "Also Ward made me do every SHIELD safety course on the books after the whole Miles thing."
Fitz winced slightly, Ward really had been a dick about the Miles thing. "Y-you'll be good t-then."
"Again, comforting." Daisy fell serious. "What do I need to do?"
He gave a nod. "R-right, well you need to create a-"
Fitz adjusted the next slurry in the tray under the pole he'd set up to conduct the electric field through the mixture. Everything had to be perfect. Just to distill enough raw chemicals to create these slurries had taken months. He didn't have time to do it again. This was his one chance to prove they were in the same reality, and hopefully to learn enough for him to know how to make a signal.
He stepped over connecting the next wire. "I t-think we're ready." Fitz looked up at the crowd that had gathered. "C-can you get t-them back?"
"I've got it." Daisy leaned back, a wave of vibrations bubbling out from her, avoiding the tech, and pushing everyone back enough to be safe. "STAY BACK!" She looked back to Fitz ignoring the startled people. "Ready when you are." Daisy bounced on her toes.
Fitz breathed in and then stepped out of range of the experiment. He turned to the idiots on the bikes. "Peddle."
The four men on the stationary frames started pedaling.
He looked to the coils, his fingers twitching as he watched. Come on, come on, and then there, he heard and saw it as the coil powered on. He was deaf to the sounds of shock and awe as the cacophony of metallic cracking filled the yard, the panic as lighting flickered around the head of the coil.
Daisy stepped forward as expected, holding her hand out, the lighting drawn to the metal of her glove. She stepped back slowly. The tendril of lightning following her hand. She came to a stop as the electricity could no longer reach her hand.
"Pedal f-faster." He ordered the suckers on the bikes. Their breathing turned heavy, but they picked up the pace, and the electricity stretched further, ever attracted to Daisy's hand.
Daisy took four more steps back before turning to him. "Ready for me to duck out?"
"D-do it." Fitz nodded, the field was large enough now.
Daisy used a light push to shoot herself back a few yards and out of the range of the coil. She laughed as she pulled the glove. "Holy shit Fitz, you did it." She beamed at him.
Fitz nodded, eyes not tearing away from the coil. "Five minutes." He watched as the lighting flickered, reaching out and he vibraited. This was it. They'd be home in a month, maybe two. He felt joy, effusive and effervescent suffusing his being. He'd done it. Despite being in the god forsaken dark ages, in a lab that smelled like horseshit, he'd done it!
He waved absently, eyes riveted to his machine still filling the courtyard with its distinctive sounds. Who knew how the sounds of a tesla coil would nearly bring him to tears. "Y-you can stop pedaling. " He barely waited for the men to stop, and the power to fade, before he was jogging to the chemical slurries.
Everything went utterly silent in his head as he looked at them. It was...nothing moved in his head. For perhaps the first time in his life his mind was completely blank. Nothing.
There was a rushing in his ears, everything that wasn't his slurries vanishing from his vision. They were wrong. He didn't need to get them under a magnifying glass. Test them in any further way. Because they were wrong. Utterly, and completely wrong in every way that mattered. They'd reacted wrong. Wrong. Wrong!
He wet his lips with the tip of his tongue. It was...they were in a different reality, not galaxy, planet, no measurement of space. They were in a different universe entirely. It shouldn't have been possible. But here he was, and here it was. Incontrovertible evidence that...that it was over. That it would take...years...if it was even possible. Years.
Fitz had had dozens of tests lined up and prepared for his various slurries, but it wasn't needed. A simple visual check and it was all wrong. So wrong there was no point to days and days of work he'd done. Worthless. It was all worthless. He was worthless. What was even the point if he couldn't get to Jemma? She could be in danger, dying and he wouldn't know! And why?
Blinking his fists clenched. The tree. The stupid, fucking magical tree had done this. Brought them here. And it was going to send him back or he'd cut the damn thing down with an axe if he had to. He grit his teeth. He grabbed the thin pan of chemical slurry and upturned it, sending the thing crashing to the side. Turning on his heel, he marched straight for the magic tree.
Fitz shoved whoever it was that was between him and his path straight towards a tree. He was going to have answers from. He had to use two hands to shove someone else out of the way again. He didn't care. Didn't even properly see anyone's face. It didn't matter. "Get out of my way." His voice was tight, cold. How dare some fucking being of whatever power do this? How dare.
If he'd had powers they'd have been consuming him and the world around him. But he didn't, he just was immolating within his own rage. The cold bit into him, and he barely noticed as his feet ate up the ground beneath his feet. He burst through the wooden doors and out into the gods' wood.
His eyes lit on the white tree, it's dumb bleeding face. The oppressive silence was the worst. And he was going to break it. He was going to break it into a thousand pieces. He came to the front of the damned tree with it's smug face, it's great branches thicker than him branching out into a thick giant of a tree. And he just...He opened his mouth and screamed. "RHAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAAA!"
He slammed his open palms against the white bark on either side of the face. "WHAT D-DO YOU WANT!!!!!"
Fitz's lips pulled back from his teeth, slamming his palms into the bark again. "DO SOMETHING!" He pulled back, turning, his hands running through his hair. Turning he pointed at the tree with one finger, his other hand on his hip. "Y-you brought us here. That h-had to be you. Which m-means you can send us back. SO DO….DO IT!"
"Fuck you." He snapped at the tree that wasn't moving, not even a brush of wind. "SEND M-ME HOME, OR I'LL C-CUT YOU DOWN!"
Fitz's fist clenched so hard his nails bit into his skin, he slammed the meat of his fist into the tree. "DO SOMETHING! Y-YOU BROUGHT US HERE! SO T-TELL ME WHAT TO DO! WHAT DO Y-YOU WANT!" He slammed his fist into the tree again, and again.
He kept slamming his fist into the tree. The number of times a blur in his head. Counting? What was that? He just hit the unresponsive wood again, again, again. He kept hitting the tree till his hand was throbbing agony, blood dribbling down the white bark from his hand, his breathing coming only in sharp gasping pants.
Sinking to his knees, Fitz raised his arm and swung for the trunk again. "J-just do something!"
A hand caught his wrist, halting the movement.
Fitz looked up, following the line of his own arm to the one holding him back. Along to Daisy's face. She was looking at him with an expression with the weight of the world.
"Are you done?" Her voice was solid, unwavering.
He ripped his gaze away from her. "Why won't it d-do anything? It ...brought us here."
"I've fought a death match against powerful things for you before. And I'll do it again. But is this a fight you truly want?" Daisy's voice was just...matter of fact. "Or are you done."
Fitz panted, he fancied he could taste his own spit in his mouth. "I j-just want to go home."
"Fitz, are you done?" And he knew it was the last time she'd ask him that. He felt that more than knew it.
He looked at the tree, it's face unchanged, his own blood dripping down the side of its face. And he just...he felt defeated. He nodded. So he let Daisy pull him to his feet and away from the tree.
He felt her hand on the back of his neck, directing him away. Absently he noted they weren't alone in the wood here, but he just...didn't care. So he let Daisy lead him away. Because he'd lost, and he had nothing left.
////
Sansa knew she wasn't the only one reeling from the demonstration in the courtyard followed by what could only be called a breakdown. It'd been a lot. She'd have been afraid of retribution from the gods if Daisy hadn't neatly brought it to an end. There'd been moment, as Daisy had guided Fitz away from the heart tree, when she'd paused and looked at the tree before nodding to it, before continuing on her way. She'd half looked like she and the tree had had a silent understanding at that moment. And they'd all breathed easier.
It was...Fitz's genius was more than proved. He'd made and controlled lightning. Bent it to his will. And all that brilliance had shone through, illuminating the cracks fracturing his mind. She wondered what he'd have been like if his mind had been whole?
There was heavy silence to the air. Despite that, she had tasks to see to in the wake of all this to keep fear from spreading. Sansa waved to her senchal. "Ser Flint, ensure no one doubts that her Holiness interceeded, before her companion could give fatal insult." Sansa was grateful that Fitz had damaged himself rather than the tree. If he'd harmed the heart tree she didn't know what she'd have done.
"Aye...what...my apologies, I'll see to it my Lady." Ser Flint dipped his head, weight leaning on his cane.
Sansa couldn't risk more disquiet than this would already cause. Her own disquiet was irrelevant. "Ask your question."
"What did he see to cause him to lose his mind?" The stoic man looked awed, a tremble of awe still to him.
She swallowed, because she knew enough to guess. "That they are not from our world of gods, but a different one altogether. It would seem the old gods drew them from far further away than expected."
"I don't rightly understand." His brow furrowed.
Sansa allowed her face a few seconds of openness. "Neither do I."
"Ah." Ser Flint relaxed ever so slightly. "Well, I'll see to it no one gets the wrong idea then." He gave a nod before limping off to his task.
Sansa let the near oppressive air weigh on her for a long moment. Breathing deeply she looked at the face tree over her shoulder one last time, and then left for the yard.
She was relieved to see Crann Snow directing several members of Daisy's men in helping clear away the creation of Fitz. They seemed to have an appropriate care for their work.
Moving on she returned to the relative warmth of the inner halls of Winterfell. She wasn't stopped on her path to Maester Wolkan's rooms.
"My Lady, are you well?" Brienne asked from her silent place behind her shoulder as they walked.
Sansa felt as if she was floating over still waters, the turbulence below. "I'm well, however I believe her Holiness's companion broke his hand."
"Are you certain it's safe to be near him?" Brienne asked carefully. Or well as carefully as a woman as blunt as Brienne probably could ask.
She answered plainly. "I have confidence you could protect me if necessary."
"Thank you my Lady." Her square features held pride at the faith in her ability. Faith she'd earned through loyalty and at the end of her sword.
Sansa knocked on her Maester's door before opening it and stepping inside. She raised a single brow at the sight of Wolkan holding the fussing Bolton babe. "I see her Holiness did not bring Fitz to you?"
"Ah, pardon my...well pardon for not being prepared for you my Lady." Wolkan had a certain sleep deprived air to him, spit up on one shoulder of his robes, screaming babe in his arm doing it's best to strike it's caretaker, and hair a mess of uncombed strands.
She wondered at the fact she felt some small measure of humor at the sight instead of anger. Stepping forward she plucked the Bolton babe from his arms and tried not to show her distaste for the child. "Do you require aid?"
"Thank you, he grabbed a small bottle of tincture and upended the mixture into a bottle of what looked like still frothing goats milk. He stirred quickly, as he then tied white fabric around the top. "Sorry about this my Lady, the boy's wet nurse took ill two nights ago and well." He neatly lifted the child back into his own arms and gently stuffed the fabric into the babe's mouth. "May I assist you in some way?"
Sansa remained calm, placid even. "I had wished to speak with her Holiness. However, as she's not here I will leave you in peace."
"I believe she'd have gone to her tower." Wolkan offered only to pause...the babe eagerly drinking from the contraption stuck in its mouth. "If I may, I had never thought man could not just influence but create the very elements." There was awe in his voice.
She didn't disagree, it was madness. "We have yet to see a fraction of what our guest is capable of creating with his hands." Of that she was sure. "I expect your and Crann's notes on the creation we saw today."
"Of course my Lady." He bobbed his head.
Sansa let her eyes linger on the baby for a long moment, and then she left in a swish of skirts, her loyal sworn sword on her heels.
Sansa hadn't actually been to the Broken Tower since it'd been fully repaired and then refurbished for Daisy's cult, or as it was beginning to be called Order of the Shield. Which had a certain ring to it. Over the door was a metal plate engraved with Daisy's eagle, each of the four corners was stamped in relief of the weirwood leaf with a direwolf upon it. They were separated from the eagle, but clearly important. For the indication of exactly who and what the order was within the tower it was shockingly understated.
As she stepped through the solid oak door and into the tower itself she found that that was true of the inside as well. It was clean, the walls bright white, and stone immaculately swept. The foyer and first landing was neatly organized and clearly meant to just be walked through. Sansa moved smoothly up the stairs to the floors held by the Order. She barely kept a slightly twitch of amusement from escaping as the men in what was clearly the barracks floor spotted her. They half tripped over themselves to straighten.
A man with stringy, straw colored hair gave a clumsy bow, clearly attempting to hide a card game behind him. "Lady Stark, can we help ya?"
"I assume her Holiness is here?" Sansa asked of the man.
"Oh Aye!" He beamed at being useful which...oh of course they thought their god was courting her. "Her Holiness is in her quarters. I can escort you there, M'Lady?"
"That would be kind of you, please." Sansa wondered at how peaceful it was in here, card games, neatly made beds, white plaster walls that reflected the soft light, men trying to mend their own ripped clothing, just so very different from what she'd have expected from what was essentially army barracks.
The straw haired man's shoulders fell back as he practically floated with pride at being able to assist her. "Right after me then." He happily waved in the correct direction, and began to lead them further up and into the tower.
Sansa spotted a woman in men's clothing whacking a man over the head and pointing out where his stitches were wrong. It was possibly the strangest thing she'd seen that day...and her tolerance for unbelievable events had reached levels that were frankly concerning. A different age and her sudden willingness to believe anything would have made her mad as a Targaryen.
As they reached the correct floor it was easy to tell the majority of the floor had been turned into a hall of learning. The tables and benches with paper laid out for the men's lessons. At the far end was Joran standing guard by a door with Daisy's eagle alone carved into it. The man stepped away from the door, slightly towards them before bowing to her. "Lady Stark, can I aid you?" He straightened looking at her curiously.
Sansa appreciated what she'd seen of Joran, he'd proven to be devotedly loyal to Daisy since that first day the Bolton's had been struck down. And she'd always have...perhaps the slightest of soft spots for the panicked man with the blood of his fellow men at arms on his person; who'd not slept for three days in service to securing Winterfell. It'd been too bad, though understandable he'd sworn himself to Daisy instead of House Stark. "Joran, I was wishing to speak with her Holiness."
"Ah, she's on the roof." He gestured to the narrow staircase further up.
Sansa glanced at the door. "Why guard her rooms then?"
"She instructed me to ensure Fitz does not leave until he's slept for ten hours. He is also not to be left unescorted from now on, and she is to be informed of what he chooses to do." Joran explained automatically.
It would seem she had yet more stairs to climb. "I will leave you to your task then." She looked at Brienne. "Remain here, I'm not in any danger from her Holiness."
Brienne's jaw ticked slightly, but she tipped her head in acknowledgement. "My Lady."
"Thank you." Sansa gave the faintest of smiles to her sworn sword, and then turned and took to the stairs. It didn't take her long to come out into the open. The cold air nipping at her exposed face, the tower nearly impossible to see with the inky blackness of the night. But there was enough light from below to show the dark outline of Daisy sitting on the balustrade of the tower. Her heart ached for her.
Sansa walked to where the other woman sat. She had no doubt her presence had already been noticed. Instead she simply asked what she'd felt compelled to find her...friend and ask. "Do you wish to speak of it?"
Daisy was quiet for so long Sansa nearly thought she wouldn't say anything. But finally when she did speak there was a crack to her voice. "I miss cereal." She shifted slightly. "It's stupid, it's just a dumb shitty breakfast food. But I miss Captain Crunch cereal and that's all I can think about."
"Missing home is never stupid." Sansa felt the faintest flickers of fear, but ignored the tightening in her stomach and climbed up onto the bullastrade besides Daisy. A strong but gentle grip caught her arm, ensuring she remained balanced as she moved so her feet were hanging off the side as she sat beside her. It was certainly undignified, but well who'd see?
Daisy's barely legible face looked at her in the dark. "Don't you have work to do? I mean Fitz's coil had to have freaked out like...everyone."
"It did." Sansa wouldn't insult her by minimizing that. "As did his display by the face tree."
Daisy's hand let go of her arm. "Then why are you here?"
"Because they'll still be alarmed in the light of a new day." Sansa was fairly ambivalent to the unease the sights of the day might have caused. As the sun rose, and no one was harmed it'd pass. Or rather seeing Fitz and Daisy the following day would ease tensions. A week of no changes and arrival of more Lords for the looming Moot and it'd be…. not forgotten, but it wouldn't remain terrifying either. She continued to speak when Daisy didn't respond. "I am sorry your path home will be longer."
Daisy huffed slightly. "It's stupid, I'd guessed this would be the result. The vibrations here are...so close to home but not quite. I could have guessed."
She wondered what would help? Because her friend or maybe confidant was in pain. "I am sorry you've been taken from your home."
"That's most idiotic part." Daisy scoffed, a certain wet quality to her voice that was alarming to hear. "I don't even have a home. It's so different here, the way you dress, talk..just..it's bafflingly different. The air feels different to me. And my friends, my team, my whole world is out there and anything could be happening to them and all I can think about is how I want Captain Crunch cereal." She laughed but it was without humor. "How pathetic is that."
Sansa didn't have anything to say to that. Because what was there? The awful helplessness of knowing those you loved were in danger and you couldn't even see their faces. It was one of the worst sensations Sansa had had the misfortune to know. So she did what she'd wished someone could have done for her. She reached out and laid her hand over Daisy's and just squeezed her hand and remained beside her.
It was funny, for all the power Daisy's hands contained they were remarkably human. And she so clearly felt everything as deeply as any human. So this was what Sansa could do. And it mattered. She knew it because Daisy turned her hand over, linking their fingers and squeezing back ever so gently. Her hand warm, the soft rub of hard won callouses evident to the touch. And so they sat there silently in the dark, and Sansa let her companion grieve for the delay of hope and home.
Chapter 35Notes:Yo! Is the update a few hours early? Yup!
Chapter TextCrann Snow was cleaning the workshop in the late morning light, enjoying the quiet of it all. He'd known what the coil would do, but seeing it and knowing were two different things. He found he was in a constant flatfooted state of awe assisting with the cracked Fitz. Man was mad as hell, and rude to the point it was baffling he'd survived long enough to find the favor of her Holiness.
He whistled as he worked, there'd be notes to rewrite and record later. He was carefully ensuring the liquid mixtures were poured back into their glass containers, stoppers securely set in place, and hot wax used to seal the containers. It was slow work. Crann had no wish to find out what it'd do if it touched his skin.
It was a rare day with Fitz not working away. So far he'd only had a few days where Fitz had crashed, sleeping for hours after days without sleep. Crann'd been getting really good at napping in awkward positions in the workshop so he could even try to keep up. He carefully set aside the glass container he'd filled and picked up another one. A few hours and he'd have the workshop back into order. His whistles changed to the whistle of the basic tune to a song.
Crann glanced up at the sound of the door squeaking open. He straightened. "Fitz! Sorry, just straightening up." He stepped back from the work. He had no desire to earn the wrath of the ever more touchy man. A happy master made for a happy life. Also meant learning more, and learning was an opportunity worth almost anything.
"Crann?" Fitz blearily blinked at him. The man looked...he looked rough. The nervous energy that'd been a constant about him was simply gone. Instead he seemed defeated, slumped shoulders, clothing haphazardly pulled on. "Was that J-jolene?" There was sheer confused disbelief on the man's face. An expression he didn't wear much.
"Yes?" Crann replied. "Do you know it?" He hadn't figured his master knew or cared much about music really.
Fitz ran a hand through his hair. "How the h-hell do you know it?"
"The Order of Shield sing it a lot. It's pretty catchy. Gets stuck in my head ya know?" Crann carefully toppered off the chemical container and set it to the side.
Fitz made a strangled sound in the back of his throat. "Huh." He seemed to shake himself out of it. "I n-need copper and a m-mash."
He straightened at the request. "How much do you require? Mash of what?"
"Y-yeast, potatoes or c-corn or something s-starchy, sugar, and b-boiled water." Fitz started pulling out his glass distilling equipment they'd spent weeks making. "Th-thin copper sheets. A c-couple feet of it." He frowned, picking up a new glass beaker and shaking it. "And a steel p-pot."
Crann dared ask a question at that. "What will that make?"
"I'm g-going to get drunk on s-something that isn't f-fucking mead." Fitz grumbled as he started rooting through a crate for his tools.
Which...well a new form of drink wasn't dangerous, probably. Crann nodded and ducked out to find the requested materials. As he trotted out the door planning on enjoying the clean cold air on the clear and bright day. No sign of disfavor from his master's actions. However he paused slightly at the sight of one of the men of the Order of Shield standing guard by the door into the workshop. That was new…Crann approached the man. "Is something wrong?"
"Her Holiness ordered her companion be guarded." The man shrugged. "In case he does something to get himself hurt I think."
"He hasn't displeased her?" Crann checked, carefully. His master wouldn't last a moon's turn without divine protection. Or well...maybe if a minor Lord sponsored him in exchange for his brilliance? It was a possibility.
The man snorted. "Hardly, she gave up her bed to him to ensure his safety."
"Her bed?" Crann actually spluttered at that. That was unheard of.
The Order member nodded eagerly. "She spent the night on top of the tower. Been in the gods wood all morning too." His voice was pitched down. "Half think I'm here to make sure no one does somethin' to hurt him than anything else."
"Right…" Crann's voice shook slightly. He'd seen likely more of the god and her companion's interactions than anyone. She really meant it when she called him her brother. Which...he shook his head. "I'd best get the copper he wants."
////
Daisy stared at the tree, this was...deeply awkward. But it needed to be done. "Not sure if this is how you do this or not. But let's get this over with." Daisy made eye contact with the….carved face in the tree. "I don't know how real you are, or like if you can hear me or whatever. But if you hurt Fitz I'll burn every weirwood tree on this planet to the ground."
The air was still, and then she felt it. The faintest of vibrations through the entire network of roots and limbs that was the tree.
Her lips twitched up. "Ah, so you can hear me. Good. I'll help with the White Walkers and their army, I'll help the Starks, or whatever magical bullshit happens. But you even think of harming Fitz, or any of the people I call friend here and you'll be so many smouldering splinters."
The vibrations were almost a whine then, it nearly hurt her head just to listen to it.
Daisy flipped out a dagger. "I've been reading about you. I don't know if you're what brought Fitz and I here. I'm not even sure you have anything to do with it. But I care about these people. And apparently you hold people to their oaths." She slit open her palm and pressed her bleeding hand to the tree. The nearly deafening whine cut out entirely to an unnatural stillness, like the very air was holding its breath.
Whatever was happening was being noticed. "I swear to aid the North and House Stark from this day until the day I leave, so long as mine remain unharmed." Daisy could feel it, the tremble at her words. She hadn't been here for months without learning enough of their manner of speech to imitate it when needed. "But I also swear if you bring harm to the people I care for, I will destroy every trace of you." And she fucking meant it. She'd lost too many friends, she wasn't going to risk divine wrath falling on them. If it meant trekking through this frozen landscape for years to find every weirwood tree she'd do it.
Pulling back, her hand dropped from the smooth bark. Not a speck of blood visible on it's bark, her hand completely healed. "Then we have an understanding." Daisy's lips twitched up as she felt the hum of the wood return to its usual radiating calm, nearly hypnotic melody. She closed her eyes letting the vibrations consume her focus. It was...peaceful. Also nice to know she wasn't going to be fighting a deathmatch with an actual god anytime soon. Cause fuck that sounded like shit.
Daisy found walking through Wintertown was nice, also she knew enough to know that being calm and acting like everything was normal was how you made it normal. Which...some of Coulson's political stress had taught her something. Huh, cool. She smiled genuinely as she saw the local gang of kids spot her.
A tiny little girl in braided pigtails, her front teeth missing, positively lit up. She took off at a sprint for her. "YOU'RE BACK!!!" It was a positive squeal as the girl sent herself flying.
Daisy laughed, catching the maybe six year old up under the arms and swinging her easily, and safely to a halt. "Well hello to you too. Rosie, yes?"
"You remembered my name!" The girl's gap toothed grin was half blinding as she looked up at Daisy.
She smiled, settling the kid on her hip. "Of course I did." She reached out, catching a skinny boy who looked more like a beanpole than anything else around the shoulders, hauling him into a half hug. "Terrorizing your parents while I've been gone?" She'd met most of the population of kids old enough to be walking and talking in Wintertown because they'd been sent to retrieve various younger babies they're parents had dumped into her arms.
He leaned into the contact, his cheeks turning pink at the attention. "No." He grumbled.
"Good." She brushed some dirt off his one cheek. Years of helping with younger foster kids, of living in an orphanage with dozens of kids and not enough adult supervision left this the thing she was most comfortable with in this entire world. Well this and punching sexist idiots in the face. She noted she had eight kids circling her, a few more likely to slip out once they realized she was here. "So, who wants to go build a swing?"
"Wha's a swing?" The baker's son asked from he was bouncing with excitement.
A different kid elbowed the baker's son in the stomach. "How do ya not know what a swing is? Idiot."
Daisy's smile grew. "Well if we can find some rope and a board we can make one." She'd have to talk to the blacksmith about building the kids some playground equipment. Just making an area where the kids could play around out from underfoot of their parents.
////
Sansa spoke as she walked along the walkway. "The empty wings need to be cleaned before more Lords arrive for the upcoming Moot. Where are we on that?"
"We have eighty rooms cleaned and prepared, the fourth and fifth barrak halls have been cleaned out." Ser Flint replied as he walked besides her with the distinctive tap of his cane hitting the ground.
She glanced out over the field where her men at arms were being drilled in basic maneuvers. Lord Umber was presiding and delighting in getting to yell a lot. "Good, are the food stores prepared for the rest of the tribute from House Ryswell that should be arriving?"
"Aye, the numbers are written down and in your solar my Lady. But even without the tribute from House Ryswell you've rebuilt Winterfell's stores to a degree they can support the Northern Lords for some moons without stripping the stores overly." Ser Flint answered with the quiet professionalism that she was coming to find was his distinct attribute.
Sansa took the stairs down from the wall, though she kept her step slow enough her senchal could keep up with her easily enough. "News from our scouts?"
"Your brother, and the rest of your army are a week out from last reports. They were spotted at the crossing three days ago according to the ravens. If word from House Forrester is to be believed their contingent should arrive not long after. House Reed's sent word they are sending a man to speak on their behalf, as Lord Reed is unable to make the journey."
"Not a surprise, he hasn't left his castle since the Rebellion." Sansa had never met the elusive Lord Reed, his war wounds leaving him unable to travel. She was gratified he was sending a representative however. They'd been a loyal house, and she held little doubt they'd remain so. The Cragomen were odd, but were not a quarter she expected trouble from.
Ser Flint nodded. "Aye, we've also had word from Skagos, they have left and are journeying here."
She straightened her hand out of sight of any wandering eyes. That was...that was important news. They were one of the regions most likely to ignore the call, but they hadn't. If they weren't that meant what she'd done was enough. The Lords were answering her call. "Has there been news from the Riverlands?"
"Little, your Uncle has prepared Riverrun for siege. We've had no word in two weeks now." Ser Flint told her.
Which that was...concerning. Though not an issue she had the means to do much of anything about. Even asking Daisy to go and aid was...unlikely to be useful. The North might accept a god sent as champion by the old gods. But the south likely would not, at least not easily. And even if they did, Daisy was unfamiliar with the south and the chances of a River Lord insulting her was too high for it to be worth the risk. Better subdued by the Lannisters then entire castles wiped off the face of the map because of sheer stupidity. Besides, Riverrun could hold off seige for years. If her uncle required aid he would ask. "Put together a list of men who would be capable of understanding the situation in the Riverlands should action there be required."
"I'll see to it my Lady." Ser Flint replied, solid and assuredly prepared to do so as soon as this conversation was at an end. "House Blackwood sent word they've sent a messenger to you."
Sansa raised a brow at that. "The Blackwoods?" Followers of the old gods, and blood of the first men they may be, but they'd been Riverlanders for hundreds of years now. And they'd taken heavy losses in the War of Five Kings. She expected little assistance or aid from the Riverlands as a whole due to that. It was...the Riverlands had suffered more than any of them in the wars.
"Aye, not sure when their messenger will arrive. But thought I should mention it now that you've returned." Ser Flint explained. "The message is in your solar, but there was little detail other than a request for hospitality for their rider."
She hummed, that certainly would be interesting if nothing else. "Has there been a reply to my letter to the Vale?"
"Yes, Lord Baelish wrote to say he and his advisors as well as a force of a hundred of his finest knights make haste to come to your side." Ser Flint's voice was ever so slightly tighter.
Sansa agreed with the sentiment, her own throat feeling dry, the slightest of shakes to her finger tips. Because she'd trusted Baelish, and it had been foolish and stupid. She may still not know the entire shape of his games, but she could see enough. A marriage to her, certainly if Rickon had remained dead, would have given him control of two of the seven Kingdoms as well as claims to the Riverlands through her Tully blood, and his awarded title and lands of Harrenhal. It was the reason she was grateful beyond measure for Daisy's agreement to allow the rumors of her courtship to continue. "You disagree with requesting aid from the Vale?"
"They're oathbreaking cowards." Ser Flint's voice was tight. "If they'd ridden out for King Robb, as they were obliged to as kin to our King, he'd have won the war."
Sansa didn't disagree. Her aunt's madness had harmed her brother's cause. Horribly. But she could ponder the woman's crazed decisions later. "We will need them if we mean to survive against the dead."
"Aye, my Lady." Ser Flint agreed grudgingly.
Sansa could sense a headache there. Not only would she have to deal with Petyr, she'd have to protect the man from her own forces. If only she could just have Daisy punch Petyr in the face. She set those thoughts aside. "What progress on the repairs to Wintertown?"
Sansa couldn't help the faint amusement plain to be seen on her face as she watched Lyanna and Rickon try and keep up with The Order. If it'd been either of them alone they'd have keeled over for air a while ago. But so long as the other one continued the other would refuse to give up. She looked up and caught Daisy's twinkling eye.
Daisy clapped her hands. "And time"
There were groans as the men, and two children collapsed in relief. They'd been doing something called a plank, leaving them holding their bodies parallel to the ground for extended periods of time.
Daisy dropped her hands to her hips. "Right, now that we've warmed up we're going to work on stretching." Her eyes narrowed slightly, though her manner was still relaxed. "Something you all shirked while I was gone."
Sansa was amused at the tangible dread descending on the men. "What's wrong with the stretches?" She asked of Lord Manderly who'd joined her on the walkway above the yard.
He chortled. "She makes them move their limbs unnaturally so they can do so in combat. Just watch."
Daisy's voice carried as she hauled one of her poor followers to his feet. "If you want to be able to kick anyone higher than their shin you need this." Her face was light with humor, so different from the grief she'd held the night before. It suited her in ways Sansa chose not to think on. "And it'll help keep your muscles from burning afterwards."
It clearly wasn't making the men cheer up to know why they had to do this. But they stood up and did as instructed anyway.
Sansa watched, barely keeping from laughing as she watched the men try and touch their toes. She did laugh ever so slightly as Rickon tipped over, taking Lyanna down with him into a heap of limps and hissed cursing as they clamoured back to their feet and position. "Do you agree with the practice?"
"Some has always been normal with fighting men." Wyman replied. "But well, she demands more than I've seen a Master of Arms ask before, The results speak for themselves. Half a year and her boys already can stand toe to toe with any experienced man at arms in your army."
Sansa gave a faint nod of agreement, even she could see how cohesive and the rapid growth in skill was. "We are fortunate their loyalty is to the North."
"I'd say we're lucky our god has shown such favor to House Stark." Wyman's voice was dry as he looked at her pointedly.
She flicked her eyes away from her bannerman and back to the yard. "I may have been in error when I questioned your assumptions of our god's...intentions."
"Do you believe she will accept a fruitless pursuit?" He asked, and he sounded genuinely concerned.
Sansa watched as Lyanna very purposely knocked Rickon over as they all were attempting to stand on one leg while holding their other foot up. "She will, even if her time here is to be longer than she wished or expected."
He let the subject fade. "The lighting the Smith touched made was...I had not thought man could do such a thing."
"It was certainly an impressive display. I believe we have just begun to understand what a man with such knowledge can produce." Sansa warned, hoping he took her meaning that such feats should not be unduly alarming. "I've had word he is making some form of drink and intends to drink himself silly. So perhaps we have some time before he creates something so impressive again."
Wyman chuckled. "Drink from the kingdom of the gods? I'd pay good coin to try a sip of that."
"You can always ask him for such." Sansa barely kept from snorting as one of the men pointedly took a place between Rickon and Lyanna. "Though you would likely have better luck requesting such from Daisy."
Wyman's jolly demeanor faded somewhat. "What do you intend for the Karstark prisoners?"
"Appropriate marriages among the bannerman. With the Lords Moot it should not be difficult for some agreements to be made." Sansa didn't mention she'd do what had never been done for her. That she would ensure that though the matches did need be made, that they were kind. Finding like aged options with good reputation. For Lyarra who was too young to be wed, time to grow.
He spoke carefully then, a practiced lack of concern to his tone. "My cousin Marlon's son is in need of a wife. He's a good lad, just earned his knighthood."
"Had he indeed?" She spared him a single look. "An option I will consider. I find it curious you put forward for a Karstark and not one of your granddaughters for my brothers."
Wyman barked out a laugh at that, his form jiggling from it. "My youngest grandaughter is of age with you, she'd eat your youngest if they were wed. And Jon? A man in the front charge of the wars to come would make a poor husband I think."
"You love your family." Sansa ached, though found she preferred it as a trait in those she allowed to advise her. But then, even Cersei had loved her family in her own cruel and mercurial way. Perhaps they had been the only ones she could love.
He looked at her strangely. "As do you, my Lady. No one can doubt that."
"Good." She considered the value of White Harbor, of this Lord besides her and the love she held for her family. "It is fortunate you have not proposed a marriage between your granddaughter and Rickon, I'd have refused it." Her brother's marriage would likely need be decided in the following months. But she would not allow it to a woman older than him by years nor to one significantly younger. She would do for him what her father had promised her but died before he could perform. A person who was good, kind and honorable. A match where love might grow given time.
"Aye, you'd have been wise to do so." Wyman shook his head. "I'd have gladly bound our two houses to each other, but it would seem unless you want my cousin's son for yourself it is unlikely to occur." He chuckled. "And I would prefer the boy's head remain on his shoulders and not off it from incurring the wrath of a god."
Sansa had the sudden realization some idiot might try to challenge Daisy for the right to court her...that would...she should probably speak with her about that. She quickly found the other woman who was laughing, her hair falling back. Sansa found that her throat was surprisingly dry. "Send for your cousin's son. Should any of the Karstark girls like him, I would not be opposed to such a match, though I will promise nothing."
Chapter 36Notes:You guys are the best! I adore the comments and love answering questions and generally nerding out with you all every week! Its honestly the best! So thank you all for just being the best readers I could have hoped for!
And side note, for those of you who've been reading my shit since the Merlinxover fic days, do you want me to blather on various themes from the books/show in the end comment section occasionally again? Cause I have like thoughts on the similarities of Caitlyn Stark and Cersei Lannister and just like...I'm way too into this fandom.
Chapter TextFitz mashed the potatoes that Crann had secured with some glee. He was going to make moonshine so potent that it could knock Daisy on her ass. None of this weak mead shit that they drank here. And then he was going to get blind drunk. If he didn't lose his vision temporarily he'd know he'd done it wrong.
He didn't want to face the reality of their position. They were stuck in this mud coated hovel of stone age technology where people with a second grade education were considered learned men until he could make a stable and targeted einstein rosen bridge. A task that was taking actually educated geniuses on earth fucking decades and still wasn't complete, mearly theoretically. Jane Foster the only one to have successfully created anything even close. It was...it was hopeless.
So beat the potato with extra feeling. Damned root probably deserved it. It was easy enough to ignore the concerned looks his assistant was giving him. If he was going to die in this shit hole he was going to do it drunk.
////
Jon couldn't help the bright joy he felt finally wrapping arms around his sister and brother. Having to be brief on first arrival had been terrible. But now in private, the feel of Rickon's hair beneath his hand as he ruffled his hair, the feel of Sansa's grip where she hugged back so tight that in thinner clothes it likely would have hurt, was everything. He released them, though his hand remained on Rickon's head, his other hand not quite releasing his sister. "You've gotten taller."
"I'm going to be taller than you." Rickon's grin was wolf like in all the best ways as he puffed up under his attention.
Jon chuckled, bumping his brother's chin slightly. "And a war wound already?" He looked at the black eye on the boy's face.
Rickon's cheeks pinked. "I got Lyanna back just as good!"
"Good for you, Mormont's are great warriors." He could tell by his sister's manner it was not an incident to be worried over. That his brother thought fighting the terrifying Lady of House Mormont was a good idea was encouraging. That took real courage. The slip of a girl had more grit in her than a dozen men.
Sansa finally stepped to the side, and lifted a distinctive cloak. She held it out to him. "I believe I promised to keep it safe for you."
"Thank you." He didn't know how to express his gratitude. This acceptance and family, where he'd assumed nothing but death.
Sansa's face said she understood, but she gave him the gift of not pointing it out. "We will be expected soon."
"What do I need to know?" Jon drew himself up, prepared for whatever burden was to be placed on his shoulders.
She shook her head. "Not that, we can speak of matters after your welcoming feast."
"I don't need a feast." Jon protested.
Sansa looked at him like he was an idiot, one hand falling on Rickon's shoulder. "Our bannerman expect a feast. You've destroyed an enemy House. With the coming Moot we need only make it a small affair."
"If it's that important." Jon accepted the feast was happening whether he wanted it or not. It seemed a stupid waste to him, but well, he knew nothing sometimes didn't he?
Jon was warm as he laughed, the pleasant ease three mugs of ale could be counted on to provide. The feast hadn't been what he'd feared. It was modest, if this had been in his childhood it would have barely met muster as the welcoming feast of a minor vassal Lord. He wasn't positive on all of that, but it might not have actually met that standard. But that'd been in summer, and food had been in plenty. Now the roast pig and two goats was a luxury. The fresh applesauce with just enough cinnamon you could taste it, a gift. Enough ale brought out a few of the men likely would drink more than was wise. But not enough for drunkenness to be a real problem.
Instead it was just enough for him to feel fully welcome, like he belonged in these halls in a way he'd never felt before. No one here saw his spot at the high table as anything but where he belonged, no one looked upon him with anything but respect, and in the case of his two surviving siblings, affection. Oh Sansa's wasn't obvious, but in the soft light of the hall he could feel that slightest softening when she saw him. Rickon meanwhile was eager to boast about his lessons, eager for his attention.
It was...it was good.
The very air was excited and relieved. Lords and men who'd thought the North lost were here. Even the prisoners seemed less afraid here. Alys Karstark at least didn't look like her face had been carved from stone where she was seated at one of the lowest and further back tables. Which was a bit of a miracle all things considered. Everyone seemed filled with hope. He wondered at that, when was the last time he'd felt hope?
Shaking his head, he kept his thoughts to himself as he stood and made his way to where Tormund and Greatjon Umber were in a lively round of arm wrestling and verbal one upmanship. He slapped Tormund on the shoulder as he reached them, an actual smile on his face as he listened to the two men brag about women they'd bedded. It was...home. This felt like home. A good one.
He glanced over and realized on the table besides them were some of Daisy's men. They were arguing while pointing at a piece of paper with careful letters upon it. They'd apparently roped in Daisy who looked amused but mostly uninterested in the whole thing. She held herself just slightly apart, and none of her loyal followers would breach that gap, not really.
Jon's smile faded somewhat as he watched her. Because for all that she terrified him when he thought too hard about what wonders she must be capable of, must contain; he found that they were cut of the same cloth. He understood her in a way he couldn't put into words. And he saw the sorrow, the pain, the loneliness, and grief she hid so expertly. And...well she hadn't smited him for embracing her after the battle at the Karhold, nor been in any way upset by the closeness required to fly him to the army moving to the Karhold. So he'd likely keep his hands. Hopefully.
Determined he strode from Tormund and the Greatjon and in interest of not losing his hands or head, touched the woman's elbow.
She turned, the faint loneliness and distance on her face sliding off like it'd never been there. A thing she was far too good at. Her mouth turned up in a smile. "Jon, not so broody. Lo-"
It was rude, but he wouldn't keep his nerve if he didn't. So he stepped forward, cutting her off and hugging her tightly. Every bone in his body vibrated for a half second at the contact, her body went rigid at the unexpected contact, but then like it'd never happened the vibration ceased and she softened, hugging back ever so cautiously.
"Uh?" Laughter in her tone then. "How much have you had to drink?"
He tightened his hold on her slightly. "Thank you." He released her then, knowing he'd pushed his luck further than he should have.
She looked at him curiously, but she was present in a way she hadn't been before. "You'd have done this without me."
"Not so cleanly." He left his hand on her elbow, squeezing ever so slightly to ensure she knew the depths of his gratitude. For giving them perhaps a brighter version of what could have been.
Daisy had to have noticed how the entire hall was observing them now. But she gave no sign of it, another thing she was clearly as good at as his sister was. "You're welcome?" She clearly would have protested if it was a different circumstance.
Tormund let out a great bellow of laughter. "Death isn't so used to thanks boy."
She rolled her eyes. "For the last time I'm not death you ass."
"For which I believe we're all grateful." Umber chorassed. "Come, show this Wildling his own weakness."
Jon laughed, gesturing the path to her. "You might as well."
"You Northerns. It's like you want me to hurt you." She shook her head in amusement, but walked over all the same. Clearly willing to be pulled into arm wrestling.
Jon reached out, hooking Rickon around the shoulders as his baby brother came to see what the excitement was about. He didn't question the very smug looking Lady Mormont, who was barely keeping her eager excitement under control, as the kids came to watch Tormund get his ass kicked by Daisy. Ruffling his brother's hair, he ignored Tormund and Daisy's friendly barbs as they sat across from each other and looked up at the high table and met his sister's eyes. This was good. It was how things were supposed to be. And for all that laid ahead, he was content.
////
Sansa drank tea, a habit she'd unfortunately gained from her divine guest, as she waited for her brother to arrive. They had much to discuss, but the feast had lasted long into the night and there'd been little point in speaking then. She spread the soft goat's cheese over her morning bread as she enjoyed the early morning quiet. The sun only just recently risen. She didn't even twitch at the slight chill breeze as the window unlatched itself and Daisy slipped in. "Tea is already steeped."
"Cool." Daisy flicked her hand at the window, the glass pane closing itself, lock slipping back into place like it'd never been open in the first place, as she easily poured the hot liquid into a cup and settled herself in one of the fur covered chairs. "You know goat cheese was like the fancy shit where I'm from."
Sansa let that actually register. It was...baffling. "That seems ridiculous? It takes no more effort to make than any other cheese from what I'm aware and certainly is easier to acquire than some forms of milk."
"Mostly cow milk in the country I grew up in." Daisy breathed in the scent of the tea and sighed, her shoulders softening. "Some rich cow farmer probably bought off some government sorts or something."
"Ah." That would certainly make the baffling situation make more sense. "I wonder if it's a comfort or not that the world of the gods has men of power willing to allow such silliness for bribery or not?"
Daisy seemed to actually consider it. "I think it just means people are people, no matter what world they're born in."
"A comfort then, I think." She took a bite of her morning meal. Sansa had matters to see to, but perhaps allowing herself a few minutes to do nothing was permitted? There was a knock on the door, the familiar solid 'tap tap' of Brienne's knuckles alerting her to an entrance. Sansa raised her voice. "Enter."
As the door opened Jon came in, though he halted as his eyes alighted on Daisy. "How…?"
"Spy." Daisy points at the window. "And I can fly."
Sansa just sighed at the expression on her brother's face. "Considering the majority of the Lords think she's courting me it'd be difficult to ever speak." She pointedly looked to the table in front of her. "Cheese?"
"Right." He shook his head before joining her at the small table with simple food stuffs laid out. Jon's warm and familiar presence filled Sansa with a sense of safety that not even the god by the fire could touch. And she'd come to find security in the presence of Daisy. Jon looked her in the eye. "What needs to be done?"
Sansa lowered her bread and accepted the mantle of authority. "Over the next half moon the rest of the Lords will arrive. None of them can be left in doubt that we are strong, united and the seriousness of what lies ahead."
"How could we be stronger? We have an army, four victories, and our name is Stark. The North is loyal, they'll respect that." And by the gods Jon truly believed that. He waved at Daisy. "And even should that not be enough, who will naysay a god?"
Daisy rolled her eyes. "Pretty much every Northern I've met." But then she fell more serious, and at least one of her closest allies understood the situation. "Who do you think will give you trouble?"
"Lyanna Mormont is planning on putting you forward as Lord Stark Jon. She won't be the only one who wants a tested battle commander over a barely literate boy." She felt horrified at the idea of the line of succession being twisted. "We cannot let that happen. If the line of succession is ignored, House Stark will be ripe for civil discord and war within a generation. A threat that will never pass."
Daisy piped up. "Wait, why does that leave you open for more civil war?"
"Rickon's heirs would have a claim better than Jon's. Should a single one of Jon's heirs prove to be unpopular or a single one of Rickon's ambitious, claims could be made." Sansa said shortly.
Jon leaned his elbows against the table. "I could forswear taking a wife? I already have done so, it would not be hard to do so again."
"No, that is unneeded." Sansa reached out, taking his hand. "You need not go without a wife or children. But you cannot be seen to court or consider a woman until after Rickon is named Lord Stark. If you are named you must name Rickon your heir, over even any children you may later have."
Jon gave a sharp nod. "You think it a strong possibility they will name me?"
"I don't know." Sansa admitted. "If we were at peace, if it was just the Lannisters, no. But with the Long Night...they're afraid."
Daisy shifted. "You need me to work with Rickon visibly then?"
"Please, and Jon, we need to secure Wintertown with more defenses, as well as prepare it for expansion. With a two front war both north and south we'll need to turn Wintertown into a far larger settlement." Sansa pulled her hand away from Jon's with a final squeeze. "I can handle the Lords."
Daisy, frustratingly helpful and wonderful Daisy, spoke up. "Jon and I can run the army through drills together. It'll keep the men from being bored. There's too many factions for that to be a good thing."
"That would be useful." Sansa wished things were easier. "Use the army for labor in building defenses and expanding Wintertown."
Jon's jaw twitched slightly. "Have you written to Baelish?"
"Yes, he'll come, but too late to play his games with the Moot." Sansa felt cold knowing he'd be here. Because he'd come, he'd love that she'd written for his aid. It left her in his debt. A debt she'd paid more than he could ever provide.
Jon's hands fisted. "If he touches you, I'll kill him myself."
"No!" Sansa's eyes widened in alarm. "We need him Jon, we need the knights, the political connections he has in King's Landing, his claim to the Riverlands to protect our rear."
Daisy cleared her throat. "Not that the big brother rage here isn't great, cause totally predictable and if you think he's not going to do something to defend your honor, you're crazy." She winked at Jon, which, not helpful. "But as your suitor or whatever, if this Baelish gets creepy I could always duel him or something right? As an option that isn't brotherly rage that might harm the whole alliance thing."
"That would make it undeniable, you would not be able to plead difference in culture." Sansa looked at her confidence then. "It could not be undone, no one would dare imply you weren't courting me."
Jon cleared his throat, a distinctly uncomfortable set to his face. "Is this ruse truly necessary?"
"If it wasn't for this ruse I'd already be forced to manage marriage offers." Sansa replied crisply.
Jon was so solemn and plainly sincere. "I won't let anyone hurt you."
"You can't promise that Jon, no one can." Sansa ached with how much she wished she could be stupid and believe in her brother. Believe in his protection over all common sense. But she couldn't.
He frowned, but didn't naysay her. "If they name me Lord I'll turn it down. I don't want it, I never wanted it. It's Rickon's, as it should be."
"If they name you, you will not have a choice Jon. In the case of a split vote you can turn it down. But if they choose unanimously, there will be nothing to do but accept." Sansa just felt tired. Because if the Lords got it into their heads, and Lyanna would put it forward, and if it moved like a tide sweeping calmer heads to its side...it could happen.
Jon grabbed the bread and cheese with frustration painted across him. "I don't like this."
"No you wouldn't. I'll do what I can with the Lords to ensure they choose Rickon, but we had best be prepared in case they do not." Sansa took a bite of her own morning meal.
Daisy seemed to read the mood, and kindly changed the topic. "So how blatant should I be or not be about the not human thing?" She flicked her fingers at Jon's cup, the metal ringing for a few seconds. "Cause I can play that up or not."
"Staying as you have been would be best." Sansa didn't need to think to know the damage that could be done if Daisy allowed her identity to be questioned or if she overshadowed House Stark too greatly. Two extremes that should be avoided. "If you could avoid a great show of power that would be appreciated. Especially after Fitz's demonstration."
Daisy's eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "The trees and I have an understanding. There won't be any misfortune from that direction."
...Sansa wasn't going to question that. She and Jon shared a look, neither of them were going to touch that with a ten foot long pole. "Well that's something." She was surprised her voice hadn't wavered with laughter at the sheer ridiculousness of it all. "Should I worry about Fitz doing something remarkable anytime soon?"
"He's dealing with the reality that we might be trapped in your world till his wife finds us by getting drunk. So you'll probably end up with some excellent anti-septic, alcohol strong enough to knock an Umber on his ass after less than half a pint. But I have the Order keeping an eye on him." Daisy shrugged. "I'm more worried about the Free Folk."
Jon made a sound of assent. "They'll need to be armed and armored to be able to properly stand as part of our army. As is, they will be the first to fall and they will not follow long if they think we mean to use and then dispose of them."
"Which will displease the Lords of the North." Sansa wondered if pinching the bridge of her nose would be appropriate? "What would be the least threatening armor for them?"
Jon frowned slightly. "If we provide chainmail and hardened leather. It'll give less protection than plate, but they'll be better served without the weight. They were not taught to fight with it, it'd hamper them now."
"Speed over defense." Daisy bit her lip. "I could work with them, try and get the Order to at least interact with them more. But if I'm keeping Rickon near me that might not be a good idea."
Jon focused on Daisy. "We could both keep an eye on Rickon. When he's not with one of us, leave him to Brienne. She's got enough Northern grit to her the Lords half already must think of her as near close enough to practically be Northern."
Sansa's lips twitched up into a smile at that. Her sworn sword and gone and found herself in one of two kingdoms where her desire to hit things with a sword would be respected and not mocked. She hadn't been ignorant of the looks Brienne very clearly was ignorant that she was receiving. Reaching out she plucked a sheet of paper. "I'm confident the two of you can ensure Rickon spends as little time as posible near the Free Folk. Till then, Jon, what do you think of these plans for Wintertown's defenses."
Jon obligingly looked at the plans, his eyes tracking the various lines. "That's a lot of ditches to dig."
"But we have the manpower at the moment do we not?" Sansa pointed out. "And should we survive, the inner ones can be turned into the basis of a sewer system."
"Aye, there is that." Jon agreed. "I'll have the men survey the land to see if this will work."
She felt something like perhaps confidence they could do this, a foolish feeling but so rare she indulged in allowing it to linger. "Then we have a lot of work to do and little time to do it in."