Chapter 37Notes:Is this early by about eight hours? Yup! Just felt like it.
Chapter TextBarbrey Dustin had never imagined a Winterfell so packed with the great Houses of the North. It clearly had been made for it, though not used in such a way since the days of the King's of Winter. There were servants or soldiers constantly underfoot as rooms were cleaned out and prepared. She'd eaten a quiet first meal in her room before heading out to face the day. Which that was a sign of her current state of disfavor, a single room, no attached servant's quarters and it was in a far-flung corner of the residential wings requiring a ridiculous walk to get anywhere important. The Karstark girls were housed closer to the central region of the castle, not by much, but still.
"Sister!" Her younger brother Roose Ryswell called, which was unsurprising. His rooms were beside her's.
She stilled, waiting for him to catch up to her. She rolled her eyes. "Did it occur to you that combing your beard might be a worthwhile task?"
"Bah, not worth the time." Roose grumped before yawning, jaw gaping widely with zero attempt at civility.
Her eye twitched. "Even some of the Wildlings bother getting knots out of their beards."
"Good for them." He snorted.
She was going to kill her brother. There was a reason none of her siblings spent any time around each other, it drove them to near homicide. "I find I'm envious of brother Roger, he at least gets to be in the Rills and away from you."
"And not having to listen to your constant yammering." Roose agreed.
Barbrey's nose flared, but she bit back the barb on the tip of her tongue. "Well, he'll be here soon for the Moot. I'm sure we'll be blessed with his presence then. Whether he wishes to be blessed with ours or not."
"There is that isn't there." Roose chuckled. "Gods, did she have to stick us all the bloody way out here? There's illiterate men at arms housed closer to the halls."
"Quite a few of them, it makes defending the more important bits easier." She barely resisted whacking him. Maybe she should prod him towards challenging the resident god? It'd be entertaining to watch him eat dirt afterall. "And I'd wager most of them didn't bend the knee to House Bolton."
He stared at her like she was an idiot, it was galling. "Half the Stark men used to be Bolton men, they didn't just bend the bloody knee, they wore the damned flayed man on their chests!" The fact he was correct was more galling.
"We'd have served our interests best if we'd had the bastard murdered." Barbrey would have plunged the knife in herself.
Roose touched her arm. "There's no proof he killed Bethany's boy."
"And none he didn't." She snarled. "That boy was our nephew, our blood. And we let his murder go unpunished."
Roose flinched, as well he might. Damned cowards the lot of her brothers, not hunting down the truth of their nephew's death. "What's done is done. The bastard is dead and the line of the Red King's is gone. You're too damned vindictive sometimes."
"And you're a useless fool." She snapped back. She'd never forget Roose Bolton, the man her idiot brother was named for, had only had a bastard heir because his trueborn heir, her nephew had died. Likely murdered by that bastard. She may have agreed to bend the knee to her good brother, but she'd never forgiven him for not seeing the obvious and promoting his damned bastard anyways. Never.
Barbrey's temper had barely cooled by the time she'd skipped the great hall, left through the front gates, ignored the guard who was following her and made her way out into Wintertown. If she had to deal with more pithy nothings from nobility, constant one-upmanship in the training yard, or endless everything underfoot as well as her brother she'd scream. So to bother the brooding Stark and see about the work being done on the town. And possibly just find the tavern and get gloriously drunk and make her guard/minder cart her back.
Her skirts ruffled with the speed of her passing as she walked along the dirt road for the field around the town that was being worked on currently. Barbrey's head remained high as she walked. Though she did not miss the general good cheer in the town. The smallfolk were scrubbed mostly clean, and excitedly moving about. There was work happening everywhere. Men at arms were helping repair roofs, adding new layers of mud to outer walls for keeping more heat in as the temperatures cooled, plastering over freshly dried walls to protect them, and a hundred other chores.
As she reached the outer reaches of the town she spotted the authoritative figure of Jon Stark leaning over a wooden table set up to oversee the work. "Good gods boy, you could be your father come back again."
Jon Stark straightened, turning to face her. "Lady Dustin, what brings you here?"
"Avoiding my fool of a brother. We can't all have perfect families." She finished her approach, looking out over the field of men digging. "What on earth are you doing out here?"
Jon's beard had the faintest quiver to it. She was counting that as a victory in getting the man to show at least some emotion. Unfortunately, his voice came out steady. "Making the town better defendable. The ditches prevent armies from just marching up and overtaking the town. And if the dead come, we can use them to thin the herd if we get enough dragonglass."
"Well, that's something." Barbrey was trying to not be reduced to rocking back and forth in sheer terror at the thought of the dead. "Better than nothing."
"Aye, there is that." He huffed, amusement plain to be heard in his dour voice. "We're banking most of the earth we dig up to give it a slope, but some of it will be for bricks. About time Wintertown had proper bricked roads."
She glanced at the cloud covered sky that threatened to sleet at any moment. "And you plan to dry these bricks how?"
"Figure her Holiness won't mind drying them out for us." His mouth actually turned up in a faint smile then.
Barbrey dared then to state the obvious. "So willing to leave your sister to pay for that miracle?"
His face darkened, a glare that nearly made her step back. The leather of his gloves creaked. "No."
"So like your father." Barbrey let her disquiet hide behind confidence. "Though it leaves me curious, how did your sister bind a god so fully to your House?"
He breathed out, his face still tight. "By protecting those she is meant to protect."
"Nobility. You might even be right." Barbrey in part wished he was because if he wasn't it wouldn't be him paying the price. No matter how the North would benefit from him being wrong.
Jon stepped back to his work. "If I was wrong, why would her Holiness have helped the children build swings?"
"Hmmm." Barbrey let the matter drop. "So, where do you plan to get enough straw for these bricks?"
He pointed towards the distant Wolf's Wood. "Pine needles."
"That will work?" Barbrey would hunt down her grey rat of a Maester and strangle him if it was.
Jon gave a short nod. "Aye, is it not common knowledge?"
Coming here had not helped with her temper. Clearly. "No, it is not."
////
Daisy tossed a waterskin to Jon, where he was digging in the ditches. "Hiding from Lady Dustin?"
"I notice you only arrive now that she's gone." He replied as he straightened, and untwisted the cap before taking a long draw.
She shrugged. "Anyone with eyes could see that woman was on a warpath today. Not sure what got to her but she's scary when she wants to be."
"The Ryswell siblings half hate each other. And we're soon to play host to all four surviving siblings." Jon retwisted the cap and tossed the waterskin back.
Daisy wished she didn't understand that, but she did. After all, Fitz was...complicated. "So avoid the Ryswells whenever possible?"
"Well, I'm digging a pit to avoid her." Jon dug in his shovel again.
Daisy considered that and then huffed out a laugh, grabbing a shovel from a nearby panting man at arms and hopped into the ditch and began to dig herself. "You'll be glad to know Rickon is copying the contract Sansa sent to the Iron Bank."
"That sounds terrible." Jon used his foot to force his shovel deeper into the ground.
She ignored the sounds of disbelief and confusion at her manual labor. Which, how was this a surprise? She'd made a point of always helping. "I have no doubt either Brienne or you will be catching him trying to escape before dinner."
"No doubt." He grunted as he upturned a rock. "This must be trivial to you. This could all be a wave of your hand."
Daisy was...still adjusting to this world where using her powers for dumb things was encouraged by just everything. It wasn't what SHIELD was like. Her first instinct was always to fight as if she didn't have powers, do things as if she was human first. "I think that breaks the no shock and awe rule."
"Regretting that." Jon wipe sweat away from his brow as he worked.
Daisy grinned. "You'd have no way to escape Lady Dustin though."
Jon's face cringed at that, and he chose to remain silent at that.
She laughed but didn't push. On the other hand...she could at least soften up some of the dirt, couldn't she? Nobody would notice that...or well notice it enough to talk miracle. Closing her eyes she focused on the ground being disturbed by the small contingent of the army. She let her vibrations run through her feet, gently shaking the hard packed ground just the faintest bit softer. Nothing crazy.
"Daisy." Jon looked at her.
She plastered on an innocent face, completely with fond confusion. "What up?"
"The shaft of my shovel...purred?" Jon stared at her without flinching.
Daisy groaned. "Well shoot, I'm still not great at controlling the runoff."
"Runoff?" Jon sounded one part tired and one part suppressed laughter.
She bit her lip trying to think of how to describe it. "I'm working on control, but everything vibrates. The ground, air, you, me, light, heat, cold, it just...it all vibrates all the time. Just at different speeds. It's a lot, and sometimes it's hard to only vibrate what I want to vibrate."
"I don't rightly understand that. But mayhaps not shaking the ground would be a good place to start?"
Daisy grinned. "Probably."
Daisy was getting good at sword fighting if she didn't say so herself. Which she'd never utter out loud. Probably. "Up."
The sweaty and vicious ten year old Lyanna Mormont brought her sword up higher. She'd actually switched from an ax to a sword. It was helping her keep up with the men. Kid's mouth was open to suck in more air. But then she was darting forward on the attack again.
Daisy blocked and knocked the kid to the side, then turned, twisting around an attack from Rickon Stark. "Better." She tripped Rickon, already there to deflect the next attack from Lyanna, the two of them were getting better at not getting in each other's way.
Lyanna was fast and had figured out from fighting the men that going for the legs was the best option for breaking stance and unbalancing her grown opponents. It was smart. Daisy was so proud of the vicious little kids she was teaching. "Good, less extending when you try to stab me." She used the hilt of her sword to hook and yank Lyanna forward only to halt, her sword against the panting girl's neck. "You were protecting your partner, good call." She spun as she twisted away from the lunging attack coming from Rickon.
Neatly spinning away from the lunge, she caught him by the back of his leather vest, tapping the edge of her own sword against his chest lightly before dropping him. Both kids having accepted defeat. "But you're no good to your partner if you're dead. Well, unless you mean to sacrifice your life to give them a chance. In which case make sure it works." Her voice was serious, maybe these kids shouldn't have the aspect of sacrificing your life for your friends, your comrades, your family. But this world was harsher than her own had been.
"Got it." Lyanna panted, Rickon nodding beside her.
Daisy smiled, sheathing her sword and reaching out. She ruffled the top of both of their heads, much to their irritation. "Go get some water, get your breath back, then shields and back in the ring."
"Holiness, why are we all fighting in pairs today?" Joran asked curiously as the kids ran off...which christ they had boundless energy.
She looked back at the men who'd been watching with rapt attention. "Because you all need to know how to fight in various groups. You need to be able to watch each other's backs."
"For if a shield wall falls in battle?" Wilber asked head tilted slightly.
Daisy nodded. "Yes, but also for small skirmishes where a shield wall won't work. Or just a bar brawl where there's only a few of you. There's plenty of circumstances where you won't have an army at your back, just a few fellow soldiers. And which one of you is utterly confident he could handle both Lady Mormont and Lord Stark over there without being at least stabbed once?"
The men chuckled, but no one volunteered to test it or to claim he could do it. The murder kids really were vicious. They hadn't quite gotten how to not attempt to really murder their partner in training.
She clapped her hands. "All of you pair up and if I don't see teamwork I'll find ways to motivate you!"
There was a sudden rush of focus. No one wanted to find out what the 'motivation' would be. Honestly, Daisy wasn't sure what it'd be...she'd think of something. Maybe give the kids some arrows with the metal heads taken off and have them shoot at the guys as they sparred? Naw, already done that...two versus five matches till they dropped? Promising…..
Daisy wasn't sure why, but she rapped her knuckles on the door as she entered the workshop. It was...well Fitz hadn't destroyed his work, so on a Fitz meltdown from epic scientific failure he wasn't at a full ten again. Not that she'd seen him at a full ten since Mavath and then in those awful days before the end of the world. Now he was sitting hunched over his work table, paper spread around him. Some just tossed to the side, more crumpled and thrown away. There was a metal cup and a bottle of what from the smell was pure moonshine. So that was still a thing. Awesome… "Sup?"
"Go a-away." Fitz didn't even bother looking up from his work.
She looked at the awkward looking Crann. "Crann I'm sure Wilber, Ducan, and Wolkan would love to talk to you." Daisy was pretending she didn't know they were making her bible...text...scripture? on the sly.
The poor guy practically deflated in relief. "I'll just be doing that then Holiness." He ducked his head slightly in Fitz's direction. "Begging yar' pardon master." He then immediately shot out of there like a jackrabbit.
Daisy leaned against the wall, crossing her arms. "So...feeling like talking about it?"
"N-not particularly." Fitz didn't look up from his work, but he was pressing his quill down so hard the ink was splattering.
She wished she didn't know why she wasn't going to press him, to force him to get this out. "It's alright, Jemma's got to be looking for us too."
"How d-do you do it?" The quill snapped in half as he turned to face her. Ink smeared on one cheek like he'd fallen asleep on his work. Eyes bloodshot from what was likely the alcohol.
And Daisy….she was tired of distrusting the man who'd been her best friend, of avoiding him, and just...this world. She was tired. "Because we've never left anyone behind before. If you can open a door to Maveth, a locked gate to a prison for Hive, and if you and Jemma can figure out time travel, and we can bring you, me, and kinda Coulson back from the dead, and fight fucking magic ghosts and get some of us out of ghost realms, and save the world then we'll get home. Eventually. Worst case we try killing the dead army here and see if the trees send us back on their own. If Jemma hasn't come for us, you haven't made a portal out, and the trees haven't sent us back, we go shake down the super cursed magic city of death on the other continent. Call it a magical road trip. That doesn't work, I could try making a black hole or something."
"T-thats….and till the d-dead attack I do what?" Fitz ran a hand through his hair. "What if t-they need us?"
Daisy shrugged. "I don't know I'm not magic. And Jemma can take care of herself. And if not Mack and the others will get the Avengers if they have to."
"I h-hate this." He slumped, the fight seeming to leak out of him.
Daisy huffed, pushing off the wall. "So do I." She shoved him over and sat next to him on the bench. "But we'll get through it. Together right?"
He gave a slight nod. "Y-yeah we can do t-that."
"I'm not discounting you having a moment and figuring it out either. Just don't punch any more trees, please."
He winced looking down at his splinted and wrapped hand."I'll keep that in m-mind. I just...I won't feel right till I can see Jemma again. I-it's…"
"You two belong together. Whole two halves of Fitzsimmons. We're getting you guys hitched again only without the end of the world as soon as we're back."
He slumped his shoulder touching her's. "Is it w-weird to be jealous of m-myself?"
"I'm pretending my cult isn't writing a book of scriptures right now. So not that weird." Daisy reached out and grabbed a crumpled piece of paper. "Maybe waste a bit less of this? I think it's super expensive."
Fitz groaned. "I'll make more. N-not like I have anything b-better to do."
"It's not so bad. You could try talking to someone who isn't Crann."
He snorted and picked up his cup of moonshine. "You actually l-like them? I m-mean some of t-them aren't too bad but…"
"Don't be mean." She didn't bother pointing out she cared quite deeply about some of them. Which wasn't even touching the responsibility she held to the cult or what all she'd sworn with that blood oath. "Jemma'd be better at this."
Fitz laughed quietly. "We're the w-worst for being here. I m-mean space? We'd k-kick spaces ass. But th-this? I can't even m-make a proper computer ch-chip without silicone...plastic...something. And n-no computers for you to h-hack."
"We'd make a better rescue party wouldn't we?" She admitted with a laugh. "Lincoln would have fit right in. Lightning is just showy, plus doctor stuff to keep the nice god thing going. He and Jemma would kill it here."
He nodded and offered her the moonshine. "Probably best it's not Mack."
"Yeah, they're kinda racist." Her lips pulled up. "I think he's got life insurance for aliens that lay eggs in people."
Fitz groaned. "He's n-never going to let the r-robots go."
"Nope, I laid good money on the next apocalypse being radioactive wildlife. " Daisy's nose wrinkled as she waved off the moonshine that was basically paint thinner.
Fitz opened and then shut his mouth before his face turned thoughtful. "Evil w-witches. We haven't done that y-yet."
"They'd probably be Hydra." Daisy grabbed the cup and knocked the whole thing back. Fitz didn't need anymore and she was really hoping Hydra witches weren't a thing. She hissed at the burn. "What the fuck Fitz?! How can you drink this?!"
He stared at the empty cup. "Endless d-despair." He looked at her. "Normal a-agents don't have to deal with this sort of t-thing."
"We did space whales while looking for you. And almost shook down a space brothel." Daisy shivered in disgust of the things she almost had to see.
Fitz cringed. "A-almost ended up there."
"Let's not end up there. I mean it sounded super gross." Daisy used her vibrations to push the bottle of more moonshine farther away from Fitz.
He looked at her pointedly. "Drinking my s-sorrows for a couple d-days doesn't mean I can't control myself."
"Jemma would prefer your liver healthy." Daisy held his gaze then. "And if you haven't noticed, every important person in this country is here right now, and insulting the wrong person could get you killed."
His face was mulish, but his head jerked in the positive. "F-fine. I'll make enough s-stills so they can make disinfectant...maybe make some p-paper."
The tension softened in her at that. "Thanks."
"W-why do I keep h-hearing Jolene?" Fitz sounded genuinely confused.
Daisy shrugged. "They sing a lot here and Hunter's country music choices from karaoke night are the only things that won't break their minds. I mean, imagine explaining Lady Gaga?"
"That's….huh." He blinked, head tilted slightly to one side.
"Exactly." She eyed him. "So are you growing a beard or am I bullying you into shaving again?"
END NOTES(Cause they wouldn't fit in the box...oops. Feel free to ignore them, they're not relevant to the story)
So I'd been planning on dumping a shit ton of thought on how Cersei and Caitlyn are mirrors of each other and how that is super cool. But then I was talking in a comment chain with Anathema_Nikola about some AoS headcanons I have and like..fuck it I'm inflicting it on you guys as well. Also, go checkout the art Anathema_Nikola has been doing its dope.
So from what I understand, (at least 50% of this is implied/pure conjecture) Way back when the Kree were doing experiments on humans with Terrigensis it was being headed up by a noble family. We know the experiments were said to have failed, but really it's cause Hive kicked the Kree's asses and banished them from earth and they were too embarrassed to admit this. So the Kree claimed the experiments failed. Hive was then shoved through the Kree failed experiment portal by Inhumans who didn't want to be Hive's slaves, and the Kree obelisk after being used to banish Hive is dumped somewhere to be hidden away only to later show up in Shield custody and recognized by sight by Jaiying. Or like stolen from Jaiying at Afterlife…I'm really unclear on that. But either way, she was connected to that shit and we know she'd written some about it in her journals.
Now we know House Kasius both from the future and to the Confederacy are on the outs with the Kree Homeworld and seem to be trying to buy/earn their way back in. We also know they wanted two things from earth, Inhumans as slave soldiers, and gravitonium. But my question is how the fuck did they know about the Inhumans? Like sure Hydra could have and probably did tell them about them. But why were they so dead set on inhuman slave soldiers and acquiring them immediately? Cause they showed zero interest in hunting down and capturing/enslaving other enhanced. It wasn't 'enhanced' they were looking for, it was specifically Inhumans. Also second question, Jaiying clearly knew what the fuck was up with the obelisk and how old is she really? And thirdly why was Hive so obsessed with Daisy? Cause like he had a lot of pet/mind-controlled Inhumans, but he wasn't sitting around on cliffs enjoying the view with them resting their heads on his shoulder. Just Daisy. And she was clearly his number two, instantly.
So like, it makes sense if House Kasius was the Kree noble family/general who did the initial inhuman experiments. It would explain their hard-on for Inhumans, why they seem to have been pushed to the edges of Kree society if not actually banished. Like failed massive and expensive war research with nothing to show for it and thus were part of the losing side of the war they were involved in would do that to a family. The sort of thing that'd make nobility join what is basically a space pirate group, and have kids in the future whose entire identity and value are in military exploits that might bring honor to the family leading to neurotic twit children who again hyperfocus in on Inhumans. A House that if this is true is like 90% probably related to the initial Inhumans like Hive. Cause there was some Kree/human breeding and experimenting on the children going on with the creation of Inhumans.
Which brings us to the second question, how old is Jaiying. We know she's been around for at least twelve inhuman generations. But like...I think she's older than that. Cause like Jaiying turned on Daisy really fast once Daisy turned against her leadership. She turned on anyone who challenged her authority way too fast. Like that's not normal, torture trauma response included. But if she was old, like really fucking old like...that'd make a person pretty detached and way too used to their authority to the degree they don't even consider other people's opinions anymore. And if Jaiying is one of the first Inhumans, like a contemporary of Hives, it'd explain why both her kids are bullshit more powerful than any inhuman other than Hive. Cause like Daisy are Kora are fucking OP as fuck. I mean Daisy is a walking natural disaster before she gets serumed up, and Kora is basically a star in human skin. Their powers aren't on the same level as the other Inhumans at all. Like Lincoln has lightning, but his lightning is so much weaker than like what Daisy is capable of. Like after having her powers for less than six months she's already weaponized them and is chucking fucking cars, cracking buildings, stopping bullets, leveling forests, and figuring out how to fly. And she doesn't make shock waves. Like sure that's what she's figured out how to do, but we know she can control sound, radiation, seismic, light, temperature...like she literally controls any vibration an atom makes. That's bullshit. And Kora with her generating actual fucking solar energy is almost as bullshit as Daisy. Other Inhumans aren't capable of leveling cities except for the Kree Royal Court on the Moon who have been selectively breeding powerful Inhumans together to better their bloodline. So we know how much inhuman ancestry you have affects powers. If Jaiying is half Kree cause she's one of the first Inhumans, that'd kinda explain why her kids are fucking tanks. And why she knew what the obelisk was and was so terrified of it, and why she was so emotionally distant from Daisy despite everything, and it'd explain why getting tortured by Hydra tipped her into just 'kill the humans' land. Cause it'd be bringing back Kree experiment trauma and conflating humans and kree as the same and equally evil to her. Which just makes her character make more sense.
And, it'd kinda explain Hive's reaction to Daisy. Cause if his attachment to Daisy was about the fact he's using Ward's body there should have been something sexual about it. But there wasn't. Hive didn't show the faintest show of any of that, he was famial towards her. If he and Jaiying were from the first round of Inhumans, that'd kinda make Daisy his niece, which would neatly explain like...a lot. Why his powers are the only inhuman powers comparable to Daisy or Kora outside of the Royal Court, why he was different with Daisy vs any of the other Inhumans he was controlling, Jaiying's just...deeply weird reactions surrounding Daisy her long lost and beloved daughter, just...it'd explain a fucking lot.
So like...all that is kinda my headcannon cause it fixes some plot holes, and who knows, it could be right. But the hilarious part. Daisy and Jemma definitely chased down Taryan Kasius once they realized Fitz was missing. A. He's a creepy slaver/pirate. B. He's tried to kidnap Daisy, making sure he didn't kidnap Fitz is just basic recon. and C. Jemma and Daisy really, really hated his sons so making sure he didn't have any would just be crossing some T's and dotting some I's. But if Daisy is second generation Inhuman, and she kills the head of a noble House she's probably very closely related to that kinda...its very probably she really is technically the heir to the whole damn noble House and if the Kree weren't racist as fuck she'd probably have a space lawyer chasing her around to deal with some shit.
And Daisy being second gen would explain better why her blood was able to replace Kree blood for Hive's evil plan. Cause like a single tiny vial of Kree blood injection wouldn't do that. Hell, thanks to Captain Marvel, and Elena we know Kree blood doesn't persist in the system like that unless it's a total transfusion. It burns off. If Daisy was just more closely related to the Kree it'd make more sense.
So like realistically I actually think House Kasius is the Kree noble family/military leaders who initially made the Inhumans. That just makes sense. Too much points that way. And like Jaiying I think is mostly just fairly sloppy writing issues but also like solid 50% chance she was actually supposed to be that old. Hive's relation to Daisy like probably just headcanon and his interactions with Daisy are just cause the writers wanted the two actors/lead characters interacting and if his interest had been sexual while she was mind-controlled like…that'd have gone too dark for the show.
Chapter 38Notes:Yo! So this is technically the end of Part 1 of this fic. If I didn't despise naming and tagging new fics I'd probably be ending this here and starting up a Part 2. However I do loath naming and tagging new fics, so onwards we go!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter TextLord Robett Glover looked on with pride as his former ward, and new Lord of the Hornwood, Lawrence Snow, rode into Winterfell. Arrayed around him were twenty men at arms and a household knight around their new Lord. The orange banners with a great moose upon them stood out on the grey, cool morn. He opened his arms. "Lawrence! Cutting it close there boy!"
"Ran into some ruffians that needed taking care of two weeks back." Lawrence laughed, dismounting his horse and then stepping into Glover's arms and hugging him tightly.
He beamed, hugging the boy who was as good as his own son. "Good for you, best you got here today though. Missing the Stark's Moot would be poor taste. Especially what with Lady Stark giving you the Hornwood."
"Aye, rode hard to get here in time." Lawrence pulled back with a boyish grin on his face. "Sent a raven to Lady Stark saying my vote was for House Stark should we be further delayed."
"Good lad." Glover gave his back a last slap. "Now, we have words to have before this Moot, and things for you to know. So let's present you to Lady Stark and get some bread and salt into you and then we can talk."
Lawrence gave a sharp nod, his face turning serious. "Of Course." He turned to his men, and they were his men now. "Stable the horses, then find the Glover men."
"Should I come with you, my Lord?" One of the men asked, looking at Lawrence with genuine concern.
Lawrence didn't look to Glover for help, just commanded like he'd been born to be a Lord and not a bastard. "Aye, I'll need you if matters of the Hornwood come up."
"Very good my Lord." The man swung himself out of his saddle and strode over to join them.
Glover was so proud of the boy he could burst. "Come one then, Lady Stark's in the great hall."
"How many Lords are here?" Lawrence asked as they bustled towards the great hall.
Glover chuckled as he herded them through the great busy yard. "All of them, you're the last of us. Lord Reed sent a representative of course. But all the others, even Skagos came."
"Damn, well wouldn't want to be the Lord not here. Doubt you'd keep your head longer than a few moons." Lawrence's voice held weight then.
Glover didn't disagree, the damned Starks were blessed in war. Ned had been a damned good soldier, led them to victory after victory in the Rebellion. Then Robb, gods be good Robb had been the greatest military leader of the War for all they'd lost. But now Jon and Sansa were continuing that legacy without a hitch. Wasn't natural, but then Starks never had been normal, they had ice in their veins. It was why they'd ruled the North since they'd united it. "No, next house that brings Lady Stark's wrath will be burned to the ground I imagine."
"They'd damn well deserve it." Lawrence scoffed.
He hummed. "You're not wrong." Glover gave a sharp nod to the protective giant of a woman standing vigilant watch over Lady Stark who was directing servants with a single minded focus.
"Lord Glover, Lord of the Hornwood." Lady Stark neatly avoided saying Snow. She focused on Lawrence. "Welcome to Winterfell, our hospitality is yours." She waved a servant forward. "Fetch bread and salt."
The servant bowed and then scurried off.
She looked back to them. "I apologize for not being prepared for your arrival, we weren't expecting you till tomorrow."
"Aye, we pushed the horses last night." Lawrence straightened with pride. "Wouldn't have missed your Moot for anything my Lady."
Lady Stark's face gave the faintest flicker of approval. She showed little emotion when not near her family or their god. "Your voice will be heard, as is your right."
"So long as me and my line hold the Hornwood it's yours Lady Stark." Lawrence was positively radiating pride at the honor of ensuring his loyalty was known.
Glover wondered when he'd last been young enough to feel that loyalty so keenly? Years past now, but he didn't envy his former ward this.
The servant came rushing back, holding out a bowl of salt, a chunk of bread sitting on top of it.
Lawrence easily tore a piece of bread and dipped it in the salt before eating it without the slightest hesitation. "I thank you for your hospitality Lady Stark."
"Your rooms have been prepared besides Lord Glover's. Until the Moot then my Lords." She took a half step back.
Glover and Lawrence both dipped their heads, speaking in unison. "My Lady."
And then she was gone, across the room snapping orders about using fewer candles.
Lawrence looked to him. "Shall we?"
"Aye, we've got much to speak of before the Moot begins after the midday meal." Glover dropped a hand on Lawrence's shoulder. "You did good though boy."
Glover looked at his man at arms guarding his quarters. "Anyone gets close you knock on the door."
The man gave a sharp nod.
Glover shut the door behind Lawrence and moved further in. "This Moot is going to be a damned nightmare and you need to be ready for it."
"What do you mean? Who'd challenge the Starks for it?" Lawrence's eyes narrowed, nostrils flaring in fury at the very idea of it.
Glover whacked the boy's shoulder. "Think! That head of yours is for more than hitting things with. There's three damned Starks and there're damned fools who'll put Jon forward over Rickon."
"What? But that's...Rickon's Lord Stark's trueborn son." Lawrence paused, his frown deepening. "But there will be war, from the south and the north. They'll want a strong leader."
Glover nodded, good, the boy could use his head. "Damned foolish, but aye. Doesn't help the boy's half wild and Wildling raised."
"Either way Lady Stark remains Lady of Winterfell. So long as she's there does it matter which of her brothers is Lord?" Lawrence asked, genuinely curious in his question.
Glover sighed. "If I'd known you'd inherit the Hornwood I'd have taught you better. But we don't have time now. If Jon Stark is named Lord, any heir of Rickon's holds claim to challenge for Winterfell. The North would be fractured in just a few generations. We'd sentence our heirs to a bloody civil war come later summers. And for what would we risk that fate for? Jon Stark will lead us to battle whether he's Lord or not. Anyone with eyes can see it's best to leave Lady Stark as regent."
"What do we do?" Lawrence faced him, his face set and ready to do his duty.
Glover knocked his knuckles against the wooden table in his rooms. "We let them talk themselves out, and divide themselves up and argue. Then Lord Manderly will speak, he's powerful enough to hold the room. Then we give him our votes, and we hope that's enough."
"Will the god not intervene?" Lawrence's eyes flicked to the window, the Order's tower visible out past the glass.
Glover poured himself a mug of ale, then dropped down into a chair. "That at least is some luck. She's recused herself from the decision. Spent the last half moon teaching fighting to Rickon and Lyanna Mormont. And Rickon's been joining her men for reading lessons. And she didn't take Jon's hands for hugging her. There'll be no trouble either way. And I don't know what Lady Starks plans to do about the whole courting issue, but whatever it is she's clearly got it in hand."
"Well, that's something at least. If Jon's named?" Lawrence poured his own mug, taking the other seat.
He sighed, his face solemn. "Then we swear our loyalty and we hope Lady Stark can steer us through without future chaos being seeded."
////
Sansa watched as the last of the Lords jostled into their seats on the benches around the tables set in the Lord's Hall. It was a hall meant for a King to rule over his court. Lords were crushed in against each other, various knights and senior members of import standing up around the sides. She glanced at Jon.
He breathed out a great steadying breath, his eyes solemn, and then lifted his fingers to his mouth and whistled loudly, drawing the attention of the room.
She stood, the various men falling silent to hear what she had to say. She drew strength from Jon seated to her left, Rickon to her right, the two giant direwolves laying before them, and Daisy standing pointedly separate, but still towards the head of the room. Her eyes tracked those Lords who held some measure of her trust. This would solidify Stark power, it would allow them to stand in the days to come.
So she spoke, her voice carrying as she'd learned to do in those long years in King's Landing. "Lords of the North, you've been summoned here because the North was broken." She held her face, unforgiving and aloof as there was a wave of discontent at her words rippled through the men. "We have no time for fighting and arguing about who the Lord of Winterfell and the North should be, the Dead are coming." She gestured to Jon.
Jon stood, taking her place as she returned to her seat. "My sister is right, the Long Night is here. I fought them, killed an Other." His voice left no doubt that he meant every word of it. "You can ask any of the men of the Night's Watch, or any of the Free Folk here who have joined us to fight."
Tormund slammed his mug against the table, clearly pleased by the chance to make his mark on the whole thing. "Million blighted fucking dead cunts coming to kill us all."
"Aye." Lord Forester raised his voice. "My man at the wall confirms the dead are coming."
Mors Umber spoke from the wall where he was standing as a man of standing though not Lord of a holdfast. "Everyone by the wall knows those monsters are coming."
Lord Reed's envoy spoke. "Lord Jojen warned us that the Long Night comes again. House Reed will vouch for the truth of this."
Jon pulled the attention back to him. "There are three things that can kill them. Fire, dragon glass, and valyrian steel. And we must fight, hiding in our castles will leave us to die, one by one. Our only hope is to stand together."
Lady Dustin scoffed. "Pox to it all, we're not here to make battle plans. We're here to put the Starks back where they belong."
"You don't have a voice here Lady Dustin, or is it Ryswell?" Lord Slate spoke up, his dark eyes shining past his bushy brows.
"She's been Lady of a noble House for almost twenty years." Sansa's voice cracked through the hall, eyes snapping back to her. "While she may no longer be due a vote, her voice will be heard."
Davos cleared his throat. "I know I don't rightly have a vote. I'm not of the North. But I think it's clear what's needed here. And it's as Lady Dustin says."
There was thumping of fists against the tables from the some fifty-five Lords of the North. Lord Poole stood. "We all know we mean to name a Stark." He raised his arm pointing at Rickon's pale face where he was sitting rigidly still beside her. "Ned Stark's son sits there. Who'd dare challenge that."
"I should think we have two sons by the name of Stark." Lyanna Mormont spoke then.
Sansa closed her eyes for a long second in resignation of what would happen. Opening her eyes she took hold of the room. There was a concerning amount of agreement seen on the Lords' faces as Lyanna continued.
"Rickon Stark would be a fine Lord in a time of peace." She stood, commanding the room with a near violence of a presence demanding their respect. "We all know Lady Stark could hold the North and train him up into a proper Lord in a time of peace. But we're not at peace." Her voice was a damned whip. "The dead come from the north, and the Lannister scum will come from the south."
There was a round of 'ayes' and agreement to her words.
Lyanna continued. "We need a warrior, one battle tested and true. I say Jon Stark is the only man I mean to bend my knee to."
There was a roar of argument as the tables of Lords burst into noise at the inevitable having happened. Sansa wondered at the fact that being Lady of Winterfell meant she had a near constant desire to pinch the bridge of her nose. Instead, the fingers of her left hand dug into the wooden armrest of her seat. Her other hand reached out catching Rickon's hand and holding firmly. She could not spare more concern for him than that, it'd show perceived weakness in him if she did.
Lord Ryswell lept to his feet barking out loud enough to be heard, the others quieting to hear his words. "Jon Snow may be using the name Stark, but he's a Snow. He has no right to the Winter Throne."
"He's a Stark." Sansa's voice was sharp. It would make everything so much more complicated but she would never allow Jon to be hurt in this way again. He'd deserved better as a boy, and he deserved better now. "I name him a Stark, his blood names him a Stark, and the gods name him a Stark."
Lord Ryswell bowed his head towards her. "Be that as it may my Lady, legitimized or not he's not Ned's heir. Young Rickon is."
Sansa gave him a nod at that, her public agreement of where she fell, though she'd say no more. It had to be the Lords deciding this. An iron fist would lose them loyalty as fast as a velvet glove would.
"And I don't mean no disrespect." The new Lord Ryswell looked to Jon, before returning his attention to the other Lords. "But he swore oaths to the Night's Watch. Oath's said before a face tree. I don't know what the truth of his leaving the Wall is. And I don't rightly care. But I'll not have some oath breaker for a Lord."
There were murmurs of agreement, the tides turning against Jon and back to Rickon.
Lord Ryswell continued. "Besides, it wasn't Jon Stark who made me and the Dustin's bend the knee, it was Lady Stark. Any boy raised to rule by that Lady as regent will be the finest Lord we could ask for."
"Boys die." Lord Bole cut in. "We all have seen too much death to trust in the survival of a boy just beginning his martial training. We need strength to survive what's to come."
Greatjon Umber snapped then, his anger a sight to see as he towered over the other Lords. "I swore my oaths to House Stark. I don't care which Stark arse warms the chair. But I won't listen to talk of Ned's son dying!"
"ENOUGH!" Lord Magnar of the Skagos isles roared. "You lot are all daft fools!"
Sansa had a rather pounding headache. They'd been arguing for near an hour. The issue raged back and forth between steady trusted military leadership with the risk of death on the battlefield, or the proper right of succession and Rickon, with all the risks of a boy Lord. She hoped Lord Manderly spoke soon, and that he was as convincing as he'd promised. Because at this rate it'd be near impossible to bring the arguing Lords together under whichever way they voted. If she could she'd throttle them all with her bare hands. But with Manderly, Cerwyn, Glover, Hornwood, and likely the Flints inclined to vote for Rickon, if they were convincing enough most of the Lords should follow.
Finally, finally! Lord Manderly stood and cleared his throat, his silent until now voice causing the others to quiet to hear what he would say. That and the respect he commanded. "I would speak!"
Fists beat on the tables to encourage him, several Lords, who'd been arguing taking their seats.
"I say both sides make fair points. With Lord Rickon as our Lord Paramount, he'd be safe here in Winterfell as we fought wars to survive. And none of us can argue that his Lady sister would make a regent fit for these times. And Jon'd lead us to battle, title or no." He let his words linger. "And should we name Lord Jon as our Lord Paramount we'd have a proven and tested leader. One to lead from the front lines like his brother and father before him. No doubt he'd depend on his Lady sister near as much as Rickon would. No matter who we choose, House Stark stands united? Or do any of you doubt that?"
There was a great chorus of pounding at this.
Manderly drew himself up. "Two perfectly respectable choices, choices that might even see us through the dark days and nights coming for us. But I say why do we choose?"
Sansa was as confused as the rest of the Lords seemed to be at this, and she frankly would make Manderly regret it till his dying day if he turned on her now. A dying day that depending on his next few words may be far sooner than nature would provide on its own.
"What is this but some grand council? We of the North don't choose our leaders through Moot's or Councils. That's for the southern cunts. We have always been ruled by those strong enough to drag all of us sons' of bitches into it. Not a one of our Houses bent the knee to the Starks of old because we chose them in some Moot. They told us to bend, or granted mercy in exchange for loyalty. Every last one of us owes loyalty to the Starks not because we chose them but because they demanded it of us and we listened. Hells, mine own House is the only one out of the lot of you that came to House Stark. And it wasn't some Moot that did that."
It was a ringing silence now.
Manderly's gaze was challenging as he dared any man to disagree with him. "We're Northern men and women. We don't bow and submit to the rule of just anyone. We bow to the person who can make us. The leader who chooses us, who makes us do so."
"What are you saying?" Lord Glover demanded, but he was clearly as off balance as the rest of them.
Manderly tipped his chin. "I say we're all here because we were summoned here and we all came. From the damned bog dwellers to the those crazy son's of bitches on Skagos, to fucking Wildlings and Umbers sharing table and breaking bread together because they were told to." He challenged them all with his tone. "House Ryswell and House Dustin bent the knee at sword point because that damned sword was put to their throats. The Bolton's and Karstarks are gone because it was willed and ordered. Our coasts were cleared of Ironborn by an army under their command."
"The North was forged in blood and conquest by the Starks of old. And I say we have ourselves a Stark of that same cloth. Who has brought us here with conquest and blood. Who commands and we answer because we know there sits one who is to be followed. One with the will to command not just in battle, but in every way. We will have food in our bellies because of trade commanded, paid for with debts shouldered by a leader who has done what leaders do. Lead." He raised an arm and pointed straight at Sansa who felt she could hardly breathe. "I say, Sansa of House Stark, the Red Wolf already is our Stark of Winterfell."
There was a banging of cups and fists on tables as the tide swung, Lords who'd just been arguing agreed as they consented to Manderly's words. A swell of sound filled the hall and echoed off of the stone.
Manderly dropped his arm to the pommel of his sword. "I say fuck the south! Sansa Stark retook the North, she avenged the Red Wedding, she commanded and we followed! The North has been her's since we all followed when she demanded it of us. She survived the Lannisters, she survived King's Landing, she survived the Boltons! We are united, the Lords of every House in the North because she willed it." He dragged his sword out of its sheath, pointing the blade at her. "There sits the only Stark I mean to swear to! There sits the only one I mean to bend my knee to. THE QUEEN IN THE NORTH!"
There was a roar then of fists banging on tables, swords being unsheathed, and voices crying out in a great cacophony of noise. "QUEEN OF THE NORTH, QUEEN OF THE NORTH, QUEEN OF THE NORTH!"
And curse him to seven hells, Jon turned and bent the knee, his sword to the ground. An unmistakable sign of fealty.
They all followed suit. Greatjon Umber, Manderly, Bole, Cerwyn the dozens besides them. Even Lyanna Mormont bent the knee, their voices crying their vote. Not one refusing, not in the face of this choice. Even those that might not want to, bent, because they accepted it.
Sansa's throat was dry. A cold calm washed through her, this could not be fought. It was more than she'd ever wanted, was everything she'd ever wanted, and everything she'd come to never want. But it was.
She stood from her chair, a part of her realized even Rickon had left his own seat, falling to one knee. Looking across the hall of kings, she stood and knew that she was Queen.
Notes:To everyone who guessed where this was going, high fives all round. Also I am forever amused for how stressed guards must be every time the North names a new ruler cause they're like 'yes, lets wave our swords around and towards the person we want to lead us! Nothing worrying about this at all!'
Guys, do you know cool I think it is that its implied and like pretty probably that the Starks have White Walker blood? Like I just think that's super neat and is kinda one of my favorite fan theories for GoT. Which frankly I think its less theory and more just implied thing that is probably true. There's some cool videos on it by Alt Shift X https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=z3sp0Q2SAhM&ab_channel=AltShiftX and Quinn's Ideas https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=ShAZMy7gvI8&t=1565s&ab_channel=Quinn%27sIdeas .
But basically the theory goes like this.
Way back when in the early days of the wall there was a Lord Commander who saw a white, blue eyed, cold woman(female Walker) and went out and took her to wife. He then named himself Night's King and her his Queen and together they ruled from the Night Fort(super old and cursed castle on the Wall) using dark magic to keep their soldiers bound to them. Heavily implied child sacrifice both in legend and in the very architecture of the Night Fort. They ruled for thirteen years before the Stark King united with the Wildlings to overthrow the Night's King. Now the Night's King was almost certainly a Stark, and brother to the Stark King who overthrew him. Bunch of reasons for that, but for now go with it. So the idea is that the repeated motif of a Stark taking a half Stark kid and raising them as their own is what happened next. Especially since the legend is very specific that the Night's King gave his Queen his 'seed'. So like half human half Walker babies almost a certainty. Which would have introduced Other blood into the Stark bloodline. And fun fact, there's various Starks with names like 'Snow Beard', 'Ice Eyes', they use the metal famous for Others hating it to keep their dead in the crypts, endless references to the Starks having ice in their veins, not being like other men, not feeling the cold like other men, ect. Which I fucking buy. Cause Martin loves Lovecraft, and Lovecraft's stories are full of stories full of characters terrified to find ancient dark magical bloodlines in their pasts.
Also it has a super cool symmetry with the Targaryens who literally have dragonblood in their ancestry. The old Valaryans legit used dark magics to breed people to animals, Targaryens fairly regularly give birth to kids who died because they had wings or scales, or just straight up dead baby dragons. Its a thing for them. And it'd make the whole 'Fire and Ice' thing with Jon make literal as well as thematic sense. Oh! And the Starks like second only to the Targaryens for inbreeding. Lots of cousin marriage in the Starks from what I can tell. Which is all to say, I buy it. I think the Starks are related to the Others. Not that I intend to do anything with it in this fic. But you know, just think it's cool.
Chapter 39: Part 2Notes:Hey! Hope everyone is having a great day! Just know all of your engagement with this fic has blown me away and I love talking with all of you!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter TextLoras Tyrell shook with terror as he lay curled into the corner of his damp cell. He was ashamed and he was broken. His eyes were wet, his hair greasy and tangled as it lay against his skin. The hard floor bit into him, but relieving the pain by moving would be to risk the guard at the door knowing he was awake. But then they didn't just come when he was awake. He never knew when they were coming.
He just needed it to stop. He needed it to stop. He needed it to stop. He needed it to stop. He needed it to stop. He needed it to stop. He needed it to stop. He needed it to stop. He needed it to stop. He needed it to stop. He needed it to stop. He needed it to stop. He needed it to stop. He needed it to stop. He needed it to stop. He needed it to stop. He needed it to stop. He needed it to stop. He needed it to stop. He needed it to stop. He needed it to stop. He needed it to stop. He needed it to stop. He needed it to stop. He needed it to stop. He needed it to stop. He needed it to stop. He needed it to stop. He needed it to stop. He needed it to stop. He needed it to stop….
A whimper escaped his lips as the door creaked open. He curled tighter, his fingers digging into his calves as he pulled his legs tighter to his chest. Words slipped past his lips. "Please, please, please, please."
Two rough sets of arms hauled him out of his corner. And then he was forced to face the man who'd come for him for whatever the Faith had planned now. His closed eyes tightened, his pleas remaining on his lips. He couldn't do this again. His pleas silenced into a whimper as he was slapped across the face.
"Shut your mouth." A man snarled, he sounded different than the cold detachment of the followers of the Faith. All their voices held such horrible coldness. "Ser Tyrell, your sister sent me. Ya went out of here ya follow me."
Loras's eyes snapped open at the word of his sister. He grabbed the man's arms. "Margaery?" Oh gods she'd listened when he'd begged her to save him.
"What other sister do you have? Yes, your sister, the bloody Queen. Now come on if ya want to get out." The man was someone of ill repute, he smelled of alcohol and unwashed skin. His boiled leather armor and undyed clothing marked him a common sellsword. But in his hand was a piece of paper, a drawing of the rose of Tyrell. But it was done wrong, done wrong in exactly the right way for him to know Margaery, sweet Margaery had sent this man.
Loras thought he may as well have been divine. His weakened and pained body from the care of the Faith uncurled, he wavered but made it to his feet. No words fell from his lips now, but he'd follow this man. He'd follow him through the seven hells if it meant he'd be free. His sister was saving him. Because she was the strong one, not him.
He stumbled, a hand grabbing his upper arm with unforgiving strength, half hauling him out of the cell. At the door was another man, dressed similarly to the first. The two of them shut the cell door behind him, and then they were hustling through the lower tunnels of the Great Sept of Balor. They went deeper, instead of upwards?
Loras bit his lip viciously at the body of one of the faithful laying in a pool of blood. They'd been dead long enough for the blood to begin to soak into their plain spun robes, face screwed up into masks of death. If they were caught with dead faithful in the halls it'd be worse somehow. It couldn't' be any worse, could it?
So he let himself be dragged further down the hall. Everything hurt, the bottoms of his feet from the punishment they'd suffered, his back where the fabric dragged over the strikes he'd been given, every muscle hurt from pain, from the cold, and from poor conditions.
It was a blur of pain and terror as he was led finally out into a tunnel of the miserable sewers beneath the city. Loras flinched at the stench, but terror overrode the disgust and he followed. They sludged for gods knows how long before coming to a ladder.
Loras's fingers barely had the strength to haul himself up the rusted metal rungs. The weeks of deprivation had weakened him. His lungs and muscles ached, a shaking, gelatinous feel warning they would only support him for so much longer. But he could smell fresh, free air. So he climbed.
His guide half hauled him up and out at the top. He then shoved Loras into the back of a cart before Loras could look long enough to learn where in the city he was. All he knew was it was one of the poorer districts, and it was the dead of night.
The back of the cart was rough hewn wood, the rattle of it moving made his teeth rattle in his skull with every cobblestone and pothole. A poorly spun cloth was thrown over him, hiding him from view. It was miserable, his sweat cooling against his filthy skin even as his heart beat like a rabbit in his chest.
Gods knew how long he was there, but he certainly didn't. It felt an age and a second both, till the cart finally jolted to a stop. Not long after and the cloth was ripped off of him. He blinked, eyes burning at the sudden light from several lanterns. They were outside a warehouse near the docks.
He whimpered, his entire body was bruised and battered, as he was grabbed by the shoulder and shoved in through the dark doors. His whole body was wracked with shivers from terror and cold. His sweat had long since cooled. It was of some comfort that should this be his end, at least it would not be at the High Sparrow's hand. That small kernel of spite had long since burned out, but its memory lingered.
His torture dulled senses took a long moment to recognize the people within. The guards in Tyrell colors were a relief but his sister? His beautiful sister brought a sob from his throat. "Margaery!" He didn't even care at the crack in his voice, the fact he surely stank, covered in filth as he was.
They both lunged for each other, clinging to one another as they so often had as the two closest of their siblings. The only difference in their holds was the panicked shaking as he sobbed wordless thanks into her and her unfaltering grip as she held him to her. He felt whole and safe for the first time since he'd realized he was too weak to survive his imprisonment.
He'd barely regained enough sense for his sobs to have eased when Margaery grabbed his face and forced him to look at her. He could see the anxiety and fear on her face. His voice was disused and weak. "What is it? You've saved me?"
"Loras, you can't be in the capitol at dawn." Her fingers were nearly painful as they dug into him. Her voice, even here, a low and cautious tone, meant not to carry lest they be overheard. "And you cannot return to the Reach, I can't protect you from the Faith."
His face crumpled, his chest constricting with panic. "I can't, I can't go back!"
"No." Her voice was vicious, eyes flashing. "I can't protect you but we have friends who can. Or one who might."
He shook his head. "Grandmother will help?" He knew his voice had a desperate edge to it, but he didn't care.
Margaery's hands fell to his shoulders, fingers no lighter there than they'd been before. A terrifying intensity and desperation to her. How far must she have been pushed to openly show her fear? "Not against the Faith. There is little time. You must go North. Sansa has reclaimed it for the Starks. The whispers are scarce, or perhaps too plentiful for much to be known. But what is certain is she's taken it, and her bastard brother is supporting her. With winter nearly here she'll hold it." She caught his chin with one hand before he could look away. "Listen to me. You must go to her, beg that she protects you."
"Sansa Stark? She's a silly girl." He weakly scoffed, that demuring fool of a girl he remembered his sister investing her time in, she meant nothing to him. She couldn't have protected a bird let alone a person.
Margaery's voice had that familiar whip to it that she held in common with their grandmother as she spoke quickly. "The fact you think that is proof she's smarter than you give her credit for. But she holds the North, the one kingdom that does not bow to the Faith. Do you understand? The Faith has no power there."
He cringed but nodded. "How long?"
"Loras….you can't come back." She held him, her desperation suddenly making sense. This was goodbye, permanently. "If she does not accept you into her household in memory of what friendship she and I held for one another you must go to the Wall. By leaving you'll be killed if you return."
And he shook then. Shaking, he hated himself because he knew he'd do as his sister bid. Because he couldn't go back. He couldn't let the Faith have him again. He wouldn't survive it. So he nodded. "Ok."
"There's letters in your chest, and I've arranged for a traveling companion. You will board the ship just down at the docks. It's all arranged." Margaery kissed the crown of his head. "We don't have long."
He half sobbed and pulled his sister into his arms. Because he would never see her again. Not for years and years if he ever did. The person in all the world he loved best, trusted most. His sister, his mirror in their family. He was a coward, if he was a braver man he'd stay. She needed him in King's Landing, needed the security of his presence, the support of a male of their house besides their idiot father. But he was not a braver man. He was so scared, could take no more, hold to his sanity by his fingertips no longer. So he'd leave. Like a coward.
Her tears were a condemnation as they fell because she knew him best. She'd saved him. All this would have meant nothing if he was a braver man. He sobbed and hugged her, it half felt like if he could just hold on tight enough and memorize the feel of her, he'd never lose her. She must have felt the same because she held him just as bruisingly tight.
Time had long since lost meaning to Loras. It was compressed and expanded, twisting and malleable after the cell with the Faith. He couldn't have guessed at how long they stayed there, clinging to each other. But finally, Margaery pulled away.
She looked at him, her eyes red. "You have to go, there isn't more time."
"I…" He wanted to tell her he'd stay, but the lump in his throat meant he couldn't get the words out.
Margaery's face was so agonizingly understanding. "Go."
He choked on a sob as unflinching hands pulled him to a different door. As they reached the door his hand shot out clutching the doorframe. "Margaery! I love you, always."
"Live Loras." She half shook, one of her arms wrapping around her stomach as if it would protect her from the grief of their parting…or perhaps the grief of his loss. For that's what it was.
And then he was gone, hauled out into the dark of the night. A haze descended on him then. He'd never hated himself as truly as he did at that moment. He was a puppet breathing the stench filled air, stumbling over broken cobblestones as he was dragged to the harbor, up a gangway, and then crammed into a small berth. And then his mind and body simply gave out and he knew no more.
////
Loras woke up apathetic at his position. He lolled his head over on the lumpy pillow under it at the sound of the door opening. He absently recognized the woman who came in. One of his sister's twittering handmaidens. Though absently he realized she was dressed far more practically than any of the handmaids did. Not a Tyrell rose or a bit of gold and green to be seen on her person.
She looked at him with something like pity and disgust. "Get up, you need a bath."
"No." He rolled over away from her.
Loras yelped in alarm as freezing cold water doused him. He scrambled half out of the bunk in alarm before he even knew what had happened, his eyes skittering across the room for the members of the Faith here for him. Only it was just the handmaiden holding a bucket. The pity was somehow worse now.
Her voice was sharp. "Get up, we can't have the full crew realizing who you are."
"What does it matter if they do?" He bit out, he'd lost his last shred of self-respect, allowed his family to be ripped from him. What did the rest of it matter?
She was forward in two steps and grabbed him by the front of his rough shirt. "I don't know what they did to you. But if you give us away we'll both be killed. Your sister didn't risk everything so you could wallow and give up."
He cringed from that, his eyes leaving her in shame. But he meakly nodded.
She straightened back to her feet. "Get up, and my name is Mira since you certainly have forgotten it."
Loras hefted himself to his feet, his body protesting the action. But he did it. On shaky legs, he followed her across the rocking wooden floor through the door and into what was clearly a nicer room. Dimly he realized he'd been put into the attached servant's quarters of a modest ship's cabin. In the center of the room was a large metal tub of water.
"Get in, we'll have to dump your clothes overboard."
He realized she wasn't leaving the room and honestly he was too exhausted to care. So he shucked his clothing that was more dirty rags than anything else. As the fabric hit the ground he climbed into the tub. The best that could be said was that it wasn't ice cold.
With methodical movements, he began to soap and wash his filthy flesh. It took longer than he'd have liked, and the water was nearly black as he climbed out. He didn't even feel properly clean just...not coated in filth. He grabbed the towel laid out for him and dried himself. The fabric wasn't soft, but kinder than he'd had since he'd been dragged away.
Once as dry as he was going to get he pulled on the clothing neatly laid out for him. It was all of good quality but plain, warm, and meant for a man of some means but not of the nobility. Based on the leather outer jerkin a well paid mercenary, or perhaps a trusted member of a household. Now that he was paying some attention he saw the sword set by the clothing a quick check showed it to be good castle steel, and of his preferred design. But it, like the clothing, was merely good, not fine or anything better. His squires had had better. He looked at Mira who'd been staring out the small window, her face drawn as she avoided looking towards him. He felt more human than he had in...however long he'd been in that cell. But the carved out empty feeling hadn't changed. "What now?"
Mira looked at him, she certainly wasn't impressed. He half remembered her twittering about and flushing at the slightest attention from him. But then all the girls Margaery surrounded herself with acted like that. Either way, she hadn't stood out from the rest. But she was cool towards him now. "What did Margaery tell you about our plan?"
He swallowed but answered. "That it's arranged, we're to go to Winterfell, ask Sansa Stark for sanctuary if she won't help I'm to head to the Wall. She said there were letters in a trunk."
"Well, that's less than nothing." She eyed him critically. "You don't really remember me at all do you?"
Loras barely cared enough to frown ever so slightly at the disdain in her voice. "No, one of my sister's handmaidens?"
"Well, I shouldn't be surprised you never noticed us particularly." She gave him a pointed look. "My name is Mira Forrester, and I'm of the Forresters of the Ironrath in the North. I tried to save my family by working with Lord Tyrion."
He winced, that'd have been a political death blow.
She gave a sharp nod. "Margaery was kind enough to have my husband killed. Now, you're a mercenary I've hired to kill my husband and escort me safely back to my family. We sail for White Harbor and will purchase horses there and ride for Winterfell. Your name is Tom Rivers, now sit down. We're going to have to do something about your hair."
Loras...sat. He processed the story, just moons ago he'd have railed at the indignity of being forced to adopt a bastard name, of wearing common clothing, of this whole theatre. But now...now he simply did as he was told. He was alive, and it may make him weak but he'd chosen this indignity.
Mira stood, wielding a pair of scissors. She quickly wrapped his still damp towel around his shoulders and then began to cut his hair. She cut short, not so short as to imply it'd been shaved, but rather he was poor and it was easier to keep less hair clean. A not uncommon practice among some sellswords. His beginnings of a beard were trimmed into neat order, and then she pulled away. "Well, let's clean all this up. The hair and your old…" Her nose wrinkled. "Clothes can be thrown out the window. Then we need the crew to see you, your story is you were so drunk you don't remember getting on the ship."
He gave a nod and began to assist in the work. Once he was done he'd be free to...well hide in his bunk.
////
A moon and a half of travel on the boat and Loras had recovered a great deal. His body no longer pained him, the stiff sea air, and unappetizing but regular meals allowed him to work himself back to near fighting form. He felt more himself, though the cold air meant he'd been stuck layering near all his clothing just to keep from freezing his ass off. His companion Mira was...well she'd had a rough go of it and was cold at best to him, but better than the iciness she treated the rest of the crew with.
The ship, The Merman's Tail was a stout northern ship, and the captain and crew had made no secret of the fact they meant to never return south again if they could help it. They all laughed at his reaction to the cold, but he'd found an extra blanket in his tiny bunk. It'd been...strange but as close to good as he likely would have again.
Loras carefully pulled on the thick fur cloak and tightened the leather straps to himself. The rest of the contents of the trunk was easily packed into saddlebags. Finally, he slung the saddlebag strap over his shoulder and stepped out into Mira's cabin. Her own things were already packed into her own saddlebags already. "Are you ready?"
"Let's go, we have a long ride to make." Mira stood.
He just...he nodded and hauled up her bags and hung them over his other shoulder, and followed her out into the northern air.
An hour later and they had purchased horses, and their bags had been secured. Loras looked around the streets of White Harbor. "This is the largest city in the North?"
"It doesn't smell of shit like the southern cities." Mira replied stiffly as she swung herself up into the saddle.
He looked at the streets, and they were clean and the atmosphere and stench of fear was missing. "I'd have expected….less safety."
"So would I." Mira admitted, her brows furrowed.
Loras mounted his own horse, it was a different breed than those his brother bred in the Reach. They were stouter, their fur thicker. "Any clue why?"
"Latest news from the North was the Boltons were dead and a Stark back in Winterfell. But this is...not what I was expecting." Mira perked up suddenly. "Riders, House Woolfield." And there was relief there.
Loras was shamefully ignorant of Northern Houses. But then he'd only ever cared about other knights and his own home. Northern Houses had always been..well hardly a concern of his. Certainly, not smaller Houses like Woolfield undoubtedly was. "Can we trust them?"
"They're of the North." Mira's eyes held enough darkness that it was clear that she knew that wasn't enough to mean safety. "Lord Manderly's wife is Leona Woolfield now Manderly. The Manderly's are staunchly Stark men, they owe everything to the Starks. If we wish for news and possible aid in reaching Winterfell they're a good choice."
He looked down at his northern leather jerkin, thick woolen garb, and felt the fur collar of his cloak tickling his bearded cheek. "Do I look Northern enough?"
"You'll do." She eyed him. "And you're a Riverlander remember Rivers? They'll know as soon as you open your mouth you're not one of us."
Loras gave a sharp nod, this was dangerous. Now that they'd reached the true North it wouldn't be hard for her to give him up and let some enterprising Lord sell him to the Lannisters for gold. Or simply have them kill him for being a southerner from a House allied with the Lannisters. He probably should have been nicer on the boat ride...Margaery would drag him from the seven hells herself if he died for being dumb.
Mira urged her horse forward. "Woolfield!"
A man in furs, giant longsword strapped to his back turned in the saddle from the middle of the group of mounted men. A great smile split his face. "Good gods! MIRA fucking FORRESTER!" He turned facing them fully.
She laughed, bright and free. "Markas, I wasn't expecting to see so welcome a face so soon."
"Come, I could eat and I imagine you have a tale worth hearing." He wasn't as large as some of the Northern men seemed, but he certainly had a broadness to him and a build that told Loras he knew how to use the sword on his back.
Mira smiled. "I would welcome good Northern food, it's been too long." She waved to Loras. "This is Ser Tom Rivers, he's been paid to escort me safely home. Ser Rivers, this is Markas Woolfield, third son of the current Lord and a friend of my second brother's."
"Aye, Asher was a good man. Shame what happened to him, nasty business. I'm only sorry we weren't permitted to aid your House." Markas shook his head. "Come, there's a tavern just up ahead.
Loras eyed the party of twenty men they'd joined as the horses began to ride towards this tavern. He kept his mouth firmly shut. While Mira had implied they rode for the Ironrath he had no doubt any girl who'd spent years with his sister could explain their true destination of Winterfell if needed. And if he'd breathed a breath of relief at her introduction of him as Tom Rivers, well, who'd blame him?
Mira's smile was charming but far more honest than expected as they rode. "Is there news of my family?"
"Your brother Lord Forrester is expecting his first child in a moon or so. But I've heard of no deaths since the last of that business with the Whitehills." Markas's face was openly disgusted by that. And what was with these Northerners and openly emoting every damned thing in their heads?
Mira made a small choked sound. "Yes, Talia and Ryon?"
"Still alive my Lady." Markas's face was kind then as he pulled his horse up. He looked at his men, and they were clearly soldiers. "See to the horses, and Lady Forrester and her companion's before you come in."
Loras dismounted, passing the reins and offering a hand to Mira. She raised a brow at him but accepted. His voice was a low hiss. "What are you doing?"
"We'll need more than us to make it to Winterfell." Her eyes were sharp. "A party of this size is likely going further north and will hopefully agree to escort us part of the way."
He held her eyes for a long moment but then stepped back. This was her home. If she thought it necessary it was not for him to argue. Instead, he fell into step behind her, hand on the hilt of his sword. They stepped into a clean if simple establishment. Loras was at least pleased as Markas waived them to an out of the way table, the tavern mostly empty.
Markas raised his voice at the tavern keep. "Ale for my friends and I, as well as your best stew." He waved them to a table, taking a seat across from where Mira was sliding onto the bench. "Now, how are you alive? Or here? And don't give me some crap about making it out. We'd thought you lost, your brother thought you lost."
"I am not here by the kindness of others if that's what you wish to know." Mira's voice was that carefully cultivated tone of courtiers everywhere not meant to travel. "Her grace, Queen Margaery would send word to Lady Stark." Mira's face was tight then. "I do not know what the letter contains, only that at least a half dozen men including the man I was wed to died so that myself and Ser Rivers here could get out of the capitol without the Lannister's being alerted to our absence."
"Mira…" He frowned deeply. "You mean to ride for Winterfell then?"
She gave a slight nod. "Aye, and if we could accompany you and your men for any part of the distance I would be grateful. If my freedom means delivering a letter it's not a price to scoff at."
"No, no it's not." Markas made a groaning noise. "The old gods favor you, we're headed for Winterfell ourselves. A Lord's Moot was called to rename the Starks as Wardens of the North. Of course, we'll escort you safely, but if that letter holds bad news...Lady Stark is not the forgiving type. Damned terrifying woman. She's gone and wiped two Houses off the map and brought the Dustins and Ryswells to their knees."
Loras couldn't help the noise of sheer disbelief that came out of his mouth at that. "Sansa Stark did what?"
"House Bolton and Karstark are gone, dead to the last man. And the Ironborn reavers have been killed or driven off. She's the Red Wolf, and Winter is here for the enemies of House Stark." And the man sounded awed. The type of awe that was born from bone deep loyalty, faith rewarded.
But his words were...unbelievable. Terrified, pale, and fluttering Sansa Stark? The terrified plaything of the Lannisters? Killing whole Houses? Two Houses whose names he knew, that were two of the most powerful Houses in the North? A wolf? The girl had been a bird in a cage, her wings broken and tattered. "How?"
"The Bolton army is the Stark army now, the Wildlings of the North march under a Stark banner, and even the Skagos men answered her call. If they name Rickon Stark she'll be regent." Markas looked fucking reverent.
Loras swallowed, this wasn't...this wasn't the danger he'd have expected in the North.
Notes:Ok so like I think Caitlyn Stark and Cersei Lannister are mirrors of each other. A thing I hadn't noticed till I was rewatching some scenes recently and I got to the one where Jamie says that Caitlyn reminds him of Cersei. Which left me thinking 'wait….huh.' Cause they really are remarkably similar. So start with childhood!
They both are daughters of rich, powerful, and scheming Lords. Both are incredibly entitled and considered great beauties and destined to marry important people. Both find the concept of them not marrying the important person they want to marry as a pathetic joke. And both of them are utterly focused on the narrative of their lives they want to believe in. And both of them are incredibly self-focused and short-sighted.
Of course, Caitlyn isn't brushing up against sociopathy. Though I think there's a case for extreme Narcissism instead of sociopathy for Cersei; but both of them definitely have traits of narcissism. Which is fascinating. Like Caitlyn isn't a straight-up monster like Cersei(Cersei is one of my top five favorite characters in all of GoT.). But Caitlyn still does really super cold and shitty things?
Like ok, Caitlyn was in Riverrun for the whole during the whole Baelish dueling for her hand, sleeping with Lyssa and getting her pregnant. Their father forcing enough moontea onto Lyssa for her to abort the baby, her illness aftewards before she and Lyssa were both married at the start of the war.
Then both of these women are mothers who are obsessively invested in their kids. Both show blatant favoritism to their oldest sons. Both fail at preparing their children for the real world, instead protecting and coddling their children to a point of near madness considering their children's inevitable futures due to their ranks. Both can be incredibly vindictive, Cersei more so obviously. Still though. I just think it's interesting. Also means I adore role reversal fics where Ned marries Cersei and Robert Caitlyn.(and I've read all of them) Cause just..I think its neat.