Chapter 40Notes:Yes I'm referencing Garlan and Willas Tyrell from the books. I just...I need more Tyrells later on and frankly they're interesting characters. I understand why the show cut some characters, but others it harmed them to have lost. So fuck it, Loras's two older brothers exist.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter TextLoras was freezing cold. Every inch of him was cold, his muscles tight, the awful, seeping, and ever present cold there. Large, fat, wet snowflakes had begun to fall, ones that soaked into the fabric of all of their clothes turning them damp and even more miserable. There was a constant wind as they rode, rolling off the vast and endless stark lands.
He could admit there was a wild, and untamed beauty to the harshness found here for all the misery he found in it. It was like all the softness of the world had been stripped away leaving it as harsh and merciless as life. Not to his taste, but well...his taste didn't matter any longer. Loras was pulled from his morose thoughts by Markas's loud and grating voice demanding his attention.
"You fight in the war?" He looked at him, a challenge clear to be seen in his face.
Loras tipped his chin up. "Lord Florant hired my services during the war."
"You at the Battle of the Blackwater then?" Markas eyes were bright and focused on him.
The focus of the entire party prickled at the back of Loras's neck. "I was, and a good thing too for Lady Forrester's safe passage out of King's Landing."
Markas Woolfield laughed. "Aye, there is that. What's a Riverland bastard doing fighting for the fucking flowers?"
"Florants are foxes." Loras personally thought the whole pack of Florants could drown and the Reach would be better for it. But they were still of the Reach. "And the Riverlands don't pay as well as the Reach."
Dallar, one of the men at arms who'd have been a knight had he been born in the south, scoffed. "Don't see the point in sellswords. How'd do ya ever know ya'r enemy won't pay more halfway through?"
"Because sellswords who fail to fulfill their contracts don't get hired." Loras shivered at a particularly cold blast of wind. "How the fuck are you all not freezing?"
The men burst out into laughter, Markas's open palm slamming into his shoulder. "Double up your shirts Tom, ya won't last to Winterfell if ya don't."
"I am." He replied miserably. It was the worst.
Mira actually spoke to him for something that wasn't buisness. "Perhaps a third shirt tomorrow."
"That will be all my shirts?" He stared at her in horror. Dear gods he was going to smell disgusting. Just...disgusting.
Mira shared a look with one of the Northern men. "I'm sure you'll survive."
Loras's shoulders slumped. "I had more clothes at war."
"Southern pounce." One of the guys snorted.
He ignored the insult, just looking out over yet more empty fields of wilderness. "Why is so little of the land cultivated? I mean at least some blackberry bushes would be useful."
Markas chuckled. "We don't have people tripping all over each other here. The land that can be farmed is. Why plant what couldn't be harvested?"
"The land is just being unused?" Loras couldn't comprehend it. The battle for arable land in the Reach was the basis of a great deal of his family's power. For it not to be so here was…
Mira spoke then, clearly taking pity on him. "Land and borders of territory are still just as contested as in the south. The North lacks the manpower to use some of its resources, but those that we have the ability to use, we do so to the fullest. Any Lord who doesn't know what every foot of his land holds is a fool."
"Aye, can't risk not using what you have when the day comes when you need it." Markas nodded sagely.
Loras's hand dropped to his sword hilt as the men around them tensed, sitting more forward in their saddles. "What is it?"
"Deer."
Loras's eyes closed against his will as he groaned at the flavor of hot venison hit his tongue, the juices smearing across his mouth. Not everything about the North was terrible.
////
Loras was brushing Mira's horse before getting the saddle on when one of the men, Dallar raised his voice in question. "So is what they say about the Tyrells true?"
"What do they say about the Tyrells in the North?" Loras felt a spark of something like life in his soul at the way the man had said 'Tyrell'. Like it was something to be mocked, something ridiculous, a joke.
Dallar laughed. "Well, that southern Queen of theirs is on her third husband. Say she's fucked half the court by now. Beauty, grace, and dresses showing more skin than a whore. And what sort of knight is a Knight of Flowers? Like what, he's got so many bastards they call him after it?"
"Naw, I figure it's cause it's some stupid tourney thing." One of the other men called from where he was saddling an animal.
Loras bit viciously down on the inside of his cheek. His grip on the brush turned so hard the wood threatened to crack from it. He nearly chucked the brush to the side and lunged for the man to beat his face in for daring to say that about his sister.
"Queen Margaery is very southern, but she's not a whore. Unless you think all of us women are since our marriages can be bought." Mira touched his shoulder lightly, and briefly as she spoke. "However, you'd never believe the cloak of live flowers that Ser Loras had at the last tourney in Highgarden I saw."
Dallar blinked. "What sort of daft fucker would waste enough time to make that...or worse pay for it?"
"I believe he paid several women handsomely for their work in weaving the bluebells together." Mira shot Loras a look as she spoke.
Loras...Loras gave her the faintest of nods. But he would not forget she'd defended his sister. "I remember that, I believe he paid twenty silver stags for it."
"Good gods…." Dallar shook his head. "I'd near be able to eat for six moons with that for me an' my family."
And...well Loras's cheeks heated at that. It was a paltry sum to him. It'd seemed such a minor thing to create the best effect. Only...well it sounded ridiculous when spoken about by men in practical garb in the cold.
Markas whistled at him. "Oy! Southern boy." He chucked a wad of something at him.
He barely caught it before it could hit his face. Loras swallowed tightly, it was a thick, woolen shirt. The cut was simple, a piece of clothing he'd have scoffed at in disgust at home but here...it was clearly well made, no embroidery or flourishes. He looked up at the man. "Thank you."
"Eh, can't have you whining about the cold all day." Markas stomped his feet, knocking the snow off of his boots.
Loras was less miserable as they rode further along the road. He was certainly less cold. It helped that it had ceased snowing hours ago. His eyes narrowed. "Is that a rider ahead?"
"That's a banner at least." Dallar's eyes were positively squinted as they continued to ride forward. "Grey banner, that's Stark then."
There was a buzz as they continued to ride towards the approaching riders. It was a small party riding towards them of five riders.
Loras could tell none of them were nobility as they got closer, though he did note one was slightly apart from the rest, his clothing black and brown instead of grey and brown. As they reached speaking distance he spotted a broach of a leaf with the Stark direwolf over it. A personal sigil for Sansa perhaps? Though it wasn't the only image of the same leaf-patterned about all the men. One had it roughly stitched into his collar, another burnt into his scabbard. Only the man in brown and black had a direwolf over it though.
Markas as the unofficial leader of their group pulled forward. He called out as their party came to a halt. "Oy!"
The apparent head of the party spotted the sigil on Markas's overcoat as they drew even with them. "Lord Woolfield, road clear to Whiteharbor still?"
"Aye, just a bit of snow. Nothing awful. What news from Winterfell man?" Markas Woolfield half demanded, excitement thrumming through him. "They name Lord Rickon the Stark of Winterfell yet?"
The Stark man at arms drew himself up. The pride of a man following a path he knew was right written across his face. "Her majesty, Sansa Stark, the Red Wolf has been named Stark of Winterfell, Queen of the North and the First Men. We ride to ensure Whiteharbor and the coast received the ravens. And survey the arrival of the first of the new Northern fleet returning from Essos."
Loras's eyes widened, his mouth opening slightly. That was...not a girl who'd held his arm for a few turns of the garden. That demuring and tittering girl had been named Queen over her own brothers? In her own right? "How is that even possible?" He uttered into the shocked silence.
Only it was apparently not so shocking to the Northern men. For as the shock passed there were nods of acceptance. Dallar spoke up, ignoring Loras's question. "So we're to be independent then? Good. A pox on the south."
Laughter and smiles broke out. One of their party members, whose name Loras hadn't caught, spoke up. "Do we have to have a gift or something if the Starks are royalty again?"
"I don't think so?" Markas shook his head. "Come, we'll set camp early. We all have many questions we would be glad to have answers to."
Loras was vaguely numb and more awake than he'd felt since the cell in the Sept of Balor. Had Margaery guessed this? Who could guess this? The North were some of the hardiest sons of bitches to fight. No one wanted to fight the North. They were practically as savage as the tribes beyond the wall. But they, and apparently those from beyond the wall were naming the wounded bird with her wings clipped Queen? What even was that? Had he misjudged the girl that badly?! He wasn't Margaery but he was still a grandson of Grandmother, and she hadn't suffered fools. But then would Sansa have even survived if she'd been anything else but a broken bird? He didn't know, and it troubled him. Because the woman these people spoke of would be capable of protecting him, but she didn't sound like the kind who would do so. And their words of a god made flesh sent shivers of terror down his back.
////
Loras woke miserably. There was a cold ache in his bones, and his face felt like it was going to fall off. Alas, he had to climb out of his bedroll. He really didn't want to. He squinted at the smoldering remains of their fire from the night before, and gods damn it all, Mira was already up, dressed and working on sewing a pair of gloves.
With a groan, he braced himself and then crawled out. The cold weather was miserable. He desperately pulled on his outer layers as quickly as possible. "Fuck." He nearly toppled over getting his boots on. With a slight hop, he straightened, grabbing his fur cloak and hauling it on over his shoulders. He buckled the leather chest straps into place. Damned things had always seemed old fashioned and grim to him when he'd seen the rare northern knight at tourneys. He took it back. He took it all back, damned things were necessary with how much weight there was to the great fur cloaks of the north.
"Do you want some time alone with your cloak?" Mira asked from the fire. A dry amusement to her tone caused his cheeks to heat.
He glared. "Trying not to freeze."
"I've missed the cold." Mira closed her eyes, turning her face into the faint breeze. "I didn't think I would. Everything was so lovely in the Reach."
Loras looked at her for a long moment. He leaned over and picked up some fresh logs and added them to the smoldering fire and picked up the metal pot for cooking the morning boiled oats. "What's the Ironrath like?"
"Old." Mira opened her eyes looking into the distance towards where her home lay. "Ancient. You could feel in your bones that it was a place that had been for over eight thousand years and would stand another. They don't have trees that large in the south. Our ironwoods grow so wide all of us here could set camp inside of one. Not ten men could wrap their arms around a single trunk of the truly ancient ones. Sometimes I fancied I could hear the Old Gods whispering in the creak of the wood and rustle of the leaves."
He shivered at the thought of such a place. His home was Highgarden with its endless gardens of carefully tended roses looking over vast fields of wheat. Warm golden sunlight, harp music from a dozen cousins all desperately looking for a quiet nook to practice in. An endless bustle, people everywhere, art and beauty to be seen with ease. "Isn't that...disturbing?"
"Not when the whispers are home." Mira smiled at him. "The woods may have held memories, but also our home, our laughter, our light." She shook her head. "It wasn't disturbing at all."
Loras took a seat on the decaying log she'd chosen to sit on. It blocked their fire from the rest of the road. But offered some small protection from the wind, it why Loras and the rest of the men had given the place beside it to Mira. "What will you do once you're home?"
"Hug my two brothers and sister left to me." Mira wiped sharply at her eyes. "Sorry, I think I just want to sleep in my own bed, and know that I'm safe."
He poked at the fire. "I don't know how to be without my sister. I miss home, my brothers, the rest of my family. But my sister? She's more than that."
"You two were close." Mira's eyes tracked to the snoring lumps of their travel companions before continuing, her word choice as careful to avoid saying anything that broke the illusion of him being Tom Rivers, bastard knight of the Riverlands. "In homes with many siblings, we all have the one we love best. Or at least that's what I've seen."
He looked at her, and he remembered she had lost two brothers hadn't she? Asking if her closest sibling was dead would be cruel. "Who do you think Joffrey loved best?"
"Himself." Mira paled slightly in sheer disgust at the mention of the mad shit. "Maybe Cersei." A slightly mean glint in the girl's eye.
Loras sniggered. "Truly, a child only his mother could love. And well, we all know who Cersei loves best."
Mira lightly slapped his arm. "You're horrible."
"I've never claimed to be good my Lady." He grinned properly for perhaps the first time since it'd all gone wrong.
She flattened her fingers out against her knees. "I don't think I'll miss the games of the south, though they were fun at first."
"Everything to win, everything to lose." It was oft parrotted phrase about Highgarden. Incidentally, he had several cousins with gambling problems.
Mira looked away and into the fire. "Truly? I had so little to gain, wanted to gain so little, and I lost everything anyway. My brothers, my honor, my name, my dignity, my own body." Her voice was horribly bitter.
"Your honor? You were caught back dealing with Tyrion for sponsorship of your family? How is that dishonorable?" Loras blinked, that barely counted as backdoor dealings in the capitol. It was nothing, horribly dangerous once Tyrion was out of power. But it was the sort of thing that was supposed to be publicly known eventually. That was the point of it.
She shivered for the first time since they'd reached the North. "I had one true friend in King's Landing. Only one. And I said nothing and let him be executed."
"Would you have been executed in his stead?" Loras looked at her, he wondered what all she'd become entangled with. Too little power, caught between titans.
Mira swallowed. "Yes, but it would have been the right thing."
"You'd have been dead. You did the right thing." Loras grabbed a waterskin and poured it into the pot and carefully set it over the fire before dumping the oats in.
She stared at him. "That's going to be disgusting."
"It'll be hot." He defended, fuck if he knew how to cook over a cooking fire. But clearly, none of their companions did either because the only edible thing they'd managed was roast meat.
There was a dramatic groaning sound from one of the sleeping rolls. "Good gods, could ya two shut the fuck up?"
"Oy! She's a lady you cunt!" A leather satchel was chucked at the first man who'd spoken.
There was a wheeze.
Markas sat up. "You all are terrible." He looked up at them. "How is it that a lady like you was left with this southern rapscallion?"
"I'm a knight!" Loras protested, oh no. If he ended up married to Mira Forrester to protect her honor and to keep himself from being strung up by Northerners, his ghost would find Margaery and yell at her. "I would never impune her honor."
Markas frowned, his eyes very clearly drawn to the barely there space between Loras and her.
Mira sighed. "He's a sword swallower. My virtue has been quite safe." She looked at the men like they were stupid. "How else do you find a sellsword willing to go north at the start of winter?"
Loras paled, that was….this was the North. They could kill him and none would care. And while his preferences were moderately tolerated as a secret in the Reach, it couldn't be in the North.
"What, you like sticking it in men? I don't want him touching my bed." Dallar's face scrunched up as he paused, half crawled out of his bedroll.
Mira rolled her eyes as she scoffed. "Please, as if he'd stick anything in you."
Loras unwound slightly as the men just snorted, and someone punched Dallar in the arm. There was no reaching for swords or proper anger.
"She's got the right of it, Tom here's too pretty to fuck the likes of you." Markas winced. "Apologies my Lady."
Mira waved it off. "If you think you are shocking after King's Landing you are more foolish than I'd thought Woolfield."
"Aye, that's fair." The man climbed out of his own bedroll, pulling on his outer tunics. "And you." He looked at Loras before giving him a tight nod. "You have my back with that sword of yours if we get attacked and I don't care where ya stick anything in bed."
Loras breathed out, a weak chuckle leaving his lips. "Well, with how hairy your Northern behinds must be I think I'll be finding my bed quite cold as I don't like bears."
Dallar peeked into the pot, his nose wrinkling. "Are we eating that?"
"Can you do better?" Loras challenged, his shoulders easing, even more, his hand slowly moving away from his sword hilt.
Dallar grunted. "At least it'll be hot?"
Notes:Ok, not like fandom or anything, but fuck the writing in season 7? Like just…fuck it? Fuck it so much. So like in the drafts I've finally gotten to Danny and for a very short period of time the fic actually sorta follows cannon….for like a chapter and a half…kinda? If you squint? Anyways it's left me having to look at fucking cannon again after a while and jesus. Like what the actual fuck? Do you know how much stuff happens in just one episode in s7? The timeline is fucked. It's so much bullshit I just can't.
So like s7ep3 starts with Jon arriving in Dragonstone, their first negotiations, Tyrion and Jon talking, Danny accepting the beginning of diplomatic negotiation. Mellisandre is vague with Varys and then fucks of to Volantis. Bran and Meera return to Winterfell and Bran explains he's the Three-Eyed Raven. Euron shows up in King's Landing with the prisoners from sinking Danny's fleet at the end of the last episode. Cersei agrees to marry him, makes him commander of her navy. Then Cersei murders Tyene and Ellaria is a very horrible and epically evil manner. Jorah who is now healed leaves to go find Danny. Sam has punishment book duties in Oldtown. Then the Unsullied attack Casterly Rock only to find Jamie has led the bulk of the Lannister forces to attack Highgarden and it's already fallen. Then Euron's fleet ambushes and destroys the Unsullied ships. Finally the badass scene of Jamie offering Olenna poison which she drinks and then confesses to being Joffrey's killer. That's one fucking episode ya'll….
What the hell is that? Was Euron with his fleet when it attacked the Unsullied ships in Lannister bay? Cause that's two months by sea at least from King's Landing where just was…did he like just sail in a few ships to brag and send the rest off? I don't know, and neither does anyone else because time means nothing! Cause Jamie had to have been leading the attack on High Garden before Danny got to Westeros just cause it takes a fucking while to march an army. But he was just fucking in King's Landing?
For that matter how did Euron get back to King's Landing already? I don't know, and it doesn't matter. Cause time just doesn't matter. I'm…so much happened…like so much vitally important plot. It's like a train crushing logic, pacing, and logistics beneth it's mechanized wheels. It fills me with so much rage guys. Know that single episodes of season fucking seven end up being like 10 god damn chapters. At least! And also the show and this fic briefly meet and the spiral wildly. Like…so wildly. Cause the show lost it's mind in s7.
And that's not how getting into the next episode how apparently Jon has a busy dragonglass minining operation going despite it seeming like he was told he could start the day before? How long was he on Dragonstone? I don't know and the show sure fucking doesn't know.
Oh, and where the fuck did Euron get those ships? The Iron Islands famously don't have fucking trees. They have to import that shit. And building a navy takes years. You don't build a damn frigate like he's shown sailing in under three years. Realistically five. That's for one ship. If that whole ass fleet was built simultaneously like...with what manpower? Cause so much. With what wood? and how did they cut the build time from years to months? Is there an Ironborn magic wand? I have questions! Also fuck Euron, he's one of the coolest and most chilling villains in the whole damn book series and he's reduced to...the obnoxious slime that is show him...it hurts me.
s7 gives me fits of hissing rage about logistics, intelligence and writing decisions. You can't march a medieval army across a fucking continent and have no one notice with seige engines! Also even the weakest castle, unless you have a giant or Daisy, or an infiltration force, maybe a dragon, to basically just let your army in, is going to take so long to fall. How the hell did High Garden fall in what is made to look like one day? HOW!?!?
Chapter 41Notes:So I'm training on the graveyard shift at the moment...its a slow shift, not bad, I've written like five chapters this week while at work.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter TextLoras had to admit that the grey stone walls of Winterfell were intimidating. He doubted even the greatest army from the Reach could take the ancient fortress. It'd take years of siege, and even then it might not fall. The fact it'd only been taken by deception made utter sense. He swallowed as he saw the fortress was bristling with arms and had the signs of housing a large army within. He also noticed the several hundred men digging ditches around the walls. Dry moats. Multiple layers of them.
Mira looked at him, a tension in her shoulders belaying how close she was to being returned to her family. But then how close likely was why she was so uneasy as they got closer. "They're preparing for siege are they not?"
"Yes." Loras adjusted himself in the saddle. The stories the riders the week before had brought of the North preparing to fight the dead echoing in his head. He'd come North expecting to be laughed straight to the Wall. To die in a prison made of ice and misery with no recourse. What he was finding in the North was not what he'd expected. "The curving grid is strange though."
Markas made a sound of agreement. "Never heard of anything like it."
"It'll keep a siege engine or marching army away from her walls just as well as normal, however." Loras added, he frowned as he saw the way the dirt was being built into nearly sheer sloped walls. How would this deal with the dead? The only reason for the more complicated design was to fight something the done way was incapable of. It was funny, seeing the trenches being built he felt the first flicker of belief in the dead waking.
As they rode it became clear that the lands around Winterfell were bustling with activity, soldiers serving as laborers to prepare for something big. No one did this without cause. Loras couldn't help the chill that went down his spine at that. And for all it was terrifying there was a beauty to the stark harshness of the land and fortress that dominated it.
Loras noted the road turned to freshly made bricks, stretching in several directions. A massive undertaking, but one that was almost shocking in the fact it hadn't been done before. While their party certainly gained looks from the men they passed, it wasn't more than absent curiosity. He realized with a start that he appeared Northern enough not to raise eyebrows. As they rode through the great gates of Winterfell he could hear the grey banners of House Stark snapping in the wind.
Markas unmounted, striding towards a man at arms. "You there, I'm Markas Woolfield and I've come to see Lord Manderly and we've accompanied Lady Mira Forrester here to speak with the Queen in the North."
It'd been remarkably fast how they'd been bustled through the halls and into what was clearly for all its plainness, a royal court. Long wooden tables with benches lined each wall. The Stark banner on the wall, and warms fires. Standing over a table laid out with a map and markers were several people of clear import. But of all the people the one Loras couldn't look away from was Sansa. She was...she didn't look like the girl he'd known.
Where he'd known a grieving and sorrow weighed girl who he was beginning to accept had been far more than he'd given credit, was a grown woman now. It struck him that she'd been near a child when he'd known her. Now she stood, older and free. It showed. Her long distinctive red hair was a banner flowing down her back, narrow braids pulling the front sections back and away from her face. Her face, was clear and strong, not just a pretty face, but a quietly resilient one. Her dress was a green gown with wolves leaping across the chest, and along the hem. Upon her head was a crown of iron knives, a decorative wolf pattern entwining them. The most shocking was her eyes, sharp, clear, and ruthlessly intelligent.
The man at arms who'd escorted them in stepped forward. "Your Grace, Markas Woolfield, and Lady Mira Forrester."
"Lord Woolfield, Lord Manderly has been expecting you." Sansa turned her attention to them, gesturing to where a man as fat as King Robert ever had been was seated by the map she'd been looking over before their entrance.
Their party all bowed, or in Mira's case curtsied deeply. Loras noticed through his lashes that standing behind this strange version of Sansa was Brienne of fucking Tarth. What in the seven hells was that woman doing here?
The whale of a man let out a booming sound. "Markas! You made good time!"
"You may rise." Sansa easily permitted. "Please, you've had a long ride and rooms will be prepared for you." Her eyes turned to Mira, but they flicked to Loras briefly before returning to Mira Forrester. "Lady Forrester, I am glad to see reports of your demise were overly zealous. Your brother will be overcome to find you here."
Mira spoke with that tone of respect mingled with fear that all learned in the capital. "That is most kind of you, your Grace."
"But I assume you did not come to Winterfell to be reunited with your family alone." Sansa had complete control of the room, it was clear to see in how every man's attention was focused on what was occurring then. "I doubt Queen Margaery sent her brother all the way to Winterfell simply as thanks for your years of service."
Brienne of Tarth's hand fell to her sword's hilt, half a dozen other men suddenly had hands on weapons. Markas and the others they'd traveled with half snarling, looking at him in horror and fury.
Sansa spoke, her voice causing the room to fall silent. The half started cries of outrage fell silent. "Loras, you've looked better"
Loras twitched slightly but stepped forward. He might be a coward but he wasn't utterly without nerve. "Your Grace." He pulled out the letter for her Margaery had written. "My sister sends you this."
Brienne intercepted the letter, snatching it from his hands. She frowned at it. "It's unopened, your Grace."
Mira spoke. "Queen Margaery had my husband killed, myself and Ser Loras placed on a ship in the dead of night so that we might deliver that letter to you, your Grace."
Sansa took the letter, her posture was perfect. But then her posture always had been perfect. It was bizarre to see how wrong he'd clearly been. She opened it, ignoring the alarmed looks on her advisors' faces. Her eyes skimmed the words. Coming to an end she passed the letter to who must be her bastard brother, he looked too like a Stark to be anything but. She seemed to measure him and Mira in a way that was distinctly unsettling. "Ser Flint, if you could see to it that Lady Forrester is given rooms near her brother as befits a Lady of her station."
"Well, what's in the letter then? Why'd the Southern Queen go and send us a damned hostage?" A large bearded giant of a man demanded.
Sansa didn't seem upset in the slightest at the violation of manners when speaking to a Queen, rather she replied, her voice dry, her eyes never leaving Loras. "It would seem the Queen Mother, Cercei Lannister, wishes him dead, and the Faith of the Seven wish him a tool to control the southern Queen and through her the King."
"Why send him to you?" The bastard Prince asked, looking at his sister, with a brow furrowed.
She finally looked away from Loras then. "Because she'd rather be in my debt and beholden to the North than to the Lannisters or the Faith. After all, we don't kill or mutilate known sword swallowers."
The great bearded man scoffed. "What good is some southern cunt? Send him to the Wall or kill him. He's a fucking Tyrell. Why should we help the southern bitch out?"
Sansa was silent for a long minute before speaking. "Escort Ser Tyrell to the barracks, see that he is bathed, fed, and treated as our guest, for now." She looked at the man who seemed inclined to argue with her. "There is time to decide how to handle this later. For now, the court is adjourned." She left in a sweep of her gown, and deep bows of men who clearly respected her.
Loras was pulled away, hands on his arms as his mouth felt thick. This wasn't what he'd expected.
////
Loras was fingering the cuff of the shirt the Woolfield men had given him as he sat on the bed best described as a cot in the tiny room that was as close to a cell as a room could be without being a cell. At the sound of the door being opened, he raised his eyes. "Lady Tarth."
"I'm not a Lady." Brienne looked at him. "You look like shit."
He made a sound of dry humor at that. "I'd thought you dead?"
"Not yet." She eyed him. "If you attempt to harm her, I'll gut you myself."
Loras took in her armor, the proud set of her stance. "Queen's Guard this time then?"
"I'm her sworn sword actually. She hasn't named a Queen's Guard, though she does not lack protection." Brienne had the faintest tilt of smugness to her. "I doubt you'd live long enough for my sword to reach you if you so much as thought of harming her."
Loras found the injured pride at the woman before him beating him into the dirt had long since faded, and what did it matter now? "Was it truly dark magic that killed Renly?" He'd always known the woman, his fellow King's Guard for Renly had been in love with the man. It'd left him...doubtful she'd killed him. But he had to know, and whatever else she was, Brienne of Tarth was not a liar.
"Yes. I killed Stannis for it." Her chin tipped up with vicious satisfaction.
And he was jealous of her then. "Good."
"Come, Queen Sansa would speak with you now." Brienne's jaw ticked slightly to one side. "Don't underestimate her."
He gave a slow nod as he stood. "No, I think I've underestimated her enough."
"Most people have." Brienne responded as she led him out of his room and out into the halls.
It didn't escape his notice the respect Brienne was given as they walked and the suspicion he received. "Tell me, Mira Forrester, her brother has her?"
"As of an hour ago." Brienne gave him the slightest of nods. "She's safe now."
He was glad of that. "Good."
"Do you really care or do you just think you should?" Brienne asked with that bluntness that meant she actually believed that.
Loras couldn't say he hadn't deserved that. "I care."
////
Sansa stared into the fire, as close to a slump as she could allow herself, the letter from Margaery still held between her fingers. It'd been nearly three years since she'd last seen the woman who'd been...kind even in her manipulations. Even when she hadn't needed to be. Which after everything meant something. Something that meant hearing from Margaery meant something to her.
"Do you want to talk about it?" Daisy asked from where she was sitting on the floor, cross-legged and near the fire.
She looked away from the letter. "No, but I'd appreciate your advice on whether Loras is lying to me."
"I'm not infallible but between feeling people and well, spy, I'm close to it." Daisy's attention felt like a near brand on her. "But if he's accustomed to lying, he may be good enough I won't always catch it."
Sansa's jaw tensed slightly. "Your advice is enough." She finally met the other woman's eyes. "I know we haven't spoken much recently…"
"Uh you're Queen and utterly exhausted." Daisy waived off easily. "Besides, helping Fitz make paper and working with the Order's been good for me. Which I've had the boys doing something I believe you will find useful."
Sansa raised a brow, that could be a very good or a very bad thing. "What have they been doing?"
"Recording all the gossip they hear and alphabetizing it by topic, House, and importance." Daisy's eyes were bright, she knew exactly what a gold mine she'd just described. "A depository of intel." She grinned at the look on Sansa's face and it was slightly viscous but mostly proud. "Spy, remember?"
And Sansa couldn't help it, she laughed. Her god and tactic threat of utter ruin had gone and created what was essentially an answer to her lack of a Master of Whispers. "When did you start this?"
"Around the time we got back from Barrowtown. They needed to be writing something, and if they think it's useful they try harder." She shrugged, the smug look not leaving her face. "And they are very eager to prove themselves outside of digging trenches."
Sansa couldn't help her slight smile at that. "Jon mentioned something about the ground where the men are digging being looser than the ground anywhere else."
"I have no idea what you're talking about." Daisy winked as she half hopped, half floated to her feet.
She huffed at the display of casual power, it'd long since stopped being frightening. Now it was…something else entirely to behold. She straightened her shoulders. "We'll speak of your men's information later."
"Sure, and hey, want to work on learning to break a man's hand if he tries to touch you? Cause you've kinda got the stabbing bit down pretty good." Daisy offered easily.
Sansa paused slightly at that, she knew Daisy had specifically been avoiding that lesson and she wasn't ignorant of why. "You think I won't panic?"
"I think you'll try to stab me if you do." Daisy held her eye, the playfulness fading. "And I don't think you'd let yourself panic enough to try and stab me if you don't want to."
Her brow furrowed slightly at that. "What would you do if I tried to stab you?"
"Hope I haven't taught you to stab too well." She grinned lightly. "And your southern knight, or well Brienne, Jon, and someone else are about to reach your door."
She closed her eyes, drawing herself together. Whatever game Margaery was playing she needed to be the Queen her people had chosen for it. Breathing out she opened her eyes, every bit of her controlled as she had to be. "The door if you please."
"Got ya." Daisy waved her hand, the door opening without being touched. She barely glanced at the door just stepping to the side table where the customary pitcher of wine sat, and the cup of water and tea leaves Sansa had taken to keeping on hand.
Sansa didn't pay attention to whatever magical, power shenanigans Daisy was doing with the tea. She'd noticed Daisy freezing and then boiling her tea repeatedly one too many times and wasn't inclined to ask. It was probably boredom...also if Sansa had the god's powers she'd probably do the same. Instead, she projected her voice, as she heard the footsteps her friend had likely felt. "You may enter."
"Your Grace." Brienne stepped in, bowing her head as she stepped to her post as her protector.
Jon had the faintest humor, though she doubted any who didn't know him well would note it as he bowed his head. "Your Grace." Honestly, he didn't bother with that when he wasn't being a noble idiot.
Between them entered Loras Tyrell. He was notably changed from the last she'd seen him. The short beard, northern leathers and furs, and general sell sword appearance notwithstanding. No, it was the look in his eye that was most different. He bowed his head with a perfect level of manner. "Your Grace."
"Please, sit. We have much to discuss." Sansa laid her hand in such a way it drew the gaze to the crown sitting beside her. Instead of touching it she lifted the letter and offered it out. "I believe you'd appreciate reading what your sister asks of me?"
"I would, your Grace." Loras carefully accepted the letter, reading slowly.
As he read, Jon closed the door, then stepped to where Daisy was standing and accepted a cup of tea he wrinkled his nose at. The two of them had a silent conversation before he took a seat and drank in silence.
Loras slowly dropped into the chair set aside for him. He lowered the letter. "I see. Will you accept the offer?"
"I haven't decided." Sansa examined him, it'd been years, not many, but enough. "Tell me, what is it you want?"
He swallowed, his eyes flickering to the others in the room before back to her. "To do as my sister asks."
Daisy frowned ever so slightly. "Lie." She looked at him. "And not a good one."
Sansa was silently relieved it would seem Daisy could confidently pick his lies out. It would make things far easier. "Speak truth or not at all Ser Tyrell, or I will do as my advisors wish and throw you in my dungeons and send your sister your hands."
Loras narrowed his eyes looking at Daisy with some outrage. "Who are you to call me a liar? I would have your name."
Daisy took a sip of her tea. "I don't see how what I am matters. You lied, not well and stupidly. I'm not the one asking for my life either."
Loras swallowed back a retort. He nearly shuddered, looking back to Sansa. "My apologies your Grace. I did not mean to offend. Only my sister sent me, my duty is to do as she asks."
"Truth." Daisy took another sip of tea.
Sansa ignored the twitch the man before her made. "We both know your sister wishes you to swear your sword to me. To be my sworn sword safe in the North, or else to travel further to the Wall itself and to become a Black Brother. Both are honorable choices, but both are for life and neither would be easy. But not what I asked."
His head remained high, but he tensed as if he'd like to duck it. "I...I don't know." His eyes flicked to Daisy, before back to her. "I'm not lying. I can't go back to the Faith. I'll do what needs to be done for that not to happen. If that means being your sworn sword I'll do it."
Sansa didn't need to hear or look at Daisy to know that was the truth. Though her silence was reassuring that she read this man correctly. A part of her wondered what the Faith and the High Septom had done to this proud man to reduce him to this? "I will not accept a vow given without loyalty, but I also will not throw you out of my home." She leaned ever so slightly back in her seat. "Leave us."
"Sansa-" Jon started only to silence as Daisy grabbed his shoulder and half hauled him to his feet.
Daisy patted Jon's shoulder. "Till tonight, your Grace." She didn't bow her head. A detail no doubt meant for Loras to pick up on.
"If you're sure." Jon saw the certainty in her face and bowed his head before leaving after Daisy.
Sansa knew Brienne would protect her if need be. "Margaery, is she well?"
"I...I think so." Loras seemed confused.
She gave the slightest of nods at that. "If anyone can survive Cersei it will be your sister."
"You survived Cersei." He dipped his head. "I see that was no accident."
Sansa wondered what would have been had the two of them as they were now, been expected to court and perhaps marry back in King's Landing? It didn't matter now. "Your sister was kind to me, even once she had little or no reason to do so."
"Margaery is kind to everyone." There was a thrum of pride there.
"She is." Sansa felt...conflicted. That kindness had been used to manipulate her, to give House Tyrell power. She'd been a playing piece that Margaery had wanted to take for herself. "What can you tell me of the south?"
Loras shuddered. "Everything, I will tell you everything. But it's not complicated. Cersei is a mad bitch who unleashed the Faith Militant on us all. Margaery will gain the Faith's favor, may have already. But Cersei is a monster."
"Tommen?" Sansa asked. She had no doubt the Faith would turn against Cersei. Her latest news of the South indicated it had.
Loras shrugged. "A sweet boy, he might even be a good King someday."
"He might." Sansa knew if he was anything as she remembered that war might not even come from the south should Cersei be ruined. Certainly, something to think on. "Tell me, does he still have cats?"
Loras snorted, it seemed to shock him he'd done so. "He does, Ser Pounce."
"He always was a sweet boy." Sansa looked away from him. "Do you think it will be long before they march on us?"
He frowned, clearly taking time to think on it. "They won't be able to march till the Faith Militant is handled. I cannot say how long that will take."
"But they will march." She tapped her fingers on the arm of her chair. "I will give you a bed in the barracks. You will work with the men, eat with the men, and be treated as one of the men. If you try to leave I'll have you thrown into the dungeon. When you know what you want of me come and tell me."
Loras swallowed. "So I'm to be your prisoner?"
"That does not mean you cannot also be my guest." Sansa wondered if she was wise to offer him this chance. "For the sake of the kindness, your sister showed me."
Notes:So before I go crazy here just going to be clear that no matter how much it fills me with disgust, the Euron Greyjoy in this fic is the hot topic knockoff pirate slime from the show…I hate this fact…but it'd be way too much fucking work to use the one from the books. Just…I hate him so much. How do you fuck up a character so bad? Like the Sand Snakes(And 98% of the Dorne characters frankly) had some real claim to the most fucked up character change from book to show, but Euron wins. Cause show Euron is..he looks like a knock off attempt at a sexy Jack Sparrow that took influence from Once Upon a Time's Hook but took a terrible amount of inspiration from 'grim dark' 'reality vibes'. I have complicated feelings on Hook from Once Upon a Time, but show Euron wishes he had the pizzaz of Once Upon a Time Hook.
Like Euron in the books is a megalomaniac, magically obsessed psychopath who is scarier and more disturbing than the ice zombies. He has a 'smiling eye' and hides his 'blood eye' under an eye patch. He legit committed incest, rape, murder, kinslaying, all as a teenager just to see if the gods would strike him down for it. They did not. He's almost certainly an incredibly powerful Warg, he uses magic drugs to induce magic visions, is trying to literally make himself a new god. Like dude is about to sacrifice priests from every religion of the known world, a woman pregnant with his own kid, and slaughter thousands Iron Born in order to literally turn the ocean red while sacrificing a dragon egg to try and harness magical energies.
The implication Euron is probably a partially trained magical apprentice of the Three Eyed Raven that was cast out for his profane madness. Like holy shit. And again he's trying to create a sea battle of boiling blood. Also the fact he has the horn Dragonbinder and is likely who/what is going to steal one of Danny's dragons if not gain control of her to some extent. Like dude is massively bad news and I am so hooked on whatever his storyline is going to end up being. I personally subscribe to the theory that he's probably going to be what takes the Wall down, unleashing the Long Night on the world of men in an act of trying to control cosmic powers.
But he's straight up probably the single most evil/terrifying character in the whole series and the show gave us…cock jokes and…more cock jokes? The actor seems like a cool dude from what little I've seen of him. But uh…how do you fuck that up? I'm so deeply baffled. They had a character poised to sweep in upstaging Ramsey as the most vile character of them all and they just…didn't do that? Like I'm sure the answer is some boring issue of them trying to wrap shit up and not wanting to add more complicated and magical storylines. But I just am so furious that that is likely the reason they ruined the character. Like either cut the character or do the character don't assassinate the character.
Chapter 42Notes:Rewatching the Good Place, and fuck that show is so good. Like genuinely one of the highest quality and best written things I've ever seen.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter TextJon looked over the large map of the North. The pin of a wolf's paw on his chest weighed him down the same as it buoyed him up. Hand of the Queen. A title he'd never thought to be his in his wildest imaginings. "We don't have the men or time to reopen the closed castles along the wall."
"No, do you think the dead will use any of them to get through?" Lord Manderly, newly named Master of Ships, asked from where he was seated.
He considered it. "It's a possibility, I've fought them but understanding what they want other than death is…" Jon shook his head. "We need to find a way to locate and keep an eye on the dead."
"We have wargs." Sansa looked at her assembled small council, though not complete. "It would seem to me that a bird's eye view could be of great aid in surveying the dead."
Tormund, who while not named to a post on the small council was still there for his advice, spoke. "Aye, that could work. But the Others know when they're being looked at, and they can look back."
"Will it endanger the wargs?" Sansa's unwavering attention rested on Tormund.
Tormund patted his beard. "If they don't run fast enough."
"Can they run fast enough?" Sansa held fast to the point she was searching for the answer of.
Tormund's face pulled to one side as he clearly debated on the answer. "A smart fucker could."
Jon lifted several small blocks of wood. "There are nineteen castles, we could send scouting parties of twenty men to each, what wargs are willing with them. At the least, we'd know if the dead have arrived at the Wall."
"Watchers there to give warning." Greatjon Umber snorted in amusement. "Better give them some black."
Sansa touched the edge of the table. "We need to evacuate as many people away from the Wall as possible. If the dead come through we can't defend the far Northern territories." She looked at the Greatjon.
"Sweet hells, who'd leave their homes?" Greatjon scoffed. "The men and women of Last Hearth won't leave. It's our land."
Sansa's jaw tightened. "Those under the age of six and ten must come south. The adults may stay and fight for their lands. But the children will only be further bodies in the army of the dead."
"Where would we hold them? Winterfell is large, but it's not large enough to hold all the children of the far North." Davos asked, looking around.
Lord Glover's eyes narrowed. "I agree with her Grace. Those who can't fight must be moved lest they die uselessly and add to our foe's army."
Jon frowned. "If the Lords closer to the south agreed to take them we could spread the small folk away from where our fight likely will be."
"Lord Glover, would you prepare options for such an evacuation?" Sansa looked at the man she'd named Master of Laws. One of the few formal advisors she'd given title to.
Lord Glover nodded. "Aye, I'll see what I can do."
"Good, though we don't have long. Lady Dustin may be useful to speak to." Sansa clearly meant that as an order, not a suggestion. And it was a good one, at least in Jon's mind.
Lord Manderly hummed. "If I may, there has been some upset over your decision to give shelter to Loras Tyrell. He's a man grown of an enemy House."
"Until we hear more of the war over power in King's Landing I will not throw away a chance at stalling a war with the south till we've survived facing the dead." Sansa was clear as she spoke.
Jon stepped in to support his sister. "I have him under guard, and he's too tired digging ditches with the men to get into mischief. He's not a threat. We need to prepare Moat Cailin to defend our backs."
Jon slumped into a chair by the fire as the last of the council left. He groaned. "Gods, I hadn't known this room was even for this."
"I think father stored wheels in here. Didn't Robb hide here for hours before any of us found him?" Sansa's eyes crinkled at the sides as she poured a cup of wine and handed it to him.
He chuckled at the memory. "I remember that he didn't come out even with the guards shouting for him. Father was furious." Jon's humor faded as he let the weight of the kingdom return to the room. "Scouts spotted men from the Vale riding up the King's Road."
"Then Little Finger received my letter." Sansa's face tightened.
Jon reached out and laid his hand over his sister's. "If he touches you I'll kill him."
"You must not." Sansa glared at him. "We need him and the Vale." She softened slightly. "Besides, he's not a fool, and challenging Daisy for my hand would be incomprehensibly stupid."
Jon frowned. "I don't like this...play you have going on with her."
"Do you distrust her?" Sansa asked, leaning back in her seat.
He opened and then shut his mouth, turning the words over in his mind. Finally, he spoke, slowly. "I think it's unhonorable. But no, I don't distrust her. I fear what will happen if the lie is revealed."
"It would not be good if it is." Sansa replied. "But it's the safest option. Once Littlefinger is here, even now speaking of it as a lie is unwise."
Jon gave a nod of acknowledgment. "Very well, but Sansa you know I'll support you, no matter what."
"I know." She sighed. "We need to deal with baby Bolton."
He grimaced. "We can't send him to one of the most northern Houses."
"I was thinking House Fenn. It's a risk, but no Bolton could gain support from the Crannogmen." Sansa took a sip from her cup of wine.
Jon could see the logic of that. "It's close to the south." He had a feeling they would be here for some time.
////
Fitz grunted as he sat down on the edge of the ditch. "Is t-there a reason you're digging?" He stared at Daisy who was in the ditch itself, shovel in hand, working alongside the various soldiers turned laborers.
"Boredom and if I'm going to ask someone to do something I can do it's kinda shitty not to do it too?" Daisy dumped her shovel of earth into a barrow. The earth was wheeled out of the ditches and added to the packed earth embankment as they all worked. It was an effective method, he could see the use of the design, each embankment higher than the one before. And it was laid out well to be converted into a sewer.
He frowned, he could see the point. "And it sm-smells better than helping m-me?" He shivered, burrowing into his fur cloak.
Her nose wrinkled. "There is that, lye and horse poop. Not pleasant." She set her shovel into the ground and leaned against it, looking at him. "So, whaz up?"
He snorted at that, shaking his head slightly. "Y-you're ridiculous."
"Yu'p'" She popped the 'p' with an amused expression. "But really, what's going on?"
He tossed her the carefully wrapped box of powder. It wasn't large, and she easily caught it with one hand. "It's not p-purple, but I figured blue w-was close enough."
Daisy frowned slightly as she opened the box, she realized it was dye remarkably quickly, but then considering her horrific lack of education she'd always been brilliant in her own way. "Hair dye?" She smiled and it wasn't sarcastic or forced for a moment. "Thank you, you didn't have to."
Fitz shifted awkwardly. "Yeah w-well. Not like I'm m-much good at anything right now. M-making paper and w-waiting for Jemma to s-save us. Don't l-like being useless." It was hard to form those words, he hated being helpless.
"Well….thanks." Daisy tucked the small box away. "You could work on your stutter if you wanted? You nearly got rid of it last time."
He frowned, it'd been prickling at the back of his head. Something was wrong with how Daisy was acting around him. He hadn't really noticed before, but with nothing else really to think about it was starting to bug him. But he shook off the thought, for now. "Y-yes I'm sure you want t-t-t-to do karaoke and sp-speech therapy with m-me for months." It'd been humiliating needing that, even if the team had acted like it was group bonding in downtime when they had the chance.
"Sure, I don't know if you've noticed but they sing like...a lot here. Pretty sure they're singing some kind of work song on the other side of the castle. My theory is the whole not having a radio makes people more musical. And what, slow conversations with a focus on helping you are whatever. You can tell me all about how you're going to propose to Jemma when we get back." Daisy was looking at him with the faintest challenge in them.
Which...shit, she knew exactly how to get under his skin if she wanted. "W-what, you want to s-sing Beyonce here? They're h-heads would explode." He waved at the other people around them.
She sighed. "Ok so pretty much anything too top of the charts pop won't work. Fortunately, Hunter likes weird old Western and like Folk music. And Jemma had that weird month where she left that weird music on in the lab endlessly. I'm sure we can think of something that won't leave the locals having an existential crisis."
"C-Coulson's old rock b-ballads aren't bad." Fitz admitted. Living with everyone had led to a lot of...musical clashes. Most of which had led to negotiated truces, except for when Daisy had broken out the christmas music in November. May had put an end to that pretty fast. Fuck he'd just sentenced himself to this.
Daisy leaned off of her shovel, her head tilting to the side, that new scar of hers she'd brushed off explaining, apparent for a few seconds. "We did those depressing songs to clean up at karaoke for a week till Coulson banned us. Come on, which one has a strong enough beat for me to dig to?"
"G-glitter and Gold?" He finally offered.
She frowned. "Too fast, it'd be better for hammering or something. Good one though, remind me to do that next time one of the boys asks for a song cause gonna be honest I'm running out of appropriate Dolly Parton songs."
"Bottom of the R-river?" Fitz was distinctly ignoring how much attention the forty or so men in vague earshot were paying them.
Daisy perked up at that one with a nod. "Slow the beat slightly and it'd work. I've got harmony. Also, like...we really shouldn't have booed at Lincoln's sea chanty choice."
"I'm g-getting that." Fitz winced, he wasn't a good singer. Not bad, Hunter's wailing to country ballads had been traumatizing...also the fact he was proud of that badness. Actually, why hadn't they stopped him? He shook his head and the thought off. "But f-fine." Side's, he and Daisy hadn't ruled karaoke night for two months for nothing. It'd made the singing thing kinda fun.
Fitz's voice ached slightly, but in a good way, as he sang the song for the third time. Several of the men joined in now as they began to learn the words as they worked. And he...he felt...more awake. The fresh cold air helped.
////
Alys Karstark stitched at yet another Stark colored gambeson, her cousin sitting beside her was working on a pair of britches, her aunt across from her working on a fur cloak. A few old women were knitting close to the fire. In all, there were around fifty women in the large solar working on sewing of some sort. The most widely made item was the gambesons, but socks, cloaks, shirts, pants, and a variety of other garments were being worked on. One of Alys's youngest cousins was carefully sewing buttons onto a shirt for Prince Rickon.
They're 'welcome' to Winterfell had been surprisingly warm. Or rather the Queen had not had time to deal with her resident Karstarks and had thus simply left them to be pressed into the labor of rebuilding the Northern army and the return to splendor of Winterfell. Not that Alys was complaining.
The great keep of the North had gone from a bloodied minimum of a ghost crew to a healthy staff of over a thousand. The great Stark army, and visiting Lords easily fit inside the massive fortress. It was easy to be lost inside the mass of people. There was safety to being forgotten, their House already was being forgotten save as a cautionary tale. A process that would end in less than ten years if she judged it correctly.
She looked up from her work as her cousin Lyarra hissed at having poked herself. "Suck on your finger so you don't bleed on anything sweetling." Nobody needed one of Prince Rickon's shirts taking longer than needed to be repaired. Boy was hard on his clothing as all little boys were and he'd need that shirt again soon.
Lyarra stuffed her finger into her mouth. "Swowwy."
"No, you're doing wonderfully darling." Alys reached out cupping the girls' cheek. "It just takes practice and it's a thicker fabric than you're used to embroidering yet. You'll get there. Until then don't forget to use your thimble."
Lyarra pouted as she pulled her finger out of her mouth. "But it's too big for my finger."
Alys had to hide a flinch at that. If they'd been home it'd have been easy to simply have a smaller one made or brought out for her cousin. Even here it'd be easy enough, but that would involve bringing attention to themselves. "If we put a put of fabric inside I bet it'll fit just right."
"Oh, nonsense." One of the other women chided, reaching into her sewing box. "I have one of my granddaughter's old thimbles in here." She promptly pulled out an old thimble and offered it out.
Alys nudged her cousin Lyarra towards it. "Go on then." She looked at the woman. "Thank you."
"Thank you." Lyarra echoed her as she accepted the thimble.
"Oh, it's nothing." The woman waved off. "We've lots of work to do fixing things up around here." She sighed. "We really ought to make more banners."
A young woman, one of the Pooles sighed. "Prince Jon Stark will need his own sigel made into banners before he can lead off any other men."
"Have we been given what that sigel will be yet?" The older woman who'd given the thimble asked.
"Aye." Heather Woolfield replied from where she was stitching yet another gambeson. "We're to start on his wardrobe and banners once we finish this last round of gambesons."
Alys hummed, it was a statement that the royal wardrobe was to be merely upkept until their soldiers were properly outfitted at a minimum before a proper wardrobe was created. And a statement she found she appreciated. "What has been decided for it?"
"A snarling white wolf on a field of black with red eyes." Lady Woolfield answered. "A good symbol looks nearly identical to that direwolf of his."
She carefully stitched as she listened to the woman excitedly discuss the threads they'd need for that and what they expected of his wardrobe to need to be made first. It hurt to hear that sigel. It was the color reversal for a bastard house. House Karstark's white sunburst on black had been heartbreakingly similar. It stated exactly what the Queen was planning for her brother as well. Prince Jon would be founding a new cadet branch of House Stark within the year most likely.
Alys looked up, meeting the gaze of her aunt, Celia Karstark. They both shared the pained knowledge together. After all, the two most likely fortresses to be given to the Prince and Hand of the Queen would be Moat Calin or the Karhold. So easily their lineage and history were being replaced. How utter was their ruin. She swallowed and focused more fully on her stitching as the merry voices of the other woman filled the room.
The door into the solar was opened and one of the Stormland knights, Ser Swann she thought, entered the room. He raised his voice. "Lady Alys Karstark, her Grace requests your presence."
Every muscle in Alys's body tightened even as she remained seemingly calm. Whether it was true calm or terror wiping all but calm away she didn't know. She carefully set her sewing aside and rose. "Are you to escort me to her good Ser?"
"Yes, if you'd follow me, my Lady." Ser Swann stepped, allowing her to exit the room ahead of him.
She gave the slightest of nods. "As the Queen requests." Alys followed respectfully, and silently as they walked through the halls.
It was a relief as she realized they were not headed for the great hall, nor the king's hall. The Queen was not sitting in judgment over her then. She held herself together as she was led into the family wing of the inner keep. As they approached it became clear that they were heading towards the Lord's Solar...or perhaps it was the Queen's Solar now? A question she had no interest in voicing lest it be taken as an insult. But the two men in Stark colors standing by the door clearly indicated their Queen was in the room behind them.
Ser Swann reached up and knocked on the door briefly. There was a faint call of 'enter'. He opened the door and stepped back, leaving Alys to enter by herself.
Alys stepped through the doorway and into the solar. She came to the center of the room. It was easy to spot the Queen, sitting behind her desk, her quill scratching across a piece of parchment. Standing in one corner was the lady knight. Alys dropped into the deepest curtsy she was capable of. "My Queen."
"You may rise." Queen Sansa didn't leave her to wait long. She set her quill aside as she focused on Alys. "My apologies for not seeing you sooner, I hope your accommodations have been acceptable?"
Alys straightened slowly, though she kept her eyes below the Queen's. "You have been most kind. More than we deserved or could have expected."
"House Karstark is dead." Queen Sansa folded her hands on top of the wood of her desk. "And yet you, your three cousins, and your aunt remain. Which leaves your futures to be decided."
Alys's throat was dry, she knew how this went. "Whatever your will, your Grace."
"I've been in your position, and it is not a kind one." She said as if everyone didn't know how badly it had gone for her. "I will seek to be kinder than those who chose for me were."
Alys swallowed. "Have you signed marriage agreements for myself and my family already?"
"No, not yet." Queen Sansa stood. "House Stark has long married the daughters of our enemies, and you and yours have Stark blood. Which means something."
She raised her chin ever so slightly. "Which of us do you plan to marry to your brother, your Grace?"
"Lyarra, she's of a similar age to Rickon. They'd be able to grow together, and while wild, Rickon is not a cruel boy." The Queen was unshakable, but there was a gentleness to her words.
Alys's mouth felt dry, she'd expected one of them would be marrying Prince Jon. But it would seem she had been wrong. "You are too kind, your Grace. We are not worthy of the honor."
"If you oppose a match I suggest you are free to say something. Once you leave this room it will be too late." Her eyes were cold and sharp as they looked at her.
She breathed in slowly. "I, nor my aunt would oppose such a match. The Prince is a good match, better than any man could hope for his daughter. And to grow with your betrothed is a blessing. Perhaps they will even be fond of one another."
"Then it'll be done." The Queen pulled out a piece of parchment already filled out with the particulars. "Once you sign this our Houses will be joined. Before we get to the signing of contracts however there is still the matter of the other four of you. Do you, or your cousins have any sweethearts?"
Alys mouth tightened slightly. "None that survived the war."
"In that case, your cousin Arsa is of age with the new Lord Hornwood who is unwed. I've heard no rumors of him that are disturbing." Queen Sansa offered.
It was...a valuable match. "You are too kind."
"I'm not." The Queen looked at her sharply. "But at this moment I can be kind. Your cousin Margaret is two years the junior of the heir to House Fenn. Your aunt I would wed to Ser Flint, my seneschal. It's a match below her and she is older than him, however, it would allow me to place her in charge of the royal household."
Alys's eyes widened ever so slightly. "Would she be allowed to see her daughter?"
"Of course, a child should not be taken from their mother if possible." And it was….Sansa was being far kinder than she had any need to be. Queen Sansa faced her fully then. "Which leaves you, the legal heir to your House. I cannot wed you to a powerful Lord, and I cannot wed you to any House in the eastern regions."
She ran through the names of Lords who were direct bannerman of House Stark. It was the safest choice from the Queen's perspective. And which had heirs or an unmarried Lord to wed her to? Alys straightened under the Queen's gaze. "Lord Cerwyn then?"
The Queen nodded slightly. "I know that he's a kind man, and Lord of a House I require stalwart loyalty from, though he is not a...strong man. But I think you are. Am I wrong?"
"No." Alys saw the command there. And it was terrifying, but it was also power, trust, and the promise of as good of a life as she could have hoped for. Kindness that had not been required. She lowered into a curtsy. "Your kindness will not be forgotten, my Queen."
Notes:So my beta Frostgiants cursed me with this theory/headcannon, figured I could share the pain.
But it goes that in the show, Arya died in s6 in her fight against the Waif. And it's been the Waif, wearing Arya's face that is in the last two seasons of GoT. Which I think is just a cool explanation for shitty writing but Frostgiants is 100% convinced. So here's the case. The Waif is a better fighter, has def trained to fight in the dark, and there's no way Arya was even at 50% of her normal ability when she went into that room. Then after that scene Head Assassin dude says that finally Arya is No One, even though its the first time she claims/owns the identity of Arya Stark. He also is weirdly ok with the death of the Waif and Arya just noping out of assassin school sworn to the god of Death. Then Arya goes and takes care of the Freys, which its kinda weird she knows how to make a pie, but whatever she could have learned. Then her wolf Nymiria recognizes her, but doesn't follow her.(VFX budget, but still weird), and then Arya gets to Winterfell and she's fucking weird there. She's withdrawn and shows little emotion around any of her siblings outside of brief joy at reunion, but then its like she only acknowledges them for what they've accomplished.
Basically she acts weird. Which, bad writing, but also could be cause it's not really Arya. Then she stays in Winterfell exactly after everything is over and then finds a nice excuse, sailing west, to like peace out to never be seen by anyone again. And in King's Landing she helps goad Jon into killing Danny, a thing that would make sense for an ancient order of assassins that kinda killed off Valaryia and their slave empire. And again she doesn't say or act in any way like she knows more than she reasonable could know from having played the lying game with Arya for weeks and weeks. Also Arya post s6 is a super bad ass fighter when like...she was getting good at a quarterstaff and was...well sorta ok with her water dancing before that? We really didn't see her training to get deadlier that much. So the skill jump means either there was a lot of training off screen, or it's the Waif who was a fully trained assassin already.
So anyways, this is why my beta is absolutely convinced that Arya Stark died in s6 and it was the Waif wearing her face in s7 and s8. I personally think its just a cool headcannon that fixes problems in sloppy writing. But also it'd have made Arya's storyline better I think? Cause like...she got lost in her quest for vengeance and death. Thematically that's way better than she just showed up home after just walking away from a death cult, killed the Night King, decided the path of vengeance wasn't for her, and decided to go be an explorer...cause that was dumb as fuck. But it does fit for an assassin who in a death exchange with their god and their order, kills Arya and then finishes her list as payment for her face, and then vanishes off to do more assassin things. Just, it works better. And it makes that dumb as fuck plot between Arya and Sansa from s7 make at least a little sense if that isn't Arya.