Chapter 43Notes:Yo! Have fun guys!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter TextSansa eyed Daisy cautiously. "So...how does this work?" She was forever grateful any reaction she may have to Daisy was easily mistaken for nerves at these lessons. The way Daisy's touch half burned where she touched her was…a new and frankly unhelpful sensation even if it felt as if it'd swallow her.
"May I?" Daisy glanced pointedly at her arms.
She breathed in but offered her hands out. "You may."
Daisy reached out, catching Sansa's elbow with one hand. With her other hand, she caught her hand, with ease she pushed, pulled, and twisted till she was holding her forearm parallel to the ground, and straight in front of her. It was strong, and Sansa knew this was a trap, she hated that despite knowing this she still didn't wish for Daisy to release her.
"What now?" Sansa's voice felt tight.
Daisy winced. "I'm going to twist, you need to know what this does. It's going to force you to bend, it'll force anyone to bend. If they fight it they'll seriously injure themselves, and you can seriously incapacitate a person. But you need to feel what it's like on that side of it before you can learn to do it to someone else."
"Do it." Sansa forced herself to relax, she was good at that.
Daisy barely moved her arms, but it was sharp, a threat of pain that forced Sansa to bend at the waist so that she was parallel to the ground.
A hiss escaped her lips.
And then Daisy released her, before gently helping her straighten. "You ok?"
"Fine." Sansa breathed out, that hadn't been bad, for all it'd been unpleasant she didn't feel fear. No, what she felt was different from fear.
Daisy grinned slightly. "Good, now, you're going to do that to me until you can do it automatically. This will get anyone who grabs you from the front off of you. So, let's start, elbow, hand, straighten it." She reached out slowly as if to grab at her shoulder.
And Sansa did her best to mimic Daisy's early motions.
Sansa sipped from her cup of wine, sitting on the thick rug before the fire. "My sister would have loved to have learned this."
"Your sister sounds fun." Daisy took a sip of her own cup of wine. "You're doing good."
Sansa raised a brow. "Please, we both know I'm awful at it."
"Eh, you're willing to put in the work. That's worth more than being natural." Daisy laughed softly into her cup. "You don't need to be able to fight off armies, just make anyone who tries to hurt you regret it."
She softened. "It's funny, I expected to feel worse." And she had, but instead, she found she treasured these evenings where she could let so many of her burdens fall away. That and the time with Daisy, the closeness of it all left her heart aching.
"If it changes let me know. But break time is over." Daisy reached out and touched her hand that was laying on the carpet between them. "Now, fingers are very sensitive," she winked, "And they're very weak, you won't have an issue with breaking several of them," Her lips twitched up, a mischievous light in her eyes, "My Queen." She paused, waiting for permission.
Sansa's cheeks heated as she tried desperately not to show exactly what hearing the words 'my queen' from Daisy was doing to her. Instead of risking speaking, she gave a slight nod, it would seem her lesson for the night wasn't over. Something she was glad of, even if she felt like she was burning up. She set her cup of wine to the side and waited to see what she had next to learn.
////
Rickon looked up from where he'd been sharpening a sword in the gods' wood. "Jon?"
"Aye, mind if I sit?" Jon asked as he stood by the black pool below the face tree.
He dropped the sword. "Sure, not like I even know what I'm doing."
"Give it here, I'll show you." Jon sat beside him, taking the sharpening stone from his hand. "Do you want to talk about it?"
Rickon picked up the sword and passed it over. "Why do I have to get married?"
"Everyone gets married sometime." Jon grunted as he began to run the stone up and down the length of the sword. "And Sansa won't make you marry if the two of you don't like each other. You know that."
He pulled his feet up off the ground, wrapping his arms around his legs. "I don't know how to be a prince."
"Neither do I." Jon reached out and ruffled his hair. "But Lyarra Karstark is a sweet girl, and you'll get to know her."
Rickon rested his chin on his knees. "Did father used to sharpen his sword here? I don't remember if that happened or if Bran just told me."
"Whenever he needed to think." Jon looked up at the red leaves above them. "We follow the old ways, thinking under the eyes of the Old Gods can bring peace."
It was...comforting to know that was real. His memories of family were distant and foggy. They felt more like dreams than memories. "I miss how I think I felt...before."
"So do I." Jon let out a long, tired breath. "We were happy then." He looked at Rickon. "But we have each other, we have our sister, we have our home. I think this is the closest to happy I've had since the day I left."
Rickon bit at his lip. "I think I'm happy."
"Then that's what matters. We can deal with all the rest." Jon carefully handed him back his sword and the stone. "Now you try."
////
Lord Glover stood watching his men drilling against the Order. "Even if I hadn't of seen her power, I'd believe her seeing this."
"If I was twenty years younger." Wyman Manderly shook his head, longing in his voice. "Gods be good, her Holiness turned those men into a fighting force."
Glover watched as the two dozen members of the order broke into smaller clumps instantly the second their shield wall was tested and promptly divided and forced his own men to yield. "They've made the line breaking an attack." His own men were seasoned fighters. How hard had their god driven her men to make them into this? His eyes flicked to two of the Order members that were back to back and holding ground. "Those two are girls."
"Hadn't you noticed? Her Holiness accepts all. Those who can't fight are busy keeping records and serving in other capacities. Remarkable really." Wyman chuckled. "I believe she has three girls in her service now."
He crossed his arms. "Prince Jon thinks we should require all women to learn to fight."
"Yes, very practical that one. He has a point, and look at those three, or the Mormont women, hells the Wildling women." Wyman hummed. "I'll have a knife made for each of my granddaughters, and have my son teach them how to use it. Not a bad skill to have."
Glover gave a nod to that. "I think my girl could use a sword." He watched as his former ward joined in with the Glover men for their war training. Good on the boy for keeping himself sharp. "Her Grace's marriage alliances, smart choices."
"Aye, your ward the honorable Lord Hornwood benefits greatly." Wyman folded his hands over his stomach. "Named Lord of an ancient House, legitimized by a royal decree signed by a god as well as our Queen, and now given a wife of Stark blood, no matter how distant. I doubt even in the south they could look down their noses at him now."
Glover found he couldn't help but feel awe for their Queen. "It'll keep the men of House Hornwood from rebelling when their neighboring land is given to the Wildlings."
"There is that, funny her actions all do three things at once." Wyman snorted. "I don't think we've had a Stark as wily as that one in an age and a half."
He agreed with that statement. It was true, Ned had been a good, honorable, and worthy Lord. And Robb had been a glorious King for the short time he'd led them. He even remembered Rickard as a hard but strong leader when he'd been Lord. But the remaining Starks were something else. "Prince Jon is a good Hand. There's still seats on the council to be named, however."
"There is that. Lord Forrester is a good candidate for Master of Coin, he's lost a great deal due to the war and his House's loyalty to the Starks. And the Forresters are a House built on trade, he'd have the training for it." Wyman eyed him. "And they're beholden to your House."
Glover narrowed his eyes slightly. "What are you getting at, merman?"
"Her Grace needs loyal councilors. With her current hold, she'll reach out to Houses less bound to her. It's a risk. She's given me and mine too much regard already." Wyman dared him to argue.
And it was...it made sense. Oh, one of the Crannomen would likely end up on the council, but other than that? There were few good candidates. Best to put forward good options whose loyalty they knew. "I'll speak to her on Lord Forrester's behalf. That fucker Whitehill stands judgment tomorrow. Once the trial is completed it's a good option to reward Forrester loyalty."
"What to do about a Master of Whispers though…" Wyman frowned.
"What use do we of the North have for a Master of Spies and Liars?" Glover scoffed, pulling back. "Waste of time if you ask me."
Wyman groaned like he was in actual pain. "You'd make a terrible king."
"A good thing I'm just a lord then." He replied dryly.
////
Daisy carefully closed the book her men had been working on. "This code of honor, where?"
"You taught us." Joran's chin tipped up in pride. "In everything you do. That kindness is worth more than honor, that protecting others is more important than any loyalty, that doing what is right is our purpose."
Wilber nodded. "Humility, kindness, self sacrifice, and protection are your highest ideals because you love humanity. We're just sort of putting it into words a bit. Is it bad? We can redo it?"
"No you...it's...it's really good." Daisy's throat felt tight as she looked at the book, or well slightly larger than a pamphlet with a cover….booklet? Was that a word? But its contents left her feeling gutted. "I liked the bit about judging based on harm instead of action." She cleared her throat, god she felt like she was going to cry.
Duncan beamed. "I wrote that bit, you never punish based on what we did but on if anything is damaged."
"Thanks for not being mad about the laundry issue." Wilbur turned bright red.
She stared at him. "You spilled wine on some unfolded blankets. Seriously, it's not a big deal as long as you clean it." Daisy paused…..they'd built a moral code off of her not yelling at people for stupid mistakes.
He was still a bright red. "The blankets for your bed."
"Were they really?" Daisy blinked, that did explain the panic slightly better. She shrugged. "Still not a big deal."
Joran leaned forward slightly. "But you approve of it?"
"Yeah, I...it's good." Daisy felt trapped suddenly sitting in here with some of her men. Like the air was too thick.
Joran just smiled at her with so much kindness it was unfair. "Only because you are good."
Daisy sat on the edge of her bed. Her breathing was slightly too fast, the vibrations around her seemed like too much. It just felt too much. There was a jitteriness to her that she was barely keeping under control. Her emotions were bubbling as well as her powers or rather were causing the powers. She closed her eyes, focusing on her breathing.
She shuddered, but her powers faded as she focused entirely on the in and out of her breathing. The stretch of her lungs, the pressure on her diaphragm, the fabric beneath her hands. Finally, she pulled her legs up, folding them under her as she let herself slip into a meditative mental space. Focusing on why she was upset felt...raw and dangerous so she gently pushed it away, focusing just on the feel of her body, the feel of the air.
Time didn't matter like this, it simply passed as quick or as slow as it needed to as she carefully stilled herself, letting the unimportant things fall away, leaving her calm again. Just how May had taught her. Focusing inwards meant she hadn't been feeling outward. A hand touched her shoulder. Daisy absently felt for the vibrations of the person, and they were familiar. She couldn't help the recoil and she cringed away, eyes flying open, her powers shoving the hand off as she focused. "Fitz!" She hissed, straightening up. "Jesus, don't sneak up on people like that."
Fitz frowned, his hand still hanging in the air slightly like he wasn't sure what to do with it. "What was t-that?"
"Nothing, you just startled me." Daisy straightened, her feet hitting the floor as she stood up. "Did you need something?"
Fitz was focusing on her in that way he had of looking at machines and understanding them. "I've g-gotten you out of meditation b-before without being nearly sent through a w-wall."
"That's an exaggeration and it's nothing." Daisy shrugged. "Just kinda off from dealing with my cult. They've gone and created an honor code that is like...better than the SHIELD one honestly."
Fitz's eyes narrowed slightly, but he took the change of topic. "What, like p-picking daisies or s-something?"
"No." She rolled her eyes. "It's all about helping people, being humble, and judging fairly before intervening. Humility, kindness, self-sacrifice, and protection."
He blinked. "Huh...wasn't e-expecting that."
"Neither was I...I haven't even really talked philosophy or ethics with them much. I mean sure the whole devotion to being better to make a better world but…" Daisy shook her head. "Anyways, I just wasn't expecting that."
Fitz cocked his head. "I w-wouldn't have expected that. Like y-you punch them a lot?"
"Not hard." She muttered, crossing her arms. "What did you need me for?"
He picked up one of her ceramic cups, looking at her oddly. "Was g-going to ask you about….about speech therapy." His mouth twisted slightly. "If it's n-not a bother."
"Of course, right, what do you want to do? The old breathing exercises?" Daisy forced her arms down to her sides and a smile on her face. She'd done this before the first time, it wouldn't be any different now.
////
Fitz watched Daisy as he carefully breathed, following her example. Not that he didn't know the exercises, but the familiarity of doing this with Daisy was something he'd thought would help. But he could tell something was wrong. She was on guard. He hadn't spent years living with and besides Daisy not to know the difference between her faking ease and actually being at ease. And now that he was looking for it, it was clear she was faking it.
Now that he saw it he found himself looking back over his old memories of the last several months he realized it'd been there since the start. What he'd ignored, or thought was their location wasn't that, it was him. He felt bile at the back of his throat. He pulled back sharply. "So it was c-crap then?"
"What's crap?" Daisy looked at him in confusion. But the tension she carried in her jaw didn't drop.
He jerked to his feet, beginning to pace. "You s-said it didn't matter. T-that you didn't think it was me. B-but that was crap. Y-you hate me."
"No, I don't." Daisy tightened then. "And what are you talking about?"
Fitz ran a hand through his hair. "The F-framework, torturing you, h-hurting everyone!" He glared. "Which fine, t-that's on me. But you lied!"
"I don't blame you for that Fitz." Daisy was on her feet then, putting more space between them. "That was Aida, and Radcliff. You weren't you in the Framework. None of us were."
He scoffed outright at that. "Stop LYING! Y-you can't e-even look at me right!"
"I'm looking at you right now! Come on Fitz. Stop being ridiculous." Daisy caught his upper arm. "I promise, I don't blame you for that."
Fitz slapped her hand away. "Then why are we w-wrong!" He saw her still, her words not coming out. "Y-you've been avoiding me. I t-thought you were just b-busy, but that's n-not it. You're a-avoiding me. You f-flinch if I'm behind y-you. You're m-managing me like I'm c-crazy. And I know w-what you look like w-when you're faking. Just b-because I didn't notice at f-first."
"Drop it Fitz." Daisy pulled back, her face shutting down.
He glared at her, wetting his lips as he put that together. "The o-other me did something t-then? What c-could be that bad? What c-could be worse t-then the Framework?!"
"Nothing that matters." Daisy tried to blow off, but her voice was tight, her posture leaning back and away from the issue.
And it was… "That's b-bullshit. What d-did I do? I deserve t-to know."
Daisy's jaw tightened and she shook her head. "No."
Fitz waved his hand. "If you h-hate me it changed s-s-something." He realized he could feel the air vibrating. "Y-you're just running a-away like always. Just r-repress everything y-you don't like till it g-goes boom. Think y-your new friends w-will survive that?"
He glared as he watched her crossing her arms, clearly not willing to give ground. Not saying anything and he was...he was so angry. "We're t-trapped in this s-shit hole of a w-world! And it's j-just us!"
Daisy raised a brow, half daring him to keep pushing, saying nothing. The air felt heavy, near trembling against his skin.
"What? Going to j-just say n-nothing?" He scoffed outright at that. "W-we're not a team if y-you can't even t-tell me why you're m-mad?" His arm waved to the side. "Is it t-that perfect D-daisy can't p-possibly feel anything bad? Cause t-that's what you d-do, isn't it? Just p-pretend everything is fine. If y-you can't f-fake it you j-just run."
The floor was vibrating now, Daisy's eyes bright and sharp, but her mouth remained frustratingly closed, her lips a thin line.
"W-what was it? What d-did I do t-that's bad enough for y-you to hate me? You, D-destroyer of W-worlds who had t-to have killed seven p-point seven b-billion people in the t-timeline? A-and you still s-shove it all down. D-doesn't matter you could kill everyone a-around you over a s-stubbed toe because of it. S-so why do you g-get to JUDGE ME!?"
"Fine!" Daisy snapped, every piece of glass in the room shattering. She was breathing heavy, her arms crossed still, her stance strong. "What did you do? You knocked me out, strapped me down, and cut into me while I screamed for you to stop. Because you thought it was necessary. Didn't stop for other options, you just decided and you did it. Didn't matter that Jemma begged you to stop to the point you held a gun on her. My screams and pain didn't matter to you, none of it mattered except what you had decided was necessary. And the worst part? The worst part is you weren't even sorry, couldn't even imagine it was wrong."
Fitz flinched back in the face of her words, the pain behind them.
"You could have paralyzed me, killed me, definitely was more painful than the fucking torture in the Framework. It didn't matter. Just Fitz, the world on your shoulders, not like the rest of the team was there and killing ourselves to change the future together. Because it's all about you. No one matters to you except for you and Jemma."
Fitz's eyes turned to her neck, he didn't want to believe her. "Your n-new scar?"
"Yes." Daisy replied shortly.
He shuddered but ran his hand through his hair. "Right, s-so the D-doctor can take c-control. We c-can fix it? Or p-put me under g-guard or something."
"It wasn't the Doctor, it was you." Daisy spat. "So sorry I'm having a hard time trusting you."
Fitz balked at that. That wasn't...that wasn't him. No version of him could do that. "I w-w-wouldn't..."
"You would." Daisy was sharp as the vibrations picked up the metal in the room nearly humming from the pitch of the vibrations. "And if you thought it would get you home you'd cut me to pieces for it. And you wouldn't miss a wink of sleep over hanging my entrails from a tree. I know you Fitz, and I may repress things and run when I'm in pain. But you stopped caring about anyone but yourself and Jemma a long time ago." She spat out, the room giving a shudder again, the stones making a terrible sound. Her eyes widened as she seemed to realize her powers were slipping.
Fitz didn't say anything. Was that him? Something he could do? Who he was now? He couldn't say he wouldn't without hesitation and wasn't that damning? When had that been him? He lunged for the nearest bucket shaped anything and retched.
Notes:So, AoS this week, not GoT. But like Coulson and Daisy's relationship fascinates me. Cause it's true, they're the closest either of them has to a father/daughter dynamic. And there is so much genuine love and affection there. But it's not healthy because their priorities are different. Coulson's first priority will always be SHIELD, the world, the mission. He will never place anything above that, ever. When it's necessary for the good of the world or the good of SHIELD, he will sacrifice Daisy. Every time, no matter how much he hurts doing that, he'll do it.
Meanwhile, Daisy does not willingly sacrifice the people she loves, period. Daisy has to be pushed so far, it's insane for her to let someone she loves to fall in front of the bus. Like when she uses the serum which is the one thing that could save Coulson's life, she does not do that because she wants to. She does it because the entire planet is hanging in the balance, because Coulson literally gave it to her to use, because every single other option has been taken away from her, and she is alone and dying and it's the only option Daisy has left. And she's devastated by it.
And that's why their dynamic bugs me sometimes. Because Coulson, for all he loves Daisy to the bottom of his heart, will sacrifice or manipulate her if it's what's necessary. And Daisy would never do the same back. So it hurts to watch sometimes. And it's similar to Daisy's other relationships with the team. She's not any of their priorities, but they are all her priority. Which is how you get this situation where all of the members of the team do love Daisy, admittedly with different amounts of baggage there, but it gets toxic at times despite that.
Chapter 44Notes:Never say I don't love you guys, surprise!
Also, I forgot like a lot of people wouldn't know who the Foresters are! They are not OCs, they're characters from the GoT Telltale game that came out. So in real brief!
The Forresters are direct vassals of the Starks whose wealth is their forests of ironwood trees which are one of the most if not most valuable woods in all of Westeros. Their Lord as well as their heir Rodrick were at the Red Wedding where their army/men at arms as well as Lord were all killed. Their heir Rodrick was assumed dead, but he was just grievously injured. So in the wake of the Red Wedding the third son who was a kid was made Lord. Only the Boltons decided to throw some gasoline on the blood feud between the Forresters and the Whitehills another northern house dependent on the ironwood trade.
But essentially it all went to hell. Mira the oldest daughter who was in King's Landing as one of Margaery's handmaids got caught up in some court intrigue and ended up being forced to marry a super slimy merchant or be executed. Rodrick the grievously injured heir managed to get back home eventually, but two of his brothers were killed, and he was forced into a marriage to gain allies to keep all of them from being killed. And everyone else in the family was under age ten and don't really matter other than as like hostage options. But yeah, they had a rough time. And I have a soft spot for them and that game honestly, so here we are.
Important Foresters for the purpose of understanding this fic would be Mira and Rodrick the two surviving adult members of their family. And since he hasn't really had a lot of page time, Rodrick is a grown man in his like mid to late twenties who was loyal to the Starks. He also has a permanent limp from the injuries he received at the Red Wedding.
Chapter TextDaisy wondered when the fire had gone out. She considered reaching out to restart the fire, but the idea of using her arms which were pure agony, made her discard the thought. Her powers weren't bubbling under her skin any longer, which was a relief. They'd certainly shattered enough of her arm bones. She slowly looked over her shoulder at where Fitz was sitting, his eyes rimmed red as he stared emptily at the floor.
She just...ached. Her heart ached, her arms ached. And she was tired. "You're right."
"Y-you didn't run." He croaked, his arms tightening where they were wrapped around his knees.
Daisy looked at her arms, the awful and familiar pain. "It wouldn't have helped."
They both faded into silence as they sat in the cold and dark room. The fire, and candles long since having gone out or been blown out by her lack of control. It was just...cold. Suitably miserable for them.
"W-when did we b-become these people?" Fitz's face was empty of anything but grief.
Daisy swallowed. "I don't know." She looked away from Fitz, her eyes tracing the fabric of the bedspread. "What did I do that was so bad you were able to cut me out? I couldn't...it wasn't Hive, you tried so hard to bring me back, but…." She trailed off. It'd never made sense to her.
Fitz didn't reply for the longest time, and then finally he started to speak. "Y-you left us. After L-lincoln you l-left. We all w-were hurting. And you l-left, t-turned your b-back on us. It was a-always you and me h-holding everyone together. W-when you left it a-all fell apart. You w-wouldn't even listen to m-me, to any of us. W-we needed you. Coulson l-lost control, the t-team was split up. And y-you were just g-gone. A-and then you were b-back with S-satan."
Daisy hurt, but it also...under all the exhaustion and pain she felt a flicker of anger. Her voice took a sarcastic lilt. "I'm sorry my grief inconvenienced you for six months." Her eyes narrowed. "You tried to bring me back!"
"No, C-coulson and Mack did." He tightened. "I w-wanted you back b-but…you l-left and it all b-broke."
She let out a wet sound. "Well, that's nice. Fuck." Her head tilted back, hitting the stone wall she was leaning against.
"Why c-couldn't you have g-grieved with the rest of us? G-gotten better. Talked to a-anyone?" Fitz's questions were half question, half accusation.
Daisy let what might have been a single laugh. "Grieved with you? Healed? Done the whole hand holding and support thing? I didn't want to. I wasn't grieving."
"B-but...what w-were you doing?" Fitz frowned, finally looking at her. "You w-were fighting Watch Dogs, a-and…c-cavorting with v-vengeance demons."
Daisy didn't have it in her to hide the truth of it from him. She knew Jemma had guessed, May certainly. Her skin crawled at the knowledge Coulson had definitely known. "I was trying to die."
"Tha…" Fitz opened and shut his mouth.
She picked at the cuff of her sleeve. Pain lanced up her arms, but it was good, it was grounding. "I should have died against Hive. No, don't--" she cut Fitz off as he opened his mouth in protest. "Don't you dare say that's not true. After everything that happened, after everything with Ward--"
Daisy bit the inside of her cheek, swallowing back further reasons. "I deserved it. Not Lincoln. So I tried to find someone who would finish the job." She scoffed. "And then the Ghost Rider wouldn't do it."
"Lincoln died t-to protect you!" He managed to protest. "Why would you--?"
"I didn't ask him to." Daisy snapped. "I didn't want him to. But he did it anyway and I have to live with that!'
Her body trembled, her arms sharply reminding her to breathe. Closing her eyes she forced herself to breathe out, the vibrations fading back and away. Sometimes it felt like the endless buzzing would swallow her whole, and she couldn't afford that. Couldn't lose focus of the world, not right now.
"D-Daisy…" Fitz's voice trembled in a way that wasn't just his stutter. He sounded like himself then, the version of him that she'd have let drag almost anything out of her if he asked. And she resented that.
"I left because I knew if I stayed I would have had to stay alive for the team because you would have needed me." She said the words like they were venom on her tongue. She swallowed hard and looked away. "And I would have hated you for it."
Fitz was looking at her, really looking at her maybe for the first time in nearly two years. "B-but you came b-back."
"Yeah. I did." Daisy uttered before looking away from him with a jerk of her head. Her eyes blinking rapidly to keep from crying. She hated this.
////
Jon nodded to himself as he looked at the map of the new defenses of Winterfell spread out on the wooden table before him. "Good, if the men focus on the third line here, they could complete it by the end of the week."
"Too busy with brown nosing cunts to help today?" Mors asked, though his tone was lacking any real bite.
He huffed. "Believe me, if I could avoid the Whitehill trial I would." Jon looked at where the men were digging. "I'll take Ser Loras with me."
"Aye, bugger is friendly with the Forresters isn't he?" Mors glanced to the over eager members of the Order. "What crawled up their asses?"
Jon resisted the desire to look at the oddly, but distinctly spooked, looking, men. "I don't plan to ask."
Mors laughed at that. "Probably wise. But fine, I'll run the men along the third line. Get on to court with you Lord Hand." He slapped his back hard.
"Still odd to hear that." Jon shook his head. He was a bastard, and here he was a legitimate prince and Hand of the Queen. It was...a lot. But sitting at the head table, sitting beside his living siblings he felt...a settled warmth. Warmth in a way he couldn't remember having ever felt before.
Mors looked at him, his one eye clear and bright. "Could always call you Prince."
He chuckled at that. "Don't overwork the men." Jon ignored the sounds of Mors turning to yell out orders. Instead, he made his way from the current location of planning for the ever growing defenses of Winterfell, into the fortress itself. He had thrown himself into the preparations here. It was a last line of defense. The battle against the dead would never leave the Wall if he had anything to say about it. But if it did, he would ensure the path from Wall to his home was a grater, whittling away the dead's numbers.
The morning was cold, snow falling gently. It didn't stay cold enough for the snow to linger longer than in the early morning and at night. The rest of the time it was mostly mud. He was grateful Daisy was there or else digging the cold ground would have been....significantly more difficult. Not that she'd admit to being responsible for the soft ground only where the men were digging.
Jon glanced at the knight following behind his shoulder. Protection. He approved in the case of his sister and brother. But it was a bit ridiculous to think he needed a guard in Winterfell. If it made his sister worry about one less thing though he wouldn't speak out against it. As he walked up onto the main road he chuckled. "Tormund, what are you doing out here?"
"Eh, couldn't find a good fight." He touched his new hardened and shaped leather armor. "Have to break this in."
Jon eyed the armor, it was good quality, once the chain was done the wildlings would be capable of surviving proper war. "Her Holiness might help you break it in if you ask her."
"Bah, rather not eat dirt. That big woman of your sister's, can't impress her like that." Tormund chuckled. "Fighen' a god won't do me good there."
He shook his head as they walked through the gates into Winterfell proper. "I don't think Brienne likes you."
"Aye, she does know me." Tormund proudly declared.
Jon couldn't help the smile on his face. "She does at that." He paused slightly. "Do you intend to sit the trial?"
"Naw, you southerners' arguments are your own business." Tormund snorted.
He poked him ever so slightly. "Your lady love will be there."
"Now that is a point." Tormund remarked a slightly thoughtful expression on his face.
Jon took his place behind Sansa's shoulder, laying a hand on her gently in support. "My Queen."
"I trust our defenses are well in hand without you then?" Sansa's voice had a dry quality he'd come to know meant she was asking not to learn the answer herself, but for others to hear the answer.
He glanced at the crown on her head. "Aye, Mors Umber has it in hand."
"Good, to the business at hand then." Sansa stared down the length of the court and assembled Lords and Ladies.
Jon listened as the last of the evidence and defense were laid out. It was...well it was a legal mess quite frankly. A part of him feared his sister might take this as a legal opportunity to condemn a former vassal House of the Bolton's utterly to death, and it would not be done with the mercy shown to the Karstarks if she did. But most of him was reassured that she would not. It would lead to too much land being under direct Stark control. Already between their victories, they were holding far more land than the bannermen would accept long term.
"Ser Davos." Sansa flicked her attention to the knight. "What is your opinion of the matter?"
Davos startled at the attention brought to him. But his familiar flea bottom accent filled the room. "I think it's not in doubt House Whitehill committed treason at the Red Wedding. The land disputes between them and House Forrester afterward, however, were sanctioned by House Bolton in its position as Wardens of the North. That said, we need them and their men to fight the dead."
Lord Forrester glared, stepping forward. "My Queen, leave to speak?"
"I would hear from your sister." Her eyes turned to Mira Forrester. "What do you believe would be fair? Would be justice?"
Lord Forrester stepped back, a frustrated air to him, but he gave the floor to his sister.
Mira stood tall before the attention of the court. "Injustice has been done to my House, my family, and those beholden to us." She swallowed, pausing, seeming to consider her thoughts. "I've lost my father, mother, two brothers, my honor." Her voice cracked. "Our lands and trees have been harmed, our small folk terrorized and murdered. The Whitehills are traitors and murderers, end their line."
Jon hurt at the pain in her voice. He didn't blame her for her rage, but his hands tightened at the requested bloodshed. "What say you, Torrhen Whitehill?"
The man was wearing shackles, his shoulders straight as he stood before the court. His light brown hair slicked back with water, beard controlled as best a prisoner could manage. He had a certain nobility to his bearing. "My House is guilty of owing our loyalty to House Bolton. If your liege Lord commits treason it is treason for either way. It is treason to support your liege Lord, but treason not to. Who among this court stayed loyal to the Starks? House Forrester bent the knee. House Manderly bent the knee. Why should my family be held to a standard no others are? Aye, House Forrester lost blood. But so have I. My brother and father died, our soldiers lay dead, our small folk ruined. Why should the burden of that be ours alone? I have done no worse than any man here."
The court exploded into anger and argument. Various Lords crying out at the charge of disloyalty to House Stark. Old grudges showing. Jon glared. Stepping forward he raised his voice. "ORDER!"
His glare was firm as he stared the court down. "This is a trial, not a barroom brawl. You will show your respect."
Sansa spoke into the ensuing silence. "Lord Whitehill is not wrong." Her eyes were sharp, daring anyone to contradict her. "But that does not absolve his House of their crimes." She tapped a finger against the arm of her throne. "House Whitehill is to owe vassalage to House Dustin from this day hence. You will give up any claim to the contested lands with House Forrester. Reparations in the form of livestock, furs, leatherwork, and metal work to the equivalent of 20,000 gold dragons over the course of the next twenty years. You, Lord Whitehill are to take your levees, and go to the Shadow Tower and hold it. Should you fail to do this I will root you out of your keep, and put all of your blood to the sword."
Jon gave his sister the slightest of approving nods. Harsh, but would assist House Forrester to survive the coming winter, aid in the war against the Dead, and punish a House that had been a patsy of the Bolton's. "Do you accept these terms, Lord Whitehill?"
"I do." Whitehill was obviously displeased, but the relief at keeping his head kept him grateful.
////
Sansa set her crown on the desk in her solar. "You're displeased with my ruling?"
"Your Grace…" Lord Rodrick Forrester's voice trailed off. "It is your right to name the justice."
She raised a brow looking at the man. "We're not in the middle of the court, you have a right to dislike my justice."
"It does not feel like justice, your Grace." He allowed, his warm voice tight.
Sansa looked at the pain and injury written across this man. His body broken at the Red Wedding, scars he would carry to his death, grief similar to her own in the lines of his face. "I agree, it wasn't justice." She was vaguely amused by the surprise on his face. "If I meant to bring pure justice as my father or brother would understand I'd be cutting heads off from the east to the west. The dead would have little work to do left when I was done. Your own head among them."
He flinched at that. "My family is dead because of them. For our loyalty to House Stark."
"They are." Sansa faced him without flinching. "And I cannot give them back to you. We both know there's nothing we wouldn't give to bring our dead back, and cutting Torhen Whitehill's head off won't do that. He and his men holding the Shadow Tower might keep the family we have left alive."
His eyes flicked away from her face in deferment. "Justice has always been the way of House Stark."
"Is it more honorable to punish crime or keep my people alive?" Sansa found herself curious at his answer.
Rodrick's face twisted before he let out a groaning sigh, shoulders dropping. But he seemed to rally. "And should we survive, when men who stabbed your brother and mother in the back return from the war, what then?"
"Then they live on my mercy. Mercy that will not be shown to them again. The same as House Dustin, Ryswell, and a dozen other Houses exist because I permit them to."
He grimaced but moved away from her. "My leg, permission to be seated, your Grace?"
"Of course." She waved to the chair by the fire.
With a sigh of relief, he took the seat, before replying to their conversation. "Why speak of mercy and justice to me?"
"Because I value the loyalty and sacrifice your family has shown." Sansa measured the man, he was young but not barely a man like two-thirds of her army. "My advisors wish me to name you Master of Coin."
He startled looking at her with wide eyes. "It would be an honor."
"One I'm not giving." She held her hand up. "I am not naming any Master of Coin, for a bookkeeper I've seen how much power it gives to a single man. Power I don't intend to give to any man, no matter what my advisors believe. Rather I intend to split the position into a Master of Reserve, and Revenue, the Master of Revenue being the authority on taxation and financial reserves."
Rodrick leaned back in his seat. "That is a great deal of change in the face of war."
"I would name you Master of Revenue, which would give you access to Stark forces for ensuring the Whitehills pay their debt to you." Sansa watched his expression.
He sucked in a slow breath, his eyes sharp as he looked at her. "What is the catch, your Grace?"
"I would name your chief assistant and deputy should you be absent from court as Lady Dustin." She wondered if he'd note the full nuisance of the appointment? "She holds a legitimacy from her years as Lady of one of the great Houses of the North. Legitimacy neither of us holds, our leadership is still being tested."
He made a low sound at the back of his throat. "And she holds a great deal of weight with House Dustin, despite no longer being their head of House. House Dustin that are the new liege Lords of House Whitehill, meaning they will ensure the Whitehills don't further attack my family to give Lady Dustin more sway at court."
"And you will be sure of your family's safety, at least from the Whitehills." She tipped her head slightly.
With a slow nod, he sighed. "I would be honored to accept the position, your Grace."
"I will have the badge and papers of your office sent to your quarters tonight then." Sansa wondered at the council of advisors she was building. She hoped she was building one that was not made of 'yes' men, nor self serving monsters.
Sansa walked into the gods' wood, the bottom hem of her dress touching the snow covered grass. She was exhausted, but she had a conversation left that needed to be had. Her breath froze in the air as she came to the face tree, and found Daisy there. Daisy never stood before the tree in supplication, rather as if she was in conversation with it. It was perhaps the least human Sansa ever saw her.
As she approached she slowed. "You've been largely absent from the castle today." She paused and was concerned at the lack of reply. "And your followers have been acting like frightened prey attempting to avoid notice. Should I be worried?"
"No, well probably not." Daisy looked over her shoulder at her. "I lost my temper with Fitz last night, I believe the men heard raised voices, certainly felt the tower shake." She gave a wry grin.
Her brow furrowed slightly. "If you would prefer to speak to Jon he's certainly noticed as well."
"What...I...fuck." Daisy shook her head. "Don't know if you've noticed but I'm bad at expressing negative emotions."
She gave a light hum, she'd certainly noticed. No one was as painfully at ease, as nearly unassailable as Daisy was. She took insults with barely more than a light blip. The physical violence of punching idiots in the face barely even counted as a departure from her general light mood. Sansa was positive that punching people was actually friendly activity from Daisy, as weird as that was. But boys with their swords and all that. The most negative emotion Daisy seemed comfortable showing was morose grief, rarely anything sharper. And when it was there, it was fast, sharp, and dissipated into nothing quickly. "I wasn't aware that was a bad thing?"
"It is when your emotions are tied to the ability to split planets like eggs. Fitz may be an ass, but he wasn't wrong to call me out on endangering you by pretending I don't have negative emotions." She shrugged. "And hiding in the gods' wood sounded better than pretending my arms aren't shattered."
Her eyes widened, stepping forward despite herself she reached out only to pause her hand nearly brushing Daisy's arm. "How…."
"It's fine, they're less shattered and more fractured now. Barely be sore by morning." Daisy clearly read the horror dawning across Sansa's face. "I lost my temper, my emotions affect my power. If it doesn't go outwards it has to go inwards."
Sansa's arm dropped back to her side. "Maester Wolkan will help you, something for the pain at least." She could read enough to realize Daisy wasn't going to speak more on the topic of her argument with Fitz. And she knew the broken, ugly thing between the two was something best not poked at.
Daisy shook her head. "They're healing, a day and a half for my bones to go from shattered to whole again." There was something darkly humorous in her voice. "Used to take months."
"That doesn't mean you can't take something for the pain." Her voice was matter of fact. She carefully placed her hand on Daisy's shoulder gently directing her out of the gods' wood and hopefully to the Maester.
Daisy huffed. "How about some tea? You look as exhausted as I feel. Tea, an update on the dumbest shit your nobles are up to and I'll be fine."
"You're not going to see Maester Wolkan are you?" She sighed, well...magical god healing. Which was ridiculous, but she could accept it, definitely asking for more information when Daisy wasn't in pain and likely still fairly upset from an argument.
Daisy grinned. "Nope, I'm terrible at being injured."
"I can see." Sansa looked at her friend's face. "How do you feel about mulled wine?"
Daisy blinked. "That's a real thing?"
Chapter 45Notes:Back to regular updates! And no end of chapter rambling today, sorry guys. I just had the most Murphy's Law centric day yesterday.
Chapter TextFitz looked at Rickon who was perched on his workbench. "Don't y-you have l-lessons?"
"Sure, but they're boring and everyone keeps calling me 'your Highness'. Or 'Prince'. It's odd." Rickon's nose wrinkled. "And I spent the whole morning listening to them talking about their plans for the dead."
He rolled his eyes, honestly, kids were the worst. Even if this one was a magic wolf kid, and honestly brighter than his last six lab techs. "S-so you want to h-help make paper s-screens?"
"Yes? I mean it's got to be better than Wolkan's lessons on the Faith of the Seven." The absolute disgust the kid felt about the religion from the south was humorous.
Fitz nodded. "F-faith doesn't m-make better people. Lot of c-crap."
Crann who'd been quietly working on putting together the frames for the paper screens looked up with a jerk. "You're god touched though! A god claims you as theirs. How can…" He frowned, seeming unable to even articulate his confusion.
"W-well yes it's a-all very impressive." His head tilted as he tried to think of how to put it. If he mucked it up for Daisy she'd talk to him and after...well he had a lot to think about before they talked again. "My w-world was...there's a l-lot of different s-sorts of gods. I h-haven't met a s-single one that was w-worth praying to." His nose wrinkled at the thought of the Asgardians and shit. "Most are m-more monster than g-god though."
Rickon frowned. "But what about Daisy?"
"She's…" Fitz frowned running a hand through his hair. "H-her people are...dangerous. Some a-are good people, s-some aren't. But prayer? I t-think Gordon was t-the only one w-who could hear it." He licked his lips nervously. "And he was k-killed in a w-war."
Crann set his work down. "I don't understand that. Why can't she hear prayer?"
"I-it's not her power." Fitz shifted awkwardly. "M-most gods are j-just assholes though." He swallowed bile at the crimes he was capable of committing. "S-so are people."
Rickon picked up the small hammer and turned the frame over in his hands. "People can be awful. I feel like my skin's going to burst when there's ...everyone around. Too loud too."
"Know w-what you mean." Fitz twitched, but reached out and patted the kid's head. Social anxiety was a bitch. "J-just make your o-own way."
Crann gave a slight nod, as he went back to gently tapping small nails into his frame, securing the mesh. "It's better here than at the Dreadfort. Never thought I'd get a position like this, but it was a god who brought me here." He made a sound of conflict. "I've done my best, worked hard, but I'd 'ave been living in the shadow of the Dreadfort my whole life if her Holiness and our Queen hadn't acted."
Fitz looked at his assistant. "You've e-earned your job. B-best assistant I've h-had in ages. Which is s-sad cause like education h-here sucks. If w-we were back h-home you'd have like a d-doctorate by now. That's y-you, not Daisy, or Sansa. Y-you."
"That's...that's the nicest thing you've said to me." Crann looked rather gobsmacked.
Fitz winced...right...he was… "Sorry, I...I'm b-bad at noticing people. I n-need to work on t-that."
"You are kinda rude." Rickon agreed while happily working on his frame.
He gave an actual twitch at that, turning to look over at the kid. "Thanks." His voice was dry, his eyes narrowing slightly.
"Is talking about nonwork things something we do now?" Crann asked, shifting awkwardly as he was looked at.
Fitz looked down at his hands. He'd so easily attacked the people he loved. The voice of the Doctor whispered, or maybe it was his own thoughts? Told him it was obvious, no one here was at his level. What was the point of connection or care for idiots? But...he wasn't just that. Or he had to believe that. "We p-probably should. It's not l-like making paper is t-that interesting."
"I don't know, it's funny watching people shred horse shit." Rickon snickered. He'd spent hours happily whacking the muck with the sharpened rakes.
He shook his head, lips twitching up. Poop experiments had been funny to him as a kid too. "It i-is, isn't it?"
"Yup!" Rickon grinned only for his head to tilt to the side slightly as he looked at the door. His smile grew as the door opened. "Ser Swann!"
The knight stepped into the room. "Your Highness, what are you doing down here?" The man shut the door behind him as he tromped into the room.
Fitz twirled his newly made metal pen between his fingers. It helped reduce the tremors to use the smaller muscles in his hands. With a slight hum, he looked back to his latest blueprints. Once he had paper without getting guilt looks from Daisy, he was making a proper telescope and looking into making a proper lamp. Baby steps to maybe being able to do something. He easily droned out the sound of Rickon talking to his knight. It was only built in years of paranoia, training, and instinct that let him roll out of the way before a sword embedded itself into his work table.
"What t-the hell?!" He spluttered, eyes wide as he realized the fucking knight had just tried to kill him. Out of the corner of his eye he saw Crann grabbing Rickon, and hauling the kid away from the murderous knight. And something...settled. His face fell serious. This fucker just tried to kill him.
Ser Swann jerked at his sword where it was stuck in the table. The whole table scraped towards the man at his effort. He dropped his sword's hilt, reaching for his dagger.
Fitz grabbed his oil lamp and chucked it straight into the man's face. It exploded into flames, Ser Swann screamed, his hands reaching for his face.
Fitz didn't even consider letting the man recover. He strode forward and stabbed his pen, nib first, straight through the man's ear. Yanking his hand back he stepped to one of the nearest buckets of wet, soaking manure and shoved his hand into it, putting out the burning oil that had caught onto his hand.
He looked up, meeting the eyes of Crann and Rickon as the corpse of the knight collapsed onto the floor. "What. The. Hell. Was. That?"
////
Daisy watched as Joran was helping Lyanna with pull-ups. It was...kind of adorable. Not that she'd say that...probably. It might be worth it just to see Lyanna puff up like an angry cat. She crossed her arms. Shaking her head, she leaned against the archery target and looked down at Duncan's writing. "So what's up down there?"
"Recording everyone's progress, Holiness." Duncan dipped his quill into the ink, before making little hatch marks after the names of the various men working on pull-ups. He paused looking up at her. "How many can you do Holiness?"
She frowned, head tilting to the side. "Before the serum around five hundred a day, not at once, but like, do ten, drop. Do another ten, drop. My...knight I guess, left me for a month with some special forces...the training officer owed her a favor and she wanted me to know what the people I'd be fighting were capable of. I kinda wanted to die. But I never died from falling off the edge of a building, so ya know."
"Before the serum?" Duncan looked at her in some awe.
Daisy reached out and flicked his forehead. "When I was mostly human, back before the powers stuff."
"I find it odd to think of you as powerless, Holiness." Duncan's face scrunched up slightly.
She offered her hand down to him. "Eh, it's a thing."
He set his writing table aside and accepted her hand, allowing himself to be pulled to his feet. It took him a second to catch his balance and adjust to being on his feet. "Thank you, Holiness."
"No problem handsome." She passed him his crutches with a wink. "Come on, let's go free the poor suckers from their pull-ups."
Duncan adjusted his grip on his crutches, his cheeks flushed at the attention. "Shouldn't I be recording more?"
"You need a break or you're going to turn into a statue. Full gargoyle or something if you just keep sitting there." She laughed at the look on his face. "And really, recording everyone's numbers every day is a bit excessive. Once a week is more than enough, like seriously."
His shoulders slumped. "But it's how I can be useful."
"You've been doing great with the writing lessons, and I know you're the one organizing everyone's reports." Daisy barely resisted shaking her head, what was in the water? No one should be this eager to work in excess of ten hours a day. It was weird. "And I know you're working with Wilber and Hogg on the whole writing books thing. You're fine."
He puffed slightly, pride and purpose radiating off of him. "Recording your words is important, Holiness."
"Well good thing you boys are so good at your jobs then, cause I'm not sure what I'm doing with the whole god thing. Never had actual followers before." She patted the man on the back as he gaped at her. No doubt if she left him to it he'd start blathering about her godly qualities and she'd want to sink through the ground. So she proactively escaped.
Lengthening her strides she reached where Joran was awkwardly flapping by the tiny, furious, and panting Lyanna Mormont. "You're improving."
"I can only do twelve." Lyanna glared at the bar like it'd personally insulted her.
Daisy snickered. "While adorable, your outrage isn't going to get your numbers up. But twelve at a time is good for your age."
"Adorable!" Lyanna puffed up like a cat. "I'm a Mormont! We are not adorable! I am a warrior of the North!"
"You're eleven." Daisy considered patting the kid, she figured it'd be best not to if she didn't want to get bit. It didn't stop the laughter in her voice or the delighted grin on her face. So worth it to call the kid adorable. "Come on. You need to stretch out your arms. Then Joran can work with you on shield defenses."
Lyanna narrowed her eyes, shaking slightly in the frustrated desire to argue. It was hilarious to see her desire to snap and argue fighting against her belief that she was facing a god. Finally, she gave a sharp nod. "Very well." She turned on her heel and headed for the shield rack.
Daisy made eye contact with Joran. He was clearly biting the inside of his cheek to keep from laughing. She winked. "Good luck."
"Aye, she's going to try and murder me with that shield." Joran managed to get out without laughing.
"Jonson!" A deep voice called from just behind her shoulder.
Daisy turned and looked behind her as Joran jogged off after Lyanna. "Ser Musgood, right?"
"I'm honored you remembered." He gave a respectful tip of his head. "My companion and I had hoped you would be willing to spar with us?"
She glanced at the knight standing just behind the man's shoulder. Damn the dude was rocking some muttonchops. "Sure?" Her head tilted slightly, something was...jittery about the two knights. "You two ok?"
Ser Musgood huffed. "Not looking forward to losing badly, but it's the only way to become stronger."
"Get that, May can still kick my ass." Daisy smiled slightly at the thought of May, she missed her team like a limb. "Come on, I promise to hold back some."
The knight with the epic mutton chops gave a nod. "Thank you kindly for that at least."
Daisy set her hand on the wooden fence around one of the sparring rings, easily using it to half jump, half swing herself over the wooden rail. Landing lightly she caught a bastard sword one of her boys tossed to her. "So, points or till the yield?"
"Ten points should be sufficient I think? If that's agreeable to you." Sur Musgood stepped around the railed style of fence, his friend and fellow knight right behind him. He drew his sword, taking a step to one side, his muttonchop friend mirroring him.
She raised a brow. "Live steel? Raising the stakes there."
"Is that a problem?" Musgood asked, but there was a faint challenge to his tone.
Daisy sighed, fucking male egos. "No, have fun resharpening your edges I guess." She raised her sword, time to punch some idiots in the face again. "Ready when you are."
Muttonchop knight took the initiative, his stance was strong, the handling of his sword skilled as he struck out.
She caught his blow and lightly spun out of the way of the follow up by Musgood. They were good, it was easy to fall into the rhythm of it. One of them would strike, drawing her attention and sword as the other attempted to take advantage of any openings it might open. Her training to use her whole body allowed her to flow around their attacks, but it was exciting! Daisy's blood was pumping, the familiar thrill of a real challenge humming through her as she focused entirely on her two opponents. A breathless laugh in her throat as the steel rang from swords clashing.
Daisy kicked Muttonchops back as she caught a strike from Musgood and something pinged in the back of her head. She barely registered she'd noticed...something, she was already twisting on auto-pilot before she'd even processed something was wrong. It wasn't fast enough.
The impact hit her in the back of her left shoulder. Pain didn't even register as the impact slammed into the front of her left shoulder even as she instinctively lowered herself, already avoiding before registering the threat again. Out of the corner of her eye, she realized Musgood's sword was flashing for her throat. Bending backward, she snapped her sword up, slapping the incoming sword away with a ringing clang.
Daisy realized as Muttonchop came for a strike aimed for her left side they were actually trying to kill her. And that...that was an arrow sticking out of her shoulder she realized as a third impact slammed into the back of her shoulder again. Time seemed to freeze as she realized exactly what was happening. And then she acted.
A simple burst of vibrations sent the two knights in front of her flying straight out of the ring. As they flew she turned, two arrows turning to dust mid-air as she spotted three men up on the wall with bows looking down at her. Absently she realized there were several arrows in the dirt she'd managed to avoid. She raised her right arm, dropping her sword she sent the three fuckers flying straight off the wall. Spinning she glared at where Musgood had crashed through the railing. "What the fuck?"
Musgood's face was curled in hate. He tried to move only to fall back against the ground and splinters of the railing he'd gone through.
"HOLINESS!" Joran came vaulting over part of the still standing railings, panic painted across his face. The rest of the courtyard erupted into action a half-second behind him.
Daisy looked between the crumpled forms of Musgood and Muttonchops. And it clicked in her head.
The Stormland knights always acted weird around her. But…
It was accepted she was a god. It was one thing to challenge her, it was another to murder her. That was...that was a risk. If they succeeded they'd be executed, it gained them nothing ….unless her death wasn't the only point.
She looked straight into Joran's face. "Sansa." And then she turned and took off.
////
Sansa handed over the scroll of meals planned for the next several weeks. "This is acceptable, if you need to change anything, or something comes up, speak with Ser Flint. If the two of you are unable to agree, then, and only then, bring it to my attention."
"Aye, yer Grace." The cook bowed before heading back off for the kitchens.
She held in a sigh. Gods be good she really needed to finish forming the royal court or she was going to go mad running everything herself. It wasn't helping everyone assumed she would be doing the Lord's and Lady's work of running Winterfell in addition to her duties as Queen. "Ser Peasbody." She acknowledged her guard for the evening as she swept towards the Great Hall.
As she was walking she felt a prickle up the back of her neck, from the corner of her eye she could see the faintest hint of how her guard was looking at her. Sansa tipped her chin up and kept her steps even and exactly as fast as she'd been walking before. Once she reached the great hall there'd be other guards and she could do something, the occasional passing servant or man at arms in the hallways would be of little help against a trained knight if he decided to stop eying her neck and a spot on her side she knew, thanks to Daisy, was where her liver was and actually attack her.
Walking gave her a chance to run through her options. The evening meal would already be being set out. Some portion of her court would already be there. Brienne certainly, likely a good half dozen or more Northern knights. A handful of her other Stormlander knights, likely twenty able bodied and armed men besides. Once there she could have Ser Peasbody removed. Whether he'd done anything or not she knew what a man planning violence against her looked like and she wouldn't wait.
Though it was concerning in its own way that he wasn't acting. He had to realize he wasn't even hiding his feelings. The sick shiver of his attention wasn't hard to notice. Unless he was waiting for something? Out of the corner of her eye, she noticed he had dropped his hand onto the hilt of his dagger. Shit.
The great hall was perhaps ten paces away, she could see the knight standing just inside the entrance. Safety was close, but if not she would have to buy her men precious time to get to her. Time she was ill suited to give, lessons from Daisy or no. A trained knight was not a person she could take. But...she did have a dagger.
Sansa's hand drifted smoothly, and without the slightest jerk or twitch, silently she slid her small dagger out of the hidden pocket in the folds of her gown, gently palming it exactly how Daisy had drilled into her. If Peasbody attacked she would have exactly one and only one chance.
Five paces.
Two.
Sansa couldn't have described the relief of walking past the guard at the door and into the great hall. She was just about to calmly call out for Brienne or Loras who were seated down one of the tables when she saw Peasbody move out of the corner of her eye.
Turning she stepped into his dagger's swing, stabbing her own blade into his forearm holding the blade. It'd been apparent she lacked the strength to physically block a trained man's blows well enough. However, the force of his own motion impaled his arm onto Sansa's dagger while her stepping closer had moved her neck pointedly not where it'd been a second ago.
He made a sharp sound as the dagger plunged through his flesh, his hand spasming causing him to drop his own knife.
Sansa stepped back and away from him quickly, one of her knights catching her shoulder as two other knights were instantly there. She should have been safe. She realized she wasn't the moment the hold on her shoulder turned viciously tight, hauling her inexorably closer to the knights rushing not to protect but to kill her.
Peasbody hadn't waited to attack till the great hall out of foolishness but with purpose. And she was now without her dagger, outnumbered, and true help too far to do more than watch in horror while leaping to their feet.
A dim hysterical part of her head likely would have found it darkly humorous if she'd had time to contemplate what was happening beyond sharp realization and sick horror. She'd spent her childhood dreaming of white knights riding to her rescue. Years in Kings Landing and she hadn't quite lost the last figments of the dream of someone rescuing her. But it had never happened. She'd saved herself, turned the ruins of the North into a unified kingdom. And this was how it ended, the knights she'd prayed for arriving, at last, only to kill her instead of save her.
And then the front doors of the hall exploded into a shower of splinters, every man, object, and item near flying backward as a great 'boom' echoed through the hall.
Standing there was Daisy, her voice cracked as she spoke but it was an unquestionable order. "NO!"
The man holding Sansa, as well as the two others surrounding her, were flung away from her with the raising of Daisy's hand. As they flew through the air they shattered into showers of gore finer than any butcher could have caused. They were so much sludge as their remains splattered out and away from Sansa.
Daisy was three quick strides forward before Peasbody, who'd somehow survived, but now covered in the sludge of one of his fellows cried out rushing towards Daisy, drawing his sword to attack the dark god.
The Destroyer of Worlds.
And that's what Daisy truly looked, for the first time since she'd arrived, a god who earned that kind of title.
The ground shivering beneath her, a half snarl on her face, arrows sticking out of her shoulder, blood soaking the fabric of her jacket, everything from her clothing to her hair caught up in the buffeting of her powers circling her.
This wasn't the tightly controlled violence Daisy had shown before. She didn't bother with mercy. Peasbody's sword strike didn't come anywhere near her before his arm exploded into frozen chunks. With her right hand, she snatched the hilt of his sword out of the air and thrust, catching him directly in the throat. He hadn't even hit the ground, wet gurgles coming from his ruined throat before she was flickering past him. It was a few steps at a speed no human could match, and she was at Sansa's side.
"Sansa! Are you ok? Did they get you at all!?" Daisy's eyes flicked across Sansa as her right arm hovered as if she wanted to start patting at her to ensure herself she was unharmed.
And Sansa...Sansa felt her shoulders soften, the stress melting off of her. She was safe. She swayed ever so slightly closer to her friend, the one person who'd ever truly rescued or protected her since she was a child. "I'm unharmed." She hissed as her eyes caught the arrows sticking out Daisy's shoulder, all suspiciously close to her heart. "You're shot!"
"Huh?" Daisy glanced at her shoulder as if just now noticing the arrows. "Oh right, no I'm fine. But you're sure they didn't get you?"
Sansa ignored the explosion of noise, the screams, the rushing of people. They wouldn't approach too closely with a furious god besides her. She looked up catching the eye of a panicked looking Loras just behind Brienne's shoulder. Her loyal lady knight had skidded to a halt just outside the range of splattered gore. "Loras, find Jon." She stared at Brienne. "Get to Rickon. Now."
Brienne opened her mouth, hands tensing as she clearly desperately wished to hover over Sansa's shoulder. But then her eyes flicked to Daisy. She swallowed. "Of course." And then she turned and ran out, Loras on her heels as they went to find and secure her brothers.
Sansa ignored the rest of her panicking court. Rather she focused back on Daisy who was clearly still riled to hell and back. The very air of the room felt like it was full of thousands of bees making the air nearly hum. The ground was shaking just enough to be noticed. Sansa caught Daisy's uninjured arm. "You need to see Maester Wolkan."
"No. The chaos immediately after an assassination attempt is dangerous." Daisy's face was set, a particularly noticeable vibration passed through the room.
Sansa swallowed...it was actually the first solid 'no' the other woman had given her in the near ten months they'd known each other. And she wasn't wrong. Her eyes narrowed as she saw the challenge in the god's face. "Fine, but you're sitting down." Sansa hadn't let go of Daisy's arm and used it to firmly escort the god to one of the long tables and gently pushed the woman down onto the bench. "Stay, please."
With a faint hiss at the movement Daisy settled, but her eyes were sharp as she turned her attention to the room.
Sansa shoved away the near glow of affection and relief she felt at Daisy remaining by her side. Instead, she turned her attention back to the court. "Flint, I want every former man of Stannis's in the dungeon now. No harsh treatment. Get Maester Wolkan here now, double the guard, and I want an accounting of every man, woman and child in Winterfell." Sansa barely noticed her hand was laying on Daisy's uninjured shoulder, she just knew it steadied her as she dealt with minimizing the chaos.