Chapter 46Notes:So last chapter I hit over 2mil posted words of fanfic. In six years...I might have a problem.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter TextLoras' throat felt dry as he stood guard behind the shoulder of the Hand of the Queen. The chaos of the night had been nipped firmly in the bud, a very alive Queen, god, and whatever the hell Fitz was had obviously helped. But Sansa doubling the guard, ordering the great hall emptied, securing every person who could possibly be considered a threat detained away from the rest of the population of Winterfell, the forced closing of every tavern inside of five miles from the castle, and doing all of it within less than two hours of the attempt had given utter control of the situation to the Queen and put a sharp end to any chaos before it could even really start. It was terrifyingly efficient.
He was trying not to think about how the air was still weighted with power. It was an unnecessary threat, what with four servants currently cleaning the....goop?....what was left of the men who'd tried to harm the Queen. The god was sitting on the edge of the table, feet on the bench so Wolkan could better inspect the several arrows! sticking out of her. She spoke up as Wolkan hunted for scissors to cut the fabric away within his bag. "So Sansa, Fitz and I were the only ones attacked?"
"It appears so." Jon's face was furrowed with anger as he stood torn between where his sister stood with the god and his brother who was being sat on by two horse sized wolves. "One of the men you threw off the wall survived, as did Ser Musgood. They could give us answers."
Sansa looked to Manderly. "Signs of unrest within the castle?"
Loras bit back a scoff at that. Unrest? The whole castle was an angry beehive itching to kill anyone or anything that so much as looked at their Queen wrong. For fucks sake the literal god brimming with fury was the only reason they'd been able to prevent half the army from insisting on camping in a livid mass around the Queen's person. She and her family were loved. The Stormlanders being in the dungeon was likely the only reason the men hadn't been proactively purged. The guards keeping them in were also keeping the other men out. His being here was certainly the only reason why he hadn't been stabbed just for being foreign. Even the Wildlings were sparking with dislike.
"You'll need to handle the surviving traitors soon, your Grace. The men will kill all of them, guilty and innocent alike if not." Lord Manderly replied.
She let out an audible sigh. "Of course. Jon, can you handle questioning our prisoners and dividing them between guilty and innocent? The guilty we can execute tomorrow. Get this whole incident over with."
"Aye, but in just a night...I can't promise I'll know who exactly was involved." His hand fisted at his side.
Daisy perked up slightly. "Human lie detector here, finding out exactly who was involved shouldn't be hard."
"Holiness, you're badly injured." Wolkan protested weakly as he brandished the scissors and approached her side to cut the fabric away from her wounds.
Daisy rolled her eyes. "I've had worse. Seriously, can I just yank them out so we can get a move on to interrogating them?"
"You will not." Sansa's head snapped towards the god. "You have three arrows in your shoulder! You will let the Maester remove them before you go traipsing down to the dungeons to threaten men who are going nowhere."
The oppressive feel of the air faltered for a second, and then the god huffed in amusement, a slight smile on her face. "I really need to stop getting yelled at to stop bleeding."
Lyanna Mormont spoke up. "I find it disturbing how well planned this attack was." Her tiny frame could barely contain her fury. Someday when she ended up as tall as Brienne she'd be fucking terrifying.
"There is that. This wasn't done in haste." Lord Forrester crossed his arms from where he'd been silently watching the proceedings. As most of the council, there was little to be done till the men in the dungeon spoke.
They all pretended not to notice the god hiss slightly as the fabric was cut away from her wound. The lack of additional reaction to what had to be very painful was alarming to Loras however, it spoke to a long history of injury. Or possibly additional powers.
His stomach twisted at the notion. He closed his eyes and tried to breathe. Vomiting in front of a war god was a level of low he refused to descend to. Also the idea of drawing a being powerful enough to turn living men, their armor, clothing, all of it to a shiny paste was horrifying. He very much would like to remain a silent and unnoticed fixture. Living gods weren't part of his education in Highgarden. A near hysterical sound wanted to escape his lips at the thought of his grandmother witnessing this madness.
"Aye. It was smart distracting you with that spart." Tormund grunted from where he had been chewing on a chicken leg...he and the odd stuttering ma, Fitz, seemed to have decided the uneaten dinner in the hall was worthy of their attention for this conversation. Despite the nauseating human paste on the floor and horrifyingly real and upset god just feet away from them. "Stupid thinking just five of them could take a god though."
Jon's frown deepened somehow. "Which means they knew exactly who was guarding Sansa today." He looked away from his sister to Lord Cerwyn and Bower who'd been going over the records of the guard. "How long could they reasonably have known they'd have a window of opportunity for this? Daisy is regularly in the sparring yard, and Fitz is always in his workshop. Sansa's guard rotation had to have decided it. Peasbody wasn't even her normal evening guard."
"Eight days if they saw the papers on Bower's desk. Four if not." Cerwyn replied, his voice clipped with the same anger infecting everyone.
Loras tuned out of the conversation mostly, he was...he'd been in King's Landing for the death of one, nearly two monarchs now. Robert's death had caused no mourning, simply chaos as the realm fell into civil war. He doubted any man save Ned Stark had given a shit the fat oaf of a King had died. Every man's first thought had been how to gain power, his included. Then Joffrey's murder...Cersie had mourned, the vicious cunt. But the rest of the city? It'd been like a dark pall had lifted. Tywin, with Tyrell support, hadn't dealt with a day of unease before Tommen was securely planted on the throne.
But this? There would have been no power struggle if Sansa Stark had perished. Jon Stark would have placed his brother on the throne. The entire kingdom of the North would have simmered in resentment and rage for the coming winter, their mourning turned to rage at the loss of their Queen. And after--
Loras considered that. What would Maraery think of this? Who would gain power if that happened? If Rickon was King no one would expect or want him to rule in a time of strife like this. Not with the Dead coming and a furious god. Jon would be handed the regency for his brother. He'd need to ensure the Stark dynasty. With only two living members left, it'd no longer be something that could be put off. His marriage though….a Riverlands girl would be best. Or, if Manderly was smart, one of his granddaughters could be put forward. Either could be made to work.
In a situation where the North's beloved Queen was gone, Jon would be forced to lead. And while he seemed an impressive military commander, Loras was doubtful he'd prove a good regent. Jon was everything Ned Stark had been and Ned Stark had lacked the mind for kingship that his daughter held. The North might finish consolidating power, they had the road already planned out and prepared for them by Sansa. If the god was pacified they might even still survive against the coming Dead. But then once winter ended and summer came again?
The knot in his stomach intensified. He wasn't sure the Targaryen conquest would have rivaled the casualties the kingdoms just avoided. And he wasn't even thinking about the horror the god might unleash. Just the men.
The Riverlands would join the North again. Their own Lord Edmure was a lackwit who'd lost all pride, honor, and spine over his time as a prisoner. The man was broken. If he was even alive come summer he wouldn't be able to hold the Riverlands. But Rickon Stark? If Edmure was passed over it left two living Lords of Tully blood, Robyn Aryn a sickly insane little boy who'd taken his mother's teat until her death and who was not expected to live long, and Rickon Stark. Rickon who while wild and half feral was strong, intelligent, seemed to be kind, and would no doubt be rigorously trained up by his brother and court. No, the Riverlands would follow a Stark again.
He blinked. Gods be good, the Vale would as well. Robyn would either be dead leaving the Vale split with no clear succession or have lived through a winter proving his utter incompetence and madness to men who would need to depend on him. Either way a Stark holding the blood of their late Lady, and beloved Lord's ward would be appealing. Ned Stark was raised in the Vale, the Vale had adored him. It wouldn't be without question for them to either bend the knee to a wolf king or force their Lord to do it. After all, Lyssa was dead and unable to prevent it this time. A Vale bride and it would be certain instead of mostly certain. Three kingdoms under Stark banners.
Jon Stark would ensure House Frey was cast into their river. Between a giant and a god, it'd be the thing of hours. After the loss of two brothers, his father, and both his sisters there would be no question he'd get past his noble inclinations. Inclinations his Lords or Wildlings didn't hold. The Westerlands and Stormlands would be raised to the ground, and with Loras here as a hostage, the Tyrell host would be unlikely to stop it. Even with the political sense of a soldier, Jon could realistically reduce two kingdoms to ash while putting his brother on the damned Iron Throne if he was particularly good at it. It was...sobering to think of. And that wasn't including the god.
Loras's eyes snapped to Sansa. His mouth opened slightly. If Jon could do this, Jon, then Sansa certainly could. If she chose to turn on the south…
His horrifying realization of the shape things were taking was interrupted by a sharp cry of "Motherfucker!"
Daisy's teeth were clenched as Wolkan finished the quick incision beside the entry wound of an arrow and then yanked the thing out of her shoulder. There was...less blood than Loras would have expected.
Wolkan dropped the arrow, reaching for his stitching tools only to be halted by the god.
"Keep going, get them all out or I'll heal around them further and this is going to suck even more. We've waited longer than we should have anyways." She shook her head, seeming to banish the pain. "Let's go Doc."
Loras wondered absently, and slightly hysterically, that unlike everyone else in the hall who were looking at the god in a sorted muted horror and awe, Sansa actually looked like she was contemplating yelling at her. That was not something he was sticking his nose into. Instead, he just watched in disgust and awe as the Maester made quick, painful, and bloody work of getting the remaining two arrows out of the god.
////
Jon was stiff as he strode into the Winterfell dungeons. They were kept clean and lit when in use, but there was a pervading dampness to them. A chill that didn't go away. His steps echoed off the stone as he reached the first cell. He looked at the guard who unlocked the door and opened it for him.
He stepped in, the silent steps of Daisy behind him. Jon didn't say anything till the door had shut behind him. Not that the metal cage of a door would offer any privacy, it simply felt like a ringing finality to the fact he had to ask questions he wasn't sure he was ready for the answers for. He just looked at a man he hoped had had nothing to do with it. "Did you know?"
"No." Davos shook his head vehemently. "I knew naught of it. I'll swear any oath you want. But if you require my life I'll offer it willingly."
Daisy spoke up. "Truth."
Jon breathed out, his shoulders slumping. He stepped forward grabbing Davos's forearm and hauling the man to his feet. "Good to know I was right to trust you."
Davos wavered, relief washing across his face. But he accepted the hand, a grunt coming from him as he came to his feet. "Well, that's good. Can't say I wanted to lose my head."
"Do you know anything that could help?" Daisy asked as she waved her hand, his chains hitting the ground.
He blinked. "Can't say I rightly know if I do. We all followed Stannis, but I wasn't born nobility. An' with how much I've been near her Grace…."
"Right, if you'd accompany us to question the others." Jon asked, though it was an order and they all knew it.
Davos gave a sharp nod. "Of course, don't know what help I'll be."
"You know them better than we do." Daisy replied surprisingly gently considering the….paste she'd left the men who'd tried to touch his sister. An action he greatly approved of, if there'd been any left he'd have killed them himself.
Davos gave a hesitant bob of his head. "If ya say so, your Holiness."
"I do." Daisy winced and glared at the sling Sansa had politely forced her to wear. "If I 'lost' this do you think Sansa would notice?"
Jon stared at her in disbelief.
Davos made a slightly choking sound. "I don't think that's a wise choice."
"Fine. So, Dondarrian next?" She glanced at Jon for confirmation.
He sighed. "Aye." As the senior knight and their self selected representative and leader Dondarrian was either aware of the plot or an idiot. Jon stepped to the gated door and waited for it to be swung open for them. As they walked out he saw the frowns on the men's faces at the sight of Davos shuffling behind them. But the men had clearly heard, which kept their mouths shut.
Jon appreciated the silence, while Davos's innocence was a relief, it didn't change the fury boiling through his veins. These men had tried to take his family from him. Again. He'd almost lost his sister when he was a few halls away going over siege weapons with some of the men that might be effective against the dead. The thought of Sansa laying in a pool of her own blood while he was right there made his throat close with bile. He glanced at Daisy out of the corner of his eye, reassured that her injuries meant Sansa was alive. Focusing ahead on the next door in the dungeon he clenched his jaw. Time to get this over with.
He strode into the next cell and glared coldly at the form of Ser Dondarrian who was slumped on a pile of straw. The trickle of dried blood from his cracked lip and visible bruising said the men who'd found and dragged him down hadn't been as kind to him as the men had been to Davos. Which was telling. "Were you involved?" His voice was sharp.
"I was not." The man looked up, his face defiant.
Jon looked to Daisy. "Is he lying?"
"I don't think so…" Daisy dropped into a crouch before the man. "You're not lying, but you're heart's too fast. Did you know?"
The man twitched. "No."
Daisy frowned, her eyes sharp. There was an awful cracking sound, two of his fingers snapping visibly. "Try that again. Did you know? Because I can do this all day, might try freezing some bits of you just to shake it up. Or would you rather be boiled alive from the inside out?"
Dondarrian held the gaze of the god for a horrible long minute before shaking his head. "I suspected. I knew they were afraid of you, and that they worried at a woman being named Queen when Stannis chose Jon."
Jon's fist clenched. "You swore your loyalty to my sister."
"I did." Dondarrian looked up furiously. "But I didn't swear to follow a woman who holds no right to the throne who has whored herself to a dark god for power!"
Jon snarled, grabbing the man's tunic and hauling him to his feet, pinning him to the wall. "You're a coward and a traitor. If you speak of my sister, your Queen like that again I'll cut your tongue from your mouth myself."
The man screamed as his hand turned an awful color, ice creeping through his flesh. He looked at his arm in horror, though the ice spread no further.
"That's enough m'Lord." Davos spoke carefully. "You need him alive for his execution." The man likely had shifted his attention to the god. "Holiness."
Jon scoffed in disgust but released the man to slide down to the floor. "You will lose your head tomorrow. I doubt any god will save you after you've broken every vow you've spoken." He turned on his heel and out of the cell.
Daisy stopped him in the hall before they got to the next cell. "Jon."
"What?" He winced at how hard his voice had come out. "I'm sorry. What is it?"
She raised a single brow at him. "They lost, being crude is all they have left. It's pathetic, don't let it get to you."
"You froze his hand?" He'd assumed they'd felt the same on the topic.
She gave a faint one sided shrug with her uninjured shoulder. "I never said I couldn't be petty." Her eyes flicked theatrically to the various guards in the hall. "And he claimed the North's accomplishments were because Sansa was fucking me. None of which is true, and all of which are irritatingly stupid beliefs."
He breathed out, fuck. Of course, it made sense. "The next cell is Ser Musgood."
"Huh...must not have thrown him very hard." Daisy blinked. "I almost forgot you'd said he survived."
Jon wondered at that actually. "Two of the five men who attacked you survived."
"Sorry, I know you don't enjoy executing people." Somehow she seemed to think his dislike of execution was the oddity of that.
He didn't point out the difference in the level of violence shown towards those who'd attacked Daisy and those who'd attacked his sister. Instead, he turned and continued into the next cell.
Ser Musgood did not look well. While the men who'd grabbed Dondarian from his quarters hadn't been kind, Daisy's followers and to some degree Daisy herself had not been pleased with the man. He looked awful. But as he looked up he slumped. "Ah, we failed then."
"You did." Jon stood there looking down at the man. "Why?"
The knight's head lulled as he looked up at him. "There's only one god, and you are his chosen."
He faintly shook at that. "Would you have killed my brother too then?"
"If it was needed." He said. And Jon didn't need to ask to know that was the truth.
Jon hated this man, hated him in a way he hadn't hated in some time. "Who knew?"
////
Wolkan took a fortifying sip of the sweet wine he'd been saving for a celebration of some sort someday. But he found he needed it this morning. His hand clutched at the cup. He hadn't been trained for this...and...well he had no one to speak to for aid. What maesters had survived in the North were busy with their own work and he doubted the Citadel would take kindly to questions doubting the Faith.
"Gods be good, you look awful man." Manderly dropped onto the bench beside him, his girth causing the bench to groan from the weight of it. "Has something else happened?!"
"No." Wolkan shook his head staring into his cup. "It's just...I didn't expect it."
Manderly nodded. "Aye, none of us did. We'll have to get her a proper queen's guard, won't we? Where are we going to find that many knights now the Stormlanders are out? 'Sides not like we can trust a man not of the North with our Queen."
"Brienne would make a good captain of a Queensguard." Wolkan pointed out. "From the Stormlands or not she's loyal."
The merman lord huffed. "That beast of a woman is Northern at heart." He frowned. "Do you think our Queen will accept a proper Queensguard?"
"She's smart enough to know she'll need one." Wolkan took another drink. "I...she commanded a god."
Manderly's face drew in. "I've never seen anything like our god bursting in like that. I...it's easy to forget she's a god of destruction."
"Her blood burned my hands, not badly, but I felt it nonetheless and her wounds had begun to heal around the arrows. Not a lot but...she plays at humanity quite well." Wolkan's hands were still red and irritated from the brief contact he'd had with the god's blood.
Manderly looked at him consideringly. "Make sure you tell any man you can that. Maybe it'll stop some fool from trying to attack our Queen again if they know what's waiting for them should they try."
"Is that even needed?" Wolkan stared at the sea lord.
Manderly gave a faint nod. "Our Queen can't be too safe. She's the North, we can't lose her."
Notes:You know I was chatting with one of my friends I've been dumping betaing on and we got to talking about how shows/comics/movies/books/ect have a bad habit of making characters stupid OP, not knowing what to do with their OP characters, and then fucking them up. Like take Supergirl...the nerfing and wild changing of her power level sometimes within the same fucking episode was wild. Like what the fuck? A human with a fancy gun should not be more than a vaguely irritating fly, she has superspeed! They do it on Flash too, which is also deeply obnoxious. It happens with Daisy. But it's not just comic book characters. Like how many characters are established as being stupid competent at something early on, and then like..they just stop being good at the thing later on? I mean that gets wrapped up in female characters being shown up by male ones. But also it happens where its like they forget a character is good at a thing? Like Criminal Minds could never decide which member on the team was the best at Poker? They establish Emily, but then keep implying it's Reid? I am confused. Or Emily is a badass with multiple really concerning weapons, and then some regular ass serial killer is an active physical threat?
Or like in GoT we're introduced to a character, told they are smart, shown they are smart, and then a season later you're making rage noises because they've taken stupid pills. Podrick of the mediocre fighting skills cause he's only been training in weapons since Brienne. Only then nope, he's a badass and survives the Long Night to then be a Kingsguard in the finale? What is that? When was it established he was more than vaguely not terrible? Jamie gets sword lessons, then he's a terrible fighter, one of the best knights ever in the North, then he's getting his ass kicked by Euron? Like pick one! Which its not just a GoT problem It really isn't. Like its the most blatant in shows with powers and shit, but like look at any medical show ever. You're just trying to gage based on tone whether we're supposed to expect the patient to survive or not. Cause it depends on the episode whether we should take the patient's illness seriously or not.
And I hate it so much, cause like a character who is really good at something is interesting? Like I enjoy characters who are just kinda awesome at something, I don't care what that much. I just think it's neat. And based of popular media I'm not alone in that. Like I enjoy writing Daisy and unnerfing her. Cause if she can contain a nuclear bomb with her bare hands that means she can control the waves every type of energy and just everything that a nuclear bomb gives off. And is Sansa is shown to be smart and interesting for five seasons fuck it I'm going to have her being consistant to that being a smart and interesting character. Or Tyrion, maybe he should not want to put the women and children in the crypts. Like just...I shouldn't have to see those words. They hurt my soul and my brain.
Which I find the most interesting Superman comics and stories are the ones where they let him just be OP as fuck. And like write the strengths and weakness's of that. Or when Batman gets to be smart, and resourceful and deeply morally rooted. Or Wonder Woman gets to kick some fucking ass and look fabulous while stabbing people. Cause she's a Greek Goddess. And for fucks sake how many X-men comics are going to sideline Storm and Jean and the mutants with super crazy powers so Cyclops can still rate? Like unpopular opinion, I like Cyclops, but he has laser eyes. I'd be way more interested in him protecting the glass cannon that is his wife while she kicks ass, then read yet another issue where she's sexy man pain background character there to die to fuel some man pain.
And in murder mysteries...for the love of god the detective can be crazy smart, or they can not be. Both can be fun. But if you make the detective crazy smart keep them that way? Cause you'll have brilliant McGenius one week and the next they apparently have forgotten the sky is blue. If your detective is smart, keep them smart. If they're dumb they can grow, or stay that way. But honestly. This establish badass skill, then forgetting it when its inconvenient to a story point is so lazy. If a story point does not work with your characters then make new and more compelling story point that does work with your characters. It fills me with so much rage. Its like how the Clones are supposed to be the best army in the Galaxy, except for when they're not cause the good guys need to survive for a few minutes...maybe just give your good guys a better way to survive?
Chapter 47Notes:Am I awake super late because I drank an ungodly amount of green tea at work? yes I am. But in good news for you guys what's posting a chapter six or so hours early?
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter TextSansa drank warmed wine with her morning oatmeal in her private solar. Her small council and Daisy in attendance. "So it was religious in nature?"
"Aye, they see her Holiness as a dark demon that will bring ruin, and a woman being promoted over male options as a sign of that ruin coming." Jon's jaw ticked slightly. "I doubt they'd have remained loyal even if her Holiness wasn't here."
Daisy spoke up. "They think Jon should be the King because their fire god brought him back to life. And because Stannis approved of him. Your being a woman, and my general existence was just their justification to do what they already wanted. They hadn't considered breaking their vows until you were crowned."
"How many of them?" She was oddly detached from the result, she'd been an idiot. Again. Religious zealots would never accept a Queen following another religion, especially a religion that challenged their own so fundamentally. Tree gods weren't threatening when they were trees, once one was walking and talking it became a great deal more threatening. She'd known exactly what Jon would have to mean to them. Had seen the look in even Davos's face when he gazed upon Jon. The awe. Sansa had let herself trust where she should have known better than to. Even if it'd been Cerwyn and Bower's mistake that allowed her guards to be composed of only Stormlanders for a shift despite her orders to the contrary.
Jon replied. "Twenty two were involved with or aware. Of those seven died in the attempt. So fifteen men including Dondarrian. Of the remaining men...perhaps five aren't resentful of their situation."
"Five." Sansa uttered, she was...exhausted.
Lord Glover scoffed in disgust. "Fucking traitors is what they are. How dare they! After being given shelter and home."
"Aye, fuck 'em." Umber's face was red with upset. "I say we put them all to the sword."
"Enough." Sansa closed her eyes as she waited for her counsel to settle. Her eyes opened as she looked around at the indignant and furious faces. "Enough. We will not mindlessly slaughter men like beasts. The guilty will be executed in two hours time. Jon, you will have to swing the sword."
Jon was grim, but he didn't shrink or fold from the order. "I can do that."
"We send the others to the Wall. They need not swear to the Night's Watch, but they'll fight beside the brothers of the Wall. We can't afford to lose trained and competent knights." Sansa had a hundred different things she needed to do, and a thousand to do after that. "We'll send more provisions to the Wall with them, as well as more of the Umber forces back to Last Hearth to better prepare it."
Greatjon Umber crossed his arms unhappily. "And have more of my small folk sent south."
"If the Wall falls, Last Hearth won't hold." Sansa knew that her understanding of war was poor at best. But a ten thousand foot tall wall of magical ice dwarfed any defense that man had across the continent.
The giant of a man grumbled. "Mors could escort the traitors to the Wall."
"By the gods, you great fool." Lady Dustin cut in from where she was sitting by Lord Forrester. She glared at Umber before turning to Sansa. "You can't send all of them away or they'll be seen as guilty regardless of keeping their heads."
Davos spoke carefully. "She's not wrong, sending them away makes them guilty."
Sansa kept her mouth shut as she allowed herself to see their point. "None of them can remain in the guard for the royal family. Or for anything vital."
"Ser Wagstaff was genuinely upset by the rest of them breaking their vows. Also he's like...ten." Daisy's look of bafflement was vaguely amusing.
Davos frowned. "He's eight and ten?"
"Right...but he's all 'knights must follow their vows' and generally I'm kinda horrified he's survived this long in an active army without a single brain cell dedicated to like...anything that isn't outright stated. I think he failed to notice the murder vibes happening because he was too dumb to." Daisy shrugged, which she was not wearing the arm sling… "Keep him in the guard rotations for the royal fam, just like...pair him with someone with a brain. But someone tries to attack you and he'll stab them gleefully and probably effectively…?"
Jon gave a sigh. "She's not wrong, he's loyal to his oaths."
Glover crossed his arms. "That leaves four others you hold above reproach, remove them from positions of authority but leave them in your household. Send the remaining ungrateful bastards to the Wall with orders to...regain their honor or something suitably boring but understandable as you being disappointed in the fuckers instead of them being guilty."
"Send them to the Last Hearth, their change from there to the Wall is a shorter journey and won't imply they're being punished for anything more than failing to notice treason happening under their noses." Lady Dustin agreed.
Sansa noted no one disagreed with the statement. "Good, then see to it once the execution is over, I want every man of the Stormlands in the courtyard for the execution. And put Ser Wagstaff behind my shoulder with someone Northern, Brienne and a Wildling with Rickon and let's be done with it."
Sansa found the executions themselves...anti-climatic. It was cold, snow lightly falling as each traitor was dragged to the block, beheaded and then dragged to a body cart. It was utterly silent in the courtyard. Jon didn't ask for their last words, and the men to be executed didn't offer any. The small folk, nobility and soldiers just witnessed it with ruthless, silent, fury. She didn't doubt for a second that if she'd had a single visible bruise the crowd would have attempted to rip the guilty to shreds.
But for all that it was a simple affair she looked at Jon with regret, they needed a better system for execution. She couldn't depend on him to bear the weight of swinging the sword. It wasn't fair to him, and even in this moment where he wasn't conflicted over the death he was dealing, it was clear to her at least, that it would bother him. Sansa refused to appoint an executioner, but to let Jon do it...she needed a better way, even if it meant hanging criminals instead of beheading them so she could do it herself.
As the last head hit the ground with a wet thump, the incident was hopefully brought to its bloody end. She could only be more cautious in the future and hope the point was made. Because if even this wasn't enough she didn't know how to make a stronger statement. Well a stronger statement that she was willing to make. Sansa's jaw remained firm, her chin raised as she turned and left the courtyard. It was enough that she did not blink as she witnessed the justice done in her name.
////
Jon ran his whetstone along the length of his sword. Not that Longclaw needed it, it's valyrian steel glinting in the light despite the faint smattering of snowflakes. He let the silence of the gods' wood soothe him. He wasn't surprised to hear the sound of a thick woolen dress brushing across the fresh snow. Looking up he stilled his motions.
Sansa looked down at him, raising a single brow. She didn't say anything, but she must have seen something on his face because she moved closer and sat beside him. She let out a long sigh, gazing across the black pool, and simply stayed beside him.
They just sat there. Eventually, he returned to sharpening his blade. It was...nice. He put his whetstone away with practiced motions. Jon turned and looked at his sister. The one he'd known and loved least as a child, but now he found his humanity beside. "What now?"
"We find a better way to kill the dead, we hold the North together. And we survive a hundred more days like this one, and a thousand unlike it."
"When did you get so wise?" He asked, a fond smile on his face.
She straightened her skirts. "I'm not wise." Her face was tired then. "I should have known this was coming. Daisy warned me back in Barrowtown there was something happening in their ranks."
"They weren't even considering turning on you then." Jon's face furrowed as he tried to piece together how his sister thought she'd failed. She'd even stabbed one of her attackers, which was impressive and not something he'd known she could do.
She shook her head. "I knew they believed Daisy a monster, and I knew they believed you were their chosen leader. They are the sort of men who'd act on those beliefs. Killing me and attempting to drive off if not kill Daisy is the obvious path."
"The true fight, the war they believe must be won for their god is to the North though. You are leading them against that enemy." Jon stared at her and reached out taking her hand. "You cannot know what everyone will do before they do it all of the time."
Her head turned to his sharply, a horrible certainty and faint terror. "I have to Jon, if Daisy hadn't of been there they would have succeeded. There is nothing but victory or defeat in this game, one misstep and the cost is death. We won't get a second chance."
"Sansa…"
"No, I should have seen it coming, I have to do better." She breathed out, looking away from him again. "I need to delegate more, I've been doing too much and it's left me blind."
Jon stared into the pool, the snowy clouds reflected in it's dark surface. "I misjudged my men, and they killed me. I may be your Hand, but I cannot see what you see."
"I don't need you to." Sansa tightened her hand in his grip. "I can't swing a sword or lead armies. Together we might be enough."
He released her hand and wrapped his arm around her shoulders hugging her to him. "We have to be." Or the ages of man would end.
They sat there, quiet as they simply existed beside one another. It was a calm, a sense of belonging he scarce recognized for what it was. Peace. Yes, he felt sorrow, grief, exhaustion, a hundred other conflicting emotions. But it was peace, and it was understanding. And so they remained there together.
////
Daisy burst into Fitz's workshop. She barely glanced at Crann, Osha or Rickon. Jittery energy was buzzing under her skin. "Sup, I need to talk to Fitz. Alone." It was kind of an order.
"Uh.." Fitz looked at her in some confusion from where he'd been…hitting something with a mallet?
Osha acted quickly. "Come on Little Wolf, you have lessons with Maester Wolken soon." She reached up, resting her hand on Rickon's shoulder and gently pushing him towards the door.
Crann bowed to her. "Holiness, I'll…be out in the yard?" He scurried out the door.
Fitz pointed at Rickon. "D-don't ignore your math. It's i-important."
"I won't!" Rickon whined as he was pushed out the door by a fond looking Osha.
Daisy shut the door with a wave of her hand. She was barely thinking about the casual display of power. "Fitz something's wrong with my powers, they're growing."
"Ah." Fitz set his tools down, crossing his arms. "W-well they always were g-going to grow."
She pushed her hair behind her ears. "Fitz I exploded those men without trying and I can feel it." Daisy bit at her lip and then reached out and set her hand on his shoulder letting her vibrations run through him. Their intensity near violent.
Fitz's expression was stunned, his mouth falling open. "D-daisy…."
She yanked her hand back. . "It's been like this since the attack." Her eyes narrowed. "What's that look for?"
"That's n-not a power spike." Fitz wet his lips. "T-that's your temper."
Daisy closed her eyes. Breathing in slowly she centered herself breathing out. So, bad news. "Explain, 'cause it doesn't usually feel like this."
"Look…" He ran through his hair. "You've b-been using your powers more here right? L-like way more than at home?"
She blinked. "I don't have a cellphone, laptop, tv, or video games and it's the dark ages. So yeah, it's something to do that's not building a cult?" Daisy's shoulders wanted to tighten. She had a terrible feeling she knew where this was going. "And I'm apparently a god here."
"When was the l-last time you needed your g-gauntlets?" Fitz had that critical look he got when piecing together a puzzle.
Daisy opened and then shut her mouth….when she'd first arrived? No, she'd been wearing them more out of habit than anything on the zephyr. "Oh. But…how? The serum should have fucked up my control?"
"Well yeah." Fitz shrugged. "But with your powers not br-breaking you anymore you can actually use them now." He poked at her shoulder, frowning as the vibrations transferred to him. "I t-think you've been connecting your senses to v-vibrations for a while now. So y-you got mad, reached for their v-vibrations and 'boom'." He made an exploding motion with his hands. "Y-you're still upset so your vibrations are a-agitated." His head tilted to the side. "N-not sure why though…like w-we almost get killed all the time."
She had a single name pop into her head then, 'Sansa'. Sansa had almost been killed and that was unacceptable. She was her…kind of her best friend now that she thought about it. Biting her lip she considered it. She hadn't been happy to get shot, hell her shoulder was faintly sore still even if she was acting like it wasn't. She hadn't spared a thought for Fitz's safety, he could handle himself. So could Sansa, she was proud as shit Sansa had stabbed one of her attackers. She might have even survived long enough for Brienne to get there. But…it wasn't acceptable. "That's…not good."
Because she'd react like that if the team was in danger, slightly. But that violently? Probably not. At least not without threats first. Daisy wouldn't blink at blowing up someone who tried to hurt Fitz or Jemma or any of the team really. But she wouldn't do it instantly when she had other options to try first. Negotiate first if the mission permitted it, that was the first lesson in combat. The golden rule, May may have sucked at it but she still passed it on. It was practically Coulson's guiding motto. And she hadn't done that. There were very few times she hadn't done that.
It was…well that was deeply awkward. Now that she was thinking of it, if she hadn't of known Sansa was surrounded by excellent guards she's personally felt the vibrations of she'd have stayed by her side. Because deep to her bones it was telling her to ensure Sansa was safe. The steady heartbeat she hadn't let out of her focus was there in the back of her head. That was…oh that was really bad. "Shit."
"W-what? Do you know what's d-different?" Fitz was suddenly interested. And then he clearly saw something in her face, because it turned to pity. "Oh, Daisy…"
She held up a hand. "I can deal with it."
"Y-yes, the paste you made is you dealing with your crush." He sighed, his hand running through his hair again. "Hell." His shoulders slumped. "You have t-terrible timing and taste."
Daisy dropped her hands on her hips, rocking back and forth slightly. He wasn't entirely wrong. Even Lincoln had been on a different side when they'd started their thing. And while that had been awful and painful, she was aware anything with Sansa was utterly out of the question. The woman hid it well but she tensed when anyone got close to touching her. Hell, she'd seen the woman stabbing the body of her former 'husband'. Something dark coiled in her gut at the reminder of Ramsey fucking Bolton.
Fuck knew if Sansa was anything but straight, but based on what Daisy had seen she probably was. And even if it wasn't…Sansa thought she was a god. It'd be so horrifically easy if not inevitable for any advances to be seen as coercion. Which meant nothing could happen. The faintest hint of her feelings and Sansa would clam up instantly. Hell, it'd taken them months just to become friends. A friendship she valued.
Daisy swallowed the bile in the back of her throat. Right. Her luck was the actual worse. "No one can know."
"Uh…everyone knows?" Fitz was looking at her like she was a spooked animal.
She glared at him. "To protect her."
"R-right…uh…when we get h-home I'll make you some real s-strong alcohol?" Fitz awkwardly shuffled back.
She gave a sharp nod, that was a terrible idea but frankly, she'd probably need it. However, if she lost her temper like this it wouldn't be hard for Sansa to pick up on what she'd realized. Unless….that slimeball Baelish was arriving tomorrow. A few strong gestures of courtship to ensure she was safe. Sansa would assume the timing had to do with Baelish. Daisy swallowed. "Fitz, how do I make sure nobody even thinks of threatening her again? Cause just cause it's a lost cause doesn't mean I can't ensure she's safe."
His eyes were sharp as he folded his arms. "Well….you a-are technically a god killer? A-and how many Kree did you k-kill looking for me?"
Daisy drew a line through the last idea. "There's too much that could go wrong with that."
"I d-don't know, you wouldn't crack t-the pipes probably." Fitz shrugged.
She stared at him. "Seriously?"
Fitz groaned but didn't disagree. "Fine…w-we're the worst for this."
"Totes." Daisy buried her head in her hands. "Jemma or Mack or Yo-Yo wouldn't be dealing with this shit."
Fitz reached out and hesitantly gave her one of the most awkward shoulder pats in history. "We h-haven't done too bad. What's o-one cult?"
She let out a whine of sheer frustration. Because she missed her family, her world, her everything like a missing limb. She'd give almost anything to be able to hug Jemma, and tease Davis and Piper before heading back to earth. God shitty take out, missions, SHIELD, she really needed to face a conversation with May. It was just…so much. But at the same time, she really cared about these people here. "I hate this." Worst time to catch feelings ever.
////
Lord Forrester stared at Lords Glover and Manderly and a very awkward looking Brienne of Tarth. "You want to form a Queensguard?"
"Aye." Glover poured them all drinks. "Lady Brienne here is already her sworn sword so I thought she ought to be here. But if the three of us bring it up at the next small council meeting, her Grace might accept."
Brienne muttered into her mug of ale as it was handed to her. "Not a Lady."
"The North's never had a Queensguard, or Kingsguard. It's a southern thing. Pays homage to their Faith of the Seven." Forrester folded his hands, he didn't disagree they needed to do something though. They'd come far too close to losing another damned ruler. "But after Robb and now this…"
"Exactly. Those southern pounces got something right there. And we make it of the North." Glover agreed. "Look we have to do something, we can't keep losing our Lords, Kings and Queens like bloody flies."
Forrester nodded, the man had a point. They hadn't had a Stark not die a bloody violent death in three generations. And it wasn't like Starks had historically died peacefully in their sleep of old age all that reliably. Oh sure a few peaceful deaths existed, but a lot of violent bloody deaths as well. "It could be used against her Grace if we replicate the southern court too much. Forming a proper small council already is pushing what will be allowed."
"A royal guard doesn't have to be called a Queensguard.." Brienne put in carefully.
Manderly nodded as he took a long draw of his own ale before sitting. His chair groaned in protest but held nonetheless. "Five men, for the shape of the weirwood tree leaves. Seems fair enough to me."
"Can't give them red cloaks, to Lannister looking." Glover pulled out a sheet of paper and a piece of charcoal for writing quick notes and looked at them expectantly. "Stark green?"
Notes:You know what was really depressing about the writing for GoT is just how stripped down all the Stark characters were by the end. Like Bran was just an emotionless zombie and apparently that means he'll be a good ruler? Not caring about anything is what leaders need...cause that's not nihilistic and depressing as hell. Sansa has every trace of compassion and empathy stripped from her by basically s7. Which is dumb? Like one of her defining traits up till then was that while she was becoming wiser at who was worthy of it, was that she maintained a sense of compassion while surrounded by monsters. And in several instances it was why she survived. The Hound protecting her, The Fool who helps her escape. It was a thing.
Arya also got stripped down to cold badass with sass. But then they wanted her to be the horror of war and vengeance POV? Which ok, yes in the Riverlands Arya was the character being used to illustrate the horrors of war. She's the POV where you see what is happening to the common folk and foot soldiers and everyone in this giant sweeping war. And she becomes colder and a murderer while surviving this. But by the time she enters the House of Black and White like...no? Her vengeance quest has shot the moon. She's killed so many people. Like I'm sorry but if the character saying 'I know what a killer looks like' (as a criticism) and choosing to ride away from death and horror on a white horse illuminated by a beam of sunlight, metaphorically choosing redemption, if that character fed someone their sons cooked in pies before cutting their throat open like...no. The Hound who just hated and wanted to kill his brother but did nothing about it...who retired for a while...like him. Dude whose only seemed to have had a vengeance quest for one season, is telling girl who cooked people in pies for forced cannabilism, that she shouldn't be like him because he's too dark and ruined by vengeance, you have a problem. Arya's vengeance shot the moon like seasons ago. It was way more successful than the Hounds. He's like 'I've never even managed to hurt the person I want vengeance on' and she's like 'I've slaughtered 99% of my vengeance targets who didn't die before I got to them', she's further down the path of vengeance.
And Jon? God Jon was a depressed husk of nothing for two seasons. He literally had like two whole emotions up until he saw Rickon die at which the last ghost of those emotions passed on and he was just puppet going through the motions. Saving him from his depression and like letting him be human again has taken a ton of effort in this fic. Cause dude was just...he died and didn't really come back. Which would have been a cool idea if they'd done something with it. But they did not. So the poor actor just had to make sad longing for the sweet embrace of death face for two seasons.
Of the four surviving Starks like Arya technically had smug as an emotion, and Sansa had 'I will strangle you if you keep saying stupid things' and 'condescension'. Like that was about it...I guess Arya got panic and terror briefly in the Long Night...For one and a half scenes? Oh and again for the burning of King's Landing where we're supposed to believe Arya is horrified and shocked by innocents dying...Arya champion of no war crimes now? I mean come on. Danny's emotional beats may have been asinine and illogical but at least she had them.
Chapter 48Notes:Am I posting like eight hours early again? yes, yes I am.
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter TextAlys Karstark was stitching at what would be a part of her bridal chest, not that she would be able to fill it properly. She was unsure of exactly what contributions to a dowry House Stark was making, if any, and was going to ensure that she and her cousins had as best they could manage. It wasn't hard work, though endless sheets and linen could get rather boring. The occasional bit of stitching of something for the royal family was frankly a relief.
"Can't we do something else?" Lyarra whined from where she was stitching at yet another set of bedsheets for their family.
She reached out gently brushing her cousin's cheek. "In a short while, sweet thing. But your sister is to be married next week and we must finish her chest before then."
"I've taught you better than to complain about your duty." Aunt Celia chided her youngest daughter. Though there was a kindness there. "If you finish that sheet you may take a break to take a turn of the yard."
Lyarra glared at her stitching. "I don't want to watch Rickon training."
"His highness is busy with his lessons, and you would do well to show some interest." Aunt Celia was less kind in this critique.
Lyarra's fingers turned white where she was holding her needle, it was a miracle the metal did not bend. "He can't even read well."
"He has time to learn." Aunt Celia replied sharply.
Alys cleared her throat. She wished her two other cousins were there, but they were both respectively walking the grounds with their new betrothed and wouldn't be back to assist till later….which left her to prevent her aunt from overly insulting the youngest of Alys's cousins. "What would you like to do then?"
"Can I go to the stables?!" She nearly bounced with excitement at the thought of horses.
Alys smiled at the pure joy there, an emotion none of them had shown much of since the fall of their house and loss of their home. "I think we can do that." She shot a warning look at her aunt, there was no need to force the children together now. They had a few years before a lack of interaction would be cause to worry.
Aunt Celia gave a faint nod of acquiescence. "We could go to the stables. But you're finishing that sheet first."
Lyarra stared down at the sheet with determination and then got back to work, wielding her needle like a weapon.
Smiling to herself, Alys went back to the neat little moose she was embroidering upon the pillowcase she was working on. After all, her other cousin would soon be Lady Hornwood. It was moose on everything. And orange, so much orange. But it was vaguely comforting to know she and her two cousins of age with her would soon be safe and secure, no longer depending on the good graces of their Queen.
Alys was just finishing up a running moose when there was a knock on the door. Looking up, her brow furrowed slightly, they hadn't been expecting anyone. "Enter!" She called, curious about who it could be. She almost swallowed her tongue at the sight of the god. "Your Holiness!" She half dropped her sewing to the side as her aunt and cousin all rushed to their feet, before dipping into curtsies.
"Hi." Daisy had a simple ease to her of a being that knew she was perfectly allowed to be there. A comfort in her own skin that was fascinating and intimidating. "Is now a good time to talk? Thought I should check in on you guys, but if now's a bad time that's fine."
Alys straightened, waving to an open chair. "Please join us, it's an honor to speak with you if you so wish."
"Thanks, with everyone getting ready for the Vale Knights to arrive I figured now was as good a time as any." She strode further into the room, her face softening as she spotted Lyarra.
It was…a relief to see the simple compassion there. And Alys realized what this was about almost instantly. "If you fear the marriages that have been arranged are against our wills that is not the case. Though it is an honor you would care."
"Well, that's good to know? I just…if you want it to change I could talk with Sansa. Marriage is…it should be a person's choice." The god took the offered seat, she so clearly meant it. That if they were unhappy she would intervene for them. A kindness and investment that was confounding its very existence.
Aunt Celia looked frankly near speechless by the offer, she was just short of gaping. "That is…"
"A kind offer." Alys had not forgotten the alarm the god had shown at the thought of forced arranged marriage back in the Karhold. But the god was so clearly aligned with the Starks. She'd done nothing to ingratiate herself or her family with this god. Which left it…dangerous that they were being shown this kindness. "But truly, her Grace chose well and kindly for us."
Daisy blinked, and it was like the tension that Alys hadn't even noticed leaked out of her shoulders. It dawned on Alys that of course, the god could feel the truth in her words. She knew she'd spoken the truth, and she genuinely was relieved by the answer. "Oh good, I just…arranged marriage wasn't really a thing to worry about for me so it's just odd now."
"How's that?" Lyarra asked, blinking at the god in confusion. Completely missing to add the proper title of 'holiness' to the end of the question.
Daisy didn't show the slightest flicker of insult. Instead, she smiled. "Well if my parents had raised me I likely would have been important enough for it to be something to be brought up? Maybe? But I was stolen from my family and hidden in a human orphanage to protect me. But human street kids aren't important enough for that sort of thing. Then well, by the time I found out who and what I was it was just complicated, and within three years I was The Destroyer of Worlds and well, so far Deke is the only one to really try and court me post all that and frankly I've been ignoring it and hoping he takes a hint. I'm really not hopeful about that." Her lips twitched upwards as she spoke, easy humor there.
Lyarra's nose scrunched up. "Why not just turn Deke down? You're you. No one could be mad at you for it."
"You'd be surprised." Daisy laughed. "But he's Fitz and Jemma's grandson, and while he's…he's Deke, he was willing to die to save humanity. So fingers crossed that he gets over it like Fitz did back when we first met."
Alys couldn't help the surprise. "Fitz attempted to court you?"
"Eh, for a few months. It was mostly awkward and then he got over it." She laughed lightly with fondness. "Actually kinda hilarious."
Alys wondered at that, though it formed a picture. She knew exactly how terrible conditions were for orphans. "If I may, how did you come to find you were more than human?"
"Oh, I died, kinda? I was shot twice in the stomach and half bled to death before my team found me. I was an agent of SHIELD already then." She easily ignored the shock on the Karstark's faces as she continued. "I was dying, they couldn't keep me alive much longer. I think Jemma had to restart my heart eighteen times in like a day. So our commanding officer made a choice. They injected me with the blood of a dead god. When I didn't go insane or die bleeding out of my eyes we figured there was something with me that wasn't human. Took like a year to figure out what, but yeah."
Lyarra gaped. "God's blood heals?"
"Some, depends on the type of god." Daisy reached out and flicked Lyarra's forehead. "Mine for instance would burn a person alive from the inside out like wildfire." She frowned. "Or bind you to my will, removing all personhood from you and leaving you essentially a mindless monster with no thoughts or desire or will…I'm not actually sure which….maybe both? It'd be very bad either way. Considering Wolkan says my blood burned him when he was pulling arrows out of me I'm going to go with the burned alive from the inside out as the most likely."
Lyarra's eyes widened. "Wicked."
"I know right? But if you ever find a god that's dead or weak, sticking their blood in you is a very bad idea. Even those with blood that heals drive humans insane. We had to stop one guy who'd had the same blood put into him as was put into me and he was carving a map to the god's city into other people uncontrollably. It was a compulsion. Everyone who had that blood put in them went insane. Badly, to the point they were a threat to themselves and others."
Alys's fingers dug into her skirts. That was…it was horrifying. She could see how the horror was being coached and framed in such a way that it was a warning to a child and not a threat but it was terrifying all the same.
Alys was quiet as she sewed, her aunt and cousin off to see the horses, leaving her with the god and a servant who was quietly packing the marriage trunk and inoffensively chaperoning. She looked at the god. "Do you sew?" It seemed a far safer question than the many, many questions Lyarra had bombarded the being with that had all had horrifying answers.
"Uh..not really? Not like all of you can, which is very impressive by the way. I can just like..fix a rip or patch shit up? Pretty good at stitching up injuries? But that's about it." Daisy shrugged as she lifted the cup of water Aunt Celia had poured some time ago. "So you're marrying Cerwyn?"
She hummed. "Aye, he's a good match. Young, holds position here in the Northern capital and I've heard nothing concerning of him, and he's been nothing but polite and kind when we've spoken. It'll be a secure life."
"That's enough for you?" The god wasn't unkind in her question, she'd been nothing but kind in her visit. It was becoming clear she might just care about humans enough, in general, to explain her taking time from her day to check in with them….people who had to mean little more than nothing to her.
Alys wondered how to explain it. "You never know who it is you are marrying until it's done. You can hope, you can try, but a man behind doors is not always clear. Am I wrong?"
"No, you're not." Daisy sighed, something darkly amused there in the curl of her lips. "If you or your family end up with a monster tell me. I'll handle it."
Her throat went dry at that. The implication was…not subtle. "Why?"
"Because I am in part why you are in this situation." Daisy frowned slightly. "And helping people is kind of my thing. It's what SHIELD is about, protecting people."
Alys wondered at this god. "Do you know what my fate was to be before you and Prince Jon came?"
"I can't say I do." Daisy's head tilted slightly.
She continued her stitching carefully, her voice unwavering through the concern. "My uncle and aunt meant to marry me to my cousin, Cregan. His last two wives died. One in childbed, the other fell down the stairs. Apparently." Alys looked up, her gaze catching the sharp and instant understanding in the gods face. "It would have made my uncle's line the ruling line of House Karstark, I planned to run if it became unpreventable. I would rather die than risk being married to that man. But he's dead, and I have a possible future with a man whose worst attribute is he's visited a whore house a half dozen times. A thing he apologized for in a very long ramble about knowing it must be horribly disappointing. Your influence I believe."
"Then I'll drop it, I'm sorry for pushing." Daisy softened into the chair she was seated in.
Alys finished off her running backstitch. "I believe I understand why her Grace values your advice." Because this being had spent a morning ensuring minor nothings of people were cared for and safe for no other reason than the peace of her own mind. It was a rare quality, and one no doubt their Queen was well aware of. The cautious dance around the courtship there made far more sense if this was what this god was under all the power she so casually wielded. Because Alys found she doubted very highly that that power would ever be turned on a person for the turning down of a suit. Still terrifying to contemplate playing such a game with the god, but it made more sense to her now.
////
Jon stood at his sister's shoulder as they stood in the courtyard, watching the arrival of the Knights of the Vale and Lord Petyr Baelish. Every fiber of his being demanded he order the gates shut. These cowards had ignored Robb and the entire War of Five Kings. All safe in their rocky homes. And Baelish…he knew there were things Sansa hadn't told him, but he knew enough. The man was slime of the worst kind. And if the gods were just he'd bury his sword in the man's belly before he could be given bread and salt. But it was not to be. His sister had a plan, and they needed the manpower. It was galling.
"Peace brother." Sansa gently took his hand, tightening her grip ever so slightly in comfort.
He glowered but forced himself to breathe out. His eyes sought out Daisy who was lounging against the ramparts up above. She'd drop on the Vale knights like the avenging god she was at the slightest sign of duplicity. And who'd blame a god for violating guest rite? It was good to know he had an ally in defending Sansa.
He'd ensured Winterfell was putting its best foot forward. The walls were manned, there might not be a 'grand' Northern army, but they had a giant. A giant in a gambeson, chainmail, a helmet, and a very nice log that had metal spikes on one end. The Freefolk were at least in basic leather armor and chainmail, and their weapons were at least good quality metal now. The royal standard of House Stark now flew. It was Sansa's personal sigil now, the Stark wolf with a crown upon its neck, the black stitching a deep red. The Red Wolf, crowned. The outward ditches were finished and were an impressive show of defense.
It was…Winterfell hadn't been this prepared for war since well before their father's time. The amount of manpower and effort it had taken was staggering, and a lot of quiet assistance from a god, but Winterfell was a bastion of Northern power again. They may have been broken, but they could stand with pride as these Valemen rode along the newly repaired road into their home. They needed their new…allies, but those allies would not scoff at them.
"Why's their armor uncovered?" Rickon hissed as they watched the knights getting closer. "Won't it freeze to their skin?"
Jon's lips twitched, a phenomenon all the Northern men who could hear experienced. "Our new allies are from the south. They may not know they have to cover their armor."
"But…its winter?" Rickon's genuine confusion was hilariously apt.
Lord Glover barked out a laugh. "Can't expect southern shites to know what's good for them. If they plan on sticking around we'll have to show them what's what."
Rickon's nose scrunched up slightly. But at a sharp look from their sister, he fell silent.
Straightening his spine, he focused away from his brother and instead to the first mounted knights just coming through the gates. Immaculate armor, clean banners, fresh horses, an army that hadn't fought. All noble knights, and riding at their head a man who was unmistakably Little Finger. The man was all in black, clearly wasn't a knight, and had the swarmiest expression Jon had ever wanted to punch.
////
Sir Yohn Royce, Lord of House Royce of Runestone couldn't take his eyes off of the girl he should have never let out from under his gaze when he'd first seen her. Or rather known who exactly she was. Sansa Stark, a young woman, a girl who'd been in the Vale after nearly being murdered by her mad aunt. And now here she was again, older, though not by much, but much changed all the same. He'd been desperate to cut his teeth into the chaos all around them. But again and again, the answer had been to remain in the Vale.
Only now here he was, here the Vale was, in the North, finally! And he was looking upon Ned's girl, grown up into a Queen. Words swirling of ancient darkness, gods, the dead, the end of the world. And in all of it, she was still, it was like returning to her home had given her ice for blood. There was no fear, no doubt, or hesitation. Just an iron willed and intelligent Queen, there to do her duty. Oh Ned…his little girl…so spectacularly resplendent she wore a crown upon her head while she had two living brothers beside her.
"Will you stand with us against the Dead?" Sansa Stark asked as she looked at them steadily. "Or do you require more evidence?"
Royce spoke before Baelish could pontificate, too pleased with himself by half, or one of the other Lords could say something stupid. "My son died up on that Wall, if the Wildlings, the whole North stands behind you to fight something then I say it's real."
"I have some concerns." Ser Lyn Corbray spoke. "You tell us tidings of great darkness. But even journeying here we've heard rumors of magics and gods here already."
Sansa tapped her fingers against the arm of her simple wooden throne. "You speak of our resident god Daisy." Her gaze flicked to the light coming through the window. "She's real, you can ask any man, woman or child here." Her attention returned and it was cold now. "I would not test her. The last men to try had to be removed from the Great Hall with a mop."
"Your Grace, do you mean to reman the entire Wall?" Royce would find his answers about the rumors they'd heard up and down the roads. Seeing the man who could be a younger Ned stepped through time standing by his sister's shoulder, assured him the answers could wait.
She gave him the slightest tip of her head. "We do not mean to, even with the entirety of the forces of the Vale remanning the entire Wall would be beyond us. The repairs to the castles alone would require…a great deal more time and resources than we have."
Her Hand, who was also her brother spoke then. "We have sent some small number of men to every castle along the Wall. When the Dead attack we'll be forewarned of where and able to send our men to the point of attack directly. From there if the Wall falls we lead them through land already prepared and thin their numbers faster than they thin ours."
"And how do you mean to kill the dead?" Baelish spoke, from where he was standing. "Surely if your god, or steel alone was enough it would be less…grim."
Jon Stark was serious as he replied. "Fire, valyrian steel, and dragon glass can kill the dead. Samwell Tarly of the Watch has gone to the Citadel to find answers for us. Until then fire." His jaw twitched.
Baelish for once in his miserable life was useful, or perhaps once again. Always useful when the time was right. "Well, then the armies of the Vale are yours until we have the means to fight the enemy, however, we may need to turn our attention south. Cersei will not wait for the Dead to come or not come."
"Cersei may hold power but she is not Queen." Manderly folded his hands over his stomach. "Kevin Lannister may be a sack of shit, but he's not fool enough to invade the North in winter. And the Tyrells won't put up with it while we have their pretty lordling." He tipped his head to where Loras straightened at the sudden attention.
Royce realized at that moment that the news hadn't reached this far North yet. He went to speak but Baelish beat him to it.
"You haven't heard yet?" Baelish's facial hair twitched. "And Loras Tyrell, we all were wondering where you'd ended up. Rumor had it you'd been killed by the Faith in the Great Sept, but I see your sweet sister was clever enough to save you from that fate."
Loras's eyes narrowed slightly, but he didn't rise to the bait.
Baelish turned to Sansa. "Forgive me your Grace, but King Tommen and Queen Margaery are dead."
"No." Loras shifted a half step forward before a man with a red leaf brooch with a wolf upon it caught his shoulder, holding him back. "That's not possible."
Baelish had a certain…demeanor as he spoke. "Sadly it is. The Great Sept of Balor was destroyed by wildfire before the trial of the former Queen Regent. Over half the Lords and Ladies of King's Landing died. Including your beloved sister and honorable father."
"Cersei would never kill one of her children." Sansa's faint paling, and a slight widening of her eyes were the only sign she was surprised by the news. But the critical light never dimmed from her.
"Young Tommen was so taken with grief, at the loss of his faith as well as his Queen I'm afraid he threw himself to his death." Baelish opened his hands. "I'm afraid Cersei Lannister sits on the Iron Throne as Queen."
Royce spoke then. "Lord Baelish speaks the truth your Grace, the south lies in chaos. If you mean for the North to remain independent, now is the time to stop the Mad Queen. She burned hundreds of people alive with wildfire when she blew up the sept. It's madness."
Loras made a sharp sound. "You're lying!"
"Your Grace?" The man holding Loras's shoulder looked to the Queen before them.
Sansa gave a sharp nod. "Take him to his quarters."
"No, they're not dead! I'd know if they were dead!"
A second man with the broach grabbed Loras's other side. The two men dragged the Tyrell knight out, but there was an economical kindness to their movements. No irritation, it was simply done, firmly and quietly.
Sansa turned to them once more. "It would seem much news of the south has not reached us here. What other tidings do you bring?"
Notes:For the very dedicated people hoping I was going to save Margery...I'm sorry guys.
Now you guys know what scene in GoT that a lot of people adore that drives me up a wall? Baelish's trial and execution in s7. It's not that I wasn't very down with him getting shanked. Dude had it coming. However…no. That was a sham trial. Like…'psychic brother said so' is not admissible evidence! Also the North has a very established method of execution. Like it's one of the first scenes in the whole ass show. A repeated motif. But nope, just gonna have Arya kill him in front of the court? There were multiple court cases against nobles throughout the show. Even Tyrion's sham trial actually was you know…a trial. There was like evidence and multiple witnesses, judges who were not also openly the prosecution.
Like they just stopped needing Baelish and didn't know what to do with him…so a weird story of him trying to play Arya and Sansa off each other…a thing that made no sense for them to buy and actually end up at odds. I hate the headcanon that they were playing him and never really were at odds is crushed by the deleted scene they cut. And then like…Bran has visions and Sansa says the charges and then Arya slits his throat…like no. It's so bad. He deserved death, but for fucks sake. At least just have Arya murder him in private/secret or something. That'd make more sense.