Chapter 55Notes:Yo!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter TextJon thought the whole send off thing was a bit much, but it filled him with quiet affection all the same. Being near to his family was a warm ember banishing the cold of death from his bones. Sometimes he near forgot he'd been dead at all. Pausing beside Ghost, he buried his hand in the thick white fur, scratching behind one ear. "You watch out for them for me boy."
Ghost's red eyes flicked to him, as he turned his head into the scratching. The giant wolf's tongue lolled from his gaping jaws.
Huffing, Jon smiled. "I know, you'd have done it anyway." He gave his faithful companion a final scratch. "Don't think I don't know about those scraps you get from Sansa. Lazy wolf."
It was comforting to know Ghost would be a silent shadow behind his sister and brother. Even if the beast got fat. Sansa never denied him morsels of food or the warmest spot by the fire. It was ridiculous, the wolves were wild animals.
Jon left Ghost behind, moving to join his party destined for Dragonstone. His grin grew at the sight of Daisy waiving for him from where she'd been quietly speaking with her Order members who were going. "Jon!"
He lengthened his stride, easily reaching her and hugging her tightly. He'd never be able to repay her for helping this happen. "You'll join us soon?"
"Three weeks in Whiteharbor." She agreed, hugging him back. "Don't get into too much trouble till you get there."
He gave a final squeeze before pulling away. "We'll look to the sky then."
"Good." She waved the two order members forward. "You know Joran, but this is Seth. He's a part of your royal guard and will be keeping your mopey ass alive."
Chuckling he offered his hand to the boy, clapping it gladly. "Any man of her's has nothing to prove to me."
"I'll keep you safe, your Highness." Seth replied, a faint edge of eagerness barely restrained.
Welp, the man'd grow out of it in time. If he lived that long. "Joran, good to have you along."
"Glad to be here." Joran gave him a short nod of respect.
Jon reached out squeezing Daisy's forearm in gratitude. Moving further into the throng he grunted as Tormund half tackled him from the side. "Fucking Stark!"
"Tormund." Jon laughed, he trusted the ginger bear of a man to keep the Wildlings in line while he was gone. "Didn't think you'd be here."
Tormund's laugh was half roar. "And miss seeing you off to go fight dragons? You've got a death wish pretty boy."
"Trying to make friends with the dragons." He slapped the other man on the back as he chuckled.
Tormund snort. "Oh aye, make friends with dragons. You're a crazy bastard if I ever met one."
"I agree entirely." Sansa's calm, clear voice cut in as she approached. Her posture and dress impeccable. Her great black cloak, with a thick black fur, fell over her shoulders.
Jon slid out from under Tormund's hand and hugged his sister as fiercely as possible. The stiffness of her posture melted instantly as she hugged back. His eyes closed as they clung to each other. He tried to imprint the moment in his memory. Leaving his family tore at him. But to protect them he needed to go. "I'm going to miss you."
"And I you." Sansa pulled back, and looking at her face it couldn't be doubted she loved him with every bit of fierceness he loved her. "Be safe."
He smiled. "I will, and next time you see me I'll have that dragonglass."
"Don't do anything stupid," Sansa replied, though her lips turned up slightly.
Jon's attention jerked to the side as he barely caught Rickon before the boy bowled him over. He laughed, arms wrapping around his brother. The kid was going to be tall as Sansa or taller if he kept growing at this rate. He tightened his arms around his brother. "Hello to you too."
"It's dumb you have to go." Rickon grumbled into his shoulder.
He pulled back, grabbing Rickon's shoulder with one hand, another hand curling around the back of his brother's neck. "It's my duty to keep you, our sister, and our people safe. When you're grown you'll understand. For now, just take care of yourself."
"Shaggydog could go with you." Rickon's eyes were sharp as he offered.
Jon shook his head. "No, you keep your partner here." He pulled Rickon in, hugging him again briefly. "I'm so proud of you."
He looked over the courtyard full of the party going to Dragonstone. But more than that, it was a courtyard of a secure Winterfell, men, and servants about. The Stark colors hanging from the walls; it was clean, safe, and home. Keeping it this way was worth it. He loved his home and his family to the depths of his soul. This place was in his bones. And he'd do anything to protect it. Even if he would feel its loss when he rode out through the gates.
////
Lady Dustin marched herself straight into Lord Forrester's small solar. "Rodrik, what in the gods' names are you doing here? I'd have thought you'd be out the front gates the second Prince Stark was off for Dragonstone."
The man paused in the writing of their proposal for the deferment of tax collection till such a time as people could pay. It would hurt the Starks in the short term but would allow their people time to recover. "Why would I be leaving?"
"You're not serious?" She was disappointed that the typically intelligent man was looking at her blankly. "You are Lord of the Ironrath. War is coming and your lands need to be prepared. Now is the only time you will be able to leave for your family. Once war comes you may not see your home again for years."
Rodrik Forrester set down his quill, folding his hands on top of the table as he looked at her. "I'm Master of Revenue."
"Oh aye, you are. That's why we are forced to work together. But you are also Lord of Ironrath, go ask our Queen for a small force of men to go and prepare your home for the dead. Go see your wife, hug your new babe, maybe get her with child again." She laid her hands on the table, leaning over him. "And by the gods when you're required to return bring your wife, and surviving siblings here. Your sister and I can handle your duties here while you see to the Ironrath. But Ironrath stands no chance against the dead. Your family needs to be evacuated."
He swallowed thickly. "Our work here is important."
"Our work here won't even be useful till after this war, if we survive it at all. Go get your family and move them as far from danger as you can. Idiot." She pushed off from the table and grabbed a pitcher of wine. "With Davos and Jon gone now is your chance to get your own House in order. Glover and Manderly have grown sons to run their lands while they're here. You do not."
Rodrick leaned back in his seat. "I may take your advice."
"Ironrath isn't even far from here. I'll finish the draft of our tax deferment proposal while you're away." She took some pity on the man. "Your sister Mira will be safe here while you are gone. I'll keep an eye out on her, and you know that Tyrell pillow biter will as well. She has friends here, and beyond that, you think our Queen would allow a woman to come to harm while under her protection?"
Rodrick's shoulders slumped. "No, I know Mira would be safe. But she deserves to return to our home."
"But your home will barely stall the dead for a few hours should they get past the Wall." Barbrey finished for him. It was an understandable grief. They all wanted to be home and safe, but that didn't make their homes safe.
He stood from his chair, his movements stiff. His wounds from the Red Wedding left him moving like a man of a great many years instead of one barely in his prime. The limp would likely never go away. "Do you think we have any hope of survival?"
"Do we have a choice not to?" Barbrey replied. "And if someone is going to claw survival out of this mess for us it'll be the Starks. Especially this batch of them."
He huffed. "Aye, Sansa's the only one not back from the dead." He paused. "Quite literally in Prince Jon's case."
"The dead back to life, the Long Night, at least one god roaming around. We live in times where the rules have changed." Barbrey poured them both generous cups of wine. Quite frankly she needed it. "Though, cheers to our Queen finally securing her Holiness's favor."
Rodrik laughed, but picked up his cup and clanged it against her before drinking. "I do not believe she could have lost it."
"There is that." Barbrey laughed as she drank. Watching a god pine for their Queen had been the most entertaining thing she'd witnessed in years. Also nerve wracking. "The balls on that girl, who plays seduction games with a god?"
He hummed. "It worked." Rodrik leaned against the mantle by the fire. "But you've made your point. I'll speak to her Grace in the morning about departing for a short while."
"Good." Barbrey sighed. "I'll make sure your sister is busy while you're away. Someone needs to start forming some ladies in waiting for our Queen." Even if every woman in Winterfell was currently being put to work at winter preparations. Appearances still had to be observed.
Rodrik grimaced. "Mira will know how to do that, but after her time in the south…if she refuses don't force it."
"I'm not a monster." Barbrey rolled her eyes. If the girl wanted to sew quilts, cloaks, gambesons and knit socks away from the Queen that was her own choice. "I'm a prisoner here if you haven't forgotten."
He gave her a look as he finished his wine. "Anyone who believes you are merely anything my lady is a bigger fool than I can imagine."
"You flatter me." She smiled all the same. Good, man had a brain, made him tolerable to answer to. "Now before you go, best speak with our resident god about getting some glass made for Ironrath."
////
Brienne found that she was filled with an honorable satisfaction of doing her duty. Standing there against the wall, her charge safe and alive before her was a balm after years of misery chasing her oaths. Finally, she was doing her duty. It was rewarding. However, she could see the worry in the lines of her Queen's shoulders. She had waited till it was just them to say something. "Your Grace, I'm sure your brother will return safely to you."
Sansa looked up from where she'd been pouring over letters newly arrived from Whiteharbor. "Starks don't do well in the south. Even when they should be safe."
"You've given him his best chance, your Grace." Brienne was admittedly not good at comforting. She shifted awkwardly. "I'm sure everything will be fine."
Sansa smiled faintly, the heavy pall of grief at her brother's departure remained settled over her shoulders. "Thank you, even if you don't truly mean it."
"My Queen…" Brienne frowned. "I have more faith in his well being than anyone else. He's already come back once."
Her smile didn't quite reach her eyes. "There is that." She looked away towards the window. "I know I'm being silly, but every time he leaves it is harder to say goodbye."
"That's not silly at all, your Grace," Brienne assured her Queen. Because it wasn't silly, not after everything that had happened to the Starks. Fear was the least silly thing she could think of.
Sansa sighed, a rare show of weakness. Her Queen was very good at appearing strong and controlled at all times. It was one of the things worth admiring about her, worth protecting. "Thank you." Her attention moved away from the window and back to Brienne. "How are things progressing with the royal guard?"
"We'll do our duty, your Grace." Brienne thrummed with pride at being made Commander of the royal guard. It was an honor she would do everything in her power to live up to.
Sansa gave her a quiet look of warm approval. "I'm sure you will."
They settled back into the quiet of the warm room. Sansa reading correspondence and carefully writing out replies in an elegant hand, as Brienne stood at her post as silent protection. It was a quiet evening.
The silence was interrupted by a knock on the door, and then without so much as a 'by your leave' the door opened, and Daisy strode in without a care in the world.
Brienne narrowed her eyes faintly, as her hand fell away from the hilt of her sword.
"Did you just come in through the door?" Sansa asked in some disbelief. "I was half convinced you traveled exclusively through windows."
Which…Brienne had known Daisy was getting into the Queen's rooms without going through the door somehow. Everyone who guarded her Grace had known or guessed that. And if they hadn't their Queen suddenly and inexplicably knowing how to wield a dagger would have given it away. But the window? Not some dark magic, the fucking window!? Brienne was going to be inspecting every window in the royal quarters in the morning and ensuring no human could also use that route.
Daisy grinned, brandishing a plate of what looked like dried meat, a sliced apple, and some cheese. "It's hard to fly while keeping stuff from flying away. And you didn't eat a thing at dinner, don't think I didn't notice those food pushing about skills. So I figured you're actually probably feeling hungry by now."
Brienne's eyes snapped to Sansa at that. She hadn't realized her Queen hadn't eaten. And it was clear the god was right.
Sansa opened her mouth slightly as if to argue before not bothering. Instead, she shook her head. "I'm just being stupid. You didn't need to worry."
"Uh, no, don't go there." Daisy rolled her eyes while setting the plate of food on the small table by the fire. And pointedly rocking on her heels waiting for the Queen to join her. "You're like one really bad day away from snapping and trying to strangle someone with your bare hands."
The audacity was vaguely galling, but then Brienne typically avoided the god since she was generally confounding and galling in turns. But then it was hard to judge what to expect from a god. And Queen Sansa trusted the woman. A great, and mortifying deal of trust.
Sansa seemed to hesitate before rising to her feet. "I'm too sober for this."
"Probably also not healthy, but I'll take it." Daisy snagged a pitcher of wine and poured a cup setting it by the food before preparing and heating water for tea with a flick of her fingers. "I don't think I'll join you for the wine tonight though."
Sansa just laughed as she walked to the fire, closing her eyes as she stood near enough to the fire for it to warm her bones. "It's been a long day."
"And arguing with your brother didn't help, I'm sure." Daisy lifted the cup of wine and pressed it into Sansa's hand.
Sansa took the wine, her eyes opening as she drank deeply from the cup before replying. "I can't afford to be weak." She looked at the wine in some disgust.
"You're not weak, you're human." Daisy reached out, gently tipping Sansa's chin up. "I promise, you're one of the strongest people I know." There was a moment of stillness and then Sansa seemed to crack before she was taking a half step and hugging Daisy to her fiercely. A sound that might have been a sob choked in the back of Sansa's throat.
It was…Brienne turned so that she was facing away. This was private in a way that she was uncomfortable witnessing. But she found her..discomfort with the god fading. Because she knew that her Queen deserved to be human, and if this god gave her that. Well, it wasn't her place to say anything anyways.
////
Daisy carefully unfolded from her chair with a yawn. She stood on silent feet, looking to where Brienne was, her voice soft. "I'll get her to bed."
"Excuse me?" Brienne's voice was stiff.
She gently lifted the empty wine cup from Sansa's hand. While typically she knew Sansa was easily startled, and almost certainly a light sleeper; she knew a bit too much wine and the redhead was out. And slept deeply, a thing she'd learned in Barrowtown. "I'm not leaving her to sleep in a chair."
Daisy was grateful to the serum then, it'd have been a bit of a gamble if she hadn't had it. Wool gowns were fucking heavy, and Sansa had a few inches on her. But she did have the serum, making it easy to gently lift the sleeping Sansa into her arms. One hand around her back, the other under her knees.
It filled Daisy with an emotion she didn't name, when Sansa shifted, burying her head into her shoulder. There was a faint flick of groggy blue eyes, and then her eyes closed again. Sansa knew it was her, and she was safe enough to simply return to sleep. Daisy may not dare name the emotion it filled her with, but she burned with the warmth of it. The weight of it.
She smiled faintly as Brienne opened the attached door between the small Lord's solar that Sansa had turned into her private solar, and her bed chambers. Daisy gave Brienne a nod of thanks as she gently carried Sansa into the bedchamber. She tipped her head towards the bed.
Clearly, Brienne got the message as she pulled the top covers down.
Daisy set Sansa down upon the sheets with care. Then it was easy work to get her girdle off, Sansa's preference for an outer leather girdle helped. Which seemed to just be a Sansa thing? It was easy enough to remove the article of clothing. Passing it to Brienne, she dropped on one knee so she could quickly slide Sansa's shoes off.
That done she used careful movements to lift Sansa's legs up and into the bed. She pulled the covers over her…paramour? Was that the word? Daisy didn't think on it much, just ensuring the woman was tucked in. She pressed a brief kiss to Sansa's hairline, pausing as she caught the groggy blue eyes looking at her again. "It's alright, just go to sleep. Brienne will be just outside the door."
Sansa made a soft sound, her eyelids falling shut again. And she was out. Her vibrations the slow feel of sleep. Hesitating a second Daisy looked down at her face. She wished…she wished she could do more than ensure she ate and be an ear as Sansa tried to hide her terror for her brother's safety. But looking at her now, asleep and in some ways at peace it felt…there was nowhere Daisy would rather be.
Daisy forced herself to turn away and pad out of the bedchamber. She stopped as the door shut behind her. "Thank you."
"You truly care for her." Brienne was looking at her like some puzzle had been solved.
She stared at the woman, so many easy ways to brush the emotional vulnerability off. But… none of them would be honest. "I do."
Notes:So it comes up later in this fic and I googled what Daisy's patron saint would be. Cause she grew up in a Catholic orphanage, she'd have one. And low and behold and guess what I find? Skye's original St.Agnus assigned birthday is April 4th, the Patron Saint of that day is Isidore of Seville. Isidore of Seville who is the motherfucking patron saint of the internet. I would just like to find out which writer is apparently catholic and shake their hand for that one. Patron saint of the internet and programmers. He was famous for recording knowledge and organizing it. I'm so delighted and mad about how perfect that is.
Naturally, this means I had to figure out who Daisy's patron saint was for her actual birthday of July 2nd. But no luck, it's just a random dude with no importance to her character. But do you know what is on July 2nd? World UFO day. I am…who did this?! I need to find them and buy them a beer. I am delighted. Like I thought the nuns dedicated this random foundling to the saint of the internet and programmers was cheeky, but World UFO day?! That's so great!
Chapter 56Notes:Yo! Please watch First Kill, I'm delighted by it. Like make some popcorn and enjoy the cheesy corny fun!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter TextArya Stark sat silently in the inn, listening as the two men behind her spoke of the arrival of the Targaryen Queen with her dragons. A timetable on getting to Cersei before the dragons then.
"Arry!" Hot Pie's familiar and excited voice greeted.
She looked at him, standing there holding a tray. He'd grown since she'd last seen him, but he was unmistakably himself. His growth was the growth of age, not the growth cut into your skin and soul. He looked content. "Hello, Hot Pie." She pulled back from where she'd been leaning on the table. "Sit down"
He hesitated for a second before joining her, setting his tray down on the table as he did so.
"Who's that for?" She asked, indicating the heavily laden tray. Not that Arya waited for him to reply, reaching out and grabbing a large meat pie off of the tray and stabbing it promptly, and cutting herself a chunk off. Eating she closed her eyes, he'd gotten much better at cooking since they were children. A sigh of contentment escaped her. "Hmm…this is good."
"Ya think so?" His hesitant pride and manner were so familiar and yet feeling a lifetime ago. "Secret is browning the butter before making the dough. Most people don't do that cause it takes too much time."
She frowned. "Hmm.. I didn't do that." No great loss Walder Frey's last meal hadn't had the best crust possible. The important bit had been the meat anyways. Getting the distinguishably human bits to be placed correctly so he'd know it was his son's she fed him had been tricky. Couldn't have had him realize before he ate after all. So much work went into murder sometimes.
"You've been making pies?" Hot Pie asked her in disbelief. Which fair, she'd burnt every campfire meal they'd attempted as children.
Arya sucked the pie juices from her thumb. "One or two." The first attempt at cooking human meat hadn't gone well.
"I can't believe you're here!" Hot Pie was just so damn pleased about it. "Did you meet the big lady?"
She looked at him as she chewed. "Big lady?"
"The Lady Knight? Figured she was a knight cause she had armor on. She was looking for your sister but I told her about you." He paused slightly. "She ever find you?"
Arya's memories still didn't always feel like hers sometimes. "She found me." She wiped a smear of grease off her face.
Concern painted across Hot Pie's face, that gentle affection he'd had as a child. "What happened to you 'Arry?"
The thing was Arya didn't know how to explain that? Her brother and mother had been murdered? Her aunt had committed suicide? She'd spent months traveling with the Hound through the war ravaged Riverlands? She'd gone to Bravos and sworn herself to the god of death? Her name was too deeply rooted in her bones for her to keep that oath? The people she'd killed? That a girl named Arya Stark had nothing but a list of names and blood on her hands? "Do you have any ale?" She asked instead.
He started to reach for the jug on his tray. The face of a boy, or perhaps a young man who knew her lack of answer meant horror. Who for all his foolish kindness knew what darkness lurked in their world.
Arya reached past him, grabbed the jug and poured herself a mug, and drank deeply. Traveling was hungry work. And she hadn't permitted herself the luxury of an inn for some time.
Hot Pie just watched as she stubbornly drank and then went back to attacking her pie. His voice was fairly resigned as he asked on. "Where ya heading?"
"King's Landing." She replied shortly. A better topic though. Killing the Queen was something to do. A purpose, her purpose.
He was genuinely confused then. "Why?"
"Heard Cersei's Queen now." He didn't need to know his childhood friend was no longer someone to hide besides from the monsters in the dark. She was the monster in the dark.
He added in his own gossip. "Heard she blew up the Great Sept. That must'a been something to see." He glanced to ensure his master wasn't looking for him before looking back. A faintly conspiratorial, "Boom," on his lips.
She hummed…she'd need the face of a Lannister man to slip into the city easily. Her features were too Northern to pass without comment otherwise.
"Couldn't believe someone would do that."
She cut back. "Cersei would do that." Arya took a sharp bite of the pie.
"I'd have thought you'd be headed to Winterfell." Hot Pie said, his voice perplexed.
Arya actually paused in her eating as she looked at him in baffled confusion. "Why would I go there? The Bolton's have it."
"Naw, the Bolton's are dead." Hot Pie replied like it was obvious.
She looked at him. "What?" She'd had plans for them. Plans involving blood and knives.
"Sansa Stark, or I guess she was Sansa Bolton then? Anyhow she stabbed her husband and retook the North. Killed the Boltons and the Karstarks to the last man. She's only taken half a dozen castles by force now. 'An Jon Snow came down from Castle Black, only he's Jon Stark now. Proper legitimized and Hand of the Queen now your sister is on the throne."
Arya stared…that was…what? Sansa married a Bolton? She murdered someone? Sansa lead people into battle? Sansa Legitimize Jon? What? "You're lying." There was no way.
"Why would I lie about that? They're your siblings right?" And Hot Pie had never been able to lie, and his face showed no lie. Even before she'd been taught to speak a lie she'd have known he spoke true.
She set her pie down. That wasn't possible but…Sansa and Jon had been alive before she'd left for Bravos. She looked to the sides…she needed…she needed to find the truth of this. She needed to know. She grabbed her purse, or Walder Frey's purse out. "I need to go."
"Friends don't pay." Hot Pie said gently but firmly. He smiled. "Can't believe I thought you were a boy. You're pretty." He smiled like he'd paid her some high compliment.
"Thanks." She didn't know what else to say to that. And…she needed to find more reliable news of the North. Arya got up, and started to head for the door. Only…she still knew him. She paused, setting her hand on his shoulder. "Take care of yourself Hot Pie. Try not to get killed."
"Oh, I won't. I'm like you 'Arry. I'm a survivor." He sniffed proudly.
She couldn't help the first smile that was for something good to grace her face. Arya gave him a stiff nod. And then she left. She needed to find more taverns.
////
Mira Forrester stared in disbelief at the two idiots in front of her. "Excuse me, I could swear you just said you want us to not just touch but actively meddle in our Queen and god's relations? I cannot have heard that. Because that would be mad."
"You don't understand Mira," Loras replied like he wasn't a disaster of a human being. "Her Holiness doesn't have a clue on what to do. If we don't interfere she's going to try and cook in the kitchens!"
Conin, the Order member and member of the royal guard who'd clearly been recruited into this far too easily, nodded in agreement.
Loras continued as if his words weren't risking them all being turned into bloody smears of goop. "While the mutual affection between the two is not in question, we have a duty to assist."
"And while odd, what reason would we give for telling her Holiness that attempting to use the kitchens is not proper?" Because the concept of telling a god 'no' should have prevented this whole conversation from happening.
Loras scoffed. "Please, I'm not that stupid. She asked me. Her Holiness is keen on protecting our Queen's reputation despite being displeased it might be harmed in the first place. Which, I must agree, some fun on the wrong side of the sheets is just good fun." His eyes twinkled. "That and she's smitten with the Queen."
"The Order knows a bit about how courting goes in her Holiness's realm." Conin interjected, all eagerness and dark floppy hair. "Fitz will talk about his courtship with his wife forever if you let him. And if he goes more than a day without sleeping her Holiness has us force him to stay out of his workshop. But he gave his wife a star as a nameday gift. A star!"
Mira opened and then shut her mouth.
"Her Holiness should be here in about five minutes," Loras added, the ass.
She nearly slapped him for that. "You asked her to my quarters!?"
"Your brother is on the small council, you have a proper solar." Loras replied like this should have been obvious. "Also I requested our midday meal be brought here."
Mira's shoulders fell back, she smoothed her skirts down and glared at Loras. "If this goes wrong I will personally kill you before her Holiness can."
"Fair." Loras allowed, the ponce. He grinned. "Heads up, the gods are apparently incredibly Dornish. She is deeply confused by us all and has just not been saying much about it."
Conin shrugged. "Ser Tyrell isn't wrong."
Mira was saved from commenting on that by the light knock on the door.
Conin practically blurred, he tripped over himself so fast to get to the door and open it. "Holiness!"
"Oh…" The god blinked. "Hi Conin." She glanced at Mira and Loras before her eyes flicked back to Conin, her face fond as she stepped into the room.
Loras spoke up. "I've asked for our midday meal to be delivered to us today, your Holiness."
"I'm that hopeless then?" The god huffed in amusement, no seeming irritation so that was nice, Mira thought rather hysterically.
Loras picked up the pitcher of wine he'd arrived with. "Wine before I answer that?"
Mira Forrester took a long drink from her cup of wine. "If I may, your Holiness, your suit of the Queen has been successful. Why seek aid now?"
"First, please just call me Daisy or Johnson if we're talking like this. The whole Holiness thing is going to get exhausting." The god waved her hand as if permission to use her name was nothing. "Second, I'm not used to being bad at this, but this isn't my world."
Mira felt like she was missing air from her lungs. "Bad at this?" The god made the songs look like amateur failures of imagination.
Loras hummed like that made any sense while ignoring Mira. "A token of affection would not be out of place." He paused. "Not flowers."
"What's wrong with flowers…not that there are any except for a few winter roses in the glasshouses right now?" Mira stared at Loras in confusion, also a growing realization he might be the most insane person she'd ever met.
He held up his hands. "You can't just get a girl flowers. They're nice, I'm a Tyrell, I know flowers. Tokens are more permanent than a flower."
"You gave flowers to every girl of high birth in your vicinity." Mira was barely preventing herself from gaping at him. "At least half of courtly love suits involve flowers and embroidered favors being exchanged. Her Holiness gave our Queen a crown of flowers already?"
Loras waived at the god. "She made the earth swallow a castle and made House Stark one of the richest in Westeros again. Minor favors are irrelevant."
"I what?" The god blinked in confusion.
Conin, bless him, responded while she and Loras were left mute in confusion. "The Dreadfort loot and the glass. Glass alone is worth near its weight in gold."
The god's head tilted slightly. "It took me ten minutes? Does it still count as a large gesture?"
"Yes." Mira replied before one of the boys could say something stupid. Then she narrowed her eyes, all sense leaving her as she realized the god definitely was trying not to laugh at them and fuck it. They were already head deep in this. "Something you already are aware of."
And the god laughed. "Fair, I've kinda read everything I can get my hands on." She shrugged. "But seriously, other than Ned Stark building the sept for his wife I've found nothing in what is expected after? I mean all of your songs and stories just stop after the wedding or engagement. Which is weird?"
"Holiness, there isn't anything expected once a courtship has been accepted. If you choose to make some gift to your lover that is not unheard of, or even uncommon. But it's not expected." Loras explained patiently like it was important. "From what you said you seem to consider after the courtship has been expected when the most effort occurs. That is not how we expect such things to go. And to call your courtship of her Grace anything less than lavish would be a disservice to you both."
The god looked at Loras like he might be stupid. "That's so lazy. Do the women here actually have zero standards? I mean there has to be something?"
Mira cleared her throat. "Gifts of jewelry and the like, some sign of favor or any small gesture of esteem would not be misplaced." Mira said though she was reexamining this god. She was...not what she'd thought.
Daisy, or perhaps Jonson? leaned forward. "What type, cause there's meaning to that."
"Perhaps something with your sigil upon it?" Loras suggested.
Daisy hummed. "The eagle? Sure but like, on what?"
"Your personal eagle?" Mira checked her voice tight. The sigil that not even her personal order was permitted to wear? Well shit.
She nodded. "Yes?" And this time the confusion was genuine.
Mira barely resisted the surely equally shocked gazes of the men. "I'm certain a pendant of your sigil would be valued by her Grace. And it would certainly give the court pause to see so certain a sign of your protection of our Queen."
The god nodded thoughtfully. "I'm sure Crann can do the black eagle on steel."
"That certainly will be something to see." Loras said with a clear understanding of the weight of such a gift. It would seem their god felt quite possessive of Sansa Stark, though that wasn't as surprising as it likely should have been.
Mira wondered how this would be remembered by generations to come? A god giving the use and protection of their personal divine House's protection to a mere mortal?
Conin perked up. "Do you know how to dance?"
"Not how you'd dance here." Daisy admitted with a soft laugh, though she was clearly interested.
Conin beamed like some sort of puppy, the dimples were actually kind of devastating. "It's well known that her Grace enjoyed dance as a girl. An' I can't help ya there, but Ser Loras or Lady Forrester can!"
"That is actually a good point. Our Queen is a lovely dancer." Loras agreed.
Daisy's lips twitched up. "Well, guess I'll be seeing more of you than just today."
////
Fitz was scribbling out lesson plans for Rickon and Crann. The lack of education in this world was a crime. And it wasn't like there was much else worth doing. He could always go back to drawing up designs for better smithing tools. But he just…what was the point? Setting down his pen, he ran his hand through his hair. Right. He was going for a walk. If Daisy or one of her ducklings poured him into his cot again because he got drunk his liver was going to rebel.
He wrapped the fur lined cloak around himself and pulled on gloves before braving the outside. It was cold, really fucking cold. He was so jealous of Daisy's ability to just keep herself constantly warm. He didn't think she was even conscious of the fact she was doing it anymore. Bloody power cheats. He grumbled under his breath as he made for the outer wall. Walking along up there would be safe, maybe give him some ideas.
The cold air nipped at his face as he walked. Fitz reached up, rubbing his chin. Maybe he should let his beard grow out? It'd make the awkwardness of having to ask Crann lest Daisy do it go away. Cause…that was still awkward. Though thanks to her unfortunate crush at least they were sorta talking now?
It was something to think about. His attention was diverted by two of the guards blocking a woman who looked near tears with a tiny kid hanging onto her skirts. And…something about it had his feet changing direction and taking him towards the conflict. Maybe it was the look on the kid's face…it was familiar. "W-what's going on here?"
"Fitz." The man clearly recognized him, shifting his posture. "It's nothin', just a misunderstanding about court not happen' today."
He realized he'd made a mistake as the woman looked at him with a fierceness that was terrifying. Shit.
"M'Lord, please. I cannot come back tomorrow." Her cheeks were red from the cold and hard living.
Fitz winced, fuck, she wanted him to intercede for her. She was about two steps from grabbing onto him to keep him there. "Right…what d-do you want that's so important it can't wait?"
"Sanctuary. My son and I need sanctuary." She desperately pleaded. "I beg of you, please."
And…a sick pit opened in his stomach. Looking at the woman properly he picked out bits about her he'd ignored. There was the faint green of a fading black eye, her lip was faintly swollen, the swell of a pregnant belly just beneath her thin cloak, how she stood betrayed other hurts she was no doubt hiding. The boy attached to her side had one arm hanging awkwardly like it hurt.
Fitz knew what this was. He didn't need any more questions. If she was turned away he doubted she'd be back. "Come on then." He could use someone to clean up, it'd give Crann more time to do useful things.
One of the guards cleared his throat. "Erm…can you do that?"
"Probably." Fitz shrugged. "If n-not Daisy can."
The other guard shifted uncomfortably. "Erm…her Holiness will vouch for you? You're sure?"
He ignored the widening eyes of the woman. "Yes." As if Daisy would be anything other than furious at the concept of a battered pregnant mom refused help. He looked at the woman. "Come on….then." He waved the woman forward. "Let's go find you a b-bed."
The woman bustled right after him, her hand firmly helping to shepherd her son along with her.
Fitz…crap…well maybe he could dump her care on the Order? That'd work. Even better if Daisy was there she'd take care of it. This was why he didn't leave his workshop. He glanced at the kid's arm. That needed to be fixed. He paused. "We're taking care of that arm first." Changing directions he marched back toward his workshop.
He grabbed some thin dowels, fabric, and a sharp knife. "Right." He paused blinking at the tight expression on the woman's face… not dealing with it. "Get him up on the t-table."
The woman hesitated but did as asked, lifting her son up and sitting him on the table.
Fitz ignored the way her grip tightened on the boy's shoulder. Instead, he reached out, taking the boy's arm frowning. "I need...access to his arm without all this in the….way, if I'm to fix it."
"I can do it." The woman moved with determined but gentle firmness as she got the boy's arm out from his sleeve. One arm remained circled around his waist as she finished.
Fitz didn't have the time to soothe fears. Best just fix the kid and be done with it. His hands were still enough to feel the injury without jostling the broken arm overly. And it was broken, nothing needing surgery. He looked up at the woman. "This will hurt for a second and then I can s-splint it."
"Do it." She cupped the boy's face pulling it to her chest and away from his arm.
Fitz waited till the boy was breathing out, and then set the ulna back into place. The kid cried out but didn't fight it. Fitz nodded and then promptly began to wrap, and splint the arm. Setting his things aside he carefully checked his work before nodding. "Right, put ice on it for twenty-minute….intervals and ask the Maester if he n-needs something for p-pain."
"Thank you." Her voice was restrained if rough.
He twitched, stuffing his fingers back into gloves. "Right, let's….find….that bed for you now….uh...what's your name?"
She helped her small son off the table. "I'm Tila Miller and this is my son, Thomas. Thank you for your aid m'Lord."
He grumbled faintly. "Not a Lord." But still. "I'm Fitz." He turned and led them back out of his workshop. Time to leave this whole mess with Daisy. That sounded great.
Notes:So like I just got reminded that in AoS s7ep9, Daisy literally asks a man 'why do you care', because he is concerned about her because she was horrifically tortured the day before and he had to carry her bleeding and dying body out of a farm after having to listen to her scream as internal glands and shit were ripped out of her body. And then you realize over the course of the episode, he's literally the only one who even gives a shit. She doesn't even get a fucking hug and 'how're you holding up?' from anyone else. I think Jemma checking her progress towards healing is the closest to literally anyone giving a shit as it gets.
And the worst part is its not like they just forgot to put that in there and you can just assume it happened off screen. Because literaly it happens all the time. No one cares about the fact Daisy does all of the second half of s4 with three bullet wounds, thousands of bone fractures and massive soft tissue damage. She gets a 'you good?' from May after the Terrigen heals the torture in the framework, and then her being tortured to a bloody mess is never brought up again.(unless you count Fitz mention it for half a second as like a thing to flagellate himself with. Not in any concern for her, its about him. And she forgives him instantly and its never brought up again) But its a repeating patter, other than occasional chiding for getting beat up in the first place or ignoring doctors orders, no one fucking shows the slightest concern over Daisy's physical well being after she turns out to be Inhuman. Except for the Inhumans who try to treat her and are appalled by the damage she's taken.
Its not wonder Daisy is constantly ignoring her own physical limits. She gets asked to do it all the time. Which feeds into a cycle, she won't ask for help with injuries unless she's bleeding out because she doesn't expect it. Its just...really fucking sad.
Chapter 57Notes:Yo! I bought all the pride shit today, and I am gleeful about it!
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter TextLord Glover folded his arms over his chest as he stood for the small council meeting. He knew it would be a day of changes. With their Hand gone, it was clear their Queen intended to move the pieces under her control. She and her brother had finished their plans for the North before the man departed. He wasn't expecting any surprises, but it would be curious to see the exact details. Given their Hand's love of ditches in warfare, he expected there was a lot of digging in their army's future. Besides, it was more timing still to be decided.
Greatjon Umber laid out the map Jon Stark had painstakingly made out. "Right, I think it's clear it's time to move the army." Sure enough, there were extensive lines where trenches and choke points could be made.
"Aye." Glover tapped the locations best prepared as bottlenecks to whittle away the Dead's number. They'd been cleverly chosen, he would admit. "These defenses are nearly to the New Gift. Best let the Umbers lead the push. It's nearest their lands."
Greatjon nodded in agreement. "Mors and I can split what men can be sent north. Get them busy digging these fucking ditches."
"We can afford two-thirds of the army to leave at this time." Sansa spoke, her voice clear, all authority and nobility. She looked so shockingly like her late father or even brother presiding over battle plans sometimes. "The rest will remain here until our Vale forces arrive. And Greatjon, I'll need you here for a while longer. Especially while our focus will be so near your lands. Your advice for future movement will be too important for you to leave personally."
He ignored the bit about Umber, it was the obvious thing. The rest of it though was wise enough. Best not leave their backs unguarded. A third of their army could hold Moat Cailin and Whiteharbor should they be attacked near indefinitely. Vicious Queen they had there. "You mean to dig in further then?"
"Naturally. We face war on three, almost certainly four sides with Ironborn pledged between our two southern neighbors." Sansa frowned. "We had best send what Mormont men we have, as well as another hundred men at arms, back to Bear Island. They're stretched too thin."
Lord Forrester spoke up. "With the Lords Umber and myself departing it'd be unwise to send Lord Glover to see to the western coast."
"Which is why he will remain here, rather some four hundred men will be sent from Barrowtown to serve under his son's command. Unless that seems unwise to you my Lords?" Sansa's eyes passed over them. It was a question more usually posed to her brother.
Greatjon puffed at the show of faith in their council. "Aye, that'd make those pirate scum think twice about raiding our shores."
"It'd no doubt help secure that border, but your Grace, surely we need every man prepared for the Dead?" Lord Royce cut in.
Glover scoffed, bloody southern fool. "And lose us the kingdom even as we fight? Bah, I've watched my home be burned while I fought in my King's wars before. I won't do it again."
"To not do your duty is treason." Lord Royce glared, all puffed up in fury.
Greatjon snorted. "We'll freeze with naught in our bellies but snow if we lose ground in this war you fool."
"Enough." Sansa's voice cut across the argument. The large white head of the direwolf by the fire perked up at her tone, its lips pulling upwards showing teeth. "I will not leave our backs unprotected. Nor, as I understand it, is it called for. We won't win this war by lining our army up and standing against the forces of the Dead. Even if we could kill them easily they'd swamp us. By the last count from our Wargs, the army approaching the Wall numbers near half a million. And that's what they can see of the front. Which does not take into consideration that they have far more than one giant. Nor the various beasts and monsters converted to their army. We can only win by being smarter. An open field of battle will get us all killed and added to the enemy's ranks."
There was dead silence at her words. Glover felt the lump of dread in his gut, as well as his bones. He cleared his throat. "Well said, your Grace." He dipped his head towards the woman. His lands and their needs had been ignored by Robb Stark in the face of war. And they had paid for that in blood. To have a Queen who did not forget the lands of those sworn to her when facing her war was…he had not had a single regret in bending the knee to her since the day they'd placed a crown on her head.
"To the matter at hand. Which troops would you advise are best suited to being sent to each region we need to begin to prepare?" Sansa looked to them, waiting for their advice. Which was another thing about this Queen worth admiring. She bloody well asked for their fucking opinions, and then listened to them.
Glover breathed in. "Best send our Wildlings mostly to the west; we've had less bloodshed with them there. Some need be sent with the Umbers, but in small numbers, easily integrated with the other men'll keep the fighting down."
"He's not wrong." Tormund, the great ginger wildling whose position in the small council was…well no one was entirely sure what it was. But their Queen had just stared at the last idiot to ask like he was dumber than a rock. No one had brought it up again. "We'll fuck the Dead up for ya."
Sansa didn't twitch at vulgarity, a useful skill in the North. "The giant, WunWun will be useful in preparing bottlenecks in the north. Who among your people speaks enough of the old tongue to communicate with him?"
Glover waited till the majority of the small council had left to speak with the Queen. He approached respectfully. "Your Grace." Dipping his head he settled, his feet shoulder-width apart. "For guarding our backs, I'm most grateful."
"We face a war on every side. Leaving any flank open will be the end of us." And she looked at him then with the composure made of ice. There was a feeling of sorrow there, a stone surface worn smooth by endless waves battering against it for years. "Was there something else you wished to speak of?"
"Aye, it's risky sending Lord Forrester with an army back to his own lands. The blood feud there has only just been tamped down, your Grace." He cautioned, Lord Forrester might be an even man, but he was still a man who'd lost far too much.
She just looked, resigned. "It needs to be done. I cannot send another to do it without insulting him. Let us hope he proves to be as reasonable as he behaves."
"I suppose that's fair enough." Glover couldn't exactly think of an alternative anyways. Long as the Queen knew it was a gamble.
Her ice blue eyes remained on him. "Was there something else?"
"About our need to secure our Houses before all hell breaks out. My son and daughter are unwed. And if it aids us in winning this war I'll marry them to any Kingdom you think best."
Sansa paused, the faintest flicker of surprise, her focus sharpened all the same. "Tell me Lord Glover, what are your thoughts on the Riverlands?"
////
Lady Barbrey Dustin was embroidering yet another shirt. The endless sewing was frankly exhausting, but an army to be equipped and kept warm through the snows and dark of winter was not a thing to be taken lightly. No matter how her fingers and mind might wish it. So to say she was grateful at the sound of a sharp rap of knuckles against her door was an understatement. Setting her sewing aside, she straightened her skirts before looking up. "Enter!"
The door was swung open. Brienne of Tarth stepped inside, behind her Sansa fucking Stark.
Barbrey rose to her feet. "Your Grace." As soon as she'd straightened she dropped into a formal curtsy.
"Rise." Sansa spoke, clearly no interest in flexing her authority in forcing her to remain lowered. "Brienne, leave us."
The great giant of a woman's glare scanned the room before she took a step back. "Your Grace." She shut the door firmly behind her.
Barbrey could feel her spine straightening at the implied importance of what was to be said. This could be good or very, very bad for her. "Is there something I can be of assistance with, your Grace?"
"I find that I require information and…advice that I would be greatly displeased if it left this room." Which gods be good the girl was terrifying. The threat wasn't subtle, but then it didn't need to be.
She swallowed, her throat suddenly dry. Standing on the knife's edge had not been an expectation she'd had for the day. "Of course, my discretion is at your disposal."
"It is a..delicate matter." Sansa hesitated then. A thing that she had not done in Barbrey's presence once. It was so out of character it was near to seeing snow catch on fire. "One I would require your honest answers on."
Barbrey realized in that moment whatever this was about, the Queen was not going to blurt it out. It would need be coaxed out of her. "Perhaps you'd better sit. It sounds like this is something you'll need to start at the beginning for."
"That would probably be best." Sansa was stiff as she took the offered seat, her spine so straight it surely could not be comfortable. She folded her hands in her lap as if to force them to avoid fidgeting by force.
Barbrey sat across from her slowly. Her eyes tracked across the woman. And…she was young. It was funny how easy it was to forget just how young the woman was. So she waited for her to explain.
Finally, Sansa began, her voice quiet. A softness to her, near waver, that Barbrey hadn't witnessed before. And if she had to guess, few people had. "I last saw my mother as the wheelhouse left Winterfell when I was three and ten. I had not bled yet, and she hadn't seen it as proper to educate me on some things." She looked away, towards the window. "Many important things were left out of my education looking back."
Oh. Oh gods…this was something she almost certainly did not wish to hear. But it was her duty to hear it all the same.
"I bled for the first time not long after the Battle of the Whispering Wood." Her face twisted a sort of disgust. "I actually tried to cut the section of the sheets and mattress I'd bled on out. It was stupid, I wasn't even permitted privacy long enough to accomplish it. Cersei spoke to me, it was…she was kind sometimes. I was their pet bird, her Little Dove." Sansa's voice was full of disgust. "My wings were clipped and I was their prisoner in their gilded cage, expected to sing when they wished. Theirs to torture or play with as they pleased."
Her face was drawn with sorrow, her gaze looking at something that wasn't there. She was haunted in a way that a girl her age had no right to be, yet so many of them were. "I don't believe Cersei was capable of loving anyone who wasn't herself or her children. But sometimes I think she pitied me. She told me to love my children, and my children only. That I could try to love my husband." Her face twitched. "The details of what would be expected of me besides to lay there accept whatever my husband wished to do to my body was not her concern. She was too deep in her wine to think of it besides."
"Then the Battle of the Blackwater happened and I was no longer to marry Joffrey, instead they married me off to Tyrion." Her voice was rough. "He was kind when he did not need to be." Her eyes were focused on Barbrey then. "I know what everyone says, but he truly never laid with me, drank himself to a stupor on our wedding night. Of course, being married to Tyrion, it was impossible to avoid innuendo. Half Margaery's conversations with me held implications I hardly understood at the time."
Barbrey watched the flickers of genuine emotions behind the woman's court mask. It was a condemnation of the North. No doubt why Sansa did not mention what she'd been through. Not that a reminder of her powerlessness as a girl wouldn't be dangerous. Her strength was holding their entire kingdom together.
"Then being under Lord Baelish's protection as his assumed bastard, well, while he may not have taken advantage as he could have, it certainly didn't shelter me from comments. And men are far less careful with what they say in front of a bastard than they are a high lady." Her fingers tightened. "And then Ramsey."
It was nauseating to know what came next.
Sansa seemed to shake herself from her own thoughts. "I stabbed him for a reason. I'm sure I don't need to explain what he was to you."
"No, I know what he was." Barbrey knew what was going to be asked of her. And she knew why her. She was Sansa's prisoner, even if she'd been allowed some level of both freedom and power. Both those things could be stripped in seconds. The woman knight outside the door could walk in and stab Barbrey through the heart and hardly a man, woman, or child would complain. Not now. Not with the Dead to the north, Lannisters, and Dragons to the south, and Ironborn to the west. Not with the two Houses she was bound to so humbled and diminished already.
Sansa's strikingly ice blue eyes caught Barbrey then. "I don't know what is expected of me with or perhaps as a paramour to another person."
"And so you've come to me." If the gods were just it would be Caitlyn Tully answering these questions. Barbrey would give every copper she had to see Caitlyn Tully's face at finding out her daughter was the lover of a female god. But that was impossible. Instead it was her, sitting across from a girl who was criminally uneducated on sex.
Sansa gave a stiff nod. "Yes."
"Gods be good girl." She stood, grabbing the pitcher of wine. "Wine?"
Sansa shook her head with a faint wince. "No thanks."
Barbrey raised a brow and then laughed. "Overindulged, did you?" Which there was no doubt a story there, but not one Barbrey would ask for. Overindulgence was not a flaw of the girl's. Likely had a great deal to do with her brother leaving. "Well, I certainly need some for this conversation."
There was no response to that. Typically would be faintly rude, but considering the topic, Barbrey wouldn't hold it against her. Instead, she looked at the pitcher…she carried the whole damned thing over as well as the cup. She settled back down and wondered where to stop. "You know I'd thought one of the benefits of never having a child was that I need never have this conversation. Yet here we are."
Sansa raised a brow. "I can leave."
"Don't you dare." Barbrey rolled her eyes. "I'm not leaving you to go bumble about with that god of yours." She sighed looking at the woman. "I suppose at this point you understand the base mechanics of it all?"
The girl's face tightened faintly. "It's rather hard not to."
"Well, I suppose that's something at least." Barbrey ran through what she actually knew about the relationship between the god and the girl. It was…frighteningly little. Oh, there was plenty the court did know. But it was plain to anyone with a brain that was less than nothing of what was there. "Did things go badly when you let that god bed you?"
"What? No." Sansa's pale cheeks flushed a bright red nearly matching her hair. "That is…well…I panicked and it was…but it was…" She was frankly so clearly mortified she just gave up on speaking.
Barbrey felt a rush of grateful amusement. Ah, well that was some good fucking news in the whole depressing mess. "I take it then you've experienced the peak we can achieve in bed then?"
The girl's face turned so red it was nearly painful. That was the answer in and of itself. The nod was just confirmation of it.
"Why the panicked questions to me then? I should think successfully being bedded by a god would rather answer most of them?" Barbrey was curious about where exactly this particular issue was coming from. She honestly would have expected this conversation to have been had before the girl went and let the god bed her. Well, if she'd ever imagined such a thing. Which she had not.
Sansa's composure was frankly inspiring as she reigned in her embarrassment. "I'm unsure what happens now. What is expected? I know Daisy would respect my wishes, but I do not even know what to wish within the expected course of things, as I'm partially unsure of what that course even is."
"Ah, well that's quite a pickle isn't it." Barbrey almost wished this actually was questions on sex itself as she'd first assumed. "Your situation is unprecedented since near the age of heroes. It's made worse by the fact her Holiness is a woman and one who intends to leave this world once she's free to do so."
The last of Sansa's embarrassment seemed to wash away. "Indeed, it's made things very difficult. "
"Good gods, you put off the god's suit for political expediency." Barbrey stared at the woman in horror filled awe. That was… it was one thing to play at the seduction game to inflame passions and keep the attention of another. The long pursuit was not uncommon as a method of securing real affection from idle curiosity. But to do so purely for potential political expediency… To risk insulting a god, not for greater favor, but rather to avoid political consequences was...the sheer fucking nerves of steel required for such a thing. No doubt the girl had meant to drag it out till the god left, it brought up the question of what had changed her mind. But Barbrey could guess at that, it wasn't like their god was hard on the eyes and damned being certainly knew how to make an impression.
Sansa didn't show a flicker of concern. "A thing no one would believe." Which was a threat.
Barbery downed her whole ass cup of wine and poured herself another. "Peace, I'm your prisoner, or is that not why you chose to ask my advice?"
"My apologies. That was uncalled for." Sansa visibly forced herself to relax.
She wondered at that, the lack of trust. Their Queen was a cold and deeply controlled woman around all save her siblings. "You're fine, now about your situation. I'll be blunt: how long do you believe you will hold the interest and attention of her Holiness?"
"I...I consider her a friend chiefly. And I know she regards me the same." Sansa's baring softened then, truly and honestly. A quiet sort of relief. Like air after too long without. "Daisy is...she is kind. Short of gross betrayal, her friendship and affection are difficult to lose."
Barbery nodded thoughtfully. That fit with the god's behavior with her companion Fitz. Oh, they acted perfectly amicable when near to each other. And Barbrey had no doubt any man who harmed Fitz would die a quick, and gruesome death. However, the god was almost never around the man. If Barbery had the right of it the god resented the man but held to him out of obligation and past affection. In manner, it was all but identical to the relations between a husband to a powerful wife who'd been unfaithful. Still beholden to, but unwilling to give absolution. Or perhaps a man to his younger brother who'd sought to steal his inheritance once.
"I...I do not know how to proceed. But she has given no indication that she does not assume it will." Sansa's face flushed, but oh there was the faintest pleased curve to her mouth. And a slight softness to her eyes. "I do not wish to do nothing and assume she will know what we should be doing."
Barbery was, to be certain, happy for the woman before her. It was certainly far more security than many of their sex were permitted outside of matrimony. "That's certainly something. Now if I may, some token of affection might not be out of place. But to be blunt the role of a paramour is what it is made by those inside of it. Lord Tytos Lannister was rather famous for treating his mistress as near to his wife as possible. Even placing his late wife's jewels and clothes upon her. In Dorne, such relations are often treated as a lesser marriage, though lacking the security of a marriage. On the other end of things, I'm sure you're aware of how badly dalliances like the one I partook in as a girl can go?"
Sansa gave a faint nod. "My uncle treated you appallingly."
"He did. In your case, the worst fears of a paramour do not apply. Your status is raised by holding her Holiness's attention, and few if any man would consider it a put off that you allowed a divine being to bed you. Rather I'd think it a point of pride to any man you may someday marry and enjoy something so valued by a god." She rolled her eyes. "Men and their pride."
Sansa huffed in agreement. "They are easily controlled."
"Ha! You have the right of that." Barbery laughed at that. "If we weren't surrounded by enemies and at war with...is there anyone we aren't actually at war or on the brink of war with?"
Sansa sighed. "The Riverlands...I suppose the Stormlands are unlikely to attempt war with us?"
Barbery snorted as she poured herself more wine. Gods, their situation was dire. "Well, never mind about all that. The point stands. Without formal court activities, there is little more than you already do to be expected. It will be what you and that god of yours make of it."
"That is likely for the best." Sansa swallowed, her face nervous then. And, oh, she was so terribly young.
She would have reached out to comfort the girl if the situation had been different. But not even a great deal more wine than what she'd already drunk would have induced her to do so with the Queen. Barbrey sighed. "In public, continued sign of affection is all that is required of you. The situation you find yourself in is unique enough that you and your god may make of it what you will. See to your paramour, love has a way of…the longer you are intimate with another the truer you will know them. Your path will be found there, in whatever bond you share with her."
Sansa seemed to let the words sink in. "I suppose I had hoped for something more clear."
"Don't we all?" Lady Dustin drank from her wine before simply saying what was on her mind. "Now, of course, I'll help how I can, but I'm afraid I'd be little use to you on matters of the bedchamber. You'd either end up learning far more about your uncle than I think you'd like to know, or else my ignorance of the particulars between two women would show."
The return of the flush across Sansa's cheeks was well worth the crassness of the statement.
Barbrey decided the girl needed to get used to hearing such things. The married women of the court would hold their tongues less now that she had a paramour. Best get the girl used to it now. "So, that god of yours is at least making the bedchamber duties you've given yourself pleasant then?" She rather wanted to cackle at the embarrassed horror on the girl's face.
Notes:So we can all agree its deeply fucked up Fitz guilted and made his wife apologize and like be ashamed of the fact she had sex with her husband on her wedding night because it wasn't the version of Fitz next to her, right? Cause that was messed up. Jemma happily telling him how wonderful their wedding night was. Fitz deeply unhappy and passive aggressive because the Fitz she married is a future version so it wasn't 'him' she's fondly reminiscing about sex with. And the way she instantly tries to frame it better for him, and then like sooth him and basically apologize is super not ok. LIke...I know that scene gets added into compilations of like 'look at Fitz, so silly' but no, that's not silly. And like just ran into that one again and was once more filled with disgust at how Fitz treats Jemma, and how grossly posessive he is of her. Like I know they can be cute, and when they're at peak Fitzsimmons is great, but like...they were toxic as hell and needed a couples therapist like ASAP....they needed one before they got together.