Chapter 97: Part 4Notes:(See the end of the chapter for notes.)
Chapter TextOlyvar Martell, Prince of Dorne rode up the Rose Road, towards the looming fortress of Highgarden. He had a thousand spears at his back. Another twenty thousand called and were ready to march in Dorne. He kept his head held high, his orange and gold silks were finer than would have been his lot, on a steed finer than he could have expected, head of a Kingdom that never should have been his.
His eyes caught on the thousands of Dothraki camped in the fields outside the fortress. All the men of Dorne would pale before the armies beholden to the Targaryen Queen, his choice to honor the alliance made by the bastards was being proven wise.
"You were correct to order us to march so soon." Ser Perros Blackmont said, his eyes narrowed as he took in the army.
Olyvar's dark eyes traced the land that held little sign of the siege he'd been told had been fought here. "Find a stupid Reacher. I care not whom, I would have this foreign goddess's metal tested. But not by any man from Dorne. Do you understand?"
"There should be a septon or stupid third or fourth son that can be convinced." Ser Perros replied, his hand touched the pouch of gold on his hip. "By one method or another."
Olyvar nodded, good. He could not afford to withhold his support from Daenerys Targaryen, but he did not trust this foreign 'goddess'. And even if she was what she claimed, he would know her temperament. His eyes narrowed at the Tyrell banners lining the road. Dorne could not afford to wait, already the roses were wrapping their vines around the dragon, and he couldn't allow that.
"Your father will care for Dorne while you're away." Ser Perros offered in comfort, clearly misunderstanding the reason for his dour mood.
His jaw tightened. "That is not what I fear. My father has been castellan of Sunspear long enough to hold our lands now that I am Prince instead of our cousins."
"Then you fear Doran and the Sand Snakes have fucked us." Ser Perros replied, he cast his gaze on Olyvar fully then. "Your daring is a credit to you, my prince. But I would not see you devoured by dragons."
Olyvar shook his head. "It is not the dragons I fear, rather the chaos this land is in. Caution will serve us poorly now, as it has done this past generation."
"Your cousin Doran was a fool. The Sand Snakes, traitorous whores." Ser Perros snarled.
His hand snapped out grabbing his friend and companion's surcoat, dragging him near off his horse. His voice was a low snarl to match. "Speak against my kin again and I'll send you back to the Blackmont."
"Sorry, my prince." Ser Perros wheezed, his eyes wide.
Olyvar held on for a few more seconds before releasing him and straightening in his saddle with a sharp nod. His eyes back on the road before them. "See to it that it does not happen again." His cousin Doran's isolation and the blasted Sand Snakes may have fucked them, but they were kin. He would no more allow them to be insulted than he would allow his father to be insulted. If House Martell was to remain in control of Dorne, and civil war between factions between his various relations prevented, they must stand together. To invite anything else was to invite ruin. Leaving Dorne at all was risk enough.
As they came closer to the gates he saw a man on a horse with various Tyrell attendants awaiting them. The horse he was on was a brilliant white stallion, the man's curls were golden brown, his shoulders broad, and everything about him declared him a martial threat and a Tyrell. Ser Garlan Tyrell then, here to greet them. It would have been insulting for it to be the second son if Olyvar had not known the eldest was a cripple. And well, his house did have a history of killing Tyrells.
Ser Garlan straightened, riding his horse forward to meet them. "Welcome to Highgarden, your Highness. On behalf of House Tyrell, it is an honor, Prince Martell."
"I thank you for your hospitality," Olyvar replied. "I assume I am to be presented to our Queen shortly?"
Ser Garlan gave a dip of his head. "At your welcoming feast tonight so that you and your men may have time to rest and prepare should you wish. The seat of honor beside our Queen shall of course be yours for the night."
Olyvar gave a short nod to that. It was acceptable and while not what he'd have preferred it was certainly neither insult nor avoidance. It would ensure he had some hours to speak with the Queen tonight during the meal. "That will suffice. I assume there is room prepared for myself and my men?"
"Of course, but first if I may." Garlan waved forward a servant with bread and salt. "In these dark times let us follow those old laws."
He didn't raise a brow at that, but he certainly marked it. Interesting. House Tyrell made effort to formally respect the old ways, and with them likely the old gods themselves. That was a change and spoke to the truth of reports of what had so recently happened here. He reached out accepting the bread and salt, his nobles behind him doing the same. Swallowing the bread coated in salt he spoke. "Is this goddess I have heard reports of still within your home and am I expected to pay my respects to her?"
"She is away, though will return in a few days' time." Garlan swung his horse to the side, gesturing to the broken gates. "Please, I would be most pleased to escort you within, your Highness."
Well, that was interesting. Olyvar would be making some small inquiries while this 'goddess' was away. Though that certainly answered what the Tyrells thought of the 'goddess,' they believed. It would seem the Dragon Queen's court would be dangerous for more than just the snakes in the grass. But he was a snake from the sands of the south, this would not be where he would perish.
////
Daenerys set the book down on the history of House Tyrell. She'd give a great deal to have read any of these texts before she'd reached Westeros's shores. No doubt it would take years for her to learn what she should have practically been born knowing. It also meant she was in debt to a god. A thing she was not pleased about. She looked up at the knock on the door. "Enter."
Her guard opened the door, and Willas Tyrell entered with the gentle click of his cane. The Lord bowed at the waist, one hand flat against his stomach as he did so. "Your Grace."
"Lord Tyrell, this is a surprise?" Dany turned, her figure framed by the window behind her.
Willas straightened. "Your Grace, if you are amenable to such a thing there was a matter I wished to discuss."
"A discussion for here or the gardens?" Dany had realized that there were few locations free of waiting ears, but near the fountains, in the gardens, a normal voice did not carry. Or rather Missandei had noticed and informed her.
Willas' lips turned up faintly. "I believe here shall suffice."
"Then what is this matter you wished to discuss?" She asked, watching him. The Tyrells were…accommodating to the extreme. As well they should, however, she'd long since learned the more generous the host, the more dangerous.
He approached, though his eyes flicking towards the books upon the table and not her directly, clearly taking in the various titles she'd been reading. Willas's green eyes were clear and focused as he looked at her. "The matter of the Lannister prisoners and the King Slayer, your Grace."
Her eyes narrowed. She'd not demanded those prisoners brought before her as they were technically Daisy's to do with as she willed. "Surely they are beholden to her Holiness for judgment, not us."
"That's just it, her Holiness has left them in my House's custody and under our authority, your Grace." Willas shifted his weight, his gaze unflinching as it rested upon her.
Dany stilled. "Why do they still draw breath then, my Lord?"
"I had intended to lay their fates upon your justice, your Grace." He replied.
Her eyes narrowed further. "You've changed your mind on that count, why?"
"Hardly, however, I believe they could be of a great deal more use to you than simply as an example." His head tipped slightly.
Her fingers drummed against the table. "You suggest I leave the man who stabbed my father in the back alive? Not only him but also over two thousand men of the armies that would have murdered your own House?"
"I do." He didn't flinch away from her. "Tell me, your Grace, do you know how large the Northern army is?"
She watched his face. "I have reason to doubt the numbers given to me."
"Prince Jon has perhaps looser lips than he should, particularly on the needs of his homeland. His dedication to protecting them is admirable, though not entirely misplaced in its utility. The North has some sixteen thousand men, if they press every living man and those women willing to fight in all the North into service mayhaps twenty thousand. The Riverlands are a ruin, if they can muster ten thousand it would be a miracle. The Vale on the other hand have already mustered twenty thousand and sent them to the North and have another twenty-five thousand they can call upon. All told Sansa Stark can call upon seventy-five thousand men."
"You do not believe she will muster those whole numbers?" Dany realized suddenly. "No, rather she cannot."
He nodded. "Not with enemies to the south. The men of the Riverlands likely not send more than a thousand as a symbolic gesture to march North. In fact, of the remaining men in the Vale near half will be forced to remain in the Riverlands to keep it secure and ensure Stark rule is fully established there. The remaining fifteen thousand Valemen will need to remain to protect their coasts and holdings both from possible naval attacks and from their mountain clans. Sansa Stark is proving to be a cautious woman. Even of her Northern men, she will be securing her borders as well as the Wall. If she can place more than thirty thousand on the Wall and those keeps closest to it, it would be a miracle. If she's scrounged more men than his Highness has implied or risked an unsecured border, even then I doubt the numbers will be greater than forty thousand."
"You suggest I make a gift of the Lannister prisoners to the Wall." Dany's fingers stayed on the wooden table. It went against her initial inclinations. Though she found for all she did not trust the Tyrells much, she preferred this advice to that which she'd had whispered in her ear previously.
Willas nodded. "Yes, the North would never suffer them to escape, they hate the Lannisters more than even you, your Grace. And two thousand good fighting men would go a long way to gaining ground in negotiations over your betrothal."
"And the King Slayer?" Her voice was sharp.
He hummed. "He could be valuable to you as a prisoner to keep the Westerlands from fighting to their utter deaths in the conquest to come. And I would trust the North to hold him secure without escape more than even my own men. He can stand trial for his crimes once his usefulness has worn out."
It was…galling that she could see the sense in his words. A suggestion she would think on before deciding. She did not like it and would hear the counsel of her other advisors before doing so. "Tell me, Lord Tyrell, what do you think of a possible marriage between Prince Jon and myself? I have heard so many people's opinions, but not yours."
Willas gestured to a chair. "May I?"
"Of course, please." Dany wished she'd thought to offer it sooner.
He stepped to the chair, lowering himself stiffly. "Thank you." Willas took a moment before continuing. "I agree with my grandmother, it's a good match."
Dany raised a brow, she was sensing a pattern. "And?"
"And you should be asking yourself what you are willing to lose, and what you would prefer to gain from the match." Willas folded his hands looking at her curiously.
She wondered what Tyrion and Varys would make of Willas Tyrell's advice. "If you could name the terms then which terms would you claim?"
"The Vale." He answered immediately. "They are a bastion of the Faith of the Seven, and of the Stark lands, the least likely to rebel against you in favor of the Starks. They will be ill-suited to accept Sansa Stark's choice of lover both due to her Holiness's divinity outside the Seven, as well as the fact she is a woman. That and they hold the weakest bonds to the Northern Kingdom. True loyalty could be gained from them. The Riverlands will beggar the North and leave them weak to invasion from your armies so long as the North is beholden to them. It would be wise to leave the Riverlands to the Starks, it will weaken their position and the Riverlands will be more inclined towards Northern loyalties."
Dany raised a brow at how quickly he'd had that answer. "You've considered it a great deal then."
"Of course, it will greatly affect my House's future." Willas gestured at the room, or rather Highgarden at large. "For the North to lose the Vale you will have to commit a great deal to their war against the Dead. Mostly of mine own Kingdom's men, as well as your dragons. Your Dothraki would be useless in the snows, your Unsullied unused to the cold. Even my own men will be unused to the cold, but they will suit it better than your personal armies. And with the Greyjoys lost to you, it will be the Redwyn fleet ferrying those men to the North."
Dany let his words settle. "How many men would you consider reasonable?"
"As we all die if the Dead break past the Neck?" Willas hummed. "Forty thousand from the Reach, eight thousand Unsullied, a thousand from Dorne, you and your dragons, as well as provisions for that entire force."
She could see the writing on the wall of what she'd be indebted to the Tyrells for. The Tyrells would be the ones feeding the army, providing the vast majority of the men. "And you would volunteer such numbers and provisions from the goodness of your heart then, my Lord?"
"It would be my duty." His mouth pulled into a faint smile. "I would hope for certain concessions once your throne is fully secured. Guarantee of certain marriages supported by the crown, certain positions filled by men able to advocate for the interests of the Reach. Nothing I believe you would find unreasonable, your Grace."
She arched a brow at that. "Naturally." Well then, the Tyrells were aiming to entangle her utterly in exchange for their 'enthusiastic' cooperation. Dany hated that she wished for not just her advisors but also Daisy to guide her in this.
////
Olyvar's teeth grit as he bowed to the Dragon Queen. "Your Grace, I come to repledge Dorne to your cause."
Olyvar speared a piece of fish with his fork. The food lacked the spice he preferred, everything was too sweet, too mild, and it stank of roses. He was aware he was being petty, but it went against the grain to act as if he was not incensed the Dragon Queen would take the oaths of the traitorous bastard Ellaria Sand, and her kinslaying daughters. If her bastard daughters were not his kin he would have their names stricken from the history of Dorne.
"Prince Olyvar, tell me, how is it that you have taken the headship of your House at so young an age and a living father?" Lady Olenna Tyrell half demanded from where she was sipping from her goblet of wine.
He refused to rise to the bait. "My father has no interest in leadership, he is an old man and wishes to continue his work in his home. As such it is my burden to bear." He took his bite of fish, holding the gaze of the old woman.
"Is your father's health well?" Daenerys Targaryen inquired.
Olyvar nodded. "He is still strong and will hold Dorne for you while I am here, your Grace."
Prince Jon's serious gaze settled on him. "It is good your father still lives."
"I am most grateful he was not killed by those to last lead Dorne." Olyvar knew the implication of his words was brushing on unacceptable. "I am sorry your father died. Though our Houses were on opposite sides of the Usurper's war, Eddard Stark was an honorable man." He would have his more private audience with the Queen on the morrow, for now, well, the Northern Prince was perhaps the one at the head table he held no complicated feelings towards. "Tell me, what sort of man was he? The stories only ever speak of his honor, his martial ability, and his loyalty, your Highness."
Jon Stark, a well deserved legitimization considering his actions for his House and trueborn siblings, spoke with restrained grief and love. "My father was the best man I've ever known. He was more honorable and noble than any story or report. But that wasn't who he was. He loved his family and our people. He was quiet and thoughtful. In all my years he never struck us or treated any of us unfairly. When we were small he would cook chestnuts in the fire in his solar, and we would all sit on the fur rug and listen to him telling tales of our ancestors."
"An honorable fool, but a good man." Olenna tsked.
Olyvar leaned back in his seat, his eyes finding the lady's eyes. "Better than a greedy fool." He could see he'd hit the mark there, after all, everyone knew what her son had been before the Lannisters murdered him. His attention returned to the Northern Prince. "Truly, while a traitor, your father certainly had just cause in his rebellion. Many of us in Dorne chaffed being forced to suffer under the rule of a King who would rape and murder our kin."
"What happened to the Princess and her children was a terrible crime." Jon Stark agreed.
They shared a moment, eyes locked. Well then, he may on principle oppose the possible marriage of this man to the woman who needs must be his Queen, but he could respect him still.
Willas Tyrell spoke. "Come, surely we can speak of something other than grave crimes in our Houses' pasts while we eat. Your Grace, would you care for a hunt next week? No doubt we all will be glad of an excuse to step away from the negotiating table for a short time, at least the once."
Olyvar sipped from his too sweet wine as the conversation turned. He would be uneasy until he could speak with the Queen on the subject of the late Ellaria Sand and her bastard daughters. It was perhaps foolish of him, but he would hear how his House's natural ally, the woman who owed the same debt of vengeance as House Martell, could accept vows of fealty from a woman who had murdered her children's uncle, ruling Prince of Dorne and usurped rule of Dorne from House Martell for herself. It sat dark and twisted in his stomach.
So he made passing remarks upon the future hunting trip but otherwise allowed the conversation to flow as the Tyrells wished. Soon enough the Queen's true advisors would arrive, until then he could afford some small measure of petty distance. And well, Prince Jon was certainly a handsome bauble to look at. If word of Sansa Stark's lover were true, well mayhaps the Northern Prince would be open to a brief tumble. It was no large matter if he was not, but it certainly would be a diversion worth having.
Olyvar handed a cup of wine to Prince Jon. He had a smug smirk as he saw the man did not intend to drink it. "The wine not to your taste or do you fear I plan to poison you?"
"If I drank something handed to me by a Martell without it first being tasted, Daisy might just appear out of sheer frustration to slap me." He chuckled. "I mean no offense, your Highness."
He smirked, snatching the cup back and pouring it into his own cup, leaving the thing so full it was near to overflowing. Holding the Northern Prince's eye he took a long drink. "No offense taken. We are as famous for our poisons as you Northerns are for your furs."
Jon Stark's shoulders softened slightly. "Thank you for understanding."
"Of course, but now you owe me at least a conversation with someone who is not a Tyrell or one of their lackeys." He purposely leaned against the wall they were standing near.
The Stark grey eyes of the Northern Prince were nearly purple as they seemed to weigh Olyvar's words. "Aye, I suppose that's fair, your Highness."
"Well then, tell me, what did all you Black Brothers do up on the Wall to stay warm on those cold nights?" Olyvar laid innuendo into his tone. Information, and depending on the other man's tastes possibly a fuck. He could live with either or both.
The man clearly took his meaning, both of them. "Shite ale and shivering." And alas, ignored the innuendo utterly. That was disappointing.
"Shit ale? Surely you had at least something passably good. An order of warriors with only shit ale for thousands of years?" Olyvar drank of his wine. At least he could learn more of the Wall and gain perhaps the Northern Prince's interest as a potential ally. Still disappointing.
Jon shook his head, a rough chuckle in his voice. "You would think, but nay, only the foulest ale I have ever tasted. Near ruined the whole drink for me for life."
"Well, that is tragic. Surely the Wall has some redeeming qualities?" He was sending drink with any men he was forced to send North.
Jon gave an outright snort. "None at all. Terrible people, terrible place, terrible weather, the Dead picking us off one by one." He paused. "But also some of the best and bravest men I've ever had the honor to meet. And there is a sort of…savage beauty to the Wall."
"Well, there's that at least." Olyvar set his empty cup aside. "I would not do well on your Wall, I think. My blood runs too hot for such cold." His head cocked to the side. "Do you think it will hold?"
Notes:It pained me deeply to leave out Arianne Martell, it did, she's a dope as fuck character. But if the Sands staged a coup and were killing family there's no way they left the rightful heir to Dorne alive. Also don't know if you can tell but fuck the whole shafting of the Dorne storyline in the show. I may be choosing to not chuck that stupid out of the window cause it'd be distracting to the focus of this fic, but know I loathe what they did to Dorne in the show. Like Dorne is was so interesting, I mean the over-sexualization of Arianne was exhausting, but like the show did them dirty. And the Sand Snakes were so cool, but no, they were just awful...I'm not sure if they were worse than Euron Greyjoy or not...its some stiff competition there....
Chapter 98Notes:So baseball season has begun and I am psyched! Oh how times have changed...being dragged to baseball games constantly has turned me into a fan against my will.
Chapter TextLord Manderly had a pleased smile as he saw the way their god was teaching Rickon Stark to flip a grown man. It warmed his heart to see the way the god treated the boy. Not that the way she was around Sansa wasn't enough of a clue, but she adored the Starks. Whole lot of 'em. He wasn't stupid, something had changed after she'd gone and vanished with the Queen for an afternoon. He glanced at Lyanna Mormont who was standing beside him. "I'm surprised you are not down there learning as well, my Lady."
"Not today, Lord Manderly, I have business for Bear Island to see to." Her eyes glinted as she still was looking at the lesson with a sharp focus.
He held back the chuckle he wanted to give. "Waiting for Maester Wolkan to bring you the latest reports on the Queen's men near your home then?"
"Aye." She bit out, ah she would be giving that poor man an earful for taking so long.
Shaking his head he considered her. "No plans to find yourself a husband, my lady? It would seem every unmarried lad ten or older is trying to find a betrothed or wife right now."
Her face filled with disgust. "Hardly. I'm too young to birth a babe yet, and a husband would be useless to me if I was old enough."
"Not even worth considering a betrothal? The younger two Blackwood boys are unspoken for still." He suggested, it really ought to be her mother handling the whole situation. But the Mormonts were reduced to just this one fierce girl. He wholeheartedly approved of Sansa emphasizing the need for the Lady of Bear Island to remain at court to better advocate for her people as Bear Island was so near to the Wall. Girl deserved to get to learn to fight and feel productive but still be as close to a child as any could afford to let her.
Lyanna's eyes didn't leave the fighting down below. "A husband would only try to rule me. I'm the Mormont of Bear Island, they are my people and my land. I'd cut a man's throat who thought he could change that."
Manderly couldn't help laughing at that. Gods be good, she was a fierce little thing. "Maybe a bastard son with no prospects for ya then? Someone with no name or claim of their own to help you lead your army and guard your lands?"
"I shall not." She scoffed. "My mother bedded a bear for her daughters, I shall do the same."
He cleared his throat, suddenly feeling horribly awkward. "You do know your mother did not bed an actual bear, yes?"
"I'm not an idiot, Lord Manderly." She gave him a cutting look like he was stupid.
He nodded, folding his hands in front of him. And he could see her position, losing the benefits of a husband and an alliance with such a thing though… "Surely you would like a partner for ruling your land? I have no idea what I'd have done without my wife and various relations to help with the minutia of ruling."
"When I am able and ready to provide my home with an heir I will do my duty and birth one. And perhaps a wolf, not a bear? If I require aid with management I will just hire the help." Lyanna seemed to consider something. "Or ask her Grace to lend me Lyarra Karstark for the minutia of ruling."
Manderly actually came up short on that one, staring at her with wide eyes. Dear gods, she was planning on just leveraging her friendship with Rickon Stark to get herself an heir their Queen would legitimize without hesitation if asked. And would certainly provide Bear Island with continued royal interest without the need for a marriage alliance. "Lyarra is betrothed to Prince Rickon?"
"For now." Lyanna sounded disappointed in him, which was rather galling. "And she spends hours following her Grace around learning about ruling. She'd be useful if she wanted to do something other than just marry some idiot for the Starks."
Well, that was a point. With the Riverlands and Vale the chances of Rickon's betrothal being broken so he could marry a more important bride was actually quite likely. "You think her Grace would allow that?"
"House Mormont's loyalty is beyond reproach. Besides, what issue could a single girl of a traitor House cause as far North as Bear Island?" Lyanna arched a brow.
And well, "That would certainly be quite secure." He shook his head. It was half madness, but he could see the practicality of it. And certainly, a way to use the connections she was making while here in the capital.
A thin reedy voice joined them. "Already thinking of how to make the most of your friends. Very wise of you, my Lady." Petyr Baelish joined them, a tip of his head to Lyanna. "If only more of your peers were so promising."
Lyanna gave the faintest twitches of acknowledgments to Baelish. "My Lord."
"Lord Baelish, here to see our prince train as well?" Manderly moved the conversation away from Lady Mormont's rather insane ideas. Though horrifyingly practical if faintly sad. He wondered how much was ruthless practicality with the utter willful ignoring of the political situation, and how much was that Rickon and Lyarra were likely the only friends of her own age she had?
Baelish's smarmy attention shifted away from Lyanna. "Partly, it is heartening to know the future is secure."
"And what else brings you here then, Lord Baelish?" Manderly asked.
His narrow lips smiled. "I had thought to speak with you on the matter of Edmund Blackwood. A little bird tells me he may intend to make a move towards our Queen once her Holiness regrettably leaves us."
"Blackwood?" Manderly's brow furrowed. "I would have thought it of Mallister if anyone here from the Riverlands."
Baelish tipped his head. "You know how fourth sons can be. Lord Mallister is in talks to marry Lord Glover's cousin, Eddara I believe is the girls' name."
Which was news to Manderly. Made sense, coastal Houses both under threat from the Greyjoys. Made the distance between them less of a weakness as well. "Ah, good for him."
"Indeed, which means if our Queen intends to keep her kingdom pacified, well a Blackwood rather will have to be wed to the Starks. Of course, to dare imagine that Stark might be the Queen and not Princess Arya or Prince Bran is most…presumptive."
Lyanna's eyes narrowed. "I doubt the truth of your 'little bird.' Edmund can no more avoid jumping at the sight of a direwolf than think to marry the Queen. She'd eat him alive if he dared."
"Power makes men do foolish things." Baelish pointedly looked down to where the god was ruffling Prince Rickon's hair before helping him through the motions again. "And with our god's departure on the minds of all, well, some might take their chance."
Lyanna's eyes narrowed even further. "And the Vale holds none who would think to try?"
"Oh, there certainly are some fools. The Redforts may make an offer, no doubt Harry Hardyng will as well. Once her Holiness returns south no doubt some poor fool will make an attempt. I only worry our Queen may feel…obliged to accept an offer from the Blackwoods with how integral their services are to her southern border at the moment."
Manderly stroked his beard. "I doubt our Queen would allow herself to be or even could be, backed into anything she wishes to avoid." He gave a pointed look to the god. "She hasn't left yet. Doubt any fools who try while she's here will end up the better for it."
////
Jon stared at the Martell Prince waiting for him as he neared his rooms to change from his sparring clothing into something he could wear while speaking with Daenerys. "Your Highness, did you need something?"
"I was hoping to speak with you, your Highness." Olyvar Martell gave a slow smile that reminded Jon a bit of how Daisy looked when she was considering punching Greatjon again. "Perhaps to avoid 'your Highness' this and 'your Highness' that we should dispense with it since we both hold the title, your Highness?"
And oh…nope, that sound in the man's tone was all Theon when looking at a pretty girl. Jon had really hoped he was wrong about that. Why couldn't Loras be here? He could chuck him at this mess and the man'd either escape without insulting anyone or not escape if he didn't want to. Or Daisy? She'd know how to get out of this sort of thing. "Er…that's acceptable?"
"Stark then, a walk perhaps so that we can discuss things?" His head tilted slightly.
Every instinct in his body demanded he run. However, "If you do not mind waiting for me to change…Martell?"
Olyvar's eyes did a slow sweep of him before laughing. "Good gods man, breath." He slapped his arm. "Come, I don't bite if you don't want me to and I could care less about Tyrell finery."
Jon blinked. "That…what?"
"Come," Olyvar waved him along as he began to walk down the hall.
Jon twitched but followed. He desperately wished he was not alone here. The only thing worse than following and letting the Dornish Prince explain would be to have to ask Daisy…or even worse…a Tyrell.
"Oh stop twitching, you're pretty, but you're not that pretty." Olyvar twirled a small sharp blade between his fingers. "Watching you try and find a way to avoid fucking me might be amusing, but I doubt it'd be productive."
Jon just sighed. "I'm going to wish I had gotten to my rooms faster then?"
"Oh certainly." Olyvar shot an irritated look at a passing Tyrell servant. "But first, shall we enjoy for once being near someone from so far removed a location our Houses are neither allies nor enemies?"
Which, Jon actually felt his back untense at those words. "Surely you have more productive things to see to?"
"Undoubtedly, but until our Queen's retinue arrives in two days there is little point." He slid his knife back into a clever sheath sewn into the lining of his orange silks. "We both have it in common that we were not meant for our positions."
Jon frowned faintly as he walked side by side with the Dornish Prince. "You're a Prince, I was born a bastard?"
"Hardly, and you're a Prince now as well." Olyvar folded his hands behind his back. "But I see you don't know my lineage, unsurprising really. My father was Castellan for Sunspear, serving under Prince Doran Martell our last true Prince. My father, Manfrey Martell is son of Prince Doran's Grandfather. We are not that closely related, close enough to matter of course." His grin showed his teeth. "I should be bedding whom I please, drinking too much wine, riding in tourneys, and mayhaps running Sunspear as my father has done in another twenty years. And yet, here I am; Lord of Sunspear and Prince of Dorne."
Jon considered the man. "Did you want it? To be Prince of Dorne?"
"You ask a hard question." Olyvar looked out at the gardens as they walked out into the light of the ever-cooling days. "I love my people, I love my family, what other choice was there? Leave Dorne weak and divided as every man, woman, and child with a drop of Martell blood fought over our sands like rabid beasts?" He looked at Jon. "If they had named you King in the North, would you have accepted or would you have run from it, Jon Stark?"
He swallowed the terror at the thought of it. Of remembering the Lords who had argued for the Winter Throne to be his. "Aye, I'd have accepted it. But it wouldn't have been right." His mouth twitched. "Sansa's a right sight better at all of it than I would have been. She'd have been stuck doing all of the work and yelling at me for making it difficult on her."
"I was surprised to hear of your sister's crowning. Remarkable, I had thought only Dorne would name a woman as their leader without dragons to make it so." He shook his head. "And yet, I hear so many things of the North that make me think perhaps our two peoples are not so different. A Queen with a female lover, quite scandalous."
Jon grabbed the man's arm, his eyes narrowed, as he halted them. "You will not speak ill of my sister to me, Martell."
"Hardly." Olyvar reached up, catching Jon's hand where it was on his arm. "I think it's remarkable. A woman powerful enough to do as she pleased and drag all your Northerns under her banner? Now that is a woman worth admiration." His mouth curled. "Especially if she's as striking as you are, Stark."
His cheeks heated as he dropped his hand. "Apologies, it's just-"
"Everyone here is too stupid to accept someone like your Queen unless she's in front of them and making them do so." Olyvar finished. "I can see why your sister legitimized you. Your loyalty is impressive."
Jon cleared his throat. "I am grateful she did, but it wasn't necessary."
"Which is no doubt why she did it." Olyvar continued his strolling pace. "Tell me, two Tyrell squires?"
He really wished Daisy was here. Also, he felt distinctly uncomfortable with the flirting. He had a terrible feeling it was meant to make him uncomfortable. And well, even if he was not attempting a betrothal to Daenerys, he wasn't moved by the male form really. "Yes, Lord Willas asked I take them. And would you stop…flirting?"
"A shame, but if it bothers you." Olyvar gave him a nod, his face definitely amused. "But all it took was him just asking?"
Jon shifted awkwardly. "Trade to bring food to the Riverlands would save lives. And Luthor and Garth aren't half bad. Bit eager, but they've got heart."
"Ah, a fruitful friendship." Olyvar hummed. "I'm afraid I cannot offer you food, or spears. But that does not mean we cannot be friends, yes?"
Jon looked at the man. "What is it you want from me?"
Olyvar raised a brow, a half laugh on his face. "Plain speech then?
"Aye, plain speech if you will." Jon was exhausted from the innuendo and ridiculous circles everyone spoke in here. He missed the North.
Olyvar nodded. "Very well, I have a cousin with me, he's four and ten, take him as your squire along with your Tyrell boys, and I'll see you are repaid for it. You have my word."
Well, Daisy was going to either kill him or laugh at him doing something smart without realizing it. "Why should I trust your word?"
Olyvar did laugh then. "Is having someone who isn't a Tyrell to aid you not enough?" He gave a last chuckle. "Very well, take my cousin as squire and I shall send an ambassador to your sister on behalf of Dorne. After all, I do prefer friends to enemies."
"Your cousin will be in the yard whether I say yes or no won't he?" Jon could see the determination on the man's face.
Olyvar just grinned. "Possibly, but who can control boys who wish to learn from a swordsman we hear ever more of?"
"If the boy comes North with me he could die." Jon cautioned. "But very well." He really hoped Sansa didn't kill him for this. Building alliances was important.
////
Arya narrowed her eyes at her sister. "Planning on telling me why I've just fed Edmund Blackwood to our resident mockingbird? Or still going to be a bitch about it?"
It was disappointing, though not surprising, that didn't get more than a bemused look from her sister. Sansa made so much more sense when they were children. She used to shriek in outrage. Instead of shrieking, Sansa said measured, normal words. "Because Lyarra Karstark and our brother have agreed on a pact to avoid marriage to each other."
"And she looks at you like you hung the moon?" Arya couldn't help the smirk, it was hilarious on afternoons Lyarra was permitted to follow Sansa about.
Sansa's lips twitched up. "Hush, you'll leave that poor girl alone. But yes, I quite think even Rickon's noticed that."
"You mean to throw Rickon at Bethany Blackwood then?" Arya frowned working out the alliance lines. "I thought your stupid–and it's beyond idiotic–plan to marry immediately after Daisy leaves, was so we had 'options'. A thing Rickon won't have with a formal written betrothal."
Sansa fell more serious. "Rickon and Bethany don't seem to mind each other. And I doubt a Blackwood will be left unbetrothed past four moons from now. Lord Blackwood will marry his children or at least betroth them as quickly as he can. He's lost two sons already. He cannot risk his House by delaying. Few can with war upon us."
"And that means Rickon or I have to marry one of them." Arya hated that she understood what her sister was doing. Well fuck. Their resident god wouldn't be leaving them fast enough for Sansa to go and marry stupid Edmund in that case. "I hate that that makes sense."
Her idiot sister's brow rose. "Do you want me to change tacts? There's still time to ensure you're the one who weds Edmund? Or perhaps you'd prefer Alyn? I'm sure he'll be happy to split his duties between you and squiring for Loras. I'm afraid not even I can stomach helping you wed poor Robert, Blackwood or not."
Arya snorted outright. She groaned at the victorious light in Sansa's eye. "You make jokes now? I hate it."
"Of course you do," Sansa replied dryly. "But does that answer your question?"
She felt a terrible suspicion. "Who does this mean you are planning to marry like the idiot you are?"
"Loras." Sansa held up her hand. "I know. Whatever outrage you're planning, I know. But he's the best of the lot. I wouldn't trust a Valeman near my crown, nor another Riverlander if Rickon marries there. The North doesn't have enough sons as it is. I've legitimized twelve bastards already."
Arya kicked her legs in the air between the table she was seated on and the ground her feet didn't reach when she was perched up here. "Romantic, really. Bran and I?"
"There's time and options, though if you conveniently like a man from the Vale or the North that'd be helpful." Sansa held out a scroll. "For Lord Lake."
She reached out, snatching the scroll and weighing it. "I'm not a messenger."
"Of course not. But that is a promise to legitimize his two bastard sons. And if you were to ensure he has it whispered in his ear that I expect him to offer his younger legitimate son to Lord Manderly, well, that would be your job." Sansa's eyes narrowed.
"That's mean." Arya frowned. "Why would Lord Manderly accept? He can do better."
Sansa hummed. "Because he can do better. It'll give him more weight in ensuring the boy doesn't try and take control of Manderly power. And it will give him influence in a part of the North separate from his block of alliances. But not so far as to be pointless. That said he may not accept such an offer. Which is entirely his prerogative. Still, it is of little consequence to ensure he has the option."
"Wonderful, threats to make." She paused. "And Bran?"
For the first time, Sansa looked unsure. "I don't know. Sometimes he seems better…but…"
"Sometimes isn't enough." Arya finished, grim.
Sansa nodded. "Speak with him would you?"
"Obviously." Arya hopped off the table. "You can't control everything."
Sansa's fingertips turned white from how hard she was holding her cup of tea. "I know."
"Nuts by the fire after dinner then?" Arya checked.
Her sister tipped her head. "I look forward to it."
"Well, I'll see you then. Still think you're an idiot." Arya let the seriousness of the conversation before roll off of her as she walked for the door.
Sansa's voice called after her. "Noted."
Arya lazily waved behind her before slipping out the door. She considered her options. Go and threaten an unfortunate Lord Lake, or find Lord Cerwyn and make sure he hadn't forgotten her request for a dragonglass-tipped quarterstaff first? Decisions, decisions.
Chapter 99Notes:Yo! So, stumbled on a really neat video on Catelyn Stark, its very good.
https://www.youtube.com/watch?v=5IAQyHMyfKQ&ab_channel=MyLittleThoughtTree
Chapter TextArya rolled her eyes as Rickon darted ahead of her and into their sister's rooms, Shaggydog nipping at his heels. As she got close enough she could see where he'd plopped down before the fire with a grunt.
Shaggydog laid down behind him, knocking into his back. "Shaggy!" He twisted slightly so he could look into the eyes of his other self. "Really?"
"Don't let Shaggydog eat the chestnuts," Sansa warned from where she was walking over with the jar of butter.
Arya kicked the door shut behind her as she wheeled Bran the rest of the way in. "We need a better chair, it sucks to push this thing."
"I can have Fitz draw something up." Daisy offered from where Sansa was piling her with the supplies needed off the table like some kind of pack animal.
Rickon scratched at Shaggydog's snout, both their noses twitching. "What's that smell?"
"Clove and cinnamon," Sansa replied as she walked over. She gently brushed a lock out of his eyes. "We're going to have to have your hair cut soon. It's getting into your eyes."
Daisy was neatly beginning to set things down by the hearth. "I would like to point out my useful assistance is gonna run out in a second."
Arya huffed as she turned to face Bran. "How do you want to be on the rug?"
Bran's brow pinched ever so slightly. "On my stomach."
"I'll grab the pillows." Arya looked over to Daisy and her sister who were setting out the things for roasting the chestnuts. "If you two lovebirds could get him out of the chair?" She was not saying that it was a bit hard to get Bran in and out when he was bigger than her. Which, it was rude that her siblings were all giants.
Daisy just laughed, her hand on Sansa's shoulder briefly. "I've got it."
Sansa tossed one of the small sacks of nuts at Rickon. "Start scoring those, you know how?"
"Of course, I know how." Rickon huffed, slipping his knife out and beginning to put the large X's into the shell of the nuts.
Daisy easily got to Bran and lifted him up and out of the chair with ease. His hands automatically caught her shoulders. It was unfair, Daisy was shorter than Bran too. But no, stupid inhuman strength made it easy for her.
Arya rolled her eyes and grabbed the pillows off of Sansa's bed. Her lips twitched at the very new headboard on her sister's bed. A thing she was going to mention when their baby brother wasn't there. Stalking back to the fire she dropped and helped Daisy get Bran propped up on the pillows. "That enough?"
"I am…comfortable." Bran allowed, shifting himself ever so slightly. He looked at Daisy. "I could be seeing more."
Daisy rolled her eyes. "Yeah, you've seen enough for the night."
Arya watched with curious eyes. It was…Bran seemed most human near to their sister's lover. A sort of understanding there. She settled in beside Bran, drawing out a small knife and accepting a bag of nuts, and began to score.
"Did Robb stab himself doing this once? Cause I think I remember that." Rickon's face was scrunched up in thought.
Arya laughed. "Aye, he did."
"I remember that, I tied my handkerchief around his thumb." Sansa had a soft smile on her face as she settled against Daisy and prodded at the fire with the iron poker.
Bran stared at the fire. "We ate chestnuts raw when we fled Winterfell."
"I remember that!" Rickon perked up, excited about remembering something of their childhood. "Hodor crushed the shells open with his hands."
Sansa took the sack of now scored nuts from Rickon, dumping them into the cast iron pan sitting on the hearth. "So many stories…Do you remember the ghost stories of the Nightfort? We all slept in Robb's bed because we were too afraid to sleep in our own rooms."
"You kick in your sleep." Arya passed her sack of scored nuts to Sansa to be added to the pan.
Sansa huffed, dumping them in and then pouring water over the top. "I do not."
"Of course not." Daisy winked at Arya.
She couldn't help giggling at that.
Sansa turned, saw something on Daisy's face, and then huffed. "It's not that bad."
"Of course not." Daisy just smiled at Sansa.
Arya raised an eyebrow at that. Gods, they were disgusting. Also, 'oh I'll marry when she leaves' and then bringing her to their family evening. It was ridiculous.
"Robb snored," Bran said, his voice empty but there was…it wasn't a useful statement. So there was that.
Sansa shot a look at Bran. "If someone in our family is a kicker it was you. I had bruises on my shins the next day."
"It's the wolf dreams. We run in our dreams." Rickon brought his knees up to his chest as he watched with sharp focus as the nuts were steamed in the cast iron pan.
Arya raised a brow at that, but…well she saw through Nymeria's eyes when she slept. Which, closing her eyes she could feel that link there. With Nymeria so close she could feel her better. "Nymeria is coming."
"Then we just need Jon." Sansa looked sad for a moment.
Rickon rubbed at his nose. "What stories should we tell?"
"Well, we've all had adventures haven't we?" Arya offered, she knew at least to some small degree she had some few events that weren't unspeakable. Surely her siblings had such things as well.
Sansa smiled. "Better than ghost stories at least." Her gaze snapped to Daisy. "I do not wish to know if ghosts are real or not unless you believe it's an active threat to us."
"No ghosts, got it." Daisy snickered but brushed a faint kiss against Sansa's cheek.
Arya's nose wrinkled. It was pathetic how smitten they were. She shared a look with Rickon. "So, who goes first?"
She stuck her fingers in her mouth. "They're fuck'n hot." Arya glared at the nuts she'd been peeling the shell off of. Steam was still rising from them.
"Sansa told you to wait." Rickon poked at his nuts to unshell with the point of his dagger, clearly just barely keeping from trying to tear into the things.
Arya shot him a glare but kept her fingers in her mouth.
"And that would be why I said it," Sansa replied dryly from where she was scooping butter into the newly empty cast iron pan and adding the spices to the mixture.
Arya rolled her eyes, pulling her fingers out and going back to peeling the nuts. "You're the worst."
"You're going to burn yourself again if you keep doing that." Sansa looked at her pointedly.
She held her sister's eyes before looking towards Daisy who was happily shelling Sansa's and her portion of the nuts. "We don't all have lovers to do the painful bits for us."
Rickon snorted, as he started peeling, though being very careful about it.
"I believe it was your turn for a story, Arya." Sansa neatly skipped over the whole thing.
Arya frowned as she considered what story of hers wasn't too…well, soaked in blood. "I was in the Riverlands with some of the boys I'd escaped Harrenhall with when we heard someone coming."
"They were fighting for the people and they just sold you all off?" Daisy asked in actual outrage.
Sansa's jaw had tightened. "And poorly done, they had given you their protection."
"They were desperate." Arya shrugged. The names of the Brotherhood had never made their way onto her list. Only the Red Woman and their leader, not that she'd spare any of them from death if given the chance either.
Daisy dropped the pile of nut meat into the pan. Stupid god powers meaning she hadn't burned her fingers. Or maybe she had and it'd just healed too fast to show? Which, still stupid god powers.
Rickon grunted, his teeth showing as his lips pulled back. "They turned on you." His eyes narrowed. "And we thought they sounded like heros."
"We?" Sansa asked dryly, a single brow arched as she mixed the nut meat into the butter and spices.
Daisy reached out, bumping her fist against Rickon's.
"Of course." Sansa sighed and looked at Arya. "Your fond words of the Hound lead me to believe being sold to him did not harm you?"
Arya gave a rather wicked look at her sister. "He taught me where to stick a man with a sword. Took the worst shits though."
"Osha and Shaggydog taught me where to stab. Didn't have a sword though." Rickon pouted.
Arya passed her peeled nuts to Sansa before leaning into Rickon. "You have a sword now."
"True!" Rickon perked up.
Arya looked over at Bran. "Your story Bran, come on, you have to have some kind of story."
Bran's brow furrowed slightly. "I have too many stories."
"Why do you keep looking at the Targaryens? They're just a bunch of lizard people anyways." Rickon grumbled, he always got touchy about Bran. But then, well their two youngest brothers had stayed together longest out of all of them. It made sense Rickon took Bran's changes hardest.
Daisy answered. "Prophecy, he's looking to see if fate can stop the Others."
Sansa looked at Daisy like she was a miracle, and then placed the pan into the fire again, to gently heat the nuts in their buttery mix. "Why Targaryen prophecies?"
"Fire and Ice, the Great Other." Bran's gaze was lost in the fire. "Dragonflame burns all."
Arya groaned. "That's stupid, did they even have dragons the first time?"
"I am…unsure." Bran's gaze turned to her.
Rickon stilled. "Wait, why haven't you looked at the first Long Night?"
"I…had not thought of it." Bran actually blinked.
Sansa stared at them. "You never looked at the first Long Night." Her voice was just so done with all of them. It was kind of amazing. "Is it damaging to go back further in time?"
"No," Bran replied, and he actually looked fairly flummoxed.
Daisy reached past Sansa and yanked the pan out of the fire, clearly realizing Sansa was distracted.
"You've been able to see how the first Long Night ended this entire time, there was no danger to doing so, and you just haven't looked?" The sheer incredulity in her voice was hilarious.
But also…Arya stared at her brother. "Did the trees take your brain?"
"No." Bran seemed genuinely irritated. A hint of color on his cheeks.
Sansa reached out and turned Bran's chin to look at her. "No greenseeing tonight. You can look to the past in the morning."
He hesitated but gave a nod finally.
"In the meantime, nuts." Sansa gestured to the pan of delightful smelling chesnuts.
Arya snagged one and stuffed it in her mouth. It was too hot, and she had to chew with her mouth open as its soft flesh gave way to her teeth, but who cared? It tasted like childhood, better times, and home.
Arya yawned, her back against Shaggydog's rump. She was warm and content. Bran was snoring softly while drooling on the pillow he was on. A warm blanket was thrown over him. Rickon was curled into Shaggydog, the two of them would whine in their sleep together occasionally. Nymeria was sleeping under the table, her golden eyes watching over their pack when she stirred.
Her eyes turned to where Sansa was asleep, her head pillowed on Daisy's lap, Ghost half enfolding them. Arya's grey eyes met Daisy's brown ones. "She loves you, you know?" Her voice was soft, not meant to wake her siblings.
"I know." Daisy looked down at Sansa, her fingers trailing through her red hair. "I love her too."
Arya groaned, they were the worst. For fucks sake, Sansa had brought or just not uninvited Daisy from what was clearly one of Sansa's attempts at forcing them all to bond like family without violence. Which lame, but kinda really nice as well. Also, Daisy spent every night in Sansa's rooms when she was here. Every night. And they didn't even fuck every time. It was disgusting, she was happy for her sister but so gross. And Jon was wooing some dragon woman, just as gross. But at least she didn't have to see Jon make stupid lovey faces.
"Does it bother you?" Daisy asked slowly as she adjusted the blanket thrown over Sansa.
Arya raised a brow. "Not really, I just think you're both being idiots."
Daisy bit her lip to keep from laughing, the fondest most smitten fucking expression as she glanced at Sansa. "Fair."
"You're not going to argue against that? No 'the cost of this brief window of happiness is worth the pain of parting' crap?" Arya really hoped Jon could talk some sense into one of these two idiots when he got back. Her hopes weren't high. Because she could see that Daisy was pack, and the pack stuck together.
Daisy sighed. "Sounds like Sansa." She frowned. "I don't…plan for the future, not really. But your sister means…more than you can imagine."
"Gross." Arya groaned, they were the worst. "But fine, be all tragic and sad. You're both as bad as Bran."
Daisy let out a soft huff of laughter at that. "Can't really argue that."
"How's Jon, really?" Arya asked, she wouldn't get anywhere except depressing excuses for why duty was so much more important than anything else.
Her sister's lover grinned at that. "He's doing well. Making peace, getting dragonglass, it's made him…more settled. It's a tangible way to protect his family, the North, everyone. He needed that. And he was right, making peace with Dany is the right call."
Arya's voice was quiet so as not to wake the others, but she refused to make it soft. "What does he look like?" The…vulnerability of having to ask was distinctly uncomfortable, but it was better than asking Sansa.
"Hot." Daisy raised a brow.
And Arya couldn't help the huff she let out.
"Like all you Starks are stupidly attractive, it's distinctly unfair." There was a playful edge to Daisy's voice, which…Arya appreciated. "But he's got dark hair down to about his shoulders, and wears a half-man bun in the back. Which is just a hairstyle up here. Very respectable beard, long face, greyish purple eyes. Really, between the whole handsome face and solid shoulders and general manly vibes I get why the girls all sigh over him. It's also hilarious how uncomfortable it makes him."
Arya settled against Shaggydog, some tension draining. It was a point in her sister's lover's favor. She was answering while not pointing out the pain there. "Well, he always was pretty. Cut his eyelashes off with some scissors when we were kids cause Theon was being mean about it. Said he looked like a girl."
Daisy barely kept from laughing. "Sounds right." Her lips twitched up. "Anyways, all proper Northern Lord. He's got a scar on his face, here." She drew her finger down from her forehead to her cheek. "He's very serious, broods a lot. But when he smiles it lights up his face. Looks good on him."
"Southern girls must love that," Arya replied with a twitch to her lips.
"Oh, they definitely do." Daisy settled further back into Ghost's fur. "He's a good guy. I don't care about the whole honorable thing he clings to. I'm a spy for fucks sake." She shook her head slightly. "But he's good and cares deeply. The years weren't kind to him, but he hasn't let it make him something…dark. I know the Tyrells and everyone probably think he's an idiot, but it's not that he can't understand their games. It's that he finds them pointless and disgusting. Not to say he's not shockingly effective at it. He's so honest no one questions his word and he just bulldozes to the point and no one even gets mad at him for it."
Arya laughed quietly. "So he's being an idiot on purpose."
"Yup." If it hadn't been earlier, it was clear now that Daisy loved Jon. Probably in the same way she so clearly loved Rickon. "Although him refusing to learn politics out of sheer spite is hilarious."
Arya could remember the way Jon's face used to darken when he was going to dig his heels in on something. Or that one rather spectacular time he'd punched Theon in the face. She could just see him all broody and stubborn. "So he's just batting his eyes at the Dragon Queen then?"
"Well, he didn't step on her feet dancing. Did step on mine. Talks about the Dead way too much, but it's working for him so…" Daisy shrugged. There was a pause, the sound of the fire crackling, Bran's light snores. Daisy looked at her. "He loves you, and he could care less about what you have done as a faceless man. Or I guess he does care, but that's because he worries about you. Blames himself for not being able to protect you from it all."
"That's stupid. He couldn't have done anything." She looked at the being everyone labeled a god of destruction, thought of the lake of blood she'd left in Highgarden, the slaughter of the Boltons, a castle swallowed. And…well, she believed it.
Daisy made a soft sound. "He's your brother, being a bit of an overprotective lug is his job. So like, you'll probably want to stick any future suitor of yours in chainmail if you don't want them getting stabbed a bit."
"If a man can't keep himself unstabbed by someone who'll do it to their faces they deserve to be stabbed." Arya rolled her eyes.
"Next thing you'll say is you're planning on stealing a wildling to be done with it." Daisy teased gently.
She frowned. "No, I think not."
"Fair." Daisy looked at the fire. "I don't really understand your political marriages. Or I do but…I don't like it. It's not something we had really. People ought to be able to marry because they like each other and want to spend their lives together."
Arya couldn't really picture a world where people just married who they wanted. But then, well she'd been around common folk enough she kinda could. "Sounds weird. Probably better. I'll stab any noble prick who thinks he can make me his stupid wife."
"Good for you." Daisy paused. "Probably shouldn't mention I said that to Sansa."
Arya's teeth showed as she grinned. "Oh, keeping secrets from my sister? Encouraging un-princess like behavior?"
"I mean you're the least princessy princess ever, which is very awesome by the by. But I don't think anyone could get you to do something you didn't want to do." Daisy gave her a lazy raised thumb. "So again, good for you."
Arya tilted her head to the side. "You know hearing your followers talk about your mother, you kinda sound a bit like a princess yourself."
Daisy blinked a look of the faintest horror on her face. "Don't you dare suggest that's the case to anyone. I swear they rearrange how my titles go and it keeps getting grander. Like in the scale of things my name just means people want to kill me, capture me, or run screaming in terror."
"And by people, you mean the so-called gods." Arya sniggered. It was quite rewarding that the gods really were as useless as she'd thought they were around the time she'd known they didn't answer prayer or give a crap about any of them. None of them did.
Daisy nodded. "Gods suck. Haven't met one worth worshipping." Her head tilted to the side. "However, Thor's biceps, very drool-worthy, even if Asgardians are kinda dicks."
Arya picked up the wineskin that'd been laying to the side and popped the lid off, taking a swig. "Never had time for boys."
"They're not all the worst." Daisy was smiling faintly. "But surviving doesn't leave much time for them. Or girls." Her gaze got all sappy as it turned to Sansa again.
Arya rolled her eyes and took another long swig of wine. They really were disgusting, even if it was satisfying to see them together. "So thoughts on knives? They're more interesting."
Daisy didn't disagree. "Well-"