Chapter 31Notes:So I might be slow responding to comments and stuff this week, my town/village is under water. Like I'm on an island, surrounded by river that I could chuck a baseball into from the front porch in two directions. So should the river not continue to rise I'm fine, if it does rise I may be finding out how comfortable my roof is...fingers crossed. Water's supposed to start going down on Monday though so just have to not drown for the next two days. But thought I should give you a heads up! I love the comments and seriously you guys are the best, I'm just in the middle of a natural disaster. On the other hand being physically incapable of getting out of my village means I wrote like a whole fucking chapter today cause like...it was that or clean out my car.
Chapter TextSansa remained placid as she read through the various orders Manderly and Greatjon had enacted in her absence. It was not all that she'd have done, but it was still well done. Winterfell was in a stronger position than it had been. "I see you've already sent the diplomatic party to the Iron Bank."
"Barret Moss, Lyessa Flint, and Brandon Bole left with fifty men at arms two weeks past. I know you had indicated you'd prefer an Umber to be a part of the party, but with Hother at the Karhold, Mors south with you and Greatjon here the big lug, there weren't any of high enough position in their House." Wyman Manderly's hands were clasped in front of his girth.
Greatjon scoffed. "They'll be to Whiteharbor if not half way to Essos by now. What's done is done."
"It's an acceptable choice." Sansa knew she'd been overly reliant on House Umber. Of the Northern Houses Cerwyn, Glover, Umber and Hornwood all owed her far too much to turn against her. And of those Houses Umber was the largest and had so far been the most useful. Still, she'd been showing too much preference for them. "What is this project? You've had land cleared, leveled and frames made?"
Wolkan stepped forward with a set of papers, setting them out on her desk. "The companion of her Holiness has taken insult at the realities of winter. And if I may, I understand far more why her Holiness hasn't killed him for the disrespect he shows. While out of his mind, his brilliance is...in just a few hours of effort he's given us great aid in assisting with the preparations for winter." He looked deeply impressed. "He's certain that her Holiness can turn sand and ash from the fires into glass in just minutes. We've taken the initiative to have five frames of glasshouses raised as well as foundations built. Should her Holiness consent we can have them finished in a few days' work."
"I'm sure she'll be either in the Broken Tower or with Fitz if she's not in the yard assisting with unloading the baggage train." Sansa moved to the next stack only to pause at the change in the air. "Was there something else required for the building of the glasshouses?"
Wyman spoke, his voice effusive. "It's just that perhaps it would be better coming from you."
"I don't have time to go through all the matters of Winterfell needed before the feast and find and speak to Daisy. Surely one of you is capable of asking her?" Sansa was exhausted and needed a stronger grasp on what matters had occurred while she'd been away before the small evening feast.
Wyman shuffled slightly. "My Lady, we're not the one she's partial to."
"For gods sake man." Greatjon cut in. "We're saying her Holiness is courting you and she's more likely to make us thousands of gold dragons worth of glass if you ask it of her."
Sansa had wondered when someone would properly state it. It'd been a rather unspoken reality for some time. It would forever baffle her the depth of kindness and general goodness she'd come to know lay inside their resident god. No doubt Daisy would accept the request without a flicker of hesitation, but it was reasonable the men around her would doubt it unless it was attached to her 'courting' of Sansa. The fact it would help with the impression she wished to give gave weight to her decision as well. "I'll ask her on the morrow then." She had no interest in telling them that their god simply didn't follow the same cultural rules they did. "In the mean time, what's this news of the Whitehills?"
"The only remaining member of the house, Torhen Whitehill, is in our dungeons. With news of House Stark's return, their vassal House Warrick turned on them and assisted House Forrester in retaking their lands."
Sansa barely kept a sigh held in. "And now House Warrick wishes reward for turning against House Bolton's loyal bannerman and pardon for their service and fealty to House Bolton." She considered the ramification of what she knew about the in fighting House Bolton had encouraged to cut down Houses loyal to the Starks. "House Forrester will require reward for loyalty."
"They bent the knee." Greatjon scoffed at perceived weakness.
She stared at him. "Their Lord was a boy who's father died at the Red Wedding, whose eldest brother was assumed dead at that same massacre and you want me to withhold aid because a boy bent the knee to save his House? A boy who Ramsey killed because he tried to protect his sister from him? Or should I cast out and condemn and punish all who bent the knee? That would include your uncle Hother wouldn't it?" Sansa knew her voice was cold and she didn't care. They'd all done things they weren't proud of to survive.
Greatjon lowered his head. "Right, you've made your point my Lady."
"Don't think you or yours above reproach Lord Umber." She had a point to make. "Or have I been mistaken in the trust I've shown you?"
His shoulders tightened. "No."
"Good." She looked to her Senchal who had been silent up till now. "Ser Flint, what news of the household?"
Sansa had a pounding headache by the time the bare minimum of information had been conveyed to her. "What else is pressing for me to understand?"
"Your brother Rickon." Wyman had long since taken a seat, his hands folded on top of his stomach once more. "He's made some progress with his lessons, much better progress in the sparring yard. He's a good lad, not smart like you are but he's a clever little biter."
Sansa braced herself. "What are you getting at Lord Manderly?"
"He's half wild." Wyman winced. "I'm sure given time he could grow into a proper Lord. We Northerners don't care for airs or pithy pouncery." He waved towards Greatjon. "I'd still have sat the boy back in Winterfell as Lord if you hadn't done it already. But what he needs to learn is patience and wisdom, a lesson I believe you are better able to teach than I."
"A lesson hard taught." Sansa set her hands down upon the surface of her desk. "We Starks are slow learners, but it is a lesson that he'll learn." She wondered if he knew the warning he was giving her? In the end it didn't matter, she'd received the warning all the same. Until the Lord's Moot and Rickon was named Lord, factionalism was a risk. Afterall, why not choose Jon, a man grown over a boy half grown and wild? A choice that for the coming war likely held wisdom, but which would lead to chaos and endless succession issues in the next generations. "Thank you for your advice, but if that is all I believe we have a feast to begin?"
Sansa's headache had eased, it certainly helped that she was seated with Daisy to one side and Rickon to the other. While she was certainly expected to speak with others at the high table she was more than able to listen to Rickon happily telling her about his training and lessons without seeming rude. It helped Daisy had taken one look at her face and gotten the Lords on her side of the high table telling war stories. Because of course she had. Being lovely like that without being asked was just who she was. It was practically unfair.
"Do you think I could do my lessons in your solar? I promise I'll be quiet." Rickon asked excitedly as he cut his meat into pieces.
She had the slightest of smiles on her face as she looked at his face that was his, real and alive and so distinctly happy. "For some small meetings and matters of business your presence while you work on your letters will be welcome. Afterall, it will be your solar when you are grown and Lord here."
His nose scrunched slightly. "I'm not good at all the Lord stuff like you are."
"And you will be as well if you listen to your lessons instead of escaping them." Sansa chided gently, though not seriously. It was a feast, the mood merry and celebratory in what small way they could afford without being wasteful. "So Maester Wolkan tells me you can name the Houses of the North now?"
"Aye, it's boring though. Fitz let's me help in his workshop sometimes if I don't ask too many questions." Rickon perked up. "He said he'd let me help with his ex..experiment. It's the scientific method. You have an idea, you test it, and then you know if it was right or not. That's what an experiment is, a test."
Sansa wondered at that, she'd had limited exposure to Fitz, but he'd not struck her as the sort that liked children. But the lesson he'd taught her brother was one that held merit. "What is the experiment he means to do?"
"Make lightning!" Rickon straightened in his seat. "I'm helping make grounding rods. It's to keep it from hurting people or starting a fire. Because metal is a conductor. It means lightning goes through it, like water down a river."
Sansa hummed, watching his face as it lit in excitement. "Is that all you are assisting with?"
"Well I get to help with the straining, and he thought writing letters endlessly was pointless and I'd do better training the muscles in my hand doing more than just letters again and again. So he has me copying his notes on the materials needed for the experiments, and redrawing designs of things he's going to make. The water wheel for getting lightning from the river has a lot of small pieces. I keep mucking up the circles. But Fitz says I'm getting better."
It was slightly ironic, she'd gone and installed a spy, risking the disfavor of a god and the anger of Fitz when she likely hadn't needed it at all. Her brother was doing it on his own and for fun. No doubt he was being given irrelevant things to keep him out of the way. But he was learning and practicing his lessons from Maester Wolkan all the same. And fortunately it would keep him out from under the feet of visiting Lords when he wasn't with her, Wolkan, or in the gods wood. "I'm sure you've grown greatly. You're already picking up your lessons very quickly."
"But everyone else is so much better than me." Rickon's eyes turned down to his meal, away from her face.
Sansa reached out gently tipping his chin up and his gaze back to her. "According to Wolkan and Lord Manderly you've escaped half your lessons, have stalked and terrified half the staff of the castle, hidden from Brienne, and for all that, you've still learned what they had hoped you would during my absence. You are measuring yourself against students who have already learned what you are just beginning to learn."
"Oh.." He blinked, staring at her before sniffing and pulling back ever so lightly, his cheeks pink.
She smiled genuinely then. "Although you will not stalk the servants either in your own skin or Shaggydog's." Honestly she found it amusing that he'd taken to that particular mischief. No one had been harmed and Wyman had taken to simply offering stiff cups of wine to those who needed it after being frightened. Not acceptable, but expected mischief from a boy Rickon's age. She certainly remembered the terror Robb and Theon had wrecked before their father had taken them to task for it. "It is behavior unacceptable for a Lord of Winterfell."
Rickon pouted, but nodded. "Alright."
Lord Brandon Tallhart, one of the newly arrived Lords, spoke up. "You must be a talented hunter, Lord Stark?"
"I fed Osha and I during our years on Skagos." Rickon's chin tipped up. He had every right to be proud. No other boy of so few years could have hoped to provide meat for two humans and a wolf. His warging had likely saved his life.
Lord Tallhart, and honestly he was of an age with Sansa, spoke then, looking at Rickon with something like sympathy on his northern face. "Your survival in these blood soaked and cursed years is remarkable. An unexpected Lordship awarded in tragedy is a hard thing to accept, we have that in common."
"You're the youngest son too?" Rickon asked an unforgivably uneducated question in a different situation, but in this one a sign of a young and unprepared Lord caring for his people. At least Sansa hoped that was what the Lords would see it as.
She spoke anyways. "My brother is still finishing his education on the Lords of his noble Houses."
"I understand." Lord Tallhart gave her the slightest dip of his head before returning his attention to Rickon. "My Lord Uncle was Lord of our House, but he, his only son and my father all perished between the War of Five Kings and the Ironborn. It left my cousin Eddara as the new Lady of our House. But like you are Lord Stark instead of your sister, Eddara was vulnerable with the Boltons in power so we married to ensure our House was secure." His face serious then. "Family are the only ones you can trust in troubled times."
Rickon straightened. "The pack survives."
"Aye, you have the right of it there Lord Stark." Lord Tallhart easily agreed.
Sansa spoke then, she recognized his manner of speech as more southern than was typical. "You fostered in the Riverlands with House Blackwood if I remember correctly?"
"Well remembered." And he looked properly impressed then. "Aye, my uncle hoped to improve relations for trade with our neighbors to the south."
Sansa had near forgotten that piece of information, but it was one that could be important in gaining aid from what was left of the armies of the Riverlands. Also this man's clear support for Rickon made him useful in other ways for her. She and Jon may have retaken the North, but Rickon would need support on his own merit. Though he had years to gain that support, because she would give him those years no matter what was required to do so. She looked away as cheers rose up from the crowded benches that extended out into the courtyard as fresh barrels of ale were rolled out.
Sansa picked up her own cup of ale and hit it against the top of the table twice before standing, every eye moving to her, voices quieting as they waited to hear what she would say. She raised her cup, her voice clear and perfectly meant to be heard across the hall. One of the many lessons she'd learned from Cersei in King's Landing. "Men of the North!"
In the pause most of the men banged their cups against the wooden tables in a cacophony of sound that faded after a moment.
"The North is united once more." Sansa felt lifted by the cheers that came from that. "To a strong, and united North." She lifted her cup higher and as she did so the over a hundred men in the hall did as well with cries of 'The North', 'The Red Wolf', and 'Stark', on their lips.
////
Rickon excitedly trotted into Fitz's workshop. "Do you still need help with the Tesla Coil?"
"No, but I need the m-mirror on the second table c-cleaned. Soap and w-water, then vinegar." Fitz replied from where he was working with the beakers of things he'd banned Rickon from so much as thinking about touching.
Rickon moved to the table to get started. "Are you happy Daisy is back?"
"Huh?" Fitz looked up, his eyes focusing away from his work. "Y-yes, I suppose I a-am." His head tilted, his hands coming to rest on his hips. "You know s-she is making our sand composite in-into glass today? I w-would think you would w-ant to be there?"
He frowned slightly. "But won't you be there for that?"
"I...yes, I will." Fitz seemed to consider saying something before just sighing and turning back to his work.
Rickon shrugged, and took the clean cloth and gently soaked it in the water. He'd make this the cleanest mirror in the castle. If he got done with this he could work on his sums some before he sat in Sansa's meetings with his letters. His sparring lessons were after the midday meal and if he knew Fitz he wouldn't be dragged out of his shop for the glass magic till then anyways. So he set to work on his task!
"Lord Stark, didn't think you'd be here today. What with your Lady sister home." Crann remarked as he came in, arms full of a crate of new supplies.
Rickon grinned at the apprentice. "I get to sit in on her meeting later so it's my only chance now. You'll still help me with my sums later?"
"Course, can't have our Lord not knowing his sums." Crann set the crate down and ruffled his hair. "You're even dressed like a proper lordling again."
He picked at the cuff of his shirt. "I need to look like a Lord don't I?"
"My f-father always said the suit d-defined the man." Fitz added from where he was carefully mixing two substances.
Rickon's ears perked up, he'd never heard Fitz talk about his family. "Was your father an important man?"
"Y-yes, a rich m-man." Fitz shook his head suddenly, pushing the palm of his hand against his forehead. "A b-bad man. Very b-bad. He l-left my mother and I. A-angry." Fitz shook himself. "It d-doesn't matter. C-clean the mirror."
Rickon shared a confused look with Crann, but did as told. He'd ask more later, Fitz didn't focus on his words much when he was thinking about something else. Besides, with how close Fitz was to his experiment, he was all fuzzy and bouncy right now. There'd be a chance later.
Rickon skidded to a halt as he realized a man was following him. He set his jaw and turned to face the man. "Do you require something?"
"My Lord." The bushy bearded man gave a slight bow of his head. "My name's Ser Kevan Swann of Stonehelm in the Stormlands. I fought for King Stannis and now for House Stark. Lady Stark assigned me to guard you."
Rickon's eyes narrowed as he took in the man he hadn't properly seen before, a faint flicker and he felt Shaggydog approaching. "If you're lying my sister will have your head."
"I have no doubt she would. But I am not lying, on my honor as a knight." The man bowed his head in a perfect court bow.
He'd know the truth of it when he reached his sister's solar in another hour or so. His eyes flicked to the sparring yard...he really wanted to watch. He bit his lip. "Would you teach me sword work? If you're a knight you can use a sword."
"I can do that, my Lord." The knight huffed with a tired amusement.
Rickon nodded, he had time. It'd be fine. He turned and made his way to where the sparring yard was set up. His face lit up as he saw Daisy was in the yard with the Greatjon! He took the last few steps with a leap in his step, Shaggydog reaching him and curling behind his back. Rickon ignored the sound of alarm the knight behind him made. He hadn't pounced, or purposely startled the man, Sansa couldn't be mad. He clamoured onto the wooden yard rail to watch, the Shield men were watching excitedly as well.
"Do you worship this god as well Lord Stark?" Ser Swann asked as he took his position besides him, watching the fight as well.
Rickon shook his head. "She's not an old god." Which it was really quite that simple, but she was something. But she didn't want to be worshipped if you listened to her so he had decided not to worry about it. 'Sides, Fitz said she was powerful not divine….he was pretty sure he knew what that meant.
"Wisely said my Lord." Ser Swann agreed as he crossed his arms. "And she's not a swordswoman."
Shaggydog snuffed.
Rickon flickered into his wolf and then back. Turning he beamed. "Fitz! What're you doing out of the workshop?"
"C-crann threatened my t-tea. Daisy t-told him to if I d-didn't get sunlight." Fitz looked frustrated, his fingers dancing at his sides with a nervous twitch. Bit like a rabbit that knew it was being hunted really.
Fitz's attention flicked to where Daisy was knocking Umber on his ass, again. His face scrunched up. His voice was a bit of a murmur. "W-what is she doing?"
"I believe she is sparring. While a gifted fighter, a poor swordswoman." Ser Swann answered with some disgust at the word 'swordswoman'.
Fitz strode towards the weapons wrack. "B-bloody ops agents." He grumbled as he moved.
Rickon watched fascinated as he rummaged through a crate of weapons before straightening with a sound of triumph, two short swords in his hands.
With a satisfied expression he marched straight into the sparring ring, ignoring Umber who'd just gotten to his feet. "Daisy, y-you should use these. It's d-dumb to keep using that s-sword." He thrust the short swords at her. "Y-you are the w-weapon, not w-wiedling it like these m-men."
Daisy passed her practice blade to Greatjon, and accepted the shorter swords from Fitz. "Really? This is what gets you out of your workshop?"
"I h-haven't made you i-idiot's weapons for y-years to see you use one t-that is unsuited for you." Fitz seemed to miss the sheer horror on every person's face as they watched. It was amazing. Fitz crossed his arms. "T-the balance is d-different than the b-batons you're used to. But y-you should be much b-better with these."
Daisy rolled her eyes, but twirled the blades around her with an ease, a frankly awe inspiring ease. "I'm not Bobbie, but this is better."
"Hmm." Fitz gave a sharp nod. "C-can I have my tea back now? It's t-terrorism to use Crann a-againt me like that."
She huffed. "Uh no, do you know what Jemma will do if I get you back to her all pale and sickly cause you keeled over from not enough sun? What's the saying 'sisters before misters'?"
"That...that is u-unfair." But Fitz softened slightly. "F-fine. We c-could do the glass n-now then?"
Rickon ignored the hard look on Ser Swann's face as he stared at the bickering between Daisy and Fitz, the sand into glass was going to be the best! If Fitz was right it'd all glow red hot! Near half an hour later Rickon bounced as he watched Daisy sit surrounded by the sand to be melted.
Her eyes were closed, Fitz standing next to her speaking quietly, but through Shaggydog's ears it was about vibrational speeds? Rickon would ask for details later. And then it started. The sand began to glow, and then it was faster and faster as it melted into a great white hot heat that forced all of them to step back from the sheer heat of it all.
Ser Swann's hand came to his chest, as he uttered under his breath, "R'hllor save us."
Rickong barely noticed, his eyes too wide at the sight before him. It was beautiful, like a star burning on land before them. A forge a thousand times larger. The heat baking upon his skin, making his face feel tight from it. It was so worth it to get to see this.
Chapter 32Notes:Sup! I'm dry and safe and sound once more. And I can safetly tell you all I have finally reached Arya and Danny showing up in the drafts...this fic is going to be so long...like I can't even.
Also I wanted to say for readers who aren't used to me, or readers who've only read my lighter more humorous fics, I very much will and do murder off main characters when the plot calls for it. Like I'm not going to follow cannon. So if your favorite character lived or died in the show that doesn't mean they'll end up that way in this. And because I saved Rickon I realized I might be giving the wrong hints that this is a 'and everyone lived happily ever after' type fic. Its not. I'm planning on killing...just a lot of characters, including some major beloved characters. That Major Character Death tag is a warning guys, one that like...I'm going to earn. We just haven't reached the open war that is building and won't reach it for quite some time so it feels like the characters are reasonably safe. They're not. No matter how much I might love or care about a character I'll still kill them if it makes sense for the story. Figured I should give that heads up before we get to the wars and more violent events in the future.
Chapter TextDaisy was...proud as she watched her men doing their current set of pull ups. Well those men who weren't on guard duty at the moment. Which honestly was another thing she was proud of. They'd made themselves useful. An eighth of guard rotations were taken by this weird, new iteration of Shield. The men had begun to call themselves 'The Order of the Shield'. It was...she felt proud. The lack of human sacrifice helped.
She crossed her arms leaning back as she watched. "They're getting better."
"I don't rightly understand why, but aye." Greatjon Umber scratched at his beard. "What's the point of the pull up thing?"
Daisy raised a brow looking at him. "If you ever found yourself hanging off of a ledge would you want to have done a pull up before?"
"Aye, but why'd I find myself hanging off a ledge? My feet belong on solid ground." He dropped his hands on his hips. "Seems pointless."
Daisy rolled her eyes. "And what else can a man pull that might be useful? I'm sure you've used your arm muscles before."
"Huh...why not just have 'em get strong fighting like proper men?" The Greatjon asked in genuine confusion.
She patted the giant of a man's shoulder. "Because that way lies dumb injuries and lacking basic fundementals." Daisy raised her voice. "And DROP." She bit back a laugh at the relief as the boys let go of the wooden beam they'd been using only to immediately try and not act sore and winded. "Ten more laps! Move IT!"
There was a groan, but they picked up their heels and set off at a practiced pace.
"See, they could do a quarter this many before we left." She'd run the earlier circuit with them, and she'd run more later. But she still felt...turning that sand to glass had taken it out of her, more mentally than physically, but she still felt it. It had been a lot of power to use without losing control. That line of control was...more terrifying than it'd been since she'd first gotten things undercontrol. Bit like trying to hold back an ocean with a faucet. A little leaking out and she could do amazing things. But too much and...she was afraid to find out. Making enough glass from sand to build multiple greenhouses the size of football fields at the same time was...it was a lot.
Greatjon pulled her from her thoughts. "Your man Fitz, I can punch him for ya. He shows too little respect."
"And yet he's never called me a whore." Daisy sighed, crap, the man meant it. "Fitz is Fitz. He talks to everyone the same way. It's how he is. He sees me using a weapon ill suited for how I've been trained to fight and he fixes it. He realizes winter here will mean a reduction in fresh vegetables and his health so he sees to it that glasshouses are built. And he knew me before any of us knew I wasn't just a street trash human orphan with more idealism than sense. If we were both humans of the same rank would the way he speaks to me matter?"
Greatjon's frown deepened. "He speaks like...he's better than you. One of your boys here'll take care of it if I don't."
"They won't, I made sure of it." Daisy felt a shiver of fear at the thought of that. She couldn't know how Fitz would react, but whether he reacted as the Doctor or not, it wouldn't be good. "I appreciate the offer, but Fitz and I are Fitz and I."
He crossed his arms, his gaze meaningfully. "What do you owe him?"
"When you've saved a person's life, and been saved in return over a dozen times, what do you or they owe you?" Daisy swallowed. "Or when you shattered the building that killed him and promised his wife you'd bring him back."
Greatjon stared at her. "You brought him back to life?"
"No, that's not my power." Daisy winced, she still felt...something like unease over Fitz's death. Because a part of her had been relieved. She wasn't sure if she should feel guilt, he'd known the risks, he'd taken too many thinking he was unkillable. The death toll in SHIELD was..high, and it hadn't been her directly, or intentionally. But she'd damaged the building. The metal sheet and concrete had crushed him. And after all that she wouldn't change her choice. If she'd even been capable of controlling the power as it rushed through her after the serum she wouldn't have used less. Less and Talbot might have survived. "This him never died, an older version of him died. Time is...less immutable than is really nice to think about."
Greatjon opened and then shut his mouth. "He still shouldn't speak to you how he does."
"I can take care of myself and my own honor." Daisy held the man's gaze. "If Fitz crosses the line I'll handle it." Which was an utter lie, but one maybe she should actually mention to Fitz.
Greatjon made an unhappy grumbling noise, but didn't press the point. "You going to use those short swords?"
Daisy looked pointedly at the three knights clearly trying to psych themselves up. Or apparently had succeeded as one man, his hair greying to the sides and face lined with severe lines approached her with purpose. "What House is he from?"
"Ser Bolling, one of Stannis's damned men. Humorless fucks the lot of them." Greatjon was hilariously grumpy as always. His moods were predictable as hell.
Daisy smiled, pushing forward to greet the knight who was def coming to challenge her to a fight. It was deeply predictable with these men. They really needed therapy, not that she could speak about healthy coping mechanisms. Her arms dropped to her sides.
"What should I call ya since I'm not one of your followers?" Ser Bolling asked, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword.
She sighed, honestly these people and their obsession with names. "My surname is Johnson so you could always try that. And your name is Ser Bolling according to Umber here. Let me guess, you want a spar?"
"I'd know the metal of one who claims to be a god." Ser Bolling's voice was rough, though it just seemed like that was his natural voice.
Daisy had long since accepted she was going to have to punch every new 'macho man' in the face. "The matter of my divinity is more philosophical than anything else. But sure, all three of you at the same time though."
The man predictably bristled at that.
Greatjon laughed, his hand slamming on her shoulder. "Only three men? You're going soft Holiness."
Daisy stared at him in disbelief. "Are you capable of not picking every fight in your path?"
"Well you haven't smote me yet." He laughed. "And you like me, you'd protect me if I challenged the wrong man."
She sighed, that was unfortunately correct. Damn, she was getting attached to these people, far more than she'd expected to. "I'd let them get a few hits in first."
"Enough, are you willing to fight us or not?" Ser Bolling cut in.
Which even Daisy knew that was pushing this world's manners quite a bit, and she'd accepted she was missing around 20%-15% in most social interactions in this world. "I'm willing, let's get started shall we?" She stepped to the weapons wrack easily lifting the two short swords Fitz had selected earlier.
She flipped the blades between her hands, the balance was similar to Bobbie's batons. Something she'd been trained with, and something that even she knew suited her more than a regular sword. May had taught her to use her whole body as a weapon, turning her body into the extension of a weapon was...different. Similar, but different. The shorter swords avoided that to some degree. Daisy turned, eyeing the three knights spreading out as they prepared for a spar.
Daisy stepped straight into the center of their trap. Based off the irritation on their faces, the dismissal of their skills burned, good. She fell into a basic stance. "Whenever you're ready."
With a sharp cry, Ser Bollings struck overhead, the knight with blonde hair lunging forward with a different blow. The third knight just a few seconds behind in striking at a third separate angle.
Her right blade caught the overhead strike, sending it into the dirt, her left blade deflected the strike from the second knight up and uselessly over her head, her foot kicking the third sword out of it's knight's hand.
Ser Bollings moved, but so did Daisy.
She didn't push or strain her strength, but otherwise she went for it. Talented opponents, weapons that suited her, and Daisy cut loose, as much as she could without accidently decapitating someone.
It was a flurry of strikes, she used her kicks as much as her blades, as she was forced to whirl constantly to keep all three knights at bay. Her movements got sharper, cleaner, more efficient as they moved across the sparring yard. Them working to force her into a corner and her letting them till slipping from the trap and prolonging the match.
Finally the third knight stumbled, sweat running in rivulets down his face and neck, his air coming in great heaving gasps. Daisy struck out, catching him around the neck, leveraging him between her and one of her two other opponents, her unencumbered arm blocking another strike from Ser Bolling.
Daisy hooked her foot around the idiot she was holding onto and flipped him straight into Bollings, sending both of them crashing into each other, and spilling onto the ground. With two opponents off their feet she moved, one sword locking with her remaining opponent's sword, her other snapping to the man's neck. "Yield."
The man's face was bright red and exhausted from the fight. His jaw tensed, but then his mouth was open again to aid in sucking in air. "I yield."
Daisy spun on her heel, throwing her right sword. It slammed into the ground, four inches deep, a trickle of blood dribbling down the thin slice on Ser Bolling's cheek. Her voice was hard as she looked down at the two on the ground. "Yield."
"I yield." Ser Bolling bit out.
She noticed the third knight was….puking. She'd take that as the third yield. Softening she stepped over and offered her hand to the older knight. "Well fought, I haven't had a challenge like that since Jon."
"You're better with those than a proper sword." Ser Bolling admitted as he took her hand and allowed her to yank him to his feet.
Daisy was getting very good with a traditional sword thank you very much, five months and she'd be as good as any of these sexist knights. And for fucks sake, she was a better fighter than any of them before she got serumed. Sure she'd have ended up with a lot more bruises, and a couple of them would have likely won a few rounds, but this constant negging was ridiculous. "You do realize Brienne probably would have beaten you as well? The three of you are good, but you've got almost no stamina."
"You're an assassin." He grit out, though he was looking at her in a new light, a far warier one.
Daisy tilted her head. "Sort of? I mean more flexible combat, negotiation, codes, and crisis management. More broad application." And really she'd been trained as a spy and sniper only for powers to change her focus to Strike team. "Jack of all trades really. And I'm not bad with a regular sword and we both know it. Just not specialized in it. For only having worked with a sword for a few months I'm not bad."
Bolling's eyes widened ever so slightly. "Months?"
"We don't really use swords much where I'm from." Daisy crossed her arms. "Or bows, knives some but not often in combat situations. The short swords are similar to batons we used for nonlethal takedowns. We used a weapon similar to a bow, honestly closer to a crossbow really primarily. And in actual combat," she let one palm face him, her powers pushing him back a single step. Daisy grinned at his expression, "I am the weapon."
The knight who'd yielded first made a sound in the back of his throat. His hands were on his knees as he wheezed. He looked up, eyes squinting. "Wha' are you?"
"An Inhuman." Daisy sighed as she saw the lack of comprehension, it was so much easier to explain in a world where aliens were a thing people understood. But alien equalled god...sort of? Jaiying had been immortal? "Half human, half immortal who got a golden elixir of godhood."
Ser Bolling sheathed his sword, wiping away the trickle of blood from his cheek. "And how much blood is required for your abilities?" There was an accusation there.
Daisy blew out a breath. "It was a birthright, I was born with this power, but control of it cost my own blood, pain, and effort."
"You don't need blood to fuel your power?" Ser Bolling asked, his tone careful.
Which damn these guys from the Stormlands were straightlaced as hell. It was really hard not to be insulted at this point. "No, I'm not a leech."
"It will be a change to no longer smell the burnt flesh of men." The knight folded his hands in front of him. "Would you be opposed to another spar, perhaps on a different day?"
Daisy waved to the sparring yard, and tower behind her. "You know where to find me."
////
Rickon tossed a bit of bark at Fitz's head. It stuck in the man's hair next to the four other bits of bark he'd tossed. His face lit up at success. He raised his fist in victory!
Crann Snow snickered silently, his eyes twinkling in amusement as he looked over at Rickon.
They both shared silent laughter as Fitz continued to be totally oblivious to the bark in his hair, and the fact the two of them were not actually doing their assigned tasks.
Fitz paused, reaching up, running a hand through his hair. As the bark hit the ground, as he turned. "For f-fucks sake!"
"Not sorry!" Rickon squeaked before bending in half with full bodied laughter. His whole body shook with it.
Fitz slammed his hand against the work table. "ENOUGH!"
Rickon choked on his laughter, silencing himself immediately as he flinched backwards. The amusement vanished from Crann's face.
The hair on the back of Rickon's neck stood on end, the laughably odd but fun guy who didn't expect anything from him other than that he use his head. But sometimes, sometimes he felt like he was in the presence of a predator. That the funny man he considered a friend might be dangerous. But this wasn't a moment of a passing shadow of danger. It was actual real danger.
Fitz ran his hand through his hair to one side, pushing it into a part, his fingers steadier than they usually were. The twitching was barely noticeable. It was odd...typically he simply ran his hand through his hair absentmindedly. Not...this was deliberate. "Get out."
Shifting awkwardly, Rickon bit at his lower lip, but his shoulders were braced.
"This is more important than y-ou can possibly imagine. Get out." Fitz pointed to the door. His face was set, barely restrained aggression in how he held himself. But what Rickon had always assumed was nerves was clearly frustration nearly vibrating out from under his skin.
Rickon swallowed, and then he left.
////
Sansa stitched a white wolf along the neckline of the black inner tunic she was making for Jon. It was calming, she'd had little time to stitch since she'd become Lady of Winterfell. It was all letters, numbers and emergency after emergency with scarce little time for making the minimum required clothing for herself and her brothers. But she'd finished two tunics and a half dozen shirts for Rickon while going, at, and returning from Barrowtown. Hardly anything really, a week or two's work not the work of months.
She was stitching in the single red eye visible in the wolf's profile when she heard the window open. Sansa didn't even bother looking up, there were exactly two people who could and would scale up high enough to come in the window. And she'd checked on the softly snoring Rickon an hour ago. "You do know there is a door."
"But then your guards would look at me all judgy and the rumors of our courtship would take a slightly different light." Daisy replied as she latched the window. "Also it's more fun."
Sansa looked up then, a soft smile on her lips. "You're not wrong about the courtship rumors. I'd prefer the men not believe we're having a torrid affair."
"I can see that being awkward." Daisy agreed lightly as she picked up a cup already set aside for her. Hot steam rising from what had been cold water just seconds ago as she carefully added tea leaves. "Your Stormland knights finnaly got the stick out of their asses long enough to try and whack me with a sword. So you can look forward to them probably getting less huffy about me. At least three of them."
She tied off the red thread before snipping it off and lifting the white spool of thread again. "Well, at the least, thank you for putting up with the disrespect."
"I'm going to punch faces across your seven kingdoms at this rate." Daisy heated a second cup already set out for just this situation. "It's like the men here are determined to underestimate me because I'm a woman."
Sansa considered whether it was wise to add to that as she threaded the white thread through the eye of the needle. "The North has never been friendly to those who are not of the North. It took them years, and several Northern children before the Lords of the North respected my mother. And she was of the Riverlands, the nearest kingdom. And you are visibly more different than my mother was."
"Racism, lovely." Daisy's voice was thick with sarcasm as she rolled her eyes. "Such a surprise."
She could guess what that meant, but asked anyway. "I believe I take your meaning, but what does 'racism' mean specifically?"
"People being shitty because of different racial markers." Daisy waved absently at her face. "Yay people, I say sarcastically."
Sansa was constantly baffled by, but had found relief in the oddness of whatever it was Daisy was. The lack of pretense, the fact that Daisy was here without wanting anything other than tea, conversation and perhaps some reasonable measure of entertainment. Friendship, tea and likely the need for something to focus on to avoid climbing walls from boredom. Honestly it was unlike any exchange she'd had with another person. "Oddly put, but I don't find that I disagree."
"So, my cult is terrifyingly unscary." Daisy set the cup of tea near Sansa before retreating to a different chair with her own cup. "Like I was expecting the preventing human sacrifice thing would be more difficult."
Sansa stared at her...friend in some disbelief. "You didn't. You just defined it as self sacrifice to an ideal to gain favor. Your followers are willingly sacrificing their lived lives to you and the idea of forging a new world." It was terrifying to watch in it's implications, and admirable. Probably to be expected of any follower of Daisy's.
"Oh, well at least they're not killing people? Yet." Daisy groaned. "Any brilliant ideas to keep them as un-murdery as possible?"
She considered that, a fond expression on her face. "Continue to show acceptance of the knights from the Stormlands. They're all devoted followers of their flame god."
"Religious tolerance by putting up with assholes who think I'm probably a demon and definitely think I'm a bitch. Goody." Daisy took a tip of her tea. "I think the punching was easier."
Sansa carefully continued to stitch the final details of the white wolf, laughing at a god no matter how lovely, didn't seem wise. Or a kind thing to do to her friend. "If you were to go into the sept and not indicate you disliked it, it would likely also help."
"I can do that. Most of the boys will be having a hard time standing tomorrow since they all pushed themselves far too hard to try and impress me today. Idiots." But she seemed fond as she said. Daisy's eyes settled on the sewing in Sansa's lap. "Why the white wolf? I thought your wolves were all grey for your sigel stuff?"
"It's for Jon." Sansa replied. She saw the lack of understanding on Daisy's face. "House Stark's colors are a grey wolf over a white sky on green. For legitimized bastards the colors are typically inverted. Hence why House Karstark's sigil was a white sun on black. For Jon I intend to give him the direwolf of our sigel as well. So a white wolf on black. It shows that he is a Stark, but a legitimized one. I hope to have at least two pieces of outer garb ready for him upon his return from the Karhold."
Daisy looked interested as she sipped her tea. "I don't understand it entirely, but you're doing the right thing for your brother."
"It's not a matter of the right thing. He's a Stark, I won't deny his name to him any longer. It should have always been his." Sansa still felt disquiet and regret at the memory of how her mother had treated Jon, how she herself had as a child. But this she could do properly. She looked up from her sewing with a slightly sharp movement, it wasn't a topic she wished to continue. "So, more to learn on using my attackers strength to stab them?"
"Yup, building muscle isn't really on the agenda for you. Anyone swinging at you will provide the force for you." Daisy hopped to her feet, hand outstretched with a smile that lit her face.
And it hit her then, what Margaery had meant all those years ago in the gardens of Kings Landing when she'd spoken of how different women liked different things. Because what she felt as she placed her hand in Daisy's was what she could admit to herself was want. A want she would never speak of she accepted in the same breath. Because Daisy intended to leave, because it would be complicated, and because her brothers and the North may need her marriage to secure them southern alliances. This friendship was stable, more was not and so it couldn't happen.
"Are you ok? We don't have to." Daisy asked sudden concern there.
Sansa had years of practice at hiding, and Daisy had clearly taken whatever tell she'd given as nerves because she was kind and cared. It was an easy half truth to give. "It's nothing, just a thought of something my advisors would be pleased to know. Now, let's hope my grip is less terrible tonight."
And because she was Daisy she accepted that. "You're not terrible."
Chapter 33Notes:Sup! You guys are the best!
So first Anathema_Nikola has done some fan art that is awesome! https://archiveofourown.org/users/Anathema_Nikola/pseuds/Anathema_Nikola
Next agentjoannemills also did some fan art! https://agentjoannemills.tumblr.com/post/671963303658012672/sansa-of-house-stark-the-winter-queen-and-daisy
Chapter TextFitz glared at his bowl of stew he was being forced to eat. "Y-you didn't have to d-drag me to dinner."
"Yes I did, you're going full Fitz." She looked at him. "When was the last time you even shaved?"
He hated the truth. But he wouldn't hide from it. "I c-can't."
She lowered her own spoon as she looked at him with what looked like actual confusion. "Why didn't you just ask? I'll grab some soap and like a razor and help you after you eat some actual food." Daisy pointed at the bowl in front of him.
Fitz's jaw ground, his tongue wetting his bottom lip. "I don't n-need it."
"You hate facial hair, and you smell. So I can either dump you in a tub or I can help you shave. Pick." Daisy's nose wrinkled. "I might actually dump you in a tub as well. Like seriously, have you not bathed at all? You're too obsessed."
"I'm this c-close to getting us home." He bit out. "None of the r-rest matters!"
Daisy sighed. "Do you think...no you don't get to kill yourself to get us home just because you think you have to suffer. You didn't let me kill myself, I'm not letting you do the same thing. So eat, or I'll leave my cult to keep you from the lab for a week."
"Y-you wouldn't…" Fitz pulled back as he realized she was utterly serious. "That's...that's not r-right."
Daisy stood, her own bowl empty. "It's apparently necessary. If you want to get home and aren't just looking to die you'll finish your meal and let me give you a shave, take a bath and then get some sleep before continuing your work. Nothing is worth killing yourself like this Fitz."
He didn't reply, just looking back down into his bowl. Fine, better to get through this stupid waste of time then argue about it and lose more. Daisy clearly didn't know what she was talking about. "You're j-just projecting. B-but fine."
"Good. I'll be back in an hour, try to have finished eating and maybe take a bath." She left with that. The door closing with a distinct click behind her.
Fitz's teeth ground. But he stabbed his spoon into the soup. He would get back to Jemma, no matter what.
The water had been cold he'd bathed in. But he hadn't bothered with heating it or finding someone to do that for him. It would have been a waste of time. Best get this over with quickly. A few hours to get Daisy off his back so he could get back to what was important. Getting home. This test would tell him how this planet worked enough that he could build a beacon. Probably have to use Daisy as a human amplifier of the wave, but it was doable. He just needed to be left to his work.
Fitz lathered his face with the shitty soap of this hellhole. "Y-you don't h-have to."
"I know." Daisy twirled the straight razor about in her fingers. "But it's happening so sit down and let me clean you up. Jemma won't even be able to recognize you otherwise. And then where would we be?"
He dropped into the chair, crossing his arms but stretching his neck to give her access all the same. "I-it's a waste of t-time. Why c-can't you understand t-that?"
"Because you're lying to yourself." Daisy's hands were firm as she stilled his head and began to run the sharp razor along his face. It rasped slightly as it cut the hairs from his face. "I'll make sure you live long enough to realize that."
Fitz's eyes narrowed as he looked at her. He wished he could scream and rant. Because all that mattered was getting home. But he tamped it down and looked away. It wasn't worth the fight. Not here where she could control all the idiot pawns and imbeciles who thought she was some sort of god. So he just breathed out through his nose and put up with this farce of care. Days, he just needed days to be ready for the test. He just needed to be home.
////
Sansa was speaking quietly with her advisors on the matter of the new glasshouses as the sun's first light came through the windows with all it's softness. "Is there any argument that we begin planting these crops?"
"M'Lady we can begin with the easiest crops immediately." Bower replied. "But should we put ditches round them to keep them safer?"
Ser Flint, her senchal nodded. "I agree, securing them should be of some import."
"We have the numbers currently to assign a guard rotation to them do we not?" Sansa quickly shuffled through the papers on the long table up in the Lord's Hall she'd taken as her place of work now that various Lords and knights might attempt to join or watch her work, not to mention the fact there'd likely be petitions throughout the day.
Bower bobbed his head. "We should, but isn't Lord Cerwyn in charge of that?"
"Why would you think he's in charge of the forces here in Winterfell?" Sansa's eyes cut straight to her temporary Master of Arms, the man was clearly handling that position better than he'd handled temporary senchal and temporary master of arms.
Bower stiffened slightly at the realization he might have been wrong. "You gave him command of your personal guard?"
"In Barrowtown, you're my master of arms here at Winterfell. And even should I replace you it won't be with a Lord, rather a third or fourth son of one." Sansa wanted to pinch the bridge of her nose, not that she'd ever do something so obvious to show her frustration.
The man looked like he wanted to sink through the floor. "I'll have a guard assigned immediately."
"Good, go see to it. And send for Cerwyn. I apparently need to speak with him." Sansa pulled another sheet. "Ser Flint, have the needed seeds prepared for the planting. Then find or hire the required men for the planting by noon."
"Aye, M'Lady." Her senchal picked up the written out and agreed on list of plants for the glasshouses.
There was a clamor in the hallway, and then the doors swung open and a group of very angry men and a bemused Daisy came crashing in.
Sansa scanned the group. Ser Swann, Ser Bolling, and Ser Mertyns were clearly angry, and looked like they'd been in a boyish scuffle in the dirt. Coming through behind them was Mors Umber, Lord Cerwyn, and two of the regular men at arms. Standing pointedly between the Stormlanders and the Northerners was an amused Daisy. She straightened. "What is the meaning of this?"
"They attacked us!" Cerwyn burst out.
Ser Bolling looked like he'd have stepped over and strangled the Lord if there wasn't a literal god preventing it. "A LIE!"
"FUCKING CUNT!" Mors roared as he moved to swing at the nearest knight.
Sansa's jaw tightened as Mors hit an invisible wall and Ser Swann was glared into inaction by Daisy.
Sansa picked up her paperweight and slammed it down on the table, pulling attention back to herself. "Lord Cerwyn, what happened? Calmly."
The man huffed, straightening his spine, shoulders squaring. "Mors, myself and these two guardsmen were returning from Wintertown when we were attacked for no reason by your knights." He gestured sharply at the Stormlanders. "They demanded we surrender to your justice."
"And then what happened?" Sansa's eye felt like twitching, for gods sake could her allies keep from trying to kill each other? And if the Stormlanders and Northerners were fighting the Wildling and Northern tension couldn't be far behind. A headache she needed Jon there to handle.
Cerwyn's face twitched slightly. "Some words and fists were exchanged before her Holiness broke it up and marched us to you."
"I see." Sansa turned her gaze to the knights. "Ser Bolling, your version of events." She glared at the puffing up Northerners, her voice sharp. "That will be uninterrupted."
Ser Bolling spoke, his voice vaguely creaky but passionate nonetheless. "These men were returning from the whore house." He nearly spat the last word out. "We attempted to clap them in irons so that you might sentence them for their depravity when Jonson stopped us."
Sansa and everyone else in the Lord's Hall took a moment to realize that 'Jonson' was 'Daisy'. It wasn't like anyone called the woman by her surname, but it did serve as a polite way around referring to her as 'Holiness'. She internally shook herself. "You attacked two of my Lords, and two of my men at arms for purchasing the services of prostitutes?"
"They'll bring the wrath of R'hllor on us all." Ser Swann grit out.
Mors opened his mouth only for it to snap shut. Likely not willingly.
Sansa would have to thank Daisy later. "Did you pay the prostitutes?" She looked at her Northern fools.
Cerwyn crossed his arms. "Of course we did."
"And no harm was caused to the women you hired?" She was just..exhausted by this whole ridiculous charade.
All of the men looked appalled at the question. "Of course not." Mors boomed.
"I see." She returned her attention to the Stormlanders. "Good Ser's, while I understand your distaste, no crime has been committed against either the law or the Old Gods of whom we here in the North follow."
Sansa could see the simmering rage there. So she continued. "You are free to worship R'hllor, but his worship is neither the custom nor will it ever be the custom here. While you may refuse the services of prostitutes that does not give you the right to punish my men for not doing so. You'll spend the night in the cells if you attempt to enforce laws that are not the practice here in the North again. Is that understood?"
Ser Bolling spoke slowly. "Does your god here agree with this judgement?"
"Uh my opinion doesn't matter, the North is the Starks' to rule and the protection of the old gods." Daisy crossed her arms, giving a long up and down look of the Northern men. "That said I could care less? I mean vaguely disappointing, but I don't care. So like really, whatever Lady Stark says."
Sansa watched with some amusement as Mors, Cerwyn and the men at arms wilted under the 'disappointment' of their god. She wanted to sigh, honestly. "Is that all?"
"Aye, thank you M'Lady." Cerwyn bowed, the other Northerns following suit.
Ser Bolling stiffly dipped his head. "Very well."
"Then go, there are tasks all of you should be doing. Cerwyn stay, I require your presence. Ser Bolling, if you could send for Ser Dondarrian I also require his advice." She waved them away. It was going to be a long day.
////
Lyanna Mormont was angry as she was forced to spar with Rickon Stark, again. It was as if the men here couldn't see that she was perfectly able to hold her own against a grown man. She wasn't a child, even if her body was. Just look at the difference between her and Rickon Stark. She sneered as she glared at the boy who let his sister hold the weight of a Lord on her shoulders while he, the rightful heir mucked about doing nothing. She was here because she knew no King but Stark. And her vote at the Moot would be for Jon Stark, not this...boy. She raised her axe, ready to make the boy eat dirt again.
Rickon Stark's eyes were sharp as he lunged forward with his sword.
She caught his blow with a grunt. Digging her heels in she stood her ground. Like hell she'd let him bush her back.
"You're both going about that wrong." A female voice laughed before a hard gust of wind shoved the two of them back.
Daisy Jonson, apparent god, strode over to them, the guard who'd been supervising their spar stepping back. She plucked Rickon's sword out of his hands. "And I know you've been taught better Rickon." Her gaze turned to Lyanna. "Let's see what you have Lady Mormont."
Rickon stepped backwards and out of the way, a stupid grin on his face.
Lyanna shot a quick glare at him before focusing on the god. Because whether she was actually a god or not, she was an acknowledged warrior and a woman. Which meant Lyanna would have to be an idiot not to want to fight her. She swung upwards.
Daisy's sword caught the blow. "Too slow, keep your weight on your toes."
With a bounce she moved again, bracing herself before taking a swing. As it was blocked she changed direction, sliding the axe up the sword towards the god.
"You're too small to brace like that." The attack was batted away like it was nothing. "Move your feet."
Lyanna grit her teeth, but moved her feet, pushing to the side before moving in again, this time without bracing herself against the ground. Her attack was weaker, but faster.
"Good, aim for weak points, not central mass." Daisy twisted her sword, sending Lyanna's axe sharply to the side, nearly wrenching it from her hands. "Don't lock your weapon, any opponent you face is likely stronger than you."
Lyanna slid back, brow furrowed. "That's not how Mormonts fight."
"Are most Mormonts ten year old girls when they go to war?" The god's voice wasn't condescending, just stating fact. Which made it burn all the more.
She raised her axe again. "My House are made of great warriors."
"You don't have to be big to be great." Daisy's lips twitched. "Or do you think any of the Umbers can take me?"
Lyanna paused, her ax lowering slightly. "You think I can fight?"
"Of course." Daisy raised her sword. "Now again, this time faster."
Lyanna charged, axe swinging.
Lyanna panted, she was sweating, sore, and felt viciously satisfied. It certainly helped that Rickon was equally exhausted where he was panting as well.
"Much better, both of you." Daisy, who barely looked like she'd gone through a morning walk, was leaning against the wooden saw horse. "At your current size and age working with another person will be much more effective."
Lyanna raised the waterskin to her lips, she took a deep draw. "Can we fight with you again?"
"Sure." Daisy pushed off of the sawhorse. "You know where to find me. And if I'm not around any of my boys will help you out. But both of you are small still, your greatest advantage is your ability to dodge and be quick about it. You should both focus on running, and practicing dodging."
Lyanna had a moon's turn left before the Moot and the possibility of returning to Bear Island. Time she could learn. A better use of time than the drivel everyone was set on. She was a Mormont, and if she had to fight differently she had to fight differently. But she was going be a warrior like every Mormont before her. Their legacy wouldn't end with her. She wouldn't let it.
////
Rickon's muscles felt kinda like jelly as he sat in his sister's solar. His movements were careful, he didn't want anyone to notice how exhausted he was. There was a shake to his hand. He bit his lip and fought to keep his hands still so he could write his letters properly. He was copying out the grain production for the last year as recorded by Maester Wolkan. It was apparently very important. Not that he couldn't guess why it was important, but still. It was boring.
He focused on the careful scratching of his quill across the paper. If he pressed too hard it splattered, and he'd already cracked two nibs in the last few moons. As he wrote he kept a careful ear out for his sister's conversation with Ser Dondarrian.
"Your men cannot attack Northerners for perceived slights. Daisy intervening is the only reason it didn't turn into something ugly." Sansa's voice was low, but there was a firmness that implied danger, maybe anger even.
The old knight with a limp sipped from his cup of ale. "It won't happen again. They're still adjusting to being away from Stannis."
"It had better not or I will have to enforce punishment for attacking their own allies." Sansa's eyes were sharp. "It's unexceptable."
"They were just doing what they thought was right." Ser Dondarrian replied. "Surely just a lapse in judgement."
Sansa's voice was cold then. "Then one that cannot happen again. Our forces are made up of men who hate each other, and have hated each other for thousands of years. I will not tolerate dissent and infighting."
"I'll make sure it won't happen again. You have my word." Ser Dondarrian stood, using his crutch to stabilize himself. "Thank you for your mercy my Lady."
Sansa didn't dismiss him however. "One more thing, my brother's safety will no longer be under the care of Ser Swann."
"As you will." Ser Dondarrian made a stiff bow, and then limped out of the room.
Rickon pretended his focus was more fully on his writing then it was. But...he'd kinda liked Ser Swann...oh well, he could always bug the man independently even if the man wouldn't be following him around any more. He looked up. "What's their god R'hllor?"
Rickon kicked at a rock, his sister's words still echoing in his ears. He may not know if Daisy was exactly an old god or their champion or whatever. But he preferred her strangeness to the horror his sister had described. Burning sinners alive? Was that what those knights had wanted for Mors and Cerwyn? He liked Mors.
He looked up as he realized where his feet had taken him. Fitz's workshop. Rickon bit his bottom lip, he hadn't exactly last seen the odd man on the best of terms. But...it was a good place to think. So he opened the door and slipped in as always. It had changed slightly from the last time he'd been here. The tesla coil looked...weird but it looked done. It's various pieces all put together and ready to be hauled out. The metal contraption for 'powering' it was set to one side.
Fitz was clean shaven, just a days aftergrowth along his jaw. But the manic light to his face was...worse. He was murmuring what Rickon recognized as elements under his breath as he mixed what looked like another chemical slurry. This one glimmered in the light of the oil lamps.
Rickon looked over to Crann. "What's he doing?"
"Finishing the slurries." Crann's voice was soft. "Might be best to come back once he's done m'Lord?"
Rickon looked at the man who wasn't acknowledging him in the slightest. "I'll do that." His throat felt tight as he swallowed. He didn't like this feeling.
The silence was broken by Fitz straightening, his arms dropping. "That's it."
"Uh...what's it?" Rickon asked despite himself.
Fitz's whole face loosened, a breathless disbelief to him. "It's done. It's f-finally done." His hand ran through the hair at the back of his head. "I d-did it. Ha."