Chapter 124Notes:Is this early? Yes, but my internet has been down all day and it's up for a few minutes at a time and I don't if it'll still be up later on.
Chapter TextSansa felt genuine pleasure at the sight of the Lord here to speak with her. "Lord Royce, welcome."
He gave the face tree a lingering look before walking closer. "Your Grace." He gave her the most proper bow that he was capable of. "I had wished to speak with you on several matters…close to my heart. If you would permit it?"
"I would be glad to, my Lord." She gestured to the bench she was seated on before the heart tree.
His eyes left the healed but clearly visible damage from where Daisy and Fitz had burst out. "That is kind of you, your Grace." Lord Royce took the offered seat. "I had hoped to speak to you on the subject of the Faith?"
"Ah, you worry I will order the septs torn down?" She wondered how greatly her mother would rage to know she had long since ceased to give any homage to the Seven?
Yohn Royce shifted, his ever-present armor, even in the heart of Winterfell was a rather ridiculous statement. And yet it did suit him, he'd likely made a rather dashing figure when he had been young, a full head of hair upon his head. "The Vale holds to the Seven, your Grace."
"I'm aware, my Lord." She held his gaze. "I have no intention of banning the worship of any god or gods my people wish to give tribute to. And I see no need to do anything to harm your kingdom's long history of producing the finest knights in the seven kingdoms."
He let out a relieved breath, folding his hands before him. "You humble us, your Grace."
"The Sept here at Winterfell has been adequate?" She found herself asking. "If I have been remiss in seeing to candles or such you need only speak with Flint and he will see to stocking it properly."
Yohn Royce certainly seemed pleased at the question. "Your servants have seen to it, even if they have not joined us within, your Grace." He looked up at the red leaves above them. "Sitting here, you remind me of your father, if you forgive me for saying so."
"Do I? That is certainly not a thing I hear often." It hurt to hear it actually.
He hummed. "Oh yes, he was always a serious thing, even as a boy. Took Robert dragging him about to get him to act like the boy he was. Two of them got up to all sorts of trouble. But he liked being in the godswood, made him feel closer to home I should think."
"He used to sit here and sharpen his sword. It always felt strange to me as a girl." Sansa found herself admitting.
"Your father was a good lad, a shy one though." Yohn has a fond expression on his face. "Could never get his nerve up enough to ask a girl for a dance unless Robert or Brandon asked her for him."
She felt unbearably sad for the quiet, awkward boy her father was always described as. After all these years she understood how much pain it must have taken to forge him into the man she'd known. It wasn't a pleasant thought. "And I remind you of him?"
"Oh, not your temperaments." Yohn chuckled. "Certainly not. No, I think you may be something the Starks have not had for an age." He looked at her fully then. "But your heart? The strength of your character? That is all your father, I should think."
He paused, seeming to gather more words. "Neither you nor your father were ever meant to rule Winterfell. Nor were either of you meant to change the shape of history. But you both have become who your people required. And that is no small thing. If we are to face the dark days ahead of us, I for one am glad to stand beside you, your Grace."
"Your words are very kind, my Lord." Sansa hesitated, but then raised a brow in challenge, as she faced this man who had helped raise her father. "Now, what were these adventures my father and Robert got up to that I have heard so very much and so very little about?" And perhaps she felt a bit less cold.
////
Cley Cerwyn stared at the latest reports on the spread of dragonglass through the North. It was slow work, and they had limited stock. "Any news on the next shipment?"
"No, but we have six cogs full up of the stuff, each one can conservatively hold four hundred to five hundred tons of dragonglass, and they'll have stuffed the things till they're near ta bursting." William Manderly replied. He was a distant third cousin to the ruling line of Whiteharbor and had been remarkably helpful in his efforts to get dragonglass shipped up and down the eastern shore.
Cley picked up one of the newest dragonglass spearheads. It was of good design for lasting as many thrusts as possible. "Once at Whiteharbor, we'll see to sending two of the cogs with their cargo to Eastwatch."
"Surely they're not through preparing the last shipment we sent to them?" William protested, his brow furrowing.
He shook his head. "They're not, but it will be the fastest way to get the material to Castle Black."
"And with the Bolton men there, they'll have the manpower to turn it into weapons." William nodded. "I'll see to it. The rest?"
"Same distribution as before. We need to get it into our men's hands." Cley grimaced. "The western detachments will be under-armed for another six months."
William shared his mood. "We'd best hope the Wall holds for another six months then. There's no getting it moved and shaped faster."
"No, there's not." Cley shook his head, refocusing on the matters at hand. "And the shattered shards, the unusable bits, how are we on embedding it into the barbs in the trenches?"
Rickard Snow took over then, as that was his particular project. "Well enough. Some of it is too fine even for that, but we're making progress."
"How much progress?" Cley stared the man down, he needed numbers, not estimates.
Rickard rubbed at his beard. "We've completed the last dry moat. The second is a third done. But with the smiths getting better and shaping it into arrowheads we're gettin' less of the glass than before."
"That's not acceptable." Cley's eyes tracked over the lines on the map of the many series of trenches that had been dug. If Winterfell hadn't completed that line of defense, the others certainly had not. "Get an estimate of what you need. If we must allot you more we shall."
Cley was exhausted as he made his way into the Great Hall for his midday meal. There were a thousand moving parts in seeing the dragonglass moved, shaped, and in the hands of those who could use it. It was a great honor to be in charge of such a project. Perhaps too much of one. He hesitantly smiled at the sight of his still new wife sitting with the other ladies in waiting to the Queen. Another honor he did not think he deserved.
He paused as he realized Prince Bran's eyes were on him. And then the boy's eyes went white, the pupils vanishing into nothingness. "Your Highness!" He jolted forward, the guard at the boy's shoulder instantly alert.
"Bran!" Prince Rickon was there instantly, his hands on his brother's person before he got a good look at him and then relaxed. "Oh, he's fine."
"Fine, your Highness?" Cley looked at the Prince in alarm.
Prince Rickon just patted his brother on the shoulder. "He's not here right now. He'll be back."
////
Daisy was pretty sure blackberries were the best things since sliced bread, as she popped one into her mouth. She was making use of the fresh fruit and berries while she was in Highgarden cause the North didn't have that. Maybe she should bring some back for Sansa? Sansa'd probably give them all to Rickon though…worth a try though. "How do treaties take this long to work out?"
"Do they not take many months if not years in your realm, Holiness? I can hardly picture such a thing." Willas remarked from where he was eating a lemon cake.
She rolled her eyes. "They do, but a bit more work it out when the end of the world is imminent." The constant garden luncheons were nice but it was getting ridiculous. Like she knew shit was happening, armies mustering and moving, a fleet being prepared, supply lines organized. But fuck shit worked slowly here.
"We are on the eve of agreeing on a formal alliance, it has moved with more speed than I would have believed, Holiness." Willas smiled at her amused. "I take it you were not an ambassador for your people?"
Daisy couldn't argue that. "No, but the way time moves here is just…slow."
"I believe that may be beyond my comprehension, Holiness." Willas had a warm light in his eyes, and sometimes it def hit just how much of a looker he was.
She tapped the side of her cup. "How quickly would things move if you could be to YiTi in eight hours, could speak with a person, anywhere in the world, instantly, could pull up all the knowledge from Oldtown and more in a few seconds? It's not that physically things moved faster just…everything could happen faster."
"Wonderous indeed, you must miss it very much." He smiled, clearly fascinated.
Daisy responded automatically, the disquiet that said she was lying heavy in her stomach. "Yeah, especially my laptop. You have no idea the horrible things I'd do for a laptop but it'd take your planet centuries to make one." And, she did miss her laptop, hacking, her roots. But she didn't long for it.
"I am terrified to ask, but what is a 'laptop', Holiness?" Willas asked as he continued to methodically eat his cake with the speed of an older sibling used to younger siblings attempting to steal treats from him.
She bit at her lip considering how to explain it. "It's a smaller portable computer. And a computer is…well they started out as calculators I guess? They uh did math faster than a human can. So a machine that solves math problems and runs on coded math? But gets used for like…so much more. Whole universe can be seen with math, ya know?"
"I'm afraid the formation of the universe is beyond me." Willas set his fork aside, his voice had a laugh in it. "I feel if you continue to explain I will be laying awake thinking of terrors beyond imaging wearing the face of my tutor."
Daisy couldn't help smiling, she had a favorite Tyrell, and it was Willas. Not that she'd say that to anyone except Sansa if she asked. "A case of existential dread, huh? I don't know I always found the idea of light years a bit-"
"Daisy." A voice called out in the strangest tone. Utter lack of reverence, merely matters of fact.
Her head snapped around, ignoring the surprise as one of the servants who'd been simply standing to one side. Their movements were stiff as they stepped closer, a guard blocking them. "Let them through." She was on her feet immediately checking the man's bland expression the near mechanical movement. Her powers pushed the guards back gently. "Bran?"
"Yes, I needed more than a crow." The voice was empty, it was strange hearing it from the voice of a different mouth.
She didn't bother acknowledging the alarm and confusion on everyone's faces. "Are you hurting the person you're wearing right now?"
The head blinked absently. "I do not think so. I should not stay long."
"Fuck, right what's so important you'd risk this?" Daisy was having words because holy fuck this was not ok.
"Holiness, wha-" Willas began to speak.
"Not now." Daisy snapped. "We need Bran to get out fast." She held the green eyes that shouldn't look like Bran's. "What is happening?"
Bran in the servant's skin didn't react with any alarm. "I found the Greyjoy fleet. I thought you would want to know."
"Fuck, where is it?" Daisy grabbed his shoulder, alarm thrumming through her at the trickle of blood beginning to trail from the servant's nose.
Bran blinked, a confused look on his face. "Sailing north past Tarth for Dragonstone." He paused for a moment. "You should return North in three days. Fitz will need you."
"Right, get out, now." Daisy held his gaze. "I swear to god Bran, you get out of this body right now. I'll be North in three days. And we're going to have a chat."
His face was horribly blank like he didn't understand the horror of what he was doing. "Very well, thought you would want to know." And then the poor servant's body slumped.
Daisy caught the poor kid. "Water!" She ordered, easing both herself and the poor kid to the ground. "Easy, easy, you're going to be ok."
The young man's shoulders were shaking, his eyes wide and flickering everywhere. "I-wha-I don't…."
"It's ok, I've got you." She cupped the side of his face, gently pulling his attention to herself. "Ok, can you tell me your name?"
"K-Keat." His eyes got wider somehow. "Holiness!"
"Hey, it's fine, you're not in trouble." She hated the feel of his racing heart, but she couldn't affect that without risking hurting him. "Some magic that shouldn't have been anywhere near you touched you. Ok?"
He nodded, eyes still flicking around, terror clearly. "I…"
"Do you know where you are, Keat?" She kept her voice soft.
He licked at his lips. "Highgarden?"
"Good, that's good." Daisy smiled at him, a trickle of relief at his heart rate not quite jackrabbit fast. "What's your job, Keat? You must be very good at it to be working directly with your Lord and his family."
Keat was still shivering slightly, his nose bleeding sluggishly in a way he didn't seem to have noticed yet. "I'm a manservant for Ser Garlan, Holiness." But there was a faint echo of pride in his voice.
"How long have you been doing that?" Daisy reached blindly, taking the cup of water from Jon's hands where he'd silently approached. She carefully put the cup into Keat's hand. He was shaking too much to hold it properly, so she carefully folded his fingers around it and helped him lift it to his mouth.
Keat's cheeks heated as he seemed more and more aware of her. "Thank you, Holiness?"
"Nothing to thank me for." She kept her focus on him. "So, have you been Garlan's manservant for long?"
He blinked rapidly, it looked more normal than when Bran had done the same. "I…two years now, Holiness."
"You must have been really young when you got the job." Daisy squeezed his shoulder. "So, what about family? Are you married already? Lots of siblings?"
Keat's flush darkened, eyes locking on about her chin. "No, not married yet, Holiness." He cleared his throat. "My ma' had six of us children."
"Six?" She whistled softly. But carefully held up a finger. "Can you follow my finger here with your eyes for me Keat?"
He gave a hesitant nod, eyes immediately locking on to her raised finger. "Yes, Holiness."
"That's great, just follow them, ok?" She carefully watched his eyes for signs similar to concussion. He wasn't showing signs of brain damage, which was good, as his eyes were indeed focused on her finger, following it without trouble. "You're doing really good."
"I…what happened, Holiness?" Keat dared to ask, a faint tremble in his voice.
She lowered her hand. "Some very powerful magic puppeted you for a few minutes. Something I'm going to make sure never happens to you again, ok? You did a really good job fighting it." Daisy used the end of her sleeve to wipe away the trick of blood from his face.
"I…it was cold and hungry." Keat shivered, his eyes glazing slightly. "And old."
Daisy hated the relief she felt knowing it was unpleasant. "Old gods magic does feel like that." She kept her grip as he startled at that. "But you're safe now, I promise you're safe." Or she'd make him so. Because fuck Bran Stark for playing with humans like his puppets.
"Holiness," Willas's voice was cautious. "Does the boy require a maester?"
Daisy hesitated. "Keat, can I feel you, really feel you with my powers? It'll only feel like a tickle. I promise it won't hurt you."
"I..yes, Holiness?" He offered, eyes wide.
She smiled with as much comfort as she could as she carefully laid a hand against the back of his head. "I'm just feeling you, nothing more." Her eyes flicked closed, and she tried to feel everything. It was hard, everything vibrated. And the body was full of it, the brain specifically was horrifically complex and she'd never risk touching a human brain with her powers. But she could compare the vibrations from Keat with Jon who was helpfully next to her.
His heart was still too fast, terrified energy in the tenseness of his muscles. But nothing felt wrong. Nothing about the electric sparks in his brain felt measurably different from Jon's. She was pretty sure his blood pressure was kinda high, but that wasn't exactly unexpected considering everything. Daisy opened her eyes and smiled as best she could as she dropped her hand away from his head. "See, that wasn't so bad."
He hesitated. "Um…"
"You're unharmed as far as I can tell." Daisy carefully stood to her feet offering him her hand. "Let's get you on your feet and go from there ok?"
Keat's eyes darted to Willas before he cautiously accepted her hand up. "Thank you, Holiness?"
"You don't need to thank me for anything." Daisy carefully kept a hold of his hand long enough to ensure he wasn't going to keel over. "Now, you should probably take up Lord Willas's offer of seeing a maester. I'm not exactly a healer. So you should probably be checked by one."
He nodded. "I, if you wish, Holiness?"
"I do." Daisy was going to ensure this kid got watched. Her eyes flicked to an older servant half radiating terror for Keat a few feet behind the kid's shoulder. "Can you get him to the maester?"
"Of course, Holiness." The man quickly stepped to Keat's shoulder.
She knew her expression was tight enough Willas and Jon had certainly noticed, though likely not poor Keat. "Good, tell the maester to not let him go to sleep for at least the rest of the day, keep him talking, same care as for someone hit over the head, badly. But it's a precaution, I think he's unhurt. No dangerous chores with anything heavy or sharp or that could hurt him if his muscles don't listen to him for a week though."
"I'll see to it, Holiness." The older man carefully took Keat's arm.
Daisy looked at Keat's face. "I don't think anything will happen, but if he shows any symptoms come find me. Not sure I'll be any help, but find me anyways."
"Yes, Holiness." The man bowed his head.
She ran a hand through her hair. "Ok."
The garden was dead silent as Keat was led out and back into the castle. As soon as the pair were out of earshot, she turned on her heel, attention settling on Jon. "Jon, Bran can't be allowed to do that. He could have killed him."
"I know, I didn't…wargs shouldn't be that powerful." Jon grimaced the horror on his face no doubt mirroring her.
Daisy hissed under her breath. "If he wasn't a kid still…" She felt jittery from the realization of what had just happened. The gross violation that had occurred. Fuck, what would she be doing if the warg who'd done it wasn't a Stark? She was so compromised because she didn't know.
Daenerys's voice felt loud in the garden. "What just happened?"
"Bran Stark just warged into Keat because apparently, Bloodraven was a fucking piece of shit at being a master and failed to teach basic ethics." Daisy snapped, which was unfair.
Willas's voice was faintly hoarse. "Bloodraven?"
"He died, last year, but not before teaching a fucking teenager how to ask the old gods to let him puppet living people, and the old gods let him." Daisy bit out.
Chapter 125Notes:Five more chapters till we're going on hiatus guys! So very close to the end of Part 4
Chapter TextWillas Tyrell had accepted a great many things in the last year. Dragons, gods, the Long Night. But he had not been prepared for the realization that Bloodraven had a magical heir. "He lived till last year?"
"Partially." Jon Stark cleared his throat. "He let himself be devoured by a face tree beyond the Wall. According to what Meera Reed and my brother can tell us he was hardly alive. But he called Bran to him. It seems to be why no one could find him, he was in the true North." He paused a distinctly uncomfortable expression on his face. "Bran is not…well. We are unsure of how much is him, and what is the Old Gods speaking through him."
The living and clearly very unhappy Goddess made a sharp gesture. "It varies. And it's less the Old Gods acting through him and more…he looked too deep and a lot of him just…never came back. He was doing better though. Fuck."
Willas had set aside words, things the Goddess had said about Rickon Stark that certainly implied with this information he very likely was a warg. Jon too from what the man had said. But that did not matter at the moment. After all, what was warging a direwolf and better control of hawks in the end? Even in the histories, wargs were rarely powerful enough for it to be properly terrifying. He should not have assumed such. If Rickon and Brandon were wargs. His mouth was horribly dry. Bloodraven had saved and secured the Targaryen dynasty for a reason. His exile to the Wall was necessary to free the kingdoms from the terror of his presence. It fit. It fit so horribly for this generation of Starks to have the gift. Have it strong enough to be more than just a minor matter.
"The boy wasn't harmed," Jon said cautiously, clearly seeing exactly how pissed the Goddess was. "We can speak with Sansa, ensure the Free Folks laws for wargs are made laws for the whole of the North."
Willas spoke carefully. "What laws are those, your Highness?"
"Don't warg into something and mate with another animal. Don't eat human flesh when warging. Don't warg into another human being." Jon straightened. "They are good laws. From what I understand it takes a powerful warg to warg a human."
Daisy gnawed on her lip. "I know Bran's a greenseer and a warg….."
"But something like this…at this great of a distance…" Jon picked up from her, his gaze serious.
She wiggled her hand slightly. "Physical distance isn't what worries me. Bran's never met him. How long did it take you with a fucking pigeon to get it to even respond to you? If he's that deep into the weirwood hivemind he's not getting better."
"He's a boy!" Jon protested, but it sounded weak, desperate.
Daisy had a sharp, alertness that so rarely was a part of her mannerisms. "He's human, and he shouldn't have been able to do that. Which means he was using old god magic to do it."
"And he might not listen to human laws over the Old Gods." Jon grimaced, looking rather sick.
Willas dared a question. "You're implying the Old Gods are acting through Prince Brandon?"
"Yes, it's not…it's not good." Daisy looked at him, them all actually. "Letting a god into your head is a stupid, horrible, fucking idea. Don't do it. And why it's usually stupid arrogant idiots who think they can control it or children who end up getting caught up in that kind of thing. It's bad, really bad. The gods don't give a fuck generally about what it does to the human."
Jon's jaw tightened, his hands fisted.
And it made a horrible amount of sense. Brandon Stark, the little boy pushed out a window and paralyzed. That would be exactly the kind of person to allow a god into their head. And would explain why from what they could tell his name had never even been considered for ruling the North. Never considered a threat to his sister's rule. Not once, despite being the rightful, legal heir.
Daisy's face was tight as she turned back to Jon. "I'll bring the need for warging laws with Sansa and Tormund, but this can't happen again. And fuck, if Fitz needs me…"
"You must go North then." Jon agreed, his face serious.
Daenerys cut in. "Was he speaking truth when he said the Greyjoy fleet sails for Dragonstone?"
"Yes." Daisy looked to their Queen. "Bran's not…there enough to lie. I don't think he'd understand the point. I can go handle it."
"No." Daenerys straightened her spine. "No, you have fought one battle for me already, I will not ask you to fight another. I am able and will fight my own battles."
Tyrion spoke, though his face distinctly pale. "Your Grace, if you fly your dragons to Dragonstone, even with your armies there, the risk is great."
"She won't be alone," Jon stated, straightening. "Two dragon riders are safer than one." He looked at Daisy. "If you warned the garrison still at Dragonstone, the Northern mining forces will aid in securing the fortress."
Daisy gave a sharp nod. "I can do that. But you don't start that battle till I'm there. Some random arrow isn't killing you."
"Well, a good thing you fly faster than a dragon." Jon smiled tightly.
She looked at him with the most knowing and unimpressed look. "Uh-huh."
Willas cleared his throat, he'd deal with the warg issue later. It was earlier than he'd wished to make this gesture later. "Your Grace, if you intend to fly to battle, I cannot give you swords or spears to aid in this endeavor. However, I have had a gift prepared for you that may aid you in this."
"A thing that can be carried on dragon back, my Lord?" Daenerys asked, her attention focused on him.
He gave a nod. "Indeed, I had taken the liberty of my finest craftsman to prepare a saddle for your dragon, as your ancestors of old once used. And armor, that a lucky arrow may not take you from us, your Grace. I had meant it as a gesture upon your royal wedding. But if you mean to leave for battle this day, I would insist with all solemnity that you take it that you might better protect yourself."
////
Jon carefully buckled the saddle bag with clothing. He looked up at Daisy, the tension running through her since the abomination of warging was worrying. "What are you going to do?"
"I don't know." Daisy hadn't stopped moving at least in some small way since it'd happened. "What can I do? It can't happen again but…"
"It's Bran." Jon swallowed, "The man wasn't hurt."
"Keat, his name is Keat." Daisy glared at him. "If this isn't stopped what do you think it will do to the chances of peace?"
His hands clenched. "We're nearly settled on an alliance."
"And when they can't trust Bran won't control them? What then Jon? Do you understand that kind of terror? And even without that, don't you dare ask me to not stop this." The undercoat of desperate pleading under her fury was unsettling.
Jon reached out, touching her forearm. "Daisy, I want my brother using or being used by the Old Gods as much as you do. But he's sixteen. You've seen him, he doesn't understand."
"So I ensure the Old Gods stay out of his head." Daisy ran a hand through her hair. "I was too nice. I know better than to assume gods would play nice with humans."
He paused. "That's worrying. What are you going to do?"
"I don't know." Her gaze was sharp. "But I'm going to figure it out."
Jon felt a grim certainty fill him. "Whatever you do, be careful, please."
Jon hesitated as he saw what the Tyrell men had brought out as a substitute for a saddle for him and Rhaegal. "Is that going to work?"
"Better than bare back, your Highness." Ser Garlan patted his shoulder. "We'll have a proper saddle finished for you by the time the alliance is settled."
He gave a look at the rope and nets designed to give him something to hang onto while in flight. They clearly had been brought out upon news he and Daenerys meant to leave as soon as possible. "How are we to get it on Rhaegal?"
They both looked at where several poor souls were trying to get Drogon's saddle on. Daenerys was the only reason the poor servants had not been eaten. But the dragon was clearly displeased. If Jon's eyes were right, at least one poor groom had pissed himself. But they were just buckling the admittedly gorgeous piece of workmanship into place. They both looked to Rhaegal.
"Any suggestions, your Highness?" Ser Garlan asked weakly.
Jon really wished Daisy's help wouldn't lead to the dragons trying to burn them all to a crisp. Her powers would be decidedly useful. "I suppose I just try and keep Rhaegal calm while the men get the ropes around and the net flung over his back. Once that's done I can secure it myself?"
"That seems a terrible idea." Ser Garlan clapped him on the shoulder. "But better than anything else I can think of. Shall we, your Highness?"
Jon gave himself a moment to brace and then walked straight for Rhaegal.
Rhaegal who'd been watching him curiously made a deep rumbling sound, and then his head snaked forward as he moved to meet Jon. The force of him nearly knocked Jon off of his feet, as he pressed his snout into him.
With a huff, Jon scratched at the scales of his dragon's snout. "Easy boy, easy." He couldn't help the smile on his face. "We just got to saddle you up and then we can go flying. What do you think of that?" He made a gesture to the servants to begin bringing supplies for the most half-assed dragon saddle in history.
The great green dragon rumbled, his eyes narrowing at the approaching men.
"Easy, they're just helping." Jon focused on pressing his presence against Rhaegal, letting his mount feel his calm. Hopefully. He was still bad at the warg thing, and warging a dragon sounded rather terrible as far as impulsive decisions went. He was telling Sansa that, he could grow as a person.
It seemed to work, as with an unhappy wiggle and roll of muscles, Rhaegal settled. No strikes with his tale or outright baring of teeth. He did however tilt his head just right so that Jon could scratch at his chin.
As Jon scratched the more sensitive area apparently, he considered if he should get a dragon broom? Like a broom for scratching better. Cause that was a lot of dragon, and his fingers were smaller than Rhaegal's teeth. He couldn't help the pleasant feeling like flames licking nearly close enough to burn, that he got when near the dragons. A part of him was fairly sure it was Rhaegal's mind or soul or whatever it was that he connected to as a warg.
He kept an eye on the poor servants getting everything set. But they did manage it. Once they'd retreated he gave Rhaegal a final scratch. "Good boy, that was good." He moved along the side of Rhaegal's neck to check where the servants had secured the netting. It all looked secure. He triple-checked every knot. With a final tug on a rope to check, he gave Rhaegal a pat and then walked to where Daenerys was speaking with some advisors.
"Your Highness, it's to your liking then?" Ser Garlan smiled a certain level of amusement on his face. Amusement of a man who didn't know how fucking terrifying flying was.
Jon half considered asking Daisy to fly Garlan somewhere, the man probably deserved it. "Aye, it'll do. Probably more comfortable than flying with her Holiness anyways."
Tyrion looked up at him. "I would think your sister would quite disagree with you on the superior riding partner, your Highness."
He felt his whole face flush as he realized the play on words that had just occurred. Jon bit down his outrage, Daisy wouldn't be bothered by this. "Yes, well, I doubt Daisy drags my sister around like a sack of potatoes."
"No, I doubt that very much indeed." Tyrion chuckled as he looked over at the dragons. "I must say, my boyhood self would be impossibly jealous that you can ride one of those beasts."
Jon let himself feel the awe. How many days had he played at being Daemon Targaryen on Ceraxes, or any of the many dragon riders through history with famous swords and stories? He'd grown up on the tales. Had spent days with Robb searching the crypts of Winterfell for any eggs that Vermax may have left. "So would mine."
Tyrion looked at him, a knowing look in his eye. "Good fortune, keep our Empress safe, yes?"
"On my life." He replied solemnly. His gaze turned to Daenerys, the woman who gods willing would soon be his wife. Her appearance was striking in the armor the Tyrells had provided for her.
Daenerys was in black scale mail shined near a mirror of inky blackness. It fell from her shoulders to her knees and seemed to ripple with light when she moved. Over her chest, back and shoulders was plate mail of black. It had the red Targaryen three-headed dragon etched across it by a fine hand. While she had no weapon upon her person, she needed it not to appear fearsome. For she was fearsome. And striking. Her pale skin, silvery white hair and purple eyes contrasted with the armor in a way that made her appear more than mortal.
"I shouldn't be surprised." Tyrion chuckled.
Jon twitched, looking back to his friend. "By what, my Lord?"
"You would be entranced by a woman in armor. Very Stark of you." Tyrion gave a pointed look at the dragons and then back to the Queen. "I rather think you and your sweet sister may have a great deal more in common than I'd have thought."
He knew color was flushing his pale features. "That is-"
"Between the two of you, you have secured the two most dangerous women on the continent. I should rather think that is a bit more than coincidence." Tyrion had a twinkle in his eye.
Jon huffed, but, well…he couldn't say that Tyrion was wrong. And while he'd never breathe a word of it; knowing his sister's inclinations how she'd half worshiped Cersei Lannister as a child took on a rather different light. Not to mention his own feelings for Ygritte. He'd never been half as captivated by any girl as he had Ygritte. He couldn't deny that Daenerys affected him greatly either. But still. He shifted slightly. "There's a lot of dangerous women."
Tyrion laughed but nodded his head. "Interesting times, yes?"
"Would have preferred uninteresting times." Jon found himself saying. And he meant it. A kind time, when Robb still lived, and father, where his living siblings didn't look haunted, where food was plentiful, and the land at peace. He'd give up every piece of power and happiness and identity he'd found, been given, and earned in a heartbeat for that. What was the name Stark, his mother's name, and the title of Prince against that?
Ser Garlan cut in. "Your Highness, Lord Hand." He tipped his head.
"Something important to impart then, Ser?" Tyrion had a bite to his tone.
Ser Garlan's hands were folded behind his back. "Only to ensure his Highness is aware this baggage for the flight has been brought out." He looked at Jon. "And if there is anything else you require." His eyes tracked to Jon's northern armor.
"No, I have what I need. Wouldn't know how to fight in ill-fitted plate anyways." Jon touched the gorget around his neck, the proud Stark wolves stamped into the metal. No, he wouldn't be giving this up. Not until he had to. Besides, he had chainmail and leathers over a thick gambeson his sister had made for him. He would be safe enough upon Rhaegal's back.
Ser Garlan gave his gear a critical look. "Northerners." He shook his head nearly fondly. "Please, if there is anything I can do while you are gone, you need only ask."
And at that…Jon paused. He leaned closer to the man, his face serious. "Take care of Daisy, if she stays here." He laid his gloved hand on Ser Garlan's shoulder. "She might mock me for it, but I'm not the only one between us that broods. And she's planning something, if it's stupid try and talk her out of it."
"I'll do my best." Garlan gave him an understanding expression. "You have my word, by the Old Gods and the new."
Tyrion spoke up. "I wonder if we'll soon be saying by the Old Gods, the new and the newest?"
"Wouldn't it just be and by Daisy or I guess Quake?" Jon frowned as he dropped his hand, the question actually making him pause. "Since it's just her and not a bunch of 'em?"
All three of them stood there, clearly as unsure as the other.
////
Arya slid into Bran's rooms, she'd seen his face when he'd come out of his warg earlier, they all had. Whatever he'd done, had made him feel actual emotion. A thing she required answers for. Her eyes scanned the room. It was empty of anyone save Bran in his chair, sitting before the fire. Her footsteps were silent as she stalked around the edge of the room before ending up behind his shoulder. "What did you do?"
He didn't startle, tense, or twitch. Just remained sitting there. When he finally spoke it was hollow but perhaps…in a way it had not been before. "I believe I have made an error of judgment."
"And what error is that?" Arya slid out from behind him, rather to lean against the mantel, staring at her brother in the flickering oranges and reds of the fire's light.
There was something that might even be a frown on his face. "Daisy will be needed here in three days and I saw the Ironfleet."
Well, that was interesting, and very valuable information. "So you warged?"
"A servant at Highgarden to tell Daisy. I thought she would want to know." His brow furrowed. "She was angry."
Arya had been still, had learned to be still, knew it, and yet in that moment her every muscle went utterly, impossibly still in a way she hadn't known she could. "You warged a servant."
"Yes, it was…difficult. He fought me." Bran replied as if that wasn't terrifying.
She swallowed, her hours and weeks at court now meant she saw some of what no doubt their sister would. "Bran, who was there beside the servant and Daisy?"
"Many people, I do not know all their names." And that was bad, that was really, really bad.
Arya felt a single finger twitch. "Do you warg people often?"
"Not since Wylis." Bran's eyes turned to her, and they held..something. "I did not mean to make him Hodor. The door had to be held, he was the only one who could, but I was in the past with him as a boy."
She looked upon her brother and wondered if perhaps it was her and him who were the monsters in their family? "Hodor was not always…simple?"
"His mind was whole, I did not mean to crack it." Bran's frown deepened. "I have gotten better."
Arya was quiet, her brother's words settling in her bones. "How angry was Daisy?"
"Very." He looked back to the fire. "I had thought she would not wish for the delay. But I was wrong."
"Do you understand why you were wrong?" Arya was not going to enjoy Sansa's reaction to this news. The history of wargs being killed was not so far ago as to be forgotten. And this was a far worse display of power than merely taking the eyes of a bird or horse.
Bran clearly was thinking. When he spoke it was…not entirely without emotion? Though it was close. "She was controlled by a being far stronger than I. If I had tried to warg into her, her mind would have torn mine to pieces for even touching it. Not even the Old Gods could touch her mind without facing death. Not now."
Arya spoke slowly. "How do you know that?"
"She gave her blood to the trees, her memories live within them." Bran's frown deepened. "She would see it as…an abomination, I believe."
She slapped him across the face. Grabbing him by the front of his jacket she dragged him forward, their noses nearly touching. Her voice was a hiss. "You revealed your powers to southern shits, publically, in front of our good-sister who was enslaved by magic similar enough that she would kill gods to prevent it happening again?"
He blinked at her. "Yes."
Arya knew her teeth were bared. "You better pray lest we all pay a blood price for this." She dropped him in disgust and turned on her heel, cloak snapping behind her as she made for her sister's rooms. They could lose the alliances they meant to build, they needed those alliances to live. Their family who had only just survived the last war, they might not make it through this one if people rebelled or turned on them in terror. Shite.
Chapter 126Chapter TextOsha used a poker to break up the last of the burning logs in the fireplace before adding in fresh wood. Less air at the bottom, the longer they'd burn. It was routine work, work she did not mind. She did not like Winterfell and did not feel safe within its walls. She was not one of them, but she was not one of her own people. She'd lost all ties to any people when she'd run. But her cowardice had bought her life, and cost her a people. But her Little Wolf was enough people for her.
She didn't startle at the hot breath from Shaggydog hitting the back of her neck. It was familiar. A sensation she had felt a thousand times before in the wilds when it had been just her and her Little Wolf. Leaning back she pushed the huge shaggy head away from her. "Get off ya big beast."
Shaggydog licked a stripe up the side of her face, before nuzzling into her so hard it nearly knocked her on her arse.
Huffing, she grabbed onto the wolf's fur and used it to haul herself back onto her feet all proper like. She scratched at Shaggydog's ears in thanks for him not nipping at her for pulling at his fur. With a last pat she pushed him off, dropping her hands to her hips. "Out with ya, you're not gettin' no treats from me you great beast."
Shaggydog had a stupid look in his eyes that said he was fucking with her. He did turn, padding out of the room, and his tail smacked her on the way out.
She brushed her hands off on her smock that went over her new woolen dress. She even looked all proper and southern now.
"How do ya do tha'?" Luke, one of the servant boys gaped from where he'd been rubbing oil into one of the fine chairs.
Osha stared at the lad. "Them wolves are smarter than regular animals."
"So he won't bite ya?" Luke blinked in a kind of awe.
She curled down so that they were at the same eye level. Her voice lowered. "Oh, they're still wild boy. Eat ya as soon as anything else. Doesn't matter how tame a beast might seem, it's still a beast. So keep your fingers to yourself if ya want to keep 'em." Osha had to hold back laughter.
Luke's eyes had gone very wide, his throat bobbing with a nervous swallow. "But…ya treat him like a dog?"
"Aye, wouldn't do nothin' to that wolf I wouldn't do to the Prince." She raised a brow. "So if ya wouldn't be doing it to the Prince, don't be doing it to his wolf."
Luke paused. "How da' ya not get whipped for treating his Highness like that?"
"Because I know he's just a wolf in human skin." She wondered at the stupidity of southerners. It was like their mothers never taught them better.
Luke blinked, chewing on his lip. "But…he's a person?"
"He's a warg boy. All 'em Starks are. Ya look at that proper Queen and then look at that wolf pup of hers. You'll know the Queen's mind better from that pup than her." She tweaked his nose. Osha scooped up her box of satchels to keep insects from the royal quarters' fabrics. "Now back to work with ya."
"But Joramun bites everyone?" Luke looked deeply confused.
Osha raised a brow, looking down at him. "Well, ya best not misbehave near the Queen then." She left the boy and made her way out of one of far too many rooms set aside for the Stark family alone. Southerners, man didn't need that much space just for sittin' and being proper. Not that it was in her to understand them. She'd been born free, but she'd exchanged it for her Little Wolf.
Osha moved across the hall and slipped into one of the sittin' rooms for the Little Lord. She felt…grief when she saw him now. After all, she remembered when he'd been a bright, curious boy. A boy she'd tried to protect, to care for, at least until he'd run straight for darkness and danger despite any warning she gave. And now here he was, empty and consumed by forces she had told him were too much for them, mortals.
She didn't speak as she saw him there, sitting in his rolling chair by the fire, fine furs over his lap, finer clothing on his back, expression empty. He wasn't the little boy she'd once known. Didn't think he ever would be again, not really. She grieved for the boy she'd once known. Shaking her head she moved about her duties. Wasn't naught she could do about it. Best not to linger.
She was elbow-deep in a chest of soft white fabrics, changing out the satchels when she felt a shiver up the back of her spine. Osha slid the knife out of her sleeve, carefully tilting her head to look through her hair, just behind her out of the corner of her eye. The air froze in her lungs. There, perched in the now open window was the god.
The inky blackness of the night framed her on the window sill. Flickering light from the fire the only light that barely illuminated her face. And oh, she wasn't wearing the friendly mask of humanity she wore at almost all times. It was gone, a cold almost maskless quality to her face, though to call it emotionless would be a lie.
"Daisy." Bran's empty voice broke the stillness, the cold night air creeping through the room.
She slid off the sill, her feet silently hitting the floor, the window closing without her touching it. "Bran."
"You are angry. I did not intend to make you angry." Bran had something that might even have been regret in his tone.
Osha's every instinct had her staying low, and hoping the focus of this being passed over her. And yet…her fingers tightened around the knife. If the Little Lord was threatened she knew she'd do something stupid. Might do it the smartest way she could, but she'd do something stupid all the same.
The god pulled a roll of parchment out of her fancy gambeson. Which, it struck Osha as likely important it was the black one, with red eagles upon it. She strode to Bran, purpose in her movements, unrolling it as she went. "Angry? You really are missing so much if you think that's all I am." And there was danger, real danger in her tone.
Osha hated how she was moving, sliding along the dark shadows of the wall, circling behind the being to which she was less than an ant. If it wouldn't require leaving the idiot boy alone she'd have run for a guard, the boy's sister, someone who might have some power here. But she would not leave Brandon Stark alone. Not while he was in danger.
"Why?" Bran's head tilted ever so slightly, his dead eyes looking at the god in question and supplication.
The god stood there before him. "People have a right to their own minds. They are not beneath you, they are not your playthings. They're not ants for you to squish or pull the legs off of as you want."
And Osha understood, she understood instantly. She'd never forgotten Bran's eyes going white, and sweet Hodor's cries of fear vanishing before he'd collapsed into an unnatural sleep. In stories, she'd heard of wargs powerful enough to violate any living mind, even that of humans. But she'd never seen it till then. And she'd been afraid.
Her tongue wet her lips. Doing such a thing was an abomination. Against gods and men. If this was judgment for such a crime… Osha felt her heart slow in her chest. Years of practice hunting prey kept her calm as she slowly moved into position to strike if there was no other option.
"We are not important," Bran replied slowly. "What is one life, before all life?"
The god's voice was not emotionless, a visceral belief in her words. "Everything." The god placed what was clearly a map on Bran's lap. "A thing we're going to be talking about, at length, later. But right now, where, exactly did you go when you went past the Wall? Point."
"I do not understand?" He did place his finger upon the map.
She lifted the map, ensuring she was pointing to where he had touched. "There?"
"Yes." His face was a frown. "Bloodraven is dead?"
The god rolled up the parchment. "His tree isn't." She paused looking at him before making a sound of disgust. "You know, you might not understand it. But it means something that Osha over there has been planning on how to stab me for you. You matter more than you think Bran." She turned her eyes locking with Osha's horrified gaze. "You're very brave." And then she left with the same sharp, purposeful stride as she'd held earlier.
Osha swallowed. Oh, gods, she'd known. Her stupidity had been noticed by the god. She'd been a fool. And yet…that had sounded rather like a compliment. With a shake of her head, she moved to the confused-looking Bran. "Little Lord, what have you gotten yourself into this time?"
"I…am unsure?" He was looking at her and…he almost looked real.
////
Sansa startled at the door into her private solar opening without announcement, though only slightly. "Arya, I thought-" She cut off as her eyes caught onto her wife. "Daisy!" She was up and out of her seat walking to meet her wife. "I was not expecting you till the day over-morrow. Arya got it out of Bran what he did, it-"
Her words were cut off by Daisy's lips, swallowing her words. Daily hands gripped her firmly, desperately. She was all heat and shaky breaths and consuming presence, faint vibrations spilling out of her. But so terribly gentle, her passion leashed even as she grasped at her like a dying man.
Sansa's breath caught in the back of her throat, and then she melted, her muscles softening as she pressed in and bent to her wife's passion, molding herself against Daisy. Her thoughts fled her mind as her senses were taken up with Daisy. Her hands, her lips, her breath, the heat of her body against hers. Even as Daisy pulled back, Sansa panted faintly, holding Daisy still and against her, their foreheads pressed together.
She took a shaky breath before speaking hoarsely. "It is good to see you as well."
"That was nice." Daisy leaned slightly more firmly against her.
Sansa ran her thumb along Daisy's cheek, pulling back enough to look at her, Daisy somewhat reluctant to allow the small distance. "You call that 'nice'?" Her lips twitched up faintly in fond affection for the ridiculous woman she was in love with.
"More than." Daisy agreed as she was leaning back in, her lips gently skimming along the side of Sansa's jaw, before she pressed her forehead into Sansa's jaw.
Sansa adjusted her hold on her wife, ensuring she had Daisy wrapped in her arms as she tightened her hold. She had questions, but they didn't really matter. She was also unsure of what this mood was from Daisy. There was an intensity that was…it didn't feel like distress exactly? She was unsure. So she just tightened her hold.
Daisy exhaled, the soft vibrations fading, though there was a certain…set to her shoulders that did not fade, even as she pulled back. "So, Arya got it out of Bran?"
"She did." Sansa caught Daisy's hand in her own, entwining their fingers before Daisy could pull further away. She was unsure of what this expression meant exactly, though it was not entirely unfamiliar. She'd seen ghosts of it in Daisy's face in those first few months, when she'd agreed to go with Jon to Dragonstone. There was a quiet determination there, but Sansa did not think it could be moved or changed.
Daisy gave a faint nod. "Right, I'm taking care of it, but it'd help if we could make sure he doesn't do it again."
"Of course, it should not have happened in the first place." Sansa's brow furrowed slightly. "What do you mean by you're taking care of it? Daisy, what's this reaction?"
Daisy cast her a wry look, brushing some of her hair behind one ear with her free hand. "He scared them, the power to take people like that is, it's terrifying. But they're more shocked than anything."
"You're ensuring that shock does not turn to panic then?" Sansa looked at her lover's face, running through what could cut off panic, justice would do it. But what would be justice? "Bran-"
"Is safe. I'll make sure he's safe." Daisy stepped into her space again, one hand catching the side of her jaw. "I promise, I won't let your brother get hurt for this. He's a kid, he doesn't understand. I won't let them hurt him."
Sansa felt something untwist, being a warg was one thing, a dangerous thing, but to be able to warg a human? Many first men had been lynched and skinned for far less power than that in their long history. Not that she would have allowed it to happen, but she trusted Daisy, absolutely. If she said she would protect Bran, Bran would be protected. Yet at the same time… "Bloodraven."
Daisy gave a quick nod. "They need a boogieman, so I'll give it to them."
"Daisy, you would have to go beyond the Wall, if something happened to you…" Sansa forced herself to shove her worry down. "Be safe, take dragonglass with you, and be careful, please."
There was…something that flickered across Daisy's face. Surprise, she was surprised. She gave the faintest twitch of her head, one corner of her mouth twitching up, and then she was pressing their foreheads together again. "I promise, but I'll be fast. I know where I'm going. Unless the Dead organized their entire army at that one tree I'll be fine."
"I'll still worry." Sansa ran a hand up and down Daisy's upper arm before squeezing it. The reassurance that Daisy was there, real and safe. A reminder that despite feeling so very human she was something so much more. The feel of Daisy's breath against her was comforting. "Thank you, I would not ask it of you, not with…not with everything." Not with knowing what Hive had done to her. With what Bran's actions must remind her of. What they reminded Sansa of. Because she did not hold the history or horror at such power that Daisy did, and she was horrified herself.
Daisy laughed, but it lacked any humor. She took a step back. "He's your brother."
And…Sansa's eyes snapped to Daisy's face and she felt something…sharp and awful in that moment. She knew Daisy, knew that Daisy considered Bran a child, and would likely protect him for that. But not…not to the extent her words indicated she was going to do so. "Daisy, I would not ask. I am grateful, but-"
"You don't have to ask." Daisy's smile was tight and wry, not quite reaching her eyes. "There's a line but…I don't know where it is." She grimaced. "I don't want to know where it is."
Sansa laid a hand over Daisy's heart, her fingers curling into the fabric covering her shoulder. "I will do everything in my power to ensure we do not find out. Having…having a line is a good thing. I am not sure what it says that I do not believe I have one, not for family."
"You have one." Daisy just looked…almost bitter. "I just…"
She blinked. "You don't want me to find it." Sansa sighed, tightening her hold on Daisy's shoulder. "Talk to me, if…when you find your line talk to me. But I won't hate you for it. I could never hate you for it."
"Sansa, you can't-"
"I can." She glared at her wife, pulling her faintly closer. "You are my wife. You are a Stark. That means everything. I am not saying it is easy, or either of us would be happy with what would happen if that day comes. But I could never hate you for being good and kind and caring. For being a better person than I."
Daisy looked like she'd been struck. As if someone had stabbed her, the way the air left her mouth the same sound as air driven from the lungs of a man when pierced. Her voice was soft. "Oh."
And then Daisy jolted forward, her hands cradling Sansa's face between them. Her eyes held hers for a long moment that held a weight that was nearly tangible, and then she was kissing her again, with more purpose this time.
Sansa gently traced the scars on Daisy's left shoulder with the pads of her fingers and with her eyes. The silvery skin that was caused by Sansa's own foolishness. Pain, harm written on Daisy's skin indirectly by Sansa. Pain and harm that Daisy had never blamed on her. Never showed concern over. Never blamed her for it, but more importantly, never surprised by it. Sansa wondered how many of the scars on Daisy's body had been written across her skin by and for the people she loved?
She knew the rough and tender skin on Daisy's neck had been cut into her skin by Fitz. The scaring at Daisy's stomach was for Coulson and in part Mike. Sansa was unsure of most of the others, but a wary feeling told her the rest were similar. "You said sometimes you think who you were before everything would hate who you are now?"
"Sometimes." Daisy's eyes were a warm brown as she looked at her, heart-rending affection written across her.
Sansa's thumb covered one of the scars left by an arrow shaft. She could taste the words that wanted to follow on her tongue. 'Because you have done things that are dark for the people you love'. 'Because you have let yourself be changed for the sake of others'. And so many others. But in the end, "Love defines us. I think, even if there are things you have done, become, you at any age or experience would understand." Her eyes flicked back to the familiar warm eyes, trying to imprint them in her soul. They already were, but the thought of ever forgetting them, of letting them fade was unbearable.
"Huh." Daisy shifted, lifting her head up off of the pillow, using a hand to prop herself up, as she stayed looking at her. "Maybe."
She shook her head, fingers sliding upwards, her thumb sweeping against Daisy's jaw, her fingers curling over and covering the scar that had been cut into her neck. "I cannot imagine any version of you being so unkind as to not understand that. It is what I think I love best about you, your kindness." And Sansa thought…Daisy needed to hear that, needed to hear it because they may not get many other chances and it needed to be said. "What I loved first about you."
Daisy's eyes were crinkled with love, with awe, though her tone was faintly teasing. "Not my habit of killing horrible people that remind me of Nazis?"
"Why did you kill the Boltons if not because you are kind and you find their form of cruelty abhorrent? And once they were dead, why ensure your actions did not cause chaos and factionalism and war, if not because you are kind? Because you cared?" Sansa raised a brow, daring her wife to argue against her and refusing to allow her to brush this aside.
Daisy stilled before a soft, nearly breathy laugh passed her lips. "How do you always think the best of me?"
"Not enough people do." Sansa held her wife's gaze unflinchingly.
Daisy's left hand gently pulled Sansa's hand off of her neck, before gently bringing her knuckles to her lips, brushing a kiss against them. "You know, most people aren't happy when they hear someone would stand against them?"
"I have watched so many people suffer monsters, for so many reasons." She swallowed back the horror lurking at the edges of memories that were all too eager to burst free if she allowed them to. "In some ways, I do as well. I am not ignorant of what Arya is, what Baelish is, what every man out there with a sword in their hands is capable of being when their blood is up. Of what I am."
Daisy's brow drew together.
"I do not wish for you to be hurt for me. Or to change yourself for me. Not for me or anyone else."
Daisy hesitated then, her voice when it came cautious. "And if I wasn't going to protect Bran from this? If I had insisted something be done to stop him?"
"Then we'd argue. I suspect a lot of pacing. But we would find a solution, even if I think neither of us would be pleased with it." Sansa hated that she'd been considering options for getting Bran away from the trees, away from that source of his power if need be. To make him less of a threat against his will. She felt a shiver down her spine. "I would have burnt the gods wood to the ground if that was what was required. So long as Bran still breathed there is very little I would not do to protect this family, even go against the old gods themselves if that was what was required."
And perhaps for the first time that night, a certain tension eased out of Daisy's shoulders. It hadn't even been noticeable really until it was gone. "I love you." Her face turned apologetic, though the burning affection did not dim. "I'm sorry, I think….I underestimated you."
Sansa leaned forward and pressed a chaste kiss on the tip of Daisy's nose, much to Daisy's apparent bafflement. Her lips turned up in an unmistakable smile as she looked at her beautiful, scarred, and too kind for her own good wife. A woman who Sansa was positive had let far too many people use her love and breathtaking loyalty against her. Yet even still, was half begging for Bran not to force her hand. "I don't care. Not for this."