Chapter 13Notes:A few hours early cause I have no self control. Side note, do you guys want me to do chapter titles?
(See the end of the chapter for more notes.)
Chapter TextDaisy frowned as she saw the motley collection of men come through the gates. Three of the boys who'd gone out with Brienne hadn't returned. And one of them on the horse looked bad. She dropped down from where she'd been on the wall, cushioning her landing slightly. Straightening, she walked towards them. "Brienne! Did you already call Wolkan?" She reached the wheezing and too pale guy who was barely keeping in the saddle. She ignored the eight men who were tied in a row.
"Holiness." Brienne looked down at her from where she was sitting in the saddle. "Podrick is fetching him now."
"Good." Daisy looked up at the guy, he couldn't be more than twenty at the oldest. "Hey, let's get you off this horse alright?"
The guy swayed, but managed to speak even if it was more of a pained murmur than proper speech. "I'm fine Your Holiness."
"I'm sure you are. Why don't you come off that horse and show me." Daisy smiled tightly, tough guy act, but he was definitely hurt.
He gave a weak nod and made a movement as if to swing his leg over the horse. It ended up being more of a jerk and he just came sliding down with a pained cry.
Daisy caught him. Slinging his arm over her shoulder she hooked her arm around his waist and braced him. "You ready to walk to that bale of hay right over there? You can sit down, have some water and wait for the Maester to come see you?"
"Sorry." But he did nod against her.
She smiled and helped towards the bale of hay. Or more half carried him, but his feet were still on the ground so his pride was probably not utterly ruined. Daisy helped him down and held out her hand for water. She accepted a wine skin from someone who clearly had gotten the message. Ignoring the sounds of the prisoners being clapped in proper chains and Brienne barking orders, she pressed the skin to his lips. "Come on, drink up soldier."
He did as instructed, and she was able to hold it up, only a small amount dribbling down his chin.
"So, you have a name there?" Daisy asked while carefully lifting his cloak. She had to hide her blanch at the bloody bandages and smell of infection that hit her nose. Re-adjusting his cloak to hide the damage she looked up at him as if nothing was wrong.
The man's eyelids were heavy, but he replied anyway. "Reben." He started to fall forward.
Daisy caught him, she maneuvered herself besides him on the hay, letting his weight lean on her. "That's a good name, Reben."
"Just doing ma duty." His voice slurred slightly as he didn't even try to fight letting her hold him up.
Daisy looked up at Brienne and saw the other woman's understanding. They shared a tight look, Reben would be lucky to last the night. In the zepher he'd have made it. But not in the dark ages without antibiotics or modern medicine. Even in her world an injury like this in the field could easily kill a man before evac arrived. "And you did it well." Daisy assured the dying man.
There was a sound of movement as Sansa and Maester Wolkan as well as some of the guards came rushing out to see what had happened. Daisy didn't need to say anything for Wolkan to spot his patient and come at the fastest jog his robes allowed him to move at.
"I've got to report to Lady Stark." Brienne spoke.
Daisy looked up at the knight. "I've got this."
"My thanks." Brienne gave her a slight nod of the head, before moving to speak with Sansa.
Daisy didn't need to hear to know what Brienne would say, at least in the broad strokes. They'd found the bandits, the fight had not gone badly, they'd been successful. Though the sort of successful that didn't feel that way. She could learn the particulars later. Reben would need someone to carry him once Wolkan had ensured it was safe to do so.
"What's his injury?" Wolkan demanded as he reached them.
She opened the cloak, showing the soaked bandages. "I don't know the particulars."
Wolkan's face paled. "Right, can you carry him to my quarters?"
"I've got him." Daisy didn't bother with pretending the man could walk himself. Instead she scooped him up with an arm under his legs, and an arm under his shoulders. Whether it was serum, or adrenaline she didn't care, only that it was easy.
The walk to the rooms set aside for the grievously injured or ill hadn't felt long. As soon as they reached the room, Daisy helped rid Reben of his clothing hiding the injury. His cloak and shirt easily hit the ground with a concerning weight and heavy splat, from how much blood they must have absorbed.
Wolkan sat on the other side of the bed and carefully began to pull the bandages aside. He and Daisy both blanched as they saw the injury, they'd gutted him, the arm Reben hadn't been using looked like a dog had used it as a chew toy. It was torn, a dirty tourniquet the only thing keeping him from bleeding out.
Wolkan cleared his throat. "I'll see about some hot water and we'll clean this up lad. Maybe get some milk of the poppy into you."
"It's not bad." Reben wheezed slightly as he said it, his injuries oozing blood and some pus as he moved weakly. "Said I was fine."
Daisy caught his hand. "Well you'll just have to deal with me staying with you till the Maester here is done with you. Who'd hold my hand if I didn't?"
Daisy entered Sansa's study or solar or office or whatever it was. "What's going to happen to the prisoners?"
"They'll be executed." Sansa was pale, but didn't flinch from her. "I offered them life on the Wall. Instead they've done this." She looked at her. "The injured man?"
She swallowed. "Reben, he's asleep now. Brienne's with him. But he won't wake up." Daisy moved to the chair by the fire and bonelessly dropped into it. "I'm going back."
Sansa nodded. "It means a great deal to the men that you care."
"I can't heal." Daisy looked at her hands in disgust. "It's not my power." She didn't want to talk about her uselessness. "So how do you execute people here?"
Sansa spoke slowly. "Beheading is a merciful death, usually reserved for those of the nobility. My father never hung a man though, regardless of crime or rank." She sounded stressed. "Whoever passes the sentence should swing the sword. But I can't swing a sword."
"I heard enough from Brienne, those men don't deserve mercy." Daisy looked away from her hands to the other woman. "I believe you'd be safe to hang them."
Sansa made an odd sound. "My brother hung traitors in the Night's Watch...I could do the same."
"Any other news?" Daisy asked, she didn't intend to stay long.
Sansa shook her head. "No, a few ravens, but nothing of importance."
"Right, I'll be in the Maester's quarters tonight then." Daisy brushed some of her stray hairs behind one ear. "I'm sorry you have to make this call."
The woman who was running far too much in far too uncertain circumstances didn't waver. "I'm not, it's my responsibility."
"It doesn't have to be." Daisy pointed out, without judgment.
Sansa shook her head. "No, it does. It's the way of the North, my people. And I won't abandon them." Her mouth tightened. "Lord Umber won't be the only Lord who'd scoff and leave if I failed in this."
"Alright." Daisy didn't like the brutality of this world, but she understood it. And there was no doubt the men who would die in the morning were guilty. "The offer to punch Lord Umber in the face is still open if you change your mind."
Daisy found she was remarkably unbothered by the execution she was attending. The night holding the dying Reben's hand killed any doubts about the justice of these executions. Not that she would have protested. It was how justice was given in this world. And she had worked in the shadows for far too long to have not been forced into a position of making a call. The world was better with some people put down before they could do more damage. Murdering, raping psychopaths certainly qualified.
She kept an eye on Fitz. He was twitchy, though he hadn't said anything about the practice of execution. Not that he had room to judge, but he hadn't adjusted to the new rules they were surrounded by here. Under the cold sunlight he looked unhealthily pale. Clearly he would need to be dragged out of his lab for some sunlight. Space hadn't been good for his complexion, or nerves. It likely didn't help that the courtyard was dead silent.
It said something about these people, their culture, that the crowd that had gathered was utterly silent as they stood around the gallows. Which, she hadn't realized the wooden scaffolding along the wall had been gallows, but it was. All eight of the prisoners were standing over the wooden drop floor, nooses around their necks, hands tied behind their backs.
Daisy noted Lord Umber and Manderly. The fat mermaid Lord looked serious, though there was a solemn acceptance and pride almost to him. His vibrations were settled. Lord Umber on the other hand seemed almost anxious. He clearly had something on his mind. No, not anxious, she decided anticipatory.
Finally there was Sansa, who couldn't have been mistaken as anything but a great lady. Or rather what Daisy had always imagined an indomitable queen would look like. She wasn't a stranger to masks. For god's sake her SO was Melinda May. Sansa was similar, there was an air about her she projected that couldn't be missed. She'd have made a terrifying General or Senator in Daisy's world. There was some signal, or perhaps Sansa had simply waited a requisite few minutes before beginning?
Sansa stepped forward. Her voice wasn't raised, but carried through the silent courtyard. "You've been found guilty of theft, murder, running from the Night's Watch, and declaring for a traitor house. If you have any final words, now is the time for them." She looked up at the first man in the row.
He spat at the ground. "Better to live a little than listen to Ramsey's whore."
Sansa didn't flinch, just moving to the next man.
Daisy's fists tightened as she stayed still. But the men's last words were of the same vein. They used their final words to attack the woman before them. It was foul, and yet it caused not a crack or waver in Sansa as she continued.
As Sansa finally reached the end of the line she held out her hand. Her temporary Master of Arms held out a serrated knife. Her gloved fingers curled around the handle. The long rope was tight, unsuited or trained in using a knife Sansa may be, but a sharp saw like knife against an old taunt rope took three sharp motions before snapping.
And the courtyard was silent as the men died. And Sansa didn't look away, not once. Finally as the last jerks of the dead ceased she spoke. "Burn the bodies." And then she turned and swept out of the courtyard, the crowd easily and automatically parting for her.
Daisy frowned slightly as she saw Lord Umber's face. He was pleased. Her eyes narrowed, but now wasn't the time. She turned to Fitz. "Come on, let's see if I can help with bending the wires."
////
Fitz swore as he stabbed his finger with the end of one of his wires. "Shit." He shoved his bleeding finger into his mouth. He threw the spool of wire against the wall, jumping to his feet. "I can't w-work with this!"
"Hey, hey." Daisy grabbed the spool of rough shitty wire and set it back on the table. "Maybe take a breather for a minute? We have time to fix this."
He ran his non bleeding hand through his hair, his other hand falling on his hip. "We d-don't have that much t-t-time! And even if we b-build this powering it will be a nightmare. Let alone an intergalactic bea-beacon."
"One step at a time." Daisy picked up the pair of mangled pliers. "Maybe get the blacksmith to fix these first?"
Fitz glared but grabbed them from her all the same. He turned, bracing himself on the work table. It was too much, it was like banging his head against a wall. Bad tools, bad supplies, raw resources only, no qualified help, and Jemma millions of stars away. He closed his eyes.
Daisy's hand hovered as if she'd meant to lay her hand over his, but couldn't bring herself to touch him. "You've got me. We'll get through this together. We haven't failed yet." She had a sort of bemused yet tired humor in her voice.
It needled something in him. He spun, batting her hand away. "Oh like it's s-s-so hard for you." He snapped. "You sure'd like being stu-stuck here. Get to just keep r-r-running away from your problems. Coulson's d-dead, that won't cha-change no matter how far you go. Saving me w-won't bring him back."
"Fitz." Her voice held a warning, but her face said his words had struck.
And it fueled some part of him that was sick and tired of fighting and always losing. Of it never being enough. So he kept talking. "You're not even use-useful. Your p-powers bring nothing b-b-but death. At least Lincoln would have been able to h-help if he was here."
There was a ringing silence. Fitz's eyes widened as he realized what he'd just said. He opened his mouth. "D-d-daisy I didn't…"
"No." Her hand raised.
He took a step back, reading the threat instinctively. "Daisy, tha-that w-wasn't…" The air was driven from his lungs in a wheeze as he hit the wall.
"Don't you dare." Daisy looked angry, but he knew her enough to see pain. She turned on her heel. Her powers not dropping him till she was well out of the workshop.
He hit the ground, sucking in air, one hand hitting the stone floor his other grabbing his throat. Fitz barely had his breath back before he was scrambling to his feet. He had to go after her, had to fix what he'd just done. He stopped as Snow, his assistant bared his path, furious look on his face. Fitz frowned. "Out of t-the way."
"I don't rightly know what that was." Snow's frown deepened. "But I know it wasn't right. I won't let you hurt her."
Fitz glared, he didn't have time for this. "I kn-know that. Now get out of m-my way so I can go apologize, or I'll m-move you."
Snow stared at him, but nodded and stepped to the side. "I'm coming with ya."
"R-right." Fitz shoved past and took off at a run. She had a head start and knew the castle better than he did. Frowning, he spotted the side door. She'd go somewhere isolated and enclosed. He took off for the door. Sprinting down the hallways he took every turn that seemed the least habited. Shit, if she found a place to hide it could be hours before he found her and just...he'd fucked up.
As he moved he paused at an intersection. On one hand a lighted hallway where people definitely were, but down the other hall he could hear cheerful voices. By the smell, a full kitchen. Right, she'd risk the noble idiots over the servants, the servants liked her and would be more likely to try and talk to her.
He took another turn into the more well lit hallways only to spot her back. Fitz cursed under his breath as he realized what Daisy was intending to walk through. "B-bloody hell." He slowed to a quick walk. As long as none of the fancy nobles tried to talk to Daisy it'd be fine. He'd catch up to her, and just...explain somehow. Apologize and just fix things. He kept his eyes down, avoiding eye contact.
Lady Stark, her more senior noble sorts following behind her, as well as a few knight types. It should have been fine. Except then it wasn't. The great big giant of a man, as big as Mack only with a great beard and fur cloak, reached out and grabbed Daisy by the bicep. "You owe Lady Stark more than a nod ya fucking forgein witch."
"Let. me. Go." Daisy's face set in a way Fitz recognized. She'd been pushed too far and the man in front of her was apparently someone she already didn't like.
Fitz saw the others all looking horrified. Lady Stark clearly meant to prevent what was about to happen. But he knew the moment the man didn't let go, what was about to happen. He threw his arm out, preventing the woman from stepping any closer to the man who was about to be thrown into a wall, likely very, very hard.
The giant of a man sneered. "Why should I? You're just some jumped up whore who's going to get us all killed."
"Fuck." Fitz took a half step backwards, his breathed word came out in a puff of frozen air. He shivered, the temperature of the hall dropping from slightly below a comfortable room temperature to well below freezing.
Daisy's eyes narrowed, and the man went flying into the wall with an audible crack. His feet lifted clear from the ground, one hand raised, her vibrations keeping him pressed against the stone. "You shouldn't have done that Lord Umber." Her voice was sharp.
And that wasn't good. She wasn't going to be nice.
"You should be grateful that Lady Stark wants you alive. Though why she cares about a stupid, arrogant, self-important asshole like you I don't know." Her head tilted slightly to the side. "I may not be one of your Old Gods, but they brought me here. I have fought gods and devils. Saved worlds and condemned them. You think petty insults will make me grovel? Beg for your approval?"
The hall was utterly silent and Fitz cringed, he knew this was going to go bad. Oh those titles they'd made up for a laugh were about to be a really terrible idea. Cause he'd seen Daisy lose her temper before. She talked big when she wanted people to back off.
Daisy didn't pause for long, her shoulders falling back. "My name is Daisy Johnson, the Inhuman known as Quake. I am the Child of Monsters and Blood. I am the Warrior Daughter of the First Elder of Afterlife. I am the Destroyer of Worlds. And I am tired of people like 'you'." Her face hardened, eyes narrowing.
The ground shook, ice forming along the walls. Spiderweb like cracks began to spread across the stones beneath her feet. The apparent Lord Umber cried out, his arm making an awful snapping sound.
Fitz realized she was losing her control. "DAISY, STOP!"
Her head snapped towards him. He could see it in her face as she realized she'd crossed the line. "I…" And then her hand dropped, facing the ground and she vanished down the hall in a burst of power.
Fitz's hands dropped to his knees. Well that hadn't gone well. So making up dumb titles and shit for Daisy over engine plans had apparently not been a good idea. He probably shouldn't have helped with that. Straightening he nodded, right, he needed….to do something.
"Escort Lord Umber to Maester Wolkan and remain with him till I inform you otherwise." Lady Sansa's voice ordered into the silence. She looked at him then and Fitz realized he wasn't going to be going anywhere. "Explain."
Fitz's fingers twisted as he stood before the very, pale and clearly shocked Northerners. "L-look, if you'd j-just let me go after her, she's not go-going to murder you all."
Snow, stupid talkative assistant that he was, burst out. "He angered her first by saying he wished someone named Lincoln was here instead of her Holiness."
"Who is Lincoln?" Sansa asked. She clearly wasn't impressed by Snow's interjection.
He winced. "You h-have to understand it j-just…" Fitz ran a hand through his hair, how to explain this to these people. "T-they were in love. Uh...you do-d-don't have a word for it. Lovers I guess? But he t-took her place and d-died. I shouldn't have br-brought him up. Or C-coulson, I mean Coulson was…" Fitz's throat felt tight. It didn't feel real that he was dead. "Look, it d-doesn't matter. I just need to know wh-where a small, enclosed sp-space without a lot of p-people is, one that Daisy would know of."
Fitz glanced at the storage room door, and carefully opened the door. He winced, and stepped in, closing the door behind him. Shuffling over, and carefully stepping over bags of what he was fairly sure was grain, he made it to the corner Daisy was sitting in. Or rather was curled upright on a bag of grain in. He dropped down next to her. "There better not be r-rats in here." He grumbled half heartedly.
"What do you want, Fitz?" Daisy's arms didn't drop from where they were wrapped around her legs, her voice rough.
He leaned against the stone, it was surprisingly not cold. Which the piping through the walls was fascinating here. Fitz shook off that line of thought. "I'm s-sorry for what I s-said." He gave himself some time to put his words together. "I just….it's frustrating. I d-don't want to be here. Jemma is out th-there and I can't get to her." His hand ran through his hair. "And you just seem….f-fine."
"This looks fine to you?" Daisy stared at him in disbelief.
Fitz huffed. "Well clearly I c-can be an idiot, yeah?"
"Only sometimes. It's not a good look on you." Daisy sniffed and wiped angrily at her eyes.
He pulled a handkerchief out of one of his pockets and passed it over. "It wasn't your f-fault he died. And he was a g-good guy, but electric powers or n-no you've done a lot he couldn't have. I don't know wh-why I said what I did...I just was...angry."
Daisy blew her nose before crumpling the handkerchief's fabric in her fist. "What's the point of this? You're right though. I can't fix this. I can't get us home, I can't solve all their problems for them. That kid who died last night? He was sixteen. They think I'm a god and I can't help them Fitz. They have an army of zombies coming and I can't do anything because I'd probably crack their continent if I tried."
"W-well in a fight against z-zombies I can't think of a person I'd rather have n-next to me." Fitz reached out and patted her shoulder. He winced and retracted his hand at her barely there twitch at the contact. Right, no touching. When had they stopped hugging each other? "Y-you stayed with that kid all night d-didn't you?" That would make Daisy's outburst make more sense. She hadn't slept because she'd been holding some dying kid's hand. And then he'd just had to go and poke at the Lincoln thing.
He frowned, noticing her slightly dark circles under her eyes, the tension in her frame. "When was the last time you s-s-slept?"
She opened her mouth, surely to lie.
"Properly." He corrected.
Daisy huffed, her head hitting the wall behind them. "About a week."
"That's...ridiculous! Daisy!" Fitz's hand fluttered uselessly. "C-come on, you need to sleep. Why haven't y-you been?"
Daisy shifted uncomfortably. "I'm creating a religion. Everything I do could have super terrible consequences down the line. Problems I won't be here to help fix. Which I just ruined probably all of that with that little show just now."
"He was an a-ass, definitely de-deserved it. And he was quite conscious and capable of s-s-standing on two very shaky legs after you l-left." Fitz would have punched the man for what he'd said if he hadn't read the writing on the wall that Daisy was about to deal with it.
Daisy groaned. "I can't believe I used all those dumb titles. 'Condemned worlds', makes me sound like a psychopath."
"I m-m-mean you said it not me." Fitz shrugged with a slight grin. "If it m-makes you feel better they didn't seem a-angry about it." He left out the sheer terror. Just best not bring that up.
Daisy looked at him. "I'm going to have to apologize. And somehow convince my new hippy followers, human sacrifice is very much not something they should be doing, no matter how scary the 'Destroyer of Worlds' thing is."
"B-better you than me." Fitz held up his hands at the poisonous look she shot him.
Notes:I find it hilarious how even as early as s1 Daisy has always been a big talker when she's upset to get people to leave her alone, and the wall chucking. Like once she has her powers she regularly just chucks people into walls as like implied threat/'don't make me hurt you'. Its genuinely hilarious when Skye is like 'this is a suicide bomb' when it's a Hulk action figure in a backpack, because she can't take a whole building of Hydra otherwise. But its way more terrifying when she can actually follow through with those threats.
Chapter 14Notes:Pumpkin Spice is delightful and not even god could take it from cold, dead, basic bitch hands.
And vote came in, no chapter titles, a thing I'm kinda grateful you guys didn't want.
Chapter TextSansa remained silent as she watched Maester Wolkan splint and wrap Lord Umber's arm. She noted the fabric wrapped around his nose and ears for the minor frostbite. His entire back had to be a single bruise as well just based on how hard he'd hit the wall.
"He'll live." Wolkan lifted a jar of cream. "You chose a poor day to antagonize our resident god. She spent the night holding that dying boy's hand, and she wasn't pleased by his death."
Umber's voice was low. "I thought she was a witch."
"Yes you made that very clear." Sansa didn't even try to keep the bite out of her voice. The man's stupidity could have brought Winterfell down on their heads. "You will remain in your rooms, under guard, until I have ensured your presence won't get us all killed."
Greatjon Umber didn't protest, just nodded. "Did you feel it in the air?"
"The cold so intense it gave you frostbite and ensured the rest of us felt it to our bones?" Sansa stared at him in disbelief, it hadn't been subtle. She'd felt the words stolen from her by the cold, the stupidity and danger occuring in front of her.
The man shook his head. "The way the air weighed. It felt like I'd been blanketed under feet of snow."
"Ah." She'd felt a faint brush of vibrations when Daisy had used her powers before. "I recommend you remain here if you wish to avoid the guards preventing you from leaving."
Umber winced as Wolkan worked his shirt open enough for the deep purple bruising to be apparent. "I don't reckon I'll fare so well if I bother that god again."
"No, I don't imagine you would." Sansa paused before leaving the room. "Get some rest."
Umber bowed his head slightly with actual respect. "Aye M'Lady."
She nodded and then swept out of the room. As she walked she beckoned Podrick forward. "What news?"
"Fitz found her Holiness, after some time in the store room they came out. He escorted her to her quarters and left her there after some conversation. He's currently sat in a chair, guarding her rooms out in the hall and writing in his journal." Podrick shuffled slightly. "Two of the men, Joran and Hogg 'ave joined him."
Sansa thought through that as she continued to walk. It would seem allowing Fitz to follow Daisy had been the correct call. Hopefully. "Inform me if that changes."
Sansa's hands had a faint tremble to them as she sat in her solar not doing anything but sipping a goblet of wine. She hadn't realized just how comfortable she'd come to be around Daisy, the god in human form. It was ridiculous. She'd thought she'd had the god's measure, that she was likely a minor god of the sky, maybe of wind or air. A powerful being, but an understandable one.
Now...now that had proved to be untrue. And somehow she'd endeared herself to a being of that much power enough that Lord Umber's stupidity hadn't gotten him killed. Because that had been clear. Umber's insults had not resulted in the death such comments should have earned because of her. Sansa had never met a royal who would have allowed a man to survive such comments. Far milder ones might have earned a man's tongue pulled from his mouth. But Umber had gone past that. And yet he lived...because Daisy knew Sansa needed him.
She ran her fingers through Ghost's fur. Sansa wished Jon was back. Once more she was on the knife's edge. Only this time there was nothing she could do until the god in her home emerged. She was relieved to be brought out of her thoughts by the door opening. Brienne stepped in, holding the door open. "My Lady."
Sansa straightened at the look on her sworn sword's face. She rose to her feet at the sight of the god. "Your Holiness."
"Please….right." Daisy winced, but walked into the room. She kept a carefully wider than usual berth from Sansa.
It was...Sansa felt like frowning, if she wasn't better trained at controlling her expressions, than she would have. "I apologize for Lord Umber's words, they were unforgivable. If…" She halted at the raised hand from Daisy.
Daisy looked vaguely pained. "Please don't do that. You don't owe me an apology. I owe you one really." She shuffled slightly. "I shouldn't have lost my temper like that."
Sansa felt struck. "Your displeasure was justified, and your mercy appreciated." If the god meant to apologize for some reason, Sansa wasn't going to miss the opportunity to hopefully ensure Lord Umber's continued survival.
"I don't know how to make this right." Daisy stopped her movement as she reached the window, leaning against the wall beside it. Interestingly it placed Ghost between them.
Cautiously her fingers threading through Ghost's fur. "You owe me nothing. You were insulted, having put up with a great deal of derision from Lord Umber since his arrival."
"I made him scared, and in doing so I made you and everyone else scared." Daisy sighed. "It was petty and god…" She brushed her hair aside. "Those titles were miserable. I don't even know why I did that."
Sansa's heartbeat felt quickened. "Were they false?"
"No...but ridiculous? Nobody calls me any of that except for the 'Quake, The Destroyer of Worlds' part." Daisy looked...desperately uncomfortable.
Sansa stood, and poured a second cup of wine and held it out. "Well, to terrible days."
Daisy let out a laugh and accepted the cup. "I know it's cause your water isn't safe to drink. But damn you drink so much alcohol. Just so much." She shook her head before downing the thing. Stepping to the side table she refilled her cup. "Downside of being me, I can't get drunk anymore."
"My first husband would have despaired with that gift." Sansa said wryly, not that she allowed herself to become drunk, ever. She couldn't afford that weakness. Nor would she forget the danger she was in.
Daisy paused, but then continued as if she hadn't stopped to look for...something in Sansa before doing so. "Never was one of my problems. Apparently being terrible at apologies is though." She looked at her. "I know what I said will have repercussions. What can I do to help?"
"I'd prefer if the North remained undestroyed." Sansa hoped her tone came across light enough. It was hard to read this god. She held so much power, but seemed to care so little for it. Or perhaps it was merely that she was so far above it didn't matter to her?
Daisy set her cup down. "For what it's worth, I'm definitely not here to destroy this place….I'm gonna have to make sure everybody knows that or things will be...not great."
"That would be helpful." Sansa knew she wasn't alone in holding her breath to see what the god would do.
She sighed. "I'll take care of it." Daisy seemed to hesitate, before bowing her head to Sansa. And it was a bow, not a deep one, but a bow nonetheless. "I am sorry."
And Sansa had nothing to say to that. If there even was something to be said in the face of a god bowing to you with apologies that were unneeded and unrequired. But she was sure that in her own way, this god cared. About what exactly was still to be known.
////
Lord Manderly stared at the man he'd ordered brought to his room. "Rickard Flint." He eyed the man. A limp, likely the only reason a man of his years had survived the war of Five Kings. Well groomed if very northern. A fourth son of a second son set to inherit nothing. "Thank you for agreeing to speak with me before you swear your renewed loyalty to House Stark."
"Did you have something to say? I won't be your spy against House Stark." He pulled himself up as best he could despite his cane.
Manderly had picked well when he'd summoned this man to Winterfell. "I wouldn't expect you to. But as the new seneschal I wanted to ensure you were aware of a few things."
"Shouldn't Lady Stark be informing me of the household?" Rickard frowned.
Manderly nodded. "She will, but I thought it best to ensure you know a bit so you don't fuck it up. Lady Stark won't have a great deal of time for you. She's got armies to organize, miscarriages of justice to see to, winter stores to fill and trade to increase. And Lord Umber mucked up and is under guard in the Maester's wing."
"Then I'd be glad of your advice." Flint didn't need to say he'd take his own measure of his new position himself. Good head on the man.
Manderly folded his hands over his stomach. "Lady Stark hasn't had a Senchal since she took control of Winterfell. As such the man doing most of the work is a Davith Bower. You'll find many of the men like him are former men of the Boltons. Their loyalties are not entirely certain, but the last man to act against Lady Stark was frozen from the inside out by her Holiness."
Rickard's brow furrowed further. "This god...she's real?"
"Unquestionably." Wyman Manderly had set his course, he was confident it was the right one. "Leave the god to Lady Stark, she's got it well in hand. And let the direwolf do as it pleases."
The man gave a considering nod. "I'll do my best to ensure Winterfell runs as well as can be."
"Good, and if you require assistance you can come to me." Wyman held the man's eyes. If he meant to support Sansa Stark, he needed the trust of her staff to the extent they didn't work against his access to the woman.
Wyman was making his way along the wall to get a better vantage point on the work that was nearly done on the old broken tower, when he spotted the god sitting on the stone battlements speaking with Lady Stark. It would seem he wasn't alone in his choice of activity. He gave an approving nod to the giant of a woman who served Lady Stark as a sworn sword. But made his way to the other two women. Bowing his head, he spoke. "My Lady, your Holiness."
"Sup!" Daisy, a baffling ill suited name for a Destroyer of Worlds and likely aspect of death, raised a hand in greeting.
Lady Stark acknowledged him lightly. "Taking a walk, Lord Manderly?"
"Thought some air would do me good." He took in the tower, it was certainly in good shape. "What are you planning on doing with the tower?"
Lady Stark's eyes tracked the workers completing the last of the work. "The lower levels contain the arms and metal recovered from the Dreadfort. I've had the upper levels converted into barracks for the men."
"Surely Winterfell has more than enough room for the men?" Wyman frowned, even a large army would fit inside the ancient seat of House Stark.
The god piped up then. "It's to avoid the men from becoming my men." Her mouth pinched to the side slightly. "The ones who choose to follow me can do so, but best to keep them seperate some. And I get to make the training as miserable as I want to ensure most of the men don't choose to follow me."
"I'm sure that's the only reason you make them run for hours." Lady Stark replied dryly.
The god laughed. "Well, if I had to suffer through Ops training they can suffer through it. Sharing is caring and all that." She grinned.
Wyman was baffled, it didn't help the men who'd been following the god ran past the outerwall. They were a clump of sweating and huffing men. "Do you not wish for worship, your Holiness?"
"God no." She blew out a breath, leaning back in clear distaste. "It's supes weird people have like...shrines of me. And I can't hear prayer so it's not like worshiping me would do anything? It'd be useless."
Lady Sansa spoke. "Contained and focused to prevent uncontrollable religious issues. We do not need our own version of the Faith Militant."
"That." The god twisted the end of her braid between her fingers. "Religious cults are crazy pants. And since I fucked up and everyone isn't assuming I'm some god of children or something it's going to be a bigger problem than I was hoping."
Wyman could...sort of understand the meaning of the god's words but they were baffling. He'd never heard 'crazy pants'? What did that mean? Shockingly Lady Stark didn't seem to be confused in the least. She was utterly unruffled.
"And yet you don't intend to stop playing with the children and watching babes?" Lady Stark raised a single eyebrow as she glanced at the god.
And the god just smiled, and it was kind in a way he wouldn't have expected of a god of destruction and ruin. "No I don't. But don't pretend you haven't already factored that into your plans for the future."
"I wouldn't dream of it." Lady Stark looked back to the tower. "The smith said he'd mount a plaque over the entrance of the tower with your symbol."
The god hummed. "Yeah, I had him make matching brooches. Best to know which of the men are loyal to you and which are less so. Side note, you guys really care about your brooches. Like I don't think I'd seen one on someone under the age of seventy before I got here." Her head tilted. "I think it's the lack of capes."
Wyman felt an idea begin to form in his mind as he listened to the god and Lady Stark conversing as if they were equals. Partners even. It was...an unlikely idea. But one that if true would...perhaps explain some of the god's more bizarre choices. He found himself focusing on how the god very clearly was open, and leaning slightly towards Lady Stark, even if they were both looking out in the same direction. The good humor...It was impossible...and yet…
He was pulled sharply back into the conversation as Lady Stark spoke carefully on a topic he wouldn't have expected to be brought up so soon after recent events.
"Lord Umber, do you have any expectations of the man?" Lady Sansa could have been asking about plans for the weather save for a certain thread of care.
The god groaned. "Is he alright?"
"He's recovering adequately." Lady Stark seemed to understand a further question. "He has a cleanly broken arm, significant bruising along his back and some minor frostbite. Maester Wolkan expects him to be recovered in a moon and a half's turn."
"Good." The god sighed, running a hand through her hair. "Do I have to have expectations for the man other than that he'll likely manage to say stupid things again whether intentionally or unintentionally? Or should I apologize." The being grumbled the last bit, clearly, distinctly unhappy at the thought of doing so. But shockingly apparently waiting for Lady Stark's opinion on her course of action. It was...mystifying to witness.
Lady Stark's only sign of surprise was to blink once. "He insulted nearly every facet of your being, you don't owe him an apology. Certainly not on my account."
"Well that's certainly something. Apologies to keep the peace are terrible." She paused. "But really do I have to do anything about him? Like I made my point already didn't I?"
Lady Stark stared at the god for a long beat. "You are unopposed to him returning to Winterfell at large? No punishment or censure?"
"No, he can do what he wants. I won't promise not to break a finger or two if he tries to grab me or berate me again. But he's your Lord." And the confusing thing was the god clearly didn't seem to care about the fate of Lord Umber. Oh it was clear she didn't like the man, but other than dislike it seemed the god was satisfied.
Wyman finally spoke up again. "That is most gracious of you. If he'd said any of that rubbish to my granddaughters I'd have demanded satisfaction for it." He noted the slightly curious look on the god's face. "A duel." He gave a rueful look at his stomach. "One my son would need fight, but a fight nonetheless."
"Ah." There was a sudden near darkness in the god's voice.
He understood in that one sound quite a lot. "I apologize if I've brought up memories best left forgot."
Lady Stark had the slightest flicker of curiosity as she clearly picked up the implications a few seconds slower than him on the matter. Not that he'd have expected the lady to recognize signs of combat as quickly as a veteran like himself. Though she had. But the god clearly noticed the curiosity.
"I've fought many battles. I've yet to lose in the end." Her face was...utterly sure. Not a flicker of even the possibility that she would lose someday. Merely that the battles would continue, endlessly ahead of her.
Wyman gave a nod. "Spoken as a true warrior." He considered the god. His thoughts were interrupted by the wheezing men running past their position down below once more. "If I may, what is the purpose of that?"
"Stamina, muscle growth, and dissuading any idiots from deciding to follow along in their choice to follow me instead of Lady Stark." The god eyed the men. "Though they've had enough for today." She gave Lady Stark the faintest of bows, and then hopped off the battlements dropping to the ground by the men.
Wyman swallowed at that. His faint tickle of an idea was becoming more likely with every passing moment and it...it was certainly something. "Do you still wish to discuss your demands of House Dustin in light of Lord Umber's misstep?"
"No. If Lord Umber's uncle arrives with my brother there will be much to speak of. If not, other arrangements will need to be made." She turned her full attention to him. "About my new senchal, you have my thanks for seeing to my acquiring his services."
Wyman bowed his head. "It was nothing, my Lady. Only what is due as your loyal bannerman."
////
Jon ducked into the small command tent the men had put up. The cold rain had forced them to seek shelter. It was more sleet than rain really. By morning it would likely be snow. He shook his hair free of the wet as he straightened. "Lord Glover, Lawrence." He acknowledged the two men, or well man and boy who'd called him.
Lord Glover pulled himself up. "One of your parties of wildlings is late. We need to pursue them now, before they can do too much harm."
"Styrodr is a strong man and has a poor sense of time. If he's not back with his men by sunrise we'll send a scout to find them."
"We didn't free my land from Ironborn reavers just to let wildlings pillage it." Glover glared.
Jon was glad Tormund was busy trying out his new axe he'd liberated from the Ironborn. "They have not acted against you or your people since they arrived. In fact several have died to protect your lands. Until you have cause and not just suspicion there will be no acting against them. Is that understood?"
"You don't command me boy." Glover growled.
He stepped into the Lord's space. "No I don't, but Lady Stark does. Or do your oaths mean nothing to you?"
Glover ground his teeth as he considered it. "Fine, be it on your head."
"I expect nothing else." Jon stood his ground.
Glover glared and then brushed past him and out of the tent. Lawrence gave him a curious glance, but followed the man who'd raised him out of the tent. However he did give Jon a nod of respect as he went.
Jon's shoulders felt tired as he stood there. He was exhausted to the bone. His very soul was weary. A week of travel left and he'd be home. It had to be enough. Maybe he'd take that god up on a few days to just sleep.
"Well that could have gone better." Davos rolled up the map that'd been laid out. "We'd best send someone out to make sure Styrodr isn't doing anything stupid."
Jon closed his eyes. "Bjorold is a warg, he'll find the men faster than anyone else."
"Aye, I'll see to it." Davos paused. He clapped Jon on the shoulder.
And then Jon was alone. He pulled off his cloak and unbuckled his sword. A few hours rest would prepare him for holding a Wildling and Northern force of men together for another day. And another, and another. All this petty bickering when they didn't have time for it. Well, hopefully the sleep would help with his frustration as well as his exhaustion. A week till Winterfell. He longed for it.
Chapter 15Notes:Pumpkin spice season reveals the truth, I'm a basic bitch and you can take the pumpkin spice candles and lattes from my cold dead hands.
Chapter TextGreatjon didn't let the looks of the men bother him as he walked out into the courtyard where the god was working with the men. He had no interest in hiding, waiting to see if this god had been sincere in her decision not to kill him. Best get it over with one way or another. He stopped on the edge of the training men.
The god noticed him and raised a brow. She didn't attack him, or appear particularly displeased.
He strode over. "So what do I call ya since apparently I got that bit wrong?"
"Daisy would work." She looked deeply unimpressed by him, her arms folded over her chest.
He gave a nod. "Weird name for a god."
"I wasn't aware babies picked their own names." Daisy replied dryly.
Greatjon laughed at that. "Aye, there is that." Now that he was properly looking at the god he noted bits he'd missed initially. Her eyes, scar across one cheek, and the way she held herself all screamed combat. It'd been stupid to miss that. Everything about her said she knew exactly how dangerous she was. A rare thing for a woman who wasn't a Mormont. "Fight me."
"Wait, what?" Daisy looked at him in visible confusion. "Your arm is broken. I broke it."
He unclasped his cloak and chucked it over a wooden sawhorse. "I've got two arms and can wield a sword better than any of these boys even with only one of those arms. Surely you want more of a challenge than this lot can give you."
She stared at him before shrugging. "Fine, it's on your head if you break anything." She stepped to the weapons rack, easily showing him her back as she grabbed the shortest practice sword. The damn thing was one of the practice blades given to children, in the hands of an adult, even a woman of this Daisy's stature; it was more of a long knife.
He grabbed a proper sword. "You sure ya want that butter knife?"
"I'm sure." And she turned to face him, not a bit of doubt.
And well, Umber felt his blood burn hot at the prospect of a fight. He didn't care for the alarm in the men's faces as this fight drew a crowd. He just saw the woman was ready and swung his sword.
She caught the strike with her blade, and then she moved.
Umber really didn't understand exactly what had happened. But she'd used her block to slide in close, and then the sky was above him and his back was reminding him he was still very sore from getting chucked into a wall. He wheezed.
Daisy was looking down at him with an amused expression. "Doing ok down there?"
"Well damn." He heaved himself up from the ground. Picking up his sword his eyes narrowed. So she was a wrestler. Letting her close was stupid then. He kept his pommel more centered as he swung this time. She caught his strikes, deflecting primarily with a strength that made his arm ache.
Greatjon Umber knew he must look half feral as he tried as hard as he could to whack a god with a sword. She suddenly dropped, sweeping his legs out from under him. He hit the ground again, her sword to his throat. He grinned with his teeth. "I yield."
"You're better with a sword than I am." She easily rose to her feet and offered him a hand.
Umber chuckled as he took the hand, allowing her to heft him to his feet. A feat a woman of her size should not have been capable of. "You're as strong as the bloody Mountain ya know."
"I'm still adjusting to that." She rolled her arms as she returned to her starting pose.
He snorted, a swordswoman she might not be, but she had the reflexes, strength and training in hand to hand to compensate. "I'll help your boys with their swords. And you if ya want. You keep whacking at me like you're holding a bloody club."
"You're welcome to it. Gotta say the sword thing is new to me." She spun the blade in her hand easily. Sword she might not know, but knives on the other hand, he'd eat his own arm if she wasn't well trained with knife work.
Umber was sweating, sore and pleased as he dunked his head into a barrel of water. With a grunt he lifted his now streaming face from the water. He shook his head, water flying. Laughing he grabbed his cloak from where he'd laid it. "So how do ya plan to beat these boys into shape?"
"I was trained as an assassin. And we didn't really use swords or spears or well any of your weapons aside from knives." Daisy shrugged as she pulled on her white jacket covered in stitched red leaves. "But archery has promise. I may not be completely adjusted to it yet, but another month or so and I will be."
Umber couldn't help raising his eyebrows. He'd seen the god shoot an arrow and she was a damned good shot. "I'll help ya with the weapons training."
"Sounds fun." She looked at him curiously. "You're an odd man, next time you want a person to prove themselves to you may I suggest not insulting them? If you keep that up you're going to run into someone who'll actually kill you."
He slapped her on the shoulder with a laugh. "Where's the fun in that? 'Sides, best way to know a man's nature."
"Let me guess, it's the way of you Northerners?" Daisy shook her head, but didn't move away from him. Not that she had reason to. Woman could destroy him, powers or no powers.
Umber chuckled. "You understand then."
"I'm going to have to punch a lot of very stubborn idiots in the face." She rolled her eyes.
He couldn't help it, laughing uproariously. "Spoken like a person who's punched a lot of men in the face."
"Your brand of stupidity isn't unique." Daisy replied.
Umber liked this god. It helped that according to the boys she didn't care much for any of the southern gods' noscense. Also the fact he hadn't been smited. That one helped a rather lot.
////
Sansa stared at Bower in disbelief. "I'm sorry, Lord Umber is what?"
"Attempting to outdrink her Holiness, M'Lady." The Master of Arms replied. He looked good really, the relief at a proper senchal taking over the vast majority of the duties he'd been struggling under had clearly done him good. But his improved demeanor didn't make the words coming from his mouth make any more sense.
She registered Lord Manderly's focus, as well as her new senchal Flint's, she ignored it however as she processed the stupidity being reported to her. "Explain."
"Well see that's the thing…" Bower turned his hat in his hands before him. "This morning in the yard Lord Umber approached her Holiness. He challenged her to a spar, which she accepted after some words. It was...impressive. They fought several rounds, he's offered to teach her and her men weapons seeing as her Holiness is unaccustomed to mortal weapons. He was..impressed by her ability to whack him right round with almost no practical knowledge of the sword she was using. He proceeded to challenge her to see if she could drink as much as she could lift? And somehow that worked?"
Sansa had no words for that. But she had to have them. "Where are they now?"
"Wintertown, M'Lady." Bower's cheeks heated slightly. "The tavern, though once the panic inspired by her Holiness showing up there, it's been...very jovial."
Sansa closed her eyes. She couldn't risk a drunk god and Lord Umber in a tavern that was also a brothel. Especially since she'd be footing the bill for any damages. However, sending servants out to fetch a god was….. Standing, she remained as calm as possible. "Fetch Brienne and three of the household guards as well six horses. I'll meet them at the gates." She looked towards Lord Maderly. "My apologies, we can continue the trade proposal after super My Lord."
"Of course." Manderly chuckled. "Umber always was fond of his drink."
She felt tight as she gave the man a slight nod. "Your understanding is appreciated." Sansa left the room. If she had a possibly drunk god she doubted that she could wrangle the woman on her own. Or even know if she needed to intervene. There was also the chance the woman was perfectly sober, she had said drink didn't affect her. That wasn't something she was willing to count on however.
So she walked the walls of her home and into the workshop she'd set aside for her guest. Sansa noted out of the corner of her eye Crann Snow bowing as he noticed her. She focused on Fitz however. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything?"
"Uh...Lady Stark right?" The man looked up from the table where he was twisting wires. "Did you n-n-need something?"
She was unsure of what the various metal...shapes he'd made were. But now wasn't the time for those questions. "Her Holiness has gone into the local town and is engaging in a drinking contest. Should I be concerned?"
"Wh-what? Daisy doesn't d-drink really." He actually was paying her attention now, though his face was confused.
Sansa responded carefully. "I had been led to believe she was not affected by drink?"
"Huh?" Fitz's eyes suddenly widened in understanding. "Oh r-right, she probably can't be anymore. That's w-weird. She's always been careful about that, losing c-control of her body means losing control of her powers and n-nobody wants earthquakes cause she tripped or s-something."
Sansa felt a pang of fear at that. "You're sure she cannot become drunk? She's engaged in a drinking contest."
"I mean…" Fitz frowned, his eyes seeming to glaze over, thoughts moving faster than he could speak. "If she dr-drank enough….it's p-probably possible. I doubt she's aware it's a p-possibility though."
Sansa swallowed, right well that was terrible news. "What type of drunk is she?"
"Oh n-nothing bad." Fitz stood up, wiping his greasy hands on a rag as he approached her. "Bit g-giggly really." He glanced at the door and then her. "We're going to go p-pick her up before she can do something stupid like actually get dr-drunk though correct?"
Sansa weighed what she knew. This man had harmed Daisy, Daisy certainly never truly lowered her guard around him. However she also clearly loved and cared for the man. "I've had horses saddled."
Fitz flinched. "Horses...bloody p-posh people."
Sansa raised a brow, that had made no sense and yet she had a feeling she understood completely. Ten minutes later as she watched Fitz scrambling into the saddle like it was a pile of rocks and not a horse she knew she'd been right.
Sansa was looked on curiously as she made her way into the tavern attached to the town brothel. It was a location she'd never been to before, though she'd always been aware of it. Theon had certainly spoken of it often, and she'd been married to Tyrion. That wasn't even bringing up Petyr. Which is to say she wasn't shocked or uncomfortable as she entered the warm building.
It was in good repair, of course the various invaders had used the brothel and not burned it. She was vaguely amused by the shock as she was recognized, also relieved beyond measure at a still upright god. Lord Umber was leaning heavily on a man next to him and was visibly drunk. As were a few of the men. Daisy however simply looked like she found the whole thing hilarious.
Sansa swept past the stuttering serving woman, who was assuradly also a whore, for the table her men at arms, Umber and Daisy had claimed. "Your Holiness."
"Lady Stark." Daisy waved to the open chairs. "Join us."
Sansa sighed, that was a terrible idea. But it'd be rude to not accept. Not to mention if she and Wyman wrote another draft of a possible agreement with the Ironbank only to scrap it after some thought she was going to scream. "I wasn't aware you knew where this establishment was?"
"Greatjon here was very knowledgeable, and knowing the local bar or tavern or whatever's location is the fastest way to gather intelligence. Of course I knew where it was."
Fitz dropped next to Daisy. "H-how much have you had?"
"26 pints and I actually feel it a bit." Daisy reached out fondly mussing his hair. "Nothing more."
He frowned, squinting at her face before leaning back. "Well that's alright th-then."
"I'm not stupid Fitz." She rolled her eyes and sat her own mug of ale in front of him. "You clearly need this more than me."
Fitz grumbled unhappily but accepted the drink.
Umber let out a belch before thumping his chest. "I loved a woman once."
Sansa barely kept from laughing as she and Daisy caught eyes. She kept the laughter out of her voice as she replied to her very drunk Lord. "Your wife?"
"Naw." He waved absently with a sort of wavering sweeping motion. "Not her, a camp follower in the Rebellion. Those were good days, we were all young and strong."
Daisy's lips twitch. "What sort of girl was she?"
"She...helped the injured. A healer." His gaze was wistful and unfocused. Frankly his words were shockingly coherent really. "She loved me. Thought I'd bring her home."
Sansa accepted this was how she'd be spending her afternoon as a mug of ale was set in front of her. "What happened to her?"
"A fever went around the camp after the Trident. One day she was plump and happy, rosy cheeks and all. Next she was gone." He hiccuped.
Daisy patted the Lord's shoulder. "I'm sorry."
His eyes narrowed as he tried to focus on her. "It happens. This one," he jerked his thumb towards Fitz. "Said your lover died?"
Sansa held her breath at that. But there wasn't anger on Daisy's face at that. She just grabbed the fresh mug in front of her.
"His name was Lincoln. He healed people too, it was important to him even when his powers were so deadly. He controlled lightning, it was beautiful." She stared into the mug. "He took my place and died. It wasn't supposed to be him."
Fitz gave her the single most awkward shoulder pat in history. "He was a g-good guy." He cleared his throat. "Uh...my...Jemma and I are cursed."
"You're not cursed." Daisy switched her mug with his now empty one. "We'll get you back to her." She brightened. "Maybe we can get you two married without having to keep a fear dimension nearly swallowing the world." She took a drink. "You know shit like that is why I think that seven hells thing here might have the right idea."
Fitz's nose scrunched. "Well we know about t-two of them. Or I kn-know of one, you two." He shook his head, eyes traveling to Sansa. "Have you ever been in l-love?"
"I thought I was once, but it was a silly dream of a stupid girl." Sansa took her own drink at that.
The man Umber was leaning on spoke up. "I loved a girl named Bess. Pretty as a picture. Won't marry me for anything either."
"Why not? Yar a strong lad." Umber leaned onto the poor man even more.
He looked longingly across the room. "I don't know."
Sansa followed his gaze and spotted a pretty girl perched on a bearded farmer's lap. She bit back a laugh at the realization. "That's unfortunate."
"Well what are you doing here man!" Umber half fell off the man. "Go woo yar girl!" He shoved the poor man off of his seat. "Well get on with ya."
Poor man blinked, ran a hand through his hair, and then swaying, marched towards his one true love. It was like watching a wheelhouse crashing into a river. She let out a huff of laughter. "What is his name?"
"Chreston." Daisy laughed into her own mug. She leaned closer to Sansa, her voice softer as Fitz and Umber began arguing about swords somehow. "It's good for them to see you outside of Winterfell."
Sansa's eyes sharpened. "Excuse me?"
"I can guess at why you came. But it's good you stayed." Her face said honesty, but faces could say a lot of things. Daisy continued. "The people here need to see that their leader is alive and young and one of them."
Sansa's face had the slightest crinkle in her brow as she thought of that. It was...a concept of leadership and power similar to Margery's. And yet...there was an idealism there that she hadn't considered anything but foolishness since those early days before. Just, before. "You believe in people. How?"
"Because they'll surprise you." Daisy tapped her mug against Sansa's. "For good or evil."
Sansa's eyes turned back to where poor Chreston was very clearly proposing marriage to the pretty whore. It did not seem to be going well based on the facial expressions. Poor Bess looked horrified and rather pitying as her customer she was sitting on the knee of looked disgruntled. "I've found plenty of the latter."
"So have I." Daisy leaned back in her seat. "The good is just usually smaller. Hundreds of puzzle pieces working together for something better. I always thought that was beautiful."
Sansa barely kept from snorting outright as Umber keeled over, half on the table. The snoring was rather assuring that he was alive and hadn't drunk himself to death. "Do you think Chreston over there has any hope?"
"Not a chance in hell." Daisy's lips twitched. "He's about to get slapped. And he definitely doesn't need another drink."
Her own mouth curled slightly. "No, I should think not."
////
Jon sped up his horse as he spotted the banners ahead. Those were Umber banners. And that was a proper band of men marching towards Winterfell.
"Snow!" Tormund cursed as he kicked his heels in to follow.
But that didn't matter, what mattered was there was no reason for Umber men to be this close to Winterfell with enough men to fight but not enough to conquer. Jon slowed his horse, and then pulled up as he reached the men. His eyes caught the great giant of a man sitting at the head of the Umber party. The man had a great white beard, one eye, and the white pelt of a bear over his shoulders. A familier man.
Jon raised his voice. "Mors Umber! What brings you to Winterfell."
"Stark!" The man barked, pulling up his own horse. "I didn't know the Starks had an army?" His lip visibly curled at the sight of Tormund.
Jon's face hardened. "Aye, the Freefolk fight for us and the living. Surely you know what's coming?"
"Others and the dead." Mors gave a nod. "I take it the Ironborn are gone?"
Jon's hands tightened their grip on the reins. "Aye."
"Well, then I reckon I've got someone you want to see then." He yelled over his shoulder. "Bring the boy!"
Jon felt his heart in his throat. He knew it was a fool's hope, but it was there. His attention snapped to where there was movement. And...it was the giant mass of fur that made him feel winded. Because that was a direwolf. Jon wasn't even aware that he was dismounting till his feet were on the ground. His mouth dry.
And there was a woman beside the wolf, her garb was familiar after so long among the Freefolk. There, between her and the wolf was a lad. Tall, shaggy brown curls with that particular auburn shade to them, long faced, bright blue eyes, wearing the stitched together pelts of small game. Just a Wildling lad, if not for how every feature was a ghost of Rob, Sansa, Arya, Bran, Father.
Jon took a hesitant step forward, and then another. His voice hoarse with the weight of it. "Rickon."
Five great strides and he had the boy in his arms, one hand clasping the back of his head, his other arm catching the boy around the back, holding him like he would turn to smoke and vanish if he let go of him. His eyes burned as he heard the small voice against his shoulder.
"Jon?"