Chapter 28Notes:Sup! The season is ahead of us! No true rest for like...awhile. Good luck to all of you!
Chapter TextSansa had been staring into the fire for...who knew how long. The silent understanding and companionship was both comforting and terrifying. The consequences of tonight were something she hadn't the energy nor ability to predict. Her chest felt hollow, the empty carved out, aching eyes feel of having sobbed hysterically. Her mind felt like it was drifting, flinching from any of the harsh realities waiting for her. Breathing was easier, it was...a relief. She was floating in relief. Out of the corner of her eye she realized Daisy had just shivered.
She turned, her mind focusing again ever so slightly as she looked at the woman, really putting together her appearance for the first time. Daisy had the familiar windswept look of having flown recently, which explained how the god was even here. Her clothing was actually still wet. Which…
Sansa reached out touching her...friend's arm feeling the cool damp fabric, she'd half expected it not to be truly wet. It didn't make sense, this god was sitting on the floor in wet clothing, had ripped open her own hurt for her. She couldn't keep the disbelief out of her voice. "You're cold?"
"Huh?" Daisy blinked, seeming to come out of her own fugue state. "Oh right yeah." Her brow furrowed ever so slightly, and then the fabric under Sansa's hand warmed suddenly, the water rising off of her in a short burst of steam.
She pulled back, staring at the woman. "I can't be more pathetic than I already have been." Sansa carefully stood, her muscles stiff as she moved. Moving to the wardrobe she lifted the damn crate out of the bottom and carried it over before dropping with a thud on the carpet next to Daisy and sat back down beside her. Sansa didn't even process completely that she was sitting so close their shoulders were nearly touching.
"What's with the box?" Daisy looked at her curiously, seeming uncaring of the fact her sudden drying of herself had left her hair frizzy.
Sansa gestured to it. "If you wouldn't mind opening it."
"Sure." Daisy reached forward opening the nailed down lid of the wooden crate with an ease that would likely never not be jarring to witness. Daisy let out a sudden laugh as she saw the contents. "You're hiding a crate of wine in your closet?"
"Lady Dustin was, but I can't make more of a fool of myself and if Tyrion's belief in using hurt as armor isn't working at least his habit of drink can't ruin it." She lifted a bottle out, and struggled to get the cork out.
Daisy snickered and pointed her hand at the bottle, the cork suddenly popping out. "Tyrion was your first husband right?"
"Hmmm." Sansa agreed and took a long drink from the bottle not bothering with a cup. "Tyrion Lannister. He's a dwarf, notable patron of every whore from here to Casterly Rock, and a drunk." She sighed. "But not a terrible person. He was...kind when he had no need to be."
Daisy raised a brow in question while grabbing her own bottle from the crate, the cork popping off without her even touching it. "How old were you when you married him? Cause you're young to have been through husbands."
"Four and ten, nearly five and ten." She responded. Sansa startled slightly as Daisy chocked on the wine she'd just taken a drink of. "Are you alright?"
"How old was he?!" Daisy was staring at her with something like dawning horror.
She was...unsure of the cause exactly, though she could guess. "Four and thirty."
"Christ." Daisy suddenly looked at her, the slightest of snarls on her face. "You said 'is', he's still alive?"
Sansa blinked and then laughed, it was low and hardly clear, more half choked but still a genuine laugh. "He never hurt me. No need for you to fly off to go avenge me."
Daisy blinked, and then took a long drink from her bottle of wine. "Good, though I was thinking you'd rather kill him yourself if he was anything like Ramsey. Which seriously impressive how you stabbed him."
"If I'd had a choice in it, I'd have fed him to his dogs." Sansa shared, she'd put a great deal of thought into how she'd have killed him if she could have done it differently.
Daisy's eyes widened slightly, but she just looked amused. "I only knew him for like three days, but very full circle. I like it." She clinked their bottles together in a sort of toast. "Probably not healthy, but I like it."
Sansa took a drink of her wine, a warm sensation filling her. "If I was a man this would all be so much easier." She paused as she considered it. "I'd probably be dead, but that's another kind of easier."
"I hear that." Daisy looked at the fire. "The raging sexism here makes me miss sexism in my own world. And it is irritating enough there."
Sansa could guess, but she still asked. "Sexism?"
"Acting like one gender is better than the other." Daisy had open frustration on her face. "But seriously the next one of your Northerners who just blatantly talks about 'tits' 'cunt' or whatever about a woman in front of me I'm punching in the face. It's disgusting."
Sansa couldn't help the horror at that. "In front of you?"
"I've been spending a lot of time with soldiers. It happens. But they're pushing the line." Daisy grumbled. She paused to look at Sansa with an oddly critical light. "I can't make anything that happened to you better. But I can show you how to more effectively stab anyone else who tries."
She considered that, but well she was in a dressing gown, her face had dried tears on it and she was drinking wine from the bottle. Being proper or strong had died as an option awhile ago. "I'd like that."
Daisy grinned. "Maybe not tonight, but tomorrow." She cocked her head. "Come on, we've both had shit luck, but there's got to be something not horribly depressing."
"My sister used to run around the Red Keep dressed like a peasant boy. Scandalized everyone, this skinny little girl running around with a wooden sword chasing cats." Her lips turned up. "Arya never cared what anyone thought. She just was who she was. She was brave, didn't know the meaning of the word courtesy." She flicked her eyes to Daisy as she took another drink. "What about you, something good in your years of fighting?"
Daisy smiled, it was soft and genuine. It made her whole face light up, made it apparent as always that the woman truly was beautiful if as against traditional garb as Arya had been. Suited her though. Maybe it'd have suited Araya as well.
"SHIELD wasn't all doom and gloom." Daisy grinned. "And Bobbie and Hunter were always hilarious. They-"
Sansa woke with a throbbing head, her mouth was dry and disgusting. Her eyes were gummy as she cracked them open. Sitting up she frowned, she was in her bed, though she didn't remember getting there. Groaning, she shifted looking around the room, one hand pushing her hair back. She winced at the light coming from the window. The room was empty, Daisy clearly having long since left. Sansa was still in her nightgown, though she was comfortably in bed now instead of on the carpet by the fire. She had a feeling she knew exactly how she'd gotten to bed.
The slight sound that had to have been what woke her came again, and a servant came into the room. The woman curtsied at the sight of her. "My Lady."
Sansa flicked her wrist absently, letting the woman get on with her work, rebuilding the fire and such. Looking to the low table beside the bed she saw a pitcher of water and a note. Reaching out she lifted the note seeing the familiar scratching handwriting of her friendly god. It was still terrible, but at least it was legible now. Scrawled across the page with less blots of ink than expected was a short note. -Drink the water, it'll help with the headache. I hid the wine back where you got it from.-
Her lips turned upwards despite herself at the thought of it. It also made it far more real that she'd fallen asleep in the presence of the other woman. It was..rather alarming even if she couldn't muster up anything other than vague amusement at the thought of Daisy hiding the wine. A particularly unpleasant throb killed her amusement. Why on earth did men enjoy getting drunk? This was terrible.
////
Lady Barbrey Dustin found herself awed by the girl mounted on the horse ahead of her. Though the willingness to travel for miles without a wheelhouse was notable. It also wasn't the fact that the girl clearly was recovering from wine sickness and hiding it very well, which was an odd thought. She wouldn't have expected her to be the type to drink the night before departing on a months long journey. No, what awed her was what the girl had accomplished. No one had expected the news the god had carried to them that morning.
The Karhold had fallen, House Karstark was as dead as House Bolton. In half a year two houses were simply gone. And then there was the House Barbrey'd married into, and the House she'd been born into. Both humbled, forced to bend the knee at the point of the sword as they'd been forced to do thousands of years ago. She swallowed, speaking to Lord Cerwyn who was riding besides her as they all took the long road back to Winterfell. "She's something isn't she?"
"Aye, she's as noble as her father ever was." Lord Cerwyn said with the soft awe of worship in his tone.
She stared at the boy in disbelief. "Ned? You think that girl's got a thing in common with her idiot father?" Barbrey wondered at the man's head. "She's made in the mold of the Starks of old, has more in common with King Theon Stark than Ned Stark. If she thought it necessary she'd mount a thousand heads on pikes."
Lord Cerwyn's look of awe didn't change as he looked ahead at where Lady Stark was speaking with Mors Umber and the god. Boy likely thought he was half in love with a woman who certainly saw him as little more than a playing piece. "Ned Stark was a great man."
She reached out and slapped the idiot upside the head. "Ned Stark was a good man. There's a difference boy."
He looked at her, clearly insulted. "You should speak better of your betters."
"My betters?" Barbrey scoffed in disgust. "The Starks may be a breed apart but that doesn't make them more than men."
Lord Cerwyn fell quiet, it was nearly sulky before he spoke, but his words felt thought out for the first time. "Perhaps, but watching her I get why a Stark must always be in Winterfell."
Barbrey didn't have much to say to that, the bloodshed and ruin the Boltons had brought and would have continued to bring with the Lannisters if allowed to continue came to mind. She wasn't ignorant of the horror they were wreaking. Losing Robb Stark had ruined the North. The more practical part of her knew it was rather the entire war that had ruined them. But trading Robb Stark, fool though he was marrying for love, had harmed them irreparably. The honor and pride of the North had been wounded by their loss of the Starks. By not saving Ned's girls, letting the Boltons rule them.
She looked curiously as the god up ahead pulled something out of the satchel over the back of her horse. The god lifted out a light weight and narrow dagger and passed it to Sansa Stark. And the look on Sansa Stark's face was the closest to honest emotion the girl had shown in Barbrey's presence.
Barbrey looked at Cerwyn. "What do you know of the god?"
Cerwyn paled slightly. "I saw the face tree she came out of." He shivered. "You've seen her power. But her titles...I'm just glad she seems the forgiving sort."
Barbrey hadn't been around enough of the men to hear the rumors paused, and she'd certainly understood the god hadn't been introduced properly. "Titles?"
"Aye, she's Sky, Daisy Jonson, Inhuman known as Quake, Child of Monsters and Blood, The Warrior Daughter of the First Elder of the Afterlife, Knight of the Order of Shield, Destroyer of Worlds."
Barbrey's heart sped up at that. That was...it was a lie wasn't it? Something that powerful wouldn't bow and defer to a mere mortal, surely? She nearly twitched as the eyes of the god flicked to her as if she knew what she was thinking. As soon as she'd attracted the attention of the god it was gone again. The god returning to its conversation with Lady Stark and Mors.
Her heart felt like it was caught in her throat. "You're not lying."
"No, she's as human as a weirwood." He replied, his utter belief in his words undoubtable.
Barbrey had assumed the 'god' following and assisting the Starks was some remnant of the dark magicks of Old Valyria. Certainly deadly, worthy of respect and not to be ignored. But she hadn't thought… She'd thought of the creature as a god because in the scale of things it wasn't a difference that would have mattered. Only...the chance that creature was an actual god and not just the result of dark magicks of a fallen empire was...she wasn't sure what to think of that.
It turned out she needed to swallow her dis-ease as Mors Umber raised his voice, half calling her forward. "Barbrey! You had a great love affair as a girl didn't ya?!"
Her jaw tightened, but she knew she'd be expected to move forward. So she urged her horse forward out of it's walk and up to the forward part of the party. She'd been the Lady of a noble house for over twenty years. She could hold her compsure around Mors fucking Umber and a god. "What was that Umber?" Her tone was cold.
"Ya spent that whole summer fucking Brandon Stark." Mors boomed, the great hornery fool.
Her eyes sharpened. "Is that gossip still interesting?"
"Biggest piece of gossip in the North before the Rebellion." Mors laughed, and god she could wring his neck. His one eye was bright with a frustrating mischievousness. Damned man was going to use her for a joke then. Bloody shite. "We all know that old Dustin wished he'd never been weaned after seeing your tits. Shame ya never remarried, keeping tits like that locked away's a crime." He roared with laughter only for his own meaty fist to smack into his own face, hard. It made a distinct smacking sound.
The god cleared her throat. "Funny, I should think it's her own choice who she fucks, if she fucks anyone and who sees what of her body." The look on her face was distinctly irritated.
Mors blinked looking at his hand like it'd betrayed him. Reaching up he touched what must be a rather tender nose before huffing. "Fair enough, not like you're much of a marriage prospect now anyways. Your father had to pay the Dustins a lot to take you the first time."
There was a louder smacking sound as his fist slammed into his face again.
The god stared at him like he was the fool he was. "You wouldn't be implying that her value as a person is any less because she's had sex would you? Because I've heard enough to know you fall far lower than her by that standard."
It seemed to finally get through his thick head that he'd displeased the god then.
Lady Stark's voice was dry as she spoke. "If you could avoid overly harming every Umber you meet, I'd appreciate it."
"Fine." Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly as she looked at Mors Umber, the air turning bitingly cold. "You plan to apologize to Lady Dustin afterall, don't you?" It was a blatant order. And one Lady Stark didn't attempt to soften, rather the lady looked slightly amused by the proceedings.
Mors opened his mouth, no doubt to protest only for the air to somehow drop in temperature even lower, their breaths misting in plums of white. He looked at Barbrey. "Apologies, shouldn't have talked like you were some common whore."
Barbrey ignored the exasperated expression on the god's face as the temperature lifted. "Yes well I'd sooner expect manners from a bear than an Umber."
Mors roared with laughter before wiping the blood away from his nose. "We're Northerners! None of those pissy shites from the south."
Lady Stark's lips twitched upwards as they continued to ride. Which, while she was clearly a well trained rider, it was apparent it wasn't a frequent pastime of hers. A definite sign of stubborn Northern pride she was going to ride for weeks despite that.
Daisy, god of actual ruin snorted. "And I'm continually baffled by how unequal you see sex in this world." She winked at Barbrey. "Good on you for ignoring that."
Which...Barbrey had met a lot of responses to her brief love affair of stupidity as a girl. The sort of manly back patting wasn't something she'd encountered before. Actually it was so far from what she was used to she hadn't an idea of how to reply to it. Something the god seemed to realize as she switched topics easily.
"While we're on the topic. Why on earth would Alys Karstark wish to wed Jon? Like he's handsome enough, and I can't say I don't see the appeal. But I didn't get the sense they knew each other much at all and Jon's a lot of very nice things, charming prince isn't one of them. It seemed very...mercenary."
Mors grunted. "Best match a traitor like her could hope for."
Lady Stark explained, utterly unflappable by a god of ruin so near her. "House Stark has a long history of marrying the daughters of our defeated foes into our House. It is a sign of respect that we would bring their bloodline into our own, as well as evidence of our victory. It may be in some regards distasteful, but the spoils of war often include people. It is why I was married to House Lannister, and then House Bolton."
"A tradition you will uphold?" The god looked at Sansa with an expression of...curiosity but also something Barbrey couldn't say.
Sansa seemed to understand the actual question the god was posing. "I have no intention of being needlessly cruel, not least because they share the blood of House Stark. But such is our custom, and such will need to be done. Though until Rickon sits as Lord, it's best Jon remains unmarried."
The god held Sansa Stark's gaze, but nodded in deferment. "It's kinda weird...but it's what's kindest isn't it?"
"It is." Sansa replied as if a god deferring to her was normal as the sun in the sky. "Not all of us can simply choose our own marriages and lovers as you can."
Barbrey swallowed at the implication there. The position within a hierarchy of gods this one must hold for that to be the case. A position that made her gentle deferment to Sansa Stark ever more baffling. Her silent confusion was interrupted.
Mors cleared his throat. "I'd have paid good coin to see Jon unleash that damned giant of his on the Karhold."
"It was remarkably fast." Daisy replied, her attention to flicking back to the giant of a man. "Your brother was not what I've come to expect from an Umber...at least in build."
"Aye, that's Hother for you, always was a skinny fucker." Mors laughed, completely ignoring the fact his nose was still dribbling blood.
It was the beginning of a conversation Barbrey had heard many times. "As delightful as this conversation is, I find myself curious whether we will be stopping for game to add to our super?" Barbrey was certainly unenthusiastic about the idea of salted meat and grains for the near month it'd take to reach Winterfell.
The god replied as easily as anything. "I can find fresh game if you want." Which she just offered her service to Lady Stark without thought.
Mors made a vaguely concerning sound. "I've never eaten so well on battle march as I have when you've joined us. But damned if just finding the dead animals with not a scratch on them is wrong."
"I could just point you to where the game is if you want to kill it yourself?" The god offered.
Lady Stark sighed. "Please just kill what game is needed Daisy."
"Sure." The god's eyes closed, her face smoothing out. It was silent, and then her eyes snapped back up. "There's a herd of something a couple miles up ahead. Mors and I can go and pick up a few animals when we get closer."
Mors grumbled, but did not protest. Which was interesting.
Lady Stark looked at the sun where it was lowering in the sky. "Mors, how much longer do you think before we bring our march to an end for the evening?"
"A few miles yet M'Lady." He tipped his head to her.
Lady Stark hummed, though the slightest adjustment in the saddle indicated the riding in the saddle was likely to be miserable for the girl as the days went on.
The god seemed to notice the same, quickly offering distraction. Which...was rapidly narrowing down the reasons for a being of that much power to offer such regard to a mortal. "I've been wondering, what is the deal with the Riverlands? Like are they sworn to House Stark or what?"
Chapter 29Notes:Merry Christmas! And if you don't celebrate have a great weekend!
I may have added a tag to the relationships section....its still going to be...so long. But added the tag.
Chapter TextSansa wasn't even surprised Daisy had managed to slip into her tent without alerting the knights guarding her. If she was anything other than well...her, Sansa would have been concerned. As it was she was just vaguely bemused and oddly pleased. "I remember us discussing you not putting an end to any rumors of a possible courtship, not beginning rumors of us being indecent."
"Well it's a good thing nobody saw me come in." Daisy grinned. "Besides, even if someone decided to poke their head in it's not like clothing is going to be off."
Sansa didn't mention that she was right. It helped that she was the daughter of a man renowned for honor and Daisy was a god. Without further evidence then unchaperoned time no serious suspicion would be leveled upon them. Well, at least not yet. It helped significantly that whatever Daisy had come for wasn't going to change the woman's general behavior. Sansa was beginning to fear even around those who could actually challenge a god Daisy was glib. It seemed to be a part of her charm. "Yes well, did you need something? I'm very sore and we have a long ride again tomorrow."
"Two things, I can help with the sore thing, and I wanted to talk to you about what you want and are able to learn." Daisy looked...cautious.
Sansa raised a brow, setting her folded cloak aside. "Why are you concerned about my reaction to helping?"
"With soreness? Because people don't tend to like letting me use my powers on them. With self defense? Because there's only so much I can show you without either I, or someone else standing in for the person you need to incapacitate." Daisy was blunt, a kindness in it's own way.
She would ponder on why she barely felt unease at the thought of what Daisy was suggesting later. "Am I wrong you were aware I was distressed last night because of your powers? Is there a difference?"
"Uh, yeah." Daisy's fingers fiddled at the cuff of her left sleeve. "Everything vibrates, and I feel it. Like all the time. The longer I'm around people, or places the more I get used to them. It's why I noticed your heart was beating way faster than normal. But I wasn't actively doing anything, just paying attention. With defense, the chances of causing you to feel like you're back there when you were hurt is likely."
Sansa swallowed. "Ah." Which explained why Daisy had been sure to slip into her tent without anyone else aware of what she was there. She was giving her privacy.
"Exactly, so I wanted to suggest on the self defense we start slow. I don't think either of us want you to end up panicking when it can be avoided. But that'd mean you'll need to tell me if something is bothering you." Daisy was asking for honesty, trust but offering her aid in return.
She gave a sharp nod. If it was Daisy teaching her, she could handle it. However… "I can do that, though I fear I'll disappoint. I'm not a warrior."
"You don't need to be a specialist like me. But the base of my fighting style will work better for you than what your knights use." She stepped forward, her hand held out in offering. "Besides, just think that you'll be able to make a grown man cry in under ten seconds if he tries to touch you."
Sansa smiled, a slightly grime light to her as she accepted the offered hand. The hand she took was warm and calloused, but what caught her attention was the sensation, something alike to thousands of bees buzzing in her own hand. It wasn't unpleasant but unexpected. She could feel it through and through, her bones seeming to echo with it. She saw the question on Daisy's face, and she was touched by the kindness of this question asked again. A kindness she was terrified that she was becoming used to. Sansa gave a nod of assent.
The buzzing rushed through her from the tips of her fingers to the souls of her feet, and every sore and tense muscle she had unclenched. It was startling in it's suddenness. A sound whooshed out of her half gasp and half exhale, her legs nearly failing her. Only Daisy's warm hands catching her forearms kept her from ending up on the ground for the second time in as many days.
Sansa shot a look at the smug looking woman, admittedly the fact she felt less stiff then she had in years made it ineffective. "You…"
"Have been being dragged into medical by Jemma to help with recovering agents' injuries for ages cause I beat a massage any day." Daisy was charming in her own way as she released Sansa and then wiggled her fingers playfully.
Sansa understood half of that, but she took the meaning. "Thank you." She frowned slightly. "Why now? We did this entire ride one way already." And it'd been miserable whether she'd refused to complain or not.
"Most people get spooked by the power thing." There was a flicker there, Daisy clearly felt hurt at the way her companions in her own world feared her. Something that was...confusing. "Also you Northerners and your pride. I'm gonna find some person missing an arm insisting they're fine and it's 'just a scratch' someday." She snickered, some joke there Sansa was missing, but she knew it was a brush off.
Sansa could feel the day catching up to her, so she chose not to point out she was becoming more and more convinced the woman's former fellow soldiers were idiots. Horrifyingly dangerous and unbelievably powerful Daisy may be, but she was kind. Which mattered more than either of the first two points. And the rarer trait by far. "Well if you find such a fool, feel free to allow them to bleed to death."
Daisy raised an amused brow. "Chances are it'll be an Umber."
"Can you heal a fool from a missing arm?" Sansa had a terrible feeling she was hoping the answer was yes.
Daisy wiggled her hand. "I can stop the bleeding." She winced. "Probably, I haven't tried but uh...theoretically I could burn the blood vessels closed in seconds."
"That sounds unpleasant. Let's hope none of the Umbers decide to lose an arm." Sansa's voice was wry. She smiled ever so slightly. "Thank you, and good night your Holiness." She was amused at the actual twitch that produced in Daisy at the title.
Daisy sighed but tipped her head. "Night." She winked and then slipped out the back of the tent, a slight breeze that was certainly unnatural caused the fabric to flap ever so slightly.
Sansa shook her head and reached for the letters. There was still time left, and work to be done.
////
Lord Wyman Manderly chuckled as he watched Lyanna Mormont and Rickon Stark's spar in the yard turn into rolling around in the dirt like the children they were.
"Shall I stop them my Lord?" Brienne asked, a sort of exhausted resignation to her.
His chuckles faded, though the good humor didn't leave him. "No, let them be children. There has been precious little time for children to just be. I doubt there will be much time for it in the coming days either." He looked at the woman warrior, twice as fierce as any man. "Your work with the men at arms?"
"Her Holiness's practice of making her men run endless laps is not without merit. The ones here outlast the rest of the men everytime. Strap them in armor and they'll hold any line they need to till their enemies break to pieces."
Wyman's eyes tracked to the Broken Tower, now the God's Tower. There were only forty or so men in Winterfell sworn to their resident god alone. Of those forty only ten of them had been a part of their order when their god had left to accompany the Stark army. As the Stark army returned she'd have close to if not a little over a hundred devoted followers. It frightened him, the symbol of a wolf over a weirwood leaf was becoming ever more common. As was the eagle banner hanging from the tower.
He found it less and less comforting that during her brief passes through she'd ensured the men remained deferential and functioned as simple men at arms. As a part of, not apart from their comrades. But he found himself wary of the power beginning to form around a god who certainly needed no followers to be dangerous. "They train well with you?"
"More respectfully than the rest of the lot honestly." Brienne's face failed to hide her irritation at that. Her face far too honest for the south her blood came from.
Wyman pushed his worries aside and slapped the giant of a woman's shoulder. "You should have been born in the North." He sighed as he realized Rickon had just tried to bite the Lady of Bear island...and Lyanna, Lady of Bear Island had just bit him back… "You may be needed to separate those two afterall."
"My Lord." She replied stiffly before stomping off to slap the two children upside the head. Based off the laughter of the men watching the 'spar' it was at least providing much needed entertainment and levity.
He sighed, and trod towards the inner halls where Maester Wolkan had requested to speak to him. Ensuring the safety and further establishing Winterfell and surrounding territory for the Starks while not difficult was certainly busy work.
////
Mors Umber was a simple man. Give him an axe in one hand and a tankard of ale in the other, some wildlings to bash and a good Lord to follow and he was content to pass his days protecting his home by day and drinking and making merry by night. He found he had his axe and ale but the wildlings were allies now that even he wasn't fool enough to harm, what with them under Stark protection. And where he'd have been pleased at an honorable and strong Lord he was instead serving a ruthless and unshakable Lady. He was as surprised by his contentment with the situation as he was by anything else these days. A god regularly whacked him about as it learned the sword so his tolerance for surprise had grown significantly he supposed.
As it was he was delighted at the chance to drink ale, eat food cooked over something other than a campfire, and enjoy their brief stop at the small village of Riverhill. Place wasn't much of anything, several of the carts needed repair and a brief delay to let the horses and men rest from their two week long march from Barrowtown was appreciated by all. Mors would have found the local brothel except that the morning promised to be most entertaining.
The small inn had of course welcomed Lady Stark and provided the best they had to offer. Delighted to have a Stark and their Lady Warden of the North. Not that that was her title yet, but frankly it was a laugh to think of anyone denying her the position. Five victories done in her name in less then a year was damn well staggering. Bloody fucking Starks. However Lady Stark getting to sleep in a bed was not the cause of the entertainment. No that lay with the fact that due to wars there'd been little attention paid to the small village.
Word had spread days ago of their approaching march. And every small folk man or woman with some grievance had come to lay their petitions before their Lady. There had been such a volume of petitioners that they'd had to raise a pavilion in the field behind the inn and assemble a sort of court. Only without walls, just wooden tables and some few crates.
Mors had been delighted to watch this court. It was the height of amusement to watch Ned Stark's daughter remain noble and composed as two hog farmers argued over the ownership of a litter of piglets and their get some three years back. The number of hogs born, grown, bred, and eaten since the initial incident was innumerable. The local Lord should have handled this years ago, but with war it, like a thousand other complaints, were left to fester.
Lady Stark spoke out, her voice the sharp crack of a whip, silencing the argument. "Enough."
The farmers both blinked in surprise, clearly their argument had been petty and absorbing enough they'd forgotten where they were.
Lady Stark spoke clearly, the tone clear and unwavering. Her judgment would not be changed. "You have disturbed the peace, near begun a feud over what? Which hog sired a single litter of piglets? You shall both give the other first choice of your next litter of piglets and be done with the matter."
Both men glanced at each other but bowed their heads. "Aye M'Lady."
As they shuffled off, they were handed the written order of Lady Stark as soon as the man currently serving as scribe could finish inking her words.
The next petitioner was a man demanding his daughter's former suitor marry the girl as she'd clearly been dishonored by him, as her swollen belly could attest.
Lady Stark arched her brow as the whole messy, and thus entertaining business was laid out. The young suitor and girl had been smitten with each other. The lad had left for a few moons to deliver a herd of cattle some leagues away for enough silver stags to provide a bride price. Only he'd come back to a pregnant girl and by his calculations far too pregnant for the child to be his.
There'd been sobbing from the girl, the angry demands for honor to be served by the father and the lad had been stiff and fighting back his betrayal as he saw it. It was compelling, and Mors found himself curious what Lady Stark'd do about the matter.
Lady Stark looked to her Stormland knight. "Ser, please go fetch her Holiness."
The tent filled with whispers, necks craning to see the god who honored House Stark. The feel of terror, excitement, and fascination. The girl let out a sobbing near wail.
Mors let out a huff. "Don't worry lass, our god don't care who ya've fucked."
The girl's father wrapped his arm around the girl's shoulders, murmuring softly in her ear.
Mors sighed and looked at Lady Stark. "Why do ya need her Holiness?"
"Because she can tell when a person lies." Lady Stark replied dryly.
Mors laughed, well damn. He'd hoped for more drama, but it was a hilariously small thing to ask a god to do. And damned if he wasn't sure the god'd do it.
Sure enough, not five minutes later a slightly flushed Daisy, in sparring garb, came strolling into the pavilion. She grinned up at Lady Stark. "You called?"
"Penny here," Lady Stark waved at the farmer's daughter, "Claims young Wendal there is the father of her unborn babe. Wendal claims she is too heavy with child for him to be the father. I am inclined to rule that as he admits to having lain with her, and had entered a promise of marrying her, that father or not he is bound to leave the agreed on bride price to Penny for the care of her child should he not find it in himself to marry her. However you would be able to determine whether young Penny here speaks the truth or not?"
Daisy paused and then nodded. "Sure." The god turned and looked at the girl, and she clearly understood the girl was terrified. Her entire bearing changed, from slightly ambivalent and a hint of mischievous to soft and warm. "Penny, yes?" She carefully didn't approach the girl. "You have my word I won't hurt you, no matter what all this means. While if you are lying it's certainly shitty and there will be consequences it's not something you need to fear me over. I don't need your blood, or an oath. I just need you to tell me what you've already told Lady Stark."
The girl's chin tipped upwards, a stubborn northern tilt to her jaw, tears and terror be damned. The fool boy would be lucky to still have his balls if her words were true because the girl would likely geld him on their wedding night. "I have spoken no lie. I gave him my maidenhead and I've lain with no other."
"Huh." Daisy nodded and then looked at Wendal. "And why are you so certain you can rightly guess what trimester or whatever her pregnancy is at?"
Wedal drew himself up, pain on his face and thick in his voice. "I'm the first son of thirteen ya'r Holiness. I know what a woman not four moons pregnant looks like. I'd give anything to believe her, but I won't be made a cuckold before I'm even wed. I thought we loved each other."
"We do you great lout!" Penny snapped at the boy who was resolutely not looking at his until recently beloved.
Daisy's lips twitched up. "Your mother wouldn't have happened to have ever had twins?"
The entire tent seemed to freeze as everyone looked at the swell of Penny's stomach. That would explain an overly large womb so early in a pregnancy.
"Twins?" Wendal suddenly sounded rather faint.
Penny echoed him. "Twins?" As did her father, though the man sounded rather strangled.
Daisy hummed. "Considering she's got three heartbeats in her, and two of them are very small and fluttery, I'm going to assume it's twins."
"Oh." Wendal blinked, tears building up in his eyes. He then turned and dropped to his knees before the still rather bewildered looking Penny. "I've made an arse of myself. Anything you want. I'm sorry. I'll marry ya today if ya let me."
Mors found himself rather touched at the sobbing boy and then the girl Penny was hugging her would be suitor and calling him a 'right idiot'. He still had no doubt that boy was going to be a slave to his soon to be wife for the rest of his days. No argument could be won after a fuck up this big. Lad was lucky the girl's father was just looking triumphantly vindicated rather than murderous.
Lady Stark cut in before the two lovesick fools could embrace. "Go get married you two." But she clearly shared everyone's good humor over the ordeal. She looked to her scribe. "Give them a gift of five silver stags, for luck in their marriage."
There was much bowing and effusive thanks, some tears, and finally the party had left the open pavilion.
Lady Stark looked back to the near endless queue of small folk here to present their problems to their lady. "The next petitionare may approach."
Mors grunted as his arm was slammed into the table by Daisy. "Fuck ya're arm's stronger than expected."
"You wanted to arm wrestle." Daisy just grinned, laughter in her face as she released his arm.
He snorted. "Bah, but now I can say I haven't lost since I challenged a god."
"Huh...I should have tried that with May." Daisy hummed.
Mors considered asking who 'May' was, but decided he didn't want to know. He failed to understand half what the damned god said anyways. He glanced over to where Lady Stark was pointedly ignoring them and listening to a petitioner. He grinned, grabbing his tankard and taking a great swig of it. Life was right, his honor and soul at peace serving a Stark for the good of his House and the North. It's what he was supposed to be doing. "I'm a simple man your Holiness, you can't judge me for that."
"You're an asshole." Daisy was clearly amused by him rather than upset however.
He grinned. "You like us Umbers. I know you do."
She rolled her eyes. "When you're not being particularly stupid you're not all bad." But she had a twinkle in her eye as she said it.
Mors reached out and slapped her on the back, and took another swig of his ale. He lowered his tankard and paused as he saw the newest petitioner. This one was notable in that he at least looked more interesting than the various laborers and such that'd made their way before him.
The lad was a man grown, but hadn't been for long. Perhaps twenty years or such. He had the northern look, his garb well made if simple. What was notable about him was rather his legs, wooden braces holding twisted legs as straight as possible as he used crutches to drag his rather useless lower half forward. He huffed as he came to a halt. Bowing his head as deeply as he could without tipping over he spoke. "Sorry M'Lady, I can't bow like it's proper." His accent was thick as he spoke.
"What is your name and your petition?" Lady Stark asked, she didn't show a flicker of judgement or distaste for the cripple.
He cleared his throat. "I'm called Duncan M'Lady. I begging' your forgiveness but my petition isn't for you exactly." Ducan's face was set in determination. But he looked towards the Lord's table where Mors, Cerwyn and Daisy were sitting. "It's her Holiness I beg notice from."
Lady Stark seemed to pause slightly. "That is her choice." She looked to them. "Will you hear his petition?"
"Yeah." Daisy swung around so that she was fully facing the man. "What do you want from me? I'm not your Lady."
He half dragged himself so that he was facing the god. "If you could find it in yourself to heal my legs." There was a desperate hope there. "I'd make any oath, any promise, any service if I could be of use to my family."
Daisy let out a low breath. "Healing is not my gift. And if it was, the price for that is high. A life for a life." She stood, facing the man. "That was my mother's gift, life. And it was terrible."
"Oh." Duncan seemed to slump, misery weighing down his shoulders.
"You can do better than those braces though." Daisy flicked her eyes to his legs and back. "What do you do for your family now?"
His brow furrowed slightly. "I do the numbers. An' I know my letters. Anyone around here needs a thing written I can do it. It might be women's work but I can sew as well." He swallowed. "My parents are old. I cannot care for them or give them much coin. It's not enough."
"It doesn't sound that way to me." Daisy stepped closer to the man. "But you don't believe you're lying either." Which didn't that send a shiver down Mors's spine. Knowledge truth speaking was a frightening thing. A threat should any think to lie. But she continued. "If you wish, a man of those skills would be welcome among mine."
There was dead silence at that. Because what? Daisy ran her men ragged. They were in training now but no doubt would be some of the finest warriors in the seven kingdoms given time the way she ran them. It was an order of warriors.
Mors couldn't help it, he let out a sound of disbelief. "You're men are fighting men?"
"And most of them are illiterate, and half their clothing gets a rip of some sort every week. If he has time after what is needed by us I know Lady Stark needs those skills." She glanced at Lady Stark.
And damned if Lady Stark didn't give the god a nod of fucking permission.
Daisy turned back to Duncan. "Is that what you want?"
"Aye, but I can't walk an have no horse." Duncan uttered.
Daisy laughed lightly. "Then it's a good thing I have a horse."
Mors shook his head, damned Ladies and gods. He didn't understand a damn thing. But he was where he belonged.
Chapter 30Notes:Sup, few hours earlier than usual but home sick so...why not?
Chapter TextRickon actually corporated and pulled on the clothing one of the servants had set out. It felt...familiar and new at the same time. But he knew Osha would skin him if he didn't stop being obstinate about it and wore the garb of a Northern Lord. It was stiffer than his furs he'd been wearing for years now. But there was a comfort he found disquieting about these pieces of clothing. This was what he'd worn as a small boy. He looked at himself in the small mirror in his rooms and felt...he didn't really recognize himself exactly, not that'd he'd seen much of himself save through Shaggydog's eyes, but still. He looked a bit like what he remembered Robb looking like.
He bit at his lower lip, but turned and slipped out of his room. His mind brushing Shaggydog's as he did so. Rickon couldn't help the smile as he felt his other half's excitement as the wolf ran through the Godswood. His own pace picked up as he ran through the halls towards the great hall to break his fast.
"Watch where ya'r going Little Wolf." Osha whacked at his shins with a broom as he shot past her.
Rickon couldn't help laughing as he danced around her attack and then disappeared further down the hall. Different clothing couldn't drop his mood. His sister returned today! Everyone said so, and Shaggydog could smell their approach, not to mention Manderly said the scouts had seen them. He ducked under Brienne's reach to slow him down, and skidded into the great hall.
"Ah, eager for your sister's return, young Stark?" Manderly laughed as he beckoned him forward from his own seat, his morning food before him already.
Rickon nodded as he slowed to a lope as he made his way the rest of the distance to the high table. "Is there news?"
"Aye, they should be in sight by noon." Manderly slapped him on the back as he slid into his seat. "Eat up lad, it'll be a long day."
Rickon considered everything. He needed...he needed to do better. His cheeks still felt hot at the thought of the lecture he and Lyanna had endured the moon before. He was trying but sitting in his lessons left him feeling stupid and jittery. But he was trying. So as a bowl of porridge with nuts and dried fruit was placed in front of him he asked what was probably a good question. "What are we doing to welcome my sister home?"
"The stores have been opened for the wagons, and the fields have been prepared for the new livestock, as have the stables. The rooms have been opened, fresh linens, and hearths cleaned." Manderly poured him a cup of watered down ale and pushed it to him. "The hunt from yesterday will provide for a moderate feast for the return of our victorious men and Lady. We must feast the men as well as the town for such an occasion. But with winter nearly here and war on our doorstep it will be modest for such an occasion. Flint has prepared your sister's solar with the coorsponse and records of all I have done on her behalf while she's been away."
Rickon nodded, that sounded like a lot. And he wouldn't have the first clue at how to do any of that except hunt for the animals to eat. "The men at arms?" Stupid Lyanna probably understood how to do it.
"I've ordered them all to dunk their heads in a barrel of water, to trim their beards, put on their cleanest tunics and shirts. Swords and spears were shined and leather buffed. The servants are washing the walls today as the men clean their barracks. And you my Lord are going to not fight with Lady Mormont."
Rickon glared at his morning meal. "I will if she does."
Manderly laughed outright, his belly jiggling with his mirth. "Boy, she's a Mormont. Damned bears wouldn't know how to back down from a fight if it bit them in the arse."
"What's this I hear about bears?" Greatjon Umber boomed as he entered the hall. His great giant of a figure dwarfing anyone near him as he strode for the head table.
Rickon's ears pinked, his pale skin giving away his embarrassment far too easily.
"Young Stark here says he'll stop fighting with our Lady Mormont if she stops fighting him." Manderly explained, laughter in his jolly voice.
Umber snorted as he dragged his chair to the table, the wood scraping over stones. "The day a Mormont backs down from a fight started is the day the sun rises in the north and sets in the south."
Rickon resisted the desire to bite out that she challenged him. That she had a stupid smug face and that she was everything he wasn't. Everything everyone wanted him to be that left him flat footed and feeling foolish. Instead he stuffed a bite of the boiled oats into his mouth. And nearly spat it out from the heat. The only thing stopping him was the sight of Lyanna Mormont, the bane of his existence entering the hall.
He breathed in through his nose trying to fill his mouth with air to cool it without opening his mouth. His eyes watering as the heat stuck and stung to his mouth. It was terrible. He gummed at the food hoping to swallow faster. It just spread the pain, he wanted to spit it out so badly, but he wouldn't be weak in front Lyanna. Finally he forced himself to swallow. His bite burned a train from his mouth, down his throat all the way to his gut. With a jerking movement he grabbed his cup and drained it in one great desperate pull to cool his mouth and now burning trail down his gullet.
Lyanna looked as judgy as always, that stupid cold superiority. She sniffed as she sat with all the manners he lacked. At least she couldn't touch the perfect way his sister moved. But still it was galling.
Rickon shot a glare at her as he set his cup down.
Umber and Manderly both laughed, clearly having spotted the interaction.
Rickon would like to sink through the floor. However, he was a Stark damn it. So he straightened his back, scooped up a smaller bite of his meal, and ate it. He could go one day without doing something wrong. He was ignoring the way he knew that Shaggydog was currently stalking Hogg. It wasn't like his wolf would eat the guy...just scare him...cause his squeaks were funny. That didn't count as trouble!
////
Barbrey Dustin was for all her love of horses, saddle sore. Riding for a full moon would do that at her age. Not that she'd breathe a word of that. It had been a shockingly peaceful ride for an army. But then she supposed with a Lady leading and a god as silent threat, slightly better behavior was to be expected. Seeing Winterfell before her filled her with an odd wistfulness and an old bitterness.
It should have been her's. All those years ago Brandon Stark should have married her, leaving her Lady of Winterfell. A Stark. It was the highest honor and privilege she could have imagined as a girl. She'd longed for it, written 'Lady Stark' in her girlhood journal. It was the prize they had all wanted, and for one blissful pass of a year she'd thought it was her's. But then it had been gone, and she'd been diminished. Of course she'd picked herself up. Rebuilt herself, a wiser if colder version of herself. A version that had wed into House Dustin, and had ruled that same House for a lifetime.
The old bitterness had faded, she's had a good life. And she was old enough now to understand that what she'd wanted had been a foolish if pretty dream. Instead she settled on wistfulness. It would seem she would live out the remainder of her days in the fortress she'd dreamed of. And it was grand. A giant, behemoth of stone rising up from the rolling hills that was the land between the White Knife and the Wolf's Wood. A stronghold that had been the seat of Kings. It wasn't flamboyant, there wasn't a flourish that wasn't practical and dangerous to it. Armies could march upon it, and they would shatter and wash away.
As they rode, the baggage at the end of their line, the last mile or more of the road was filled with excited small folk. They were here to catch a glimpse of their Lady, their victorious army. The proof that their days of suffering were over. And it was the return of their Lady from a great victory. Their Lady Stark had forced two houses to bend the knee, bringing tribute and riches back with her, and if that wasn't enough Moat Calin was retaken, the last pocket of Bolton supporters who hadn't tossed their banners and were trying desperately to avoid notice gone.
Barbrey could see the work being done to rebuild from the ruin wrecked by the Ironborn and then the Boltons. The road had been repaired to some degree. The buildings of Winter Town were a mix of repaired, old and still being rebuilt. There was a gauntness of the cheeks of the people that was wrong for the end of summer. It was better suited to winter. But then none of their lives had been easy for years now.
"Penny for your thoughts?" The oddly chipper voice of the god asked.
Barbrey tensed, she hadn't realized the rider just behind her was the god. Then the words processed and she frowned slightly, looking at the god. "I'm not sure I take your meaning, your Holiness?"
"Oh right you guys don't have pennies...um...copper for your thoughts? I'm asking what's got you so lost in thought if you don't mind answering."
Barbrey was unsure if it was an insult to value her thoughts at only a copper. She doubted it as it seemed to simply be a saying the god had used without thought. Not that she was sure, but if the god was dismissing it her it wasn't anything she could change. So she answered. "It's been years since I was last here."
"It's definitely something. I mean I'd only been to one other castle before I got here. We stopped really building them in my world." The god seemed content.
So Barbrey dared what she might have otherwise not. "What was the other castle?"
"A ruin, honestly we didn't spend a lot of time there. Just used the old door between worlds. Well I held it open so a team could go through and rescue our friend." She replied casually as if it was nothing. "I was kinda delirious and bleeding from keeping the door open so long, so I don't remember much of the leaving bit."
Barbrey wondered at that, lie or truth? Likely truth, and a terrifying one. "Truly it requires that much of you?"
"Eh, sorta." The god shrugged. "I wasn't as powerful then, I'd only had abilities for less than a year at that point. And it wasn't my powers opening the doors, I just powered it."
She...decided not to ask more on that. "Did you require something of me Holiness?"
"No, just avoiding Mors for some quiet. There's an Umber reunion coming and I value my hearing." There was a sort of fond amusement there.
Barbrey scoffed. "Umbers, more noise than sense. Whole pack of them together are more a pack of dundering bulls locking horns than anything else."
The god threw her head back and laughed. "You're not wrong."
"You like the Umbers?" Barbrey had of course known that, she'd seen the acceptance and genuine appearing comradery the men had with the god. The woman seemed to prefer to be around those low born and simple than the various Lords in their party. The only ones of noble birth she payed much attention to were Mors and of course Lady Sansa. She'd spent more time in the last few weeks with her new follower Ducan and the Wildlings than much of anyone else at all.
The god nodded. "I'm used to their type, and I've found if I punch them in the face hard enough most of their irritating traits aren't so bad. And Mors and Greatjon both keep asking me to punch them in the face." She laughed lightly as she easily rode beside her as they moved ever closer to Winterfell.
"Punching them couldn't make it worse. My William was sweet, but gods I could have strangled the man if he'd lived for telling his war companions what he'd thought of my breasts. Mors never misses a chance to bring it up." Barbrey's voice held disgust, god Willaim had been a fool. If he hadn't of died in that damned rebellion she'd have had words with him.
The god raised a brow. "Punching might help. If you want tips on how not to break your hand I'm happy to help."
"I'm of the North, I can throw a punch." Barbrey wondered if she'd actually do it? It was a possibility if Mors got too intolerable.
The god snickered as she looked up at the ever looming curtain wall of the Stark seat of power. "Good for you."
Barbrey didn't disturb the silence that fell between them as they rode the last of the distance. The gates were thrown open, the household arrayed out to greet them. Barbrey's eyes sharpened as she identified those who stood in places of importance.
Standing in point of most important was Wyman Manderly. The jovial merman Lord bowed deeply as they entered, his voice carrying. "Winterfell is yours My Lady."
She felt her brow raising at that. Because standing by his side was Rickon Stark, boy looked near identical to Robb Stark when he was that age. The giant direwolf lurking behind the boy's shoulders was another clue, as was his garb with the sigil of his house embroidered upon it. By rights Winterfell was the boy's, not Sansa Stark's. Which wasn't that interesting the merman Lord was toeing the line of what was tradition like that. And far more how not a man, woman or child within the courtyard batted an eye at it.
Lady Stark accepted a hand from a giant woman of a knight who'd stepped to her side, and dismounted. "I thank you Lord Manderly for caring for my home in my absence." She smiled then, truly smiled at her brother who was near vibrating with excitement.
Rickon Stark clearly took it as permission, and he launched himself into his sister's arms. And for all that Barbrey considered herself a cold woman, she felt something then, something like pity.
////
Ereck Hogg, follower of Quake, and man at arms was sweating with nerves. He and Wilbur had been left to do their god's work and now they had to report and show their god what they'd done with that trust. They'd done their best, but what was that for living up to their god? It was near laughable, but he wasn't afraid of punishment if they'd failed. But they wanted to make her proud.
They both barely avoided bowing as Daisy approached them, Joran on her heels as she approached. "How'd you guys manage the rat issue? I almost dropped by but figured you had it handled."
Hogg flushed, pleased at the faith placed in them. "Lord Rickon and that wolf of his snuffed out the nest an' we got a cat for the tower."
"A cat? Nice, what's its name?" Daisy glanced around the entry of their tower, seemingly pleased by the cleanliness of the place.
Wilbur opened a wicker basket and lifted the animal out and presented it. "We've been calling him Ser Mouser, but we can change it if you want, Holiness."
Daisy accepted the cat, a delighted expression on her face. "That's a great name." She scratched at the lazy black orange patchy animal. "Does he need a collar?"
"We can get a collar." Hogg agreed quickly, everyone had been hoping Ser Mouser got to stay.
She looked up from the cat. "Hey, you're fine. I've seen some of what you guys have been working on the last few times I was here. You're good. How's the running been going?"
Wilbur brandished his new accounting of their training. "I've written it all out like you suggested."
Daisy accepted the sheaf of paper, and passed Ser Mouser back. Her eyes ran over the written words. "Good, we'll have to run everyone through their paces tomorrow." She looked at Wilbur. "Speaking of there's a guy with the army, Ducan. He'll be able to help with a lot of the writing and helping teach everyone how to read and write."
"Did I do something wrong?" Wilbur asked, his hurt more apparent than was probably smart.
Daisy touched his shoulder. "No, it's just a lot to ask of you, especially as more people keep wanting to pledge themselves to me. Which everyone knows they can change their minds at any time and go be normal men at arms for the Starks anytime?"
Hogg straightened, their god had been very clear on that. "Of course. Ten men chose to return to their homes, and three back to the Stark barracks." It was a point of pride that their place was something they chose. It wasn't a sacrifice of self if you weren't the one making it.
"Good, it's not for everyone." Daisy turned back to Wilbur. "But really it's not an insult, you need the help. You're doing really well. If these notes are right most of the men already know their letters and numbers. That's really good."
Wilber puffed up at that. "Once we're snowed in we can do more."
"And Duncan can help with that. I'm leaving it to you to get him settled in and make sure he's helping with what you're doing." Daisy squeezed Wilber's shoulder before dropping her hand.
Hogg shuffled slightly. "We finished your rooms in the tower."
"Neat, let's see how the tower is coming." Daisy easily waved them forward.
Hogg started talking, he could feel Joran's far more sharp attention. Course that made sense, Joran was the one who was typically in charge. And he'd be the one in charge again now that they were back. And he was the one with the high standards for them. They'd all come to know that Daisy was forgiving and understanding. Mistakes barely warranted more than laughter and sometimes a lot of running or other manual labor. Somehow it made disappointing her worse.
So Hogg hurried, hoping they'd understand and be proud of him and Wilbur, neither of them were leaders. It was good to not be in charge again. But he so wanted approval, for their god to be pleased. "We finished the plaster of the walls." He gestured to the white, clean walls as they walked up the stairs to the higher floors, the lower floors inaccessible as they were holding supplies for the coming winter and war. "While we haven't, some of the men want to paint the walls and we've written down their ideas. But we clean the floors every morning and walls every fifth day."
As they reached the third floor, and the first that was properly used he straightened, hoping it was acceptable. The beds were neatly lined up along the walls, warm blankets over each of the made up beds. "We considered making small rooms, but with winter it'll be easier to keep one room warm." He gestured to the door into a room to one side. "That's our bathing area. We keep clean water for washing there, change it out every week."
"Oh wow, I thought there was some issues with getting the water?" Daisy looked at him, and he could read the question that the water better not be harming the running of Winterfell.
He straightened up. "We haul it up from the river ourselves once a week instead of the daily run." Which was exhausting, and hard work.
And that was an approving nod from their god.
Hogg's face flushed in happiness at that. He'd gotten the message, they were not to tax Winterfell in any way. They were guests, and were to behave as such. They'd all gotten that message. It's why they were always available to assist with the running of Winterfell. "We've begun to clean the stables every morn before we eat to help, and have integrated with the men at arms for watches and ensuring the security of Winterfell."
"Good." Her approval was warm.
"We uh have a new member that we uh...we're certain on? But we've set a room for them on the other side of the wall, but otherwise they take part in everything with us. We thought you'd uh..approve of their entry." He gestured to what had initially been a closet for gear but had been emptied. "But Kyrra's a girl?"
Daisy blinked and then lit up. "Really? From Bear Island?"
"Wintertown, she's a fourth daughter and her family haven't protested." Hogg shrugged, they'd assumed their god wouldn't care what lay between a warrior's legs. And without an angry family they'd decided to take the risk. "But you approve?"
"Of course." Daisy approved without a flicker of hesitation. "Some of the best fighters I've ever met are women. The second knight I trained under was a woman." She seemed fond then. "Her name was May, but everyone called her The Calvary, for her coming meant the battle was won."
Hogg settled, good they hadn't made a mistake. "The next floor we've put our learning tools."
////
Daisy felt conflicted about her cult. She was...deeply uneasy about having an entire religious order dedicated to her. It was so incredibly dangerous, but what it was turning into was something she recognized. It was terrifying and remarkable at the same time. She touched the wood of the desk they'd put into her room. In one of her stops in Winterfell she'd told them she didn't want some lavish room. To keep it simple. And they'd listened. It was a large room, but not that huge. There were no lavish tapestries on the walls, just clean plaster and a weapon's rack with her prefered weapons. The bed had a canopy and curtains but they weren't embroidered like the ones in the guest rooms she'd been in. In fact everything about the room was efficient and designed for use.
She opened the top drawer of the desk, it had fresh sheets of paper, quills, the tools for quill upkeep, and several wells of ink. Not that she wrote a lot...something she'd have to fix. She really did need to work on her writing. The amount of time she foresaw herself and Fitz spending here meant dragging her feet on the skill was a waste. But it'd give her time to train her cult into what would hopefully just be an order of knights with a slightly religious bent. Slightly. This was so not what she was trained for. She'd been trained to maybe take on a rookie or two once she'd gotten back to earth.
A religious cult was not a rookie or two. But, well she had helped rebuild SHIELD...building a medieval version of SHIELD answerable to the Starks instead of a World Security Council was the best she could do. She looked away from the room her men had made for her. It was...not what she knew how to handle. No one had ever really wanted her in power expect for Coulson, and look how that'd turned out.
She felt something tight and suddenly needed to be away from the respect and authority she didn't know what to do with. So she moved quickly to the window, flicked open the latch and climbed out. Daisy hesitated slightly, and then pushed off, plummeting to the ground outside the tower. Her vibrations caught her before she landed.
Walking with purpose she walked across the courtyard, purposely avoiding making eye contact with any of the various people filling the yard as the army unloaded their gear, and men were herded to various parts of the castle. Her help was unneeded and she would assist later once the rest of the army's baggage train reached the castle. Instead she stepped into Fitz's workshop, unsurprised to find his familiar curly head bent over his work.