Chapter 121Notes:Sup!
Chapter TextRickon was considering whether running away was viable. Of course, he'd get dragged back. But he would be free from the bizarre way people talked about his sisters. He was fairly certain he should be defending their honor or something….Lyarra and Robert were doing it for him. Which was rather the problem. "Do ya think they know what they sound like?"
"Not at all." Bethany Blackwood replied from where she was primly seated next to him on the haybale.
Lyanna who'd been ignoring all of them to read ledgers from Bear Island just made a grunting sound. So she probably agreed. She'd be vanishing soon to talk about it with one of her senior men before sending letters. Which meant no Lyanna for the afternoon…rats. She was the only one who could keep Lyarra from getting…like this.
"It's weird right?" His nose wrinkled as he cautiously kept his voice down lest the argument decide on using him as a tiebreaker.
Bethany gave a beleaguered sigh. "Edmund is worse making cow eyes at the Manderly girl."
"The green one right?" Rickon knew he missed things with the court, but Edmund tripping over his own feet because a girl winked at him was a bit obvious. Also the sighing. Having two of the man's younger siblings as companions meant he saw quite a bit of their older brother.
Bethany rolled her eyes. "Only her hair is green." There was a pause. "I do not understand my brothers."
"Alyn isn't cow-eyed over anyone? Right?" Rickon checked.
There was a beleaguered sigh. "No? He looks at Ser Loras how Lyanna looks at axes, however."
Rickon glanced to where Lyanna hadn't even grumbled. She was really focused then…someone had probably fucked up. He looked back to Bethany and shrugged. "Well yeah, but Ser Loras is his knight. It's how Podrick looks at Ser Brienne?"
"My siblings have all gone stary-eyed over others since we arrived. It is…very odd." She kicked her heels at the dirt. "I'd rather read."
He winced at a particularly vicious insult from Lyarra towards Robert… "Should we stop them?"
"You want to get in the middle of that?" Bethany looked at him in sheer disbelief.
Rickon didn't hesitate, the argument of which of his sisters was better was something he absolutely did not want to touch with a ten-foot pole. "No."
"I fail to see the point. Your sisters are impressive in different ways. I hardly see the point in arguging over which one is more impressive." Bethany sounded about as confused by the whole thing as he was.
He gave a half shrug of one shoulder. "Think we can escape?"
"They'd notice the movement." She responded. "This is ridiculous."
Rickon twitched, he didn't like holding still but had zero desire of being noticed. "Think if they start punching we can run?"
"If they start punching we'll have to stop them." Bethany sounded regretful about it.
Rickon felt a faint thrum of misery as Lyarra began to argue Sansa's hair was nicer and having nice hair was clearly more important than stabbing ability. "I can't marry her."
"If your engagement to Lyarra is broken off you will be betrothed to me, or one of the Bracken girls most likely." Bethany gave him a look. "I suppose it wouldn't be terrible."
He wasn't sure if he should be insulted by that or not? "Er…thanks?"
Lyanna looked up. "We can't let him marry a Bracken, they sided with the Lannister's after the Red Wedding."
Rickon couldn't help the snarl at that.
"Shut it." Lyanna slapped his arm.
He rubbed at his arm and glared. Why were girls so much meaner than boys?
Rickon shuffled into his sister's solar. "Sansa?"
"Is something wrong?" Sansa looked up from her work, concern across her face.
He winced. "Um…it's about my betrothal?"
"Ah." Sansa glanced at Lady Cerwyn who'd been working at a smaller desk on something or other. "If you'd give us the room, Alys."
Lady Cerwyn rose before curtsying to his sister. "Of course, your Grace."
He bit at his lower lip, eyes on the rug on the floor as he waited for it to be just them and the guards. Even Ghost licking his cheek didn't make him look up. Sansa's hands on his shoulders did, however.
She looked at him, her eyes awash with concern. "What is wrong?"
"I can't marry her!" He burst out.
Sansa brushed his curls away from his face. "I thought you and Lyarra had already agreed to ensure your betrothal was not seen through?"
Rickon's face burned, but he couldn't help how his words tumbled out. "I like her, she's funny and likes Shaggy, but…its weird! Cause she thinks you're pretty and gets all weird about it. 'An she looks at you funny. But I don't wanna marry a girl from a House who turned on Robb! I can't do that! It'd be…it'd be not right."
"Your future wife will be Queen one day, I would never permit a House that failed in their oaths to place their blood in such a position." Sansa held his gaze. "Not unless you begged me to allow such a match. Do you understand?"
He deflated like a stuck gullet. "Oh."
"But I've been remiss in having this conversation with you." She gently directed him to the table with the map of Westeros painted on it, by his shoulder. "The situation has changed since I made the arrangement between you and Lyarra, short of real feelings of affection that match is all but impossible. Though a convenient stand-in to prevent our Lords from attempting to arrange betrothals between you and their daughters too actively."
He frowned looking at the map, the pieces showing their borders and the armies under their command littered across the table. The pieces showing their enemies made his hackles rise. He did not like how surrounded they were. "Because we rule more than just the North now?"
"Indeed." She touched the painted territory that had once been Karstark lands. "When I had the Karstarks removed we did not route their armies in the field, the minor nobility of their territory remained largely unmolested. The loss of the Karstark armies left Robb weakened, and due to them abandoning Robb they maintained a larger fighting force than most of our loyal bannerman."
Rickon chewed on his lip, his various lessons and hours in his sister's solar filling in gaps in what she was saying. "That's why you protected Lyarra and the others? So their bannerman wouldn't rise against us?"
"That, and that they would muster when I ordered them to. And that has proven a fruitful decision. Do not forget the Karstarks share our blood, if our House falls, the North would by rights belong to Alys Cerwyn. By providing a bride price, and ensuring the future of the daughters of House Karstark we bought ourselves alliances that would have been weaker without them. They know what they owe us, and their husbands know who paid their doweries, and what favor they have earned by wedding them."
He nodded, as he looked at the lands belonging to them. "But with the Vale and the Riverlands I need to marry there now?"
"The Riverlands." Sansa corrected gently. "House Tully is extinct. Uncle Edmure is the only Tully whose fate is unknown. But that we have not had him leveraged against us, it is unlikely he still breathes."
Rickon grimaced. "He could still be alive."
"He could, and if he is returned to us we would secure his position. If he is not, your second son will inherit the Riverlands as their Lord Paramount. So your wife must give your son's support in the Riverlands as well as further bind them to our throne." Sansa tapped the Vale. "Our cousin Robyn is marrying to the North. We can survive a generation without binding them further, though certainly at least one of your children must marry there. It would be useful if Arya or Bran married a son or daughter from one of their important Houses, but we can hold power without that. But you do not have the freedom to marry north or east that they do."
He looked at the various Houses of the Riverlands. "But not the Brackens?"
"No, I'll take one of their daughters as a lady in waiting. They are a powerful House, and whether we like it or not, we need their support. For your marriage, I would look at House Blackwood, House Mooton, House Piper, House Mallister, or House Vance. We gain more from wedding you to the Blackwoods or Mootons, but the others are certainly options."
Rickon didn't like the feeling in his gut of just…expectation. "It'd help you if I were betrothed to one of them already, wouldn't it?"
"It would." She tipped his chin to face her. "But you are just two and ten. You are so young Rickon. When you are old enough to wed, any House with daughters your age will have sent them to court, and I would have you choose a bride with what freedom I can give you. For now, your betrothal to Lyarra gives you that time. There is not a Lord breathing who does not know that betrothal is easily broken. But I will not sentence you to an unhappy marriage because it makes my work more convenient now. I can manage without, and I will not let you sacrifice your future happiness when it is not necessary."
His jaw tightened. "But it would help."
"Sweetling, you will not marry a girl we do not know for political gain. When you are old enough to wed we will have this discussion again, and we will do it knowing who it is that you would bind yourself to." Sansa cupped his jaw. "Mayhaps it will be Bethany Blackwood, mayhaps it will not. But either way, she is a good friend to have, as are her brothers. At the least, Alyn will be a knight and possibly a member of our Royal Guard. And Lyarra is certainly a good friend for you to have. I will ensure she is married well when the time comes, and your position will be secure the more allies you have bound to yourself."
Rickon grimaced, it wasn't…it wasn't fair. "She won't want a husband."
"She may not." Sansa just looked sad. "But if she wishes to be secure, she will need one all the same."
His hands tightened at his sides. "It's not fair."
"No it's not." Sansa sighed cupping his face. "Many things are not fair, not unless we make them."
Rickon met his sister's gaze. "I don't wanna marry her, but I can't let her be unhappy."
"Then you have several years to find a solution." She tapped his nose. "When I was your age I was completely sure I loved Joffrey, give her and you time to grow. Things change with time."
Rickon blew out a long breath. "I don't want to wait."
"I am very proud of you for that, but do you think you are ready for my crown now?" Sansa raised a brow.
His cheeks flushed. "No."
"Then why should you be ready for marriage and solving Lyarra's marriage as well?" Sansa's face was soft.
Rickon's shoulders slumped. "It's not fair though."
"If we fixed it now, both of you could end up very unhappy. In four years you both will be far better able to choose your own paths, as best I am able to allow. For now, make friends, attend your lessons, and learn what you want. I will pacify the lords well enough."
He stepped into her, leaning his head against her shoulder. "I'm sorry."
"Whatever for?" Her hand gently ran up and down his arm. Her scent was comforting and filled him with the warmth of 'home'. He didn't remember his mother, not really, but he had Sansa, and she was as good as. Not that he'd say that, he rather thought it'd hurt her to hear.
Rickon settled. "For bothering you with stuff you already know about."
"You could never bother me." Her arms wrapped around him, hugging him tightly. "Never."
////
Helena Tyrell paused at the sight of Willas and Olenna Tyrell in Willas's solar, clearly waiting on her. She raised a brow. "Ah, you've settled my match then?"
"Shut the door behind you girl," Olenna ordered before taking a deep drink of her cup of wine.
She did as instructed, her voice wry as she approached. "Charming as always grandmother."
"Yes, yes," Olenna waved off, though the faint twitch of her lips gave away she was amused. Old hag liked being challenged.
Helena beamed, stepping to the family matriarch, and pressed a quick kiss to her cheek. "Should I attempt to guess or am I to be simply told?"
"Robert Baratheon's bastard son that her Grace intends to legitimize." Olenna raised a brow. "Interested?"
She considered her brief glimpses of the tall, dark-haired boy. "Less noble than Prince Jon, I should hope?"
"Does it matter if he is?" Olenna challenged.
Helena casually dropped into one of the chairs. "Hardly, but iron-clad honorable idiocy would get tiring after a while in a husband, strapping shoulders or not." She considered the two rulers of their family. "Is it a settled matter or am I expected to ensure it happens?"
"I intend to make the offer to him within the week," Willas said, steepling his fingers. "Someone else will strike if we wait longer. Can you do it?"
She hummed, falling serious. "What do we know of him? How controlled by his passions is he? What does he value?"
"We know little." Willas gave her a faint tip of his head. "He's a smith, trained on the street of steel, under a man of high regard and known to be able to reforge valerian steel. His master sold him to the Night's Watch to protect him from the Lannisters but he ended up running around the Riverlands with Princess Arya throughout the war. He spent at least some time with Stannis for blood sacrifice before Ser Davos spirited him away. Once free, aware of his parentage, he returned to King's Landing and took up work as a smith once more. The North has offered him sanctuary within the walls of Winterfell itself. And yet, he's chosen to accept our Queen's offer." Willas's lips twitched. "And he joined that mad rescue of Yara Greyjoy without the promise of payment or reward of any kind."
Helena blew out a breath. "Only a little?"
"Well, less than I would like," Willas admitted.
She let her cousin's words roll about in her head. "I presume he hasn't attempted to make use of whores while on our lands?"
"He has not."
That was…well fuck. "You realize of course seducing the boy would take longer than a week if you wanted me to do it properly? If you want me to control him past the marriage. Which I presume is the point?"
"He seems to have earned some measure of regard from both Ser Davos and Prince Jon." Willas did manage to look sympathetic toward her. The ass.
Helena groaned. "The Northern way then?"
"You'll be Lady of Stormsend if it makes you feel better." Olenna dryly pointed out.
"Certainly a thing worth the sacrifice." She crossed her legs. "What's the offer you intend to use me to seal then?"
Willas leaned back in his seat, amused expression. "Nothing finalized, we will need to organize the details before we make the offer. But we provide trade at a reduced rate, military assistance in securing the Stormlands, political support, the expected."
"And that reduced rate on trade will give us access to the product of their mines come summer no doubt?" Helena hummed considering, it was a basic deal, but not a bad one. Both parties stood to gain a great deal. Especially if she provided the boy with several heirs and the bonds between the Reach and Stormlands were encouraged for several decades. "And of course, my own standing as trueborn further legitimizes the claim of any children we have."
He tipped his head. "There is that. And, as I am soon to marry Prince Martell's sister-" He gave a gesture with his wrist.
"Likely ensured non-hostility in the Dornish marches." Helena tapped her fingers on the wooden arm of the chair. "I suppose the amount of gold you are offering as my dowry will be excessive to the point of expected for a marriage of this rank?"
"Of course, as well as ensuring your household is suitable." Olenna popped a grape into her mouth. "And a position higher than you could have expected."
Helena couldn't help the amused smile at that. "I'm surely grateful, my concern is rather perhaps we are reaching too far. Alliance with Dorne, alliance with the Stormlands, trade and political connections North, no doubt intentions to raise the Westerlands to the ground, her Grace would be taking an awful risk to permit such a thing."
"Bah, she has dragons, lacks any family or loyal direct bannerman to secure her claims for her, and we're of the line of stewards. What royal blood we hold is minor, generations back. We could never take the crown from her or her heirs." Olenna scoffed. All facts their family had fought against for the last three hundred years.
However, an interesting point. "She's actively empowering our House to punish the powers that have not listened to her call while using us to secure her realm for her."
"An advantageous situation, I'm sure you'd agree?" Willas passed her a sheet of parchment.
She glanced at it, the amount being offered for her dowry. It was staggering. The advantages of this marriage were obvious, and yet…she was a second cousin to Willas, Olenna her great aunt by marriage, not blood. "This is too much."
"Certainly not planned, but you are an important piece for the future of our House." Olenna reached out and patted her hand. "Was expecting to marry you to the Tarly boy to bring that House to heel if possible. But here we are."
Her voice was soft, her eyes focused on the size of her dowry. "This is-"
"Too much?" Olenna held her eye. "Don't be coy, we all know you know your own worth."
Helena gave a faint nod. That wasn't wrong, she was aware that while she was not a golden rose able to play any game better than anyone as Margaery had been, she was certainly well-trained in the game. "Well, I presume you can arrange a first meeting then?"
Chapter 122Chapter TextTheon's head was ducked, his shoulders hunched as he stood before his sister. "Are you sure, this cannot be undone once it goes much further?"
"I want Euron's head on a pike, and we'll need years to rebuild a fleet after what he's done." Yara hooked an axe onto her belt. "Do you trust me?"
His head shot up. "Always."
"We change or die, little brother." Yara set her hand on his shoulder. "And not even the ocean will save us from the Dead if the seas freeze, and if this winter lasts they will."
He licked at his lips. "The Starks-"
"Would kill us in our sleep if they could and mount our heads on their coasts. Your pretty little false sister grew fangs." Yara refused to let him twitch away. "We'll fight with your Starks to survive. And we'll take our uncle's head."
Theon didn't understand how Yara could return from bondage under their uncle only to immediately grab an axe, prepared to go and cut the man's throat. It'd taken a god for him to attack Ramsey. He flinched at just the thought of Ramsey.
She set a hand on his shoulder. "There is work to be done."
Theon nodded and fell in behind her shoulder. He'd follow where she led. So he walked in her wake as they went to further negotiation with the Dragon Queen. Plans changed.
Theon hesitated as he saw Daisy reading a book in one corner of the hall. She was absently ignoring the political discussion. She'd been terrifying when she'd first appeared from the heart tree. But here and now, knowing she held so much more power than any of them could have imagined back then, made it worse. And yet…and yet Sansa trusted her. So he took careful steps towards her.
She looked up at him, her face absently curious. "Theon, good to see you."
"Holiness." He bowed his head.
Daisy set a bookmark in her book, closing it. "That's a questioning face, what's up?"
"I was just…about Sansa. She's well?" He didn't understand how Sansa could come to trust something like her Holiness near her. The thought made his skin crawl. But Jon was too noble to tolerate even a god if she frightened Sansa.
Daisy's face and body remained gentle and loose. The horrible danger lurking under her skin was impossible to sense. It was unsettling. But she smiled at Sansa's name. "She's good. Lighter with Bran, Arya, and Rickon home."
He in part wished to cry, had cried when he'd heard Bran and Rickon both lived. He hadn't killed them. "Good, that's good."
"She's a good queen, the lords, and people love her." Daisy had a horrible understanding on her face. "She'd be happy to hear from you, you know?"
"I'm not sure that's true, Holiness." Theon felt bile still anytime his thoughts turned to those dark months. Of what he'd watched…what he had helped do to her. "I would only remind her of pain."
Daisy was quiet for a long moment. "You should write her."
His tongue felt thick in his mouth as he shook his head. "I hurt her."
"I know." She didn't respond to his head whipping up. "Not the details, but I know she cares about you anyway."
His tongue darted out, wetting his lips. "Why…if you know, why haven't you killed me, Holiness?" Because he'd heard the death and ruin she'd left in her wake. Lakes of blood, Varys burned alive from the inside out, whatever seven hells had happened to that septon, and he'd been there when she'd made Winterfell shake.
Daisy looked faintly surprised at the question. "Are you going to do it again?" She tapped below her eye that he now lacked. "And you did the right thing in the end."
"I don't deserve your mercy." He straightened. "I won't waste it."
She set her book aside. "I'll expect a letter to bring back to Sansa with me the next time I head back North."
Theon shuffled but gave a nod. "I'll do that, then." He winced. "Holiness."
Her eyes tracked to the discussions going on at the other side of the hall. "I should probably go help with that."
"Can you?" Which, stupid of course a god could. "I mean, you would aid the Iron Islands, Holiness?"
Daisy slid to her feet like a cat uncoiling. "Well, not like I'm doing anything useful." She raised her voice. "Have you all considered something between Dorne and the Free Cities might be useful instead of whatever nightmare of interlocking agreements you're arguing over?"
Daenerys stared from where her hands were resting on the table. "You have experience with this?"
"Sorta, the details not a lot. But what can work, sure." Daisy walked to the table. "The Iron Islands have to bend the knee, am I wrong?"
Yara straightened, her bitterness was barely audible. "It's the wise decision, Holiness."
"But you'll lose your support from your people if you bend the knee fully?" Daisy checked, facing his sister without hesitation. It was terrifying that Yara didn't flinch from it.
Tyrion spoke. "That is indeed the issue at hand, Holiness?"
"So why can't Yara retain the title of Queen? Daenerys has built a fucking empire. Call it tribute instead of taxes, and privateering against your enemies instead of pirating in general." Daisy looked at them.
Yara's eyes lit in interest, and what Daisy had just said resembled what she'd wished to negotiate over the course of possibly weeks. Probably useful for a god to just offer them a solution instead of weeks of arguing to settle on one. "Certainly an option we would be interested in."
Tyrion was giving Daisy a knowing look. "As eager to speed negotiations ahead as our Empress is then, Holiness?"
"Well, there's only so many books." Daisy's lips twitched upwards.
And Theon settled in behind his sister's shoulder.
////
Mira cleared her throat before Sansa could set her work aside. "Your Grace, there is a matter that we should address if the Targaryen court is to join us within the next four moons."
"What matter?" Sansa asked, a certain exhausted resignation to her tone if you knew how to listen for it. A thing they were all getting better at noting the longer they spent in her presence. It was still subtle, barely a twitch and change of tone.
She laid the stitching she had been working on in her lap. "The walls are merely plastered and painted, your Grace. We, the North can do better when our allies arrive."
"And how would you have me solve the consequences of Winterfell being sacked twice and burned?" Sansa's dry voice said it was a matter she had thought on it, and dismissed it.
Mira refused to do the smart thing and shut up about it. Their Queen was taking the whole humble and practical thing to a point that was getting faintly ridiculous. "You are our Queen, this is our capital of the largest Winter Kingdom in Westerosi history. It is a shame to all of us to allow Winterfell to appear so reduced in prestige."
Wylla spoke up. "You have loyal Houses, it would be an honor to see Winterfell fully returned to its glory beyond just the repairing of walls and tiles, your Grace."
"And how do you propose I pay for such a thing? With what coin that is not better served elsewhere? Or should I commission some small works that might be completed in time for the arrival of our allies? Even should it be done in time, the manpower for such frivolity is better served on more practical matters. Once winter has locked us in our homes, and this war is done, there will be time to worry about the lacking finary. That time is not now." Sansa's face held a chill like ice. "If there was still silver ornamentation I would have had it stripped, melted, and sold a year ago."
Alys spoke up, a sharp daring to her. "Your dedication to our people is important, but we would not have you shamed when the Targaryen court arrives. Surely your lords would be willing to provide some finery for the court, your Grace?"
"If I asked, perhaps. But I will not strip my lords' halls for my own vanity." Sansa softened just the slightest bit. "We are preparing for war. In this case, a focus on practicality will not make us appear poorly."
Wynafryd, bless her, spoke up. "Perhaps a half measure then, your Grace?"
"A half measure?" Sansa was listening then.
The Manderly heir gave a nod. "There is not enough time nor manpower to have any tapestries worth having made. A fine tapestry takes years, and that is with several weavers set to the task. And Winterfell lacks more than a single tapestry would solve." Wynafryd continued. "But stained fabric can be produced cheaper, faster, and will aid in keeping heat inside the walls."
"Stained fabric? This is Winterfell! Not the home of a merchant or common hedge knight!" Wylla near yelped in outrage at the thought.
Mira cut in before the sisters could begin to argue. "No, Lady Wynafryd is correct. It is practical, better than nothing, and as her Grace has pointed out, few would expect an extravagant show of wealth after this bloody summer and preparations for a bloodier winter."
"The bloodiest Stark victories then." Wylla's eyes narrowed. "Can't let those southerners think us soft."
It was barely there, but the faintest flicker of humor crossed Sansa's face but…the cold melancholy that'd been about her person for days easily swallowed it. "Then I suppose Lady Wylla, Mira, that you will endeavor to ensure our walls are prepared for the days ahead. No doubt Lady Dustin will be pleasant at hearing the cost of the project."
While Wylla looked to be resigning herself to battle with the old bitch of a financial reserve master, Mira watched their Queen's face. Something was wrong. And it had been wrong for a few days now.
Mira waited for the last of the other ladies in waiting to leave. She knew it was expected she would leave as well. Their Queen had business to attend and they would be of better use elsewhere. But her feet lingered. Even as the door shut she was unsure of what to say. It was the most private she was like to be with the Queen, but no words came.
"I presume there is a reason you are still here, Lady Lovewell?" The stricter formality was a sign Sansa was ill-humored for anything not professional in nature.
And yet…Mira took the risk. "Your Grace, I worry you may be overworking yourself. You've been…not yourself the past few days. Myself, the other ladies, even your lords would be willing to take on more work if it gave you time to rest."
Sansa Stark stood there, her cold blue eyes on her in a way that felt heavy. "Your concern is noted."
"Your Grace…you may be royal, but you are also mortal." Mira knew she was walking a fine line, this could easily see her reprimanded and ordered away from the Queen's side for some time. It risked what favor she held, what ability she had to have the Queen listen to her. But it needed to be said. And the idiot Lords couldn't seem to see past their regard and pride in the woman who wore the crown enough to see that she was a very human person.
There was something sharp and hurt on the Queen's face that vanished as quickly as it showed. She breathed in slowly. "The North cannot afford for me to be less involved than I am." Sansa hesitated. "Who else has noticed I have not been as expected recently?"
"My husband and I had noticed. We would not have spoken of it to any. I know how highly you value your privacy, your Grace." Speaking of her husband he owed her a foot rub for this. "I had thought I should bring my concerns to you directly."
Sansa's eyes flicked closed. She remained still in a way that was nearly inhuman, but then her eyes were on her again, her manner the same formal perfection as usual. "I thank you for that, but trust me when I say it is better for everyone, myself, that I keep myself busy."
Mira knew the smart thing to do was to desist. And yet, she found she couldn't. Stupid, inspiring leader straight from the fucking storybooks. "Her Holiness would not be pleased to see you like this, your Grace." She paused at the sudden tightening of Sansa's shoulders. "Unless…she is the cause of it?"
"Not as such. " Sansa sighed, turning to face her fully, and something like her real expression was there. "Fitz has nearly completed their portal, a few days more at best from what Crann has said. My personal malcontent with this progress is of little consequence and I would rather keep busy than wallow in discontent. Information that is not widely known, and I expect to remain that way for now. Understood, lady Lovewell?"
Her eyes widened, and she felt rather sick. But her words were quick. "Of course your Grace." Mira's eyes looked away. "I…I am sorry, your Grace."
"Yes well, it was always going to happen, one day or another. Since you've decided to remain you may as well make yourself useful, come along, I need must have words with Lord Baelish and I would be glad of the company." Sansa lifted a pair of gloves off her table and began to pull them on. "Unless you had more pressing business to attend to on my behalf?"
Mira swallowed back her feelings on the matter. It was cruel, unfair, and she wished to scream to the gods they should not have allowed this. A thing that would do no good. So she held her tongue on the subject. "The matter of expanding the looms available can certainly wait an afternoon."
Sansa paused, near enough to touch. "Thank you, for your concern, Lady Lovewell."
And it hurt. "I live to serve, your Grace." Because their Queen did not need to hear the truth, that she was their only hope in the winter to come. That her well-being was a matter of security, that she was likely the greatest ruler for the last hundred years if not longer. And more than that she did not need to hear that Mira was concerned for the person under all her masks and manners. None of it would be welcome. So she did not speak it.
Mira wondered sometimes at what the relationship between Lord Baelish and her Grace was. It was clear they both knew each other well. She did not require great insight to know he desired their Queen, lusted for her. Like a carrion bird waiting for an opportunity to strike. And she knew enough of him from her time in King's Landing to be afraid. Harmless exteriors hid monsters, and from how Sansa seemed to nearly dance with him, he certainly was one. And she would never forget who had sold Sansa to the Boltons, she doubted the Queen forgot that either.
"Your Grace," Baelish bowed with every arch of perfect court manners.
Sansa was imperious and cold as she stood in the man's solar. "Lord Baelish, you said you had a matter of urgency to discuss? I presume you mean other than the mercenaries you have contracted and brought into the Riverlands?"
"Ah, a little wolf tell you that?" His smile felt off, though genuinely pleased. "And please, how many times must ask you call me Petyr, your Grace?"
She lifted a sheet of parchment, eyes flicking across its surface. "No doubt a few more times, Petyr."
The smug pleasure on his face at hearing his name on Sansa's lips made Mira's skin crawl. He continued, his voice oily as always. Or mayhaps it was not so oily if one did not know the man? "I have indeed seen to further protect our southern border."
"Our border?" Her eyes cut up from the sheet of parchment.
He tipped his head toward her. "As a loyal subject, the realm is for all of us to protect on your behalf, is it not?" Lord Baelish waited for the lessening of the danger on Sansa's face before continuing. "And the matter I wished to speak with you on. The Vale is yours but still needs to formally bend the knee. A thing Lord Arryn should do in person, if at all possible."
"You cannot mean to drag my cousin from the Vale all the way to Winterfell on the eve of war?" Sansa stared at him in disbelief, it was cutting, nothing to her general coldness.
Lord Baelish folded his hands before him. "Of course not, however, your lover can fly, surely your cousin could be safely brought to court for formally bending the knee, and then returned safely to Runestone where he is being fostered at the moment."
"Presumptuous to assume she would consent to such a thing." Sansa pointed out.
Mira barely kept from looking at Sansa in disbelief. Because Daisy Jonson, god of horrifying power, would probably turn the skies green if Sansa asked it of her. Worse, she'd probably apologize for only managing a grass-green shade or something else even more ridiculous.
Lord Baelish clearly agreed with her, which was a disgusting thought, as his mustache twitched. "And yet I have no doubt you could persuade her to do such easily enough." There was…implication to his words.
"A matter worth considering at the least. I fail to see what makes it pressing news, however?" Sansa's voice was frosty at the warmest interpretation.
He looked far too confident and far too delighted by her clear displeasure. "The weirwood throne, I thought perhaps as a condition of accepting the pledged loyalty of the Vale."
The room was silent. Mira couldn't help running through that. The throne of the Kings of the Vale from before the invasion of the Andals. It was an important symbol. It was also intimately a piece of Vale identity. To demand such a thing…
"You would have me humiliate an entire kingdom to strengthen my legitimacy?" Sansa spoke slowly, watching Baelish like a hawk.
The fact he didn't flinch was frightening. "The Vale failed your brother, had they ridden to his call, as honor and duty demanded the war would have gone very differently. They failed you again when I hid you there. How much work have I done to bind them to your cause? How little can their loyalty be depended upon?"
"Do you separate yourself from your own countrymen? Do not answer, I already know." Sansa's eyes narrowed slightly. "You are of course correct, it would be a powerful symbol. However, I will not punish a kingdom for my aunt's madness. Nor will I punish deeds long since done, not when they as of my ascension to this throne have done naught wrong."
Baelish's eyes flashed. "Your mercy does you credit, but your throne is an ironwood chair. Surely an ancient and powerful symbol is worth some discontent."
"And it seems I am beset by questions of the trappings of power once more today. I wear a crown of iron, not gold or silver. My wardrobe holds no silk and little lace. The walls are bereft of tapestries, trophies, and trinkets. Do you think I do not know what is whispered about me? I've ended more Houses than Tywin Lannister ever did. The Red Wolf. That stopped being about my hair some time ago."
Baelish hesitated for the first time. "I'm afraid I do not follow, your Grace?"
"We face the Long Night come again, we are in what will surely be remembered as the second Age of Heroes should we survive, and you think I am concerned about what chair I sit upon? What hangs upon my walls? The Vale will hold faith because they, as every other Lord know that if they do not, I will root them out, and mount their heads upon pikes if they are fortunate. If they are not fortunate, I will send my sister to ensure justice is done. When we all are hungry and cold in the darkness of this coming winter my people will see I have not left them to starve for silly finery. I have not humbled them and wasted weeks of manpower to steal a throne to sit upon. Or do you think I do not know the weight of image, Petyr?" And oh her voice was poison.
He swallowed. "I had not-"
"Save me from your excuses. We both know my reputation and remembrance will be bloody and unkind. No throne, no symbol of legitimacy will change what my enemies will call me, nor what histories will report. Let my heirs create an image of grand royalty, I cannot afford such a thing if I intend us to survive. And I will not be the bloody, whore Queen who ripped a Kingdom's dignity and history to shreds for my own ego. In the dark and cold, when the Dead come, they will remember who put swords in their hands and food in their bellies, not what seat I have sat."
Chapter 123Notes:Happy Holiday season guys!
Chapter TextTyrion was uncertain in the face of the changes that had been sweeping the court since arriving in Westeros, more specifically since arriving in Highgarden. The war in the south would be dangerous. "We'll need to create a barrier between the Riverlands and the Crownlands if we wish to control the conflict."
"The North can hardly afford the troops to retaliate if Cersei is fool enough to engage them, my Lord." Willas steepled his fingers. "Or are you concerned the garrison at Harrenhall might be goaded into striking further south than their borders permit?"
He gestured to the concerning amount of tokens of both Vale and mercenary forces placed at Harrenhall, prepared to defend the Winter Kingdom's rear. "We cannot afford the mire further conflict in the Riverlands would cause. We could easily end up breaking down the peace our Empress has been so keen to have brokered between us and the North. A conflict my sweet sister will wish to cause if at all possible."
"It would pull our armies in too many directions. As has already been proved by this war, dividing our forces overly will lead to ruin to us all. The North can hold the border between the Riverlands and the Crownlands." Olyvar Martell spread his hand across the map. "A two-pronged attack my Lords." He tapped the Stormlands. "The bulk of mine own armies, some contingent of Tyrell forces, and enough Dothraki for the Empress to be represented sweep Lannister and dissonant forces out of the Stormlands. The bulk of the Dothraki, Unsullied and remaining Tyrell forces raise the Westerlands till they are pacified against their will."
"The Westerland, Riverland border is where the Riverlands will be weakest as well. If Cersei wishes an effective attack against the Starks that is where she would wager it. All the better to lure their forces away from Harrenhall as well." Ser Jorah frowned as he looked at the lands the War of Five Kings had most ruined.
Tyrion could have yelled at them. Oh, the idea held merit when he wasn't the one saying it. "Yes, my sister is reckless, but she knows chaos and proactive attack is her only hope of surviving this."
Yara Greyjoy cleared her throat. "You're forgetting Euron is trapped in alliance with her."
"You believe Cersei will attempt a navel attack to destabilize us then?" Tyrion rubbed at his chin, that was an uncomfortable reminder. Euron was proving to be an unstable though gifted naval commander. And Yara wasn't wrong, her uncle must know alliance with Daenerys was impossible, impossible that would make alliances in Essos difficult at best. Alliance with the North was out of the question, his little wife would mount any Greyjoy's head on a pike she had the excuse to kill. Which left Euron with Cersei.
Yara's eyes were sharp. "Maidenpool, the eastern coast is softer to attack."
"Wonderful." Tyrion looked at their pirate Queen. "And if your uncle is feeling daring rather than opportunistic?"
Tyrion had a raging headache from the fruitless debate on what priorities should be once their armies marched. It was clear they would need to attack the Westerlands and Stormlands simultaneously. Beyond that agreement would take weeks, and likely whoever ended up controlling which factions of the army would be making the call they wished. Alas, it'd need to be argued anyway. If Daenerys was more warrior she'd be making these calls herself but had them to make up for her lack of training in warfare.
He looked up at the sight of the door being opened. "Ah excellent, our afternoon meal."
"Sadly, I think Sansa would kinda be against that." In strode Daisy, an amused expression on her face.
Tyrion chuckled, though held his tongue on any ribald remarks on his former wife's sexual appetite if it was enough to ensnare a god. "Your Holiness, come to assist in planning a war?"
"Nope, here to kidnap you." She replied easily.
He ignored the clear desire the Tyrells had to speak to the god, also his own bowel-loosening terror at the presence of the living god. "For something pleasant, I should hope, Holiness."
"You'll get to get drunk for once?" Daisy offered, implying it would not be subtle.
Tyrion sighed, pushing himself out of his chair. He felt rather stiff as he walked towards the god, avoiding too much speculation on what was waiting for him. "Well then, if you'll excuse me, my lords, ladies," his eyes turned to Yara, "your Grace."
"Of course, I'll send notes to your rooms, Lord Hand." Willas tipped his head to Tyrion.
His face felt slightly too tight. "Excellent, shall we, Holiness?"
"Don't look too pained, we're getting Jon drunk so he can get the brooding out of his system." Daisy waved to the door, that opened by her will alone.
Tyrion swallowed, forcing his unease down. But also, that was rather hilarious. "A task I am uniquely suited for, I see."
"Pretty much." She matched his stride, an appreciated kindness. "He's handling the news about as well as expected."
Tyrion shook his head. "Only Jon would take the news that he's the son of a beloved Prince badly."
"A beloved prince who was a grown and married man with children, who either seduced or raped a girl after kidnapping her." Daisy scoffed. "Ned Stark might not have been a prince, but he was a good man. Finding out your father is a piece of shit isn't exactly a nice experience."
He could admit she wasn't wrong. "I can't say I would understand, my father was never a good man."
"So I've heard, figured alcohol and complaining about terrible parents at least couldn't make it worse." Daisy shrugged as they walked towards the region where Daenerys' rooms were actually.
Tyrion noted a certain tone in her voice. "Divine parentage not as divine as hoped for?"
"I need a drink before we talk about my parents." She said with resignation that was a blaring alarm that, no, they had not been good.
"Ah." He kept further thoughts to himself, also that very much implied he was about to get drunk with Jon Snow…Stark, and the most terrifying creature he'd ever met. Which was saying something as Cersei was his sister and Tywin had been his father.
The silence as they walked was surprisingly comfortable, and her automatic matching of a comfortable pace for him was…it was incredibly notable. He'd also noted she did the same for Lord Willas. "I've just realized you've never made a comment about my being a dwarf. Most can't resist, it's a rather obvious joke, so many options, but you haven't done so? And here I am a walking punishment from the gods."
"Yeah, you being a dwarf probably has way more to do with all the cousin marriage." Her nose scrunched up in distaste at 'cousin marriage'. "Not that I'm a biologist but like, it's basically the same as your hair color. Has nothing to do with you. So unless the rules are like…so different here, seriously, it's got nothing to do with the gods or whatever. Just happens."
Tyrion looked up at her, and he did not think she was lying. "You don't find me grotesque at all do you, Holiness?" He was awed as the realization dawned on him. She hadn't made an indication his appearance bothered her, because it didn't. It was unprecedented in his experience, but it was true in this moment. He didn't know what to do with that.
"No, I don't find you grotesque." She looked at him, her face understanding in a way that made him deeply uncomfortable.
He shifted, his eyes leaving her face. "Well, that is a nice thing to hear."
"Good, people can be dicks." She replied as they breezed unopposed further into the set of rooms given to Daenerys.
He wondered at the mess of contradictions in this being, made him wish he'd paid slightly more attention to the gods as a boy. "And gods?"
"The worst." She grinned at him as the Dothraki guards opened the door without question to let them into one of the attached sitting rooms given to Daenerys.
Tyrion was interested to see Daenerys, Jon, and Missandei within. "Your Grace, your highness."
"Daisy?" Jon looked at Daisy with something like curiosity on his rather morose face.
She traipsed in, dropping onto the same sitting lounge he was on, easily nudging their shoulders together with an intimacy that was fascinating to behold. "We're getting drunk. Or well you all are, I can't get drunk anymore which is lame, so I'll just make sure you don't end up puking."
"Excuse me?" Daenerys stared in some outrage.
Daisy grinned at her. "The way I see it, we all had terrible parents, you don't have therapy, and you need to get that shit off your chest before you combust from the angst." She waved at Daenerys' person. "I mean without having to apologize or pontificate or whatever you should get to call him a piece of shit. And no judgment, your dad burned people alive, Jon's raped his mom, mine liked to rip people apart with his bare hands and Tyrion's dad had babies murdered."
"And myself, Daisy?" Missandei asked, amused curl to her lips as Jon and Daenerys brains refused to allow them to produce words.
She didn't show the faintest blink at being addressed by her given name by Missandei. "You can flee, or help me with them after they've gotten to the weepy stage. Or laugh at us all. Whatever floats your boat."
Tyrion had a quiet laugh on his breath as he walked over and took a seat. "Shall we make it a game then?"
"Do we have any choice?" Daenerys asked though she flicked her wrist, a servant pouring cups of wine.
Daisy's grin grew. "Nope." She popped the 'p' with a sort of glee. "Jon's hit levels of brooding that can't be healthy, you're miserable having to deal with your dad's bullshit, and I can't get drunk so we need at least one other person for this and I figured you'd both prefer Tyrion to the Greyjoys."
Jon took the cup of wine from the poor servant. "Appreciate that."
"You should." Daisy's brown eyes were laughing, but not in a cruel way as she met Tyrion's gaze. "So, as you're the master of drinking here, rules for whatever game this should be?"
Tyrion would take the chance to get drunk for the first time in weeks. "We take it in turns to say something terrible a parent has done, anyone whose parent also did the same has to drink. Would that suffice?"
"That'll work." Daisy glanced at Daenerys. "Any objections?"
"Many," Daenerys replied dryly, though she accepted her own cup of wine and took a drink unprompted.
Daisy was clearly silently laughing. "Great."
Tyrion raised his cup. "To fathers with reputations for barbarity."
Daenerys and Daisy joined him in drinking.
Jon was staring into his cup, his blinking slightly too slow. "Does being unloved by the woman who raised you count?"
"Yup, drink up." Daisy tapped their cups together before downing her's with a wince.
Daenerys tilted her head slightly. "I was not raised by a woman, but I like to think my mother would have loved me."
"I'm not sure if it's worse when they love you but hurt you anyways, or when they just hate you." Daisy looked at him. "Think it's comforting to know there's nothing you could have done?"
Tyrion was not drunk enough for that and finished off his cup before grabbing a pitcher of wine and refilling it. " Equally terrible maybe?"
"Fair." Daisy was staring into her cup contemplatively. Incidentally, everything she'd said was really fucking horrible.
Daenerys had a bitter expression on her face. "My brother sold me to be raped for his army."
"Does it count if your father just helped the man who threatened to rape you till you broke, capture you?" Daisy's brow was furrowed.
Jon stared at her in horror. "I don't care if that counts or not, drink."
"It wasn't that bad, I kicked his ass on my way out and he never had time to try it." Daisy drank though.
Tyrion felt an odd…miserable comradery. It was almost insulting how this was working. "I was married."
"Aye, to my sister." Jon shot him a dark look. Which was ridiculous since he hadn't bedded the girl, and he was leaning against a woman who very much was bedding the girl.
He shook his head. "Before her."
"What happened?" Daenerys' voice was kind, though her words were deliberate in a way that said she was trying not to appear as drunk as she likely was.
"My father happened." His voice was bitter.
////
Willas leaned against the baluster of the veranda in the evening light. "I hear congratulations are in order, your Eminence."
"Fuck you, it's only because you ensured everyone heard what happened to Varys." Tristan Flowers spat as he slumped onto a chair covered in embroidered pillows.
Willas couldn't help his amusement. "Not very holy behavior, High Septon."
"This is your fault." Tristan made a very rude gesture toward him.
He chuckled, pouring them both a fresh cup of wine. "You succeeded in brokering an agreement of communication with a god killer. I do believe that makes your selection entirely your own prerogative."
"It's not final yet." Tristan grumped, though he accepted the wine. "My father warned me about befriending you."
Willas smiled. "I'm quite fond of your father. Lord Hightower has proven to be a most useful and rewarding friend and relation. Now, you have plans for the Faith, no doubt?"
"Seeing as I should never have been named High Septon, no, I'm afraid I don't. Plans would involve this being a possible outcome, my Lord." There was poison and accusation in his tone.
He took a seat on one of the low setees so that he could raise his leg. "Would you rather I stifle the information that a single egg cup, half full of her Holiness's blood did worse to a man than drinking wildfyre?"
"Yes well, the men of appropriate rank couldn't withdraw their names from contention fast enough since being High Septon will require interacting with her. And gods, I'll have to make a journey North after this blasted war to speak with the Stark Queen. I should have removed my own name the moment I realized it was in contention." Tristan grimaced. "I'd rather speak with the Goddess frankly."
Willas couldn't blame the man. "Perhaps the wise choice." He looked away considering. "It would be useful if our resident Goddess asked for anything, anything at all. We've seemingly gained her favor, and I have no idea how. Every insult and failure seems to roll off her back like water off a duck. Yet when even a flicker of her anger is roused it is fast and terrible. At least Sansa Stark has recognizable goals and desires as well as a clear agenda."
"There is that. But her Holiness hasn't fed her enemies to their sons or ended more noble lines than bloody Tywin. At least with the Goddess, it'll be over quickly, and she doesn't seem to mind that she is not our patron god. The gods only know what Sansa Stark will do about the worship of the Seven in her kingdom. Do you know what they'll do to me if we lose the Riverlands and the Vale for the faithful? Gods, she killed a King."
Willas didn't comment on the assumption that Sansa was responsible for Joffery's death. Best not to spread it about that it'd been them. Let the Red Wolf have the credit for that. He'd rather like his Empress not to think too hard about their House having killed a King before. Not that he had any intention of repeating those actions. After all, with Daenerys, his House would rise, and his House owed everything to the Targaryens twice over now. "Makes one think how terrifying her reputation will be by the time this is over."
"She holds the North for five years and she'll stand higher in their histories than any of her forebears save perhaps Brandon the Builder." Willas took a drink of his wine. "I suppose it's fortunate she's risen so far, it will give more legitimacy to our own Queen's rule. Or Empress now."
Tristan looked up. "How did she go from Queen to Empress?"
"Her Holiness solved a half dozen bureaucratic and political issues with the consolidation of her Grace's rule by just calling her an Empress and looking at us all like we were stupid for not doing it already," Willas replied dryly. It was yet another desperately useful thing that the damned Goddess wouldn't let them repay. If she wanted blood sacrifice he'd have cut the hearts out himself. Unfortunately, she didn't seem to want anything. It was giving him heartburn.
Tristan snorted. "Of course. You know, from what your Grandmother said, I hadn't believed a damned thing I was hearing of the North. Having met her Holiness, I'd believe all of it and more without question."
"There is that." Willas wondered if his sister had seen the ghost of greatness in Sansa Stark when she'd met her in King's Landing? Margaery had certainly written of Sansa as a person worth maintaining an attachment to. A piece on the board worth more than their Grandmother gave credit to. A gem merely in need of polishing to see what lay beneath. "No doubt the poets will do it justice, the sort of Queen who could draw the eye of a Goddess of Ruin."
His friend made a sound of agreement. "It is stupidly poetic, isn't it?"
////
Missandei carefully helped Daenerys drain a cup of water. Setting the cup aside, she aided her friend into a prone position, gently pulling the silk bedding up and over Daenerys' shoulder. She felt a warm affection as her friend mumbled nonsense as she was pulled into sleep. The morning would no doubt not be pleasant. But she thought perhaps this evening had been good for her friend. The toasts between Jon, Daenerys, and Tyrion of 'at least they're fucking dead' had been amusing as well.
She rose to her feet, once assured that Daenerys was safe for the night. As she walked out of the bedchamber, shutting the door behind her, she saw the shape of a person sitting on the baluster of the veranda of the private solar's side. Missandei paused, her eyes drawn to the line of Daisy's shoulders, the way her hair was moving in the cold breeze of the night.
There was no doubt that the god knew that she was there. Missandei walked with measured steps till she joined the god. The great height beneath the god's feet was hidden by the darkness that had swallowed the sight. And yet Missandei didn't feel a thread of unease. Not like she felt at the sight of Daenerys on dragon back. "This evening was kind of you."
"They needed it." It was perhaps not startling that Daisy's eyes were closed. "Tyrion was losing too much favor, Dany needs a Hand she at least trusts a bit."
Missandei considered the being beside her. "And Jon?" She could guess, but it was interesting to hear. People said so much they did not intend when they spoke.
Daisy's lips twitched. "He gets so caught up in the weight he carries he forgets his pain isn't unique."
Which…this god had chosen the kindest way imaginable to teach that lesson to the man. It was sweet. "You love him."
"Same as you love Dany." Daisy sighed, seemingly unconcerned by the chill in the air.
Missandei leaned against the baluster. She realized she was so close they were nearly touching, and yet she did not feel disquiet at the closeness. Rather found it peaceful. She looked up staring at the stars above their heads, stretching out across the whole of the sky. "Have you truly been among the stars? It seems so very far away."