Greatjon Umber was a shell of himself. He knew that, and his rage at his importance felt like it would swallow him. The chains holding his arms together bit into his wrists and ankles. The gag in his mouth was stale and horrible. If he could, he'd knock the head off every one of these weasels, he'd do it even if it was the last thing he did. But then his rage would leave him hollow, afterall it could only feed a man through so much humiliation and misery. Useless rage. He knew he was riding to his death.
But finally good northern air filled his lungs. His fate awaiting for him under those traitorous Bolton sons of bitches may be horrific, but his death would be in the North. A bad death, but not a wasting death in a Frey dungeon. So he let his eyes search out the northern fields for what would be the last time.
As they crested a hill a party of men with Bolton banners on horseback waiting for them. The idiot boy Steffon Frey. The gods knew which branch the green boy was from. Greatjon would have spat at the head of their party. But he couldn't. Instead the boy spoke. "It would seem Lord Bolton has sent us an escort." The boy kicked his heels in, the Frey party increasing in speed as they moved to meet the other men.
The Bolton party came to a halt. One of the riders pulled his helmet off of his head. Another green boy. But that was all that was left in the Riverlands and the North. Broken old men and green boys, all the rest dead. "I carry a letter for the head of the party come from the Twins."
"I'll take it." Steffon Frey accepted the letter sealed with the pink wax of House Bolton. He broke the seal and read it. Idiot boy's brow furrowed. "You're to escort us the rest of the way then?"
"Aye." The leader of the Bolton party agreed.
Steffon gave a nod, and stuffed the letter into his halberd.
The Greatjon felt a prickling of concern as he realized the Bolton men had the horse he was chained to bracketed. He realized a few seconds before it happened what was going to happen. Not that he could have warned the Freys even if he'd wanted to. He didn't want to.
The leader of the Bolton men drew a dagger and plunged it into the Frey man next to him. It was fast. The Boltons used daggers and surprise to slaughter the Frey men. There were cries and screams as Freys died. They didn't have time to draw swords, the knives of the Bolton men faster. The Freys were dead before they had a chance to fight back.
The leader of the Boltons wiped his dagger off before sheathing it. "Loot the bodies, secure the horses. Cut Lord Umber free. We continue as soon as possible."
He wheeled around to face the Greatjon. "Lord Umber, I am here on behalf of Lady Stark. I hold a letter from her own hand and seal. My men and I will safely escort you to Winterfell."
One of the men cut the gag, and pulled it out of his mouth. The Greatjon snarled. "And why should I listen to anything you have to say boy?"
"My name is Joran Fletcher, I am sworn to House Stark." The man held out a sealed letter bearing the seal of House Stark. "I apologize for the deception, but it was required to ensure your safety M'Lord." His spine straightened.
The Greatjon spat on the ground as he felt his legs being unhooked from the saddle. He frowned as he looked at the man. "Lady Stark is married to the Bastard."
"Lady Stark made herself a widow." Joran held out the letter. "House Bolton is no more."
He threw his head back and gave a great roaring laugh. Snorting with it he grabbed the letter. It would seem he was going home.
/
Daisy smiled slightly. It'd been an accident. But now she could hardly walk three steps without one of the kids in the loot train attaching themself to her. She raised her arm, a small girl hopping up and grabbing Daisy's arm and swinging happily.
"Your Holiness." Wilbur Thatcher nearly tripped over himself as he followed. "I've had an idea for your sidgel. If ya want one."
Daisy sighed, it was hilarious to hear the poor men trying to speak more properly and inevitably falling to their slang. Not that she'd mention she noticed it. "What's the idea?" Well she needed to create a cult. A symbol was probably important. She swung the girl hanging off her arm and up onto her back into a piggy back.
Thatcher showed the image someone had drawn. It was...a leaf. "Whaddya think?"
"It's a weirwood leaf?" She checked.
He nodded eagerly. "Of course."
"I won't always be here." Daisy hated this part, diplomacy sucked. It was Coulson's thing. "And not going to have you guys burning sinners alive like those crazy red priest people."
Thatcher frowned. "We could record your words?"
"That's…" Oh god she was going to end up with a bible written about her. That was horrifying. "I was thinking a direwolf."
Thatcher's mouth opened and then shut. "For Lady Stark?"
"Is that not appropriate?" Daisy was exhausted by the just...differences in culture. The aliens in the future had made more sense.
He pulled back the idea of a sidgel. "I'll bring a new drawing later." Thatcher seemed to hesitate for a second before continuing. "I'm sure Lady Stark will be very honored."
"Well that's a relief." She felt a change in the carts. "That'll be another cart stuck in a hole."
Thatcher bowed. "Your Holiness."
Daisy strode to the latest traveling issue. Her powers were shockingly useful at getting carts out of mud. The little girl on her back giggled at the movement. Daisy smiled, well hopefully they would make it to Witerfell today. She really needed a bath.
/
Sansa desperately needed a proper stewart. She accepted the list of numbers Tallman had written up for her. His handwriting was somehow worse than Daisy's...and Daisy used a quill like she'd never seen one before. Which she possibly hadn't. "This is all the farmland that is being cultivated?"
He cringed at the disbelief in her tone. "With the levees raised it's what they could do."
"This isn't enough." She wasn't a student of agriculture, but she was of the North and she knew these numbers were horribly off. "Find someone with farming experience and have a plan drawn up to at least triple this planting. Winter Is Coming and we need more food than this."
Tallman cleared his throat. "I can do that. But there aren't enough men to plant that much."
"Write up the options and how many men would be needed. The smaller but feasible increases. If we avoid the coming war the men may be spared for it." Sansa didn't add that if there wasn't food for the men to eat it wouldn't matter how many men she had in an army. The war had to wait, trade and the current crop were their only hope for survival.
He gave a dip of his head. "I'll take care of it M'lady."
Sansa continued her walk towards the top of the walls. Her attention fell on her faithful sworn sword just behind her. "The status of the men?"
"They're tired My Lady." Brienne replied.
Sansa hated to ask what she had to. "How much longer can they last before we have more men?"
"If the scout spoke true and the party approaching is Ser Daisy's, the men will be fine." Brienne paused. "I do not know if we could defend against an attack for long."
Sansa came up above the gate and looked out over the fields towards the King's Road. And she could see what the men had reported. A trail of tiny black figures. She could see carts, a lot of carts. "What do you think?"
"It would seem her Holiness has returned." Brienne sounded relieved. "There's not enough men in front of the baggage for it to be an army."
Her shoulders softened. "Have them open the cellar doors, and open the lower floors of the Broken Tower. We'll need to get as much of the loot unloaded as we can before the sun sets."
"I'll see to it, My Lady." Brienne waved down a guard to send him off on the errand.
Sansa ignored the voices and focused on the approaching loot train. It was an answer to their problems. Many of them, and it meant more men, more supplies. Winterfell would be secure. She would be able to act.
Sansa was almost dizzy with relief and a thrum of victory as the carts and men and women poured into Winterfell. The men all stopped to swear fealty to her before moving off to continue with the work of unloading. It wasn't for the oaths she'd stayed in the courtyard instead of inside the halls making decisions on where things would go. The eighth cart of chests was rolling in when she saw Daisy Jonson riding in through the gate.
The god had a small child in front of her in the saddle, and another excitedly clinging to her back. She was laughing at something the kid hanging onto her back was saying. Her eyes caught Sansa and then she easily helped the kids down before dismounting herself. The god ruffled the children's hair before walking towards her with a wide grin.
"Lady Stark." She grinned and then bowed, though she did not wait for permission to straighten again. Not that she needed permission. "The Dreadfort is destroyed, its halls looted, its men sent to the Wall or brought back in your name."
Sansa felt the entire yard fall silent. That wasn't...that wasn't what was supposed to happen. A god doesn't bow to a man. And the final destruction of her enemies in her name? It was a gesture of fealty by a god that owed none to her. "You are most welcome in Winterfell. I trust you are unharmed from your efforts?" Sansa wasn't even sure what else to say. What was there to say? There wasn't protocol for a god acting like a minor sworn knight in your service.
"Totally fine." Daisy laughed, stepping forward. "And I saw to the matter we discussed."
Sansa was terrified she'd missed something. Because this did not make sense. But King's Landing had taught her to carry on. "Then I am in your debt."
"Nice call on the fenced areas...are they called paddocks?" Daisy looked at her curiously.
Sansa had a brief thought that maybe the god hadn't known what her actions meant? But that was ridiculous...probably. "Paddocks are for horses, pens for livestock." She noticed a look on the god's face. "The unloading is well in hand. Your companion Fitz is in the same room."
"I...thank you." Daisy gave her a quick nod, and then vanished into the crowd towards the Maester's chambers.
Sansa spoke slowly. "Brienne, fetch Podrick." She waved her temporary stewart over. "Tallman, what's the progress?"
"If the men don't sleep tonight, we can get it inside our walls." Tallman straightened trying to match her height. He really wasn't particularly tall despite the name.
She accepted that, good. "Keep up the work, ensure the men know they will be rewarded for their labor." Sansa considered the stores of what she had, and the loot of the Dreadfort. "Tomorrow I'll order the finest ales and wines from Roose's stores opened and slaughter four bulls for a modest feast."
"The men'll love that." He bowed his head slightly, a beaming grin on his face. "I'll ensure the boys know, M'Lady."
Sansa's lips twitched up. Tallman might not be a good steward, but he'd been showing some loyalty so he'd make a decent member of the household. "Ensure any letters from the Dreadfort are brought straight to my solar."
"Aye, M'Lady." Tallman scurried away to do as bid.
She ignored the curious looks from the men and made her way back inside the great hall. On the high table accounts and reports of what was being done were laid out as she'd instructed earlier. It was time to work. Because this would be the foundation of her hold on power.
Sansa set her quill aside, as she spotted Porick approaching her. "Podrick."
"My Lady." He bowed before stepping closer. "You sent for me?"
She waved him forward. "I need you to look into something, discreetly."
"Of course My Lady. I know how to keep my mouth shut if need be." He folded his hands in front of him as he waited for her to speak.
Sansa was grateful for Pod. "Her Holiness, I need to know why she has decided to show fealty towards me." Because a god showing fealty towards her was insane. There had to be a reason for it, if it'd just been words she'd have assumed the god had misspoken. But Daisy had bowed. Something was happening and she needed to know what.
/
Daisy sat on the bed besides Fitz. She held his hand as she reassured herself that he was still alive. His heart beat was strong and there, he breathed for himself. Daisy felt settled knowing he was alive. It was sickenly similar to when he'd been in a coma after Ward. She squeezed his hand. "You better wake up."
She sighed. "Jemma would be better at this than me. And you'd get a kick out of it, they think I'm a god. Which is ridiculous. Maybe that's why you're napping, avoiding having to build a portal in the dark ages. Very sneaky." Daisy trailed off. "This sucks."
Did it make her a terrible person that she felt unease at the thought of him waking? This wasn't the same Fitz who cut the chip out of her neck. He wasn't the one who betrayed her. But he was still the one who made the Framework, and who was a few months away from doing those things. Time travel fucked everything up. He was the person on the team she had trusted the most. And now she was afraid of him.
It hadn't seemed important how she felt about the whole thing when it'd just been her and Jemma on their search to find and save him. But now...now it was just Fitz and her. Just them in a medieval hellscape that was cold as hell where the locals thought she was a god. They would need each other. And how could she even feel hurt when the Fitz who'd hurt her was dead? It wasn't fair to him.
Daisy placed a hand on his chest, feeling the vibrations of his body. The reassurance he was real and alive. "You need to wake up. I can't do this without you."
She wasn't sure how long she'd been there before she heard the door open. Daisy had absently felt their approach she realized. Which wasn't that weird. "Yes?"
There was a startled sound. "Apologies your Holiness." It was the Maester Wolkan. "I thought you might wish to eat with the men. They'll be unloading until late in the day on the morrow. But supper is ready if you wish to join them in eating. Or it can be fetched for you if you wish."
"I'll come help with the work." Daisy didn't look away from her friend. God, he was the closest she had to a brother. "Do you think he'll wake?"
"The danger's passed. But what his mind will be like once he wakes I cannot say." Wolkan replied.
Daisy bit at her lower lip. If Fitz's damage from Ward worsened…. "He's strong, he'll recover."
"I'm sure you know better than I." Wolkan approached, holding a bowl of broth. "Here, if you help me get his head up we can get some food into him."
She reached forward and helped tilt lift him, so another pillow could be shoved behind his head. It was a familiar routine, one she'd aided in four times daily before she'd left. "I've got it. You must have other things to be worrying about."
"Not at the moment." Wolkan carefully began the process of feeding the broth to Fitz, then massaging his throat so that he'd swallow. "My chief patients are small folk with minor injuries, a few broken bones, nothing of concern, and a pregnant prisoner."
Daisy considered that. "What do you think will happen when the baby is born?"
"House Stark is renowned for their honor. If she says she won't harm the child, it's the best hope it has." Wolkan carefully forced more of the broth into Fitz's mouth.
She remembered what options had been given. "Is it fair?"
"No." Wolkan pulled back. "But any other Lord would have stabbed the child in its mother's womb to ensure its death. It's what the Boltons did to Lady Stark's good sister and wife of her brother."
Daisy didn't like this world. She really, really didn't. But she didn't get to choose the world she and Fitz were stranded in. So she continued to help feed Fitz.
Daisy smiled as she ate the warm soup that had been made for the men. She was seated on a barrel unloaded from one of the carts. One of the men had started singing, and there was a general vibe of cheer as everyone crowded around the fires in the courtyard as they ate before continuing with their work. Incidentally Daisy was getting a much better sense of how strong she was now.
"Your Holiness." A boy with dark hair bowed. "I've got fresh bread if you would like some."
She paused. "Your accent is different from the others here?"
"Aye, your Holiness." He carefully offered the bread which she accepted a roll from the basket. "I'm from the Westerlands. I'm squire to the Lady Brienne of Tarth."
Daisy smiled at the mention of the lady knight. She was clearly fabulous after all. "Good for you. What's your name?"
"Podrick Payne, your Holiness." Podrick dipped his head slightly, not that he ever really seemed to raise it fully.
She waved to the spot on a crate next to her. "You can join me if you like, though only if you stop with the 'Holiness' stuff for a while."
"As you wish, but what should I call you?" He looked at her with soft but serious eyes.
Daisy raised a brow, if he was Brienne's squire he absolutely knew she'd asked to be called 'Ser' if they had to use a title for her. Not that anyone, including Sansa had apparently listened to that really. "Just Daisy is fine, but Johnson or Ser are fine too."
"As you wish Ser Jonson." He had the slightest bit of amusement to him.
She laughed, cheeky asshole. "So please tell me there are places in this world that aren't miserably cold."
"The further south the warmer the weather is." Podrick settled awkwardly on the crate. "In Dorne it is a desert, the weather is as hot as their food. It is the southernmost kingdom in Westeros."
Daisy snorted. "I'm not sure I'd have done much better there. So the Westerlands, what are they like?" She ate quietly prodding the poor boy into telling her more about the continent. It was better than anything she could read in a book.
He paused in the middle of a story about his last master. Blushing violently as he apparently realized he'd just mentioned his former Lord frequented brothels. "Sorry Ser, I didn't mean to mention that."
"I'd be shocked if you didn't have brothels and prostitutes here. Oldest profession and all that." She took an amused bite of her soup. "You're not going to offend me."
Podrick's ears were still pink. "I mean...isn't it a sin?"
"Ah, yeah I don't care about the whole 'sin' thing." Daisy wiggled her hand. Which fuck, slight positive, the nuns from the orphange would hate everything about this. "I mean common decency and all. Pay the person for their service and don't be a dick about it. But I can say with some certainty that the gods or devils or whatever that deal with 'sinners' don't care about consensual sex."
He blinked, his voice came out at a mumble. "Probably a good thing for me then." He shifted slightly. "Does that mean you're not a god of maidens and children then?"
Daisy paused. "Ah, no. Very much not that." She noticed everyone in the general vicinity was listening intently to her words. "I was stolen from my parents and raised in a human orphanage when I was a baby. I'm just used to helping with the younger kids. But I don't have any kids of my own, or plans of having one. And I'm definitely not a maid."
"You were raised with humans?" He was looking at her in surprise.
She nodded. "Yup."
Podrick spoke carefully, like he was afraid of her reaction to his next question. "Is that why you were chosen to help us?"
"Probably." Daisy was not going to point out, exploding Chronicom portal device as a random accident not some weird divine intervention. And the vibrations around the white trees were weird, there might be something to her and Fitz coming out in a damn tree. "The old gods, what do you know of them? Everyone says I must be one. But I'm not familiar with this world and names tend to change between worlds."
He straightened slightly. "I'm from the south, where we worship the Seven. But Lord Lannister made sure I knew about the different realms. The old gods are the gods of the First Men."
One of the former Bolton men spoke up then. "They were the gods of the Children of the Forest before men ever came to these shores." His voice filled with the tone of a storyteller. "The Children…"
Daisy was fascinated by the stories of the men. Their old gods certainly weren't any type of 'god' she'd run into. But assured her that she needed to not be seen as one. Considering the trees and her general experience with weird old mythology there was likely some basis in fact to these stories. Fact she'd like to not insult and piss off.
She lifted another crate from one of the carts as the stories continued. It was hard work, but the men had started taking turns telling tales as they worked in the dark and cold. "Wait, arrows made from the weirwood trees are magic?"
"Legend has it Brandon Snow meant to kill Aegon Targaryen's dragons with arrows made of the weirwood trees." One of the men replied.
Someone else huffed. "That was over three hundred years ago, magic has faded from this world since the dragons died."
She wiped sweat from her forehead as the men broke out into a fairly good natured debate on how real magic was in their world. Stories of witches and strange happenings they'd all heard or seen being brought up. Daisy was about to ask about what on earth a 'stone witch' was when one of the pages came skidding out into the yard.
The boy was panting, but bowed as best he could. "Holiness, your companion. He woke up."