Daisy slapped Hogg's back. "I've been looking for you Hogg."
"You, you have?" His voice cracked as he stared at her with wide eyes.
She beamed, poor kid had to get used to her eventually. And at least his fear hadn't turned to distrust and caginess like so many SHIELD agents had. "I have a project you can assist me with."
"Anything your Holiness." He practically glowed, his spine straightening, chest puffing up.
She was grateful she'd been reading and asking questions her entire time here. "I refuse to leave a legacy of people forming something awful like the faith militant in my name." Which that book had been disturbing. Horrible times. "So, proactively making sure nobody goes around murdering people in my name."
"You need to talk to Wilbur Thatcher." Hogg nearly bounced. "He's got learning ya know. He can read and write."
Daisy felt a sort of resigned misery at that. She was creating a damn religious order. Mack was never going to let her hear the end of this. "So where can we find Thatcher?" She was never going to be able to keep a straight face talking to someone and calling them 'Wilbur'. Poor fucker. It was almost as bad as Poots.
Daisy folded her legs under her as she sat on a barrel in the storeroom, Hogg sitting on a pile of bags of grain, Thatcher having set his accounting work aside and writing as they spoke. She cleared her throat. "Right, so I've never been good at the whole...dealing with hero worship thing? I mean the shrines of me thing always was kinda weird."
"So no graven images of you?" Thatcher asked, holding his quill above the sheet of paper.
She shrugged. "Not like punishable if you do but prefered for the not thing."
"So a symbol people can use instead?" Hogg asked eager to help.
Daisy nodded. "That'd work. What about that leaf and direwolf symbol you made Hogg?"
"That's…" Hogg trailed off looking uncomfortable.
She sighed. "I'll take that as it won't work." Daisy bit at her lower lip. "Could we use the leaf with a direwolf on it as a symbol for anyone who follows me? A different symbol can be used for me personally."
"You want to dedicate your holy order to the Starks?" Thatcher stared at her in confusion. "But you're a god."
Daisy turned a coin around in her fingers. "I won't be here for forever. I intend to leave once Fitz makes a portal or beacon or something." She saw their confusion. "A door between worlds." And yup, there was the usual reaction to realizing what the hell Fitz was doing. Awe and horror. "Once I'm gone any order I've left behind should follow Lady Stark once I've left."
"You wish to leave your followers in the service of Lady Sansa Stark when you leave?" Thatcher's eyes were wide.
She didn't quite understand what the big deal was. Sexism probably. "Yes."
"I'll see to it." He scratched his quill across the paper.
Hogg spoke up, his voice slightly squeaky. "What'd you like for your personal sigil or symbol?"
Daisy paused considering it. It wasn't exactly a thing she'd thought she'd ever have to do. But then she was a SHIELD agent. "Pass the paper, I'll draw it."
Thatcher passed his notes, quickly ensuring there was a fresh sheet up on top of the portable desk. It was a bit like a wooden lap desk really. She'd had a blue one for her laptop back on the Zephyr. "You'll want to make a nicer version of it, drawing isn't really one of my skills." Her cheeks heated slightly at that, failing art class for drawing dicks on the desk hadn't been fifteen year old her's greatest moment.
With careful scratching with the quill she sketched out the eagle of SHIELD. Fortunately their logo was a fairly geometric version of an eagle. And it was on fucking everything so it wasn't like she couldn't draw the thing in her sleep. She knew she needed more than that though if she meant to create a religion which...so weird. So she carefully did her best to sketch a leaf on the eagle's chest. Setting the quill down she passed the desk back to Thatcher.
He looked at it and then passed to Hogg. "You've got some skill with charcoal?"
"I can do something with this." Hogg looked at her. "What bird is this?"
Daisy refused to flinch, no matter how much she hated being lost from her team again. "An eagle" She considered it, it would probably help. "I was called Skye for years, and I lived in the sky."
"Of course your Holiness." Hogg bowed his head, awe in his voice. "I'll bring you my best work."
She smiled at the poor kid. "Good, in the meantime the direwolf and leaf one, can that be made into brooches for anyone who wishes to follow whatever order I end up with?"
"I'll speak with the blacksmith." Hogg agreed.
Thatcher spoke up. "That is, our order would need to know what your commandments, your moral code is."
"Fuck." Daisy brushed her hair out of her face. "Right...not my thing. I don't care about petty things, or dumb rules."
Thatcher gave a nod. "When is it acceptable to kill?"
"Self defense, in defense of others." Daisy knew she was in a medieval hellscape. And Hydra had proved sometimes death was the only way. "If found guilty of a crime warranting execution."
The quill slid quickly over the paper as he wrote. "Sex?"
"As long as both parties want it and you know, adults, I don't care." Daisy was firm on that, years of catholic orphanage had ensured she wasn't even touching sexual rules. That shit was dumb, pointless, and hurt people.
Hogg's face scrunched up. "Even if one of the people is already married?"
"You mean adultery?" Daisy sighed. "Look, adultery is crappy, and sucks, but in the same way muddy roads are crappy. Not great, and there are definitely social consequences, but I don't care? It's just normal, regular, crappy, not a violation against humanity."
"Oh no. Yeah I definitely do not care about virginity. That's a dumb thing to expect of someone. It doesn't hurt anyone either way. It's a stupid social concept and really unfair to judge women and men differently on the whole thing. How much sex you have has nothing to do with your character or morality or whatever."
"Stealing is bad but like there's some nuisance there? Like if someone steals an apple because they're hungry that's way different than someone who steals to make themselves rich. Also who are they stealing from? It's about harm done, not specifically the act itself."
Daisy groaned. "Again, harm done. You have to fairly judge the person based on what harm they've done. Did they hurt other people? Did they mean to hurt other people? How badly did they hurt other people? And reparations for harm done are important. The whole 'Do unto others as you would have them do unto you'." Which...Daisy paused. Wait a minute, she was creating a religion...she could just straight up rip off the nice parts of different earth religions. The love others stuff, the whole buddhist thing of training yourself to do good. Actually, she liked the idea of the whole 'putting morals into action requiring intelligence and sensitivity thing' was kinda awesome. Hippy god it was. She had this.
/
Jon rode high in the saddle as he and his men came up over the hill. He frowned looking down at the encampment down by the beach. "Tormund!"
"We can take the fuckers." Tormund's face was flush with excitement as he unslung his axe. Man was clearly living to eradicate the last pockets of Ironborn now that the Deepwood Motte was once more in Glover hands. A week of chasing Ironborn stragglers throughout the country was clearly the most fun the Free Folk had had since they'd crossed the wall.
Jon drew his sword. "We'll need to be fast."
Jon barely got his sword up in time to block the swing of his opponent's axe. Bracing his arms he kicked the Ironborn in the gut, sending the man backwards, nearly bent in half. His sword whistled through the air as he brought down in a powerful arch, slicing the Ironborn's head clean off. He turned, sword raising, prepared to defend himself against the next foe only to find that had been the last of them.
"Got ye're blood up that did." Tormund roaded as slapped Jon on the shoulder. The forcing nearly knocked him over.
Jon's lips twitched up, but he fell serious as he looked at the remains of the Ironborn shore camp. "Take what supplies you want, we burn the bodies with the rest."
One of the Free Folk let up a cheer as they located a barrel of ale.
Jon felt a flicker of warmth as he saw the men inspecting the meat on the spit over the fire, happily testing the edges of the now dead Ironborn's weapons. He was making a difference here. The coast was nearly free of the last dregs of the Ironborn.
"What's got you all moony?" Tormund stared at him in suspicion and mild consternation. "We fought, we won, there's food and drink. What more do ya want?"
He wiped his sword clean before sheathing it. "We should turn for Winterfell soon."
"You southern cunts." Tormund made a sound of disgust and marched off to claim his portion of the ale.
Jon chuckled low in his throat as he followed behind Tormund. It would be good to be home again.
/
Fitz angrily slapped plaster on the walls of the room he'd been given near the stables and smithy. It fit the requirements he'd had for a lab space, and if he was generous being near the smithy was probably good. But for fuck's sake. How was he meant to do anything in these conditions?
"Maybe glare at the walls a bit more and they'll combust." Daisy teased as she stepped into the room. She looked around. "This is pretty neat."
He stared at her in disbelief. "It smells like m-manure."
"There's a stable like twenty feet that way." She jerked her thumb towards the far wall. "And it's the middle ages. There's horses everywhere."
Fitz stuck his brush into the large pail of plaster before lifting it and slapping it onto the wall again. "H-here to help?"
"Duh, just had to make sure I didn't accidently create like a murder cult or something." Her nose wrinkled as she grabbed a brush and approached the plaster pail.
He grumbled as he continued his own work. "I don't know h-h-how you can sta-stand this place."
"Well I'd kill for a cup of coffee and a laptop." Daisy's brush hit the wall with a sort of wet 'plop'. "And the flaying people alive thing was deeply disturbing. But it's not the worst."
Fitz stared at her. "What could be worse than this prim-primitive hell hole?"
"The Framework, Kree slave colony on an asteroid, Florida." Daisy raised an eyebrow. "And Jemma was on a desert wasteland in eternal twilight with an evil squid monster when she got trapped on another world."
His shoulders slumped. "Fair."
"I mean she had to go full Rambo to survive." Daisy teased gently as she worked. "Very hot, but very unexpected."
Fitz groaned. "We're c-cursed, it's like the universe itself won't let us be t-together."
"That's crap." Daisy set her fist down on her hip and looked at him. "After everything you two still have each other, still love each other more than anyone I've ever seen! And I'm a god now apparently, so I declare you uncursed. I didn't spend a year trapped in the Zephyr hunting you across the universe for Jemma just to watch you give up because your new lab smells a bit like horse manure."
Something dark in his chest untwisted ever so slightly, the ugliness sinking slightly in the face of the unwavering belief he was faced with. "I might be despairing p-prematurely."
"Ya think?" Daisy slapped his shoulder. "Besides, you know Jemma and Enoch will totally be trying to find us on their end." She frowned slightly. "Why are we painting your new lab with lumpy white paint?"
Fitz rolled his eyes. "It's pla-plaster, it'll reflect the light b-better."
"Huh, neat." Daisy dunked her brush back in the mixture.
He felt a deep well of exhaustion as he worked. "I'm g-going to have to invent e-electricity." The scope of what he needed to make just to attempt to ascertain where they were was massive. "We're going to b-be here for a whi-while."
"Well there's some magic ice zombies I have to kill to pay for all your lab stuff." Daisy slapped her brush back against the wall. "And I'm apparently making a holy order of knights sworn to me. But years of mean nuns and Sunday school paid off."
Fitz had a terrible feeling. "D-daisy, what did you d-do?"
"Created a hippy free love religion all about compassion and understanding by ripping off the love bits from the Bible and Buddhism." Daisy grinned at him.
He spluttered. "That's pla-plagiarism!"
"We're on a different planet where they don't have running water. I think I'm good." Daisy was irritatingly smug at that.
Fitz gaped at her. "Th-they hack people with s-swords and like..stone p-people. No one w-will believe a word of tha-that!"
"Also human sacrifices are a thing here." Daisy looked disturbed. "Do you want to wake up to a human heart offered up on a plate for my dark godly powers? Cause I don't. So they can work out loving thy fucking neighbor." She shrugged. "Besides, idiots keep trying to stab me everytime I go to a new place here and I've just been freezing them solid. Nobody's going to question that."
He groaned, his hand slapping over his eyes. "This is going to b-blow up in our f-faces."
"Probably, everything we do blows up in our faces." Daisy patted him on the shoulder, it didn't help. "But nice castle with fireplaces. Chin up, we're not in the frozen woods with the ice zombies. Could be worse."
Fitz really wanted to bang his head against the wall they were painting. It'd make him feel better. He had a sudden bolt of inspiration. "You n-need titles. Qu-quake."
"Fuck."
Fitz snorted into his mug of ale at Daisy's horrified expression. "T-technically you're a princess."
"Jaiying was an elder not a queen." Daisy stared at him, clearly ready to crawl out of her own skin at the concept of being a princess.
He shrugged. "So D-daughter of the F-f-first Elder of Af-Afterlife?"
"Horrifying, but probably correct. I'll add it." She scribbled the title to the list. "I can never use like...any of these. But they are better than Destroyer of Worlds so maybe not."
Fitz's lips twitched, she looked a bit like Skye had in the bus, curled slightly, hair falling around her shoulders in the dim lighting. It was...nostalgic really. "Don't f-forget Skye. Or wh-whatever your hacker handle is."
"I still think referring to myself as a Daughter of Blood is the alcohol talking." Daisy pouted. "I mean daughter of a psychotic serial killer father doesn't sound great but really? We're redoing this when you're sober. Why can't you have dumb titles?"
He snorted outright at that. "Uh I'm n-not the god." It was warm sitting like this. Felt a bit like old times really.
/
Wyman watched from his window as a large party left out the front gates of Winterfell. The whole castle was abuzz with activity. It was frankly impressive how quickly Lady Stark had taken a bunch of untrained boys and small folk and turned them into a working force. He lifted a sealed letter and placed it in his knight's hand. "Sir Flint, take this and ride to your father and give it to him. You are to stop at every inn, tavern, and keep between here and there and spread the word, Lady Stark has ended the Boltons and a Stark once more rules in Winterfell."
"That will slow my journey?" Sir Flint replied cautiously.
He set a bag of silver stags on the table in front of the man. "I'm aware."
"I'll leave immediately." He paused slightly. "Do I say anything about the god?"
Wyman hummed. "No, just that the old gods are waking and there's rumors of the longest winter in living memory on our doorstep."
The knight grabbed the bag of coins. "I'll see it done."
"Good, send in Sir Locke after you. I have a similar mission for him." Wyman was pleased as he watched the knight leave. He would ensure the North knew they had a Stark again. Lady Stark would need it, and he would give all the aid he could to her. The people would follow a Stark who united the North, girl or not. He'd see to it. She already was proving far more practical than her glorious but dead brother had been.
Wyman let himself settle in the chair in the room he'd been given. He clasped his hands as his fifth knight of the morning he needed to speak to come into his rooms. "Ah, Sir Locke, please take a seat."
"You have orders for me?" The man asked, his voice gruff and to the point.
He gestured to the seat before him. "We have work to do."
/
Sansa carefully stitched the cloak she was preparing for her brother. She didn't cease her efforts as Brienne stepped into the room. "Yes?"
"Maester Wolkan and the blacksmith apprentice you wished to talk to are here my Lady." Brienne's dependable and calm presence was a balm.
Sansa looked up. "Send them in." She set the sewing aside, straightening her skirts. As Brienne opened the door for Wolkan and the boy she was as proper as she'd ever been to face the court in King's Landing.
"Lady Stark." Wolkan shuffled slightly as he entered. He paused to grab the boy's shoulder and haul him further into the room. "Come on boy."
She noted the boy. He had the shoulders and build of a smith, and the looks of house Moss. It made it rather humorous how he seemed to be desperately avoiding looking at her.
"My apologies, Lady Stark." Wolkan began. "But thank you for listening to my suggestion on the matter of Fitz. The knowledge the Smith must have given him is incalculable."
Sansa held up a hand, his eager words falling away. "It was a valuable suggestion." And would have to be framed exactly right if they meant to survive if these actions were discovered by the god who valued the man. She looked at the boy. "What is your name?"
"Crann Snow m'lady." He turned his hat in his hands.
She softened her features, that would explain his discomfort in her presence. Especially as he clearly was not a bastard raised in his father's house. "You are a blacksmith Snow?"
He nodded. "Aye, senior apprentice at the Dreadfort."
"And you can read and do figures?" She continued, though she knew the answer to all these would be yes. Wolkan wouldn't have brought the boy if they weren't.
Snow gave another jerky nod. "Aye...master Ham wanted all us boys to be able to do the books and take orders when we were good enough for our own forges."
"Do you have a specialty in the forge?" Sansa considered him, the boy was too afraid of being in the presence of a great lady for her to get a good read on him. But in the short term he could work, even if he turned out to not be ideal.
His eyes flickered up, real feeling in his words this time. A thrum of pride, maybe even passion. "Silver work, m'Lady."
"The lad's got a good head on his shoulders." Wolkan spoke up. "I had him read from the Seven Pointed Star for me, and his maths are as good as any merchants."
She let her mouth pull into a slight tilt of approval at that. "Very well. Crann Snow, has Maester Wolkan explained why you've been brought here?"
"No m'Lady." He was looking at her now, his eyes carefully not meeting her's, but certainly on her face and not the ground.
Sansa could work with that. "Her Holiness came with a companion, his name is Fitz. So long as they remain in these halls they are my guests. But her companion, Fitz, is Smith touched."
"He's mad as a bag of cats." Wolkan sighed. "But brilliant." Man sounded positively wistful.
Sansa raised a brow and looked at the Maester till he realized his error in speaking over her. Once he bowed his head, shuffling a step backwards, she continued. "He strives to create a door between our world and the world of the gods, I believe. He requires assistance. Assistance I would like you to provide." And to take detailed notes on the workings of the man in order to preserve any advantage the man's mind might bring. Of course it couldn't be phrased like that. "A second pair of hands for his work, which I understand to be delicate, to keep his notes, ensure he receives any supplies or tools he requires. You would of course make a good living should you accept the position."
Crann blinked, but then nodded. "I'd be honored to do that m'Lady."
"Good, then Bower will explain your duties to you." Sansa hoped this paid off. Yes she was installing a spy besides the god's companion. But she meant the man no harm, rather she wished to know who was in her home and if he was as brilliant as reported any knowledge gleaned from him was likely worth the risk. It was how Cersei had described it, you lived or you died, there was no middle ground. And risks like this were the only way she would live. Opportunity didn't wait.