Sansa remained silent as she watched Maester Wolkan splint and wrap Lord Umber's arm. She noted the fabric wrapped around his nose and ears for the minor frostbite. His entire back had to be a single bruise as well just based on how hard he'd hit the wall.
"He'll live." Wolkan lifted a jar of cream. "You chose a poor day to antagonize our resident god. She spent the night holding that dying boy's hand, and she wasn't pleased by his death."
Umber's voice was low. "I thought she was a witch."
"Yes you made that very clear." Sansa didn't even try to keep the bite out of her voice. The man's stupidity could have brought Winterfell down on their heads. "You will remain in your rooms, under guard, until I have ensured your presence won't get us all killed."
Greatjon Umber didn't protest, just nodded. "Did you feel it in the air?"
"The cold so intense it gave you frostbite and ensured the rest of us felt it to our bones?" Sansa stared at him in disbelief, it hadn't been subtle. She'd felt the words stolen from her by the cold, the stupidity and danger occuring in front of her.
The man shook his head. "The way the air weighed. It felt like I'd been blanketed under feet of snow."
"Ah." She'd felt a faint brush of vibrations when Daisy had used her powers before. "I recommend you remain here if you wish to avoid the guards preventing you from leaving."
Umber winced as Wolkan worked his shirt open enough for the deep purple bruising to be apparent. "I don't reckon I'll fare so well if I bother that god again."
"No, I don't imagine you would." Sansa paused before leaving the room. "Get some rest."
Umber bowed his head slightly with actual respect. "Aye M'Lady."
She nodded and then swept out of the room. As she walked she beckoned Podrick forward. "What news?"
"Fitz found her Holiness, after some time in the store room they came out. He escorted her to her quarters and left her there after some conversation. He's currently sat in a chair, guarding her rooms out in the hall and writing in his journal." Podrick shuffled slightly. "Two of the men, Joran and Hogg 'ave joined him."
Sansa thought through that as she continued to walk. It would seem allowing Fitz to follow Daisy had been the correct call. Hopefully. "Inform me if that changes."
Sansa's hands had a faint tremble to them as she sat in her solar not doing anything but sipping a goblet of wine. She hadn't realized just how comfortable she'd come to be around Daisy, the god in human form. It was ridiculous. She'd thought she'd had the god's measure, that she was likely a minor god of the sky, maybe of wind or air. A powerful being, but an understandable one.
Now...now that had proved to be untrue. And somehow she'd endeared herself to a being of that much power enough that Lord Umber's stupidity hadn't gotten him killed. Because that had been clear. Umber's insults had not resulted in the death such comments should have earned because of her. Sansa had never met a royal who would have allowed a man to survive such comments. Far milder ones might have earned a man's tongue pulled from his mouth. But Umber had gone past that. And yet he lived...because Daisy knew Sansa needed him.
She ran her fingers through Ghost's fur. Sansa wished Jon was back. Once more she was on the knife's edge. Only this time there was nothing she could do until the god in her home emerged. She was relieved to be brought out of her thoughts by the door opening. Brienne stepped in, holding the door open. "My Lady."
Sansa straightened at the look on her sworn sword's face. She rose to her feet at the sight of the god. "Your Holiness."
"Please….right." Daisy winced, but walked into the room. She kept a carefully wider than usual berth from Sansa.
It was...Sansa felt like frowning, if she wasn't better trained at controlling her expressions, than she would have. "I apologize for Lord Umber's words, they were unforgivable. If…" She halted at the raised hand from Daisy.
Daisy looked vaguely pained. "Please don't do that. You don't owe me an apology. I owe you one really." She shuffled slightly. "I shouldn't have lost my temper like that."
Sansa felt struck. "Your displeasure was justified, and your mercy appreciated." If the god meant to apologize for some reason, Sansa wasn't going to miss the opportunity to hopefully ensure Lord Umber's continued survival.
"I don't know how to make this right." Daisy stopped her movement as she reached the window, leaning against the wall beside it. Interestingly it placed Ghost between them.
Cautiously her fingers threading through Ghost's fur. "You owe me nothing. You were insulted, having put up with a great deal of derision from Lord Umber since his arrival."
"I made him scared, and in doing so I made you and everyone else scared." Daisy sighed. "It was petty and god…" She brushed her hair aside. "Those titles were miserable. I don't even know why I did that."
Sansa's heartbeat felt quickened. "Were they false?"
"No...but ridiculous? Nobody calls me any of that except for the 'Quake, The Destroyer of Worlds' part." Daisy looked...desperately uncomfortable.
Sansa stood, and poured a second cup of wine and held it out. "Well, to terrible days."
Daisy let out a laugh and accepted the cup. "I know it's cause your water isn't safe to drink. But damn you drink so much alcohol. Just so much." She shook her head before downing the thing. Stepping to the side table she refilled her cup. "Downside of being me, I can't get drunk anymore."
"My first husband would have despaired with that gift." Sansa said wryly, not that she allowed herself to become drunk, ever. She couldn't afford that weakness. Nor would she forget the danger she was in.
Daisy paused, but then continued as if she hadn't stopped to look for...something in Sansa before doing so. "Never was one of my problems. Apparently being terrible at apologies is though." She looked at her. "I know what I said will have repercussions. What can I do to help?"
"I'd prefer if the North remained undestroyed." Sansa hoped her tone came across light enough. It was hard to read this god. She held so much power, but seemed to care so little for it. Or perhaps it was merely that she was so far above it didn't matter to her?
Daisy set her cup down. "For what it's worth, I'm definitely not here to destroy this place….I'm gonna have to make sure everybody knows that or things will be...not great."
"That would be helpful." Sansa knew she wasn't alone in holding her breath to see what the god would do.
She sighed. "I'll take care of it." Daisy seemed to hesitate, before bowing her head to Sansa. And it was a bow, not a deep one, but a bow nonetheless. "I am sorry."
And Sansa had nothing to say to that. If there even was something to be said in the face of a god bowing to you with apologies that were unneeded and unrequired. But she was sure that in her own way, this god cared. About what exactly was still to be known.
/
Lord Manderly stared at the man he'd ordered brought to his room. "Rickard Flint." He eyed the man. A limp, likely the only reason a man of his years had survived the war of Five Kings. Well groomed if very northern. A fourth son of a second son set to inherit nothing. "Thank you for agreeing to speak with me before you swear your renewed loyalty to House Stark."
"Did you have something to say? I won't be your spy against House Stark." He pulled himself up as best he could despite his cane.
Manderly had picked well when he'd summoned this man to Winterfell. "I wouldn't expect you to. But as the new seneschal I wanted to ensure you were aware of a few things."
"Shouldn't Lady Stark be informing me of the household?" Rickard frowned.
Manderly nodded. "She will, but I thought it best to ensure you know a bit so you don't fuck it up. Lady Stark won't have a great deal of time for you. She's got armies to organize, miscarriages of justice to see to, winter stores to fill and trade to increase. And Lord Umber mucked up and is under guard in the Maester's wing."
"Then I'd be glad of your advice." Flint didn't need to say he'd take his own measure of his new position himself. Good head on the man.
Manderly folded his hands over his stomach. "Lady Stark hasn't had a Senchal since she took control of Winterfell. As such the man doing most of the work is a Davith Bower. You'll find many of the men like him are former men of the Boltons. Their loyalties are not entirely certain, but the last man to act against Lady Stark was frozen from the inside out by her Holiness."
Rickard's brow furrowed further. "This god...she's real?"
"Unquestionably." Wyman Manderly had set his course, he was confident it was the right one. "Leave the god to Lady Stark, she's got it well in hand. And let the direwolf do as it pleases."
The man gave a considering nod. "I'll do my best to ensure Winterfell runs as well as can be."
"Good, and if you require assistance you can come to me." Wyman held the man's eyes. If he meant to support Sansa Stark, he needed the trust of her staff to the extent they didn't work against his access to the woman.
Wyman was making his way along the wall to get a better vantage point on the work that was nearly done on the old broken tower, when he spotted the god sitting on the stone battlements speaking with Lady Stark. It would seem he wasn't alone in his choice of activity. He gave an approving nod to the giant of a woman who served Lady Stark as a sworn sword. But made his way to the other two women. Bowing his head, he spoke. "My Lady, your Holiness."
"Sup!" Daisy, a baffling ill suited name for a Destroyer of Worlds and likely aspect of death, raised a hand in greeting.
Lady Stark acknowledged him lightly. "Taking a walk, Lord Manderly?"
"Thought some air would do me good." He took in the tower, it was certainly in good shape. "What are you planning on doing with the tower?"
Lady Stark's eyes tracked the workers completing the last of the work. "The lower levels contain the arms and metal recovered from the Dreadfort. I've had the upper levels converted into barracks for the men."
"Surely Winterfell has more than enough room for the men?" Wyman frowned, even a large army would fit inside the ancient seat of House Stark.
The god piped up then. "It's to avoid the men from becoming my men." Her mouth pinched to the side slightly. "The ones who choose to follow me can do so, but best to keep them seperate some. And I get to make the training as miserable as I want to ensure most of the men don't choose to follow me."
"I'm sure that's the only reason you make them run for hours." Lady Stark replied dryly.
The god laughed. "Well, if I had to suffer through Ops training they can suffer through it. Sharing is caring and all that." She grinned.
Wyman was baffled, it didn't help the men who'd been following the god ran past the outerwall. They were a clump of sweating and huffing men. "Do you not wish for worship, your Holiness?"
"God no." She blew out a breath, leaning back in clear distaste. "It's supes weird people have like...shrines of me. And I can't hear prayer so it's not like worshiping me would do anything? It'd be useless."
Lady Sansa spoke. "Contained and focused to prevent uncontrollable religious issues. We do not need our own version of the Faith Militant."
"That." The god twisted the end of her braid between her fingers. "Religious cults are crazy pants. And since I fucked up and everyone isn't assuming I'm some god of children or something it's going to be a bigger problem than I was hoping."
Wyman could...sort of understand the meaning of the god's words but they were baffling. He'd never heard 'crazy pants'? What did that mean? Shockingly Lady Stark didn't seem to be confused in the least. She was utterly unruffled.
"And yet you don't intend to stop playing with the children and watching babes?" Lady Stark raised a single eyebrow as she glanced at the god.
And the god just smiled, and it was kind in a way he wouldn't have expected of a god of destruction and ruin. "No I don't. But don't pretend you haven't already factored that into your plans for the future."
"I wouldn't dream of it." Lady Stark looked back to the tower. "The smith said he'd mount a plaque over the entrance of the tower with your symbol."
The god hummed. "Yeah, I had him make matching brooches. Best to know which of the men are loyal to you and which are less so. Side note, you guys really care about your brooches. Like I don't think I'd seen one on someone under the age of seventy before I got here." Her head tilted. "I think it's the lack of capes."
Wyman felt an idea begin to form in his mind as he listened to the god and Lady Stark conversing as if they were equals. Partners even. It was...an unlikely idea. But one that if true would...perhaps explain some of the god's more bizarre choices. He found himself focusing on how the god very clearly was open, and leaning slightly towards Lady Stark, even if they were both looking out in the same direction. The good humor...It was impossible...and yet…
He was pulled sharply back into the conversation as Lady Stark spoke carefully on a topic he wouldn't have expected to be brought up so soon after recent events.
"Lord Umber, do you have any expectations of the man?" Lady Sansa could have been asking about plans for the weather save for a certain thread of care.
The god groaned. "Is he alright?"
"He's recovering adequately." Lady Stark seemed to understand a further question. "He has a cleanly broken arm, significant bruising along his back and some minor frostbite. Maester Wolkan expects him to be recovered in a moon and a half's turn."
"Good." The god sighed, running a hand through her hair. "Do I have to have expectations for the man other than that he'll likely manage to say stupid things again whether intentionally or unintentionally? Or should I apologize." The being grumbled the last bit, clearly, distinctly unhappy at the thought of doing so. But shockingly apparently waiting for Lady Stark's opinion on her course of action. It was...mystifying to witness.
Lady Stark's only sign of surprise was to blink once. "He insulted nearly every facet of your being, you don't owe him an apology. Certainly not on my account."
"Well that's certainly something. Apologies to keep the peace are terrible." She paused. "But really do I have to do anything about him? Like I made my point already didn't I?"
Lady Stark stared at the god for a long beat. "You are unopposed to him returning to Winterfell at large? No punishment or censure?"
"No, he can do what he wants. I won't promise not to break a finger or two if he tries to grab me or berate me again. But he's your Lord." And the confusing thing was the god clearly didn't seem to care about the fate of Lord Umber. Oh it was clear she didn't like the man, but other than dislike it seemed the god was satisfied.
Wyman finally spoke up again. "That is most gracious of you. If he'd said any of that rubbish to my granddaughters I'd have demanded satisfaction for it." He noted the slightly curious look on the god's face. "A duel." He gave a rueful look at his stomach. "One my son would need fight, but a fight nonetheless."
"Ah." There was a sudden near darkness in the god's voice.
He understood in that one sound quite a lot. "I apologize if I've brought up memories best left forgot."
Lady Stark had the slightest flicker of curiosity as she clearly picked up the implications a few seconds slower than him on the matter. Not that he'd have expected the lady to recognize signs of combat as quickly as a veteran like himself. Though she had. But the god clearly noticed the curiosity.
"I've fought many battles. I've yet to lose in the end." Her face was...utterly sure. Not a flicker of even the possibility that she would lose someday. Merely that the battles would continue, endlessly ahead of her.
Wyman gave a nod. "Spoken as a true warrior." He considered the god. His thoughts were interrupted by the wheezing men running past their position down below once more. "If I may, what is the purpose of that?"
"Stamina, muscle growth, and dissuading any idiots from deciding to follow along in their choice to follow me instead of Lady Stark." The god eyed the men. "Though they've had enough for today." She gave Lady Stark the faintest of bows, and then hopped off the battlements dropping to the ground by the men.
Wyman swallowed at that. His faint tickle of an idea was becoming more likely with every passing moment and it...it was certainly something. "Do you still wish to discuss your demands of House Dustin in light of Lord Umber's misstep?"
"No. If Lord Umber's uncle arrives with my brother there will be much to speak of. If not, other arrangements will need to be made." She turned her full attention to him. "About my new senchal, you have my thanks for seeing to my acquiring his services."
Wyman bowed his head. "It was nothing, my Lady. Only what is due as your loyal bannerman."
/
Jon ducked into the small command tent the men had put up. The cold rain had forced them to seek shelter. It was more sleet than rain really. By morning it would likely be snow. He shook his hair free of the wet as he straightened. "Lord Glover, Lawrence." He acknowledged the two men, or well man and boy who'd called him.
Lord Glover pulled himself up. "One of your parties of wildlings is late. We need to pursue them now, before they can do too much harm."
"Styrodr is a strong man and has a poor sense of time. If he's not back with his men by sunrise we'll send a scout to find them."
"We didn't free my land from Ironborn reavers just to let wildlings pillage it." Glover glared.
Jon was glad Tormund was busy trying out his new axe he'd liberated from the Ironborn. "They have not acted against you or your people since they arrived. In fact several have died to protect your lands. Until you have cause and not just suspicion there will be no acting against them. Is that understood?"
"You don't command me boy." Glover growled.
He stepped into the Lord's space. "No I don't, but Lady Stark does. Or do your oaths mean nothing to you?"
Glover ground his teeth as he considered it. "Fine, be it on your head."
"I expect nothing else." Jon stood his ground.
Glover glared and then brushed past him and out of the tent. Lawrence gave him a curious glance, but followed the man who'd raised him out of the tent. However he did give Jon a nod of respect as he went.
Jon's shoulders felt tired as he stood there. He was exhausted to the bone. His very soul was weary. A week of travel left and he'd be home. It had to be enough. Maybe he'd take that god up on a few days to just sleep.
"Well that could have gone better." Davos rolled up the map that'd been laid out. "We'd best send someone out to make sure Styrodr isn't doing anything stupid."
Jon closed his eyes. "Bjorold is a warg, he'll find the men faster than anyone else."
"Aye, I'll see to it." Davos paused. He clapped Jon on the shoulder.
And then Jon was alone. He pulled off his cloak and unbuckled his sword. A few hours rest would prepare him for holding a Wildling and Northern force of men together for another day. And another, and another. All this petty bickering when they didn't have time for it. Well, hopefully the sleep would help with his frustration as well as his exhaustion. A week till Winterfell. He longed for it.