Greatjon didn't let the looks of the men bother him as he walked out into the courtyard where the god was working with the men. He had no interest in hiding, waiting to see if this god had been sincere in her decision not to kill him. Best get it over with one way or another. He stopped on the edge of the training men.
The god noticed him and raised a brow. She didn't attack him, or appear particularly displeased.
He strode over. "So what do I call ya since apparently I got that bit wrong?"
"Daisy would work." She looked deeply unimpressed by him, her arms folded over her chest.
He gave a nod. "Weird name for a god."
"I wasn't aware babies picked their own names." Daisy replied dryly.
Greatjon laughed at that. "Aye, there is that." Now that he was properly looking at the god he noted bits he'd missed initially. Her eyes, scar across one cheek, and the way she held herself all screamed combat. It'd been stupid to miss that. Everything about her said she knew exactly how dangerous she was. A rare thing for a woman who wasn't a Mormont. "Fight me."
"Wait, what?" Daisy looked at him in visible confusion. "Your arm is broken. I broke it."
He unclasped his cloak and chucked it over a wooden sawhorse. "I've got two arms and can wield a sword better than any of these boys even with only one of those arms. Surely you want more of a challenge than this lot can give you."
She stared at him before shrugging. "Fine, it's on your head if you break anything." She stepped to the weapons rack, easily showing him her back as she grabbed the shortest practice sword. The damn thing was one of the practice blades given to children, in the hands of an adult, even a woman of this Daisy's stature; it was more of a long knife.
He grabbed a proper sword. "You sure ya want that butter knife?"
"I'm sure." And she turned to face him, not a bit of doubt.
And well, Umber felt his blood burn hot at the prospect of a fight. He didn't care for the alarm in the men's faces as this fight drew a crowd. He just saw the woman was ready and swung his sword.
She caught the strike with her blade, and then she moved.
Umber really didn't understand exactly what had happened. But she'd used her block to slide in close, and then the sky was above him and his back was reminding him he was still very sore from getting chucked into a wall. He wheezed.
Daisy was looking down at him with an amused expression. "Doing ok down there?"
"Well damn." He heaved himself up from the ground. Picking up his sword his eyes narrowed. So she was a wrestler. Letting her close was stupid then. He kept his pommel more centered as he swung this time. She caught his strikes, deflecting primarily with a strength that made his arm ache.
Greatjon Umber knew he must look half feral as he tried as hard as he could to whack a god with a sword. She suddenly dropped, sweeping his legs out from under him. He hit the ground again, her sword to his throat. He grinned with his teeth. "I yield."
"You're better with a sword than I am." She easily rose to her feet and offered him a hand.
Umber chuckled as he took the hand, allowing her to heft him to his feet. A feat a woman of her size should not have been capable of. "You're as strong as the bloody Mountain ya know."
"I'm still adjusting to that." She rolled her arms as she returned to her starting pose.
He snorted, a swordswoman she might not be, but she had the reflexes, strength and training in hand to hand to compensate. "I'll help your boys with their swords. And you if ya want. You keep whacking at me like you're holding a bloody club."
"You're welcome to it. Gotta say the sword thing is new to me." She spun the blade in her hand easily. Sword she might not know, but knives on the other hand, he'd eat his own arm if she wasn't well trained with knife work.
Umber was sweating, sore and pleased as he dunked his head into a barrel of water. With a grunt he lifted his now streaming face from the water. He shook his head, water flying. Laughing he grabbed his cloak from where he'd laid it. "So how do ya plan to beat these boys into shape?"
"I was trained as an assassin. And we didn't really use swords or spears or well any of your weapons aside from knives." Daisy shrugged as she pulled on her white jacket covered in stitched red leaves. "But archery has promise. I may not be completely adjusted to it yet, but another month or so and I will be."
Umber couldn't help raising his eyebrows. He'd seen the god shoot an arrow and she was a damned good shot. "I'll help ya with the weapons training."
"Sounds fun." She looked at him curiously. "You're an odd man, next time you want a person to prove themselves to you may I suggest not insulting them? If you keep that up you're going to run into someone who'll actually kill you."
He slapped her on the shoulder with a laugh. "Where's the fun in that? 'Sides, best way to know a man's nature."
"Let me guess, it's the way of you Northerners?" Daisy shook her head, but didn't move away from him. Not that she had reason to. Woman could destroy him, powers or no powers.
Umber chuckled. "You understand then."
"I'm going to have to punch a lot of very stubborn idiots in the face." She rolled her eyes.
He couldn't help it, laughing uproariously. "Spoken like a person who's punched a lot of men in the face."
"Your brand of stupidity isn't unique." Daisy replied.
Umber liked this god. It helped that according to the boys she didn't care much for any of the southern gods' noscense. Also the fact he hadn't been smited. That one helped a rather lot.
/
Sansa stared at Bower in disbelief. "I'm sorry, Lord Umber is what?"
"Attempting to outdrink her Holiness, M'Lady." The Master of Arms replied. He looked good really, the relief at a proper senchal taking over the vast majority of the duties he'd been struggling under had clearly done him good. But his improved demeanor didn't make the words coming from his mouth make any more sense.
She registered Lord Manderly's focus, as well as her new senchal Flint's, she ignored it however as she processed the stupidity being reported to her. "Explain."
"Well see that's the thing…" Bower turned his hat in his hands before him. "This morning in the yard Lord Umber approached her Holiness. He challenged her to a spar, which she accepted after some words. It was...impressive. They fought several rounds, he's offered to teach her and her men weapons seeing as her Holiness is unaccustomed to mortal weapons. He was..impressed by her ability to whack him right round with almost no practical knowledge of the sword she was using. He proceeded to challenge her to see if she could drink as much as she could lift? And somehow that worked?"
Sansa had no words for that. But she had to have them. "Where are they now?"
"Wintertown, M'Lady." Bower's cheeks heated slightly. "The tavern, though once the panic inspired by her Holiness showing up there, it's been...very jovial."
Sansa closed her eyes. She couldn't risk a drunk god and Lord Umber in a tavern that was also a brothel. Especially since she'd be footing the bill for any damages. However, sending servants out to fetch a god was….. Standing, she remained as calm as possible. "Fetch Brienne and three of the household guards as well six horses. I'll meet them at the gates." She looked towards Lord Maderly. "My apologies, we can continue the trade proposal after super My Lord."
"Of course." Manderly chuckled. "Umber always was fond of his drink."
She felt tight as she gave the man a slight nod. "Your understanding is appreciated." Sansa left the room. If she had a possibly drunk god she doubted that she could wrangle the woman on her own. Or even know if she needed to intervene. There was also the chance the woman was perfectly sober, she had said drink didn't affect her. That wasn't something she was willing to count on however.
So she walked the walls of her home and into the workshop she'd set aside for her guest. Sansa noted out of the corner of her eye Crann Snow bowing as he noticed her. She focused on Fitz however. "I hope I'm not interrupting anything?"
"Uh...Lady Stark right?" The man looked up from the table where he was twisting wires. "Did you n-n-need something?"
She was unsure of what the various metal...shapes he'd made were. But now wasn't the time for those questions. "Her Holiness has gone into the local town and is engaging in a drinking contest. Should I be concerned?"
"Wh-what? Daisy doesn't d-drink really." He actually was paying her attention now, though his face was confused.
Sansa responded carefully. "I had been led to believe she was not affected by drink?"
"Huh?" Fitz's eyes suddenly widened in understanding. "Oh r-right, she probably can't be anymore. That's w-weird. She's always been careful about that, losing c-control of her body means losing control of her powers and n-nobody wants earthquakes cause she tripped or s-something."
Sansa felt a pang of fear at that. "You're sure she cannot become drunk? She's engaged in a drinking contest."
"I mean…" Fitz frowned, his eyes seeming to glaze over, thoughts moving faster than he could speak. "If she dr-drank enough….it's p-probably possible. I doubt she's aware it's a p-possibility though."
Sansa swallowed, right well that was terrible news. "What type of drunk is she?"
"Oh n-nothing bad." Fitz stood up, wiping his greasy hands on a rag as he approached her. "Bit g-giggly really." He glanced at the door and then her. "We're going to go p-pick her up before she can do something stupid like actually get dr-drunk though correct?"
Sansa weighed what she knew. This man had harmed Daisy, Daisy certainly never truly lowered her guard around him. However she also clearly loved and cared for the man. "I've had horses saddled."
Fitz flinched. "Horses...bloody p-posh people."
Sansa raised a brow, that had made no sense and yet she had a feeling she understood completely. Ten minutes later as she watched Fitz scrambling into the saddle like it was a pile of rocks and not a horse she knew she'd been right.
Sansa was looked on curiously as she made her way into the tavern attached to the town brothel. It was a location she'd never been to before, though she'd always been aware of it. Theon had certainly spoken of it often, and she'd been married to Tyrion. That wasn't even bringing up Petyr. Which is to say she wasn't shocked or uncomfortable as she entered the warm building.
It was in good repair, of course the various invaders had used the brothel and not burned it. She was vaguely amused by the shock as she was recognized, also relieved beyond measure at a still upright god. Lord Umber was leaning heavily on a man next to him and was visibly drunk. As were a few of the men. Daisy however simply looked like she found the whole thing hilarious.
Sansa swept past the stuttering serving woman, who was assuradly also a whore, for the table her men at arms, Umber and Daisy had claimed. "Your Holiness."
"Lady Stark." Daisy waved to the open chairs. "Join us."
Sansa sighed, that was a terrible idea. But it'd be rude to not accept. Not to mention if she and Wyman wrote another draft of a possible agreement with the Ironbank only to scrap it after some thought she was going to scream. "I wasn't aware you knew where this establishment was?"
"Greatjon here was very knowledgeable, and knowing the local bar or tavern or whatever's location is the fastest way to gather intelligence. Of course I knew where it was."
Fitz dropped next to Daisy. "H-how much have you had?"
"26 pints and I actually feel it a bit." Daisy reached out fondly mussing his hair. "Nothing more."
He frowned, squinting at her face before leaning back. "Well that's alright th-then."
"I'm not stupid Fitz." She rolled her eyes and sat her own mug of ale in front of him. "You clearly need this more than me."
Fitz grumbled unhappily but accepted the drink.
Umber let out a belch before thumping his chest. "I loved a woman once."
Sansa barely kept from laughing as she and Daisy caught eyes. She kept the laughter out of her voice as she replied to her very drunk Lord. "Your wife?"
"Naw." He waved absently with a sort of wavering sweeping motion. "Not her, a camp follower in the Rebellion. Those were good days, we were all young and strong."
Daisy's lips twitch. "What sort of girl was she?"
"She...helped the injured. A healer." His gaze was wistful and unfocused. Frankly his words were shockingly coherent really. "She loved me. Thought I'd bring her home."
Sansa accepted this was how she'd be spending her afternoon as a mug of ale was set in front of her. "What happened to her?"
"A fever went around the camp after the Trident. One day she was plump and happy, rosy cheeks and all. Next she was gone." He hiccuped.
Daisy patted the Lord's shoulder. "I'm sorry."
His eyes narrowed as he tried to focus on her. "It happens. This one," he jerked his thumb towards Fitz. "Said your lover died?"
Sansa held her breath at that. But there wasn't anger on Daisy's face at that. She just grabbed the fresh mug in front of her.
"His name was Lincoln. He healed people too, it was important to him even when his powers were so deadly. He controlled lightning, it was beautiful." She stared into the mug. "He took my place and died. It wasn't supposed to be him."
Fitz gave her the single most awkward shoulder pat in history. "He was a g-good guy." He cleared his throat. "Uh...my...Jemma and I are cursed."
"You're not cursed." Daisy switched her mug with his now empty one. "We'll get you back to her." She brightened. "Maybe we can get you two married without having to keep a fear dimension nearly swallowing the world." She took a drink. "You know shit like that is why I think that seven hells thing here might have the right idea."
Fitz's nose scrunched. "Well we know about t-two of them. Or I kn-know of one, you two." He shook his head, eyes traveling to Sansa. "Have you ever been in l-love?"
"I thought I was once, but it was a silly dream of a stupid girl." Sansa took her own drink at that.
The man Umber was leaning on spoke up. "I loved a girl named Bess. Pretty as a picture. Won't marry me for anything either."
"Why not? Yar a strong lad." Umber leaned onto the poor man even more.
He looked longingly across the room. "I don't know."
Sansa followed his gaze and spotted a pretty girl perched on a bearded farmer's lap. She bit back a laugh at the realization. "That's unfortunate."
"Well what are you doing here man!" Umber half fell off the man. "Go woo yar girl!" He shoved the poor man off of his seat. "Well get on with ya."
Poor man blinked, ran a hand through his hair, and then swaying, marched towards his one true love. It was like watching a wheelhouse crashing into a river. She let out a huff of laughter. "What is his name?"
"Chreston." Daisy laughed into her own mug. She leaned closer to Sansa, her voice softer as Fitz and Umber began arguing about swords somehow. "It's good for them to see you outside of Winterfell."
Sansa's eyes sharpened. "Excuse me?"
"I can guess at why you came. But it's good you stayed." Her face said honesty, but faces could say a lot of things. Daisy continued. "The people here need to see that their leader is alive and young and one of them."
Sansa's face had the slightest crinkle in her brow as she thought of that. It was...a concept of leadership and power similar to Margery's. And yet...there was an idealism there that she hadn't considered anything but foolishness since those early days before. Just, before. "You believe in people. How?"
"Because they'll surprise you." Daisy tapped her mug against Sansa's. "For good or evil."
Sansa's eyes turned back to where poor Chreston was very clearly proposing marriage to the pretty whore. It did not seem to be going well based on the facial expressions. Poor Bess looked horrified and rather pitying as her customer she was sitting on the knee of looked disgruntled. "I've found plenty of the latter."
"So have I." Daisy leaned back in her seat. "The good is just usually smaller. Hundreds of puzzle pieces working together for something better. I always thought that was beautiful."
Sansa barely kept from snorting outright as Umber keeled over, half on the table. The snoring was rather assuring that he was alive and hadn't drunk himself to death. "Do you think Chreston over there has any hope?"
"Not a chance in hell." Daisy's lips twitched. "He's about to get slapped. And he definitely doesn't need another drink."
Her own mouth curled slightly. "No, I should think not."
/
Jon sped up his horse as he spotted the banners ahead. Those were Umber banners. And that was a proper band of men marching towards Winterfell.
"Snow!" Tormund cursed as he kicked his heels in to follow.
But that didn't matter, what mattered was there was no reason for Umber men to be this close to Winterfell with enough men to fight but not enough to conquer. Jon slowed his horse, and then pulled up as he reached the men. His eyes caught the great giant of a man sitting at the head of the Umber party. The man had a great white beard, one eye, and the white pelt of a bear over his shoulders. A familier man.
Jon raised his voice. "Mors Umber! What brings you to Winterfell."
"Stark!" The man barked, pulling up his own horse. "I didn't know the Starks had an army?" His lip visibly curled at the sight of Tormund.
Jon's face hardened. "Aye, the Freefolk fight for us and the living. Surely you know what's coming?"
"Others and the dead." Mors gave a nod. "I take it the Ironborn are gone?"
Jon's hands tightened their grip on the reins. "Aye."
"Well, then I reckon I've got someone you want to see then." He yelled over his shoulder. "Bring the boy!"
Jon felt his heart in his throat. He knew it was a fool's hope, but it was there. His attention snapped to where there was movement. And...it was the giant mass of fur that made him feel winded. Because that was a direwolf. Jon wasn't even aware that he was dismounting till his feet were on the ground. His mouth dry.
And there was a woman beside the wolf, her garb was familiar after so long among the Freefolk. There, between her and the wolf was a lad. Tall, shaggy brown curls with that particular auburn shade to them, long faced, bright blue eyes, wearing the stitched together pelts of small game. Just a Wildling lad, if not for how every feature was a ghost of Rob, Sansa, Arya, Bran, Father.
Jon took a hesitant step forward, and then another. His voice hoarse with the weight of it. "Rickon."
Five great strides and he had the boy in his arms, one hand clasping the back of his head, his other arm catching the boy around the back, holding him like he would turn to smoke and vanish if he let go of him. His eyes burned as he heard the small voice against his shoulder.
"Jon?"