Sansa brushed Rickon's curls away from his cheek as he slept. She couldn't bear to look away from his face, afraid he'd disappear if she did. Her throat was thick with tears. She stayed sitting on the side of the bed.
"He's half wild." Jon sat in the chair by the fire. The warmth and security of his presence, a balm to the room.
She smiled, memories of her tiny brother biting anyone who held him too long. "He always was, like Arya was." Which he was as old as Arya had been when they'd left for King's Landing. They'd all been so young.
"Aye, he always was a biter wasn't he?" Jon chuckled. "He won't be parted from the woman who's raised him. Her name's Osha."
Sansa didn't consider that an issue. "She'll be given a position in the household. I'd give her anything she wanted for keeping him alive."
"He can't read, or write." Jon looked uncomfortable. "We'll have to protect him or the Lords will eat him alive. They won't like he's Wildling raised."
Sansa's brow furrowed as she looked back to her baby brother. "He needs a regent, will need one for years to come." She bit the inside of her lip as she thought through the issues they'd face with a boy Lord. It wouldn't be easy. But between her and Jon they could do it. "We can protect him. If the three of us don't allow them to turn us against each other we can do it."
"So what, you're regent and I lead our armies for you?" He just looked tired. "Once we've retaken Moat Calin we can turn our attention to the dead."
Sansa knew he wasn't going to like what came next. "No, we can't."
"What are you talking about? That's the last hold of Frey or Bolton men in the North." Jon was wary then, a look she didn't like to see on his face.
She kept her voice soft to avoid waking Rickon. Not that she thought he would wake for anything short of yelling. The deep even breaths raising and lowering his chest reassured her he was deeply asleep. "We need the united North to stand a chance. Am I wrong?"
"The North will be united with the last of the Bolton forces gone. They'll follow House Stark, they're good and loyal men." Jon's voice was pained and so incredibly sure he spoke the truth.
Sansa refused to allow her brother's idiotic idealism get them killed. "We cannot afford to have our own men turn on us. If we ignore treachery and forgive wrongs done to us we'll look weak. The North won't follow a weak leader."
"So what, you want to attack the Karstarks, Ryswells, and Dustins? Add to the death. We can't fight three of our own Houses and the dead and the South."
"No we can't." She straightened her skirts. "I'm not a soldier but if our home is not in order we'll face enemies without as well as within."
Jon hands fisted over his knees. "We'll earn their loyalty with mercy."
"Our ancestors didn't win the North with mercy. The Ironthrone wasn't forged with mercy, father didn't win the rebellion with mercy. Did your mercy earn your brothers' loyalty Jon? Because they stabbed you."
He breathed out slowly. "What are you planning?"
"We offer terms to House Dustin and House Ryswell that will strengthen our position and ensure in the coming war they have no choice but to fight the dead." Sansa knew the next part would be what Jon would oppose the most. But it was the most needed. "And House Karstark cannot be allowed to continue. They're the greatest threat to our position, they abandoned Robb, those who stayed fought side by side with the Boltons."
Jon stared at her, his face solemn. "You mean to make an entire house extinct."
"I've already spoken to the Umbers. They've agreed to send their forces to join a group of men led by you to take the Karhold. Lord Mandery and the Flints have agreed to ensure our army remains large enough to handle the Dustins and Ryswells." Sansa's voice remained matter of fact. She needed Jon to lead their army after all. It wasn't something she could lie or hide from him.
He shook his head. "Does my opinion even matter?"
"Yes, but I'll do it myself if I have to."
/
Jon's fist slammed into the stone wall as he breathed heavily as the door to the cellar closed behind him. It'd been the only place he'd be able to avoid others. And he just...what was he supposed to do? He couldn't leave his last living sister and brother. But what Sansa was planning was...it would just bring more pointless death. He nearly jumped out of his skin at the sound of a throat clearing.
"So...hi?" A very bemused sounding Daisy greeted.
He stared at where the god was perched in one corner with a lantern and a book. "What are you doing in here?"
"I mean you're here too." She pointed out, eyes twinkling in the low light. "But I don't know if you've noticed but everyone thinks I'm a god. It's nice to get away. You?"
He splayed his hand across his face, closing his eyes and just groaned. "Do you know what my sister plans?"
"Uh probably?" Daisy set her book aside.
Jon walked over and dropped onto some grain sacks near her. "Destroying House Karstark and marching on House Ryswell and Dustin."
"Ah, yeah I knew about that. It was pretty obvious she intended to from like...before you left? This is news to you?" She looked genuinely confused.
He scoffed. "I really do know nothing."
"You clearly know how to keep your hair super clean and pretty. Just saying." She held up her hands in mock surrender at his glare.
Jon couldn't help it then, he huffed. "Yes well, thanks?"
"You're welcome." Daisy shifted so her legs were folded under her. "Wanna like talk about it?"
He stared at her and well...what did it matter to a god? And wasn't prayer talking to gods? If there was an appropriate person to ask advice from, it was this god. "None of this matters except for the dead. It's the only battle that matters. All the rest...we don't have time or the resources to lose."
"Ah, yeah I've been there." She leaned back against the wall. "You want to do the right thing, the good thing."
Jon was relieved she understood what he meant. "It's the only way forward. Once they know the threat is the dead it won't matter if they like us or not, they'll fight."
"People aren't organizations." Daisy hummed, her fingers playing at the hem of one of her sleeves. "People can be good, and do the right thing, the smart thing. Organizations like your Houses...eh?" Her voice pitched up and she wiggled a hand.
It was….he didn't understand almost any of what she'd just said. Which she spoke so oddly. Her meaning was...mostly understandable? He frowned. "You believe Sansa is right, the Lords won't come when called, even for the Long Night."
"You people prize your stubborn pride. And your sister is showing mercy." Daisy unfolded herself, feet hitting the ground. She held out her hand to him. "Come on."
He hesitated, but reached out and took her hand. Jon barely kept from reacting at how easily she hauled him to his feet. "Strong grip."
"Yeah I'm still getting used to that." Daisy shrugged. "Come on."
Jon quietly followed behind her as she led him through the halls. He recognized they were moving towards the Maester's chambers. He frowned, wondering at what she wanted to show him. But he held his tongue. As they reached the several rooms set aside for the seriously ill he realized there was a guard standing before one of the doors.
The guard straightened at the sight of them. "Your Holiness, Lord Stark!"
Jon opened his mouth to correct the man, he was a Snow not a Stark. He wheezed as the god's elbow slammed into his gut.
She smiled pleasantly. "Hogg, why don't you go find some more bruise cream for the men. I'll remain till you get back."
"Oh course Holiness." He bowed before scurrying off.
Jon raised a brow, that was concerning the men answered to this god so automatically. He'd have to look into that. For now though, he curiously followed the god into the room.
It was a small room, though cozy, a fire in the hearth and a large rug on the floor. It was furnished simply but nothing was in ill repair. In the middle of the room was a cradle. Daisy easily walked to the cradle and lifted the swaddled babe. She poked its nose with a gentle flick, before turning towards him as she cradled the babe.
She looked at him as she held the rosy cheeked child. "This is Torrhen Bolton."
Jon's breath froze in his throat, he knew exactly who this child was then and he...he couldn't hate the babe. He doubted he was capable of that. It was a healthy looking babe though, it's clear blue eyes blinking at him. "I see."
"Walda was escorted to White Harbor and from there will be taken to the silent sisters. Of course she was given two weeks to recover some before she was removed." Daisy shifted the babe so that it was against her chest and began to bounce slightly as she rubbed its back. "I believe your sister intends for the Mormonts to take this little guy once he's big enough to travel."
Jon stepped closer. He carefully held out a hand, touching a single finger to the babe's cheek. He understood why he'd been shown this mercy then. "Thank you."
"Anytime." Daisy hummed as she carefully made an odd rocking movement to lull the babe back to sleep. "And as someone who nearly got two of my best friends killed because I couldn't kill a traitor, once a traitor willing to kill friends pretty much dependably traitor for life."
"The dead are coming. How can that not be enough for us to put aside our grievances with each other? None of it matters. Just the living and the dead." Jon's hands tightened as he stared at the ground.
Daisy gave his statement real thought before answering. "People aren't logical, not really. When your sister thought I was going to kill her she stabbed Ramsy thirty seven times. You've died and still are going to fight anyways. Logic isn't...it's not why we do things. Not really. I wanted to 'save the world', but I ended up just trying to save the people I loved."
"If you're right then there is no hope." Jon stared into the fire, the light flickering as it warmed the room in a way he never felt in his bones any longer.
She huffed. "I'm saying you should listen to your sister. She's trying to help you save the world, just with a lot less faith in the goodness of mankind." Daisy caught his eye as he looked up. "She's named you Jon Stark, you know?"
"What? But…" Jon trailed off as he swallowed down the jolt of emotion. His sister didn't have the authority to legitimize him. But if she'd been naming him a Stark before Rickon's return...it meant she'd risked her right to Winterfell, for him. Because she cared. Jon hesitated to leave. "If I may, I believe I need to speak with my sister."
"Go, I've got baby B." Her lips twitched. "Babies are easy. 'Sides, I'm good with them."
His face was soft as he looked at them. "Thank you."
"Anytime." She raised a hand, wiggling her fingers. "Now shoo."
Jon paused in front of Sansa's room. He sighed, and then raised his hand and knocked softly on the door. He opened the door and let himself in, he knew Sansa would still be awake. His mouth tightened slightly as he saw her bent over missives at their father's desk. Rickon still sleeping in her bed. She also very pointedly wasn't looking up.
He closed the door behind him. Walking towards her desk he took the seat in front of it. "Alright, explain it to me. I'll listen properly this time."
"Why should I believe you?" Sansa looked up from her writing at him.
Jon sighed. "Because I can be an idiot. But you're my sister, and I know you wouldn't want to play politics if it wasn't important."
Sansa set her quill down. "We can't rule like father or Robb did. The world's changed and they couldn't survive it. Our grandfather, uncle and aunt couldn't survive it."
"You mean to take us back to how the Starks of old ruled." Jon leaned back in his seat. They were of one of the oldest bloodlines in all of Westeros. He wasn't a fool, he'd heard the lessons of Brandon the Builder, The Night's King, Brandon the Breaker, King Theon Stark, the men who'd crushed the other Kings of the North through entire houses wiped off the map. There was a reason they'd been the Kings of Winter and it hadn't been their honor, or their mercy. "Sansa…" He felt heavy as he accepted she was likely right.
She raised a brow. "It was how our house brought our people through the first Long Night."
"Sansa...the men all call me Stark." It hadn't really struck him till Daisy had informed him, but it was true. It wasn't just a few small folk mistaking things they knew little about.
"You are a Stark, the oldest living son of Eddard Stark." Her chin tipped up ever so slightly as if daring him to argue with her.
He couldn't...it meant everything. "You don't have the power to legitimize me."
"Who will stop me?" Sansa's brow rose ever so slightly. "I say you're a Stark and we have a god around somewhere who will sign a document legitimizing you if we ask." She paused slightly. "We should ensure we do that. Not even the King can contradict a god."
Perhaps if he hadn't died, hollowing him out. Or perhaps if he hadn't already spent his tears at the sight of Rickon and his sister safe in his arms in Winterfell, he'd have cried. It'd been his dream since he was a boy to bear the name of Stark. But it wasn't that that made his heart feel like it'd swollen in his chest. It was that it meant Sansa trusted him enough for this. Perhaps not as they should trust each other, but in her own way. "Alright. What do we need to do?"
/
Rickon's eyes flicked up the walkway above the yard to where his sister stood where once he thought his father and mother had stood. His eyes returned to where Jon was standing. He bounced on his toes, raising his sword. His blood was up at the chance to fight his brother. His lips pulled back, baring his teeth. And then he lunged forward.
Jon blocked and then knocked him back. "You don't have the strength to overpower me yet."
Rickon grinned and bounced forward, swinging his sword upwards. As Jon's sword struck his, he grabbed Jon's sword hand. He lunged over the swords, teeth bared for his brother.
Jon's hand grabbed him by the front of his clothes and tossed him back. "Defend, don't just attack." He approached then swung his sword in easy strikes.
Stumbling, arms shaking from the force of it, Rickon skidded around the ground. Ducking and jumping he tried to circle his brother for a chance to attack at his back. Sweating, he slid under Jon's strike, then leaping for him teeth bared, in an attempt to stab him with a dulled dagger. He'd had to drop his sword for the chance.
Jon grabbed his dagger holding hand. Bringing his sword to Rickon's throat. "Yield."
"I yield." Rickon slumped.
Jon chuckled, letting him go and ruffled Rickon's hair. "Better."
Rickon's chest puffed up as he basked under his brother's approval. He grinned at his older brother, he'd proved he was useful. "Can we go again?"
"In a bit, watch the others first. You'll learn watching them." Jon gently pushed him to a sawhorse where some of the men were watching. He turned to Mors Umber. "What about you my Lord?"
Mors grabbed an axe, striding towards Jon. "Aye, I'll try fighting you."
Rickon hopped up on the sawhorse. He frowned, nose twitching as something he couldn't parse out drifted past his nose. His eyes went up to where Sansa was still watching from the walkway above them. He smiled, and let himself fade into Shaggydog. It was safe to investigate the strange smell.
His paws padded across the ground as he loped through the field outside the walls of Winterfell. It was both his home and not his home. Claws digging into the earth, he pressed his nose near the earth as he made his way through the gates, ignoring the guards. As his nose snuffled at the inside of the yard he could smell it better. It was some creature he'd never smelt before. It was similar enough to human that when he was just Rickon he might not have noticed it properly.
But as Rickon who was also Shaggydog? As this him he could smell the differences. There was something fundamentally different about the scent from human scent. The familiar scent of Osha distracted him. He trotted towards his female pack member. Bumping his head against her hand.
"What are you doing in there Little Wolf?" Osha looked at him knowingly as she scratched behind one ear.
His tongue lulled as he enjoyed the quick scratch. He then broke away, back after the strange smell. It had a burn to it...like the scent from just before lightning struck mixed with coal. So faint though, nearly human. Maybe someone had rolled in coal a few days ago? Best check though, if it was a threat he wouldn't have it in their home. His body was safe, this strange smell needed locating.
As he padded around men, sniffing the air he realized he was closing in on where his body was. Coming to the edge of the fighting ring he saw Jon and Mors battling in the yard. Jon winning with amazing skill at the sword. It was incredible to see. But a flash of something he didn't recognize caught his eye besides his body.
With a gasp his body that was just Rickon's head snapped to the side. Where a person was leaning against the sawhorse he was seated on. His eyes widened as he looked at her. "You're not human."
She laughed, eyes bright and amused. "No I'm not." The not human held out her hand. "My name's Daisy."
"Rickon." He hesitantly took her hand squeezed, a furrow in his brow. Was this how Southerners greeted each other? "What are you?"
Daisy's laughter continued as she warmly squeezed his hand. Then instead of releasing his hand, she held his and suddenly from his hand traveling all the way to the tips of his toes to the top of his head was buzzing with...something.
"Wha…" His mouth opened in confusion.
She released his hand, the buzzing vanishing as it'd come. "You should be watching your brother, not me."
His cheeks burned as his head snapped back to the fight. Rickon couldn't help it, his human mouth smiling at the sight of Jon knocking Mors on his arse. He remembered watching a younger Jon fighting Robb in the yard. In his home, by his siblings' it felt like pack.
"Your brother is an amazing swordsman." Daisy remarked casually
Rickon frowned as he was reminded of the not human. He looked at her, lips pulling back, low growl in the back of his throat. "I won't let you hurt my family."
"Then it's a good thing I consider your sister a friend. And probably your brother as well given more time around his pouting." Daisy nudged his attention back to where Mors and Jon were going again. "They're good people."
Rickon, focused on the fight. His brother was a wolf, watching, waiting and then striking. "You better be telling the truth."
"You can ask your brother when he's done kicking their butts. Look at how he's controlling the fight." She narrated. "He draws him in, and then attacks."
Rickon watched as Jon did just that, deflecting an axe blow only to step forward punching Mors in the face. "How do I beat him then?"
"You don't." Daisy chuckled. "Not yet, you don't commit to an attack unless you know it'll hit."
He nodded, he could do that. "What else?"
"You're smaller than him. You won't beat him with a sword. He's got you on reach." She flipped a knife over in her fingers before passing it hilt forward over. "Try to get close. Swords are harder to use up close."
Rickon looked at her and then nodded. "Thanks." Hopping off the sawhorse he waited for Mors to hit the ground again. He darted forward. "Can I try again now?"
Mors laughed loudly, the sound booming outwards. "Boy's got the wolf's blood!"
"Aye, he does." Jon chuckled looking at him with so much affection it filled Rickon full to bursting. "Alright, let's see if you learned anything from Mors here. But then we're going in to eat or our sister will have my head for starving you."
Rickon laughed brightly as he hung onto his brother's back. "I'll beat you."
"I'm sure you will." Jon huffed fondly. "You need some practice first."
He buried his nose into the fur rough of Jon's cloak, burying his smile in the tickling of it against his skin. He was home.