Fitz glared at the glass beakers he was using. What would Jemma do? This was a project she'd be doing far better than him at. Chemistry was her thing. "Right." He was going to do something stupid like flip the table if he kept staring at his failiers to make a chemical slurry capable of at least holding a reflected image. He jerked away from the table. "I'm g-going out. Don't...touch anything."
"I can do that." Crann nodded eagerly as he scrambled out of Fitz's path.
He sighed, his assistant had stopped being useful since the whole Daisy tossing that Umber fellow around incident. God fearing morons were the worst. Grabbing the gloves he's been given he tugged them on, and then awkwardly pulled on and fastened the cape. He looked ridiculous. But he'd learned better than to ignore the fur lined thing.
As he walked out of his workshop the cold bit at his nose. He hadn't been out of his workshop much. His eyes tracked the stone walls. It was surreal to be in the castle. Deeply impractical even if the damned thing was larger than any castle he'd heard of on earth. His nose wrinkled at the ever present smell of horse shit. Striking out he avoided the curious look of the men in the yard. It was…awkward.
His steps were heavy from the weight of the fabric he was wearing. The cold settled around him as he walked. It felt alien here, more so than his time on Kitsen or traveling to Kitsen had. They were so bafflingly unadvanced. The lack of electricity...running water...how did they accept this level of existence? Shaking his head he tromped into the great hall where food was generally kept for the staff around breakfast and dinner. He was still unclear on what exactly was supposed to happen for lunch, but frankly he didn't care.
Stepping into warmth he shook his head. The weather reminded him of a miserable study abroad science camp he'd gone on in Norway. Terrible trip, astronomy had never been his passion. If he'd known how much Jemma would love it and how much aliens would factor into his life he'd have paid a bit more attention to the field. He didn't bother to unhook his cape, he didn't feel like freezing considering the doors were open.
"Ah! Fitz!" The large mammoth of a white bearded man in sea green clothing and merpeople sewed on everything, greated in a booming voice.
Fitz winced slightly, but headed towards the table where the man, the wild looking feral kid, the idiot Daisy had thrown into a wall, Wolkan, and a few others he didn't particularly recognize. Dinner conversation, lovely. Although maybe it was a chance for his mind to turn off for a while before getting back to thinking about creating chemical slurries for at least getting something of a reading of radiation and light waves on this god forsaken planet. "So it's proper supper time?"
"Aye, come join us. We were just regalling young Rickon here with our war stories from the Rebellion." The large man boomed….Mannerly or something like that. No, Manderly. Yes that was it.
He gave a slight nod, he could do battle talk shop. "Oh r-right, sounds fun." He slid into the seat he was usually directed into by Daisy or Crann. "What's t-the Rebellion?"
"It was a war some years ago before we all got fat and old." Manderly laughed. "It was a war against the Mad King after he burned our Lord Rickard Stark and his heir Brandon Stark alive when they went to the capital to demand Lyanna Stark be returned after she was taken."
Fitz blinked that was...well that was some awful shit there. "Y-you won then?"
"Aye we won alright. Killed all the Targaryean fuckers." Umber clanked his mug on the table loudly.
He gave a slight nod. "Good for y-you, I think?" Fitz barely bit back a sigh as he realized dinner was going to be hot stew...again. It comprised around eighty percent of meals since they'd let him stop eating broth. Admittedly he'd run for the hills if someone tried to feed him anything undercooked or the slightest bit raw. He was not getting food poisoning in a world where he had to wipe his ass with fabric that was re-washed.
"Have you been to war?" Manderly asked as he took a large bite of his own stew.
Fitz stirred the thick food. "Well yeah, I'm an a-agent."
"My father was in the last Blackfyre Rebellion." Wolkan spoke, his voice soft as if he wasn't sure he was allowed.
Manderly chuckled, his attention leaving Fitz. "Did he?"
"Rode under House Valerian during the war. He didn't talk about it much, but he was there when Maelys." Wolkan seemed proud as he spoke. "Lost his leg, but gained land and a minor title."
Umber grunted. "You ever fight before you went and forged your chains?"
"No, didn't have the stomach for it." Wolkan drank from his cup.
"Bah, when your blood is up any man can be a killer." Umber contradicted without thought. It was rather galling that Fitz agreed with him.
He nodded. "Everyone's c-capable of v-violence."
"You don't look like you could kill anyone." Umber scoffed.
Fitz's brow rose. "You'd t-think wouldn't you." He lifted his spoon out of his bowl of soup. His nose wrinkled as he flicked the broth off of it. Turning towards the kid he eyes him. "Men l-like Umber here are i-idiots. They'll w-whack at a person till they c-can't get up and then move on while p-patting themselves on the back for being g-good killers."
Umber made a sound of outrage, but didn't interrupt.
He tapped his spoon against his neck. "You cut the c-c-carotid artery right and you're enemy will be d-dead in twenty seconds. Do it wrong and they m-might make it a couple of m-minutes. Intelligent and o-obvious, but effective." He moved his spoon tapping by his armpit. "Brachial," his hand continued to tap at where the arteries were as he named them. "Renal, Iliac, Femoral. You h-hit a man's artery and he's done. If you can't hit s-something else, go for the g-gut, plenty of organs a m-man can't survive if they get hit and t-there's no one to help on h-hand. Spleen, liver, kidney, small intestine, stomach, gallbladder."
"That's enough, you'll scare the boy." Wolkan spoke up, though his voice sounded shaken. He should feel shaken.
Fitz ignored him, his hand still raised slightly from where he'd been tapping the corresponding locations. "But those gut w-wounds will take a while to kill your o-opponent. Better to s-stab up between the ribs for the h-heart or lungs. No s-saving a man here from tt-hat." His free hand smoothed his hair slightly. "If you stab someone, always pull your knife or s-sword or whatever out. Leaving it in gives them a c-chance of survival. Course killing isn't some glorious t-thing. It's messy." His nose wrinkled. "It smells, takes forever to get the blood off."
The kid tipped his chin up. "I know that. I've hunted for Osha 'an me for ages."
"Then you've got more of the right of it then these men." Fitz gave the kid a nod. There was a potential there. "Don't fight with honor or r-rules, you'll get killed. It's about who's left living and who's d-dead."
Manderly cleared his throat. "I see you've fought regardless of your appearance."
"I've k-killed in fights. But I've a-also had the prisoners b-brought to me so I could pull their insides out to see what m-made them tick." Fitz could feel the phantom of the blood from the Framework on his fingers. "Always found torture distasteful, all the screaming gets b-bothersome after a while." He tilted his head, huh, this wasn't him...or maybe it was. He took a bite of his soup.
/
Sansa found that traveling with an army was a new experience. It was slower, louder, and more complicated than other forms. She pretended not to notice the smell from the trench dug at camp every night for the men to relieve themselves. Why anyone thought the smell of shit would offend her after years in Kings Landing she didn't know. "The scouts have returned?"
"Apologies my Lady." Davos gave a stiff tip of his head. "We hadn't thought to summon you yet."
Jon shifted, opening his side for her. "They've just arrived, we were just preparing to hear their report."
She took her place besides her brother, eyes falling on the lead scout as he straightened automatically at her attention. "Don't let me interrupt then."
"Go on man, what did you and your men find?" Davos urged the man.
The man looked like one of Glover's men. "As we approached Barrowtown the fighting men were gone, looks like the levees have been raised." He hesitated slightly before continuing, his eyes flicking to the side slightly. "We didn't approach Barrowtown closely, but the banner's of house Ryswells are flying as well from the towers. Roads leading to the fortifications are well traveled. The defenses are raised, the curtain wall is prepared for a seige."
"So it'll be a siege then." Jon's voice was solemn, his face sorrowful yet resigned.
Sansa looked at the map. "If the Ryswells are here as well does that mean they've decided to make a united stand?"
"Almost certainly." Lord Glover rubbed at his beard as he reached out, moving two wooden figures with the horses of house Ryswell to Barrowtown on the map. "Makes things more dangerous."
Sansa was confused at that. "If our enemies wish to gather it makes our march shorter does it not?"
"Aye, but it means they'll surrender less easily." Jon considered the map. "We have the wargs see what they can learn about the fortifications. Though we'll need to strike hard and fast once the gates come down."
Davos had a slight twitch as he spoke. "What will your god require for that magic?"
"I imagine some normal tea." Sansa looked at the man. "She does not require blood sacrifice to use her powers."
He gave a jerky nod. "Well that's a relief. If you're sure?"
"I've seen her use her abilities, and she hasn't used blood sacrifice, any type of sacrifice yet." Sansa wondered where the vague sense of protectiveness came from. But then Daisy had risen above every negative fear and expectation she'd had. It was the least she could do to defend the god from assumptions of monstrousness.
Jon spoke. "My sister is right, until her Holiness shows the cruelty magic practitioners are known for, it is not worth insulting the woman over it."
"My apologies." Davos deferred to Jon.
Sansa burned at that, but held her tongue. "Will this change our forward approach?"
"Yes, we'll need to be prepared to move forward quickly. The men will need as many shields as we have." Jon looked to Bower. "Do we have enough shields for the men to all carry one?"
Bower's eyes flicked to Sansa. He waited till she gave him a nod of assent. His attention back to Jon. "Two thirds of our men have shields. All of the former Bolton forces are archers or shieldmen. Lord Manderly's forces primarily have shields, but Lord Glover's favor axe's and spears. The Wildlings don't have proper weapons m'Lord."
"If we place our archers to the back they can thin the defenders on the wall while those who can defend themselves charge through the gate." Jon set the wooden figures of their forces outside the walls of the drawn walls of Barrowtown. "We'll need the wargs to see what areas they're focusing their defences."
Sansa watched silently as Jon and the men drew up plans and possibilities. This wasn't how she conducted war, her war was a war of a thousand words, letters and politics. But she would need to know this if she meant to stand as Rickon's regent. She had to learn this form of war as well, no matter how unsuited to it as she was.
Sansa watched as Daisy whacked at her men, forcing them to work with their shields. It was entertaining, but even she could see the progress her men were making. Especially as Joran dug his heels in and held his ground. Of course he didn't manage to keep that up for more than a few seconds, but he did manage it for a few brief seconds. She was struck by the kindness as she saw Daisy helping the man back to his feet. There was an ease, not an ounce of fear in the man.
It was remarkable. Sansa watched as the men circled up, happily congratulating Joran, elbowing and bumping into Daisy without a hint of fear. They weren't afraid, they trusted her. They had to know more than anyone what she was capable of. A couple of the men noticed her. Sansa stepped forward, no point in standing awkwardly. "Daisy, men. I see training is going well?"
"They're getting better." Daisy grinned. "How can we help Lady Sansa?"
Sansa noted the men showed perhaps less manners but more respect as they all ducked their heads in awkward deference. "I am no expert in martial prowess, but I can see improvement."
"They're getting there. Give them a year and they'll be a force to be reckoned with." Daisy's face was proud as she looked at the men who were puffing up at the praise. She rolled her eyes. "Go help the others with shield drills."
Sansa watched as they eagerly moved to do as instructed. There was genuine comradery there. "They don't fear you."
"It's weird." Daisy looked genuinely confused. "It usually takes ages for trainees to get used to not waiting for me to kill them."
"Have you ever killed a companion?" Sansa asked curiously.
Daisy flinched like she'd been slapped. "Trip. I've hurt a lot of people without meaning to. And when I was under Hive's control...it's a deserved fear."
"My apologies, I didn't mean to bring up painful memories." Sansa apologized, and she found she meant she was sorry for the pain, not afraid of the consequences of possibly insulting the god.
She shook her head. "It's alright, it's a fair question. "How'd the strategy meeting go?"
"Difficult. The Ryswells are at Barrowtown. It seems our enemies mean to make a single stand against us." She held her tongue on the frustration she felt at the older men deferring to Jon and ignoring her as a stupid girl. It was fair, she had been a stupid girl for so long. "Even with you bringing the gates down the battle will be bloody."
Daisy crossed her arms humming in thought. "Have you considered fighting honorably isn't the only way?"
"What do you suggest?" Sansa looked at her sharply.
Daisy hummed. "Well, you're more familiar with castle defenses than I am. But if you had a small team enter at night, what would be the most useful location to secure to ensure the battle cost fewer lives?"
"The gate, it's designed to be held from attacks from inside and outside." Sansa remembered Tyrion speaking of his uncouth mercenary's plan to invade the Eyrie. "The Wildlings climbed the Wall, the fortifications of Barrowtown are nothing compared to that."
Daisy gave an approving nod, her lips twitching with a pleased slant. "And I can jump shockingly high."
"You could have brought this strategy to the Lords leading this army?" She questioned curiously.
She huffed. "I don't lead armies, and frankly it's become pretty clear I am actually terrible at interacting with your whole noble culture here." Daisy clearly spotted Sansa's disbelief at her explanation. Her countenance fell slightly more serious. "I'm not staying here for long. I don't need or want them to follow me, or respect my abilities at planning attacks. And the more exalted my position, the larger the stability problem you'll have when I leave. So take credit, you'll learn enough you won't need to for long anyways."
"Would you teach me tactics?" Sansa found herself asking. She had nothing to offer in return, but mayhaps she didn't need to have something to offer in return other than friendship with this strange god.
Daisy laughed, but nodded. "Sure, not that I'm some super smart general. Like normally don't lead more than a half dozen agents or a trainee class. And I've got almost zero clue about your weapons and shit. But sure."
"Thank you." Sansa smiled ever so slightly.
Sansa cleared her throat, catching the attention of the men as they argued about strategies for getting through the gates with as little loss of life as possible. "My Lords, have you considered taking the gate the night before the battle?" Her brow rose ever so slightly as she looked at the startled looking northern Lords.
"Begging your pardon m'Lady, but we can't just attack the gate the night before and take a break before taking the rest." Davos spoke carefully.
She looked to Tormund who was actually listening to her. "Your men and women climbed the Wall. Ten thousand feet of ice with nothing but bone picks and poor rope. Could you climb the gates with better equipment during the night?"
"Aye we could do that. Tormund chuckled deep in his throat. "Sounds better to me than facing you southern fools in the field. Stannis crushed us."
Sansa continued before anyone could interrupt, a problem she'd have to address eventually. "Once we hold the gate, it would certainly be a statement of strength would it not? In fact their defences would not last long would they, if we were capable of simply taking any of their defensive towers whenever we want? Especially if we send our best archers up into the gate along with the Free Folk?"
Jon nodded. "It's a good plan." He seemed to frown slightly. "They'd have to go before the moon rose. And it'd need to be fast."
"So if her Holiness were to assist it would be nearly assured to succeed?" Sansa added, carefully watching the faces of the men.
Lord Glover scoffed. "It's not honorable but that'd take it alright. Traitors would be right fucked. And I say fuck 'em, no need to show honor to honorless bastards."
/
Jon entered his sister's tent. He barely spared a brief glance at the men at arms outside of it guarding her from harm. He trusted Ghost far more to keep her safe. "Sansa."
"Jon, has something happened?" She looked up from her writing. It seemed she was always writing these days. That or sewing clothing for Rickon or himself.
He was...grieved that she never stopped working. "What was the price for her Holiness's support?"
"Nothing." Sansa looked bemused at his disbelief. "Truly. I think she prefers this to using her powers to bring down the gate."
Jon looked at his sister, so much older than her years. "Would you tell me if there was a price?"
"I...no. Not if I didn't think it necessary." Sansa admitted.
He stepped to her, taking her hand. "We have to trust each other. We can't fight everyone else and each other. I can't protect you if I don't know what to protect you from."
"I am trying." She squeezed his hand back.
Jon sighed, but nodded. "Tormund is eager to work with 'our' god. I'd be worried if Lord Umber didn't still live."
"There is that." Sansa looked to where Ghost was laying by the side of the small bed brought for her comfort. An allowance she'd been against initially. "We're so close to controlling the North. It doesn't feel real. I doubt it will till the Lords have named Rickon Lord Stark."
He sat on the chest of goods at the foot of her bed. "Aye, it was never supposed to be us was it?"
"No it wasn't." She was..surprisingly open. "Father wouldn't approve of how we mean to fight this battle."
Jon didn't question the weight of their father's expectations. "He's not here now. He'd want our family to survive." His brow furrowed. "He led men to battle in the Rebellion. I have to believe he would understand the cost and compromise it demands. We're saving lives with your plan. That means something."
"I'd like to believe you are right." Sansa replied.
And he wanted to believe he was right too. But he'd done so many things he doubted his father would be able to look at him. "What matters is the living and the dead. The rest isn't important."
"No, I suppose it isn't." Sansa's gaze turned back to him. "Tell me of the Night's Watch."
Jon gave a deep sigh, lending forward so that his arms rested upon his knees. Where to even begin in explaining what it really was. The ugly truth everyone had known but never told them. "It's hard, and the men are hard.-"