Tormund attached a climbing hook into his belt. "So I hear ya'r some kind of god? You don't look like a god."
"I'm not a human." Daisy, dumb name for a god, replied as she slung a large coil of rope over one shoulder.
He eyed the apparent god. What was the south with shite like Lord Crow coming back from the dead, and now whatever this woman was. But she was a fighter, he could see it in her eyes. "So what are you?"
She paused and then shrugged. "I give up on defining it. Tomorrow you can try to stab me and decide what you think I am." Looking at the great distant shadow of the castle ahead of them. "Up to climbing some walls?"
"These walls are a joke. You should see The Wall, now that's a challenge." His voice rumbled as he tossed some rope to one of his men coming on this mad adventure.
Daisy laughed. "Well I hear I'm helping with the dead so I'm sure you'll get a chance to show me a 'real' wall."
He frowned as he realized she didn't have a single metal or bone pick on her. "How you planning on climbing if you've got nothing to climb with? You'll need more than rope."
"Yeah I won't need those. We just need the rope. But like, if you want to lug it around, be my guest." She turned, helping one of her followers with the mess the boy'd made of the rope he was trying to coil. Her voice was vaguely amused. "Start over, come on hand it here."
Tormund turned to Drykul. "I don't understand these southerners."
"They're cunts." Drykul agreed.
Tormund trekked behind the odd southern god. Her steps were as quiet as his and the other Free Folk in their raid party. He grinned, teeth flashing as they made their way through the brush towards the stone walls. His blood was up as they moved through the cavernous darkness. There was no light, clouds having covered the stars even. Only years of running through the wilds of the true north kept him from tripping like the idiot southern boys joining them.
He grabbed a boy before he could faceplant. His voice low as he chastised him. "Watch your feet or ya'll lose 'em."
The boy gave a sort of jerk, and then continued to move.
Tormund shook his head, holding the laughter in. Idiots were incapable of this sort of thing. Ah, they'd set the idiots to rights or they'd die. Either way it'd take care of itself. He came to a halt, grabbing the idiot boy before he could walk into the actual castle wall. Stepping closer to the god he kept his voice as low as it got. "We start climbing."
"Not yet." She pulled the heavy coiled rope off of her shoulder, dropping it to the ground. Her voice was barely audible. "You'll know when to start."
He blinked as her dark shape crouched close to the ground. "I thought the plan was to climb up and drop ropes for ya'r archers?" It wasn't like the fools could do it without the help.
She didn't reply, she just vanished in a gust of air straight up. The rope uncoiling straight up after her.
"Huh. Guess she didn't need the picks." He ignored the sounds of alarm from the others. Glaring at the dark shapes of their party he hissed. "SHut it!"
Tormund grabbed the rope that'd settled, movement ending. He gave it a sharp tug. "Right, climb up ya fuckers."
Climbing up a wall without ice, with a rope, was significantly easier. His feet found the divots and mortar of the stone wall. Barely any effort at all. The rope was easy on his hands, All too soon he was reaching the top of the wall, a light breeze in his hair. He accepted the inhumanly strong arm that hauled him up over the lip. "Everything's easier in the south."
"Powers." The god wiggled her fingers.
Tormund huffed, and set about dropping another rope as the god continued to help people up and over the bulworks. His eyes paused on the slumped guards. No blood, clearly not alive. Well maybe the southern shits hadn't been talking out their asses when they called whatever the woman was a god. She certainly wasn't human. He drew his sword and took position by the wall, ready to stab anyone who approached their dark spot along the wall. It was disappointingly quiet.
Tormund slit a man's throat, barely flinching as an arrow whistled past his ear and into the neck of a man in front of him. He looked over his shoulder as he dropped the body. It was the boy who'd been tripping all over the place. "Nice shot."
The kid gave a nod as he notched another arrow, and then moved to continue the work.
Tormund snorted. He threw his knife into a startled looking man stopped at the top of the stairs. The fool collapsed as they clutched at his chest. Striding forward he looked for the next weak southerner in the gatehouse. They were cutting through these idiots like a knife through butter. He grinned showing his teeth. This bit before they had to barricade themselves into the central defensive structure of the wall was fun!
/
Sansa looked up as Lord Glover ducked under the flap of her tent. "Here to tell me the demands I intend to levy on Lady Dustin and Lord Ryswell are too harsh as well, Lord Glover?"
"Not at all my Lady." Lord Glover was a grim man, the weight of his years drawn deep into his face. "I approve. It's time for teeth to be bared."
She felt something settle under her skin at that. "Then what brought you here my Lord?"
"Your choice to place Mors Umber's son in Barrowtown, he's too young for the honor. If you mean to award House Umber there are older sons not in line to inherit to choose from." His position was deferential as he spoke.
Sansa straightened as she focused on him entirely, turning away from the offer she intended to give the traitor Lords in their hall when they came to surrender. "The older sons of House Umber will be expected to fight in the wars ahead of us." She raised a brow. "I intend for Ned Umber to marry Sera Dustin and take the name of Dustin when he does so. The two are of similar age, and he's young enough he may survive."
"Stability then." Glover grunted in understanding, he chuckled. "You mean to let House Dustin to train their new and unwanted heir."
She gave a slight gesture of assent. "They have no male heirs in the main line, giving them an alliance with House Umber, an heir young enough they can have some influence, and removing their alliance with House Ryswell. An insult, but a survivable one."
"I need to know, are you capable of what will follow if they refuse your terms?" Glover looked at her, face set as he weighed her.
Sansa didn't blink in hesitation. "I am."
"You won't be remembered the way your father is." Glover's eyes squinted slightly as he looked at her.
She raised a brow at that. "Was that ever even possible as a woman in these times?"
"No." He huffed. "I suppose not." Glover shook his head. "Are you prepared for Lady Dustin? She's a right sharp tongued Lady. 'An Lord Ryswell is her father. You'll be standing against the Ryswells, not the Dustins."
Sansa considered that, the man was measuring her, but he was trying to help. It was...a good sign. "I'm aware, Lady Dustin will speak for both herself and her father. But it's Lord Ryswell who will decide on what happens. Am I wrong?"
"You're exactly right." He gave a sharp nod. "I see I'm not needed here. Apologies my Lady."
She carefully soothed the man's pride. "Your support is appreciated. And I would hope you will continue to offer your council in the future. I would be a fool to ignore the advice of a seasoned and loyal lord, like yourself."
"My Lady." He bowed to her, and if she wasn't mistaken there was respect in his voice. Important progress for their position.
Sansa stood on the hill, wind whipping past them as they watched the party from Barrowtown approaching. She reached out, taking her brother's hand. It might be a sign of weakness, but it wasn't that she needed his presence at her shoulder, she wanted it. It steadied her and warmed her in ways she couldn't quite explain. She hadn't had family besides her since her father's head had been cut off. She didn't want to question whether trusting her brother made her weak or not. Instead she just squeezed his hand and drew strength from his quiet presence.
The approaching party wasn't large. Lady Dustin was clear to be seen, her greying hair tied into a widow's knot. Her gown was voluminous and fine, if out of fashion for at least a decade. Riding by her side was her father, Lord Ryswell. Lord Ryswell was old, he'd of been of age with Sansa's grandfather if he'd lived. The man's hair was grey from root to tip, clothing thicker than the weather called for, likely a requirement at his age.
Riding with them were twenty household guard for each house, a few lesser members of each House. It was a sign they meant to surrender fully. They'd have sent word not, come personally if they meant to fight. It was a good sign.
Sansa waited, unmoving as the party pulled up twenty feet from them. She watched as they dismounted. They would come to her. It was petty, but image was important. So she waited for them to come to her. Jon besides her, Lord Glover, Lord Cerwyn, and Mors Umber behind her. The sigils of House Flint, Manderly and Mormont attached to the tents behind her.
The wind was cold as the party dismounted and walked towards them. Leading the walk was Lady Dustin, as expected. The woman's face was tight and sharp. She came to a halt. "Lady Stark. It would seem we have much to discuss."
"Indeed." Sansa waited for them to accept their defeat. This meeting was not on their terms, they couldn't be allowed to think they could fight this. If they tried it would be war. A brief and bloody one, but war all the same time. A thing she needed to avoid.
Lord Ryswell spoke, his voice scratchy as he spoke. "Shall we retire to discuss terms?"
"Two guards for each of you, Lord Ryswell, Lady Dustin." Sansa turned and walked to the tent already prepared for this meeting. Her brother would ensure her back was safe and her orders followed here.
Stepping into the tent she moved to the Lord's seat already prepared for her. Taking her seat she watched as everyone filed in after her. She didn't gesture or request the bread and salt be offered to their guests. A slight and a threat that would be noticed.
Lord Rywsell dropped into the plain chair set out for him. He breathed deeply. "You could learn better manners when dealing with your elders."
"I wasn't aware treason was rewarded by propriety and concern." Sansa settled as Jon came to a stop, standing beside her seat. "Now, you requested this meeting."
Lady Dustin spoke, she hadn't taken the seat offered to her. Though she wasn't near as aged as her father. Instead she stood tall and proud. "We're here to surrender, as you well know. You've made your point, Lady Stark."
"Then I'll give you my terms for accepting your surrender." Sansa gestured for Lord Cerwyn.
He stepped forward holding the written out terms of surrender. He handed a set to each of their honored 'guests'. "Lady Stark's terms." His voice was stiff.
"I would hear from Eddard Stark's daughter's mouth what these terms are." Lady Dustin looked at her. "It was a shame to us all what happened to your brother. I'd know what price we'll pay for accepting those crimes."
Sansa gave a slight nod. "Both House Ryswell and House Dustin will surrender five hundred thousand gold dragons to House Stark. Three hundred head of sheep, one hundred head of cattle, five tons of grain, and fifty head of horse. In addition your forces here gathered will leave tomorrow under the command of Mors Umber to secure Moat Callin. A force of fifty men at arms sworn to House Stark will be hosted in each of your ancestral homes from this day till such a time as you have re-earned my regard and trust."
No one spoke. It would cripple them. The price was large, and one that would take years to recover from. And yet Sansa continued.
"You will each give up your titles and positions as Heads of your Houses. Lord Ryswell, you will be succeeded by your eldest son Roger Ryswell. Your youngest son Roose Ryswell is to be surrendered along with yourself to Winterfell as promise of your House's continued loyalty and good behavior." She turned her attention to Lady Dustin. "In the case of House Dustin the line of succession is less clear. As such I shall settle the matter. Your late husband's oldest uncle had a single son, who in turn had a single daughter before his death at the Red Wedding. For this I will name his daughter Sara Dustin as heir. The seat to be controlled by the oldest male Dustin, Rickard Dustin as regent until she comes of age. She is to be betrothed to Ned Umber, son of Mors Umber. Upon their marriage he will take her name and serve as Lord Dustin in turn."
Lady Dusin's fingers dug into her father's shoulder. But still said nothing.
Sansa finished her final terms, the utter nails in the coffin of their houses current positions. "Of the remaining gold in your Houses' coffers thirty percent is to be used to purchase goods from Essos to feed your people through the coming winter."
"And if we fail to accept these terms you mean to put our heads on pikes, as well as every member of our Houses." Lady Dustin's voice was tight.
Sansa refused to blanch at the threat she was making. "I have no desire to make a mockery of your corpses. I'd have the bodies burned, as all dead in the North are to be burned now."
"Burning the dead is not our way." Lady Dustin managed to look down her nose at her. "You can't mean you follow that Red God of Stannis's?"
Sansa's lips twitched ever so slightly. "Hardly. I follow the old gods as House Stark has done since before the Age of Heroes. The dead need be burned due to the threat coming for us all." She looked to Jon.
He took a step forward, his face as solemn as always. "The dead are coming. The Long Night is upon us."
"You jest?" Lord Ryswell balked.
Jon looked at the man like he was two feet tall and stupid. It was rather impressive how much disdain he managed. Considering he did it while looking sincere just added to the effectiveness of it. "I saw them in the Watch, fought them at Hardhome."
Sansa spoke, bringing the attention back to the matter at hand. "Accept the terms and we can focus on the dead. Fail to do so and I'll ensure you aren't a problem when they come."
/
Jon paused with a sort of pleasant surprise as he saw Tormund and Daisy laughing as they entered the great hall of Barrowtown. It'd been all solemn resignation as the fortress was handed over to House Stark. But these two looked like they'd had a night out at a tavern. It was...not a pair of people he'd have expected to get along. He stepped forward. "Tormund! Your Holiness." He gave a dip of his head to the god.
"Jon!" Tormund laughed, stepping forward and hugging him.
He eyed the man. "I'm surprised her Holiness hasn't killed you already."
"Bah! She's got guts. Did ya know she can fly?" Tormund slammed a hand down on Daisy's shoulder.
Daisy snickered as she rocked from the force of the show of affection. "Told you I didn't need climbing picks."
"You did." Tormund grinned. "But you didn't say you could fly!" He looked at Jon. "You would find a god who could slit a man's throat without hesitating and fly."
Daisy didn't move away from the hand on her shoulder. "So the whole diplomacy thing went well I see."
"They accepted Sansa's terms." Jon was kind of terrified of his sister. She wasn't the bright girl commanding other girls in sewing circles any longer. Now she commanded war negotiations.
Tormund's arms dropped back to his sides. "Aye, we figured that. What with the lack of gutting bastards."
"We'll have to spar if there's time before the army marches out tomorrow." Daisy eyed Tormund part amused, and part evaluating. It was...frankly weird.
Jon was oddly curious to see that. "We'll see, for now my sister would speak with you. Both of you."
"Cool." Daisy said as if that was a response that made any sense. "Nice I wasn't needed for any shock and awe." Her brow furrowed. "Probably a good thing really, and hey, you get to fly with me once this gets wrapped up."
Jon felt himself pale slightly. It wasn't that he was scared of heights...or doubted the god's power. But the concept of flight hanging onto the woman's shoulders like a terrified kid was daunting. "It should be soon, with our army intact, and no need for marching further into the Rills to root out the Ryswells our campaign will be much shorter."
"We leave for the Moat tomorrow, yes?" Tormund checked as they walked through the hall and towards the rooms that were being prepared for their forces.
Jon nodded. "Aye, the army leaves under Mors tomorrow."
"We can have our fight in Winterfell then." Tormund turned to Daisy.
She grinned, bumping into Tormund genially. "Sounds good, and hey, the boys could use fighting with your men. It'll be good for them. Especially getting their asses kicked by women who aren't me."
"You southerners don't fear women rightly." Tormund agreed.
Jon considered that. "I don't know, I think they're learning to fear my sister."
"She's had her moment. Call to action or whatever you want. And she's got enemies and people to protect." Daisy looked...impressed. "They should be afraid of her."
Tormund made a sound of understanding. "If she's like you Pretty Boy, I might just get the appeal. Well you with tits."
"How has a woman not stabbed you yet?" Daisy stared at him, brow furrowed in genuine bafflement.
Tormund's rough laugh was deep and booming. "I have been! It's how you know you've got a woman with fire in her."
Jon bit back a laugh, his mouth pulled into a smile despite himself. "I've found the courtship of the Free Folk very violent your Holiness."
"Yeah...if I stab someone they're not standing back up." Daisy adjusted one of the metal gauntlets on her arms.
Tormund laughed, slapping the god on the back. "Good for you. You might not be kissed by fire like me, but you've got fire in you."
Jon smiled genuinely at his friend as they paused for a rush of servants to move by carrying out old bedding. "Not that the romantic customs of the Free Folk aren't interesting, but I believe my sister wishes to speak about our movements going forward, now that things have changed."
"Sorry." Daisy gave him an amused if genuine look as she fell more serious. "What's the status of the army?"
He settled as they continued to walk through the halls. Though their progress was slow, the endless servants keeping the halls fairly clogged. "Most of our forces remain outside the walls, but some three hundred are now inside. We have tonight to secure Barrowtown to prevent them from backstabbing us."
"You weren't expecting to win so soon." Tormund's eyes glinted. "Fighting in the true north gave you harder enemies. These southerners are weak."
Daisy was clearly holding back a comment at that. But her good humor was still clear.
"You'll have more time to fight, for now we have other matters." Jon finally reached the door being guarded by men in Stark colors. Opening the door he gave a relieved sigh at the sight of his sister paging through books of House Dustin's accounts. The chaos around her of the room being cleaned out of Lady Dustin's belongings and prepared for her while she was already in it was expected. "Sansa!"
"Jon." Sansa smiled in welcome. "That was faster than I was expecting."
He unhooked his cloak. "I found them in the Great Hall. Your relief for their position at the gates beat me to them."
"Good, we have a great deal to discuss." Sansa straightened, closing the ledgers she'd been bent over. "But first, Tormund. Are you and your people willing to follow Mors Umber?"
Tormund's shoulders squared. "We'll do it. Knew it was coming anyways." He threw a look at Daisy. "Only if your god is there and swears to not let us be killed off."
"I won't be there all the time." Daisy cautioned. "But I can follow Mors's division. At the very least once you reach the Moat."
Tormund gave the looked full of teeth. "That's good enough. So long as you swear it."
"I swear it." Daisy replied without hesitation.
Jon breathed out in relief. Whatever had happened in the taking of the gatehouse had endeared the Free Folk enough to the god for them to have her favor. Favor that should protect them without him there to keep old grudges from flaring against them. "Tormund, if you would leave some ten of your men to remain as protectors for Sansa?"