Sansa carefully placed the token representing Mors Umber a league from the walls of Barrowtown besides the tokens representing the rest of her southernmost army. Once she had the Moat and House Karstark was defeated, that was it. She'd have secured the whole of the North. No house would dare stand against her without blatant cause. It had to be enough.
"If I may m'Lady, how do you plan to fight the dead?" Ser Davos asked cautiously.
She looked at the map. The North was vast and wild. Whole regions near untamed and the War of Five Kings had devastated their population. The only boon from that was that there would be less mouths to feed in the coming winter. A dark and unwanted boon. "My brother is the general. For now we can only prepare. Man the Wall as best we can and hope we have time."
"Forgive me m'Lady, but I've seen the Wall. Even with the men you've sent they have no hope against our enemy." Davos gave a pointed look to the pitiful tokens placed on the Wall.
Her jaw tensed ever so slightly. "And what would you advise?"
"Don't rightly know. But you haven't called your banners yet? Not all of them anyways. Why?" Davos' furry brows pulled together.
Sansa pressed her palm to the map. "Four moons and I can. But until the Lords repledge themselves to House Stark they are free to ignore my call. We cannot afford for that to happen. And it will happen."
"I see. Have you considered sending word you need to man the castles on the Wall? There are nineteen of them and only three are manned. Even with the Bolton men you've sent there are not enough men." Davos spoke, a quiet intensity in his voice.
She could practically feel the sincerity from the man. His survival with a man like Stannis made more sense the longer she was around him. Her brother had not been wrong, though he clearly shared the same priority as Jon. "And where would you see me find those men? I could march the entire North to the Wall and it would likely not be enough. The materials to repair fallen castles, the defenses...it's more than the North alone can do. And we will stand alone in this."
"Your mother was a Tully, your cousin will be Lord of the Vale when he comes of age. Surely you have allies you could call upon?" He questioned.
Sansa felt rage at the thought of calling on Petyr for support. She knew she would have to, but it made her skin crawl, her teeth felt like fangs at the thought of allowing him near her again. "I will write to Lord Baelish once the North is secured. He will come with the knights of the Vale if I ask."
"I suppose the Riverlands have been too ravaged for much help to be hoped for from that quarter. Retaken by your uncle or not." Davos admitted as he listened to her words. "Surely some Houses would come if called?"
The truth hurt. "I will write to those Houses that remained loyal until the end as well as my uncle, though it would be foolish to expect anything from the Riverlands." And didn't that burn, that she could beg and plead and it would be worth less than nothing. Though perhaps that was the stupid girl she'd once been speaking. The Riverlands were devastated, more so than the North. And House Stark was responsible for that.
"This war has ruined us all." Davos looked at the table.
Sansa didn't disagree, it had. "Of the six knights of the Stormlands here, give the names of the three most suited for guarding to Lord Cerwyn."
"Of course m'Lady." Davos agreed. He paused. "I didn't mean to cause offense by asking for your war plans. I'm afraid I know little more than you when it comes to the mechanics of war."
Sansa needed every man to support her as possible. Especially a man who clearly was valued by others as Davos was. "Your desire to focus on the dead is not wrong. Merely untenable at this moment." She looked at him. "Ser Davos, I am told you are a good man. In the days to come don't forget that is a rare trait."
"Thank you m'Lady, I think?" Davos seemed to see something on her face. "I mean no offence, but I've survived this long. I'm no stranger to evil men, M'Lady."
Sansa gave the slightest of nods to him. "We have that in common Ser Davos." She stepped away from the map. It was of little use to her save to keep track of where her forces were. "Tell me, can you read?"
"Somewhat. Not well, or quickly. But I know my letters." Davos had a pride to him, his chest puffing slightly, he lowered his head slightly as he defended himself. It was fascinating to see.
She kept her face as soft as she allowed anyone to see her save family. "Is there a knight among those here that you trust who is more familiar with the business of the noble houses and capable of reading with speed?"
"Aye, Ser Musgood." Davos named promptly.
She hummed as she sat at the desk, pulling out a fresh piece of parchment and dipping the quill into the inkwell. "In that case I have need of your service. I would send you, Ser Musgood, as well as the two other knights not being used in my defense to the ancestral holdings of House Ryswell. Once there I need accounting of their holdings, military strength, and stores as well as other assets. I would also be grateful for any copies of correspondence. I can afford to send you with fifty men at arms. A further fifty would join you in one to two moon's time. Once your numbers are swelled, you as well as Ser Musgood are to return to Winterfell."
Davos frowned ever so slightly. "Will you be secure with those forces gone? It wouldn't be a bother to stay long enough for more men."
Sansa raised a brow as she looked at him. "For a man eager to face the dead you seem willing to delay when unnecessary." She waited for him to give the slightest of a tilt of the head. Good, he'd understood. "Time is not a commodity we have at our disposal. You and the men will leave tomorrow. I will be secure with the remaining hundred twenty men at arms. It may not be a large force, but the Dustin and Ryswell forces have been emptied so that they may march under Mors for Moat Calin."
"Very well m'Lady." Davos bowed his head in acceptance.
She might have time to sleep properly, that'd gone better than expected. "Thank you for your service Ser Davos, if you could send Lord Cerwyn in after you."
"Of course, I'll see to preparing the men before supper if you don't mind."
/
Rickon carefully stalked Hogg. The man was bent over a patch of earth where he and a few of the other men were doing something to the dirt. He crouched, ready to pounce. His focus had narrowed entirely to his prey. Shaggydog was a flicker away from his mind, their thoughts blurring ever so slightly as they prepared to make their move.
"RICKON STARK!" Brienne bellowed as she came striding out into the yard after him.
/
Daisy punched Tormund straight in the face. It was...deeply rewarding. The sexism of this world had been getting to her. An excuse to punch some guys in the face was satisfying. She felt a buzz of excitement as she watched Tormund react to the punch.
His head had snapped back from it. He looked back at her, faint dribble of blood from one nostril, his eyes bright, excitement practically zipping off of him. He looked frankly elated at having been punched. "HA! Ya're strong as an ox!"
"Come on." She dropped back into her sparring stance, her weight carefully balanced. Her hand beckoned as she waited, watching his movements.
He ducked coming in low, a fist swinging in for her central mass from the left. His feet were rooted.
Daisy blocked the blow, absorbing the weight of it, bent, and kicked hard enough to send him stumbling back a solid foot. She didn't give him time to recover. She spun while following him, chambering a second kick she struck out at him.
Tormund was ready this time. He shoved his shoulder into her calf as he closed space. With a grunt he bum rushed her as best as possible in the stride and a half he had.
Hooking her calf around his shoulder, she let her weight drop fully on the shoulder, driving him downwards with her weight.
He grunted as he slammed into the ground, Daisy didn't manage to get a proper pin in place however. Clearly Tormund at least had a proper grasp on combat without swords. Man was a wrestler, she realized as he rolled, knocking her to the ground with him as well as off of the top of him.
Daisy backhanded him in the gut. She didn't pause, rolling upwards and then punching downwards for his head.
Tormund managed to grab onto her shoulders by not trying to avoid her fist. It helped she hadn't gotten enough space to put weight into, and frankly holding back slightly so as not to accidentally break something of his. He hauled, in an attempt to get her under him. A mistake.
She slammed her knee into his groin. As he wheezed she broke his grip on her, and hooked around him, getting a grip around his neck with her arm. Tighting her grip she choked him.
He squirmed to get away, his hands trying to dig into her arms. Unfortunately the thick wool of her gambeson kept it from doing more than mildly bruising at worst.
Using her right leg, she caught his leg and forced him to straighten, keeping him stretched too much to generate enough force to have a hope of breaking free. With that she tightened enough to cut off his air. She waited till he started to go limp. Daisy shook him once, then rolled off, coming to her feet.
Tormund gasped, sucking in air. He wheezed, one hand on his throat.
"Damn." Mors clapped as he looked at her with newfound respect. "Not afraid to get dirty there your Holiness?"
Daisy grinned, excited at the fight. "Fighting isn't clean."
Tormund grunted, his voice rough. "You went easy on me." He glared, though it was rather ruined by the excitement.
"Why'd you come at me without a weapon?" Daisy counted amused.
He grabbed a sword, his face wild with excitement. "Won't make that mistake again."
One of the men with the horse head sigil of house Ryswell glowered, speaking up. His voice was snide. "Weak wrestling with some wildling savage. Some 'god'."
There was some murmurs of agreement from the men from of House Ryswell and Dustin.
Daisy raised a brow looking at the man. She flicked her eyes up and down the man's figure. He was just old enough to imagine himself a man. Likely around her own age, but his beard was thick and curly. Oddly reminded her slightly of Miles. It didn't endear him to her. "Five seconds."
"Wha?" He frowned, clearly missing the sudden danger he was in.
She turned, not bothering with a stance. For this idiot, and to make a point she'd stop moving like a human. And cease matching her opponent. Her voice was cold as she spoke, she could see the men sworn to her stiffening. "It's how long I'll need to make you cry without bothering with power. Or are you afraid of me?"
He sneered, puffed slightly, and stepped forward not bothering with a weapon. Idiot. He took a lazy swing for her. His form was far worse than Tormund's had been.
Daisy swatted his arm ruthlessly aside. The force of it overbalanced him, nearly toppling him into her. She didn't even have to step forward. She just jabbed the pressure point in his neck, and twisted ruthlessly.
He dropped with a scream, his limbs falling limp, collapsing under him like a puppet.
The crowd of men fell utterly silent.
Daisy used her foot to roll him over, her face stayed impassive as she looked down at him. He was clearly in agony still. Nerve clusters were a bitch. She looked over to Joran. "He'll be fine, eventually. Move him."
"Holiness." He replied sharply. Joran and another of the men moved forward grabbing the imobile idiot and dragging him out of the way.
She didn't wait for Tormund or Morse to recover and laugh it off. It was important her position was not questioned. Too much depended on her status as god preventing anyone even imagining treason till Sansa had established her control. So she looked to the other men who'd clearly agreed with the idiot who'd just been dragged away. "All of you, come at me."
No one moved.
Daisy let the ground vibrate just enough to be noticed. "Now."
/
Mors Umber found himself agreeing with the Wildlings...it was a situation he'd never thought he'd find himself in. He'd spent his life crushing Wildling raiders that got past the wall. Thought of them as savage fools for daring to try. He was being forced to accept some of his own Northerns were apparently far stupider than any Wildling. Maybe past the Wall they culled the village idiots? He noted the look of open glee on the Wildling leader's face.
He looked at the...depressing culling of the idiots who'd thought to mock a god. They were at least alive? "Has she used her magic or powers once?"
"You southern fuckers have all the gods and magicks down here." Tormund uttered. "Pretty Snow died and came back. That woman's strong as a bear."
Mors crossed his arms as he let out a low whistle. Damn, the god had just lifted a man straight up. She was just standing there holding him up, his feet kicking as he clawed to get his throat free. And then he was chucked into another moron who'd thought now was a good time to attack. "Oh, that one grabbed a shield."
They both winced as Daisy promptly kicked the shield so hard the man half flew a solid six feet back before hitting the ground. There'd been a crack...the shield was definitely fucked.
"Think she's got giant blood in her?" Tormund asked.
Mors stared at the idiot...how was he smarter than the men at arms for proper Northern Houses? He looked back to the god who was...not a tiny woman, but not tall. She also lacked the distinctive bulkiness that came with giant heritage. Heritage he himself had. "You ever see a giant bend like that?"
"Think she really is a god?" Tormund prodded as they watched yet another poor sod get crushed with depressing ease.
Mors remembered the look in his nephew's eye. "Aye."
"Well, good thing she's on our side." Tormund was entirely right.
It was...actually fighting the god before them for real would be a fast way to die. Mors was going to punish these idiots. They deserved it for trying to fight a god. "Half rations for all these morons." His brow furrowed as he noticed a concerning look on the face of a dark haired wildling on the other side of the crowd. He jerked his chin towards the man. "That idiot going to be an issue?"
"Eh? Lokmir?" Tormund chuckled. "He might try to steal her. Doubt it'll go well for him."
Mors watched the last of the men that'd dared doubt a god hit the ground...it had been as close to a massacre as possible with her restraining herself from killing the idiots. "If he dies?"
"Then he dies. But what a way to go?" Tormund's laugh was deep and almost admiring of the stupidity of possibly attempting to 'steal' a god.
They both straightened as Daisy turned and strode to them. She stepped carelessly over the idiots who were at least smart enough to play dead and stay where they'd been tossed. There were quite a few moans. Daisy came to a halt as she reached them. "I maybe slightly broke a few. Sorry." She did not sound sorry.
Mors cleared his throat. A woman who didn't even reach his shoulder shouldn't inspire actual fear in him. "Reckon they earned any damage you did to them."
"Tormund, I'll spar you properly tomorrow." Daisy actually looked vaguely regretful about that.
Tormund didn't reach out to slap a shoulder, or otherwise touch as he'd so casually done before the show of skill just given. But he didn't shirk back from her. Mors had to give the Wildling credit for that. "Looking forward to it!"
/
Fitz dumped the glass container of dirt into a pan of water. Touching the top metal pan lip he pulled the strainer up. He lifted slowly, separating the silt from the more valuable minerals. He frowned as he heard the scrapping of the door….he was going to have to sand the bottom of the thing to stop that. His eyes flicked over and stilled. "Er...h-hello?"
"You talk funny." Rickon's shaggy mop of hair stood out as the tween shuffled into the workshop, closing the door that he'd just squeezed through.
Fitz's frown deepened. "T-that's rude. Didn't y-your parents tell you not to s-say that?"
"They're dead." Rickon stared at him without flinching, the slightest hint of teeth to his expression.
He considered that. "Oh." Well this was deeply awkward. He looked at his future tesla coil, nope, too delicate. "D-do you want to help?"
"If I can hide here." Rickon shrugged, those his eyes were flicking around the bits and pieces around the shop.
Fitz stood up and grabbed the crate of glass jars. "Y-ou can fill these w-with oil from the barrel there. T-then you put the cotton stopper i-in." He set the crate on one of his empty tables.
Rickon shuffled over. "Just that?"
"Don't spi-spill the oil. It is v-very flammable." Fitz picked up the crate of cotton wick stoppers for the oil jars. Setting it down he made sure the kid was watching. With that settled he grabbed the funnel and set it in a jar. Scooping a ladle of oil, he poured it. Setting it down he lifted a stopper and carefully capped it. "Y-ou can do it?"
Rickon rolled his eyes. "I can do that."
"G-good." Fitz nodded and moved back to his bench. He had an enamel pipe to finish preparing for the coil.
Rickon spoke up, interrupting the silent work they'd both been doing. "But really why do you talk funny?"
"Hypoxia." Fitz managed to get out without stumbling over his words. "I-I didn't have air f-for too long."
The kid's head tilted. "You were choked?"
"D-drowned." Fitz replied, his tone clipped. He didn't like talking about his brain damage.
Rickon set his work down. "How'd ya drown?"
Fitz dropped his hands, tools hitting the table with a clang. "A trai-traitor dropped Jemma and I t-to the bottom of the o-ocean in a metal b-box. We w-were under for h-hours. I broke u-us out but the-there was only enough a-air for one of us. S-so I gave it to Jemma. She s-swam us to the surface. B-but I was d-damaged. No air a-and the brain d-dies. S-so I re-relearned to use m-my hands. A-and my v-voice. S-so I h-have a stu-stutter." He glared at the kid. "I-is that wha-what you wanted t-to know?"
The boy blinked, his head tilted. "I didn't mean ya'r stutter. You just talk funny. Daisy kinda talks funny but in a different way too?"
Fitz hadn't felt this dumb in years. His accent. The kid meant his bloody fucking accent. Of course, he had a Scottish accent and Daisy an American one. He pinched the bridge of his nose. "I-it's an a-accent."
"Accent...I've heard that word. What's it mean?" Rickon asked with that stupid honest curiosity that children had.
He took a deep breath. When he got angry like this the stutter got worse and he'd been angry for nothing. Settled, he replied. "Accents are-"