Osha wondered at the fact she'd made it through her morning work without being summoned to come help find Rickon. It was...oh her Little Wolf was up to something. However, if there weren't panicked men at arms and that giant blonde woman running around looking for him; he was either in the workshop of the man with the cracked mind or in the gods wood. She untied her skirt, letting it fall properly, now that she wasn't keeping it out of her way. With an amused hum she set off for the gods wood.
As she walked through the halls, she found the way the others acknowledged her different than it had been the last time she'd dwelled in these halls. The lack of chains around her ankles was something she was grateful for. It was easy enough to move without being halted, she was a member of the household now. And laundry and starting fires was good honest work that didn't wear on her bones. If they survived the coming night it would be a good life.
Her feet padded softly as she crossed the gods wood for the heart tree. She spotted her Little Wolf's curls as he sat against the tree. She folded her hands into the loose folds of her dress for warmth. No use getting her hands cold. "What are you doing out here Little Wolf?"
"Saying thanks." Rickon looked up at the red leaves. "I had a dream."
Osha stilled, she'd learned to fear how the gods had blessed the Stark boys. Or perhaps cursed them. It had been folly for Bran to leave for the Wall and the darkness that lay beyond. His dreams had whispered to him, and now he was surely gone. And Rickon here, she'd never met warg as in tune with his animal as the boy. If she hadn't of met Bran she'd have thought him the strongest warg there was. Carefully she lowered herself down beside him. "What did you see in this dream?"
"A red and white wolf coming through the gates." His smile was lopsided but genuine. "Sansa and Jon will be home soon."
Osha didn't doubt his interpretation. She knew the Starks were all wolves. And with how that pretty one Jon acted with his great white wolf, likely the lot of them were wargs. A kingly line indeed. "That is good news Little Wolf."
"Do you like it here?" He looked up at her curiously.
She made a slow hum. They were before the heart tree, lies were cursed here. "I sleep in a bed with warm furs, have a full belly, good clothes, and the work is honest."
"You didn't answer the question." Rickon's brow furrowed.
Osha touched his cheek, the last softness of childhood nearly gone. "We live in dangerous times and more dangerous times still are coming. What we like isn't what is important. Survival is."
"The pack survives." Rickon assured her, the words clearly ones he's been told enough to remember, even if she doubted he remembered why he knew it.
She patted his cheek, before dropping her hand. "Aye, you've the right of it there boy."
"I'm not little anymore." His nose wrinkled.
Her mouth twisted up into an amused smile. "Then what are you doing hiding from ya'r lessons?"
He frowned staring at the ground. "I'm not good at it."
"Learnin' to hunt took you a while." Osha watched his face scrunch up as he didn't have a good come back to that. "You're going to be a Lord when you're a man grown."
He stared at the pool in front of the tree. "I'm a wolf not a Lord."
"You can be both. All you Starks are wolves aren't ya?" She settled onto the ground. They'd be here till the wind beckoned him off. And she'd found it hard not having him near at all times.
Rickon smiled, his teeth showing. "Aye."
"Then you can learn to read and write like your blood." Osha wrapped her arms around her knees, closing her eyes and listening to the leaves rustling. The gods had led them this far, and now had led them back. So she listened, for she thought the gods likely had more awaiting them. Afterall, winter hadn't fully fallen. And it was coming.
/
Daisy sighed as they looked at Moat Cailin. "When was the last time someone like..fixed this place?"
"The Moat has been left to ruin for many years now." Mors replied, his voice deep as he sat high in his saddle.
Ser Roger Ryswell, to be named the new Lord Ryswell upon their return from this campaign, frowned deeply. His absence almost certainly to ensure House Ryswell was left leaderless for a couple of months while Sansa ensured her men were installed and prepared to twist arms to ensure the newly signed terms were followed to the letter. He spoke carefully, as he'd done since she'd lost her temper with the men. "In disrepair or not it'll be hard to take."
"Well it's a good thing I can ensure no arrows hit us and the gates turn to splinters." Daisy scratched at what she'd been informed were the withers of her horse Swiftfoot. She was getting attached to the animal that she had a feeling was hers and only hers. "Want me to just destroy the gate to see what they'll do?"
Tormund let out a snort. "That'd be a sight. Fuckers'll shit themselves in there."
Mors looked at her. "Can ya break the gate from here?"
"I can break the castle from here." Daisy replied. She's always found talking big could get people to back the fuck off. Especially if people believed it. And well...now she could walk the talk and she kinda needed them to buy the god thing. Also the sexism was getting real old. If one more person stared at her very covered up cleavage she was going to break some more noses.
The great bear of a man didn't question her ability. He was legit wearing a skinned polar bear over his shoulders. "Then let's make the fuckers piss themselves. Destroy the gate ya'r Holiness."
Daisy breathed out, raising a hand and closing her eyes. She felt the gate, the aged wood and iron. And then she closed her fist, vibrating the door like she'd shaken the mountain in Afterlife. She didn't have to look to know the wood had exploded, she felt it as it turned to splinters and twisted metal. Breathing in her eyes opened anyways. She ignored the swearing and cries of alarm from their men. "Think they'll surrender?"
"If they're smart." Mors's smile was vicious. "But best those cunts will get is the Wall."
Tormund made a disappointed sound. "My axe'll get rusty at this rate. Who wants to fight a god?"
Daisy raised a brow as she saw men running to the walls, holding their bows ready to defend. "I think they want to fight a god."
"They can't be that dumb…" Ser Roger gaped. "Without a gate they can't hope to hold their position."
Daisy stared at him. "I think hard headed stubborness is the way of you Northerns. I haven't met a one of you yet who hasn't thought challenging me was a good idea. Wasn't it your men who thought fighting me was a good idea?"
"Well." He coughed.
Mors laugh boomed. "Fair, we don't bend easy here in the North."
Tormund shifted awkwardly in the saddle. "So we fighting them or what?"
"Let's take the Moat for Lady Stark." Mors boomed. "FORM UP! TEN SILVER STAGS FOR EVERY PRISONER YA BRING ME!"
Daisy paused slightly at that, huh. The men really were taking the ice zombie threat seriously if they were that ready to add bodies to their defences. Shaking herself from the thought she gently nudged Swiftfoot forward. Time to stop some arrows and keep the casualties down.
Daisy carefully notched an arrow to the string of her bow. They'd stopped shooting at them around the fortieth arrow she'd shattered before it could get to them. Which meant she and the archers could help. It'd been nice of Mors to leave her the archers. Likely cause her followers were all better archers than swordsmen. Her fault, but useful. She didn't need to look to know the archers were following her commands. "DRAW!"
As her muscles pulled she settled the drawn bow in position. Her sight down the arrow was clear as she brought her aim up for the men along the wall. Breathing out her heart rate slowed as she adjusted her aim with the wind as the flapping sigels indicated it's direction. "LOOSE."
Her eyes followed her own arrow as it flew, arching through the air, and then embedding itself into the throat of one of the men on the wall. She lowered her bow. There weren't a lot of people on the wall. "SHOOT AT WILL." Christ shooting while yelling was awful. Also thank god for Joran knowing what the fuck she was supposed to say. Not saying 'fire' was weird as hell.
Daisy plucked another arrow and notched it, pulling her string back she found a new target, and fired. She was three arrows in when someone finally thought to try firing back again. She barely got her hand up in time to keep one of the boys from getting shot.
There was a great roar and the shield wedge charged forward and through the gates. Their shields raised above their backs, the front row holding their shields in front of them. It was a great rush, a clamor of armor and weapons. On the heels of the shield wedge was the main force of the army. She doubted there'd be any enemies left by the time they all got inside.
Lowering her bow she looked to Joran. "Turn the men around and guard the baggage." She handed him her bow, and then launched herself into the air.
The wind whistled past her as she flew to the walls of the castle. She landed with a roll on the parapets. Her head turned at the clatter to one side.
A man in the garb of a Frey man at arms dropped to his knees, weapons at his feet, hands raised. His whole form trembling.
She raised a brow. "You might wanna go sit so you don't get stabbed." Straightening she took in the walls. It wouldn't be hard to clean up the last of the men still living up here. She could already tell the battle was won. Time to keep the death toll down. Daisy stepped forward, drawing a sword as she did so.
/
Fitz had been focusing on the work of filtering the detris out of the mixture of wood ash and water. He'd been working on refining potassium and saltpeter. The work to get just miniscule amounts of base elements was ridiculous and his hopes were becoming more and more dependent on Jemma finding him. It'd take him...at least two years...at a minimum. He was brought out of his focus on sifting out the mixture to be dried by the door opening. Glancing up he frowned at the fat Lord. "Did y-you need something?" His voice was kurt.
"To ask you that." The large man chuckled, his chins jiggling slightly as he waddled into the room. He seemed to pause. "Do you have a second name Fitz? I don't believe we were ever properly introduced."
He blinked. "Uh...D-doctor Leopold J-James Fitz, l-level five agent of S-SHIELD."
"Well met then Fitz, then I in turn am Lord Wyman Manderly, Warden of the White Knife, Shield of the Faith, Defender of the Dispossessed, Lord Marshal of the Mander, and knight of the Order of the Green Hand." He puffed, proud at his titles, but jovial air never leaving him.
Fitz gave a careful nod. "Right….y-you lot like y-your titles." He carefully set his strainer to the side and wiped his hands. "W-what'd you want to k-know?"
"Well what sorts of things you'll need? Of course you have enough oil for light for some time. But not that long once winter sets in properly and the dark comes."
He paused, glancing at the entire shelf of oil for his lamps...he had enough if his math was right for four months of twenty four hour constant light. "W-winter's not that long?"
"The Maesters suggest this winter will last for years, possibly even ten or more." Manderly replied in disbelief like his words made sense.
Fitz opened and then shut his mouth. He started again. "Your s-seasons last y-years!?" He dropped his hands onto his hips in sheer disbelief.
Manderly just looked confused. "I suppose some short seasons might only be a single year? But this last summer was over ten years."
"T-ten…" Fitz didn't even care about his stutter. "B-but tha-that's...what t-the…" He ran a hand through his hair. He licked his lips slightly as his eyes flicked, his mind working through the implications of that. The food stores...number of men for the zombie fighting army...heating….livestock…
Manderly frowned looking at him as if he was a spooked animal. "Good gods, are you alright man?"
"What. The. H-hell!?" Fitz stared at the man in horror.
Manderly's arms fell to his side. "I'm afraid I don't understand."
"Seasons d-don't act l-like that!" His hand fisted in his greasy curls. "T-they're caused by r-rotation and-and-and…" He trailed off as the realization the damn weather had to be magically altered. "F-fucking magic." They'd die from hunger, cold or zombies before they could escape at this rate.
The great walrus of a man cleared his throat. "Would you like a calming drought? I'm sure Maester Wolkan would be glad to provide such for you."
"W-we have to f-fix your su-sustainability i-issues." Fitz grabbed his journal and ink. Fucking quill...why would people write with this? It was terrible. But that wasn't what was important. "I-I'm fi-fixing it." He looked up at the confused looking man. "I-I need a-all the a-ash f-from the f-fires. All of i-it! A-and e-everything y-you have on gr-greenhouses. I'I'll have a l-list f-for you l-later." His attention snapped to his assistant. "Crann!"
/
Sansa didn't look up as the door of the solar opened. She knew who was coming in, she'd summoned him afterall. So she finished signing her name, and then pouring wax and pressing her sigel to the paper. Setting her house ring to the side, she finally looked up. "Ser Ryswell."
He twitched at the absence of 'lord' in his title. "What's this?" He held up his orders to travel to Eastwatch.
"We need to man the wall. According to my brother, Eastwatch is the keep closest to the army of the dead's last known position and holding it will be critical. You no longer have duties to your house, but have the experience to see to the keep and lead the men I send with you" She raised a brow. "Or did you wish to die of old age in some out of the way chamber?"
Rodrik Ryswell's wrinkled face tightened as he stared at her. He seemed to shake, slightly before it was like the air leaked out of him. "So I'm irrelevant and to be put aside then."
"If that's what you choose to believe. Or this is your opportunity to find honor." He looked exhausted. Dwindled really, the fight drained from him. His age betraying his indignation.
Sansa gestured her permission for him to approach and take a seat. "What would you have me do? The Wall must be defended if we mean to buy enough time to prepare. I know little of war but even I know this."
"So I am to be diminished to nothing but your pet." He spat, but there was little heat in it as he collapsed into the seat by the fire.
She politely didn't mention or indicate she could hear and see the creaking of his age written in his body and actions. "The cost of mercy. You still have your head, however that leaves you a threat I cannot allow to my back when I return to Winterfell. The Wall needs you, it's a convenient solution."
"You've ruined me. My legacy is ash. My descendents will curse my name." He gave her the slightest nod. "Fine, I'll go and die on the Wall for you. But I want something in exchange."
Sansa focused on him fully then, folding her hands in her lap. There was little she had she could even give him. Her and her House's power was still insecure. The closest to safety that they could have was tantalizingly close. She wouldn't risk that for this man. "What do you want?"
"Let my son rebuild our house. I want your word, you will allow him to raise us back up as far as he is able. The word of Ned Stark's daughter, not whoever you've become." Rodrik's eyes bore into her.
If she'd been less controlled she'd have breathed in relief. It was something she could offer to him. She gave the slightest nod. "I give you my word, I will not persecute your House for the mistakes of the past." Sansa measured him, he wasn't an enemy she hated, merely one she did not trust. "Would my plans for your House in the coming days comfort you?"
"Reckon they might." He'd relaxed at her promise, and now he settled further into his chair.
She laid her hands on top of the desk. "Your son and the new Lord Ryswell will continue to lead your men at my command. Once he's returned from Moat Cailin he will have two moons time to return to the Rills and put his affairs in order before the Lords' Moot. From there he will serve as a Lord of the North in the face of the Dead as any other. As to your daughter I believe she intends to become an advisor rather than a prisoner. A change I am not inclined to prevent. Your younger sons, Rickard and Roose will be allowed to fight as any other man in the North once the Dead arrive. Your grandchildren are too young yet to fight and as such I'd prefer them to be left in the Rills under guard to ensure the survival of your House."
"And if they achieve great feats in the wars to come?" He asked, though his voice had softened, his eyes had something like hope in them.
Sansa considered that. "Roger, as Lord of your House may be awarded a title or weapon or some other small token of value. With your actions in supporting the Bolton's I can do little else. Rickard and Roose, well it wouldn't be impossible for a small keep or position to be awarded. And should Barbary choose to remarry I have no issue with her doing so. Or perhaps returning to her home in a few years' time."
"I'll leave with some loyal men tomorrow then." Rodrik just seemed tired, his journey would need to be slow. "The rest of the men you mean to join us can come later."
She stood, she'd seen to enough paperwork for now. "It would seem I have enough food and equipment to ensure you and your men don't freeze or starve as you protect the North."
He blinked, and then laughed outright at that. His shoulders shook as he wheezed for air, his humor suffusing him from head to toe. He was practically jolly. He wiped tears from his eyes, looking at her. "You took our stores just to give it back to us. Gods be good you've got more balls than half your ancestors put together."
"You approve then." She opened the door, passing her letters to her guard. "Send those immediately."
"My Lady." The knight accepted them and left, his partner, one of Daisy's followers, gave Rodrik a glare before Sansa shut the door. She smiled slightly at the close door before letting it fade as she turned back to face the disgraced lord. "Now, in your experience what will you require for manning Eastwatch?"