Sansa had been staring into the fire for...who knew how long. The silent understanding and companionship was both comforting and terrifying. The consequences of tonight were something she hadn't the energy nor ability to predict. Her chest felt hollow, the empty carved out, aching eyes feel of having sobbed hysterically. Her mind felt like it was drifting, flinching from any of the harsh realities waiting for her. Breathing was easier, it was...a relief. She was floating in relief. Out of the corner of her eye she realized Daisy had just shivered.
She turned, her mind focusing again ever so slightly as she looked at the woman, really putting together her appearance for the first time. Daisy had the familiar windswept look of having flown recently, which explained how the god was even here. Her clothing was actually still wet. Which…
Sansa reached out touching her...friend's arm feeling the cool damp fabric, she'd half expected it not to be truly wet. It didn't make sense, this god was sitting on the floor in wet clothing, had ripped open her own hurt for her. She couldn't keep the disbelief out of her voice. "You're cold?"
"Huh?" Daisy blinked, seeming to come out of her own fugue state. "Oh right yeah." Her brow furrowed ever so slightly, and then the fabric under Sansa's hand warmed suddenly, the water rising off of her in a short burst of steam.
She pulled back, staring at the woman. "I can't be more pathetic than I already have been." Sansa carefully stood, her muscles stiff as she moved. Moving to the wardrobe she lifted the damn crate out of the bottom and carried it over before dropping with a thud on the carpet next to Daisy and sat back down beside her. Sansa didn't even process completely that she was sitting so close their shoulders were nearly touching.
"What's with the box?" Daisy looked at her curiously, seeming uncaring of the fact her sudden drying of herself had left her hair frizzy.
Sansa gestured to it. "If you wouldn't mind opening it."
"Sure." Daisy reached forward opening the nailed down lid of the wooden crate with an ease that would likely never not be jarring to witness. Daisy let out a sudden laugh as she saw the contents. "You're hiding a crate of wine in your closet?"
"Lady Dustin was, but I can't make more of a fool of myself and if Tyrion's belief in using hurt as armor isn't working at least his habit of drink can't ruin it." She lifted a bottle out, and struggled to get the cork out.
Daisy snickered and pointed her hand at the bottle, the cork suddenly popping out. "Tyrion was your first husband right?"
"Hmmm." Sansa agreed and took a long drink from the bottle not bothering with a cup. "Tyrion Lannister. He's a dwarf, notable patron of every whore from here to Casterly Rock, and a drunk." She sighed. "But not a terrible person. He was...kind when he had no need to be."
Daisy raised a brow in question while grabbing her own bottle from the crate, the cork popping off without her even touching it. "How old were you when you married him? Cause you're young to have been through husbands."
"Four and ten, nearly five and ten." She responded. Sansa startled slightly as Daisy chocked on the wine she'd just taken a drink of. "Are you alright?"
"How old was he?!" Daisy was staring at her with something like dawning horror.
She was...unsure of the cause exactly, though she could guess. "Four and thirty."
"Christ." Daisy suddenly looked at her, the slightest of snarls on her face. "You said 'is', he's still alive?"
Sansa blinked and then laughed, it was low and hardly clear, more half choked but still a genuine laugh. "He never hurt me. No need for you to fly off to go avenge me."
Daisy blinked, and then took a long drink from her bottle of wine. "Good, though I was thinking you'd rather kill him yourself if he was anything like Ramsey. Which seriously impressive how you stabbed him."
"If I'd had a choice in it, I'd have fed him to his dogs." Sansa shared, she'd put a great deal of thought into how she'd have killed him if she could have done it differently.
Daisy's eyes widened slightly, but she just looked amused. "I only knew him for like three days, but very full circle. I like it." She clinked their bottles together in a sort of toast. "Probably not healthy, but I like it."
Sansa took a drink of her wine, a warm sensation filling her. "If I was a man this would all be so much easier." She paused as she considered it. "I'd probably be dead, but that's another kind of easier."
"I hear that." Daisy looked at the fire. "The raging sexism here makes me miss sexism in my own world. And it is irritating enough there."
Sansa could guess, but she still asked. "Sexism?"
"Acting like one gender is better than the other." Daisy had open frustration on her face. "But seriously the next one of your Northerners who just blatantly talks about 'tits' 'cunt' or whatever about a woman in front of me I'm punching in the face. It's disgusting."
Sansa couldn't help the horror at that. "In front of you?"
"I've been spending a lot of time with soldiers. It happens. But they're pushing the line." Daisy grumbled. She paused to look at Sansa with an oddly critical light. "I can't make anything that happened to you better. But I can show you how to more effectively stab anyone else who tries."
She considered that, but well she was in a dressing gown, her face had dried tears on it and she was drinking wine from the bottle. Being proper or strong had died as an option awhile ago. "I'd like that."
Daisy grinned. "Maybe not tonight, but tomorrow." She cocked her head. "Come on, we've both had shit luck, but there's got to be something not horribly depressing."
"My sister used to run around the Red Keep dressed like a peasant boy. Scandalized everyone, this skinny little girl running around with a wooden sword chasing cats." Her lips turned up. "Arya never cared what anyone thought. She just was who she was. She was brave, didn't know the meaning of the word courtesy." She flicked her eyes to Daisy as she took another drink. "What about you, something good in your years of fighting?"
Daisy smiled, it was soft and genuine. It made her whole face light up, made it apparent as always that the woman truly was beautiful if as against traditional garb as Arya had been. Suited her though. Maybe it'd have suited Araya as well.
"SHIELD wasn't all doom and gloom." Daisy grinned. "And Bobbie and Hunter were always hilarious. They-"
Sansa woke with a throbbing head, her mouth was dry and disgusting. Her eyes were gummy as she cracked them open. Sitting up she frowned, she was in her bed, though she didn't remember getting there. Groaning, she shifted looking around the room, one hand pushing her hair back. She winced at the light coming from the window. The room was empty, Daisy clearly having long since left. Sansa was still in her nightgown, though she was comfortably in bed now instead of on the carpet by the fire. She had a feeling she knew exactly how she'd gotten to bed.
The slight sound that had to have been what woke her came again, and a servant came into the room. The woman curtsied at the sight of her. "My Lady."
Sansa flicked her wrist absently, letting the woman get on with her work, rebuilding the fire and such. Looking to the low table beside the bed she saw a pitcher of water and a note. Reaching out she lifted the note seeing the familiar scratching handwriting of her friendly god. It was still terrible, but at least it was legible now. Scrawled across the page with less blots of ink than expected was a short note. -Drink the water, it'll help with the headache. I hid the wine back where you got it from.-
Her lips turned upwards despite herself at the thought of it. It also made it far more real that she'd fallen asleep in the presence of the other woman. It was..rather alarming even if she couldn't muster up anything other than vague amusement at the thought of Daisy hiding the wine. A particularly unpleasant throb killed her amusement. Why on earth did men enjoy getting drunk? This was terrible.
/
Lady Barbrey Dustin found herself awed by the girl mounted on the horse ahead of her. Though the willingness to travel for miles without a wheelhouse was notable. It also wasn't the fact that the girl clearly was recovering from wine sickness and hiding it very well, which was an odd thought. She wouldn't have expected her to be the type to drink the night before departing on a months long journey. No, what awed her was what the girl had accomplished. No one had expected the news the god had carried to them that morning.
The Karhold had fallen, House Karstark was as dead as House Bolton. In half a year two houses were simply gone. And then there was the House Barbrey'd married into, and the House she'd been born into. Both humbled, forced to bend the knee at the point of the sword as they'd been forced to do thousands of years ago. She swallowed, speaking to Lord Cerwyn who was riding besides her as they all took the long road back to Winterfell. "She's something isn't she?"
"Aye, she's as noble as her father ever was." Lord Cerwyn said with the soft awe of worship in his tone.
She stared at the boy in disbelief. "Ned? You think that girl's got a thing in common with her idiot father?" Barbrey wondered at the man's head. "She's made in the mold of the Starks of old, has more in common with King Theon Stark than Ned Stark. If she thought it necessary she'd mount a thousand heads on pikes."
Lord Cerwyn's look of awe didn't change as he looked ahead at where Lady Stark was speaking with Mors Umber and the god. Boy likely thought he was half in love with a woman who certainly saw him as little more than a playing piece. "Ned Stark was a great man."
She reached out and slapped the idiot upside the head. "Ned Stark was a good man. There's a difference boy."
He looked at her, clearly insulted. "You should speak better of your betters."
"My betters?" Barbrey scoffed in disgust. "The Starks may be a breed apart but that doesn't make them more than men."
Lord Cerwyn fell quiet, it was nearly sulky before he spoke, but his words felt thought out for the first time. "Perhaps, but watching her I get why a Stark must always be in Winterfell."
Barbrey didn't have much to say to that, the bloodshed and ruin the Boltons had brought and would have continued to bring with the Lannisters if allowed to continue came to mind. She wasn't ignorant of the horror they were wreaking. Losing Robb Stark had ruined the North. The more practical part of her knew it was rather the entire war that had ruined them. But trading Robb Stark, fool though he was marrying for love, had harmed them irreparably. The honor and pride of the North had been wounded by their loss of the Starks. By not saving Ned's girls, letting the Boltons rule them.
She looked curiously as the god up ahead pulled something out of the satchel over the back of her horse. The god lifted out a light weight and narrow dagger and passed it to Sansa Stark. And the look on Sansa Stark's face was the closest to honest emotion the girl had shown in Barbrey's presence.
Barbrey looked at Cerwyn. "What do you know of the god?"
Cerwyn paled slightly. "I saw the face tree she came out of." He shivered. "You've seen her power. But her titles...I'm just glad she seems the forgiving sort."
Barbrey hadn't been around enough of the men to hear the rumors paused, and she'd certainly understood the god hadn't been introduced properly. "Titles?"
"Aye, she's Sky, Daisy Jonson, Inhuman known as Quake, Child of Monsters and Blood, The Warrior Daughter of the First Elder of the Afterlife, Knight of the Order of Shield, Destroyer of Worlds."
Barbrey's heart sped up at that. That was...it was a lie wasn't it? Something that powerful wouldn't bow and defer to a mere mortal, surely? She nearly twitched as the eyes of the god flicked to her as if she knew what she was thinking. As soon as she'd attracted the attention of the god it was gone again. The god returning to its conversation with Lady Stark and Mors.
Her heart felt like it was caught in her throat. "You're not lying."
"No, she's as human as a weirwood." He replied, his utter belief in his words undoubtable.
Barbrey had assumed the 'god' following and assisting the Starks was some remnant of the dark magicks of Old Valyria. Certainly deadly, worthy of respect and not to be ignored. But she hadn't thought… She'd thought of the creature as a god because in the scale of things it wasn't a difference that would have mattered. Only...the chance that creature was an actual god and not just the result of dark magicks of a fallen empire was...she wasn't sure what to think of that.
It turned out she needed to swallow her dis-ease as Mors Umber raised his voice, half calling her forward. "Barbrey! You had a great love affair as a girl didn't ya?!"
Her jaw tightened, but she knew she'd be expected to move forward. So she urged her horse forward out of it's walk and up to the forward part of the party. She'd been the Lady of a noble house for over twenty years. She could hold her compsure around Mors fucking Umber and a god. "What was that Umber?" Her tone was cold.
"Ya spent that whole summer fucking Brandon Stark." Mors boomed, the great hornery fool.
Her eyes sharpened. "Is that gossip still interesting?"
"Biggest piece of gossip in the North before the Rebellion." Mors laughed, and god she could wring his neck. His one eye was bright with a frustrating mischievousness. Damned man was going to use her for a joke then. Bloody shite. "We all know that old Dustin wished he'd never been weaned after seeing your tits. Shame ya never remarried, keeping tits like that locked away's a crime." He roared with laughter only for his own meaty fist to smack into his own face, hard. It made a distinct smacking sound.
The god cleared her throat. "Funny, I should think it's her own choice who she fucks, if she fucks anyone and who sees what of her body." The look on her face was distinctly irritated.
Mors blinked looking at his hand like it'd betrayed him. Reaching up he touched what must be a rather tender nose before huffing. "Fair enough, not like you're much of a marriage prospect now anyways. Your father had to pay the Dustins a lot to take you the first time."
There was a louder smacking sound as his fist slammed into his face again.
The god stared at him like he was the fool he was. "You wouldn't be implying that her value as a person is any less because she's had sex would you? Because I've heard enough to know you fall far lower than her by that standard."
It seemed to finally get through his thick head that he'd displeased the god then.
Lady Stark's voice was dry as she spoke. "If you could avoid overly harming every Umber you meet, I'd appreciate it."
"Fine." Her eyes narrowed ever so slightly as she looked at Mors Umber, the air turning bitingly cold. "You plan to apologize to Lady Dustin afterall, don't you?" It was a blatant order. And one Lady Stark didn't attempt to soften, rather the lady looked slightly amused by the proceedings.
Mors opened his mouth, no doubt to protest only for the air to somehow drop in temperature even lower, their breaths misting in plums of white. He looked at Barbrey. "Apologies, shouldn't have talked like you were some common whore."
Barbrey ignored the exasperated expression on the god's face as the temperature lifted. "Yes well I'd sooner expect manners from a bear than an Umber."
Mors roared with laughter before wiping the blood away from his nose. "We're Northerners! None of those pissy shites from the south."
Lady Stark's lips twitched upwards as they continued to ride. Which, while she was clearly a well trained rider, it was apparent it wasn't a frequent pastime of hers. A definite sign of stubborn Northern pride she was going to ride for weeks despite that.
Daisy, god of actual ruin snorted. "And I'm continually baffled by how unequal you see sex in this world." She winked at Barbrey. "Good on you for ignoring that."
Which...Barbrey had met a lot of responses to her brief love affair of stupidity as a girl. The sort of manly back patting wasn't something she'd encountered before. Actually it was so far from what she was used to she hadn't an idea of how to reply to it. Something the god seemed to realize as she switched topics easily.
"While we're on the topic. Why on earth would Alys Karstark wish to wed Jon? Like he's handsome enough, and I can't say I don't see the appeal. But I didn't get the sense they knew each other much at all and Jon's a lot of very nice things, charming prince isn't one of them. It seemed very...mercenary."
Mors grunted. "Best match a traitor like her could hope for."
Lady Stark explained, utterly unflappable by a god of ruin so near her. "House Stark has a long history of marrying the daughters of our defeated foes into our House. It is a sign of respect that we would bring their bloodline into our own, as well as evidence of our victory. It may be in some regards distasteful, but the spoils of war often include people. It is why I was married to House Lannister, and then House Bolton."
"A tradition you will uphold?" The god looked at Sansa with an expression of...curiosity but also something Barbrey couldn't say.
Sansa seemed to understand the actual question the god was posing. "I have no intention of being needlessly cruel, not least because they share the blood of House Stark. But such is our custom, and such will need to be done. Though until Rickon sits as Lord, it's best Jon remains unmarried."
The god held Sansa Stark's gaze, but nodded in deferment. "It's kinda weird...but it's what's kindest isn't it?"
"It is." Sansa replied as if a god deferring to her was normal as the sun in the sky. "Not all of us can simply choose our own marriages and lovers as you can."
Barbrey swallowed at the implication there. The position within a hierarchy of gods this one must hold for that to be the case. A position that made her gentle deferment to Sansa Stark ever more baffling. Her silent confusion was interrupted.
Mors cleared his throat. "I'd have paid good coin to see Jon unleash that damned giant of his on the Karhold."
"It was remarkably fast." Daisy replied, her attention to flicking back to the giant of a man. "Your brother was not what I've come to expect from an Umber...at least in build."
"Aye, that's Hother for you, always was a skinny fucker." Mors laughed, completely ignoring the fact his nose was still dribbling blood.
It was the beginning of a conversation Barbrey had heard many times. "As delightful as this conversation is, I find myself curious whether we will be stopping for game to add to our super?" Barbrey was certainly unenthusiastic about the idea of salted meat and grains for the near month it'd take to reach Winterfell.
The god replied as easily as anything. "I can find fresh game if you want." Which she just offered her service to Lady Stark without thought.
Mors made a vaguely concerning sound. "I've never eaten so well on battle march as I have when you've joined us. But damned if just finding the dead animals with not a scratch on them is wrong."
"I could just point you to where the game is if you want to kill it yourself?" The god offered.
Lady Stark sighed. "Please just kill what game is needed Daisy."
"Sure." The god's eyes closed, her face smoothing out. It was silent, and then her eyes snapped back up. "There's a herd of something a couple miles up ahead. Mors and I can go and pick up a few animals when we get closer."
Mors grumbled, but did not protest. Which was interesting.
Lady Stark looked at the sun where it was lowering in the sky. "Mors, how much longer do you think before we bring our march to an end for the evening?"
"A few miles yet M'Lady." He tipped his head to her.
Lady Stark hummed, though the slightest adjustment in the saddle indicated the riding in the saddle was likely to be miserable for the girl as the days went on.
The god seemed to notice the same, quickly offering distraction. Which...was rapidly narrowing down the reasons for a being of that much power to offer such regard to a mortal. "I've been wondering, what is the deal with the Riverlands? Like are they sworn to House Stark or what?"