Sansa wasn't even surprised Daisy had managed to slip into her tent without alerting the knights guarding her. If she was anything other than well...her, Sansa would have been concerned. As it was she was just vaguely bemused and oddly pleased. "I remember us discussing you not putting an end to any rumors of a possible courtship, not beginning rumors of us being indecent."
"Well it's a good thing nobody saw me come in." Daisy grinned. "Besides, even if someone decided to poke their head in it's not like clothing is going to be off."
Sansa didn't mention that she was right. It helped that she was the daughter of a man renowned for honor and Daisy was a god. Without further evidence then unchaperoned time no serious suspicion would be leveled upon them. Well, at least not yet. It helped significantly that whatever Daisy had come for wasn't going to change the woman's general behavior. Sansa was beginning to fear even around those who could actually challenge a god Daisy was glib. It seemed to be a part of her charm. "Yes well, did you need something? I'm very sore and we have a long ride again tomorrow."
"Two things, I can help with the sore thing, and I wanted to talk to you about what you want and are able to learn." Daisy looked...cautious.
Sansa raised a brow, setting her folded cloak aside. "Why are you concerned about my reaction to helping?"
"With soreness? Because people don't tend to like letting me use my powers on them. With self defense? Because there's only so much I can show you without either I, or someone else standing in for the person you need to incapacitate." Daisy was blunt, a kindness in it's own way.
She would ponder on why she barely felt unease at the thought of what Daisy was suggesting later. "Am I wrong you were aware I was distressed last night because of your powers? Is there a difference?"
"Uh, yeah." Daisy's fingers fiddled at the cuff of her left sleeve. "Everything vibrates, and I feel it. Like all the time. The longer I'm around people, or places the more I get used to them. It's why I noticed your heart was beating way faster than normal. But I wasn't actively doing anything, just paying attention. With defense, the chances of causing you to feel like you're back there when you were hurt is likely."
Sansa swallowed. "Ah." Which explained why Daisy had been sure to slip into her tent without anyone else aware of what she was there. She was giving her privacy.
"Exactly, so I wanted to suggest on the self defense we start slow. I don't think either of us want you to end up panicking when it can be avoided. But that'd mean you'll need to tell me if something is bothering you." Daisy was asking for honesty, trust but offering her aid in return.
She gave a sharp nod. If it was Daisy teaching her, she could handle it. However… "I can do that, though I fear I'll disappoint. I'm not a warrior."
"You don't need to be a specialist like me. But the base of my fighting style will work better for you than what your knights use." She stepped forward, her hand held out in offering. "Besides, just think that you'll be able to make a grown man cry in under ten seconds if he tries to touch you."
Sansa smiled, a slightly grime light to her as she accepted the offered hand. The hand she took was warm and calloused, but what caught her attention was the sensation, something alike to thousands of bees buzzing in her own hand. It wasn't unpleasant but unexpected. She could feel it through and through, her bones seeming to echo with it. She saw the question on Daisy's face, and she was touched by the kindness of this question asked again. A kindness she was terrified that she was becoming used to. Sansa gave a nod of assent.
The buzzing rushed through her from the tips of her fingers to the souls of her feet, and every sore and tense muscle she had unclenched. It was startling in it's suddenness. A sound whooshed out of her half gasp and half exhale, her legs nearly failing her. Only Daisy's warm hands catching her forearms kept her from ending up on the ground for the second time in as many days.
Sansa shot a look at the smug looking woman, admittedly the fact she felt less stiff then she had in years made it ineffective. "You…"
"Have been being dragged into medical by Jemma to help with recovering agents' injuries for ages cause I beat a massage any day." Daisy was charming in her own way as she released Sansa and then wiggled her fingers playfully.
Sansa understood half of that, but she took the meaning. "Thank you." She frowned slightly. "Why now? We did this entire ride one way already." And it'd been miserable whether she'd refused to complain or not.
"Most people get spooked by the power thing." There was a flicker there, Daisy clearly felt hurt at the way her companions in her own world feared her. Something that was...confusing. "Also you Northerners and your pride. I'm gonna find some person missing an arm insisting they're fine and it's 'just a scratch' someday." She snickered, some joke there Sansa was missing, but she knew it was a brush off.
Sansa could feel the day catching up to her, so she chose not to point out she was becoming more and more convinced the woman's former fellow soldiers were idiots. Horrifyingly dangerous and unbelievably powerful Daisy may be, but she was kind. Which mattered more than either of the first two points. And the rarer trait by far. "Well if you find such a fool, feel free to allow them to bleed to death."
Daisy raised an amused brow. "Chances are it'll be an Umber."
"Can you heal a fool from a missing arm?" Sansa had a terrible feeling she was hoping the answer was yes.
Daisy wiggled her hand. "I can stop the bleeding." She winced. "Probably, I haven't tried but uh...theoretically I could burn the blood vessels closed in seconds."
"That sounds unpleasant. Let's hope none of the Umbers decide to lose an arm." Sansa's voice was wry. She smiled ever so slightly. "Thank you, and good night your Holiness." She was amused at the actual twitch that produced in Daisy at the title.
Daisy sighed but tipped her head. "Night." She winked and then slipped out the back of the tent, a slight breeze that was certainly unnatural caused the fabric to flap ever so slightly.
Sansa shook her head and reached for the letters. There was still time left, and work to be done.
/
Lord Wyman Manderly chuckled as he watched Lyanna Mormont and Rickon Stark's spar in the yard turn into rolling around in the dirt like the children they were.
"Shall I stop them my Lord?" Brienne asked, a sort of exhausted resignation to her.
His chuckles faded, though the good humor didn't leave him. "No, let them be children. There has been precious little time for children to just be. I doubt there will be much time for it in the coming days either." He looked at the woman warrior, twice as fierce as any man. "Your work with the men at arms?"
"Her Holiness's practice of making her men run endless laps is not without merit. The ones here outlast the rest of the men everytime. Strap them in armor and they'll hold any line they need to till their enemies break to pieces."
Wyman's eyes tracked to the Broken Tower, now the God's Tower. There were only forty or so men in Winterfell sworn to their resident god alone. Of those forty only ten of them had been a part of their order when their god had left to accompany the Stark army. As the Stark army returned she'd have close to if not a little over a hundred devoted followers. It frightened him, the symbol of a wolf over a weirwood leaf was becoming ever more common. As was the eagle banner hanging from the tower.
He found it less and less comforting that during her brief passes through she'd ensured the men remained deferential and functioned as simple men at arms. As a part of, not apart from their comrades. But he found himself wary of the power beginning to form around a god who certainly needed no followers to be dangerous. "They train well with you?"
"More respectfully than the rest of the lot honestly." Brienne's face failed to hide her irritation at that. Her face far too honest for the south her blood came from.
Wyman pushed his worries aside and slapped the giant of a woman's shoulder. "You should have been born in the North." He sighed as he realized Rickon had just tried to bite the Lady of Bear island...and Lyanna, Lady of Bear Island had just bit him back… "You may be needed to separate those two afterall."
"My Lord." She replied stiffly before stomping off to slap the two children upside the head. Based off the laughter of the men watching the 'spar' it was at least providing much needed entertainment and levity.
He sighed, and trod towards the inner halls where Maester Wolkan had requested to speak to him. Ensuring the safety and further establishing Winterfell and surrounding territory for the Starks while not difficult was certainly busy work.
/
Mors Umber was a simple man. Give him an axe in one hand and a tankard of ale in the other, some wildlings to bash and a good Lord to follow and he was content to pass his days protecting his home by day and drinking and making merry by night. He found he had his axe and ale but the wildlings were allies now that even he wasn't fool enough to harm, what with them under Stark protection. And where he'd have been pleased at an honorable and strong Lord he was instead serving a ruthless and unshakable Lady. He was as surprised by his contentment with the situation as he was by anything else these days. A god regularly whacked him about as it learned the sword so his tolerance for surprise had grown significantly he supposed.
As it was he was delighted at the chance to drink ale, eat food cooked over something other than a campfire, and enjoy their brief stop at the small village of Riverhill. Place wasn't much of anything, several of the carts needed repair and a brief delay to let the horses and men rest from their two week long march from Barrowtown was appreciated by all. Mors would have found the local brothel except that the morning promised to be most entertaining.
The small inn had of course welcomed Lady Stark and provided the best they had to offer. Delighted to have a Stark and their Lady Warden of the North. Not that that was her title yet, but frankly it was a laugh to think of anyone denying her the position. Five victories done in her name in less then a year was damn well staggering. Bloody fucking Starks. However Lady Stark getting to sleep in a bed was not the cause of the entertainment. No that lay with the fact that due to wars there'd been little attention paid to the small village.
Word had spread days ago of their approaching march. And every small folk man or woman with some grievance had come to lay their petitions before their Lady. There had been such a volume of petitioners that they'd had to raise a pavilion in the field behind the inn and assemble a sort of court. Only without walls, just wooden tables and some few crates.
Mors had been delighted to watch this court. It was the height of amusement to watch Ned Stark's daughter remain noble and composed as two hog farmers argued over the ownership of a litter of piglets and their get some three years back. The number of hogs born, grown, bred, and eaten since the initial incident was innumerable. The local Lord should have handled this years ago, but with war it, like a thousand other complaints, were left to fester.
Lady Stark spoke out, her voice the sharp crack of a whip, silencing the argument. "Enough."
The farmers both blinked in surprise, clearly their argument had been petty and absorbing enough they'd forgotten where they were.
Lady Stark spoke clearly, the tone clear and unwavering. Her judgment would not be changed. "You have disturbed the peace, near begun a feud over what? Which hog sired a single litter of piglets? You shall both give the other first choice of your next litter of piglets and be done with the matter."
Both men glanced at each other but bowed their heads. "Aye M'Lady."
As they shuffled off, they were handed the written order of Lady Stark as soon as the man currently serving as scribe could finish inking her words.
The next petitioner was a man demanding his daughter's former suitor marry the girl as she'd clearly been dishonored by him, as her swollen belly could attest.
Lady Stark arched her brow as the whole messy, and thus entertaining business was laid out. The young suitor and girl had been smitten with each other. The lad had left for a few moons to deliver a herd of cattle some leagues away for enough silver stags to provide a bride price. Only he'd come back to a pregnant girl and by his calculations far too pregnant for the child to be his.
There'd been sobbing from the girl, the angry demands for honor to be served by the father and the lad had been stiff and fighting back his betrayal as he saw it. It was compelling, and Mors found himself curious what Lady Stark'd do about the matter.
Lady Stark looked to her Stormland knight. "Ser, please go fetch her Holiness."
The tent filled with whispers, necks craning to see the god who honored House Stark. The feel of terror, excitement, and fascination. The girl let out a sobbing near wail.
Mors let out a huff. "Don't worry lass, our god don't care who ya've fucked."
The girl's father wrapped his arm around the girl's shoulders, murmuring softly in her ear.
Mors sighed and looked at Lady Stark. "Why do ya need her Holiness?"
"Because she can tell when a person lies." Lady Stark replied dryly.
Mors laughed, well damn. He'd hoped for more drama, but it was a hilariously small thing to ask a god to do. And damned if he wasn't sure the god'd do it.
Sure enough, not five minutes later a slightly flushed Daisy, in sparring garb, came strolling into the pavilion. She grinned up at Lady Stark. "You called?"
"Penny here," Lady Stark waved at the farmer's daughter, "Claims young Wendal there is the father of her unborn babe. Wendal claims she is too heavy with child for him to be the father. I am inclined to rule that as he admits to having lain with her, and had entered a promise of marrying her, that father or not he is bound to leave the agreed on bride price to Penny for the care of her child should he not find it in himself to marry her. However you would be able to determine whether young Penny here speaks the truth or not?"
Daisy paused and then nodded. "Sure." The god turned and looked at the girl, and she clearly understood the girl was terrified. Her entire bearing changed, from slightly ambivalent and a hint of mischievous to soft and warm. "Penny, yes?" She carefully didn't approach the girl. "You have my word I won't hurt you, no matter what all this means. While if you are lying it's certainly shitty and there will be consequences it's not something you need to fear me over. I don't need your blood, or an oath. I just need you to tell me what you've already told Lady Stark."
The girl's chin tipped upwards, a stubborn northern tilt to her jaw, tears and terror be damned. The fool boy would be lucky to still have his balls if her words were true because the girl would likely geld him on their wedding night. "I have spoken no lie. I gave him my maidenhead and I've lain with no other."
"Huh." Daisy nodded and then looked at Wendal. "And why are you so certain you can rightly guess what trimester or whatever her pregnancy is at?"
Wedal drew himself up, pain on his face and thick in his voice. "I'm the first son of thirteen ya'r Holiness. I know what a woman not four moons pregnant looks like. I'd give anything to believe her, but I won't be made a cuckold before I'm even wed. I thought we loved each other."
"We do you great lout!" Penny snapped at the boy who was resolutely not looking at his until recently beloved.
Daisy's lips twitched up. "Your mother wouldn't have happened to have ever had twins?"
The entire tent seemed to freeze as everyone looked at the swell of Penny's stomach. That would explain an overly large womb so early in a pregnancy.
"Twins?" Wendal suddenly sounded rather faint.
Penny echoed him. "Twins?" As did her father, though the man sounded rather strangled.
Daisy hummed. "Considering she's got three heartbeats in her, and two of them are very small and fluttery, I'm going to assume it's twins."
"Oh." Wendal blinked, tears building up in his eyes. He then turned and dropped to his knees before the still rather bewildered looking Penny. "I've made an arse of myself. Anything you want. I'm sorry. I'll marry ya today if ya let me."
Mors found himself rather touched at the sobbing boy and then the girl Penny was hugging her would be suitor and calling him a 'right idiot'. He still had no doubt that boy was going to be a slave to his soon to be wife for the rest of his days. No argument could be won after a fuck up this big. Lad was lucky the girl's father was just looking triumphantly vindicated rather than murderous.
Lady Stark cut in before the two lovesick fools could embrace. "Go get married you two." But she clearly shared everyone's good humor over the ordeal. She looked to her scribe. "Give them a gift of five silver stags, for luck in their marriage."
There was much bowing and effusive thanks, some tears, and finally the party had left the open pavilion.
Lady Stark looked back to the near endless queue of small folk here to present their problems to their lady. "The next petitionare may approach."
Mors grunted as his arm was slammed into the table by Daisy. "Fuck ya're arm's stronger than expected."
"You wanted to arm wrestle." Daisy just grinned, laughter in her face as she released his arm.
He snorted. "Bah, but now I can say I haven't lost since I challenged a god."
"Huh...I should have tried that with May." Daisy hummed.
Mors considered asking who 'May' was, but decided he didn't want to know. He failed to understand half what the damned god said anyways. He glanced over to where Lady Stark was pointedly ignoring them and listening to a petitioner. He grinned, grabbing his tankard and taking a great swig of it. Life was right, his honor and soul at peace serving a Stark for the good of his House and the North. It's what he was supposed to be doing. "I'm a simple man your Holiness, you can't judge me for that."
"You're an asshole." Daisy was clearly amused by him rather than upset however.
He grinned. "You like us Umbers. I know you do."
She rolled her eyes. "When you're not being particularly stupid you're not all bad." But she had a twinkle in her eye as she said it.
Mors reached out and slapped her on the back, and took another swig of his ale. He lowered his tankard and paused as he saw the newest petitioner. This one was notable in that he at least looked more interesting than the various laborers and such that'd made their way before him.
The lad was a man grown, but hadn't been for long. Perhaps twenty years or such. He had the northern look, his garb well made if simple. What was notable about him was rather his legs, wooden braces holding twisted legs as straight as possible as he used crutches to drag his rather useless lower half forward. He huffed as he came to a halt. Bowing his head as deeply as he could without tipping over he spoke. "Sorry M'Lady, I can't bow like it's proper." His accent was thick as he spoke.
"What is your name and your petition?" Lady Stark asked, she didn't show a flicker of judgement or distaste for the cripple.
He cleared his throat. "I'm called Duncan M'Lady. I begging' your forgiveness but my petition isn't for you exactly." Ducan's face was set in determination. But he looked towards the Lord's table where Mors, Cerwyn and Daisy were sitting. "It's her Holiness I beg notice from."
Lady Stark seemed to pause slightly. "That is her choice." She looked to them. "Will you hear his petition?"
"Yeah." Daisy swung around so that she was fully facing the man. "What do you want from me? I'm not your Lady."
He half dragged himself so that he was facing the god. "If you could find it in yourself to heal my legs." There was a desperate hope there. "I'd make any oath, any promise, any service if I could be of use to my family."
Daisy let out a low breath. "Healing is not my gift. And if it was, the price for that is high. A life for a life." She stood, facing the man. "That was my mother's gift, life. And it was terrible."
"Oh." Duncan seemed to slump, misery weighing down his shoulders.
"You can do better than those braces though." Daisy flicked her eyes to his legs and back. "What do you do for your family now?"
His brow furrowed slightly. "I do the numbers. An' I know my letters. Anyone around here needs a thing written I can do it. It might be women's work but I can sew as well." He swallowed. "My parents are old. I cannot care for them or give them much coin. It's not enough."
"It doesn't sound that way to me." Daisy stepped closer to the man. "But you don't believe you're lying either." Which didn't that send a shiver down Mors's spine. Knowledge truth speaking was a frightening thing. A threat should any think to lie. But she continued. "If you wish, a man of those skills would be welcome among mine."
There was dead silence at that. Because what? Daisy ran her men ragged. They were in training now but no doubt would be some of the finest warriors in the seven kingdoms given time the way she ran them. It was an order of warriors.
Mors couldn't help it, he let out a sound of disbelief. "You're men are fighting men?"
"And most of them are illiterate, and half their clothing gets a rip of some sort every week. If he has time after what is needed by us I know Lady Stark needs those skills." She glanced at Lady Stark.
And damned if Lady Stark didn't give the god a nod of fucking permission.
Daisy turned back to Duncan. "Is that what you want?"
"Aye, but I can't walk an have no horse." Duncan uttered.
Daisy laughed lightly. "Then it's a good thing I have a horse."
Mors shook his head, damned Ladies and gods. He didn't understand a damn thing. But he was where he belonged.