Rickon actually corporated and pulled on the clothing one of the servants had set out. It felt...familiar and new at the same time. But he knew Osha would skin him if he didn't stop being obstinate about it and wore the garb of a Northern Lord. It was stiffer than his furs he'd been wearing for years now. But there was a comfort he found disquieting about these pieces of clothing. This was what he'd worn as a small boy. He looked at himself in the small mirror in his rooms and felt...he didn't really recognize himself exactly, not that'd he'd seen much of himself save through Shaggydog's eyes, but still. He looked a bit like what he remembered Robb looking like.
He bit at his lower lip, but turned and slipped out of his room. His mind brushing Shaggydog's as he did so. Rickon couldn't help the smile as he felt his other half's excitement as the wolf ran through the Godswood. His own pace picked up as he ran through the halls towards the great hall to break his fast.
"Watch where ya'r going Little Wolf." Osha whacked at his shins with a broom as he shot past her.
Rickon couldn't help laughing as he danced around her attack and then disappeared further down the hall. Different clothing couldn't drop his mood. His sister returned today! Everyone said so, and Shaggydog could smell their approach, not to mention Manderly said the scouts had seen them. He ducked under Brienne's reach to slow him down, and skidded into the great hall.
"Ah, eager for your sister's return, young Stark?" Manderly laughed as he beckoned him forward from his own seat, his morning food before him already.
Rickon nodded as he slowed to a lope as he made his way the rest of the distance to the high table. "Is there news?"
"Aye, they should be in sight by noon." Manderly slapped him on the back as he slid into his seat. "Eat up lad, it'll be a long day."
Rickon considered everything. He needed...he needed to do better. His cheeks still felt hot at the thought of the lecture he and Lyanna had endured the moon before. He was trying but sitting in his lessons left him feeling stupid and jittery. But he was trying. So as a bowl of porridge with nuts and dried fruit was placed in front of him he asked what was probably a good question. "What are we doing to welcome my sister home?"
"The stores have been opened for the wagons, and the fields have been prepared for the new livestock, as have the stables. The rooms have been opened, fresh linens, and hearths cleaned." Manderly poured him a cup of watered down ale and pushed it to him. "The hunt from yesterday will provide for a moderate feast for the return of our victorious men and Lady. We must feast the men as well as the town for such an occasion. But with winter nearly here and war on our doorstep it will be modest for such an occasion. Flint has prepared your sister's solar with the coorsponse and records of all I have done on her behalf while she's been away."
Rickon nodded, that sounded like a lot. And he wouldn't have the first clue at how to do any of that except hunt for the animals to eat. "The men at arms?" Stupid Lyanna probably understood how to do it.
"I've ordered them all to dunk their heads in a barrel of water, to trim their beards, put on their cleanest tunics and shirts. Swords and spears were shined and leather buffed. The servants are washing the walls today as the men clean their barracks. And you my Lord are going to not fight with Lady Mormont."
Rickon glared at his morning meal. "I will if she does."
Manderly laughed outright, his belly jiggling with his mirth. "Boy, she's a Mormont. Damned bears wouldn't know how to back down from a fight if it bit them in the arse."
"What's this I hear about bears?" Greatjon Umber boomed as he entered the hall. His great giant of a figure dwarfing anyone near him as he strode for the head table.
Rickon's ears pinked, his pale skin giving away his embarrassment far too easily.
"Young Stark here says he'll stop fighting with our Lady Mormont if she stops fighting him." Manderly explained, laughter in his jolly voice.
Umber snorted as he dragged his chair to the table, the wood scraping over stones. "The day a Mormont backs down from a fight started is the day the sun rises in the north and sets in the south."
Rickon resisted the desire to bite out that she challenged him. That she had a stupid smug face and that she was everything he wasn't. Everything everyone wanted him to be that left him flat footed and feeling foolish. Instead he stuffed a bite of the boiled oats into his mouth. And nearly spat it out from the heat. The only thing stopping him was the sight of Lyanna Mormont, the bane of his existence entering the hall.
He breathed in through his nose trying to fill his mouth with air to cool it without opening his mouth. His eyes watering as the heat stuck and stung to his mouth. It was terrible. He gummed at the food hoping to swallow faster. It just spread the pain, he wanted to spit it out so badly, but he wouldn't be weak in front Lyanna. Finally he forced himself to swallow. His bite burned a train from his mouth, down his throat all the way to his gut. With a jerking movement he grabbed his cup and drained it in one great desperate pull to cool his mouth and now burning trail down his gullet.
Lyanna looked as judgy as always, that stupid cold superiority. She sniffed as she sat with all the manners he lacked. At least she couldn't touch the perfect way his sister moved. But still it was galling.
Rickon shot a glare at her as he set his cup down.
Umber and Manderly both laughed, clearly having spotted the interaction.
Rickon would like to sink through the floor. However, he was a Stark damn it. So he straightened his back, scooped up a smaller bite of his meal, and ate it. He could go one day without doing something wrong. He was ignoring the way he knew that Shaggydog was currently stalking Hogg. It wasn't like his wolf would eat the guy...just scare him...cause his squeaks were funny. That didn't count as trouble!
/
Barbrey Dustin was for all her love of horses, saddle sore. Riding for a full moon would do that at her age. Not that she'd breathe a word of that. It had been a shockingly peaceful ride for an army. But then she supposed with a Lady leading and a god as silent threat, slightly better behavior was to be expected. Seeing Winterfell before her filled her with an odd wistfulness and an old bitterness.
It should have been her's. All those years ago Brandon Stark should have married her, leaving her Lady of Winterfell. A Stark. It was the highest honor and privilege she could have imagined as a girl. She'd longed for it, written 'Lady Stark' in her girlhood journal. It was the prize they had all wanted, and for one blissful pass of a year she'd thought it was her's. But then it had been gone, and she'd been diminished. Of course she'd picked herself up. Rebuilt herself, a wiser if colder version of herself. A version that had wed into House Dustin, and had ruled that same House for a lifetime.
The old bitterness had faded, she's had a good life. And she was old enough now to understand that what she'd wanted had been a foolish if pretty dream. Instead she settled on wistfulness. It would seem she would live out the remainder of her days in the fortress she'd dreamed of. And it was grand. A giant, behemoth of stone rising up from the rolling hills that was the land between the White Knife and the Wolf's Wood. A stronghold that had been the seat of Kings. It wasn't flamboyant, there wasn't a flourish that wasn't practical and dangerous to it. Armies could march upon it, and they would shatter and wash away.
As they rode, the baggage at the end of their line, the last mile or more of the road was filled with excited small folk. They were here to catch a glimpse of their Lady, their victorious army. The proof that their days of suffering were over. And it was the return of their Lady from a great victory. Their Lady Stark had forced two houses to bend the knee, bringing tribute and riches back with her, and if that wasn't enough Moat Calin was retaken, the last pocket of Bolton supporters who hadn't tossed their banners and were trying desperately to avoid notice gone.
Barbrey could see the work being done to rebuild from the ruin wrecked by the Ironborn and then the Boltons. The road had been repaired to some degree. The buildings of Winter Town were a mix of repaired, old and still being rebuilt. There was a gauntness of the cheeks of the people that was wrong for the end of summer. It was better suited to winter. But then none of their lives had been easy for years now.
"Penny for your thoughts?" The oddly chipper voice of the god asked.
Barbrey tensed, she hadn't realized the rider just behind her was the god. Then the words processed and she frowned slightly, looking at the god. "I'm not sure I take your meaning, your Holiness?"
"Oh right you guys don't have pennies...um...copper for your thoughts? I'm asking what's got you so lost in thought if you don't mind answering."
Barbrey was unsure if it was an insult to value her thoughts at only a copper. She doubted it as it seemed to simply be a saying the god had used without thought. Not that she was sure, but if the god was dismissing it her it wasn't anything she could change. So she answered. "It's been years since I was last here."
"It's definitely something. I mean I'd only been to one other castle before I got here. We stopped really building them in my world." The god seemed content.
So Barbrey dared what she might have otherwise not. "What was the other castle?"
"A ruin, honestly we didn't spend a lot of time there. Just used the old door between worlds. Well I held it open so a team could go through and rescue our friend." She replied casually as if it was nothing. "I was kinda delirious and bleeding from keeping the door open so long, so I don't remember much of the leaving bit."
Barbrey wondered at that, lie or truth? Likely truth, and a terrifying one. "Truly it requires that much of you?"
"Eh, sorta." The god shrugged. "I wasn't as powerful then, I'd only had abilities for less than a year at that point. And it wasn't my powers opening the doors, I just powered it."
She...decided not to ask more on that. "Did you require something of me Holiness?"
"No, just avoiding Mors for some quiet. There's an Umber reunion coming and I value my hearing." There was a sort of fond amusement there.
Barbrey scoffed. "Umbers, more noise than sense. Whole pack of them together are more a pack of dundering bulls locking horns than anything else."
The god threw her head back and laughed. "You're not wrong."
"You like the Umbers?" Barbrey had of course known that, she'd seen the acceptance and genuine appearing comradery the men had with the god. The woman seemed to prefer to be around those low born and simple than the various Lords in their party. The only ones of noble birth she payed much attention to were Mors and of course Lady Sansa. She'd spent more time in the last few weeks with her new follower Ducan and the Wildlings than much of anyone else at all.
The god nodded. "I'm used to their type, and I've found if I punch them in the face hard enough most of their irritating traits aren't so bad. And Mors and Greatjon both keep asking me to punch them in the face." She laughed lightly as she easily rode beside her as they moved ever closer to Winterfell.
"Punching them couldn't make it worse. My William was sweet, but gods I could have strangled the man if he'd lived for telling his war companions what he'd thought of my breasts. Mors never misses a chance to bring it up." Barbrey's voice held disgust, god Willaim had been a fool. If he hadn't of died in that damned rebellion she'd have had words with him.
The god raised a brow. "Punching might help. If you want tips on how not to break your hand I'm happy to help."
"I'm of the North, I can throw a punch." Barbrey wondered if she'd actually do it? It was a possibility if Mors got too intolerable.
The god snickered as she looked up at the ever looming curtain wall of the Stark seat of power. "Good for you."
Barbrey didn't disturb the silence that fell between them as they rode the last of the distance. The gates were thrown open, the household arrayed out to greet them. Barbrey's eyes sharpened as she identified those who stood in places of importance.
Standing in point of most important was Wyman Manderly. The jovial merman Lord bowed deeply as they entered, his voice carrying. "Winterfell is yours My Lady."
She felt her brow raising at that. Because standing by his side was Rickon Stark, boy looked near identical to Robb Stark when he was that age. The giant direwolf lurking behind the boy's shoulders was another clue, as was his garb with the sigil of his house embroidered upon it. By rights Winterfell was the boy's, not Sansa Stark's. Which wasn't that interesting the merman Lord was toeing the line of what was tradition like that. And far more how not a man, woman or child within the courtyard batted an eye at it.
Lady Stark accepted a hand from a giant woman of a knight who'd stepped to her side, and dismounted. "I thank you Lord Manderly for caring for my home in my absence." She smiled then, truly smiled at her brother who was near vibrating with excitement.
Rickon Stark clearly took it as permission, and he launched himself into his sister's arms. And for all that Barbrey considered herself a cold woman, she felt something then, something like pity.
/
Ereck Hogg, follower of Quake, and man at arms was sweating with nerves. He and Wilbur had been left to do their god's work and now they had to report and show their god what they'd done with that trust. They'd done their best, but what was that for living up to their god? It was near laughable, but he wasn't afraid of punishment if they'd failed. But they wanted to make her proud.
They both barely avoided bowing as Daisy approached them, Joran on her heels as she approached. "How'd you guys manage the rat issue? I almost dropped by but figured you had it handled."
Hogg flushed, pleased at the faith placed in them. "Lord Rickon and that wolf of his snuffed out the nest an' we got a cat for the tower."
"A cat? Nice, what's its name?" Daisy glanced around the entry of their tower, seemingly pleased by the cleanliness of the place.
Wilbur opened a wicker basket and lifted the animal out and presented it. "We've been calling him Ser Mouser, but we can change it if you want, Holiness."
Daisy accepted the cat, a delighted expression on her face. "That's a great name." She scratched at the lazy black orange patchy animal. "Does he need a collar?"
"We can get a collar." Hogg agreed quickly, everyone had been hoping Ser Mouser got to stay.
She looked up from the cat. "Hey, you're fine. I've seen some of what you guys have been working on the last few times I was here. You're good. How's the running been going?"
Wilbur brandished his new accounting of their training. "I've written it all out like you suggested."
Daisy accepted the sheaf of paper, and passed Ser Mouser back. Her eyes ran over the written words. "Good, we'll have to run everyone through their paces tomorrow." She looked at Wilbur. "Speaking of there's a guy with the army, Ducan. He'll be able to help with a lot of the writing and helping teach everyone how to read and write."
"Did I do something wrong?" Wilbur asked, his hurt more apparent than was probably smart.
Daisy touched his shoulder. "No, it's just a lot to ask of you, especially as more people keep wanting to pledge themselves to me. Which everyone knows they can change their minds at any time and go be normal men at arms for the Starks anytime?"
Hogg straightened, their god had been very clear on that. "Of course. Ten men chose to return to their homes, and three back to the Stark barracks." It was a point of pride that their place was something they chose. It wasn't a sacrifice of self if you weren't the one making it.
"Good, it's not for everyone." Daisy turned back to Wilbur. "But really it's not an insult, you need the help. You're doing really well. If these notes are right most of the men already know their letters and numbers. That's really good."
Wilber puffed up at that. "Once we're snowed in we can do more."
"And Duncan can help with that. I'm leaving it to you to get him settled in and make sure he's helping with what you're doing." Daisy squeezed Wilber's shoulder before dropping her hand.
Hogg shuffled slightly. "We finished your rooms in the tower."
"Neat, let's see how the tower is coming." Daisy easily waved them forward.
Hogg started talking, he could feel Joran's far more sharp attention. Course that made sense, Joran was the one who was typically in charge. And he'd be the one in charge again now that they were back. And he was the one with the high standards for them. They'd all come to know that Daisy was forgiving and understanding. Mistakes barely warranted more than laughter and sometimes a lot of running or other manual labor. Somehow it made disappointing her worse.
So Hogg hurried, hoping they'd understand and be proud of him and Wilbur, neither of them were leaders. It was good to not be in charge again. But he so wanted approval, for their god to be pleased. "We finished the plaster of the walls." He gestured to the white, clean walls as they walked up the stairs to the higher floors, the lower floors inaccessible as they were holding supplies for the coming winter and war. "While we haven't, some of the men want to paint the walls and we've written down their ideas. But we clean the floors every morning and walls every fifth day."
As they reached the third floor, and the first that was properly used he straightened, hoping it was acceptable. The beds were neatly lined up along the walls, warm blankets over each of the made up beds. "We considered making small rooms, but with winter it'll be easier to keep one room warm." He gestured to the door into a room to one side. "That's our bathing area. We keep clean water for washing there, change it out every week."
"Oh wow, I thought there was some issues with getting the water?" Daisy looked at him, and he could read the question that the water better not be harming the running of Winterfell.
He straightened up. "We haul it up from the river ourselves once a week instead of the daily run." Which was exhausting, and hard work.
And that was an approving nod from their god.
Hogg's face flushed in happiness at that. He'd gotten the message, they were not to tax Winterfell in any way. They were guests, and were to behave as such. They'd all gotten that message. It's why they were always available to assist with the running of Winterfell. "We've begun to clean the stables every morn before we eat to help, and have integrated with the men at arms for watches and ensuring the security of Winterfell."
"Good." Her approval was warm.
"We uh have a new member that we uh...we're certain on? But we've set a room for them on the other side of the wall, but otherwise they take part in everything with us. We thought you'd uh..approve of their entry." He gestured to what had initially been a closet for gear but had been emptied. "But Kyrra's a girl?"
Daisy blinked and then lit up. "Really? From Bear Island?"
"Wintertown, she's a fourth daughter and her family haven't protested." Hogg shrugged, they'd assumed their god wouldn't care what lay between a warrior's legs. And without an angry family they'd decided to take the risk. "But you approve?"
"Of course." Daisy approved without a flicker of hesitation. "Some of the best fighters I've ever met are women. The second knight I trained under was a woman." She seemed fond then. "Her name was May, but everyone called her The Calvary, for her coming meant the battle was won."
Hogg settled, good they hadn't made a mistake. "The next floor we've put our learning tools."
/
Daisy felt conflicted about her cult. She was...deeply uneasy about having an entire religious order dedicated to her. It was so incredibly dangerous, but what it was turning into was something she recognized. It was terrifying and remarkable at the same time. She touched the wood of the desk they'd put into her room. In one of her stops in Winterfell she'd told them she didn't want some lavish room. To keep it simple. And they'd listened. It was a large room, but not that huge. There were no lavish tapestries on the walls, just clean plaster and a weapon's rack with her prefered weapons. The bed had a canopy and curtains but they weren't embroidered like the ones in the guest rooms she'd been in. In fact everything about the room was efficient and designed for use.
She opened the top drawer of the desk, it had fresh sheets of paper, quills, the tools for quill upkeep, and several wells of ink. Not that she wrote a lot...something she'd have to fix. She really did need to work on her writing. The amount of time she foresaw herself and Fitz spending here meant dragging her feet on the skill was a waste. But it'd give her time to train her cult into what would hopefully just be an order of knights with a slightly religious bent. Slightly. This was so not what she was trained for. She'd been trained to maybe take on a rookie or two once she'd gotten back to earth.
A religious cult was not a rookie or two. But, well she had helped rebuild SHIELD...building a medieval version of SHIELD answerable to the Starks instead of a World Security Council was the best she could do. She looked away from the room her men had made for her. It was...not what she knew how to handle. No one had ever really wanted her in power expect for Coulson, and look how that'd turned out.
She felt something tight and suddenly needed to be away from the respect and authority she didn't know what to do with. So she moved quickly to the window, flicked open the latch and climbed out. Daisy hesitated slightly, and then pushed off, plummeting to the ground outside the tower. Her vibrations caught her before she landed.
Walking with purpose she walked across the courtyard, purposely avoiding making eye contact with any of the various people filling the yard as the army unloaded their gear, and men were herded to various parts of the castle. Her help was unneeded and she would assist later once the rest of the army's baggage train reached the castle. Instead she stepped into Fitz's workshop, unsurprised to find his familiar curly head bent over his work.