Daisy was...proud as she watched her men doing their current set of pull ups. Well those men who weren't on guard duty at the moment. Which honestly was another thing she was proud of. They'd made themselves useful. An eighth of guard rotations were taken by this weird, new iteration of Shield. The men had begun to call themselves 'The Order of the Shield'. It was...she felt proud. The lack of human sacrifice helped.
She crossed her arms leaning back as she watched. "They're getting better."
"I don't rightly understand why, but aye." Greatjon Umber scratched at his beard. "What's the point of the pull up thing?"
Daisy raised a brow looking at him. "If you ever found yourself hanging off of a ledge would you want to have done a pull up before?"
"Aye, but why'd I find myself hanging off a ledge? My feet belong on solid ground." He dropped his hands on his hips. "Seems pointless."
Daisy rolled her eyes. "And what else can a man pull that might be useful? I'm sure you've used your arm muscles before."
"Huh...why not just have 'em get strong fighting like proper men?" The Greatjon asked in genuine confusion.
She patted the giant of a man's shoulder. "Because that way lies dumb injuries and lacking basic fundementals." Daisy raised her voice. "And DROP." She bit back a laugh at the relief as the boys let go of the wooden beam they'd been using only to immediately try and not act sore and winded. "Ten more laps! Move IT!"
There was a groan, but they picked up their heels and set off at a practiced pace.
"See, they could do a quarter this many before we left." She'd run the earlier circuit with them, and she'd run more later. But she still felt...turning that sand to glass had taken it out of her, more mentally than physically, but she still felt it. It had been a lot of power to use without losing control. That line of control was...more terrifying than it'd been since she'd first gotten things undercontrol. Bit like trying to hold back an ocean with a faucet. A little leaking out and she could do amazing things. But too much and...she was afraid to find out. Making enough glass from sand to build multiple greenhouses the size of football fields at the same time was...it was a lot.
Greatjon pulled her from her thoughts. "Your man Fitz, I can punch him for ya. He shows too little respect."
"And yet he's never called me a whore." Daisy sighed, crap, the man meant it. "Fitz is Fitz. He talks to everyone the same way. It's how he is. He sees me using a weapon ill suited for how I've been trained to fight and he fixes it. He realizes winter here will mean a reduction in fresh vegetables and his health so he sees to it that glasshouses are built. And he knew me before any of us knew I wasn't just a street trash human orphan with more idealism than sense. If we were both humans of the same rank would the way he speaks to me matter?"
Greatjon's frown deepened. "He speaks like...he's better than you. One of your boys here'll take care of it if I don't."
"They won't, I made sure of it." Daisy felt a shiver of fear at the thought of that. She couldn't know how Fitz would react, but whether he reacted as the Doctor or not, it wouldn't be good. "I appreciate the offer, but Fitz and I are Fitz and I."
He crossed his arms, his gaze meaningfully. "What do you owe him?"
"When you've saved a person's life, and been saved in return over a dozen times, what do you or they owe you?" Daisy swallowed. "Or when you shattered the building that killed him and promised his wife you'd bring him back."
Greatjon stared at her. "You brought him back to life?"
"No, that's not my power." Daisy winced, she still felt...something like unease over Fitz's death. Because a part of her had been relieved. She wasn't sure if she should feel guilt, he'd known the risks, he'd taken too many thinking he was unkillable. The death toll in SHIELD was..high, and it hadn't been her directly, or intentionally. But she'd damaged the building. The metal sheet and concrete had crushed him. And after all that she wouldn't change her choice. If she'd even been capable of controlling the power as it rushed through her after the serum she wouldn't have used less. Less and Talbot might have survived. "This him never died, an older version of him died. Time is...less immutable than is really nice to think about."
Greatjon opened and then shut his mouth. "He still shouldn't speak to you how he does."
"I can take care of myself and my own honor." Daisy held the man's gaze. "If Fitz crosses the line I'll handle it." Which was an utter lie, but one maybe she should actually mention to Fitz.
Greatjon made an unhappy grumbling noise, but didn't press the point. "You going to use those short swords?"
Daisy looked pointedly at the three knights clearly trying to psych themselves up. Or apparently had succeeded as one man, his hair greying to the sides and face lined with severe lines approached her with purpose. "What House is he from?"
"Ser Bolling, one of Stannis's damned men. Humorless fucks the lot of them." Greatjon was hilariously grumpy as always. His moods were predictable as hell.
Daisy smiled, pushing forward to greet the knight who was def coming to challenge her to a fight. It was deeply predictable with these men. They really needed therapy, not that she could speak about healthy coping mechanisms. Her arms dropped to her sides.
"What should I call ya since I'm not one of your followers?" Ser Bolling asked, one hand resting on the hilt of his sword.
She sighed, honestly these people and their obsession with names. "My surname is Johnson so you could always try that. And your name is Ser Bolling according to Umber here. Let me guess, you want a spar?"
"I'd know the metal of one who claims to be a god." Ser Bolling's voice was rough, though it just seemed like that was his natural voice.
Daisy had long since accepted she was going to have to punch every new 'macho man' in the face. "The matter of my divinity is more philosophical than anything else. But sure, all three of you at the same time though."
The man predictably bristled at that.
Greatjon laughed, his hand slamming on her shoulder. "Only three men? You're going soft Holiness."
Daisy stared at him in disbelief. "Are you capable of not picking every fight in your path?"
"Well you haven't smote me yet." He laughed. "And you like me, you'd protect me if I challenged the wrong man."
She sighed, that was unfortunately correct. Damn, she was getting attached to these people, far more than she'd expected to. "I'd let them get a few hits in first."
"Enough, are you willing to fight us or not?" Ser Bolling cut in.
Which even Daisy knew that was pushing this world's manners quite a bit, and she'd accepted she was missing around 20%-15% in most social interactions in this world. "I'm willing, let's get started shall we?" She stepped to the weapons wrack easily lifting the two short swords Fitz had selected earlier.
She flipped the blades between her hands, the balance was similar to Bobbie's batons. Something she'd been trained with, and something that even she knew suited her more than a regular sword. May had taught her to use her whole body as a weapon, turning her body into the extension of a weapon was...different. Similar, but different. The shorter swords avoided that to some degree. Daisy turned, eyeing the three knights spreading out as they prepared for a spar.
Daisy stepped straight into the center of their trap. Based off the irritation on their faces, the dismissal of their skills burned, good. She fell into a basic stance. "Whenever you're ready."
With a sharp cry, Ser Bollings struck overhead, the knight with blonde hair lunging forward with a different blow. The third knight just a few seconds behind in striking at a third separate angle.
Her right blade caught the overhead strike, sending it into the dirt, her left blade deflected the strike from the second knight up and uselessly over her head, her foot kicking the third sword out of it's knight's hand.
Ser Bollings moved, but so did Daisy.
She didn't push or strain her strength, but otherwise she went for it. Talented opponents, weapons that suited her, and Daisy cut loose, as much as she could without accidently decapitating someone.
It was a flurry of strikes, she used her kicks as much as her blades, as she was forced to whirl constantly to keep all three knights at bay. Her movements got sharper, cleaner, more efficient as they moved across the sparring yard. Them working to force her into a corner and her letting them till slipping from the trap and prolonging the match.
Finally the third knight stumbled, sweat running in rivulets down his face and neck, his air coming in great heaving gasps. Daisy struck out, catching him around the neck, leveraging him between her and one of her two other opponents, her unencumbered arm blocking another strike from Ser Bolling.
Daisy hooked her foot around the idiot she was holding onto and flipped him straight into Bollings, sending both of them crashing into each other, and spilling onto the ground. With two opponents off their feet she moved, one sword locking with her remaining opponent's sword, her other snapping to the man's neck. "Yield."
The man's face was bright red and exhausted from the fight. His jaw tensed, but then his mouth was open again to aid in sucking in air. "I yield."
Daisy spun on her heel, throwing her right sword. It slammed into the ground, four inches deep, a trickle of blood dribbling down the thin slice on Ser Bolling's cheek. Her voice was hard as she looked down at the two on the ground. "Yield."
"I yield." Ser Bolling bit out.
She noticed the third knight was….puking. She'd take that as the third yield. Softening she stepped over and offered her hand to the older knight. "Well fought, I haven't had a challenge like that since Jon."
"You're better with those than a proper sword." Ser Bolling admitted as he took her hand and allowed her to yank him to his feet.
Daisy was getting very good with a traditional sword thank you very much, five months and she'd be as good as any of these sexist knights. And for fucks sake, she was a better fighter than any of them before she got serumed. Sure she'd have ended up with a lot more bruises, and a couple of them would have likely won a few rounds, but this constant negging was ridiculous. "You do realize Brienne probably would have beaten you as well? The three of you are good, but you've got almost no stamina."
"You're an assassin." He grit out, though he was looking at her in a new light, a far warier one.
Daisy tilted her head. "Sort of? I mean more flexible combat, negotiation, codes, and crisis management. More broad application." And really she'd been trained as a spy and sniper only for powers to change her focus to Strike team. "Jack of all trades really. And I'm not bad with a regular sword and we both know it. Just not specialized in it. For only having worked with a sword for a few months I'm not bad."
Bolling's eyes widened ever so slightly. "Months?"
"We don't really use swords much where I'm from." Daisy crossed her arms. "Or bows, knives some but not often in combat situations. The short swords are similar to batons we used for nonlethal takedowns. We used a weapon similar to a bow, honestly closer to a crossbow really primarily. And in actual combat," she let one palm face him, her powers pushing him back a single step. Daisy grinned at his expression, "I am the weapon."
The knight who'd yielded first made a sound in the back of his throat. His hands were on his knees as he wheezed. He looked up, eyes squinting. "Wha' are you?"
"An Inhuman." Daisy sighed as she saw the lack of comprehension, it was so much easier to explain in a world where aliens were a thing people understood. But alien equalled god...sort of? Jaiying had been immortal? "Half human, half immortal who got a golden elixir of godhood."
Ser Bolling sheathed his sword, wiping away the trickle of blood from his cheek. "And how much blood is required for your abilities?" There was an accusation there.
Daisy blew out a breath. "It was a birthright, I was born with this power, but control of it cost my own blood, pain, and effort."
"You don't need blood to fuel your power?" Ser Bolling asked, his tone careful.
Which damn these guys from the Stormlands were straightlaced as hell. It was really hard not to be insulted at this point. "No, I'm not a leech."
"It will be a change to no longer smell the burnt flesh of men." The knight folded his hands in front of him. "Would you be opposed to another spar, perhaps on a different day?"
Daisy waved to the sparring yard, and tower behind her. "You know where to find me."
/
Rickon tossed a bit of bark at Fitz's head. It stuck in the man's hair next to the four other bits of bark he'd tossed. His face lit up at success. He raised his fist in victory!
Crann Snow snickered silently, his eyes twinkling in amusement as he looked over at Rickon.
They both shared silent laughter as Fitz continued to be totally oblivious to the bark in his hair, and the fact the two of them were not actually doing their assigned tasks.
Fitz paused, reaching up, running a hand through his hair. As the bark hit the ground, as he turned. "For f-fucks sake!"
"Not sorry!" Rickon squeaked before bending in half with full bodied laughter. His whole body shook with it.
Fitz slammed his hand against the work table. "ENOUGH!"
Rickon choked on his laughter, silencing himself immediately as he flinched backwards. The amusement vanished from Crann's face.
The hair on the back of Rickon's neck stood on end, the laughably odd but fun guy who didn't expect anything from him other than that he use his head. But sometimes, sometimes he felt like he was in the presence of a predator. That the funny man he considered a friend might be dangerous. But this wasn't a moment of a passing shadow of danger. It was actual real danger.
Fitz ran his hand through his hair to one side, pushing it into a part, his fingers steadier than they usually were. The twitching was barely noticeable. It was odd...typically he simply ran his hand through his hair absentmindedly. Not...this was deliberate. "Get out."
Shifting awkwardly, Rickon bit at his lower lip, but his shoulders were braced.
"This is more important than y-ou can possibly imagine. Get out." Fitz pointed to the door. His face was set, barely restrained aggression in how he held himself. But what Rickon had always assumed was nerves was clearly frustration nearly vibrating out from under his skin.
Rickon swallowed, and then he left.
/
Sansa stitched a white wolf along the neckline of the black inner tunic she was making for Jon. It was calming, she'd had little time to stitch since she'd become Lady of Winterfell. It was all letters, numbers and emergency after emergency with scarce little time for making the minimum required clothing for herself and her brothers. But she'd finished two tunics and a half dozen shirts for Rickon while going, at, and returning from Barrowtown. Hardly anything really, a week or two's work not the work of months.
She was stitching in the single red eye visible in the wolf's profile when she heard the window open. Sansa didn't even bother looking up, there were exactly two people who could and would scale up high enough to come in the window. And she'd checked on the softly snoring Rickon an hour ago. "You do know there is a door."
"But then your guards would look at me all judgy and the rumors of our courtship would take a slightly different light." Daisy replied as she latched the window. "Also it's more fun."
Sansa looked up then, a soft smile on her lips. "You're not wrong about the courtship rumors. I'd prefer the men not believe we're having a torrid affair."
"I can see that being awkward." Daisy agreed lightly as she picked up a cup already set aside for her. Hot steam rising from what had been cold water just seconds ago as she carefully added tea leaves. "Your Stormland knights finnaly got the stick out of their asses long enough to try and whack me with a sword. So you can look forward to them probably getting less huffy about me. At least three of them."
She tied off the red thread before snipping it off and lifting the white spool of thread again. "Well, at the least, thank you for putting up with the disrespect."
"I'm going to punch faces across your seven kingdoms at this rate." Daisy heated a second cup already set out for just this situation. "It's like the men here are determined to underestimate me because I'm a woman."
Sansa considered whether it was wise to add to that as she threaded the white thread through the eye of the needle. "The North has never been friendly to those who are not of the North. It took them years, and several Northern children before the Lords of the North respected my mother. And she was of the Riverlands, the nearest kingdom. And you are visibly more different than my mother was."
"Racism, lovely." Daisy's voice was thick with sarcasm as she rolled her eyes. "Such a surprise."
She could guess what that meant, but asked anyway. "I believe I take your meaning, but what does 'racism' mean specifically?"
"People being shitty because of different racial markers." Daisy waved absently at her face. "Yay people, I say sarcastically."
Sansa was constantly baffled by, but had found relief in the oddness of whatever it was Daisy was. The lack of pretense, the fact that Daisy was here without wanting anything other than tea, conversation and perhaps some reasonable measure of entertainment. Friendship, tea and likely the need for something to focus on to avoid climbing walls from boredom. Honestly it was unlike any exchange she'd had with another person. "Oddly put, but I don't find that I disagree."
"So, my cult is terrifyingly unscary." Daisy set the cup of tea near Sansa before retreating to a different chair with her own cup. "Like I was expecting the preventing human sacrifice thing would be more difficult."
Sansa stared at her...friend in some disbelief. "You didn't. You just defined it as self sacrifice to an ideal to gain favor. Your followers are willingly sacrificing their lived lives to you and the idea of forging a new world." It was terrifying to watch in it's implications, and admirable. Probably to be expected of any follower of Daisy's.
"Oh, well at least they're not killing people? Yet." Daisy groaned. "Any brilliant ideas to keep them as un-murdery as possible?"
She considered that, a fond expression on her face. "Continue to show acceptance of the knights from the Stormlands. They're all devoted followers of their flame god."
"Religious tolerance by putting up with assholes who think I'm probably a demon and definitely think I'm a bitch. Goody." Daisy took a tip of her tea. "I think the punching was easier."
Sansa carefully continued to stitch the final details of the white wolf, laughing at a god no matter how lovely, didn't seem wise. Or a kind thing to do to her friend. "If you were to go into the sept and not indicate you disliked it, it would likely also help."
"I can do that. Most of the boys will be having a hard time standing tomorrow since they all pushed themselves far too hard to try and impress me today. Idiots." But she seemed fond as she said. Daisy's eyes settled on the sewing in Sansa's lap. "Why the white wolf? I thought your wolves were all grey for your sigel stuff?"
"It's for Jon." Sansa replied. She saw the lack of understanding on Daisy's face. "House Stark's colors are a grey wolf over a white sky on green. For legitimized bastards the colors are typically inverted. Hence why House Karstark's sigil was a white sun on black. For Jon I intend to give him the direwolf of our sigel as well. So a white wolf on black. It shows that he is a Stark, but a legitimized one. I hope to have at least two pieces of outer garb ready for him upon his return from the Karhold."
Daisy looked interested as she sipped her tea. "I don't understand it entirely, but you're doing the right thing for your brother."
"It's not a matter of the right thing. He's a Stark, I won't deny his name to him any longer. It should have always been his." Sansa still felt disquiet and regret at the memory of how her mother had treated Jon, how she herself had as a child. But this she could do properly. She looked up from her sewing with a slightly sharp movement, it wasn't a topic she wished to continue. "So, more to learn on using my attackers strength to stab them?"
"Yup, building muscle isn't really on the agenda for you. Anyone swinging at you will provide the force for you." Daisy hopped to her feet, hand outstretched with a smile that lit her face.
And it hit her then, what Margaery had meant all those years ago in the gardens of Kings Landing when she'd spoken of how different women liked different things. Because what she felt as she placed her hand in Daisy's was what she could admit to herself was want. A want she would never speak of she accepted in the same breath. Because Daisy intended to leave, because it would be complicated, and because her brothers and the North may need her marriage to secure them southern alliances. This friendship was stable, more was not and so it couldn't happen.
"Are you ok? We don't have to." Daisy asked sudden concern there.
Sansa had years of practice at hiding, and Daisy had clearly taken whatever tell she'd given as nerves because she was kind and cared. It was an easy half truth to give. "It's nothing, just a thought of something my advisors would be pleased to know. Now, let's hope my grip is less terrible tonight."
And because she was Daisy she accepted that. "You're not terrible."