Fitz glared at his bowl of stew he was being forced to eat. "Y-you didn't have to d-drag me to dinner."
"Yes I did, you're going full Fitz." She looked at him. "When was the last time you even shaved?"
He hated the truth. But he wouldn't hide from it. "I c-can't."
She lowered her own spoon as she looked at him with what looked like actual confusion. "Why didn't you just ask? I'll grab some soap and like a razor and help you after you eat some actual food." Daisy pointed at the bowl in front of him.
Fitz's jaw ground, his tongue wetting his bottom lip. "I don't n-need it."
"You hate facial hair, and you smell. So I can either dump you in a tub or I can help you shave. Pick." Daisy's nose wrinkled. "I might actually dump you in a tub as well. Like seriously, have you not bathed at all? You're too obsessed."
"I'm this c-close to getting us home." He bit out. "None of the r-rest matters!"
Daisy sighed. "Do you think...no you don't get to kill yourself to get us home just because you think you have to suffer. You didn't let me kill myself, I'm not letting you do the same thing. So eat, or I'll leave my cult to keep you from the lab for a week."
"Y-you wouldn't…" Fitz pulled back as he realized she was utterly serious. "That's...that's not r-right."
Daisy stood, her own bowl empty. "It's apparently necessary. If you want to get home and aren't just looking to die you'll finish your meal and let me give you a shave, take a bath and then get some sleep before continuing your work. Nothing is worth killing yourself like this Fitz."
He didn't reply, just looking back down into his bowl. Fine, better to get through this stupid waste of time then argue about it and lose more. Daisy clearly didn't know what she was talking about. "You're j-just projecting. B-but fine."
"Good. I'll be back in an hour, try to have finished eating and maybe take a bath." She left with that. The door closing with a distinct click behind her.
Fitz's teeth ground. But he stabbed his spoon into the soup. He would get back to Jemma, no matter what.
The water had been cold he'd bathed in. But he hadn't bothered with heating it or finding someone to do that for him. It would have been a waste of time. Best get this over with quickly. A few hours to get Daisy off his back so he could get back to what was important. Getting home. This test would tell him how this planet worked enough that he could build a beacon. Probably have to use Daisy as a human amplifier of the wave, but it was doable. He just needed to be left to his work.
Fitz lathered his face with the shitty soap of this hellhole. "Y-you don't h-have to."
"I know." Daisy twirled the straight razor about in her fingers. "But it's happening so sit down and let me clean you up. Jemma won't even be able to recognize you otherwise. And then where would we be?"
He dropped into the chair, crossing his arms but stretching his neck to give her access all the same. "I-it's a waste of t-time. Why c-can't you understand t-that?"
"Because you're lying to yourself." Daisy's hands were firm as she stilled his head and began to run the sharp razor along his face. It rasped slightly as it cut the hairs from his face. "I'll make sure you live long enough to realize that."
Fitz's eyes narrowed as he looked at her. He wished he could scream and rant. Because all that mattered was getting home. But he tamped it down and looked away. It wasn't worth the fight. Not here where she could control all the idiot pawns and imbeciles who thought she was some sort of god. So he just breathed out through his nose and put up with this farce of care. Days, he just needed days to be ready for the test. He just needed to be home.
/
Sansa was speaking quietly with her advisors on the matter of the new glasshouses as the sun's first light came through the windows with all it's softness. "Is there any argument that we begin planting these crops?"
"M'Lady we can begin with the easiest crops immediately." Bower replied. "But should we put ditches round them to keep them safer?"
Ser Flint, her senchal nodded. "I agree, securing them should be of some import."
"We have the numbers currently to assign a guard rotation to them do we not?" Sansa quickly shuffled through the papers on the long table up in the Lord's Hall she'd taken as her place of work now that various Lords and knights might attempt to join or watch her work, not to mention the fact there'd likely be petitions throughout the day.
Bower bobbed his head. "We should, but isn't Lord Cerwyn in charge of that?"
"Why would you think he's in charge of the forces here in Winterfell?" Sansa's eyes cut straight to her temporary Master of Arms, the man was clearly handling that position better than he'd handled temporary senchal and temporary master of arms.
Bower stiffened slightly at the realization he might have been wrong. "You gave him command of your personal guard?"
"In Barrowtown, you're my master of arms here at Winterfell. And even should I replace you it won't be with a Lord, rather a third or fourth son of one." Sansa wanted to pinch the bridge of her nose, not that she'd ever do something so obvious to show her frustration.
The man looked like he wanted to sink through the floor. "I'll have a guard assigned immediately."
"Good, go see to it. And send for Cerwyn. I apparently need to speak with him." Sansa pulled another sheet. "Ser Flint, have the needed seeds prepared for the planting. Then find or hire the required men for the planting by noon."
"Aye, M'Lady." Her senchal picked up the written out and agreed on list of plants for the glasshouses.
There was a clamor in the hallway, and then the doors swung open and a group of very angry men and a bemused Daisy came crashing in.
Sansa scanned the group. Ser Swann, Ser Bolling, and Ser Mertyns were clearly angry, and looked like they'd been in a boyish scuffle in the dirt. Coming through behind them was Mors Umber, Lord Cerwyn, and two of the regular men at arms. Standing pointedly between the Stormlanders and the Northerners was an amused Daisy. She straightened. "What is the meaning of this?"
"They attacked us!" Cerwyn burst out.
Ser Bolling looked like he'd have stepped over and strangled the Lord if there wasn't a literal god preventing it. "A LIE!"
"FUCKING CUNT!" Mors roared as he moved to swing at the nearest knight.
Sansa's jaw tightened as Mors hit an invisible wall and Ser Swann was glared into inaction by Daisy.
Sansa picked up her paperweight and slammed it down on the table, pulling attention back to herself. "Lord Cerwyn, what happened? Calmly."
The man huffed, straightening his spine, shoulders squaring. "Mors, myself and these two guardsmen were returning from Wintertown when we were attacked for no reason by your knights." He gestured sharply at the Stormlanders. "They demanded we surrender to your justice."
"And then what happened?" Sansa's eye felt like twitching, for gods sake could her allies keep from trying to kill each other? And if the Stormlanders and Northerners were fighting the Wildling and Northern tension couldn't be far behind. A headache she needed Jon there to handle.
Cerwyn's face twitched slightly. "Some words and fists were exchanged before her Holiness broke it up and marched us to you."
"I see." Sansa turned her gaze to the knights. "Ser Bolling, your version of events." She glared at the puffing up Northerners, her voice sharp. "That will be uninterrupted."
Ser Bolling spoke, his voice vaguely creaky but passionate nonetheless. "These men were returning from the whore house." He nearly spat the last word out. "We attempted to clap them in irons so that you might sentence them for their depravity when Jonson stopped us."
Sansa and everyone else in the Lord's Hall took a moment to realize that 'Jonson' was 'Daisy'. It wasn't like anyone called the woman by her surname, but it did serve as a polite way around referring to her as 'Holiness'. She internally shook herself. "You attacked two of my Lords, and two of my men at arms for purchasing the services of prostitutes?"
"They'll bring the wrath of R'hllor on us all." Ser Swann grit out.
Mors opened his mouth only for it to snap shut. Likely not willingly.
Sansa would have to thank Daisy later. "Did you pay the prostitutes?" She looked at her Northern fools.
Cerwyn crossed his arms. "Of course we did."
"And no harm was caused to the women you hired?" She was just..exhausted by this whole ridiculous charade.
All of the men looked appalled at the question. "Of course not." Mors boomed.
"I see." She returned her attention to the Stormlanders. "Good Ser's, while I understand your distaste, no crime has been committed against either the law or the Old Gods of whom we here in the North follow."
Sansa could see the simmering rage there. So she continued. "You are free to worship R'hllor, but his worship is neither the custom nor will it ever be the custom here. While you may refuse the services of prostitutes that does not give you the right to punish my men for not doing so. You'll spend the night in the cells if you attempt to enforce laws that are not the practice here in the North again. Is that understood?"
Ser Bolling spoke slowly. "Does your god here agree with this judgement?"
"Uh my opinion doesn't matter, the North is the Starks' to rule and the protection of the old gods." Daisy crossed her arms, giving a long up and down look of the Northern men. "That said I could care less? I mean vaguely disappointing, but I don't care. So like really, whatever Lady Stark says."
Sansa watched with some amusement as Mors, Cerwyn and the men at arms wilted under the 'disappointment' of their god. She wanted to sigh, honestly. "Is that all?"
"Aye, thank you M'Lady." Cerwyn bowed, the other Northerns following suit.
Ser Bolling stiffly dipped his head. "Very well."
"Then go, there are tasks all of you should be doing. Cerwyn stay, I require your presence. Ser Bolling, if you could send for Ser Dondarrian I also require his advice." She waved them away. It was going to be a long day.
/
Lyanna Mormont was angry as she was forced to spar with Rickon Stark, again. It was as if the men here couldn't see that she was perfectly able to hold her own against a grown man. She wasn't a child, even if her body was. Just look at the difference between her and Rickon Stark. She sneered as she glared at the boy who let his sister hold the weight of a Lord on her shoulders while he, the rightful heir mucked about doing nothing. She was here because she knew no King but Stark. And her vote at the Moot would be for Jon Stark, not this...boy. She raised her axe, ready to make the boy eat dirt again.
Rickon Stark's eyes were sharp as he lunged forward with his sword.
She caught his blow with a grunt. Digging her heels in she stood her ground. Like hell she'd let him bush her back.
"You're both going about that wrong." A female voice laughed before a hard gust of wind shoved the two of them back.
Daisy Jonson, apparent god, strode over to them, the guard who'd been supervising their spar stepping back. She plucked Rickon's sword out of his hands. "And I know you've been taught better Rickon." Her gaze turned to Lyanna. "Let's see what you have Lady Mormont."
Rickon stepped backwards and out of the way, a stupid grin on his face.
Lyanna shot a quick glare at him before focusing on the god. Because whether she was actually a god or not, she was an acknowledged warrior and a woman. Which meant Lyanna would have to be an idiot not to want to fight her. She swung upwards.
Daisy's sword caught the blow. "Too slow, keep your weight on your toes."
With a bounce she moved again, bracing herself before taking a swing. As it was blocked she changed direction, sliding the axe up the sword towards the god.
"You're too small to brace like that." The attack was batted away like it was nothing. "Move your feet."
Lyanna grit her teeth, but moved her feet, pushing to the side before moving in again, this time without bracing herself against the ground. Her attack was weaker, but faster.
"Good, aim for weak points, not central mass." Daisy twisted her sword, sending Lyanna's axe sharply to the side, nearly wrenching it from her hands. "Don't lock your weapon, any opponent you face is likely stronger than you."
Lyanna slid back, brow furrowed. "That's not how Mormonts fight."
"Are most Mormonts ten year old girls when they go to war?" The god's voice wasn't condescending, just stating fact. Which made it burn all the more.
She raised her axe again. "My House are made of great warriors."
"You don't have to be big to be great." Daisy's lips twitched. "Or do you think any of the Umbers can take me?"
Lyanna paused, her ax lowering slightly. "You think I can fight?"
"Of course." Daisy raised her sword. "Now again, this time faster."
Lyanna charged, axe swinging.
Lyanna panted, she was sweating, sore, and felt viciously satisfied. It certainly helped that Rickon was equally exhausted where he was panting as well.
"Much better, both of you." Daisy, who barely looked like she'd gone through a morning walk, was leaning against the wooden saw horse. "At your current size and age working with another person will be much more effective."
Lyanna raised the waterskin to her lips, she took a deep draw. "Can we fight with you again?"
"Sure." Daisy pushed off of the sawhorse. "You know where to find me. And if I'm not around any of my boys will help you out. But both of you are small still, your greatest advantage is your ability to dodge and be quick about it. You should both focus on running, and practicing dodging."
Lyanna had a moon's turn left before the Moot and the possibility of returning to Bear Island. Time she could learn. A better use of time than the drivel everyone was set on. She was a Mormont, and if she had to fight differently she had to fight differently. But she was going be a warrior like every Mormont before her. Their legacy wouldn't end with her. She wouldn't let it.
/
Rickon's muscles felt kinda like jelly as he sat in his sister's solar. His movements were careful, he didn't want anyone to notice how exhausted he was. There was a shake to his hand. He bit his lip and fought to keep his hands still so he could write his letters properly. He was copying out the grain production for the last year as recorded by Maester Wolkan. It was apparently very important. Not that he couldn't guess why it was important, but still. It was boring.
He focused on the careful scratching of his quill across the paper. If he pressed too hard it splattered, and he'd already cracked two nibs in the last few moons. As he wrote he kept a careful ear out for his sister's conversation with Ser Dondarrian.
"Your men cannot attack Northerners for perceived slights. Daisy intervening is the only reason it didn't turn into something ugly." Sansa's voice was low, but there was a firmness that implied danger, maybe anger even.
The old knight with a limp sipped from his cup of ale. "It won't happen again. They're still adjusting to being away from Stannis."
"It had better not or I will have to enforce punishment for attacking their own allies." Sansa's eyes were sharp. "It's unexceptable."
"They were just doing what they thought was right." Ser Dondarrian replied. "Surely just a lapse in judgement."
Sansa's voice was cold then. "Then one that cannot happen again. Our forces are made up of men who hate each other, and have hated each other for thousands of years. I will not tolerate dissent and infighting."
"I'll make sure it won't happen again. You have my word." Ser Dondarrian stood, using his crutch to stabilize himself. "Thank you for your mercy my Lady."
Sansa didn't dismiss him however. "One more thing, my brother's safety will no longer be under the care of Ser Swann."
"As you will." Ser Dondarrian made a stiff bow, and then limped out of the room.
Rickon pretended his focus was more fully on his writing then it was. But...he'd kinda liked Ser Swann...oh well, he could always bug the man independently even if the man wouldn't be following him around any more. He looked up. "What's their god R'hllor?"
Rickon kicked at a rock, his sister's words still echoing in his ears. He may not know if Daisy was exactly an old god or their champion or whatever. But he preferred her strangeness to the horror his sister had described. Burning sinners alive? Was that what those knights had wanted for Mors and Cerwyn? He liked Mors.
He looked up as he realized where his feet had taken him. Fitz's workshop. Rickon bit his bottom lip, he hadn't exactly last seen the odd man on the best of terms. But...it was a good place to think. So he opened the door and slipped in as always. It had changed slightly from the last time he'd been here. The tesla coil looked...weird but it looked done. It's various pieces all put together and ready to be hauled out. The metal contraption for 'powering' it was set to one side.
Fitz was clean shaven, just a days aftergrowth along his jaw. But the manic light to his face was...worse. He was murmuring what Rickon recognized as elements under his breath as he mixed what looked like another chemical slurry. This one glimmered in the light of the oil lamps.
Rickon looked over to Crann. "What's he doing?"
"Finishing the slurries." Crann's voice was soft. "Might be best to come back once he's done m'Lord?"
Rickon looked at the man who wasn't acknowledging him in the slightest. "I'll do that." His throat felt tight as he swallowed. He didn't like this feeling.
The silence was broken by Fitz straightening, his arms dropping. "That's it."
"Uh...what's it?" Rickon asked despite himself.
Fitz's whole face loosened, a breathless disbelief to him. "It's done. It's f-finally done." His hand ran through the hair at the back of his head. "I d-did it. Ha."