Crann Snow was cleaning the workshop in the late morning light, enjoying the quiet of it all. He'd known what the coil would do, but seeing it and knowing were two different things. He found he was in a constant flatfooted state of awe assisting with the cracked Fitz. Man was mad as hell, and rude to the point it was baffling he'd survived long enough to find the favor of her Holiness.
He whistled as he worked, there'd be notes to rewrite and record later. He was carefully ensuring the liquid mixtures were poured back into their glass containers, stoppers securely set in place, and hot wax used to seal the containers. It was slow work. Crann had no wish to find out what it'd do if it touched his skin.
It was a rare day with Fitz not working away. So far he'd only had a few days where Fitz had crashed, sleeping for hours after days without sleep. Crann'd been getting really good at napping in awkward positions in the workshop so he could even try to keep up. He carefully set aside the glass container he'd filled and picked up another one. A few hours and he'd have the workshop back into order. His whistles changed to the whistle of the basic tune to a song.
Crann glanced up at the sound of the door squeaking open. He straightened. "Fitz! Sorry, just straightening up." He stepped back from the work. He had no desire to earn the wrath of the ever more touchy man. A happy master made for a happy life. Also meant learning more, and learning was an opportunity worth almost anything.
"Crann?" Fitz blearily blinked at him. The man looked...he looked rough. The nervous energy that'd been a constant about him was simply gone. Instead he seemed defeated, slumped shoulders, clothing haphazardly pulled on. "Was that J-jolene?" There was sheer confused disbelief on the man's face. An expression he didn't wear much.
"Yes?" Crann replied. "Do you know it?" He hadn't figured his master knew or cared much about music really.
Fitz ran a hand through his hair. "How the h-hell do you know it?"
"The Order of Shield sing it a lot. It's pretty catchy. Gets stuck in my head ya know?" Crann carefully toppered off the chemical container and set it to the side.
Fitz made a strangled sound in the back of his throat. "Huh." He seemed to shake himself out of it. "I n-need copper and a m-mash."
He straightened at the request. "How much do you require? Mash of what?"
"Y-yeast, potatoes or c-corn or something s-starchy, sugar, and b-boiled water." Fitz started pulling out his glass distilling equipment they'd spent weeks making. "Th-thin copper sheets. A c-couple feet of it." He frowned, picking up a new glass beaker and shaking it. "And a steel p-pot."
Crann dared ask a question at that. "What will that make?"
"I'm g-going to get drunk on s-something that isn't f-fucking mead." Fitz grumbled as he started rooting through a crate for his tools.
Which...well a new form of drink wasn't dangerous, probably. Crann nodded and ducked out to find the requested materials. As he trotted out the door planning on enjoying the clean cold air on the clear and bright day. No sign of disfavor from his master's actions. However he paused slightly at the sight of one of the men of the Order of Shield standing guard by the door into the workshop. That was new…Crann approached the man. "Is something wrong?"
"Her Holiness ordered her companion be guarded." The man shrugged. "In case he does something to get himself hurt I think."
"He hasn't displeased her?" Crann checked, carefully. His master wouldn't last a moon's turn without divine protection. Or well...maybe if a minor Lord sponsored him in exchange for his brilliance? It was a possibility.
The man snorted. "Hardly, she gave up her bed to him to ensure his safety."
"Her bed?" Crann actually spluttered at that. That was unheard of.
The Order member nodded eagerly. "She spent the night on top of the tower. Been in the gods wood all morning too." His voice was pitched down. "Half think I'm here to make sure no one does somethin' to hurt him than anything else."
"Right…" Crann's voice shook slightly. He'd seen likely more of the god and her companion's interactions than anyone. She really meant it when she called him her brother. Which...he shook his head. "I'd best get the copper he wants."
/
Daisy stared at the tree, this was...deeply awkward. But it needed to be done. "Not sure if this is how you do this or not. But let's get this over with." Daisy made eye contact with the….carved face in the tree. "I don't know how real you are, or like if you can hear me or whatever. But if you hurt Fitz I'll burn every weirwood tree on this planet to the ground."
The air was still, and then she felt it. The faintest of vibrations through the entire network of roots and limbs that was the tree.
Her lips twitched up. "Ah, so you can hear me. Good. I'll help with the White Walkers and their army, I'll help the Starks, or whatever magical bullshit happens. But you even think of harming Fitz, or any of the people I call friend here and you'll be so many smouldering splinters."
The vibrations were almost a whine then, it nearly hurt her head just to listen to it.
Daisy flipped out a dagger. "I've been reading about you. I don't know if you're what brought Fitz and I here. I'm not even sure you have anything to do with it. But I care about these people. And apparently you hold people to their oaths." She slit open her palm and pressed her bleeding hand to the tree. The nearly deafening whine cut out entirely to an unnatural stillness, like the very air was holding its breath.
Whatever was happening was being noticed. "I swear to aid the North and House Stark from this day until the day I leave, so long as mine remain unharmed." Daisy could feel it, the tremble at her words. She hadn't been here for months without learning enough of their manner of speech to imitate it when needed. "But I also swear if you bring harm to the people I care for, I will destroy every trace of you." And she fucking meant it. She'd lost too many friends, she wasn't going to risk divine wrath falling on them. If it meant trekking through this frozen landscape for years to find every weirwood tree she'd do it.
Pulling back, her hand dropped from the smooth bark. Not a speck of blood visible on it's bark, her hand completely healed. "Then we have an understanding." Daisy's lips twitched up as she felt the hum of the wood return to its usual radiating calm, nearly hypnotic melody. She closed her eyes letting the vibrations consume her focus. It was...peaceful. Also nice to know she wasn't going to be fighting a deathmatch with an actual god anytime soon. Cause fuck that sounded like shit.
Daisy found walking through Wintertown was nice, also she knew enough to know that being calm and acting like everything was normal was how you made it normal. Which...some of Coulson's political stress had taught her something. Huh, cool. She smiled genuinely as she saw the local gang of kids spot her.
A tiny little girl in braided pigtails, her front teeth missing, positively lit up. She took off at a sprint for her. "YOU'RE BACK!" It was a positive squeal as the girl sent herself flying.
Daisy laughed, catching the maybe six year old up under the arms and swinging her easily, and safely to a halt. "Well hello to you too. Rosie, yes?"
"You remembered my name!" The girl's gap toothed grin was half blinding as she looked up at Daisy.
She smiled, settling the kid on her hip. "Of course I did." She reached out, catching a skinny boy who looked more like a beanpole than anything else around the shoulders, hauling him into a half hug. "Terrorizing your parents while I've been gone?" She'd met most of the population of kids old enough to be walking and talking in Wintertown because they'd been sent to retrieve various younger babies they're parents had dumped into her arms.
He leaned into the contact, his cheeks turning pink at the attention. "No." He grumbled.
"Good." She brushed some dirt off his one cheek. Years of helping with younger foster kids, of living in an orphanage with dozens of kids and not enough adult supervision left this the thing she was most comfortable with in this entire world. Well this and punching sexist idiots in the face. She noted she had eight kids circling her, a few more likely to slip out once they realized she was here. "So, who wants to go build a swing?"
"Wha's a swing?" The baker's son asked from he was bouncing with excitement.
A different kid elbowed the baker's son in the stomach. "How do ya not know what a swing is? Idiot."
Daisy's smile grew. "Well if we can find some rope and a board we can make one." She'd have to talk to the blacksmith about building the kids some playground equipment. Just making an area where the kids could play around out from underfoot of their parents.
/
Sansa spoke as she walked along the walkway. "The empty wings need to be cleaned before more Lords arrive for the upcoming Moot. Where are we on that?"
"We have eighty rooms cleaned and prepared, the fourth and fifth barrak halls have been cleaned out." Ser Flint replied as he walked besides her with the distinctive tap of his cane hitting the ground.
She glanced out over the field where her men at arms were being drilled in basic maneuvers. Lord Umber was presiding and delighting in getting to yell a lot. "Good, are the food stores prepared for the rest of the tribute from House Ryswell that should be arriving?"
"Aye, the numbers are written down and in your solar my Lady. But even without the tribute from House Ryswell you've rebuilt Winterfell's stores to a degree they can support the Northern Lords for some moons without stripping the stores overly." Ser Flint answered with the quiet professionalism that she was coming to find was his distinct attribute.
Sansa took the stairs down from the wall, though she kept her step slow enough her senchal could keep up with her easily enough. "News from our scouts?"
"Your brother, and the rest of your army are a week out from last reports. They were spotted at the crossing three days ago according to the ravens. If word from House Forrester is to be believed their contingent should arrive not long after. House Reed's sent word they are sending a man to speak on their behalf, as Lord Reed is unable to make the journey."
"Not a surprise, he hasn't left his castle since the Rebellion." Sansa had never met the elusive Lord Reed, his war wounds leaving him unable to travel. She was gratified he was sending a representative however. They'd been a loyal house, and she held little doubt they'd remain so. The Cragomen were odd, but were not a quarter she expected trouble from.
Ser Flint nodded. "Aye, we've also had word from Skagos, they have left and are journeying here."
She straightened her hand out of sight of any wandering eyes. That was...that was important news. They were one of the regions most likely to ignore the call, but they hadn't. If they weren't that meant what she'd done was enough. The Lords were answering her call. "Has there been news from the Riverlands?"
"Little, your Uncle has prepared Riverrun for siege. We've had no word in two weeks now." Ser Flint told her.
Which that was...concerning. Though not an issue she had the means to do much of anything about. Even asking Daisy to go and aid was...unlikely to be useful. The North might accept a god sent as champion by the old gods. But the south likely would not, at least not easily. And even if they did, Daisy was unfamiliar with the south and the chances of a River Lord insulting her was too high for it to be worth the risk. Better subdued by the Lannisters then entire castles wiped off the face of the map because of sheer stupidity. Besides, Riverrun could hold off seige for years. If her uncle required aid he would ask. "Put together a list of men who would be capable of understanding the situation in the Riverlands should action there be required."
"I'll see to it my Lady." Ser Flint replied, solid and assuredly prepared to do so as soon as this conversation was at an end. "House Blackwood sent word they've sent a messenger to you."
Sansa raised a brow at that. "The Blackwoods?" Followers of the old gods, and blood of the first men they may be, but they'd been Riverlanders for hundreds of years now. And they'd taken heavy losses in the War of Five Kings. She expected little assistance or aid from the Riverlands as a whole due to that. It was...the Riverlands had suffered more than any of them in the wars.
"Aye, not sure when their messenger will arrive. But thought I should mention it now that you've returned." Ser Flint explained. "The message is in your solar, but there was little detail other than a request for hospitality for their rider."
She hummed, that certainly would be interesting if nothing else. "Has there been a reply to my letter to the Vale?"
"Yes, Lord Baelish wrote to say he and his advisors as well as a force of a hundred of his finest knights make haste to come to your side." Ser Flint's voice was ever so slightly tighter.
Sansa agreed with the sentiment, her own throat feeling dry, the slightest of shakes to her finger tips. Because she'd trusted Baelish, and it had been foolish and stupid. She may still not know the entire shape of his games, but she could see enough. A marriage to her, certainly if Rickon had remained dead, would have given him control of two of the seven Kingdoms as well as claims to the Riverlands through her Tully blood, and his awarded title and lands of Harrenhal. It was the reason she was grateful beyond measure for Daisy's agreement to allow the rumors of her courtship to continue. "You disagree with requesting aid from the Vale?"
"They're oathbreaking cowards." Ser Flint's voice was tight. "If they'd ridden out for King Robb, as they were obliged to as kin to our King, he'd have won the war."
Sansa didn't disagree. Her aunt's madness had harmed her brother's cause. Horribly. But she could ponder the woman's crazed decisions later. "We will need them if we mean to survive against the dead."
"Aye, my Lady." Ser Flint agreed grudgingly.
Sansa could sense a headache there. Not only would she have to deal with Petyr, she'd have to protect the man from her own forces. If only she could just have Daisy punch Petyr in the face. She set those thoughts aside. "What progress on the repairs to Wintertown?"
Sansa couldn't help the faint amusement plain to be seen on her face as she watched Lyanna and Rickon try and keep up with The Order. If it'd been either of them alone they'd have keeled over for air a while ago. But so long as the other one continued the other would refuse to give up. She looked up and caught Daisy's twinkling eye.
Daisy clapped her hands. "And time"
There were groans as the men, and two children collapsed in relief. They'd been doing something called a plank, leaving them holding their bodies parallel to the ground for extended periods of time.
Daisy dropped her hands to her hips. "Right, now that we've warmed up we're going to work on stretching." Her eyes narrowed slightly, though her manner was still relaxed. "Something you all shirked while I was gone."
Sansa was amused at the tangible dread descending on the men. "What's wrong with the stretches?" She asked of Lord Manderly who'd joined her on the walkway above the yard.
He chortled. "She makes them move their limbs unnaturally so they can do so in combat. Just watch."
Daisy's voice carried as she hauled one of her poor followers to his feet. "If you want to be able to kick anyone higher than their shin you need this." Her face was light with humor, so different from the grief she'd held the night before. It suited her in ways Sansa chose not to think on. "And it'll help keep your muscles from burning afterwards."
It clearly wasn't making the men cheer up to know why they had to do this. But they stood up and did as instructed anyway.
Sansa watched, barely keeping from laughing as she watched the men try and touch their toes. She did laugh ever so slightly as Rickon tipped over, taking Lyanna down with him into a heap of limps and hissed cursing as they clamoured back to their feet and position. "Do you agree with the practice?"
"Some has always been normal with fighting men." Wyman replied. "But well, she demands more than I've seen a Master of Arms ask before, The results speak for themselves. Half a year and her boys already can stand toe to toe with any experienced man at arms in your army."
Sansa gave a faint nod of agreement, even she could see how cohesive and the rapid growth in skill was. "We are fortunate their loyalty is to the North."
"I'd say we're lucky our god has shown such favor to House Stark." Wyman's voice was dry as he looked at her pointedly.
She flicked her eyes away from her bannerman and back to the yard. "I may have been in error when I questioned your assumptions of our god's...intentions."
"Do you believe she will accept a fruitless pursuit?" He asked, and he sounded genuinely concerned.
Sansa watched as Lyanna very purposely knocked Rickon over as they all were attempting to stand on one leg while holding their other foot up. "She will, even if her time here is to be longer than she wished or expected."
He let the subject fade. "The lighting the Smith touched made was...I had not thought man could do such a thing."
"It was certainly an impressive display. I believe we have just begun to understand what a man with such knowledge can produce." Sansa warned, hoping he took her meaning that such feats should not be unduly alarming. "I've had word he is making some form of drink and intends to drink himself silly. So perhaps we have some time before he creates something so impressive again."
Wyman chuckled. "Drink from the kingdom of the gods? I'd pay good coin to try a sip of that."
"You can always ask him for such." Sansa barely kept from snorting as one of the men pointedly took a place between Rickon and Lyanna. "Though you would likely have better luck requesting such from Daisy."
Wyman's jolly demeanor faded somewhat. "What do you intend for the Karstark prisoners?"
"Appropriate marriages among the bannerman. With the Lords Moot it should not be difficult for some agreements to be made." Sansa didn't mention she'd do what had never been done for her. That she would ensure that though the matches did need be made, that they were kind. Finding like aged options with good reputation. For Lyarra who was too young to be wed, time to grow.
He spoke carefully then, a practiced lack of concern to his tone. "My cousin Marlon's son is in need of a wife. He's a good lad, just earned his knighthood."
"Had he indeed?" She spared him a single look. "An option I will consider. I find it curious you put forward for a Karstark and not one of your granddaughters for my brothers."
Wyman barked out a laugh at that, his form jiggling from it. "My youngest grandaughter is of age with you, she'd eat your youngest if they were wed. And Jon? A man in the front charge of the wars to come would make a poor husband I think."
"You love your family." Sansa ached, though found she preferred it as a trait in those she allowed to advise her. But then, even Cersei had loved her family in her own cruel and mercurial way. Perhaps they had been the only ones she could love.
He looked at her strangely. "As do you, my Lady. No one can doubt that."
"Good." She considered the value of White Harbor, of this Lord besides her and the love she held for her family. "It is fortunate you have not proposed a marriage between your granddaughter and Rickon, I'd have refused it." Her brother's marriage would likely need be decided in the following months. But she would not allow it to a woman older than him by years nor to one significantly younger. She would do for him what her father had promised her but died before he could perform. A person who was good, kind and honorable. A match where love might grow given time.
"Aye, you'd have been wise to do so." Wyman shook his head. "I'd have gladly bound our two houses to each other, but it would seem unless you want my cousin's son for yourself it is unlikely to occur." He chuckled. "And I would prefer the boy's head remain on his shoulders and not off it from incurring the wrath of a god."
Sansa had the sudden realization some idiot might try to challenge Daisy for the right to court her...that would...she should probably speak with her about that. She quickly found the other woman who was laughing, her hair falling back. Sansa found that her throat was surprisingly dry. "Send for your cousin's son. Should any of the Karstark girls like him, I would not be opposed to such a match, though I will promise nothing."