Fitz mashed the potatoes that Crann had secured with some glee. He was going to make moonshine so potent that it could knock Daisy on her ass. None of this weak mead shit that they drank here. And then he was going to get blind drunk. If he didn't lose his vision temporarily he'd know he'd done it wrong.
He didn't want to face the reality of their position. They were stuck in this mud coated hovel of stone age technology where people with a second grade education were considered learned men until he could make a stable and targeted einstein rosen bridge. A task that was taking actually educated geniuses on earth fucking decades and still wasn't complete, mearly theoretically. Jane Foster the only one to have successfully created anything even close. It was...it was hopeless.
So beat the potato with extra feeling. Damned root probably deserved it. It was easy enough to ignore the concerned looks his assistant was giving him. If he was going to die in this shit hole he was going to do it drunk.
/
Jon couldn't help the bright joy he felt finally wrapping arms around his sister and brother. Having to be brief on first arrival had been terrible. But now in private, the feel of Rickon's hair beneath his hand as he ruffled his hair, the feel of Sansa's grip where she hugged back so tight that in thinner clothes it likely would have hurt, was everything. He released them, though his hand remained on Rickon's head, his other hand not quite releasing his sister. "You've gotten taller."
"I'm going to be taller than you." Rickon's grin was wolf like in all the best ways as he puffed up under his attention.
Jon chuckled, bumping his brother's chin slightly. "And a war wound already?" He looked at the black eye on the boy's face.
Rickon's cheeks pinked. "I got Lyanna back just as good!"
"Good for you, Mormont's are great warriors." He could tell by his sister's manner it was not an incident to be worried over. That his brother thought fighting the terrifying Lady of House Mormont was a good idea was encouraging. That took real courage. The slip of a girl had more grit in her than a dozen men.
Sansa finally stepped to the side, and lifted a distinctive cloak. She held it out to him. "I believe I promised to keep it safe for you."
"Thank you." He didn't know how to express his gratitude. This acceptance and family, where he'd assumed nothing but death.
Sansa's face said she understood, but she gave him the gift of not pointing it out. "We will be expected soon."
"What do I need to know?" Jon drew himself up, prepared for whatever burden was to be placed on his shoulders.
She shook her head. "Not that, we can speak of matters after your welcoming feast."
"I don't need a feast." Jon protested.
Sansa looked at him like he was an idiot, one hand falling on Rickon's shoulder. "Our bannerman expect a feast. You've destroyed an enemy House. With the coming Moot we need only make it a small affair."
"If it's that important." Jon accepted the feast was happening whether he wanted it or not. It seemed a stupid waste to him, but well, he knew nothing sometimes didn't he?
Jon was warm as he laughed, the pleasant ease three mugs of ale could be counted on to provide. The feast hadn't been what he'd feared. It was modest, if this had been in his childhood it would have barely met muster as the welcoming feast of a minor vassal Lord. He wasn't positive on all of that, but it might not have actually met that standard. But that'd been in summer, and food had been in plenty. Now the roast pig and two goats was a luxury. The fresh applesauce with just enough cinnamon you could taste it, a gift. Enough ale brought out a few of the men likely would drink more than was wise. But not enough for drunkenness to be a real problem.
Instead it was just enough for him to feel fully welcome, like he belonged in these halls in a way he'd never felt before. No one here saw his spot at the high table as anything but where he belonged, no one looked upon him with anything but respect, and in the case of his two surviving siblings, affection. Oh Sansa's wasn't obvious, but in the soft light of the hall he could feel that slightest softening when she saw him. Rickon meanwhile was eager to boast about his lessons, eager for his attention.
It was...it was good.
The very air was excited and relieved. Lords and men who'd thought the North lost were here. Even the prisoners seemed less afraid here. Alys Karstark at least didn't look like her face had been carved from stone where she was seated at one of the lowest and further back tables. Which was a bit of a miracle all things considered. Everyone seemed filled with hope. He wondered at that, when was the last time he'd felt hope?
Shaking his head, he kept his thoughts to himself as he stood and made his way to where Tormund and Greatjon Umber were in a lively round of arm wrestling and verbal one upmanship. He slapped Tormund on the shoulder as he reached them, an actual smile on his face as he listened to the two men brag about women they'd bedded. It was...home. This felt like home. A good one.
He glanced over and realized on the table besides them were some of Daisy's men. They were arguing while pointing at a piece of paper with careful letters upon it. They'd apparently roped in Daisy who looked amused but mostly uninterested in the whole thing. She held herself just slightly apart, and none of her loyal followers would breach that gap, not really.
Jon's smile faded somewhat as he watched her. Because for all that she terrified him when he thought too hard about what wonders she must be capable of, must contain; he found that they were cut of the same cloth. He understood her in a way he couldn't put into words. And he saw the sorrow, the pain, the loneliness, and grief she hid so expertly. And...well she hadn't smited him for embracing her after the battle at the Karhold, nor been in any way upset by the closeness required to fly him to the army moving to the Karhold. So he'd likely keep his hands. Hopefully.
Determined he strode from Tormund and the Greatjon and in interest of not losing his hands or head, touched the woman's elbow.
She turned, the faint loneliness and distance on her face sliding off like it'd never been there. A thing she was far too good at. Her mouth turned up in a smile. "Jon, not so broody. Lo-"
It was rude, but he wouldn't keep his nerve if he didn't. So he stepped forward, cutting her off and hugging her tightly. Every bone in his body vibrated for a half second at the contact, her body went rigid at the unexpected contact, but then like it'd never happened the vibration ceased and she softened, hugging back ever so cautiously.
"Uh?" Laughter in her tone then. "How much have you had to drink?"
He tightened his hold on her slightly. "Thank you." He released her then, knowing he'd pushed his luck further than he should have.
She looked at him curiously, but she was present in a way she hadn't been before. "You'd have done this without me."
"Not so cleanly." He left his hand on her elbow, squeezing ever so slightly to ensure she knew the depths of his gratitude. For giving them perhaps a brighter version of what could have been.
Daisy had to have noticed how the entire hall was observing them now. But she gave no sign of it, another thing she was clearly as good at as his sister was. "You're welcome?" She clearly would have protested if it was a different circumstance.
Tormund let out a great bellow of laughter. "Death isn't so used to thanks boy."
She rolled her eyes. "For the last time I'm not death you ass."
"For which I believe we're all grateful." Umber chorassed. "Come, show this Wildling his own weakness."
Jon laughed, gesturing the path to her. "You might as well."
"You Northerns. It's like you want me to hurt you." She shook her head in amusement, but walked over all the same. Clearly willing to be pulled into arm wrestling.
Jon reached out, hooking Rickon around the shoulders as his baby brother came to see what the excitement was about. He didn't question the very smug looking Lady Mormont, who was barely keeping her eager excitement under control, as the kids came to watch Tormund get his ass kicked by Daisy. Ruffling his brother's hair, he ignored Tormund and Daisy's friendly barbs as they sat across from each other and looked up at the high table and met his sister's eyes. This was good. It was how things were supposed to be. And for all that laid ahead, he was content.
/
Sansa drank tea, a habit she'd unfortunately gained from her divine guest, as she waited for her brother to arrive. They had much to discuss, but the feast had lasted long into the night and there'd been little point in speaking then. She spread the soft goat's cheese over her morning bread as she enjoyed the early morning quiet. The sun only just recently risen. She didn't even twitch at the slight chill breeze as the window unlatched itself and Daisy slipped in. "Tea is already steeped."
"Cool." Daisy flicked her hand at the window, the glass pane closing itself, lock slipping back into place like it'd never been open in the first place, as she easily poured the hot liquid into a cup and settled herself in one of the fur covered chairs. "You know goat cheese was like the fancy shit where I'm from."
Sansa let that actually register. It was...baffling. "That seems ridiculous? It takes no more effort to make than any other cheese from what I'm aware and certainly is easier to acquire than some forms of milk."
"Mostly cow milk in the country I grew up in." Daisy breathed in the scent of the tea and sighed, her shoulders softening. "Some rich cow farmer probably bought off some government sorts or something."
"Ah." That would certainly make the baffling situation make more sense. "I wonder if it's a comfort or not that the world of the gods has men of power willing to allow such silliness for bribery or not?"
Daisy seemed to actually consider it. "I think it just means people are people, no matter what world they're born in."
"A comfort then, I think." She took a bite of her morning meal. Sansa had matters to see to, but perhaps allowing herself a few minutes to do nothing was permitted? There was a knock on the door, the familiar solid 'tap tap' of Brienne's knuckles alerting her to an entrance. Sansa raised her voice. "Enter."
As the door opened Jon came in, though he halted as his eyes alighted on Daisy. "How…?"
"Spy." Daisy points at the window. "And I can fly."
Sansa just sighed at the expression on her brother's face. "Considering the majority of the Lords think she's courting me it'd be difficult to ever speak." She pointedly looked to the table in front of her. "Cheese?"
"Right." He shook his head before joining her at the small table with simple food stuffs laid out. Jon's warm and familiar presence filled Sansa with a sense of safety that not even the god by the fire could touch. And she'd come to find security in the presence of Daisy. Jon looked her in the eye. "What needs to be done?"
Sansa lowered her bread and accepted the mantle of authority. "Over the next half moon the rest of the Lords will arrive. None of them can be left in doubt that we are strong, united and the seriousness of what lies ahead."
"How could we be stronger? We have an army, four victories, and our name is Stark. The North is loyal, they'll respect that." And by the gods Jon truly believed that. He waved at Daisy. "And even should that not be enough, who will naysay a god?"
Daisy rolled her eyes. "Pretty much every Northern I've met." But then she fell more serious, and at least one of her closest allies understood the situation. "Who do you think will give you trouble?"
"Lyanna Mormont is planning on putting you forward as Lord Stark Jon. She won't be the only one who wants a tested battle commander over a barely literate boy." She felt horrified at the idea of the line of succession being twisted. "We cannot let that happen. If the line of succession is ignored, House Stark will be ripe for civil discord and war within a generation. A threat that will never pass."
Daisy piped up. "Wait, why does that leave you open for more civil war?"
"Rickon's heirs would have a claim better than Jon's. Should a single one of Jon's heirs prove to be unpopular or a single one of Rickon's ambitious, claims could be made." Sansa said shortly.
Jon leaned his elbows against the table. "I could forswear taking a wife? I already have done so, it would not be hard to do so again."
"No, that is unneeded." Sansa reached out, taking his hand. "You need not go without a wife or children. But you cannot be seen to court or consider a woman until after Rickon is named Lord Stark. If you are named you must name Rickon your heir, over even any children you may later have."
Jon gave a sharp nod. "You think it a strong possibility they will name me?"
"I don't know." Sansa admitted. "If we were at peace, if it was just the Lannisters, no. But with the Long Night...they're afraid."
Daisy shifted. "You need me to work with Rickon visibly then?"
"Please, and Jon, we need to secure Wintertown with more defenses, as well as prepare it for expansion. With a two front war both north and south we'll need to turn Wintertown into a far larger settlement." Sansa pulled her hand away from Jon's with a final squeeze. "I can handle the Lords."
Daisy, frustratingly helpful and wonderful Daisy, spoke up. "Jon and I can run the army through drills together. It'll keep the men from being bored. There's too many factions for that to be a good thing."
"That would be useful." Sansa wished things were easier. "Use the army for labor in building defenses and expanding Wintertown."
Jon's jaw twitched slightly. "Have you written to Baelish?"
"Yes, he'll come, but too late to play his games with the Moot." Sansa felt cold knowing he'd be here. Because he'd come, he'd love that she'd written for his aid. It left her in his debt. A debt she'd paid more than he could ever provide.
Jon's hands fisted. "If he touches you, I'll kill him myself."
"No!" Sansa's eyes widened in alarm. "We need him Jon, we need the knights, the political connections he has in King's Landing, his claim to the Riverlands to protect our rear."
Daisy cleared her throat. "Not that the big brother rage here isn't great, cause totally predictable and if you think he's not going to do something to defend your honor, you're crazy." She winked at Jon, which, not helpful. "But as your suitor or whatever, if this Baelish gets creepy I could always duel him or something right? As an option that isn't brotherly rage that might harm the whole alliance thing."
"That would make it undeniable, you would not be able to plead difference in culture." Sansa looked at her confidence then. "It could not be undone, no one would dare imply you weren't courting me."
Jon cleared his throat, a distinctly uncomfortable set to his face. "Is this ruse truly necessary?"
"If it wasn't for this ruse I'd already be forced to manage marriage offers." Sansa replied crisply.
Jon was so solemn and plainly sincere. "I won't let anyone hurt you."
"You can't promise that Jon, no one can." Sansa ached with how much she wished she could be stupid and believe in her brother. Believe in his protection over all common sense. But she couldn't.
He frowned, but didn't naysay her. "If they name me Lord I'll turn it down. I don't want it, I never wanted it. It's Rickon's, as it should be."
"If they name you, you will not have a choice Jon. In the case of a split vote you can turn it down. But if they choose unanimously, there will be nothing to do but accept." Sansa just felt tired. Because if the Lords got it into their heads, and Lyanna would put it forward, and if it moved like a tide sweeping calmer heads to its side...it could happen.
Jon grabbed the bread and cheese with frustration painted across him. "I don't like this."
"No you wouldn't. I'll do what I can with the Lords to ensure they choose Rickon, but we had best be prepared in case they do not." Sansa took a bite of her own morning meal.
Daisy seemed to read the mood, and kindly changed the topic. "So how blatant should I be or not be about the not human thing?" She flicked her fingers at Jon's cup, the metal ringing for a few seconds. "Cause I can play that up or not."
"Staying as you have been would be best." Sansa didn't need to think to know the damage that could be done if Daisy allowed her identity to be questioned or if she overshadowed House Stark too greatly. Two extremes that should be avoided. "If you could avoid a great show of power that would be appreciated. Especially after Fitz's demonstration."
Daisy's eyes narrowed ever so slightly. "The trees and I have an understanding. There won't be any misfortune from that direction."
...Sansa wasn't going to question that. She and Jon shared a look, neither of them were going to touch that with a ten foot long pole. "Well that's something." She was surprised her voice hadn't wavered with laughter at the sheer ridiculousness of it all. "Should I worry about Fitz doing something remarkable anytime soon?"
"He's dealing with the reality that we might be trapped in your world till his wife finds us by getting drunk. So you'll probably end up with some excellent anti-septic, alcohol strong enough to knock an Umber on his ass after less than half a pint. But I have the Order keeping an eye on him." Daisy shrugged. "I'm more worried about the Free Folk."
Jon made a sound of assent. "They'll need to be armed and armored to be able to properly stand as part of our army. As is, they will be the first to fall and they will not follow long if they think we mean to use and then dispose of them."
"Which will displease the Lords of the North." Sansa wondered if pinching the bridge of her nose would be appropriate? "What would be the least threatening armor for them?"
Jon frowned slightly. "If we provide chainmail and hardened leather. It'll give less protection than plate, but they'll be better served without the weight. They were not taught to fight with it, it'd hamper them now."
"Speed over defense." Daisy bit her lip. "I could work with them, try and get the Order to at least interact with them more. But if I'm keeping Rickon near me that might not be a good idea."
Jon focused on Daisy. "We could both keep an eye on Rickon. When he's not with one of us, leave him to Brienne. She's got enough Northern grit to her the Lords half already must think of her as near close enough to practically be Northern."
Sansa's lips twitched up into a smile at that. Her sworn sword and gone and found herself in one of two kingdoms where her desire to hit things with a sword would be respected and not mocked. She hadn't been ignorant of the looks Brienne very clearly was ignorant that she was receiving. Reaching out she plucked a sheet of paper. "I'm confident the two of you can ensure Rickon spends as little time as posible near the Free Folk. Till then, Jon, what do you think of these plans for Wintertown's defenses."
Jon obligingly looked at the plans, his eyes tracking the various lines. "That's a lot of ditches to dig."
"But we have the manpower at the moment do we not?" Sansa pointed out. "And should we survive, the inner ones can be turned into the basis of a sewer system."
"Aye, there is that." Jon agreed. "I'll have the men survey the land to see if this will work."
She felt something like perhaps confidence they could do this, a foolish feeling but so rare she indulged in allowing it to linger. "Then we have a lot of work to do and little time to do it in."