Jon looked over the large map of the North. The pin of a wolf's paw on his chest weighed him down the same as it buoyed him up. Hand of the Queen. A title he'd never thought to be his in his wildest imaginings. "We don't have the men or time to reopen the closed castles along the wall."
"No, do you think the dead will use any of them to get through?" Lord Manderly, newly named Master of Ships, asked from where he was seated.
He considered it. "It's a possibility, I've fought them but understanding what they want other than death is…" Jon shook his head. "We need to find a way to locate and keep an eye on the dead."
"We have wargs." Sansa looked at her assembled small council, though not complete. "It would seem to me that a bird's eye view could be of great aid in surveying the dead."
Tormund, who while not named to a post on the small council was still there for his advice, spoke. "Aye, that could work. But the Others know when they're being looked at, and they can look back."
"Will it endanger the wargs?" Sansa's unwavering attention rested on Tormund.
Tormund patted his beard. "If they don't run fast enough."
"Can they run fast enough?" Sansa held fast to the point she was searching for the answer of.
Tormund's face pulled to one side as he clearly debated on the answer. "A smart fucker could."
Jon lifted several small blocks of wood. "There are nineteen castles, we could send scouting parties of twenty men to each, what wargs are willing with them. At the least, we'd know if the dead have arrived at the Wall."
"Watchers there to give warning." Greatjon Umber snorted in amusement. "Better give them some black."
Sansa touched the edge of the table. "We need to evacuate as many people away from the Wall as possible. If the dead come through we can't defend the far Northern territories." She looked at the Greatjon.
"Sweet hells, who'd leave their homes?" Greatjon scoffed. "The men and women of Last Hearth won't leave. It's our land."
Sansa's jaw tightened. "Those under the age of six and ten must come south. The adults may stay and fight for their lands. But the children will only be further bodies in the army of the dead."
"Where would we hold them? Winterfell is large, but it's not large enough to hold all the children of the far North." Davos asked, looking around.
Lord Glover's eyes narrowed. "I agree with her Grace. Those who can't fight must be moved lest they die uselessly and add to our foe's army."
Jon frowned. "If the Lords closer to the south agreed to take them we could spread the small folk away from where our fight likely will be."
"Lord Glover, would you prepare options for such an evacuation?" Sansa looked at the man she'd named Master of Laws. One of the few formal advisors she'd given title to.
Lord Glover nodded. "Aye, I'll see what I can do."
"Good, though we don't have long. Lady Dustin may be useful to speak to." Sansa clearly meant that as an order, not a suggestion. And it was a good one, at least in Jon's mind.
Lord Manderly hummed. "If I may, there has been some upset over your decision to give shelter to Loras Tyrell. He's a man grown of an enemy House."
"Until we hear more of the war over power in King's Landing I will not throw away a chance at stalling a war with the south till we've survived facing the dead." Sansa was clear as she spoke.
Jon stepped in to support his sister. "I have him under guard, and he's too tired digging ditches with the men to get into mischief. He's not a threat. We need to prepare Moat Cailin to defend our backs."
Jon slumped into a chair by the fire as the last of the council left. He groaned. "Gods, I hadn't known this room was even for this."
"I think father stored wheels in here. Didn't Robb hide here for hours before any of us found him?" Sansa's eyes crinkled at the sides as she poured a cup of wine and handed it to him.
He chuckled at the memory. "I remember that he didn't come out even with the guards shouting for him. Father was furious." Jon's humor faded as he let the weight of the kingdom return to the room. "Scouts spotted men from the Vale riding up the King's Road."
"Then Little Finger received my letter." Sansa's face tightened.
Jon reached out and laid his hand over his sister's. "If he touches you I'll kill him."
"You must not." Sansa glared at him. "We need him and the Vale." She softened slightly. "Besides, he's not a fool, and challenging Daisy for my hand would be incomprehensibly stupid."
Jon frowned. "I don't like this...play you have going on with her."
"Do you distrust her?" Sansa asked, leaning back in her seat.
He opened and then shut his mouth, turning the words over in his mind. Finally, he spoke, slowly. "I think it's unhonorable. But no, I don't distrust her. I fear what will happen if the lie is revealed."
"It would not be good if it is." Sansa replied. "But it's the safest option. Once Littlefinger is here, even now speaking of it as a lie is unwise."
Jon gave a nod of acknowledgment. "Very well, but Sansa you know I'll support you, no matter what."
"I know." She sighed. "We need to deal with baby Bolton."
He grimaced. "We can't send him to one of the most northern Houses."
"I was thinking House Fenn. It's a risk, but no Bolton could gain support from the Crannogmen." Sansa took a sip from her cup of wine.
Jon could see the logic of that. "It's close to the south." He had a feeling they would be here for some time.
/
Fitz grunted as he sat down on the edge of the ditch. "Is t-there a reason you're digging?" He stared at Daisy who was in the ditch itself, shovel in hand, working alongside the various soldiers turned laborers.
"Boredom and if I'm going to ask someone to do something I can do it's kinda shitty not to do it too?" Daisy dumped her shovel of earth into a barrow. The earth was wheeled out of the ditches and added to the packed earth embankment as they all worked. It was an effective method, he could see the use of the design, each embankment higher than the one before. And it was laid out well to be converted into a sewer.
He frowned, he could see the point. "And it sm-smells better than helping m-me?" He shivered, burrowing into his fur cloak.
Her nose wrinkled. "There is that, lye and horse poop. Not pleasant." She set her shovel into the ground and leaned against it, looking at him. "So, whaz up?"
He snorted at that, shaking his head slightly. "Y-you're ridiculous."
"Yu'p'" She popped the 'p' with an amused expression. "But really, what's going on?"
He tossed her the carefully wrapped box of powder. It wasn't large, and she easily caught it with one hand. "It's not p-purple, but I figured blue w-was close enough."
Daisy frowned slightly as she opened the box, she realized it was dye remarkably quickly, but then considering her horrific lack of education she'd always been brilliant in her own way. "Hair dye?" She smiled and it wasn't sarcastic or forced for a moment. "Thank you, you didn't have to."
Fitz shifted awkwardly. "Yeah w-well. Not like I'm m-much good at anything right now. M-making paper and w-waiting for Jemma to s-save us. Don't l-like being useless." It was hard to form those words, he hated being helpless.
"Well….thanks." Daisy tucked the small box away. "You could work on your stutter if you wanted? You nearly got rid of it last time."
He frowned, it'd been prickling at the back of his head. Something was wrong with how Daisy was acting around him. He hadn't really noticed before, but with nothing else really to think about it was starting to bug him. But he shook off the thought, for now. "Y-yes I'm sure you want t-t-t-to do karaoke and sp-speech therapy with m-me for months." It'd been humiliating needing that, even if the team had acted like it was group bonding in downtime when they had the chance.
"Sure, I don't know if you've noticed but they sing like...a lot here. Pretty sure they're singing some kind of work song on the other side of the castle. My theory is the whole not having a radio makes people more musical. And what, slow conversations with a focus on helping you are whatever. You can tell me all about how you're going to propose to Jemma when we get back." Daisy was looking at him with the faintest challenge in them.
Which...shit, she knew exactly how to get under his skin if she wanted. "W-what, you want to s-sing Beyonce here? They're h-heads would explode." He waved at the other people around them.
She sighed. "Ok so pretty much anything too top of the charts pop won't work. Fortunately, Hunter likes weird old Western and like Folk music. And Jemma had that weird month where she left that weird music on in the lab endlessly. I'm sure we can think of something that won't leave the locals having an existential crisis."
"C-Coulson's old rock b-ballads aren't bad." Fitz admitted. Living with everyone had led to a lot of...musical clashes. Most of which had led to negotiated truces, except for when Daisy had broken out the christmas music in November. May had put an end to that pretty fast. Fuck he'd just sentenced himself to this.
Daisy leaned off of her shovel, her head tilting to the side, that new scar of hers she'd brushed off explaining, apparent for a few seconds. "We did those depressing songs to clean up at karaoke for a week till Coulson banned us. Come on, which one has a strong enough beat for me to dig to?"
"G-glitter and Gold?" He finally offered.
She frowned. "Too fast, it'd be better for hammering or something. Good one though, remind me to do that next time one of the boys asks for a song cause gonna be honest I'm running out of appropriate Dolly Parton songs."
"Bottom of the R-river?" Fitz was distinctly ignoring how much attention the forty or so men in vague earshot were paying them.
Daisy perked up at that one with a nod. "Slow the beat slightly and it'd work. I've got harmony. Also, like...we really shouldn't have booed at Lincoln's sea chanty choice."
"I'm g-getting that." Fitz winced, he wasn't a good singer. Not bad, Hunter's wailing to country ballads had been traumatizing...also the fact he was proud of that badness. Actually, why hadn't they stopped him? He shook his head and the thought off. "But f-fine." Side's, he and Daisy hadn't ruled karaoke night for two months for nothing. It'd made the singing thing kinda fun.
Fitz's voice ached slightly, but in a good way, as he sang the song for the third time. Several of the men joined in now as they began to learn the words as they worked. And he...he felt...more awake. The fresh cold air helped.
/
Alys Karstark stitched at yet another Stark colored gambeson, her cousin sitting beside her was working on a pair of britches, her aunt across from her working on a fur cloak. A few old women were knitting close to the fire. In all, there were around fifty women in the large solar working on sewing of some sort. The most widely made item was the gambesons, but socks, cloaks, shirts, pants, and a variety of other garments were being worked on. One of Alys's youngest cousins was carefully sewing buttons onto a shirt for Prince Rickon.
They're 'welcome' to Winterfell had been surprisingly warm. Or rather the Queen had not had time to deal with her resident Karstarks and had thus simply left them to be pressed into the labor of rebuilding the Northern army and the return to splendor of Winterfell. Not that Alys was complaining.
The great keep of the North had gone from a bloodied minimum of a ghost crew to a healthy staff of over a thousand. The great Stark army, and visiting Lords easily fit inside the massive fortress. It was easy to be lost inside the mass of people. There was safety to being forgotten, their House already was being forgotten save as a cautionary tale. A process that would end in less than ten years if she judged it correctly.
She looked up from her work as her cousin Lyarra hissed at having poked herself. "Suck on your finger so you don't bleed on anything sweetling." Nobody needed one of Prince Rickon's shirts taking longer than needed to be repaired. Boy was hard on his clothing as all little boys were and he'd need that shirt again soon.
Lyarra stuffed her finger into her mouth. "Swowwy."
"No, you're doing wonderfully darling." Alys reached out cupping the girls' cheek. "It just takes practice and it's a thicker fabric than you're used to embroidering yet. You'll get there. Until then don't forget to use your thimble."
Lyarra pouted as she pulled her finger out of her mouth. "But it's too big for my finger."
Alys had to hide a flinch at that. If they'd been home it'd have been easy to simply have a smaller one made or brought out for her cousin. Even here it'd be easy enough, but that would involve bringing attention to themselves. "If we put a put of fabric inside I bet it'll fit just right."
"Oh, nonsense." One of the other women chided, reaching into her sewing box. "I have one of my granddaughter's old thimbles in here." She promptly pulled out an old thimble and offered it out.
Alys nudged her cousin Lyarra towards it. "Go on then." She looked at the woman. "Thank you."
"Thank you." Lyarra echoed her as she accepted the thimble.
"Oh, it's nothing." The woman waved off. "We've lots of work to do fixing things up around here." She sighed. "We really ought to make more banners."
A young woman, one of the Pooles sighed. "Prince Jon Stark will need his own sigel made into banners before he can lead off any other men."
"Have we been given what that sigel will be yet?" The older woman who'd given the thimble asked.
"Aye." Heather Woolfield replied from where she was stitching yet another gambeson. "We're to start on his wardrobe and banners once we finish this last round of gambesons."
Alys hummed, it was a statement that the royal wardrobe was to be merely upkept until their soldiers were properly outfitted at a minimum before a proper wardrobe was created. And a statement she found she appreciated. "What has been decided for it?"
"A snarling white wolf on a field of black with red eyes." Lady Woolfield answered. "A good symbol looks nearly identical to that direwolf of his."
She carefully stitched as she listened to the woman excitedly discuss the threads they'd need for that and what they expected of his wardrobe to need to be made first. It hurt to hear that sigel. It was the color reversal for a bastard house. House Karstark's white sunburst on black had been heartbreakingly similar. It stated exactly what the Queen was planning for her brother as well. Prince Jon would be founding a new cadet branch of House Stark within the year most likely.
Alys looked up, meeting the gaze of her aunt, Celia Karstark. They both shared the pained knowledge together. After all, the two most likely fortresses to be given to the Prince and Hand of the Queen would be Moat Calin or the Karhold. So easily their lineage and history were being replaced. How utter was their ruin. She swallowed and focused more fully on her stitching as the merry voices of the other woman filled the room.
The door into the solar was opened and one of the Stormland knights, Ser Swann she thought, entered the room. He raised his voice. "Lady Alys Karstark, her Grace requests your presence."
Every muscle in Alys's body tightened even as she remained seemingly calm. Whether it was true calm or terror wiping all but calm away she didn't know. She carefully set her sewing aside and rose. "Are you to escort me to her good Ser?"
"Yes, if you'd follow me, my Lady." Ser Swann stepped, allowing her to exit the room ahead of him.
She gave the slightest of nods. "As the Queen requests." Alys followed respectfully, and silently as they walked through the halls.
It was a relief as she realized they were not headed for the great hall, nor the king's hall. The Queen was not sitting in judgment over her then. She held herself together as she was led into the family wing of the inner keep. As they approached it became clear that they were heading towards the Lord's Solar...or perhaps it was the Queen's Solar now? A question she had no interest in voicing lest it be taken as an insult. But the two men in Stark colors standing by the door clearly indicated their Queen was in the room behind them.
Ser Swann reached up and knocked on the door briefly. There was a faint call of 'enter'. He opened the door and stepped back, leaving Alys to enter by herself.
Alys stepped through the doorway and into the solar. She came to the center of the room. It was easy to spot the Queen, sitting behind her desk, her quill scratching across a piece of parchment. Standing in one corner was the lady knight. Alys dropped into the deepest curtsy she was capable of. "My Queen."
"You may rise." Queen Sansa didn't leave her to wait long. She set her quill aside as she focused on Alys. "My apologies for not seeing you sooner, I hope your accommodations have been acceptable?"
Alys straightened slowly, though she kept her eyes below the Queen's. "You have been most kind. More than we deserved or could have expected."
"House Karstark is dead." Queen Sansa folded her hands on top of the wood of her desk. "And yet you, your three cousins, and your aunt remain. Which leaves your futures to be decided."
Alys's throat was dry, she knew how this went. "Whatever your will, your Grace."
"I've been in your position, and it is not a kind one." She said as if everyone didn't know how badly it had gone for her. "I will seek to be kinder than those who chose for me were."
Alys swallowed. "Have you signed marriage agreements for myself and my family already?"
"No, not yet." Queen Sansa stood. "House Stark has long married the daughters of our enemies, and you and yours have Stark blood. Which means something."
She raised her chin ever so slightly. "Which of us do you plan to marry to your brother, your Grace?"
"Lyarra, she's of a similar age to Rickon. They'd be able to grow together, and while wild, Rickon is not a cruel boy." The Queen was unshakable, but there was a gentleness to her words.
Alys's mouth felt dry, she'd expected one of them would be marrying Prince Jon. But it would seem she had been wrong. "You are too kind, your Grace. We are not worthy of the honor."
"If you oppose a match I suggest you are free to say something. Once you leave this room it will be too late." Her eyes were cold and sharp as they looked at her.
She breathed in slowly. "I, nor my aunt would oppose such a match. The Prince is a good match, better than any man could hope for his daughter. And to grow with your betrothed is a blessing. Perhaps they will even be fond of one another."
"Then it'll be done." The Queen pulled out a piece of parchment already filled out with the particulars. "Once you sign this our Houses will be joined. Before we get to the signing of contracts however there is still the matter of the other four of you. Do you, or your cousins have any sweethearts?"
Alys mouth tightened slightly. "None that survived the war."
"In that case, your cousin Arsa is of age with the new Lord Hornwood who is unwed. I've heard no rumors of him that are disturbing." Queen Sansa offered.
It was...a valuable match. "You are too kind."
"I'm not." The Queen looked at her sharply. "But at this moment I can be kind. Your cousin Margaret is two years the junior of the heir to House Fenn. Your aunt I would wed to Ser Flint, my seneschal. It's a match below her and she is older than him, however, it would allow me to place her in charge of the royal household."
Alys's eyes widened ever so slightly. "Would she be allowed to see her daughter?"
"Of course, a child should not be taken from their mother if possible." And it was….Sansa was being far kinder than she had any need to be. Queen Sansa faced her fully then. "Which leaves you, the legal heir to your House. I cannot wed you to a powerful Lord, and I cannot wed you to any House in the eastern regions."
She ran through the names of Lords who were direct bannerman of House Stark. It was the safest choice from the Queen's perspective. And which had heirs or an unmarried Lord to wed her to? Alys straightened under the Queen's gaze. "Lord Cerwyn then?"
The Queen nodded slightly. "I know that he's a kind man, and Lord of a House I require stalwart loyalty from, though he is not a...strong man. But I think you are. Am I wrong?"
"No." Alys saw the command there. And it was terrifying, but it was also power, trust, and the promise of as good of a life as she could have hoped for. Kindness that had not been required. She lowered into a curtsy. "Your kindness will not be forgotten, my Queen."