Daisy wondered when the fire had gone out. She considered reaching out to restart the fire, but the idea of using her arms which were pure agony, made her discard the thought. Her powers weren't bubbling under her skin any longer, which was a relief. They'd certainly shattered enough of her arm bones. She slowly looked over her shoulder at where Fitz was sitting, his eyes rimmed red as he stared emptily at the floor.
She just...ached. Her heart ached, her arms ached. And she was tired. "You're right."
"Y-you didn't run." He croaked, his arms tightening where they were wrapped around his knees.
Daisy looked at her arms, the awful and familiar pain. "It wouldn't have helped."
They both faded into silence as they sat in the cold and dark room. The fire, and candles long since having gone out or been blown out by her lack of control. It was just...cold. Suitably miserable for them.
"W-when did we b-become these people?" Fitz's face was empty of anything but grief.
Daisy swallowed. "I don't know." She looked away from Fitz, her eyes tracing the fabric of the bedspread. "What did I do that was so bad you were able to cut me out? I couldn't...it wasn't Hive, you tried so hard to bring me back, but…." She trailed off. It'd never made sense to her.
Fitz didn't reply for the longest time, and then finally he started to speak. "Y-you left us. After L-lincoln you l-left. We all w-were hurting. And you l-left, t-turned your b-back on us. It was a-always you and me h-holding everyone together. W-when you left it a-all fell apart. You w-wouldn't even listen to m-me, to any of us. W-we needed you. Coulson l-lost control, the t-team was split up. And y-you were just g-gone. A-and then you were b-back with S-satan."
Daisy hurt, but it also...under all the exhaustion and pain she felt a flicker of anger. Her voice took a sarcastic lilt. "I'm sorry my grief inconvenienced you for six months." Her eyes narrowed. "You tried to bring me back!"
"No, C-coulson and Mack did." He tightened. "I w-wanted you back b-but…you l-left and it all b-broke."
She let out a wet sound. "Well, that's nice. Fuck." Her head tilted back, hitting the stone wall she was leaning against.
"Why c-couldn't you have g-grieved with the rest of us? G-gotten better. Talked to a-anyone?" Fitz's questions were half question, half accusation.
Daisy let what might have been a single laugh. "Grieved with you? Healed? Done the whole hand holding and support thing? I didn't want to. I wasn't grieving."
"B-but...what w-were you doing?" Fitz frowned, finally looking at her. "You w-were fighting Watch Dogs, a-and…c-cavorting with v-vengeance demons."
Daisy didn't have it in her to hide the truth of it from him. She knew Jemma had guessed, May certainly. Her skin crawled at the knowledge Coulson had definitely known. "I was trying to die."
"Tha…" Fitz opened and shut his mouth.
She picked at the cuff of her sleeve. Pain lanced up her arms, but it was good, it was grounding. "I should have died against Hive. No, don't-" she cut Fitz off as he opened his mouth in protest. "Don't you dare say that's not true. After everything that happened, after everything with Ward-"
Daisy bit the inside of her cheek, swallowing back further reasons. "I deserved it. Not Lincoln. So I tried to find someone who would finish the job." She scoffed. "And then the Ghost Rider wouldn't do it."
"Lincoln died t-to protect you!" He managed to protest. "Why would you-?"
"I didn't ask him to." Daisy snapped. "I didn't want him to. But he did it anyway and I have to live with that!'
Her body trembled, her arms sharply reminding her to breathe. Closing her eyes she forced herself to breathe out, the vibrations fading back and away. Sometimes it felt like the endless buzzing would swallow her whole, and she couldn't afford that. Couldn't lose focus of the world, not right now.
"D-Daisy…" Fitz's voice trembled in a way that wasn't just his stutter. He sounded like himself then, the version of him that she'd have let drag almost anything out of her if he asked. And she resented that.
"I left because I knew if I stayed I would have had to stay alive for the team because you would have needed me." She said the words like they were venom on her tongue. She swallowed hard and looked away. "And I would have hated you for it."
Fitz was looking at her, really looking at her maybe for the first time in nearly two years. "B-but you came b-back."
"Yeah. I did." Daisy uttered before looking away from him with a jerk of her head. Her eyes blinking rapidly to keep from crying. She hated this.
/
Jon nodded to himself as he looked at the map of the new defenses of Winterfell spread out on the wooden table before him. "Good, if the men focus on the third line here, they could complete it by the end of the week."
"Too busy with brown nosing cunts to help today?" Mors asked, though his tone was lacking any real bite.
He huffed. "Believe me, if I could avoid the Whitehill trial I would." Jon looked at where the men were digging. "I'll take Ser Loras with me."
"Aye, bugger is friendly with the Forresters isn't he?" Mors glanced to the over eager members of the Order. "What crawled up their asses?"
Jon resisted the desire to look at the oddly, but distinctly spooked, looking, men. "I don't plan to ask."
Mors laughed at that. "Probably wise. But fine, I'll run the men along the third line. Get on to court with you Lord Hand." He slapped his back hard.
"Still odd to hear that." Jon shook his head. He was a bastard, and here he was a legitimate prince and Hand of the Queen. It was...a lot. But sitting at the head table, sitting beside his living siblings he felt...a settled warmth. Warmth in a way he couldn't remember having ever felt before.
Mors looked at him, his one eye clear and bright. "Could always call you Prince."
He chuckled at that. "Don't overwork the men." Jon ignored the sounds of Mors turning to yell out orders. Instead, he made his way from the current location of planning for the ever growing defenses of Winterfell, into the fortress itself. He had thrown himself into the preparations here. It was a last line of defense. The battle against the dead would never leave the Wall if he had anything to say about it. But if it did, he would ensure the path from Wall to his home was a grater, whittling away the dead's numbers.
The morning was cold, snow falling gently. It didn't stay cold enough for the snow to linger longer than in the early morning and at night. The rest of the time it was mostly mud. He was grateful Daisy was there or else digging the cold ground would have been...significantly more difficult. Not that she'd admit to being responsible for the soft ground only where the men were digging.
Jon glanced at the knight following behind his shoulder. Protection. He approved in the case of his sister and brother. But it was a bit ridiculous to think he needed a guard in Winterfell. If it made his sister worry about one less thing though he wouldn't speak out against it. As he walked up onto the main road he chuckled. "Tormund, what are you doing out here?"
"Eh, couldn't find a good fight." He touched his new hardened and shaped leather armor. "Have to break this in."
Jon eyed the armor, it was good quality, once the chain was done the wildlings would be capable of surviving proper war. "Her Holiness might help you break it in if you ask her."
"Bah, rather not eat dirt. That big woman of your sister's, can't impress her like that." Tormund chuckled. "Fighen' a god won't do me good there."
He shook his head as they walked through the gates into Winterfell proper. "I don't think Brienne likes you."
"Aye, she does know me." Tormund proudly declared.
Jon couldn't help the smile on his face. "She does at that." He paused slightly. "Do you intend to sit the trial?"
"Naw, you southerners' arguments are your own business." Tormund snorted.
He poked him ever so slightly. "Your lady love will be there."
"Now that is a point." Tormund remarked a slightly thoughtful expression on his face.
Jon took his place behind Sansa's shoulder, laying a hand on her gently in support. "My Queen."
"I trust our defenses are well in hand without you then?" Sansa's voice had a dry quality he'd come to know meant she was asking not to learn the answer herself, but for others to hear the answer.
He glanced at the crown on her head. "Aye, Mors Umber has it in hand."
"Good, to the business at hand then." Sansa stared down the length of the court and assembled Lords and Ladies.
Jon listened as the last of the evidence and defense were laid out. It was...well it was a legal mess quite frankly. A part of him feared his sister might take this as a legal opportunity to condemn a former vassal House of the Bolton's utterly to death, and it would not be done with the mercy shown to the Karstarks if she did. But most of him was reassured that she would not. It would lead to too much land being under direct Stark control. Already between their victories, they were holding far more land than the bannermen would accept long term.
"Ser Davos." Sansa flicked her attention to the knight. "What is your opinion of the matter?"
Davos startled at the attention brought to him. But his familiar flea bottom accent filled the room. "I think it's not in doubt House Whitehill committed treason at the Red Wedding. The land disputes between them and House Forrester afterward, however, were sanctioned by House Bolton in its position as Wardens of the North. That said, we need them and their men to fight the dead."
Lord Forrester glared, stepping forward. "My Queen, leave to speak?"
"I would hear from your sister." Her eyes turned to Mira Forrester. "What do you believe would be fair? Would be justice?"
Lord Forrester stepped back, a frustrated air to him, but he gave the floor to his sister.
Mira stood tall before the attention of the court. "Injustice has been done to my House, my family, and those beholden to us." She swallowed, pausing, seeming to consider her thoughts. "I've lost my father, mother, two brothers, my honor." Her voice cracked. "Our lands and trees have been harmed, our small folk terrorized and murdered. The Whitehills are traitors and murderers, end their line."
Jon hurt at the pain in her voice. He didn't blame her for her rage, but his hands tightened at the requested bloodshed. "What say you, Torrhen Whitehill?"
The man was wearing shackles, his shoulders straight as he stood before the court. His light brown hair slicked back with water, beard controlled as best a prisoner could manage. He had a certain nobility to his bearing. "My House is guilty of owing our loyalty to House Bolton. If your liege Lord commits treason it is treason for either way. It is treason to support your liege Lord, but treason not to. Who among this court stayed loyal to the Starks? House Forrester bent the knee. House Manderly bent the knee. Why should my family be held to a standard no others are? Aye, House Forrester lost blood. But so have I. My brother and father died, our soldiers lay dead, our small folk ruined. Why should the burden of that be ours alone? I have done no worse than any man here."
The court exploded into anger and argument. Various Lords crying out at the charge of disloyalty to House Stark. Old grudges showing. Jon glared. Stepping forward he raised his voice. "ORDER!"
His glare was firm as he stared the court down. "This is a trial, not a barroom brawl. You will show your respect."
Sansa spoke into the ensuing silence. "Lord Whitehill is not wrong." Her eyes were sharp, daring anyone to contradict her. "But that does not absolve his House of their crimes." She tapped a finger against the arm of her throne. "House Whitehill is to owe vassalage to House Dustin from this day hence. You will give up any claim to the contested lands with House Forrester. Reparations in the form of livestock, furs, leatherwork, and metal work to the equivalent of 20,000 gold dragons over the course of the next twenty years. You, Lord Whitehill are to take your levees, and go to the Shadow Tower and hold it. Should you fail to do this I will root you out of your keep, and put all of your blood to the sword."
Jon gave his sister the slightest of approving nods. Harsh, but would assist House Forrester to survive the coming winter, aid in the war against the Dead, and punish a House that had been a patsy of the Bolton's. "Do you accept these terms, Lord Whitehill?"
"I do." Whitehill was obviously displeased, but the relief at keeping his head kept him grateful.
/
Sansa set her crown on the desk in her solar. "You're displeased with my ruling?"
"Your Grace…" Lord Rodrick Forrester's voice trailed off. "It is your right to name the justice."
She raised a brow looking at the man. "We're not in the middle of the court, you have a right to dislike my justice."
"It does not feel like justice, your Grace." He allowed, his warm voice tight.
Sansa looked at the pain and injury written across this man. His body broken at the Red Wedding, scars he would carry to his death, grief similar to her own in the lines of his face. "I agree, it wasn't justice." She was vaguely amused by the surprise on his face. "If I meant to bring pure justice as my father or brother would understand I'd be cutting heads off from the east to the west. The dead would have little work to do left when I was done. Your own head among them."
He flinched at that. "My family is dead because of them. For our loyalty to House Stark."
"They are." Sansa faced him without flinching. "And I cannot give them back to you. We both know there's nothing we wouldn't give to bring our dead back, and cutting Torhen Whitehill's head off won't do that. He and his men holding the Shadow Tower might keep the family we have left alive."
His eyes flicked away from her face in deferment. "Justice has always been the way of House Stark."
"Is it more honorable to punish crime or keep my people alive?" Sansa found herself curious at his answer.
Rodrick's face twisted before he let out a groaning sigh, shoulders dropping. But he seemed to rally. "And should we survive, when men who stabbed your brother and mother in the back return from the war, what then?"
"Then they live on my mercy. Mercy that will not be shown to them again. The same as House Dustin, Ryswell, and a dozen other Houses exist because I permit them to."
He grimaced but moved away from her. "My leg, permission to be seated, your Grace?"
"Of course." She waved to the chair by the fire.
With a sigh of relief, he took the seat, before replying to their conversation. "Why speak of mercy and justice to me?"
"Because I value the loyalty and sacrifice your family has shown." Sansa measured the man, he was young but not barely a man like two-thirds of her army. "My advisors wish me to name you Master of Coin."
He startled looking at her with wide eyes. "It would be an honor."
"One I'm not giving." She held her hand up. "I am not naming any Master of Coin, for a bookkeeper I've seen how much power it gives to a single man. Power I don't intend to give to any man, no matter what my advisors believe. Rather I intend to split the position into a Master of Reserve, and Revenue, the Master of Revenue being the authority on taxation and financial reserves."
Rodrick leaned back in his seat. "That is a great deal of change in the face of war."
"I would name you Master of Revenue, which would give you access to Stark forces for ensuring the Whitehills pay their debt to you." Sansa watched his expression.
He sucked in a slow breath, his eyes sharp as he looked at her. "What is the catch, your Grace?"
"I would name your chief assistant and deputy should you be absent from court as Lady Dustin." She wondered if he'd note the full nuisance of the appointment? "She holds a legitimacy from her years as Lady of one of the great Houses of the North. Legitimacy neither of us holds, our leadership is still being tested."
He made a low sound at the back of his throat. "And she holds a great deal of weight with House Dustin, despite no longer being their head of House. House Dustin that are the new liege Lords of House Whitehill, meaning they will ensure the Whitehills don't further attack my family to give Lady Dustin more sway at court."
"And you will be sure of your family's safety, at least from the Whitehills." She tipped her head slightly.
With a slow nod, he sighed. "I would be honored to accept the position, your Grace."
"I will have the badge and papers of your office sent to your quarters tonight then." Sansa wondered at the council of advisors she was building. She hoped she was building one that was not made of 'yes' men, nor self serving monsters.
Sansa walked into the gods' wood, the bottom hem of her dress touching the snow covered grass. She was exhausted, but she had a conversation left that needed to be had. Her breath froze in the air as she came to the face tree, and found Daisy there. Daisy never stood before the tree in supplication, rather as if she was in conversation with it. It was perhaps the least human Sansa ever saw her.
As she approached she slowed. "You've been largely absent from the castle today." She paused and was concerned at the lack of reply. "And your followers have been acting like frightened prey attempting to avoid notice. Should I be worried?"
"No, well probably not." Daisy looked over her shoulder at her. "I lost my temper with Fitz last night, I believe the men heard raised voices, certainly felt the tower shake." She gave a wry grin.
Her brow furrowed slightly. "If you would prefer to speak to Jon he's certainly noticed as well."
"What...I...fuck." Daisy shook her head. "Don't know if you've noticed but I'm bad at expressing negative emotions."
She gave a light hum, she'd certainly noticed. No one was as painfully at ease, as nearly unassailable as Daisy was. She took insults with barely more than a light blip. The physical violence of punching idiots in the face barely even counted as a departure from her general light mood. Sansa was positive that punching people was actually friendly activity from Daisy, as weird as that was. But boys with their swords and all that. The most negative emotion Daisy seemed comfortable showing was morose grief, rarely anything sharper. And when it was there, it was fast, sharp, and dissipated into nothing quickly. "I wasn't aware that was a bad thing?"
"It is when your emotions are tied to the ability to split planets like eggs. Fitz may be an ass, but he wasn't wrong to call me out on endangering you by pretending I don't have negative emotions." She shrugged. "And hiding in the gods' wood sounded better than pretending my arms aren't shattered."
Her eyes widened, stepping forward despite herself she reached out only to pause her hand nearly brushing Daisy's arm. "How…."
"It's fine, they're less shattered and more fractured now. Barely be sore by morning." Daisy clearly read the horror dawning across Sansa's face. "I lost my temper, my emotions affect my power. If it doesn't go outwards it has to go inwards."
Sansa's arm dropped back to her side. "Maester Wolkan will help you, something for the pain at least." She could read enough to realize Daisy wasn't going to speak more on the topic of her argument with Fitz. And she knew the broken, ugly thing between the two was something best not poked at.
Daisy shook her head. "They're healing, a day and a half for my bones to go from shattered to whole again." There was something darkly humorous in her voice. "Used to take months."
"That doesn't mean you can't take something for the pain." Her voice was matter of fact. She carefully placed her hand on Daisy's shoulder gently directing her out of the gods' wood and hopefully to the Maester.
Daisy huffed. "How about some tea? You look as exhausted as I feel. Tea, an update on the dumbest shit your nobles are up to and I'll be fine."
"You're not going to see Maester Wolkan are you?" She sighed, well...magical god healing. Which was ridiculous, but she could accept it, definitely asking for more information when Daisy wasn't in pain and likely still fairly upset from an argument.
Daisy grinned. "Nope, I'm terrible at being injured."
"I can see." Sansa looked at her friend's face. "How do you feel about mulled wine?"
Daisy blinked. "That's a real thing?"