Seth Watership was making his bed to the exacting standards of the Order when he heard his name called. Looking up he straightened at the sight of Joran. "Do ya need something?"
"Aye, you and Conin, get over here." Joran ordered before ducking back out of the dorms.
Seth glanced at Conin who just shrugged. The two of them finished making their beds as quickly as possible before trotting out after Joran. It was weird they were being called aside from the rest of the Order, but maybe their shifts on the walls were being changed up? He wasn't particularly worried. Order business tended to be endless reading and math lessons, combat lessons, and then various duties about Winterfell to ensure they weren't a burden on their hosts.
He straightened his jerkin slightly as they reached Joran's neat desk in the classroom above the dorms. "You said to get over here?" Which was nice, Joran might be prickly about living up and beyond their god's expectations, but he was the nicest person who'd ever bossed Seth about. Really following his orders was easy as breathing. Usually. Man was damned sadistic when it came to morning runs, but mornings, where Daisy joined their runs, were worse…she clearly forgot humans needed air.
"You two are going to be having new duties, Holiness's orders." Joran stood up, rocking a bit on his feet. "Course you're still in the Order, and I expect you to be at training and lessons when you can. But you'll be having duties separate from the rest of us from now on."
Seth's back straightened, his face flattening. But it was Conin who asked the question. "What duties?"
"You're being assigned to the new royal guard for the Starks." Joran leveled a serious glare at both of them. "So you'll be representing the rest of us, only non-nobility formally in the guard too. Best behavior, you're not just standing for us you're standing for her Holiness's regard for the Queen so don't fuck up."
His heart was pounding in his throat. "But why us?!" If his voice was strangled, well off course it was. He was the son of a farmer and up until the day Winterfell had shaken with their god's wrath he'd worn Bolton colors.
"Because you two are the best we have at wrestling and knife work." Joran's face furrowed. "Or I'm guessing that's why her Holiness picked you, figure that'd be good skills for guarding someone. But starting after the midday meal the two of you are reporting to Lady Brienne."
Conin's voice was slightly squeaky. "Do we still sleep here? Cause I heard the guard was getting it's own quarters?"
"Y'all always have a bed in the tower." Joran replied sharply. "You're part of us, and spending most of your time outside of the tower doesn't change that."
Seth breathed out slowly, under the relief that he wasn't being dismissed from his vows, and the fading panic was a thrum of pride so great he feared it might fill him up enough he'd float. "You really mean that? We get to serve in the royal guard? Even though we're well…us?"
Joran nodded. "Course the rest of us will keep an eye out and help fill out the usual ranks of the men at arms around the royal family. Can't let foreign bastards get too close to the Queen again."
They all shared a moment of solid understanding. Fuck the Stormlanders.
Joran continued. "And keep an eye on those Vale shites. Bloody cowards not showing up for a fight till now. Wouldn't trust 'em further than we can chuck 'em."
"We'll make the Order proud." Seth said firmly. And he meant it with his whole heart. He owed everything to their Queen and their god. "Do we need additional gear or are we just wearing what we have already?"
Joran shrugged. "I don't know, figure Lady Brienne'll know. Ask her, you're to meet her in the gods' wood. So far the guard is you two, that Tyrell knight, a couple of the Crannoman, a Wildling, one of the Hornwood knights, a Manderly man, that Stormlander knight her Holiness cleared of wrongdoing, and they were still talking about a couple of other men from Northern houses."
Seth frowned as he considered that. "So…knights from three of the seven kingdoms and well…sort of a bit of everyone in the North?"
"Sounds about like it." Conin hummed. "I don't like that Stormlander being allowed in."
Joran gave a solemn nod. "Keep an eye on him. He's never allowed alone with our Queen or the Prince. I don't care if anyone else gives you those orders or not. We don't allow it."
"Got it." Seth breathed in and then out. Who'd have thought, not even twenty years and he, the son of a farmer, was going to be part of a royal guard? It was crazy. But every bone in his body thrummed with pride. He wasn't going to let the Order or their god down. No matter what.
/
Rickon blinked at the stack of paper on his section of the table in the workshop. It was all filled with neatly drawn out grids, and besides it was a breakdown of measurements and a bridge? He looked up at Fitz. "What's this?"
"You're new p-project." He stood up, his fingers twitching faintly as he stepped over. "You've progressed past just copying things." Fitz reached out ruffling his hair. "L-let's see what you can design kid."
And…Rickon beamed. "Really?"
"Yeah kid. I wrote down the distances and materials. D-design a bridge for the river and we'll go over it l-later." He gave him a final pat, handed him a quill, and then meandered back to whatever latest project had caught his fancy.
Rickon looked over at Crann who was giving him a gesture of congratulations. Nearly vibrating at the fact he was being allowed to actually do something other than simply copy notes, he carefully began to read the measurements and details Fitz had written out. He was going to do it perfectly!
His neck had a crick in it, his fingers coated in ink and his bridge looked…well it looked identifiably like a bridge but also made him want to curl under the table in shame. Alas Fitz snagged it from under his hands and made a vague sound while looking it over. Rickon kinda wanted the floor to open up and swallow him…maybe he could warg into Shaggydog and just stay in the wolf till his cheeks didn't feel so hot you could cook on them?
Fitz hummed. "Geometry pre-algebra….g-good start." He nodded looking back at Rickon. "We'll start with basic g-geometry tomorrow. In s-six months you can try again and we'll see how you've improved."
"I…so I wasn't supposed to do a good job?" Rickon frowned as he put that together. It'd been a test.
Fitz ruffled his hair. "Needed to know w-where you were."
"Did I do alright though?" Rickon checked, his cheeks still felt warm with humiliation.
The man huffed. "You're a beginner. But you're picking m-math very fast. Might get you to grade level in couple months. A-already have lab behavior down. You've got promise."
And well, Rickon puffed up in pride! Cause Fitz didn't compliment pretty much anyone, which means he meant it!
/
Jon stepped into his sister's solar, he was unsurprised to see Ghost laying by the hearth clearly soaking up the warmth, and based off his focus on Sansa, had been begging for scraps from her midday meal. Lazy furball. The wolfy smugness was practically wafting from the beast. It was almost enough to lighten his mood, almost.
Sansa looked up from what was certainly a legal document and clearly saw something on his face. "What's happened?"
"Sam wrote." He held out the small scroll of parchment to her. The words there both offered salvation while also being a death knell to them.
She took the message that had come by raven and read it. It was plain to see exactly when she'd understood the words on the parchment. She closed her eyes, lowering her hands, letting the parchment fall on the table. "Is there any hope he'll find another deposit of dragonglass?"
"Almost none." Jon replied, there was no point in lying.
"Well then." She looked at him, her blue eyes sharp. "Acquiring dragonglass is our only chance at survival."
He swallowed. "How do we get it? Dragonstone is within striking distance of the capital. The Lannisters control it. We'd need an army to hold it."
"We'd need more than an army to take it. Even if we turned every man we can call upon south…" She shook her head. "Three years, if we had three years we could take the Iron Throne, then send the complete armies of the south with dragonglass back to the Wall but…"
He was terrified that his sister thought they could take the iron throne in three years. "We might not have three years." Jon rubbed at his beard. "The snow by then will be too deep to move an army in the north besides."
"Which means it can't be our approach." Sansa just looked tired. "Even with Daisy…if the Tyrells were still in power we could ransom Loras back to them for dragonglass…I could even bend the knee to Tommen for dragonglass but with Cersei alone on the throne…"
"That's not possible." Jon finished for her.
She folded her hands, leaning back in her seat. It was several long minutes before she spoke again. "We have to invade Dragonstone. If we use our navy…it would destroy our new trade, rations would be necessary. We'd risk starvation. But we'd have a chance to survive."
"We'd need to depend on Daisy's goodwill as well. The knights of the Vale would need to turn around and head to their ports instead of coming here to aid against the dead." Jon just…they weren't prepared to fight all of Westeros and the dead at the same time. He looked at his sister. "Were you planning on invading the south once the dead were gone?"
She didn't look surprised by the question. "Yes, not for the iron throne, however." Sansa gave him a knowing look. "Without dragons holding all seven kingdoms together is impossible. If I was fortunate I might hold it for my lifetime, but no dynasty we founded would last long. But as the seven kingdoms fall there is an opportunity to secure more land, good farmland for our people. The Riverlands and the Vale could be brought under the Northern banner. Possessing the Riverlands would also give us access to southern trade." Her eyes hardened. "And I don't mean to allow House Frey to stand for a day longer than I must."
"If the south breaks apart how will it?" Jon asked, this was important. And he couldn't say his sister was wrong. Holding the Riverlands was both reclaiming their brother's kingdom, and the ability to grow food for longer, and more plentifully.
Sansa hummed thoughtfully. "The Vale, the Iron Islands, and Dorne will wish to be independent and have the geographical advantages to do so. The Stormlands and the Riverlands are too devastated to be ought else but contested lands for the rest to fight over. The Crownlands will be torn apart in the fighting between the Reach and the Westerlands to gain as much power as possible. If we took the Riverlands and the Vale we'd hold enough power for the others to avoid inciting war against us. Likely over several generations, we'd lose some of the Riverlands, but not all of it."
"And the Vale is the best location to stage an attack on the North." He was…terrified by the practicality of it all. And the boy Lord of the Vale was Sansa's cousin, the Lord of the Riverlands her uncle. Jon suddenly frowned. "The cost of the Vale bending the knee would be your marriage."
She gave a faint nod. "If he's not dead by then, likely to Baelish."
"Sansa!" Jon's jaw tightened. "No, you cannot marry that man!"
She didn't so much as flinch at his anger. "If it was necessary for our people I would." her head tipped slightly. "Though I don't intend to allow any such thing to occur. It would be more likely I'd need to marry a relative of Lord Royce's. But with dragonglass…we'll both need to marry to secure alliances in order to take Dragonstone."
He swallowed. "Who?"
"I don't know." She rubbed at her brow. "If I married Loras we might gain Tyrell support. You'd likely need to marry into the Crownlands. Rickon's betrothal would need to be called off so that he could be betrothed to a Vale girl. Although if we need a fleet…Theon has a sister we might negotiate a marriage to for you. It'll be months before we can begin the process of gaining allies for this."
Jon flinched at the thought of marrying Theon's sister. That was…that was terrible. "Would that work?" Because if it did…he'd do his duty.
She looked at him. "I don't know. Maybe? Even if we take Dragonstone, martial an army and mine for dragonglass…the time it'd require…the funds…we'd lose thousands of men and should we survive the dead after all that we'd be forced to turn and fight the south without pause."
"So it's impossible then?" Their army couldn't handle endless war like that. They'd be ground into the mud regardless of if they were able to eke out a victory in every battle.
Sansa breathed in slowly. "Can we kill them with fire? Is that possible?"
"I don't rightly know. We'd need oil, wildfire if we can get our hands on it." Jon considered that, if they turned every ditch, dug a hundred more, and filled them all with fire…. "Mayhaps we could do it."
She reached out pouring wine for both of them. "The oil wells in the marshes, if we start drawing everything out we possibly can, it'd require speaking to the Crannogman but we could pull several hundred barrels at least before the snows are too deep for travel."
"Aye, the small council might have some idea as well." Jon wet his lips. "I hate to ask, but Fitz might have some idea on making wildfire."
Sansa handed him a cup of wine. "That'll be a pleasant conversation. I'm sure you'll manage."
"That's fair." Frankly, Rickon was the only one who enjoyed Fitz. It wasn't surprising Sansa would dump the task of speaking with him on Jon. "We're giving up on dragonglass then?"
Sansa took a drink of her wine. "Unless someone has an idea that will not ruin us for acquiring it, it must be. We just don't have the time nor the manpower to acquire it. Even with marriages…I don't know how we'd manage it."
"Even just a single ship full of dragonglass…could we send a few ships, hope the men in Dragonstone lock themselves up behind their gates, leaving us to mine as much dragonglass as we can carry?" Jon knew he was desperate.
She hesitated. "We could try, however, the chances of death for all involved would be…it would be high."
"So we speak to our council and hope Davos has an idea." Jon drained his cup of wine. For every sign of hope, there needed to be a drastically terrible setback. It was like the gods hated them. If they didn't have very real proof that wasn't the case in Daisy's existence he doubted any man would doubt they were cursed.
Sansa let out a long sigh. "Indeed. For now, we need to map out what options we have for getting oil up from the marshes and into the far north as well as what routes that are at least…plausible for taking Dragonstone."
"I'll grab the map." He agreed though he felt it was a hopeless attempt.
/
Greatjon Umber stared at the men in Wyman Manderly's attached solar. "What's all this then?" Because Manderly and Glover were understandable, but that slimy fucker Baelish being there? Who, while Greatjon may be daft and thick as a board, even he, recognized the fact Jon Stark loathed the man, and Daisy had been ignoring him rather pointedly. That said all he needed to know on the subject. The knowledge of who exactly had brokered the marriage between Sansa and Ramsey just explained the behavior. It was more confusing the man hadn't been killed just walking through the gates of Winterfell than anything else. He'd certainly have wagered money on it if anyone had been stupid enough to take that bet. Or well smart enough considering the man still breathed.
"We need to discuss her Holiness's suit of our Queen." Lord Glover replied as he handed him a mug of ale.
Greatjon groaned as he accepted the ale. "Ah, that matter."
"Aye, that matter." Manderly took a long draw from his ale. "Needs to be spoken of plainly, even if we do nothing more about the whole thing."
Greatjon glared at Baelish. "What's that cunt doing here after what he did to her Grace?"
"I assure you no one regrets my involvement in Ramsey and her Grace's marriage more than I." Baelish cut in. "And seeing as my army is marching as we speak to aid the North, I have as much of a stake in the continued good health of our Queen as any man."
"Involvement?! You bloody well arranged the whole damn thing!" Glover snapped.
Baelish's hand flicked. "And if Stannis had won she'd have only need been married to him for a few short weeks before being placed perfectly to be the Stark of Winterfell. I failed to understand the depths of Ramsey's depravity and overestimated Stannis's chances."
"We're not here to assign blame." Manderly cut in. "We're here because our Queen is playing a dangerous game."
Baelish's lips quirked up. "Very dangerous one, but she's clearly playing it well."
"Look, I don't see how it's any of our business to stick our noses into whether she fucks the god or not." Glover crossed his arms. "Not like anyone would dare speak against it if she does. And if they do let her Holiness handle it. Wouldn't envy those fuckers. And if she doesn't fuck the god well, she's already got the god's favor. Don't think it matters."
Manderly took a draw from his ale, setting his mug down. "That's the problem. If our god gets tired of being turned down, our Queen could lose that favor. Even if it looks like she means to accept now, she hasn't done anything about it. Powerful people don't like being told 'no' or to wait."
"That's bullshit." Greatjon cut in, he hated every bit of this conversation. "Daisy isn't petty like that. She might give up her courtship, but she wouldn't punish the Queen for it."
Manderly swallowed carefully. "And if her Holiness's attention turns to someone else?"
And that…that brought Greatjon up. Because even he knew someone else receiving that type of power and wealth showered on them could be bad. And that was if Daisy stayed in the North. If she left for elsewhere it could benefit their enemies as easily as it'd benefited them.
"Fuck." Glover's frown darkened. "What can we do? Tell Ned Stark's daughter she needs to fuck a dark god for the good of the kingdom? I won't do it, and I won't be a party to it."
"No one is saying such blunt action is required." Baelish spoke, his oily voice irritating. "But encouraging things to move in a beneficial direction for both our Queen and the realm more actively is within our power."
Greatjon narrowed his eyes as he looked at the Vale Lord. "And how do you reckon we do that?"
"I find patience and delaying pleasure from those used to power is a dangerous practice." Baelish was far too smug.
Manderly clearly took his meaning. "Her Holiness has expressed a distaste for whores."
"Ah, but as a gift or as something to be sought out?" He leaned elegantly. "Everyone wants to feel powerful, desirable. Lovers who chose you without needing to be paid are good for the ego. If she chooses not to use the gift, that tells us more about her values and the esteem she holds her Grace in. Should she choose to accept such a gift, it perhaps will delay her losing patience at the length of her courtship. And a gift is unlikely to cause insult, after all, she must be accustomed to mighty gifts."
Greatjon had heard Daisy's thoughts on prostitutes. And frankly seen her face while looking at Sansa Stark. This plot would go terribly. It might even get Lord Baelish removed from the court if she took it badly enough. "What else? We can't just send a couple of whores to her Holiness and hope it'll settle things."
"We need Jon to support the courtship." Manderly declared. "If her Grace will listen to anyone it's her brother."
Lord Glover humphed. "Suppose that's for me and you then?" He looked at Greatjon with a weary acceptance.
"Aye, sounds like a job for us." Greatjon accepted they'd be getting the Lord Hand drunk as a skunk to encourage his brotherly objections to fade. "Least he likes her Holiness. Think he's one of the only blokes brave enough to touch her outside the sparring ring." It was going to be a disaster. He couldn't wait.