Arya Stark sat silently in the inn, listening as the two men behind her spoke of the arrival of the Targaryen Queen with her dragons. A timetable on getting to Cersei before the dragons then.
"Arry!" Hot Pie's familiar and excited voice greeted.
She looked at him, standing there holding a tray. He'd grown since she'd last seen him, but he was unmistakably himself. His growth was the growth of age, not the growth cut into your skin and soul. He looked content. "Hello, Hot Pie." She pulled back from where she'd been leaning on the table. "Sit down"
He hesitated for a second before joining her, setting his tray down on the table as he did so.
"Who's that for?" She asked, indicating the heavily laden tray. Not that Arya waited for him to reply, reaching out and grabbing a large meat pie off of the tray and stabbing it promptly, and cutting herself a chunk off. Eating she closed her eyes, he'd gotten much better at cooking since they were children. A sigh of contentment escaped her. "Hmm…this is good."
"Ya think so?" His hesitant pride and manner were so familiar and yet feeling a lifetime ago. "Secret is browning the butter before making the dough. Most people don't do that cause it takes too much time."
She frowned. "Hmm.. I didn't do that." No great loss Walder Frey's last meal hadn't had the best crust possible. The important bit had been the meat anyways. Getting the distinguishably human bits to be placed correctly so he'd know it was his son's she fed him had been tricky. Couldn't have had him realize before he ate after all. So much work went into murder sometimes.
"You've been making pies?" Hot Pie asked her in disbelief. Which fair, she'd burnt every campfire meal they'd attempted as children.
Arya sucked the pie juices from her thumb. "One or two." The first attempt at cooking human meat hadn't gone well.
"I can't believe you're here!" Hot Pie was just so damn pleased about it. "Did you meet the big lady?"
She looked at him as she chewed. "Big lady?"
"The Lady Knight? Figured she was a knight cause she had armor on. She was looking for your sister but I told her about you." He paused slightly. "She ever find you?"
Arya's memories still didn't always feel like hers sometimes. "She found me." She wiped a smear of grease off her face.
Concern painted across Hot Pie's face, that gentle affection he'd had as a child. "What happened to you 'Arry?"
The thing was Arya didn't know how to explain that? Her brother and mother had been murdered? Her aunt had committed suicide? She'd spent months traveling with the Hound through the war ravaged Riverlands? She'd gone to Bravos and sworn herself to the god of death? Her name was too deeply rooted in her bones for her to keep that oath? The people she'd killed? That a girl named Arya Stark had nothing but a list of names and blood on her hands? "Do you have any ale?" She asked instead.
He started to reach for the jug on his tray. The face of a boy, or perhaps a young man who knew her lack of answer meant horror. Who for all his foolish kindness knew what darkness lurked in their world.
Arya reached past him, grabbed the jug and poured herself a mug, and drank deeply. Traveling was hungry work. And she hadn't permitted herself the luxury of an inn for some time.
Hot Pie just watched as she stubbornly drank and then went back to attacking her pie. His voice was fairly resigned as he asked on. "Where ya heading?"
"King's Landing." She replied shortly. A better topic though. Killing the Queen was something to do. A purpose, her purpose.
He was genuinely confused then. "Why?"
"Heard Cersei's Queen now." He didn't need to know his childhood friend was no longer someone to hide besides from the monsters in the dark. She was the monster in the dark.
He added in his own gossip. "Heard she blew up the Great Sept. That must'a been something to see." He glanced to ensure his master wasn't looking for him before looking back. A faintly conspiratorial, "Boom," on his lips.
She hummed…she'd need the face of a Lannister man to slip into the city easily. Her features were too Northern to pass without comment otherwise.
"Couldn't believe someone would do that."
She cut back. "Cersei would do that." Arya took a sharp bite of the pie.
"I'd have thought you'd be headed to Winterfell." Hot Pie said, his voice perplexed.
Arya actually paused in her eating as she looked at him in baffled confusion. "Why would I go there? The Bolton's have it."
"Naw, the Bolton's are dead." Hot Pie replied like it was obvious.
She looked at him. "What?" She'd had plans for them. Plans involving blood and knives.
"Sansa Stark, or I guess she was Sansa Bolton then? Anyhow she stabbed her husband and retook the North. Killed the Boltons and the Karstarks to the last man. She's only taken half a dozen castles by force now. 'An Jon Snow came down from Castle Black, only he's Jon Stark now. Proper legitimized and Hand of the Queen now your sister is on the throne."
Arya stared…that was…what? Sansa married a Bolton? She murdered someone? Sansa lead people into battle? Sansa Legitimize Jon? What? "You're lying." There was no way.
"Why would I lie about that? They're your siblings right?" And Hot Pie had never been able to lie, and his face showed no lie. Even before she'd been taught to speak a lie she'd have known he spoke true.
She set her pie down. That wasn't possible but…Sansa and Jon had been alive before she'd left for Bravos. She looked to the sides…she needed…she needed to find the truth of this. She needed to know. She grabbed her purse, or Walder Frey's purse out. "I need to go."
"Friends don't pay." Hot Pie said gently but firmly. He smiled. "Can't believe I thought you were a boy. You're pretty." He smiled like he'd paid her some high compliment.
"Thanks." She didn't know what else to say to that. And…she needed to find more reliable news of the North. Arya got up, and started to head for the door. Only…she still knew him. She paused, setting her hand on his shoulder. "Take care of yourself Hot Pie. Try not to get killed."
"Oh, I won't. I'm like you 'Arry. I'm a survivor." He sniffed proudly.
She couldn't help the first smile that was for something good to grace her face. Arya gave him a stiff nod. And then she left. She needed to find more taverns.
/
Mira Forrester stared in disbelief at the two idiots in front of her. "Excuse me, I could swear you just said you want us to not just touch but actively meddle in our Queen and god's relations? I cannot have heard that. Because that would be mad."
"You don't understand Mira," Loras replied like he wasn't a disaster of a human being. "Her Holiness doesn't have a clue on what to do. If we don't interfere she's going to try and cook in the kitchens!"
Conin, the Order member and member of the royal guard who'd clearly been recruited into this far too easily, nodded in agreement.
Loras continued as if his words weren't risking them all being turned into bloody smears of goop. "While the mutual affection between the two is not in question, we have a duty to assist."
"And while odd, what reason would we give for telling her Holiness that attempting to use the kitchens is not proper?" Because the concept of telling a god 'no' should have prevented this whole conversation from happening.
Loras scoffed. "Please, I'm not that stupid. She asked me. Her Holiness is keen on protecting our Queen's reputation despite being displeased it might be harmed in the first place. Which, I must agree, some fun on the wrong side of the sheets is just good fun." His eyes twinkled. "That and she's smitten with the Queen."
"The Order knows a bit about how courting goes in her Holiness's realm." Conin interjected, all eagerness and dark floppy hair. "Fitz will talk about his courtship with his wife forever if you let him. And if he goes more than a day without sleeping her Holiness has us force him to stay out of his workshop. But he gave his wife a star as a nameday gift. A star!"
Mira opened and then shut her mouth.
"Her Holiness should be here in about five minutes," Loras added, the ass.
She nearly slapped him for that. "You asked her to my quarters!?"
"Your brother is on the small council, you have a proper solar." Loras replied like this should have been obvious. "Also I requested our midday meal be brought here."
Mira's shoulders fell back, she smoothed her skirts down and glared at Loras. "If this goes wrong I will personally kill you before her Holiness can."
"Fair." Loras allowed, the ponce. He grinned. "Heads up, the gods are apparently incredibly Dornish. She is deeply confused by us all and has just not been saying much about it."
Conin shrugged. "Ser Tyrell isn't wrong."
Mira was saved from commenting on that by the light knock on the door.
Conin practically blurred, he tripped over himself so fast to get to the door and open it. "Holiness!"
"Oh…" The god blinked. "Hi Conin." She glanced at Mira and Loras before her eyes flicked back to Conin, her face fond as she stepped into the room.
Loras spoke up. "I've asked for our midday meal to be delivered to us today, your Holiness."
"I'm that hopeless then?" The god huffed in amusement, no seeming irritation so that was nice, Mira thought rather hysterically.
Loras picked up the pitcher of wine he'd arrived with. "Wine before I answer that?"
Mira Forrester took a long drink from her cup of wine. "If I may, your Holiness, your suit of the Queen has been successful. Why seek aid now?"
"First, please just call me Daisy or Johnson if we're talking like this. The whole Holiness thing is going to get exhausting." The god waved her hand as if permission to use her name was nothing. "Second, I'm not used to being bad at this, but this isn't my world."
Mira felt like she was missing air from her lungs. "Bad at this?" The god made the songs look like amateur failures of imagination.
Loras hummed like that made any sense while ignoring Mira. "A token of affection would not be out of place." He paused. "Not flowers."
"What's wrong with flowers…not that there are any except for a few winter roses in the glasshouses right now?" Mira stared at Loras in confusion, also a growing realization he might be the most insane person she'd ever met.
He held up his hands. "You can't just get a girl flowers. They're nice, I'm a Tyrell, I know flowers. Tokens are more permanent than a flower."
"You gave flowers to every girl of high birth in your vicinity." Mira was barely preventing herself from gaping at him. "At least half of courtly love suits involve flowers and embroidered favors being exchanged. Her Holiness gave our Queen a crown of flowers already?"
Loras waived at the god. "She made the earth swallow a castle and made House Stark one of the richest in Westeros again. Minor favors are irrelevant."
"I what?" The god blinked in confusion.
Conin, bless him, responded while she and Loras were left mute in confusion. "The Dreadfort loot and the glass. Glass alone is worth near its weight in gold."
The god's head tilted slightly. "It took me ten minutes? Does it still count as a large gesture?"
"Yes." Mira replied before one of the boys could say something stupid. Then she narrowed her eyes, all sense leaving her as she realized the god definitely was trying not to laugh at them and fuck it. They were already head deep in this. "Something you already are aware of."
And the god laughed. "Fair, I've kinda read everything I can get my hands on." She shrugged. "But seriously, other than Ned Stark building the sept for his wife I've found nothing in what is expected after? I mean all of your songs and stories just stop after the wedding or engagement. Which is weird?"
"Holiness, there isn't anything expected once a courtship has been accepted. If you choose to make some gift to your lover that is not unheard of, or even uncommon. But it's not expected." Loras explained patiently like it was important. "From what you said you seem to consider after the courtship has been expected when the most effort occurs. That is not how we expect such things to go. And to call your courtship of her Grace anything less than lavish would be a disservice to you both."
The god looked at Loras like he might be stupid. "That's so lazy. Do the women here actually have zero standards? I mean there has to be something?"
Mira cleared her throat. "Gifts of jewelry and the like, some sign of favor or any small gesture of esteem would not be misplaced." Mira said though she was reexamining this god. She was...not what she'd thought.
Daisy, or perhaps Jonson? leaned forward. "What type, cause there's meaning to that."
"Perhaps something with your sigil upon it?" Loras suggested.
Daisy hummed. "The eagle? Sure but like, on what?"
"Your personal eagle?" Mira checked her voice tight. The sigil that not even her personal order was permitted to wear? Well shit.
She nodded. "Yes?" And this time the confusion was genuine.
Mira barely resisted the surely equally shocked gazes of the men. "I'm certain a pendant of your sigil would be valued by her Grace. And it would certainly give the court pause to see so certain a sign of your protection of our Queen."
The god nodded thoughtfully. "I'm sure Crann can do the black eagle on steel."
"That certainly will be something to see." Loras said with a clear understanding of the weight of such a gift. It would seem their god felt quite possessive of Sansa Stark, though that wasn't as surprising as it likely should have been.
Mira wondered how this would be remembered by generations to come? A god giving the use and protection of their personal divine House's protection to a mere mortal?
Conin perked up. "Do you know how to dance?"
"Not how you'd dance here." Daisy admitted with a soft laugh, though she was clearly interested.
Conin beamed like some sort of puppy, the dimples were actually kind of devastating. "It's well known that her Grace enjoyed dance as a girl. An' I can't help ya there, but Ser Loras or Lady Forrester can!"
"That is actually a good point. Our Queen is a lovely dancer." Loras agreed.
Daisy's lips twitched up. "Well, guess I'll be seeing more of you than just today."
/
Fitz was scribbling out lesson plans for Rickon and Crann. The lack of education in this world was a crime. And it wasn't like there was much else worth doing. He could always go back to drawing up designs for better smithing tools. But he just…what was the point? Setting down his pen, he ran his hand through his hair. Right. He was going for a walk. If Daisy or one of her ducklings poured him into his cot again because he got drunk his liver was going to rebel.
He wrapped the fur lined cloak around himself and pulled on gloves before braving the outside. It was cold, really fucking cold. He was so jealous of Daisy's ability to just keep herself constantly warm. He didn't think she was even conscious of the fact she was doing it anymore. Bloody power cheats. He grumbled under his breath as he made for the outer wall. Walking along up there would be safe, maybe give him some ideas.
The cold air nipped at his face as he walked. Fitz reached up, rubbing his chin. Maybe he should let his beard grow out? It'd make the awkwardness of having to ask Crann lest Daisy do it go away. Cause…that was still awkward. Though thanks to her unfortunate crush at least they were sorta talking now?
It was something to think about. His attention was diverted by two of the guards blocking a woman who looked near tears with a tiny kid hanging onto her skirts. And…something about it had his feet changing direction and taking him towards the conflict. Maybe it was the look on the kid's face…it was familiar. "W-what's going on here?"
"Fitz." The man clearly recognized him, shifting his posture. "It's nothin', just a misunderstanding about court not happen' today."
He realized he'd made a mistake as the woman looked at him with a fierceness that was terrifying. Shit.
"M'Lord, please. I cannot come back tomorrow." Her cheeks were red from the cold and hard living.
Fitz winced, fuck, she wanted him to intercede for her. She was about two steps from grabbing onto him to keep him there. "Right…what d-do you want that's so important it can't wait?"
"Sanctuary. My son and I need sanctuary." She desperately pleaded. "I beg of you, please."
And…a sick pit opened in his stomach. Looking at the woman properly he picked out bits about her he'd ignored. There was the faint green of a fading black eye, her lip was faintly swollen, the swell of a pregnant belly just beneath her thin cloak, how she stood betrayed other hurts she was no doubt hiding. The boy attached to her side had one arm hanging awkwardly like it hurt.
Fitz knew what this was. He didn't need any more questions. If she was turned away he doubted she'd be back. "Come on then." He could use someone to clean up, it'd give Crann more time to do useful things.
One of the guards cleared his throat. "Erm…can you do that?"
"Probably." Fitz shrugged. "If n-not Daisy can."
The other guard shifted uncomfortably. "Erm…her Holiness will vouch for you? You're sure?"
He ignored the widening eyes of the woman. "Yes." As if Daisy would be anything other than furious at the concept of a battered pregnant mom refused help. He looked at the woman. "Come on….then." He waved the woman forward. "Let's go find you a b-bed."
The woman bustled right after him, her hand firmly helping to shepherd her son along with her.
Fitz…crap…well maybe he could dump her care on the Order? That'd work. Even better if Daisy was there she'd take care of it. This was why he didn't leave his workshop. He glanced at the kid's arm. That needed to be fixed. He paused. "We're taking care of that arm first." Changing directions he marched back toward his workshop.
He grabbed some thin dowels, fabric, and a sharp knife. "Right." He paused blinking at the tight expression on the woman's face… not dealing with it. "Get him up on the t-table."
The woman hesitated but did as asked, lifting her son up and sitting him on the table.
Fitz ignored the way her grip tightened on the boy's shoulder. Instead, he reached out, taking the boy's arm frowning. "I need...access to his arm without all this in the….way, if I'm to fix it."
"I can do it." The woman moved with determined but gentle firmness as she got the boy's arm out from his sleeve. One arm remained circled around his waist as she finished.
Fitz didn't have the time to soothe fears. Best just fix the kid and be done with it. His hands were still enough to feel the injury without jostling the broken arm overly. And it was broken, nothing needing surgery. He looked up at the woman. "This will hurt for a second and then I can s-splint it."
"Do it." She cupped the boy's face pulling it to her chest and away from his arm.
Fitz waited till the boy was breathing out, and then set the ulna back into place. The kid cried out but didn't fight it. Fitz nodded and then promptly began to wrap, and splint the arm. Setting his things aside he carefully checked his work before nodding. "Right, put ice on it for twenty-minute….intervals and ask the Maester if he n-needs something for p-pain."
"Thank you." Her voice was restrained if rough.
He twitched, stuffing his fingers back into gloves. "Right, let's….find….that bed for you now….uh...what's your name?"
She helped her small son off the table. "I'm Tila Miller and this is my son, Thomas. Thank you for your aid m'Lord."
He grumbled faintly. "Not a Lord." But still. "I'm Fitz." He turned and led them back out of his workshop. Time to leave this whole mess with Daisy. That sounded great.