Daisy drank deeply from the ale in the large and busy tavern in the heart of White Harbor. It was a genial mood, everyone knew that their beloved Lord Hand was in White Harbor, and thus were pulling out all the stops to impress. If she hadn't known how loved the Starks were, this would have told her. The concept of what was essentially a politician receiving this much love was baffling. But in the case of Sansa and Jon, she got it. They loved their people back with every bit of intensity their people loved them with.
She grinned and raised her mug and held eye contact as Ser Davos came in the door.
The poor man nearly tripped as he spotted her. Utter lack of undercover skills showed in how he failed to gather himself, before heading over towards her, waiving for a pint before he sat beside her. "Holiness."
"Please, Daisy while we're here." She laughed, leaning back as something called a lamprey pie was pushed in front of her. She had no intention of asking anyone what a lamprey was.
Davos gave a faint nod, as they both waited for the tavern keep to drop off Daisy's pie and Davos's ale before leaving. As soon as they were alone he spoke. "I wasn't expecting you here, M'lady."
Her lips twitched up at his insistence on respect. It was endearing actually. Mostly because he so wholeheartedly meant it. "Well, I misjudged your arrival here by like two days. But then, it's been fun poking around. The magic of people not recognizing me." She grinned. "And Essosi trade means my features barely warrant comment."
He gave her a curious look then but drank from his ale. "I suppose that makes sense, must be nice to just be yourself."
"It is, also took the chance to chat with some other heart trees. Just confirming some suspicions I have about them all." She tilted her head as she cut into her pie….def not asking what the fuck a lamprey was.
Davos paused, his ale halfway to his mouth. "Suspicions?"
"They're a hivemind, whatever they are." Daisy slouched forward slightly. Finally, someone who didn't give a fuck about the old gods. "I can talk to them…kinda? They vibrate differently than anything else I've ever felt. So it felt reasonable to talk to a few different trees on my way over here. And whatever they are, they know exactly what I've said to the others. I think they all kinda share one mind if that makes any sense to you."
"I can't say it rightly does, not exactly. But I've never been a godly man." Davos was half on the edge of his chair, ready to escape from the conversation if at all possible.
Daisy took pity on the poor man. "I never particularly believed in gods and now look at me." She huffed. "If you could pass on a message to Jon for me though. I'll take care of paying for your drinks."
"I can do that." He practically clung to the option that'd get him out of the situation.
She felt almost bad for messing with him. "I'll be on the boat when it leaves tomorrow, but I have a few more things to do before then. So not going to be hanging with you guys while the Manderly's feast you."
"I'll pass it on." Davos agreed. He frowned. "If I may, what business are you attending?"
She smiled. "Information, you'd never believe what people say when they're drunk. And I don't get drunk."
"Ah." Davos looked at her properly then. "You truly care for them, the Starks that is."
Daisy bit back her instinctive sarcastic reply. Instead, she just gave a slight nod. "Well, yeah."
Daisy dropped silently to the ground, the darkness would have protected her approach. Flying, super useful. Time to look into what was going on in the Rills and Barrowtown. Best make sure no danger was brewing there. After all, nobody wanted any surprises. And she'd never told Davos which tavern she intended to listen into conversation at. And hoods were really quite useful. Besides, she had no intention of sleeping in White Harbor.
/
Sansa was working through her proposed laws around a judicial system to prevent the utter failure of any sort of law that the North had been experiencing from ever happening again. "I see you disagree with some of these measures?"
"Your Grace…" Lord Manderly sighed. "It's a lot of power to separate from yourself."
She raised a brow. "That's an exaggeration and we both know it."
"But a valid concern. The overseeing of our laws has always laid with the Lords of the land and above them House Stark." He folded his hands over his stomach.
Sansa dipped her quill into the ink. "We need infrastructure that will allow the North to prosper and function even when we are at war. If some small measure of power must be given then so be it. Or do you disagree that it is shameful what our kingdom descended to once my brother led our armies south?"
"You're not wrong." Manderly hummed. "It would need to be beneath the authority of the local lords. They won't accept it easily otherwise."
She gave him a faint nod. "Naturally."
There was a sudden and loud banging knock on the door.
She frowned, looking towards the door. What in the world? "Enter?" She was bewildered, the fact they'd even reached the door meant it wasn't a threat.
The door burst open, a wheezing groom half bent over in a bow, half bent over just to get air came stumbling in. "Your Grace!"
"What news?" Sansa shared a brief concerned expression with Loras who'd opened the door for the groom. He looked equally confused at what this was about.
The groom gasped, straightening. "There's a cart with a boy who claims to be Brandon Stark in it." He wheezed slightly. "In the courtyard, right now."
It was unbecomingly rude, but she didn't care. She dropped her quill, her chair screeching behind her, and then she was striding out of the solar. She moved at the fastest walk she could manage without breaking out into a full-on sprint. Clutching the front of her dress, she lifted the weighty fabric as she took the quickest route to the courtyard.
"Your Grace, your cloak!" Loras yelped from behind her as he rushed after holding onto her winter cloak.
As she came out into the courtyard her eyes locked on the cart in the middle of the yard. The air was silent despite being filled with men and women. All waiting to hear if this was yet another miracle for the Starks. They parted silently before her before their attention went back to the cart.
Sansa's breaths felt too short and close as she came to a stop before the cart. There, under a blanket of squirrel and rabbit fur was a boy or mayhaps a man. His solemn face was long and pale. He couldn't have looked more a Stark.
He saw her, and his voice came out calm and steady. It had changed and deepened into that of a man instead of the tones of the boy she remembered. But it was so unmistakably still him. "Hello, Sansa."
And she didn't care about her crown, about the dignity she need hold herself with. Her chest ached with terrible joy. Three steps and she threw herself across her baby brother, arms wrapping around his neck. Her fingers tightened in the fur at the back of his neck, and she cried as she held him as close as she could.
She finally pulled back enough to cup his face and kiss his forehead. Her cheeks wet with tears. "Bran." Sansa looked at his face then and a terrible shiver of unease quaked her. He looked like nothing..his face was empty. "You must be tired." She looked to the side. "Go, get Ser Flint and tell him to have a room prepared in the family wing."
"Bran!" Rickon yelped as he came skidding into the yard. His blue eyes widened and then he flung himself into their brother as desperately as she had.
/
Loras wanted to scream, to cry out that it was wrong. That something was wrong. That whatever was looking out from behind Brandon Stark's eyes was not Brandon Stark. But he held his tongue as he quietly shadowed his Queen.
It was clear that Sansa felt at the least some unease at the reality of what her brother…had been reduced to. There was a fragility to her shoulders that he hadn't seen since King's Landing. But it wasn't his place to say anything, not here. But his eyes scanned the gods' wood…why would this be the first place Bran would wish to be? He'd just returned home, yet here he'd asked to be. Though he was now wrapped in the best furs and blankets to be found, he was in a chair carried out for him with pillows to sit on.
The direwolves were silently circling around the gods' wood. Sitting in the snow, looking up at his brother with a painful longing was Rickon. But under that longing was frustration. It could be seen in how his fingers were digging into his pants legs, the nervous way he was biting at his lip, and how he was half rocking towards his brother but then falling back.
Sansa laid a hand on Rickon's shoulder as she sat on the boulder just behind him. It made something in Loras ache for them. For he'd do anything for Margaery to be returned to him, but not like this.
Sansa spoke cautiously, but with a careful warmth. "I wish that Jon was here. He'd be so excited to see you returned to us."
"Yes." The faintest flicker of life passed Bran's face. "I need to speak to him."
It sent a shiver down Loras's spine. That was all the boy could muster at the thought of his eldest brother? It was wrong! Something was so wrong with this. He'd seen puppets with more life to them.
Rickon's frown grew. "Where've you been?"
"Far from here…and everywhere." Bran blinked, his gaze turning to Sansa. "You don't need to worry. I won't try to take your crown from you. I can't be Lord or King of anything. I'm the Three-Eyed Raven now."
"I…don't know what that means. I'm just glad you're back. What are you…" Sansa rocked slightly, her words uncompleted and unwieldy in a way that was so out of character for her.
Bran's voice was quieter as he replied. "It's difficult to explain."
"We're your family!" Rickon's frown deepened now, he rocked forward.
Sansa tightened her hand on Rickon's shoulder, half holding him back. "For us, we just want to understand you. Please."
"It means I can see everything. Everything that's ever happened to everyone. Everything that is happening right now. It's all pieces now, fragments. I need to learn to see better. For when the Long Night comes again, I need to be ready." His eyes were empty of anything human as he spoke.
Sansa frowned, her face inhumanly pale nearly as she looked at her brother. "How do you know all this?"
"The Three-Eyed Raven taught me." That same empty voice replied.
Rickon made a frustrated sound. "I thought you were the Three-Eyed Raven?"
"I told you it was difficult to explain." It should have been funny, there should have been humor or sarcasm or something. But there was none in Bran's voice, nor his face. It was enough to make Loras want to run or stab or do…something.
But his Queen commanded nothing, instead seeming to brace herself. "Bran-"
"I'm sorry for all that's happened to you." He interrupted, his eyes staring at his sister like he was looking straight through her. Yet there was no emotion to his voice. "I'm sorry it had to happen here. In our home. It was so beautiful that night. The snow was falling. Just like now. And you were so beautiful, in your white wedding dress."
Loras's eyes widened, he took a half step forward to do…what? The hurt was already given.
Sansa breathed in with a faint shudder. "I have to go back inside Bran." She stood, turning to leave.
"I'll stay a bit longer." He said as if he wasn't aware of the pain he'd just dug up. That the woman standing there was his sister.
As Sansa walked, he could actively see her walls slamming into place as her court mask rebuilt itself with every step. She paused at the gate out of the gods' wood. "Double Rickon's guard while he's near Bran, and get me Tormund."
"Yes, your Grace." Loras didn't know what was going on in his Queen's head and wasn't sure he wanted to. Because she was cold as ice.
/
Meera Reed sat on the end of the bed in the room she'd been allowed. It was a fine room…it felt wrong to be inside, the easy warmth and safety made her skin crawl as she was left with one question. What now? She'd traveled with Bran all the way to the true north. Had seen Children of the Forest, Others, magic, and darkness that she had no words for. Had brought him back, but for what?
She lept to her feet, one hand grabbing the hilt of a dagger as her door opened. But then her eyes widened as she recognized the woman. Long forgotten manners took over, her hand dropping from the hilt of her dagger, as she dropped into probably the most awkward bow of all time. "Your Grace."
"Rise, there is no need to bow after what you've done for my family." Sansa Stark was imperious, something untouchable to her as she stood there. She was perfect, like an image from a book or a reflection in a pool. "I trust the room is to your satisfaction?"
Meera felt it that she was dressed in dirty furs and leathers. "It's very nice." She wanted to kick herself for that. But what did it even matter?
"Good." Sansa Stark faced her. "Am I correct in assuming you are Meera Reed?"
She blinked. "Aye."
"And your brother, Hodor, Summer?" She asked, there was no doubt the answer she was expecting.
Meera's throat felt tight. "Dead."
"I'm truly sorry for your loss." The woman's eyes softened around the edges. "I hate to ask this of you but I find that I must. What happened?"
Meera stared at… this Queen, and what could she tell her that she would even believe? "I don't know that you'd believe me if I did, your Grace."
Sansa's eyes closed, and then she opened the door and spoke to the knight standing there. "Send for some tea." Turning she let the door close as she faced her again. "I find that I am willing to believe almost anything these days." She continued before Meera could reply. "Please, don't correct me. I'm not over measuring myself on this."
"Your Grace…it'll sound like tales for babes by the fire." Meera ventured.
"My lover isn't human." Sansa stared at her daring her to challenge that and…
Meera's mouth opened and then shut. "Fucking Starks." Her eyes widened in horror. "Sorry-"
Sansa raised a hand. "Please, I'm Queen of the North, I'm harder to offend than that. Now, are you willing to explain your journey or not?"
Meera felt warm for the first time in years as she sat on the fur rug before the fire, hot tea cradled between her hands and the quiet attention of Bran's sister. It certainly helped that the great white direwolf had curled around her as she spoke of the hard things. It was all hard but…some of it…some was carved into her soul. "The Night's Watch was pleased to give us the cart, and send us south. The Lord Commander Edd was… kind."
"What do you intend to do now?" Sansa asked as she took a drink of her tea.
Meera looked into the fire. "If I'm to die I would do it with my family."
"I understand." Sansa sighed, and then her eyes locked on Meera. "I intend to send a great deal of small folk, as well as supplies into the Neck for safety once the army of the Dead reaches the Wall. If you would consent I would give command of that to you. And until then a talented hunter is always needed."
She frowned. "You want me to stay here?"
"Winterfell will always be open to you. Any favor you wish to ask for will be considered seriously. For what you've done for my brother…there are no words for how grateful I am." Sansa blinked rapidly away what might have been tears. "I would never presume to ask any more of you. But yes, I would prefer for you to stay. At least till Daisy returns. Whatever old magics are at work I would know more. But your wishes are more important than any questions I would see answered."
Meera stared into the fire. She remembered the soldiers on the wall, not just black brothers. The armies they'd passed on their way south. And maybe… "Do you think your lover could bring back Bran?"
"Perhaps, perhaps not. But I refuse to not try." There was a quiet resolve there that for what it was worth Meera believed.
So she found herself nodding. "I can stay until the dead are closer."
"Thank you."
/
Arya Stark was invisible. Just another traveler riding through the light snows of early winter. Her northern features and simple clothing made her more invisible than any disguise she could have hoped for. A quick flash of some coppers she'd stolen from the Freys, and she was eating a greasy eel pie and washing it down with ale. She'd expected the rumors she sought to be faintly harder to hear. It seemed in this also, she was fortunate.
She'd wedged herself in at a long table full of various travelers. A man in Manderly colors was boasting loudly. "Those southern fucks won't know what hit them!"
There was a chorus of various levels of sober 'ayes' at that.
"I'm not worried about the south. Fuck the south. No one can invade us in the winter. Might as well just slit their own throats and be done with it." A bearded man whose garb said he was a field laborer of some sort. The plentiful grey explained his survival, too old to go to war.
An older woman set down several tankards as she settled down on the bench. "Long Night, gods walking in our world again. Dark days."
"Aye." The bearded man replied. "But our army'll hold the Wall. And we all know the Vale is pledged to us."
Arya stayed quiet, just gulping ale to wash down her pie. It wasn't what she'd expected. Everyone with a brain knew magic was coming back into the world. But the Long Night? Well, that put some things into perspective. Though how prissy, silly Sansa was the cold and ruthless Queen she was hearing of was…maybe she was the figurehead to Jon's leadership? That certainly made as much sense as anything these days.
But the further north she rode, the more she was sure she hadn't misunderstood. House Stark ruled again, and it was Sansa on the throne. Also, Jon was back as well. And if rumors were to be believed Rickon lived as well.
"I've written a new song!" An only slightly drunk man declared as he brandished a lute. Actually, his general garb marked him out as a bard, who plainly hadn't been doing well with how awful things had been in the North.
There were cheers as the tavern bustled with movement. He was promptly dumped on a stool by the hearth, conversation dying out. Everyone eager to hear the new tune.
Arya smirked faintly as she took a particularly large, and greasy bite of her pie. Not as good as Hot Pie's, she smugly thought to herself.
The bard cleared his throat, his smug demeanor saying this was about to be a rather bawdy number. Something the rest of the tavern clearly noted as well with great glee.
"I call it The Letch, The Leech, and The Lady." He bowed his head and then strummed his instrument.
Arya choked on her pie halfway through the first verse. Dead gods it was about her sister. The Letch was Tyrion, which made the Leech Ramsey and…Lady? Since when was her sister fucking a woman?!