Fitz startled awake with a sharp cry. His chest heaved as he stared into the dark of his room, sweat sticking his nightshirt to his sweaty skin. His heart felt like a bird trapped in his chest. He swallowed and then lunged for his chamberpot and heaved, the contents of his stomach and bile spilling out.
His hands shook violently, his eyes burning from tears that would not come. The memories of the Framework haunted him. He dreamed of raising a gun on Jemma, the burning hate and violence he'd intended for her. Wiping spit and stomach acid from his mouth with the back of his hand, he feared he'd continue to heave. His mind could so easily imagine the feel of the heat of Daisy's blood on them from the torture he'd inflicted on her in the Framework. The feel of her cheek against the back of his hand.
He wanted to tell himself it was the Framework, it wasn't who he was. But Daisy's words echoed in his ears. What his alternate self had done. That he'd threatened Jemma with a gun to force her compliance, that he'd cut a chip from Daisy's neck. His hands were covered in the blood of his friend inside his mind and out. A weapon raised against his Jemma, inside his mind and out.
He retched into the pot once more. The images wouldn't leave his mind, they were imprinted on the backs of his eyelids.
/
Daenerys stared at the woman who'd just been proclaimed a god. The words felt stuck in her throat. She'd have laughed, but even she knew that that brief show of power, or force, or whatever that had been, was real. This entire audience had shifted and turned horribly away from what she'd expected. What she'd been told to expect. "You're serious?" She couldn't help but ask. It was so bafflingly unreal. Who claimed to be a god?
The woman smiled. "Yup. So, about not killing each other then?"
Daenerys was prevented from replying by the opening of the great doors and Varys entering. His face said he had news. She didn't even wait for him to tell her what it was about. This meeting needed to come to an end. She was lost and did not like the feeling. "It seems we are to be interrupted." She waved several of her Dothraki forward. "Please, you must be tired. We can continue this in the morning."
"Of course," Jon spoke calmly. "Till tomorrow then, your Grace."
The Northern party easily allowed themselves to be led from the room. The god, woman, whatever she was winked as she vanished out the doors.
Daenerys felt a tremble in her fingertips as the doors closed on their 'guests'. As soon as they were alone she turned on Varys. "What happened?"
"Our Ironborn and Dornish allies were attacked en route to Dorne." Varys said, his soft voice not endearing him to her.
She resisted the desire to bare her teeth. Everything was spinning out of control. "And?"
"Two or three ships escaped. The rest were sunk or captured. Ellaria and the Sand Snakes are dead or captured. The Greyjoys are dead or captured." He was at least prompt in reporting the critical information.
"All of them?" Her fleet had been massive. "How is that possible?"
Varys folded his hands inside his voluminous sleeves. "It would seem Cersei Lannister has formed an alliance with Euron Greyjoy, the troublesome uncle Yara and Theon wished to see taken care of."
Tyrion spoke as he visibly winced. "If the presence of Ser Ashter Moore is indicative, the Vale has allied itself with the North as well."
"That is grave news indeed. The Riverlands and the North, while broken, are still a significant threat. Especially if they have the support of The Vale." Varys agreed. "My little birds sing of an army from the Vale at the Twins."
Daenerys' fury felt like hot fire in her veins. "We've lost half our allies, Westeros is united against us, and there's a hostile 'god' in Dragonstone. Is that right?" Her anger practically made her voice vibrate from the effort of keeping it even and unraised.
Varys blinked. "A god, your Grace?"
"It would seem the North has a god among their party." Tyrion explained, a paleness to his features. "I believe we need wine for this conversation."
And Daenerys felt a near unstoppable fury at that. "You will not drink a drop of wine until this discussion is over." She narrowed her eyes at him, causing him to nearly flinch back.
"Right, bad idea. I can admit that." Tyrion raised his hands in surrender.
She looked at her advisors. "How is this possible?"
Varys hesitantly licked at his lips. "My little birds had whispered tales from the North, however, I believed them too outlandish to be true."
"I see. So you ignored their warnings. Told me lies I would want to believe instead and have caused my invasion to begin with defeat and the loss of our allies from two entire kingdoms? Do I have that right?" Her voice was sharpened by fury. "I believe I told you what would happen if you ever betrayed me."
Varys bowed his head. "I apologize for my mistake. I will not make it again, your Grace."
Her attention stayed on her two advisors. "Since you've failed to do your jobs you will rectify that. What is the worst possible case for what I face in Westeros?"
"The worst case is not necessarily the reality of what we face." Tyrion uselessly dithered.
If Daenerys was a different woman she'd have slapped him across the face at that. She was not here to be comforted with lies and promises that meant nothing. Were nothing. "Let me be clear, that was not a request. Answer the question, or I will have you dragged from this room and confined to your quarters until I've decided what your continuing role will be. So answer me. Now."
"Very well." Tyrion deferred, though there was a pallor to his face. "The worst that we could be facing is a nearly entirely hostile Westeros. From Cersei, that would mean she has solidified an alliance with the Iron Islands and come to an agreement with the Iron Bank, allowing her to purchase a third army for her cause. That she's then taken a massive risk and sent the entire Lannister forces to High Garden to attack while they are unprepared, thus cutting off our supply lines almost entirely. That, and a temporary truce with the North that their conflict will wait until our forces are driven from Westeros entirely." He shook his hand. "Cersei would never treat with Sansa Stark for such a thing, and my former wife would almost certainly choose death over cooperating with Cersei."
Daenerys tipped her chin up. "And why are you so certain no agreement exists between this Northern Queen and Cersei?"
"Because my 'dear' sister and her monster of a son spent the better part of three and a half years torturing Sansa. Even if my former wife could bring herself to forgive or at least look past being stripped and beaten before the court, the very real threats of my nephew or father raping a child into her when I would not, the constant demeaning and disdainful words and deeds of my family towards her, her girlhood friend and lady in waiting being sold to a whore house, the slaughter of her beloved pet direwolf, being forced to kiss my nephew's naked sword, being left in the middle of a riot and nearly being raped to death had the Hound not independently gone back for her, my father's conspiring with the Bolton's and Freys to have her brother, mother and pregnant good sister murdered, and a thousand personal hurts besides that. Even then, she will never forgive being forced to watch her father's head cut off. And then to be brought every day to the gates of the Red Keep and being forced to look at the mounted heads of her father and household until they had rotted to nothing but skulls."
Tyrion cleared his throat in the stricken silence that followed. "Of course, my nephew also attempted to have her brother's head served to her at our wedding feast. So there's that horror as well."
"I see. Speaking of your former wife; what is the worst threat she could pose to us?" Daenerys asked as she repressed her repulsion at his words.
Tyrion sighed. "The North is a strange place, your Grace. A very stubborn place." His mouth twitched into a ghost of a smile before it faded. "If the kingdoms of origin of Ser Davos and Ser Moore are indicative of alliances it could be…very bad."
"But highly unlikely." Varys tittered.
Daenerys had long ago mastered the method of appearing to look down her nose at men of her same or greater height. A shame she didn't need that skill for these two fools. "I said the worst, not likely."
Tyrion cleared his throat. "Yes, well. Cersei will never be a beloved leader. Her greatest strengths are fear and wealth. Sansa however…she's more complicated and possibly a great deal more dangerous."
He walked into a beam of light coming through the high windows into the throne room. "My former wife is from the oldest and most respected lineage in Westeros. She is by rights second or third in line to the Riverlands, and it's not an entirely outlandish possibility that the Vale would take her as their Lady or Queen as well. The Starks have ruled the North for eight thousand years. But Sansa Stark has the right name, is strikingly beautiful, and much smarter than she lets on. I'm afraid I don't have a measure of her true intelligence."
"A fair estimate." Varys nodded. "Before his death, her father was beloved across the kingdoms as well."
Tyrion kept speaking. "If we are truly fucked, she has the Riverlands and the North sworn to her, the Vale in the process of doing so as well as the Stormlands. The Vale is the worst of it as they have the only intact army left in Westeros. An agreement with the Iron Bank to fund more soldiers to replenish the Northern armies as well would be devastating. Even with dragons, if the North refuses to bend the knee, conquering it in winter will be impossible. If Sansa is as smart as I believe she might be, and has entrenched herself as deeply as possible, the North will be to you what Dorne was to your ancestors. The work of centuries to conquer."
"The snow will protect them from dragonfire?" Daenerys' eyes narrowed. Dragonfire could melt stone itself.
Varys' voice was soft then. "Your Grace, with our fleet lost, we would be forced to invade through the whole of the Riverlands with our supply lines vulnerable to the Vale sweeping in, and then through the Neck. The Neck is a hundred miles of inhospitable frozen swamp. The people there use poisons and will sink away into the land and harass and pick off our flanks and any stragglers. The dragons would allow us to fight our way through Moat Cailin. But after that? By then the snow would have truly begun to fall. Winter in the North is no mild season. Snow drifts a hundred feet deep, a night that never ends. Any soldier that ventured too close to the edge of an encampment would vanish, and never be seen again."
"More ambush tactics?" But Daenerys didn't need to be told this was the type of war her Dothraki or Unsullied would never be the masters of.
Varys shook his head. "No, your Grace. Food is scarce in the North." He paused meaningfully. "A great number of their tales and whispers include the consuming of human flesh. An army of foreign soldiers would be a…tempting offer to those destitute from the wars of this long summer."
Her eyes widened in horror. Only then…how dare they not tell her this before. "And I was told the Northern party was here to bend the knee. Why?"
"Because they came." Tyrion's mouth pulled to the side. "If they were willing to risk answering your summons, it should have meant they were so close to the brink of utter brokenness they had no other option. The presence of this god…changes things."
Varys spoke. "Are you sure this is a god? Not merely some powerful witch or abomination from Old Valaryia?"
"We can only hope." Tyrion certainly wanted to drink.
Daenerys' jaw tightened. "Send a raven to High Garden. They are to prepare for a siege. And find out how close the worst possibilities are to what is. If you ever give me pretty assumptions about my enemies again, you can find another Queen to serve. It would seem there are several to choose from."
/
Tila Miller could breathe easily for the first time in years. She was in Winterfell, under the protection of a god, if only tangentially. She'd only met the god briefly, long enough for brown eyes that saw more than perhaps she wanted them to to flick to her, and then she'd been given a room and that had been that. The work around the workshop, and what she helped do in the god's tower was good honest work. And she was content. Not what she'd dreamed of as a girl, but she was safe, her son was safe, and the child in her womb would never know its father. So it was more than enough.
She knew to be silent, to avoid notice. All women learned the art of being unobtrusive. So sweeping out the god touched Fitz's workshop while he, his apprentice, and the prince were doing whatever it was that they did was easy enough. This morning it was quieter than usual. Crann was snoring softly on one of the tables. Prince Rickon was attending court with his sister, her Grace. Thus it was only Fitz, ink streaks across one cheek, muttering quietly as he paged through the endless papers he was always filling.
Tila knew better than to disturb a man who was obsessively focused on something. So she was efficient and quiet as she worked. If she finished early today maybe she could take her Thomas to one of the Order members to have a story read to him? It'd be a good day. Might give her boy a chance at joining the Order when he was grown. It'd be a good future.
"Your husband, why didn't you leave him s-sooner?" Fitz's voice yanked her from her reverie.
She startled, head snapping towards the god touched man. He seemed...stiller than he often was. "Excuse me?"
"It's just…you and your son's bruises. Your husband's hurt y-you before. But you didn't leave." Fitz's head cocked to the side. "Why not?"
Tila…didn't want to speak of it exactly. Some of her wanted desperately to get it out, but most of her wanted it to stay hidden, away from anyone else. "Why do you want to know? It's not important is it?"
He huffed, his face rueful. "You remind me of my mum." His blue eyes were lacking the…coldness they sometimes had. "Only she never left. My f-father left us."
She slowed her movements, straightening as the broom came to rest beside her. "Is she still alive?"
"I think so?" Fitz shifted, looking uncomfortable. "It stopped being…safe. Cost of trying to keep up with gods and m-monsters. Sometimes they k-kill everything you love. Best keep it away from them if…they can't fight back." He seemed to shake himself. "So, why leave?"
Tila let out a long breath. "Because rumor said Queen Stark would help, and he hurt Thomas badly. I couldn't let him keep hurting him."
"Sansa's been here in Winterfell for a y-year. You could have come then?" He was looking at her like she held a piece of..something.
She frowned…her eyes lowering to the ground. "I… it's not just leaving a man. It's leaving…everything else." Tila closed her eyes. She forced a smile onto her face. "But we're safe here, it'll be a good life. That's all that matters now."
Fitz looked away from her. "Rude of me to ask. Sorry." His brow furrowed, fingers twitching faintly as he stared down at his notes. "It's just…sometimes I think I might be more like my father t-than I know."
Tila was..cautious, but in this strange quiet, with this horribly painful and personal conversation, she dared. "Have you ever raised a hand in anger against your wife?"
"Not in anger." His tongue darted out. "Never anger."
She paused, looking at his face. "But you have harmed her?"
"I threatened to shoot h-her if she tried to stop me h-hurting our friend." He looked at her then. "What kind of m-man does that? I'd d-die for her! I'd thought I'd die for our friend, but I… I shouldn't know what my best friend's s-screams sound like. What h-hurting her feels like. My wife shouldn't b-believe I'd shoot her." His face was near stricken. "Sometimes I think I'm the m-monster."
Tila swallowed looking at him. "Are you sorry you hurt them? Or that you're the kind of man who can?" And she could see the cracked madness in his face then. He flinched back like he'd been struck. She gave a faint curtsy. And then she left, broom in hand. She'd finish the workshop later. Right now she needed to hug her son. Leaving had been the right choice.
/
Daisy closed her eyes enjoying the crunch of a fresh apple. She got it, the whole 'the south has better food' thing. "Ok, not that Winterfell's food is bad, but I've missed fresh fruit."
"How are you so cheerful?" Jon's face was morose as he looked up at her.
She raised a brow. "Because we're not trapped on a tiny boat with nothing to do but win the shirts off of men's backs at poker."
"You gave the shirts back." But the thundercloud of doom over his head seemed to lessen.
She folded her legs underneath her. "I try not to be the worst."
Jon looked at her for a quiet moment. "Sansa was right."
"She tends to be." Daisy frowned. "I'm not sure she is in this case. Maybe."
He blinked. "How could she not be? They expected us to grovel and bend the knee…for what? I don't know her. None of us do."
"Oh, today was some bullshit." Daisy wasn't even from here and she'd recognized it was rude as all hell how they'd been received. The rowboat and their entire diplomatic party not being allowed on shore had been blatantly terrible enough. But two advisors, guards, and the Queen? Only that? However, she'd also listened.
Jon shook his head. "How am I to convince them the Dead are real? We need their help."
"We need their dragonglass. The dragons would be nice, but we'll figure it out without them." Daisy wondered when she'd become the voice of reason and calm? Christ, she was turning into Coulson… "Look, there are three good options for what just happened. One, they think the North is weak and thought they could use you as a political hostage or strong-arm you into submitting. Two, she's somehow worse at politics than you. Three, someone is actively sabotaging things. Maybe not actual treason, but ulterior motives definitely." She shrugged. "Probably a bit of a mix of it. Now we just figure it out and you use the rudeness to shame them into giving us the dragonglass."
He actually smiled faintly. "Well, that's not so terrible."
"And if it's option one and a little bit of actual insanity, I just flex the fact I can turn this whole place to dust and get the dragonglass." She shrugged. "We got this."
Jon lowered his fork. "I am grateful you're on our side."
"Your side is the living. I was always going to end up on your side." Daisy tossed the grape on her plate at him. It bounced off his face and onto the table. "Even if Jemma comes portaling in to rescue Fitz and me tomorrow, it wouldn't matter. I'm not going to leave until this is done."
He held her eyes, and she knew he saw what she saw. A kindred spirit, or whatever. A person with the same ethos. Protect humanity.
"Aye, and I can't thank you enough for that." It was horribly emotionally real and genuine.
She snagged the grape off the table, wasting fresh produce should be a crime. "You don't need to. Actually, please don't. It's not really important. Which, we're going to have to keep Marlon from convincing everyone to declare war immediately."
Jon groaned. "We'd need a change of our fortunes here before the end of the day tomorrow."
"You can get them to give enough dragonglass to stuff one boat full. That's nothing." She waved off.
He looked suspicious. "You don't intend to help?"
"I do, just not with actual negotiations unless it gets real bad. I'm going to find out for you what unholy mix of shit caused today." Daisy was positive something was afoot. Because a woman in this world did not get the titles or earn the emotional weight needed for that speech she'd given, and the loyalty of armies by being as colossally stupid as the entire morning had been. The Dragon Queen had been expecting a very different reality. Which meant there was either some glaring incompetence happening or a snake in the grass.
Jon looked even warrier. "Should I be worried?"
"No, assume Daenerys knows nothing about Westeros from now on. And I taste your food before you eat it." Daisy would survive poison, her inability to really get drunk proved that. A dose fatal to a human might give her a nose bleed. She'd get better.
Jon spluttered. "We've been given guest rite!"
"So was Robb." Daisy said gently, she reached out laying her hand over his on the table as he flinched at that. "And until I've ruled out the possibility that there's someone actively trying to sabotage this, it's better to be safe than sorry."
Jon's face shuttered into resolve. "Very well, I hope you're wrong."
"So do I, surviving poison doesn't mean it won't suck for a few minutes." Daisy really didn't feel like experiencing being poisoned. That would suck. But, finally, a use for her skills as an agent that wasn't just being a glorified PE teacher, or threatening Baelish! She paused. "What I don't get is why we didn't get to meet the dragons. I want to meet the dragons, Jon."