Tyrion stared at Jon Stark's vaguely slumped form and poured two generous glasses of wine. "I'd have thought you would be happier. You did get your dragonglass after all? There's a thing called a smile if you've heard of it."
"I'm grateful for the glass." Jon actually brightened at that, his whole sincere being radiating with his honesty.
Tyrion handed the man a cup of wine while taking his own seat. "Ah, something else is bothering you then? Lover's quarrel perhaps?" He noted the flinch from the man at the word 'lovers'.
Jon stared into his cup and then drained it. He looked dismal. "I never say the right things to girls…how do you apologize if she doesn't want your apologies?"
"Well, that sounds like a pickle." Tyrion chuckled. "You should have an easier time of it than most. After all, you have a very handsome face."
Jon's face scrunched up. "Why would my face matter?"
Tyrion refilled the man's cup. "Well, women do like handsome men. Just as I would forgive a great many things for a good pair of tits."
Jon spluttered. "I would never!"
"I would hope you would, you are lovers after all? I think you're allowed to look at her breasts, divine or not."
Jon's pale face turned delightfully pink. "I'm not her lover! Very much not." He slumped, his indignation draining. "She's my sister's."
Tyrion choked on his gulp of wine. "Sansa's?"
"Aye…I didn't take the news...well." Jon looked positively morose. "Of course, she insists that it's fine. But it's not."
Tyrion hit his own chest to help himself breathe. "You're saying your sister allowed you and her lover to travel south?"
"Daisy volunteered to come to keep me from getting murdered. I think Sansa was actually considering strangling me beforehand." Jon admitted.
Which…Tyrion's mind raced. "She's that powerful?"
"Aye, what do you think happened to the Boltons? I've seen powerful witches, wargs, dark magics, but nothing like her at all." Jon looked at him seriously.
Tyrion swallowed. Whatever the 'god' was, she was undoubtedly very powerful. If Sansa was convinced Jon's safety was assured in the face of dragons… She had sent two of the most politically powerful hostages that could be had practically into her enemies' arms. This, this would explain it. Also, dissent between this god and Jon would not be useful. The god would almost certainly revert to her lover, not consider switching sides. He chose his words carefully. "Well, why did you react badly then? You seemed quite close."
"Why do you think? After Ramsey, I just…I promised to protect her and for a moment I thought I'd failed. That I had let her be hurt again." Jon stared into the bottom of his once more, empty cup. "I forgot that Daisy would never hurt Sansa, never. And she just keeps saying it's fine, she understands. But it's not fine."
Tyrion poured wine into Jon's cup for the third time. "Well, I find offering a person what they want goes a long way to easing tensions. So, what does your god want? Gold? Sacrifice?"
"Nothing." Jon ran a hand through his hair. "Any gold anyone's gotten her to take lasted about a day before she'd gone and given it to the poor in Wintertown. And she just handed the entire loot from the Dreadfort over to Sansa. Trying to get her to accept anything is like trying to wash a cat." Jon huffed. "And her power doesn't come from sacrifice, it'd mean nothing to her."
All absolutely fascinating facts, dangerous ones too. Tyrion considered the god, and well it was something that they didn't have to worry about the god demanding blood sacrifices. "She must want something? Everyone wants something. Well, besides your sister apparently."
Jon glared at him, but there wasn't much heat to it.
"What does she like then?" Tyrion offered, and well, who knew some kindness to Ned Stark's bastard all those years ago would have been such an important decision? He really ought to be nice more often.
Jon considered his words. "She prefers tea to most anything to drink. She's fond of children." He perked up. "Dragons, she's been excited to see the dragons."
"To observe not harm I presume?" Tyrion mulled it over. Jon would be easy to convince that an alliance between their two factions was advisable. Given a few months, he might even be compelled to bend the knee on behalf of his sister. If both Sansa's lover and brother were convinced, she herself might be prevailed upon.
Jon nodded. "Of course, I don't think she's seen one before."
"Well, tomorrow you and Queen Daenerys will meet to discuss possible terms. And our Queen does love her dragons. A request to see them up close might even serve you well." And avoiding the North being to Daenerys what Dorne had been to her ancestors would be ideal for everyone involved. "Now, I've helped you, any brilliance on the topic of my lost navy?"
Jon took a thoughtful pull from his cup. "It seems to me that your problem is finding the Lannister aligned Greyjoy fleet. Once you find it, well, you have three dragons. So where is it?"
"That is an interesting question, and one I shall ask the appropriate parties in the morning." Tyrion felt rather stupid for not asking it earlier actually. But then whispers were Varys's job, and unfortunately for them, ships did not need to stop at every port along their path. "I must say this conversation has been superb for my ego." He toasted Jon.
Jon looked confused. "How?"
"Because knowing that my wife never would have wanted me in her bed, even had I been as pretty as my brother, is very good to hear. Not that I desired her, young maidens have never been where my tastes have lain, but to know I never had any hope at all takes the insult out of it." Tyrion sipped his wine. "I should have realized, she was far more open to Shay and Margaery than I. And I'm very good company in or out of bed."
Jon blinked. "Oh..that's…well she has been eager to avoid marriage."
"Fascinating." It really was, and it meant if they didn't corner her too hard, political marriage was an option to secure the Vale or the Riverlands that Sansa might actually avoid. Something Tyrion was very keen on happening. Marriage was her strongest bargaining chip, removing it from the board could only be helpful. And being uninterested in marriage while remaining the lover of a being powerful enough to keep all but the most foolhardy of offers at bay, would grant her a unique independence. It was certainly something alright. "So, tell me Jon Stark, how'd a man as honorable as you break his oaths to the Night's Watch?"
Jon reached out and filled up his cup again. "I died."
"Well, that must be a tale." Tyrion was frankly done with what magic was doing to the world. But, at least Jon had looser lips than he should. And Tyrion was far too sober for this conversation. He refilled his own cup. Finally, someone to get drunk with who didn't smell like a horse.
/
Sansa watched with hawk eyes as her sister set into her meal like a starved wolf. It was…well not quite as bad as Rickon's table manners had been, but frankly, it was close. It affirmed that she'd been living rough...Likely since the day she'd escaped out of the stables. Her sister's clothing was practical but of poor materials.
She considered that as she ate her own meal. Perhaps repurposing some of Rickon's things..the seamstresses could cut them in the style Daisy had been wearing. It would take a few days to have anything ready. And..well they had time for Arya to settle into their home. To carve out a role for herself.
Lord Umber rose from his seat, holding up his mug. "To the Starks! Hardest fucking bastards to kill there are!"
The men there, low born and high born all enthusiastically cheered and toasted to House Stark.
Sansa looked at her three living siblings sitting there. She was filled with a relieved wholeness of it all. No doubt once she was alone she would cry for it. But here she remained in control. It was sweet how Rickon was focused on their sister. And it helped distract from Bran eating like some sort of puppet.
Rickon's voice was clear and excited as he spoke. "Brienne said you were pretending to be a boy in the Riverlands! Is that where you've been this whole time? I was in Skagos, and Bran was past the Wall! Course Jon was on the Wall."
"For a while." Arya wasn't fidgety or uncertain, but she wasn't open either. "I went to Bravos for a while."
Rickon perked up. "To learn more Water Dancing? Sansa said you were learning it!"
"I learned a lot of things there." Arya replied, she was looking at Rickon almost as if she didn't understand him?
It hurt Sansa to see it. It'd been so easy with Jon, less so with Rickon but there'd been an ease there all the same. Only now…Bran was a shell of a person, most of him scooped out. And Sansa was unsure of how Arya had been changed.
Rickon was half on the edge of his seat. "Will you spar with me tomorrow!?"
Arya raised a brow, her eyes flicking to Sansa for a fraction of a second. "Maybe."
"It'll be fun! And Jon says I'm getting better! I can introduce you to Fitz too! He's a bit funny, but he's really smart and he's teaching me about bridges!"
Arya wiped at her mouth with the back of her hand, it smeared grease across one cheek. "Bridges?"
"Yeah! They're super cool!" Rickon was spending way too much time around Daisy if he was picking up her manner of speech. "We did a Roman arch last week, but he said we could work on a suspension bridge next time!"
Arya's nose wrinkled slightly. "You like building things?"
Rickon nodded eagerly. "It's way better than Sansa's lessons." He winced and looked up at her. "Not that yours are bad?"
"I don't believe many find tax laws interesting." She allowed, giving him a fond smile.
Sansa nearly jumped out of her skin, and almost threw her knife for the intruder's throat before realizing it was Arya. She pressed a hand to her chest. "Does no one knock?"
"Not terrible form." Arya stepped fully into the light.
She lowered the knife. "Thank you? But what are you doing here?"
"I'm not a princess." Arya's grey eyes were a brand as she held her gaze.
Sansa slid her knife back into her gown and stepped to the door and opened it. "Fetch some apples." She shut the door, turning her attention back to her sister. "Princess is a title not a state of being."
"What was it you and your silly friends used to call me?" Arya trailed her fingers along the mantle.
Sansa wasn't sure what was truly being asked, but she replied honestly. She owed her sister more than that. "Horseface, and a great deal of other unkind things besides. I was horrible to you."
"You were." Arya agreed. "But you're not a little girl anymore."
"No, I'm not." Sansa took in the way her sister held herself, it was similar to how Daisy did. The way her eyes moved, the way she seemed to linger on some things. "How long have you been an assassin?"
Arya blinked, and then she was laughing all giggles and peals of laughter. Wiping at one eye she calmed, though the smile never left her face. "I've been a killer since the day the Lannisters betrayed us."
"You were too young to have blood on your hands." If Sansa could scream at her past self for the events she'd had too much and too little to do with, she would. She'd scream at herself till she was hoarse if she could.
Arya's eyes glinted in the low light. "No, there's nothing better in this world than the feel of blood on your hands. It's the sweetest thing there is."
"You sound like the Hound." Sansa wasn't afraid. This felt like a challenge, not a threat.
Arya's head cocked to the side. "He was a good killer."
"He was." Sansa agreed.
"They say you've killed?" Arya pressed a flicker of something in her eye.
Sansa remembered the hot gush of Ramsey's blood on her hands. How it'd splattered across her cheek. They were wolves. "I have, and I'd do it again a thousand times over."
"I'm still not a princess." But it felt like a weight had been lifted, a test passed.
Sansa sighed. "It's a title. You are my sister, that makes you a princess. If you want to be the princess who runs barefoot through the mud wearing rags and waving your sword then that's what you'll be. I would prefer if you let me dress you in something nicer than rags, and I certainly would rather you wave your sword at our enemies." She reached out, cupping her sister's cheek. "I'm just glad you're home."
"No dresses." Arya bargained, though she didn't move away from Sansa's hand.
She smiled. "Naturally." Sansa did tuck away the thought that she was having her windows welded shut. Daisy could learn to use the door.
/
Daisy leaned against the stone railing overlooking the sparing yard of Dragonstone. It was a familiar sight between regions, races, and frankly worlds. Where an army was based, the buff macho sorts would gather and attempt to out macho each other. The Dothraki were interesting in how they differed from the Northerners. Less clothing, shorter curved swords, and a lot more archery. The language barrier would be a bitch, but something was wrong with the Targaryen side and she needed to get a better feel of them, make inroads.
She was definitely going to have a hard as hell time getting any respect from these idiots. The Unsullied were a bit of an unknown…but with so few of them here it'd be easy enough to find at least one lonely dude willing to bond over something. The Dothraki though? She could smell the sexism. Face punching it was.
Daisy picked out the top dog pretty fast. He looked about thirty, muscles everywhere, impressive beard, longest hair in the yard. The cockiness was wafting from him. If she wanted them to take her seriously at all he was whose respect she needed. Which meant he wasn't the one she needed to punch in the face…or rather humiliate. Her eyes tracked to a younger guy who was peacocking with his bow. Hair almost, but not quite as long as top dog. And bragging.
She could admit privately that his archery was fantastic, dude was talented. She could match him, she really was enjoying the bow. But she needed more than to match him, so… well, spy. Playing fair was for losers.
It was…easier than she'd have expected to make two subsequent shots hit just off the bullseye. A simple tremor against the shaft just before it hit, and the arrow landed just off target. As he clearly swore in his own language, Daisy straightened. She could feel the attention of the men, they'd known she was watching after all. She swung herself over the railing and let herself plummet to the ground below. Without the serum, she'd have needed to catch herself with her vibrations or have rolled to keep from breaking her ankles. With the serum? She landed with a distinctive thud.
Which…ow…but made a fucking statement. Daisy ignored the twinge of pain, as she strode to the archer. She came to a stop directly in front of him, she gave a distinctive up-down look from the tips of his leather-covered toes to the top of his shiny black-haired head. She cocked a brow and held out her hand, pointedly.
He scoffed, but clearly felt the weight of the attention of the other men. He said something, definitely insulting, but handed over the bow. Laughing he stepped back waiving towards the targets.
Daisy kept her heart rate down as she plucked an arrow from the bucket of arrows. This was the hard part, she was a good shot, excellent even. But she'd never held this type of bow before, and she couldn't afford a single bad shot. Which meant she needed to compensate with powers. Knocking an arrow off course was easy enough, making one hit true on the other hand..well she'd tried crazier.
Drawing back she breathed out, aiming, reaching out with her senses, and then released.
It hit dead center.
Daisy plucked another arrow, knocked it, drew, and released again. She couldn't help the smug grin as it splintered down the first arrow. Robin Hood bitch. Also, powers were boss. Lowering her arm she turned and handed the bow back to the man. Her words didn't matter, they wouldn't understand. Her tone did. She needed him to do something stupid after all. "Cute."
He shoved his bow into the hands of the man next to him and then threw a punch straight for her face.
She caught his fist in the palm of her own. Her grin grew, oh she'd picked the right second-tier warrior with an ego. "Was that supposed to hurt?"
He snarled, and to his credit didn't try to fight a hold he could feel was too strong. Instead, he tried to bumrush her.
Daisy spun with the movement while keeping her grip on his hand. With the end of the motion, she snapped her free hand to the back of his neck, her other hand adjusting from simply holding his fist, to having a strong grip around his wrist. Between the two she had him bent in half, face to the ground, unable to fight much.
A great deal of what was definitely profanity fell from his lips as she held him still. "Wanna give up there?"
He bucked, desperately trying to get free, and he was going to dislocate his shoulder if she left him to it. Daisy shoved him forward, sending him sprawling into the dirt.
He scrambled to his feet, spit practically falling from his lips as he glared at her in pure rage. And that was threats now, not that she understood them, but she got the idea. He grabbed a sword from another man's belt, before stomping towards her, and then cried out as he charged.
Daisy didn't dodge. She focused on it and shook the iron in his hand to dust as it swung for her head. As the blade passed where her head was, it was nothing but a hilt and dust in the wind. She stepped in then, punching him in the diaphragm hard.
It bent him in half with a sound of agony. She slammed her elbow down on his back, carefully avoiding the spine, dropping him to the ground. This time he didn't get up, instead curling in pain.
She focused on him, a few micro fractures in his ribs closest to the diaphragm, but not damaged badly. Daisy looked up, her face and stance screaming challenge. "Who's next?"
Top dog, and until she got to the introduction stage he was just TD in her head, came forward now. And the look he was giving her was evaluating, not condescending. He shucked off his top layer of warmer clothing and drew his sword, and then waited.
Daisy let the condescension fade from her as she reached up, unlacing the front of her gambeson..jacket thing? Pulling it off she stepped to the side, setting it across a wooden rack. And these were warriors, her scars would give her ground with them. And they clearly cared far less about modesty than the North did….also way warmer down here even if the wind was cold as hell. So she yanked her shirt off, leaving her in her sports bra, pants, and boots.
She walked back to the circle being formed by the men. And she smiled and fell into a stance.
He gave her a look, clearly waiting for her to grab a sword.
Daisy just waved him forward. This wasn't the North, she needed the idea of fighting her to be considered as hopeless a plan as fighting a dragon.