Fitz was finishing the diagrams on the last page on the endocrine system. He'd primarily focused on where it was and what it did. He doubted any knowledge on issues with it was particularly useful to the dark ages. It's not like they'd have treatment capabilities for diabetes or Cushings or any thyroid issue really. He set his pen down and lightened. "Daisy! Crann said you were back."
"Couldn't leave you here by yourself forever." Daisy hopped onto the table, looking at what he was writing. "How's the medical text going?"
Fitz leaned back, his hands falling flat on the table on either side of the page he'd been working on. "Slow, what the Doctor…I, know isn't always useful for them. But it's something useful to do."
"That's good." She looked like she meant it.
He grimaced. "I'm getting nowhere on a portal. I could spend my life on it and still not achieve even a partially functioning one."
"We'll figure something out. We always do." Daisy raised a brow, looking at his face. "So, full beard?"
Fitz scoffed, crossing his arms. "It's not that terrible."
"No, looks good on you. I'm sure Jemma will be smitten." Daisy teased gently.
He felt a pang of longing at Jemma's name. "Well, it was getting frustrating having to ask you to shave me."
"Not a big deal." She waived off. "Jemma puked on me while we were looking for you. So like, what's some shaving?"
Fitz was utterly baffled. "What?"
"Alien alcohol," Daisy explained, and yeah that did explain it. She fell quiet, seeming content with the silence.
His brow furrowed as he looked at Daisy. She looked…different. It wasn't the hair, it was just…something was different. "The south ok?"
"Well, the lack of snow is nice." Daisy's legs swung absently under her from where she was sitting on the table. "But if I can keep them from tearing each other apart long enough they'll make peace." She huffed. "I'm turning into Coulson."
"How?" Fitz realized her posture was more similar to how she'd sat when she was Skye.
Daisy was fond. "I'm acting like a real spy, greasing the wheel for politics. It's weird. Ya know, for spies we did a whole lot less spying and more special ops missions than advertised."
"Our first mission was super soldiers." He agreed… he could see that was her point. But shook his head. "Why are you bothering with foreign diplomacy for them?"
She was just disappointed at that. "Because I can't destroy a spread-out zombie army that is probably a million plus by myself. Especially not if I'm one fuck up away from getting turned into one of them. It never mattered if I died on a mission, Fitz. But if I fuck up on this one, what happens if I end up a zombie?" And there was a real terror at that possibility. She shook it off as quickly as it'd shown. "And we're not helping them just to leave them to die in a civil war against dragons."
"I get it, you're right." Fitz waved at his shop. "I have Crann working on more alcohol distilling. It'll be flammable as hell."
Daisy's lips twitched. "Do they know that's what it's for?"
"It's an easier disinfectant than iodine, well it and vinegar." He grimaced at the reminder of the terrible amount of work for negligible amounts of iodine. For a high school science lab's chemicals, he'd do terrible, terrible things.
She hopped off the table. "You're doing good. But I need to check on my cult. Please say you remembered to do something for Rickon's nameday tonight?"
"I'm not that bad." Fitz winced at the raised eyebrows he got to that. "Fine, Crann reminded me two weeks ago." He got up and made his way to the shelves and pulled one of the boxes down. It had some heft to it. With a grunt, he set it on the table.
Daisy frowned as she looked in the box. "Uh…what is it?"
"Horse armor I rebuilt for Shaggydog. Padded quilt bit for the chest, neck, and upper torso. Added hardened leather, and thin plate over the vital bits." Fitz gave a pleased nod as he pointed to the relevant bits. He pulled up the hardened leather pieces that worked like scales. "It'll keep the movement from being impaired, and this bit will protect his back."
"You made the murder wolf even scarier?" She nudged him. "Nice."
/
Duncan used his arm crutches, Fitz had made them while grumbling a lot, and stood as straight as possible while his god looked through his accounts of the Order while she'd been away. He was proud of what they'd done, and it hadn't been too terribly long since last she'd been here. But he always felt an anxious tremble lest he had disappointed her.
"Interesting choice on the filing system. I'd realized what you guys were doing, but it's really turning out functional." She looked up at him with approval. "And you've cut down on the recording of everyone's workouts, good. You were getting a bit crazy with that."
Duncan felt his cheeks heat. "You were right, the daily variance wasn't useful." He couldn't help how his eyes kept tracking to the delicate embroidery on her Holiness's new vest. It was staggering she would wear Stark colors.
"Don't be sorry for being dedicated to your job." Daisy lifted the latest roll of accounting of membership. "Eight newbies while I was gone?"
"Aye, one wash out though." Duncan pointed to the notated entry while pushing down his befuddlement that she would consent to be claimed by a mortal because it was important Daisy knew the happenings of the Order. "He went over to the Stark men at arms. Couldn't keep up."
She hummed. "And I can see you're easing them in without pushing too hard." Her fingers flipped the pages as she skimmed it. "You guys hardly need me."
"Holiness, we're nothing without you!" His gaze snapped to her face in alarm, and away from the green and grey of her shoulder.
She laid her hand on his shoulder. "Duncan, it's a good thing. I'm not always here."
His jaw tightened, but his eyes lowered and he gave a nod of assent. "Your right, of course, Holiness."
"And here I had you calling me Daisy." She smiled and lifted up one of his personal projects. "Moat Calin?"
Duncan felt his face flush. "Er, that's um.." He let out a long breath as he saw the expression on his god's face. "A proposal Hogg and I were working on for Her Grace."
Daisy's eyes flicked away from him and to their plans. She hummed. "You want to expand the Order?"
"The burden of our whole number here in Winterfell will be too much if we keep growin'." He moved forward so he could lean against the table and use his hand. "See if we have the Order members who've been sworn the longest spread out to other regions they can gather better intelligence, and see here? We keep the newest here for the first six months. Then rotate who is where every six months."
She nodded. "You'll need longer training later on when there's time to do so. Learning to read in just six months as well as numbers, physical training and everything else is too much."
"But we're at war now." Duncan agreed. "We think we could have a group of twenty at Moat Cailin and fifty at the Twins soon enough. Once the war's over we can make it better. But we need more intelligence for her Grace now, not later."
Daisy gave a hum. "You're not wrong. Kara's promising, she'd be a good choice in the Riverlands to command."
"I can see it." Duncan would have to put some of the more tough appearing men with her then, make sure no one got the idea one of their Order could be disrespected just for being a girl. And, well Rordan might only have one arm, but he'd make a good bookkeeper for a detachment of the Order in the Riverlands. "I don't know how to keep the men we send trained."
Daisy smiled and held up her fist. "First, fist bump dude, this is really good."
He couldn't help the smile on his face as he obliged, his chest like it could burst from pride.
"Second, you're right, rotations that are tight for now, and have it be the original members for now. In a year or two there'll be better options. But you're not wrong. This could help now." She picked up the quill. "Now, let's see what we can do about a training manual for them, yes?"
/
Sansa knew it wasn't much, the Hall had been scrubbed clean, fresh holly decorating the room, the fire brighter than was custom, the floor cleared, and a handful of musicians invited. For a prince it was a pittance, for winter on the eve of war it was all that could be done. Still, it would be merry enough. The high table would host those near Rickon's age and of noble birth. And while the food might not be grand, it was Rickon's favorites that could be procured without violating her own laws to conserve food.
"His Highness will be most pleased, your Grace," Brienne said from behind her shoulder.
She looked at her loyal sworn sword, and captain of her guard. "Let us hope that's true."
Mira Lovewell came sweeping in from where she'd been ensuring the servants were preparing the hall properly. She also was proving remarkably good at pretending she wasn't as shocked as everyone else at Daisy wearing that vest. "All is as it should be, your Grace." She had a basket of holly in her arms.
Sansa gave a faint nod. "I have business with Lady Dustin to see to, until supper then."
"Oh, anything to do with her Holiness wearing Stark colors and that lovely new hair ornament of yours?" Mira looked far too amused, even if she was also that little bit wide-eyed, giving away that she hadn't thought Daisy would wear it. But she hadn't walked into a wall in shock at the sight like some and actually said something about it instead of just staring.
Sansa refused to show just how pleased she was by seeing Daisy in her House colors. Or to reach up to touch the very real symbol of Daisy's affections. "Hardly, it's a matter of horses."
"Of course, your Grace." Mira dipped her head, though the amusement and awe didn't fade from her.
Sansa paused as she saw several women of the court in Lady Dustin's solar, it appeared they were working on carding wool that would be used in various projects for the North. She raised a brow at the giggling but didn't comment. "Lady Dustin, I assume now is an appropriate time to speak of House Dustin's and House Ryswell's interest in horseflesh?"
"It is, I assume nothing so sensitive we should abscond somewhere for a dreary conversation on figures and logistics?" Barbrey said dryly as she rose from her curtsy. Utterly ignoring the unusually attentive ladies staring at Sansa, eyes drawn to the hair comb unerringly.
Sansa shook her head. "Hardly, I merely wished for your opinions on members of either of your Houses who would be worth sending as an emissary to the Dothraki about possible trade in horses."
"You have a remarkable talent for forgiving treason, your Grace." Barbrey said as she took her seat once more.
Sansa took an open seat and easily lifted the tools of the task at hand. Not even a Queen could shirk such chores in the winter. Not if she meant for her people to bare her authority. "Do I? I rather think several Houses would disagree if they still existed."
"Alys Karstark as a lady in waiting, myself as Master of Revenue, and now you mean to send Dustin and Ryswell men to entreat for trade on your behalf?" Barbrey replied as she carded easy as can be, utterly ignoring the sudden nerves of the other woman in the room.
Which, honestly. "It's quite simple. Justice was served, to continue to punish a person or House past then is pointless and a waste the North can ill afford." Sansa leveled her advisor a look. "And to surround myself with only those who will sing my praises would be a fool's choice."
"You make mocking you very difficult, your Grace." Barbrey gave an actual tip of her head in true deference. "Rickard Dustin and the Ryswell twins know their horseflesh well enough. Give them an Order member to keep their numbers properly and they'll do at seeing if there is anything to be gained by trading with those savages."
Sansa eyed Barbrey. "A thing I'm sure you'd be happy to arrange?"
"Well played, your Grace." Barbrey had an amused grin. "Though I must say, it will be unfortunate it is unlikely many Dothraki will be part of any force sent here with an alliance. I'm sure they're quite something to look at."
/
Rickon was full of food and warm from laughter as the chairs were moved aside for dancing. There was a warm bubble of happiness in his chest. He stood from his seat and knew he was being watched. It would be expected for him to dance with Lyarra. She was his betrothed. But, well they didn't actually want to get married. So making everyone assume it was all settled would be bad. This is why Lyanna was amazing, she'd had a solution.
He tipped his chin up and walked straight to his sister and held out his hand. "May I have this dance?"
And Sansa laid her hand in his, affection practically radiating out from her. "You may."
He did his best not to step on her feet, it was fast and fun! He grinned wildly at his sister, and she smiled right back at him. The lights from the fires and candles, made their hair look like fire as they spun. His heart beat as he realized Sansa was laughing. The dance floor filling with others as the music filled the hall.
As the dance came to an end he bowed like he was supposed to. Looking up he beamed, and let his sister pull him in. A contented sigh as she kissed the crown of his head. "Thank you."
"Happy Nameday little brother." She raised a brow. "Now go dance with your betrothed."
He grinned. "I wanted to dance with you though."
"Of course you did, now go." She laughed, pushing him gently towards Lyarra.
Rickon just shrugged, his smile not fading, and turned and spotted Lyarra, she wasn't that bad. His nose did scrunch slightly at the expression on her face while looking at his sister. Girls were so weird. But not too bad, he was sure Lyarra and Lyanna would both be excited about hunting with the new hawks tomorrow! And Lyarra definitely would help him get Shaggydog into his new armor. So weird or not, she was actually kinda fun.
Panting Rickon collapsed on a bench looking out at the floor. He'd danced twice with Lyarra, once with Lyanna. But also with Arya, Daisy, and Bethany Blackwood. His feet were sore. But it was the best! He grabbed a mug of ale and sipped at it. His eyes found where Daisy and Sansa were dancing. "Do you think they know they look at each other like that?"
"Oh, they have no idea," Arya replied from beside him. "If I ever look that dumb please kill me."
He cocked his head to the side. It was gross, but…it felt right. "Not if whoever you look at like that is pack."
"That is…a shockingly good point." Arya flicked his ear. "Jon's Dragon Queen better be worth all this fuss."
Rickon whacked her hand away from his ear. "She has dragons."
"Point." Arya took a bite of the slice of pie off of a plate. "So, plans to avoid getting swarmed? The girls over there are looking brave." She tipped her head to where the younger women of the court were. Their blasted numbers grew by the day as more and more keeps sent their most vulnerable to Winterfell as they prepared for war. Girls that typically Lyanna and now Lyarra could protect him from.
He looked at his sister. "Dance with me?"
"Already did, and already gave you your present before you try that." She looked stupidly smug.
Rickon sighed, the Bravosi sword and implied lessons with it were really cool. "Please?"
"Nope." Arya's eyes hit on something. "Although, rescue might be coming."
He snapped in the direction she was looking and beamed. Yes! "Sansa!"
"Oh, don't look quite that glad." Sansa patted his cheek. "I came to say good night. I'm heading to my chambers for the evening."
Rickon hopped to his feet and hugged her fiercely. He made sure his eyes were as big as possible as he pulled back. "One last dance?"
Arya giggled from where she was still sitting.
"Not tonight." Sansa straightened his hair. Her eyes were amused though. "If you join the older Lords by the hearth you might be safer."
Rickon nodded. "Brilliant." And Fitz was over there, he freaked everyone out!
Arya rolled her eyes. "I suppose a certain god will be vanishing immediately?"
"You're awful." Sansa didn't look upset in the least. "But most likely."
He hugged his sister again and then darted straight for the growly old men. So much safer than girls. Well, most girls. Some of them weren't bad. Like his sisters, or Lyanna and Lyarra. But he just felt terror when he saw Lady Dustin looking at him, or worse, the ones his own age. Nope, not going there. He slid into a seat by Greatjon. "Hello!"
"Ah! And here he is!" Greatjon whacked him on the back. "Turning into a man soon enough there, your Highness."
He puffed slightly. "Thanks."
"Ale! Can't have our prince without ale!" He waved to a servant.
Fitz groaned, his charcoal lowering from where he'd been making notes. "Some people prefer to be clear-headed."
"Aye, some do." Greatjon snorted. "Not you."
Fitz groaned but nodded.
Rickon just grinned.
Rickon was sipping at his ale. The Hall had settled as the night lengthened. He grinned as he watched Fitz have to deal with Greatjon. It was hilarious. He felt all warm and fuzzy inside, the jovial air was infectious. He perked up as he heard Greatjon asking about the gods. It was always interesting.
"How many gods are there?" Greatjon demanded with a jovial air.
Fitz groaned. "No clue, billions? They have whole empires."
"And Daisy is a sort of…Kree?" The giant of a man continued, his brow furrowing as he tried to understand.
Fitz opened his mouth and then froze. "She's Kree." He sounded awed as he said. "SHE'S KREE!" He leapt to his feet, one hand excitedly running through his hair. "You're a genius!" He grabbed Greatjon's face and kissed him square on the mouth before pulling away and excitedly murmuring to himself.
Lord Glover was stiff as he spoke, clearly ignoring the sound like a dying deer that Greatjon was making. "Surely you knew this before?"
"Obviously, but I didn't put it together!" Fitz looked positively gleeful. "Don't you understand! I've been trying to make an Asgardian portal between worlds! They're one of the most powerful and long-lived of the gods for a reason. I thought it was the only option! But it's not! Daisy's Kree! I don't have to build the door, just the frame so she can open it! Don't you see?!"
Lord Glover shook his head. "No."
Fitz groaned, but it didn't dent his excitement. "Look, Daisy can rip a hole between worlds, that's not a problem. The problem is it'd create a massive world-eating black hole that'd consume not just this planet, but your stars, quite likely galaxies too."
Rickon choked, his eyes widening in horror. Something every man and woman in earshot had just done.
"Daisy's powerful, the problem is controlling that much destruction." He shrugged off the horror he'd just described. "I just have to make a frame to keep that power focused! She's done it before even, it's how Kree portals work. They channel destruction to create rips in time and space. I can do that! It's about the vibrations…" He grabbed his ever-present paper and charcoal and began to feverishly scribble. "The door to Mavath, if I modify the design…it won't even hurt her now she's more powerful!"
Rickon spoke carefully, a new fear replacing the warmth that had been in his chest. "How long will this take you?"
"A few weeks at worst. I can't believe I didn't think of it! Honestly." He shook his head as if he wasn't spelling the end of his and Daisy's presence with them.
o.o
Lord Manderly and Lord Umber were already seated at the high table to break the morning fast when Her Holiness entered the Great Hall. Speaking quietly with Her Grace, neither man had really given her appearance much notice. Routine as it had oddly become. They were too busy trying to discuss plans for horses with Her Grace while not staring like green lads at the exquisite hair comb that rested innocuously in her hair.
The silver comb glittered in the weak morning light, the god's personal eagle sigil crowning a burst of roses detailed in stunning blue glass. Such fine and magnificent craftsmanship, worthy of a royal treasure...and yet it's physical beauty paled to what it implied. The god was laying claim and reasserting her support to the Queen. Lord Umber was no green boy, and although he admitted he was perhaps not as politically astute as Lord Manderly, he understood the implied threat that such an ornament and gift suggested. The Queen had the god's ear and her favour, any who stood against the Queen stood against the god. Madness of course, because what fool would stand against the red wolf, the bloody wolf, the Queen of Winter: Sansa Stark. The god just made her power unassailable and elevated it from knee quakingly terrifying to bowel looseningly horrifying.
It was these thoughts and their valiant attempts to not dart glances at the silver comb which distracted them from Her Holiness' entrance...that was until there was an almighty crash in the Hall which drew every eye.
The cupbearer Godwin had dropped a tray of food and goblets in an unceremonious crash. The fool boy was on the stone floor gaping like a fish rather than scrambling to pick up the previous food and utensils he had dropped. Oddly, the hall did not erupt into teasing cheers or jeers at the servants clumsiness, instead it became as silent as a grave within the Great Hall
Her Holiness, with the ease of one who seemed to forget she was a god, turned back from her confident stride down the hall to return and help Godwin gather his things and rise.
The poor boy stared at the god uncomprehendingly...and it was only then that Manderly and Umber fully took note of the god and why the entirety of the Great Hall had gone slack jawed and silent. Every eye was on the god...the god who was wearing a vest in Stark colours with roses and daisies embroidered in intertwining borders along the edges.
Lord Umber literally inhaled the chunk of bread he was eating and almost expired on the spot. Lord Manderly seemed frozen for a moment himself before he absently slapped Lord Umber on the back. A serving girl rushing to bring Lord Umber a goblet of water.
Her Grace cut off in mid explanation about the arrangements for trading horses with Dothraki to glance at Her Holiness, around the stunned hall and back to a coughing Lord Umber. "Something wrong m'lords?" Queen Sansa asked with all the innocence of a direwolf with the rabbits blood around its jaws. Her face was a placid mask but her eyes ...her eyes laughed smugly at Her Lord's shock.
Baelish, seated further down who had been listening in quietly to Lord Manderly, Umber and Her Grace's conversation seemed to drag himself free of his stupor long enough to wipe the small frown from between his brows and set his face back to placid smugness as he raised his goblet in silent congratulations to Her Grace. His sly smile belying the calculation behind his eyes. Her Grace barely acknowledged him with a small nod and the tipping of her own goblet as she sipped innocently from it.
Lord Manderly's stunned examination had his head moving slowly back and forth between the god who was now back to approaching the high table and the Queen who watched her with quiet predatory focus.
Godwin has scrambled together his things through profuse apologies and run from the hall.
The crowd at lower tables who had been intent on eating their morning meal, now did so robotically as they whispered amongst themselves fervently and shot curious and stunned looks between the god and her Grace.
"M'Lords? Queen Sansa asked innocently, faux concern on her face as though concerned the men had not answered her request.
Lord Umber supped from his goblet and pushed down the urge to demand a flagon of strong wine from the serving girl who was offering more water or warmed milk.
"Uh... No Your Grace, uh..food went down the wrong way?" he answered with a restrained hysteria to his voice.
Lord Manderly nodded absently, "Yes, um, apologies your Grace...I uh, was lost in thought for a moment."
"Quite," The Queen remarked dryly as Daisy arrived at the High table, shunning all sense of propriety to place a chaste kiss upon the Queen's cheek as their hands linked and she settled in her assigned seat.
"Good morn Daisy," Her Grace greeted with the careful restrained smile she allowed in public.
Daisy returned the greeting with a much wider grin, mischief dancing in her eyes even as she began drizzling honey into the bowl of porridge which she had been served.
"I think half the castle mustn't have slept last night, or they just woke up on the wrong side of the bed?" Daisy pondered with false innocence and wonder.
Her Grace fixed a mug of tea for Her Holiness absently as though she was not a Queen and the small show of care did not reveal the growing intimacy between the god and herself. "Truly? How so? I found the night very...peaceful."
Daisy grinned and ate a spoon of porridge before stirring her spoon absently through it, "Well, I thought it was just Sera this morning when she dropped the firewood in the solar when I greeted her this morning, but then Loras nearly tripped with how quickly he back peddled from the door when I saw him this morning leaving your rooms. A guard outside, Johan I think, when I was going to chat to Fitz, well he got so distracted by something that he walked head first into a wall...and then when I got here poor Godwin seemed to lose his ability to navigate flat surfaces and dropped his tray when he stumbled. I've never seen him so much as jostle a goblet before, no matter who he was serving." As she spoke the god had taken to absently running the fingers of her free hand over her green and white vest, a delicate seeming finger tracing roses and daisies along the vests border.
Her Grace hummed as though giving the matter great thought, even as her eyes surveyed the god's shocking attire, "Truly? How odd, I have found Lords Manderly and Umber quite distractible this morn too. Perhaps it is some strange turn of the day."
Daisy grinned and nodded like her Grace's pronouncement settled the matter.
Daisy ate another spoonful of porridge and started up a conversation with Her Grace about the Dothraki, all the while ignoring the gawking inhabitants of the hall who had slowed their eating to feast their eyes on the god dressed in Stark colours.
A claiming for the histories.
Poor Godwin raced to the kitchens. His tray of bread that had fallen to the floor would be distributed amongst the servants and he was sure to get a stern word from the Steward later about his inelegant tumble... but who could have predicted it? He was just so shocked.
Her Holiness had entered the hall and walked ahead of him at pace and he had glanced in her direction, only to do a double take when the Stark colours of her vest registered in his mind. Then on second glance he saw his mind was not playing tricks and there was an intertwined rose and daisy border to match the Stark green and white colours of the vest...honestly, Godwin thinks it is quite understandable that he stumbled and lost control of his faculties in shock enough to drop his serving plate!
The Queen had dressed the god in her house colours! And the god had let her! She practically strutted through the Great Hall wearing Stark colours!
The servants were already aflutter about Her Grace's new hair comb which was made of fine silver and boasted the god's personal sigil.
Godwin made it to the kitchens and deposited his tumbled tray with a clatter on the main table, drawing the attention of every servant, guard and cook who were at their duties or seeking morning food.
Cook rounded on him, saw the mess of plates, bread, cheese, butter and empty goblets piled haphazardly on the tray and seemingly immediately knew that he had dropped them. "What 'appened Godwin? It's s'not lak you to drop things?"
Godwin blinked uncomprehendingly at Cook.
How could they speak so calmly when the world was upside down? When the Queen had turned the natural order of gods and men on its ear.
Cook frowned at him in mounting concern as he stood there dazed.
"Godwin?" they called in a slightly more concerned voice.
Godwin found a bubble of hysteric laughter burst past his lips. His eyes wide as he glanced around the room as people watched him with intrigued expressions and growing worry. Godwin reigned himself in, his wide, shocked eyes locking with Cooks, "The god...the god..."
Cook suddenly looked anxious and truly worried. They stepped forward to grasp Godwin firmly about the shoulder, "The god what Godwin? Spake damn youman! Did y'u drop the goblets on 'er?"
Another half hysteric, half choked giggle snuck past Godwin's lips, "No, no,...the god...the god t'was wearing Stark colours: green 'n white. On a vest...a vest trimmed wit' tangled patterns o' blue roses and daisies. The whole hall was staring. Lord Umber near choked on a slab of bread an', an' all d'while the Queen barely blinked an eye."
Someone at the back of the kitchen snorted, "And you dropped your tray like a maiden seein' 'er first cock!."
A low mutter of bawdy laughter broke the tension in response to the quip.
Godwin felt heat rush to his cheeks and indignation alight in his gut, "An' what would you have done! I looked up an' her 'oliness was jus' there...walkin' down the great hall like...like the fact d'Queen has draped her in 'er colours and marked her as her own isn't a big deal! By the gods...has a god ever lowered d'emselves to bear the mark of possession of a - a mortal...it's...it's..."
"-Unheard'a. Even in myths an' legends. Gods don't lower themselves to mortals any more dan nobles lower d'em selves to us. It isn't done. Especially a Higher house wearing the sigil or colours of a lower house. It's just …jus' not done." Cook reflected.
Aedra cattily added, "Unless you are the bastard king Joffrey. Strutting about with rampant stags and lions on his breast plate. As though the Lannister sigil and colours had any place beside the Royal House of Baratheon's sigil and colours.'
Muttering spread around the room.
"What does it mean?," Godwin asked in a whisper that seemed to capture the whole room's attention.
Cook frowned in thought, "That her Majesty's claim to the god is even stronger than any of us knew. For t'god to invest herself with Stark colours... It's a powerful message of support t'Queen and a threat t'any enemy. The god belongs to our wolf Queen as much as she belongs to the god."
A rude guard who had been exchanging gossip with Aedra drawled bawdily, "More as lak it means the gossip was reet alls along: The Queen truly has a magic cunt to have leashed the god so thoroughly that she is dressing to her whims and lowering herself t'be marked as part of a mortal House."
The inhabitants of the room sucked in shocked breaths simultaneously and went silent. All stared stunned at his daring. Even Aedra leaned away from him as though the stink of his foul words would stain her by association.
Cook, for a person of such size, moved with impressive speed. A ringing slap of flesh meeting a dull empty head rung out. They clattered the guard around the back of the head with a ringing blow and then grasped him by his neck and frog marched him to the back door of the kitchens. The guard was outweighed by at least 50lbs, even with his armour, and Cook made short work of throwing him from their domain. "I warned ye t'watch what ye said about t'Queen. You're not welcome in m'kitchen anymore and if I ever see ya again snoopin' about I'll have words wit' Steward and the Seschanel...we'd soon see how much skin ye could keep on your lowly back when they were done with ye."
The guard grumbled and cursed but one look at Cook's flinty eyes and a glance to where Aedra was staring fixedly at the floor and he knew he was beat. He spat upon the ground, hauled himself off and sauntered off with all the wounded pride the idiot could muster.
Cook spun back to her domain, eyed each servant in turn with a hard look, "I let gossip go so long as yer work is done cause I know there no controlling it. But if any of ye ever speak ill of the god or her Holiness...well, this is my Kitchenand what that knave got will look like a feathers touch."
Everyone stared in stunned but approving silence. "Well...what are ye starin' at? Back to work the lot a ye!"
The spell broke, the whole kitchen jumped and servants began bustling about once more.
Lord Manderly and Umber had convened in the former's chambers after the morning meal had been consumed and Her Grace excused herself to go speak with Lady Dustin regarding her plans for horseflesh.
Umber lumbered into the room with a pitcher of strong wine and two goblets. He shook the goblets at Manderly and ruefully admitted, "A bit early mayhap but I think the conversation to come is one that will be easier with a little wine in our bellies."
Manderly, not a man to turn down food or drink at the best of times nodded gratefully and cleared a space of papers on the small table in his chambers. Umber heaved himself into a chair, poured two healthy goblets, passing the first to Manderly without word or comment, even as the chair beneath the portly man groaned at the pressure his leaning forth caused on the poor strained wood. The two men offered a silent toast to each other across the table and promptly sunk the two goblets in short order.
Silence reigned for a moment as both men savoured the strong wine and the warmth it ignited in their guts.
Manderly looked mournfully at his empty goblet before sliding it towards Umber, "One more I should think."
Umber laughed, "Aye, one more for the taste at least. By the gods, I am becoming an old hand at sneaking wine from the kitchens and bringing it to illicit meetings. I figured if I was doing that in later life then it would be because I had become an old sop, living in his cups and indulging in cheap whores...not because Sansa Stark was driving me to distraction with her antics with a ruddy god."
Manderly let loose a barking laugh even as he wiped a large meaty hand over his brow. "Fucked if I know what the world has become. Dragons flying about, the Long Night on our doorstep and A Stark Queen who could probably put every King of Winter in the ground with how ruthless she is...courting a god of ruin. The world is arsewise. I am half convinced I died in the rebellion and this is some mad fucking outer ring of the thrice damned hells."
Umber pushed the newly full wine goblet back to Manderly and supped from his own, "Nah, wine wouldn't be this good."
Manderly supped his wine more slowly this time, savouring the taste as his mind raced with all the new implications the god's attire had raised.
Umber laughed abruptly, "I knew Starks were possessive wolves but fucked if I thought the Queen had it in her to slap her ownership all over the god so blatantly."
Manderly snorted into his goblet, "Her Grace was toying with us all this morn. Sitting there placid faced and the smug satisfaction just radiating off her. It makes quite the statement of the Queen's position with the god and her power that she could so confidently create the ruddy vest without fear of punishment or scorn...much less the fact she got the god to wear it with seeming happiness."
"Surely the title of Mistress is imminent! Her Holiness has lowered herself to be clothed in the colours of a lesser mortal house. To be stamped publicly the paramour and claimed one of the Queen. Only some modicum of propriety seems to have kept the Queen from marking Her Holiness with the direwolf itself!" Unber energetically cried.
Manderly was shaking his head even before Umber had finished speaking, "For as shocking as this morning was...it was subtle. Her Grace would never be so uncouth or daring as to claim Her Holiness as property of House Stark with the Direwolf. Not even she could get away with that, the Lords would lose their minds and her Holiness' Order would ask uncomfortable questions. For a superior, divine being to be marked as a vassal would be a step too far ...but the Stark colours, the roses and daisies intertwined...subtle but oh so clear. I have to hand it to the girl. Balls of valyrian steel!"
Umber gasped a laugh, "Subtle he says. The whole Keep is alight with talk of it. The bloody cup bearer fell on his arse when he saw that vest."
Manderly looked exasperatedly at Umber, "I said it was subtler than slapping a direwolf on Her Holiness...subtler doesn't mean less obvious. The question however is how it came about? Her Grace wore the new token of the god's sigil in the fine hair comb on the same morn that the god wore the vest...I do not believe in coincidence."
Umber hummed, "A gift exchange mayhap?"
Manderly nodded, his eyes squinted, "The question is who initiated it. If it was Sansa then it implies the god was prepared for such a gesture with the comb in return. Or mayhap Her Grace had the vest tucked away and had been waiting for the right opportunity, waiting until the god gifted her another token which she could use as an excuse to give her the vest "
Umber tapped the rim of his goblet, "it would make sense. Her majesty likes to plan and be prepared. After she was gifted the first pendant it seemed inevitable that other continued tokens of Her Holiness' affection were imminent. The Queen would have prepared."
"Prepared, and been daring enough to give the god clothing which announces Her Grace's claim and the god's acknowledgement of it." Umber snorted
Manderly sighed, "It certainly put the wolf amongst the sheep. The Lords will be doubling down on their respect and awe of Her Grace, all while watching her for more opportunities for themselves to advance in her and the god's graces. The smallfolk are in awe...and as for the Order...we had only just begun to understand what it meant having their group dedicated to the Starks with the Direwolf in their sigils ...but now that their god has made so public a statement of support and taken on the mark of a...lesser mortal House...their loyalty to Sansa and House Stark will be even more fanatically entrenched."
"Crazy bastards, but useful, and the way Her Holiness has trained em they are becoming a fine blade for the Queen to wield." Umber reflected.
Manderly sighed and rubbed his brows tiredly, "Gods and Queens...who could ever predict what they will do. Mad, all mad in one way or another."
Umber shrugged, "I don't know. Her Holiness is sorta like a hedge knight that became a god...she doesn't really seem to care about rank or birth or any of the traditional things. Hell, she admits to stomping other gods who pissed her off so I think she just does what she wants. She never treated Prince Jon differently for his bastardy, she plays with the smallfolk kids like she is a ruffian herself rather than a divine being at the apex of the social food chain...is it really so unpredictable that she would wear her lover's House colours as a sign of affection? They seem smitten enough for it."
Manderly narrowed his eyes, "You don't think Her Holiness ascribes the same weight to the Stark colours and wearing them as we do?"
Umber wobbles his goblet uncertainly and hummed, "She's smart enough that she probably gets some of it but her culture is so different. I don't think she gets how weird it seems to us on a gut reaction level to see a being at the level of a god, wearing the colours of the subordinate mortal lover. It made every hair on m'body stand on end and my bones ache seeing it. It's instinctual...you know how long we spent as kids learning about the House hierarchy and what it means."
Manderly hummed, "Perhaps."
The two men drank and discussed the implications of the god's dress some more before having to muster themselves to their duties.