Mira Lovewell came to a halt as she saw who was in her rooms. "Rodrick." Her brother looked…tired.
"Why did you do it?" He looked at her with so much sorrow. "Our House…I don't know that we can recover from this."
"And you think that's my fault?" She refused to let him put it on her. "You went against the Queen's orders? Are you insane? She hasn't lost a battle yet and we're on the eve of a three, possibly four front war. What did you think was going to happen?"
Rodrick's hand tightened on the arm of the chair. "You abandoned our family, you could have interceded but you what? Spent every piece of political capital we had left to marry a peasant?"
"Don't you dare. Do you know what the last years have been for me? I've given everything for our family." Mira hissed. "I was in the south, alone. I was surrounded by monsters, my life preserved because of Margaery and yet I still did as mother asked. I interceeded for our family. I made a trade deal with Tyrion Lannister that would have saved us. I fought for our family for months. And what did it do Rodrick?" She gestured with her hand sharply. "Nothing. I was forced into marriage with that disgusting Morgryn. Where was our family when my head nearly was upon the chopping block? Where were you? Where were you for the months I had to let that man fuck me as he pleased? What was I to you brother? While you and everyone else were here in the North licking your wounds did you even bother to write?"
He flinched at her words, but his mind was unchanged. "You know there was nothing I could have done."
"No, there was nothing anyone could have done was there? Not until I was useful again. And Margaery could afford to save me then if it got her brother to safety. And you could welcome me home, to safety when it cost you nothing. But now you would have needed me and don't pretend you wouldn't have used me. Which one of the old fuckers here would you have sold me to? Umber? Maybe one of the Flints?"
Rodrick stood then, his face that had always meant safety and warmth was pained. "You can't think that of me."
"You would need a powerful ally to convince the Queen to spare you at least some of the punishment she's alloted to our House. And you'd need a powerful ally to keep the other Houses from treating us like we have greyscale. So tell me, who would you have need made an alliance with? Who would you have sold me to? Who would you have fuck me for heirs or spares in exchange for your security? Not mine. Yours."
He swallowed. "It would not have come to that. I wouldn't have let it."
"If you hadn't you'd have doomed your son, wife, and our living siblings. You would have done what you always do Rodrick. The Lordly thing. The right thing. And I would have paid the price, again. So yes, I sold myself. But not to Conin, though I am glad I chose him. He is kind and good and respects me. I sold myself to the Queen. And I can't save you Rodrick, but I can help your son, your wife, and our living siblings. For a price, I decided to pay." Mira hated speaking like this to her brother. Because for all he was being an idiot she loved him.
His shoulders slumped. "I'm being sent to the Shadow Tower, to hold it against the Dead. It's a death sentence."
"And would have been the Whitehill's death sentence if you had done as you were commanded." Mira felt a desperation. "Why? We had everything!"
His jaw clenched. "You're right, you weren't here watching what they did to us. To Asher, Ethan, to half our household."
"And they paid for it, Rodrick. And us? Talia, Tyon, your new wife, and son? We all are still alive!" Mira felt tears in the back of her throat. "So you have to go to the Shadow Tower, and our family is ruined. So yes, I went against you, I married without your permission."
Rodrick just…he ran a hand through his hair. "I can't change my actions. What's done is done."
"Yes, what's done is done." She swallowed. "Will I be permitted to see our family?"
He looked stricken. "Mira! I would never prevent that."
She couldn't help it, she hugged her brother. He was warm and safe and she wished she could still believe that as he hugged her back. "I'm not sorry."
"I'm still going to punch your husband." He grumbled into her hair as he tightened his arms around her.
Mira didn't say anything, Conin would be fine. She'd kiss it better.
/
Arya's eyes slid over the note. It wasn't particularly interesting, though no doubt Sansa would be interested in the fact that Baelish was attempting to locate uncle Edmure. Not that anyone had high hopes the man lived. She raised a brow as she read another letter. Fascinating, he'd written to Bravos.
"Your Highness, I wasn't expecting you?" His slimy though actually, surprised voice came from the doorway.
She didn't take her eyes away from the letter. "That would require knowing I was coming here."
"Is there something you require? I'd be happy to be of service." He shut the door behind him as he fully entered his own chambers.
Arya ignored him, Baelish wasn't the kind of threat that meant she needed to worry about him attacking her. "Your letters are less interesting than I was expecting." Her voice was bland as she finished reading the letter in her hands.
"It is considered rude to read other people's letters." Though he didn't sound insulted, rather interested.
She finally looked at him. "Manners can go fuck themselves." When the time was right she'd enjoy gutting him. "And it's considered rude to write letters to find people's secrets and not even ask them first."
"Simple precaution. You are most interesting, Princess." He poured a cup of wine and gestured to the second cup in invitation.
Arya shook her head even as her eye twitched at the title of 'princess'. "You must enjoy licking my sister's boots."
"I would think you'd be pleased at service to your sister?" Baelish's flat eyes had depths that she knew hid monstrousness.
But then, she was a monster in the shadows as well. "I'll tell you what I think. I think you've found nothing. I think you tried to find whispers about me over the course of the whole war. Not hard, I'm not as pretty as Sansa after all. But I think your failure to find anything drives you crazy."
He took the change of subject without hesitation. "You certainly leave little record of your passing. Though knowing who you are now, there is a trail of bodies to be found." His eyes flicked to her sword. "You're quite talented with that."
"Trant?" It wouldn't be unreasonable if he'd found that particular kill.
Baelish was irritatingly smug. "Just one of many you left lying in their own blood over the years. No doubt difficult to prove with how bloody those years have been."
"Your hands aren't cleaner than mine. It's in the eyes." Arya held his gaze challengingly, her sister's words about how the man thought. Give him ground to sink his claws, and draw him into their trap. And a whiff of influence and access to Sansa would be all the bait he should need. But first to gain his interest.
His lips curled. "You flatter me, but whose hands are not unbloodied by war?"
Arya felt the desire to curl her lip up in disgust, but well, the House of Black and White had taught her better than that. Instead, she just watched him, curious what he'd do when faced with silence. And he didn't disappoint, eventually speaking.
"Forgive me your Highness, but what is this about?" His voice had a deepness that wasn't entirely natural to it.
She let her teeth show. "My sister means to name me Master of Whispers, I thought that might be something you were interested in. If I'm wrong I can go."
Arya snagged her sister's cup of tea and knocked it back. "Lord Baelish has agreed to assist me in my new position. I need a bath." She grimaced. "Why do you like tea again? It's disgusting leaf juice."
"Daisy drinks it constantly, I've picked up the habit." Sansa replied dryly while taking the cup back. "Anything we hadn't expected in his correspondence?"
She hummed. "No, he's interested in Bravos and the Riverlands. I'll have more luck with the whores."
"If you could avoid everyone seeing you at the whorehouse I'd appreciate that." Sansa signed off the letter she'd been writing. "And the less interest you could show in Edmund Blackwood the better."
Arya placed the name with the boy about her age from the Riverlands. "Why?"
"Because he's not the worst option for me to marry once I'm no longer able to put it off and he's a better option than some. I'd rather keep him alive and out of Baelish's claws as long as possible." Sansa said like that made a lick of sense.
Her brow furrowed. "You're fucking a god?"
"Who will leave, and when she does I'd rather be prepared than forced to marry someone foul." Sansa looked at her, her face was that cold queenly look she got sometimes where reading her was basically impossible. Arya was pretty sure what it was hiding was pain. "And Edmund Blackwood I could live with."
Arya gaped at her sister. "Do you think maybe your god might have some thoughts on the fact you're apparently planning on marrying as soon as she leaves?"
"It's necessary, once she leaves there will be expectations. I'd be an idiot not to prepare for it while I can. And Daisy doesn't need to hear of it. She likely can guess at it, but it would hurt her to know." Sansa's mask had a fraction of a crack which was gone as quickly as it'd come. But it was pain.
Arya's fingers curled around Needle's handle. "You're not some bargaining chip."
"I am." Sansa's face was sharp then. "What brief time I am allowed to have a lover who I…who I love is more than I could have hoped for. But it's a dream Arya, a beautiful one but a dream. And the day will come when it's time to wake up. And I would have my life once this dream is over not return to a waking nightmare."
Arya's teeth felt like fangs. "That's crap."
"It's the truth." Sansa didn't waver. "Our people, our family come before personal wants. If I marry correctly the rest of you will have more options. When war comes our vassals will be more loyal. Our lands better protected. That I am allowed a brief window with a woman I love is enough. We have our duties."
"I think that might be the stupidest thing I've ever heard." Arya wondered if it was possible to slap that much stupidity out of a person. "You're the Queen, anyone tries to force you into marriage tell 'em to fuck off?"
Sansa blew out a long breath. "If I don't marry what do you think happens?"
The hair on the back of Arya's neck stood on end. "The old idiot Lords can pout about it?"
"Rickon's betrothal to Lyarra will have to be broken. I'll need to wed him to the Blackwood girl, possibly a Mallister or Piper girl. Someone within our kingdom but of a powerful enough House he'll have a strong ally. You would need to wed. I could let you marry a Wildling if he suited you I suppose, give you the Karhold. Perhaps a Vale knight, maybe Jasper who's terrified of your very shadow. Bran would need wed, likely to the Vale if you didn't marry there. His inability to produce heirs would be problematic, but if one or two of Rickon's future children married into the Vale it'd be doable." Sansa's blue eyes were cold. "Don't you see? My marriage buys the rest of you time and options. We're a pack, I won't sacrifice all of you for my own wants."
Arya's teeth clenched, she could see the stubborn streak in her sister. Which, if she was honest, they all shared. "Getting rid of a few husband options wouldn't be the end of the world."
"Oh, I'm sure Baelish will take care of that for me." Sansa leaned back in her seat. "We just need to ensure he gets rid of the ones we want gone. For instance, no doubt Mallister has a wedding or scandal awaiting him. LIkely cousin Robyn as well. A thing I'd appreciate your assistance with."
Arya felt her knuckles turning white under her leather gloves. "How are you so sure your lover means to leave at all? If she remains this is all pointless."
"This isn't her world. She has a home, a family, and a duty to her own. I could no more ask her to remain here than she could ask me to go with her." Sansa held her gaze. "Find out who Lord Baelish considers competition for my hand."
Arya narrowed her eyes. Well, that was some fucking shit. But, her sister had her heels dug in at the moment. "Fine. It's still a stupid idea."
"Thank you." Sansa paused. "And Arya, I am grateful for what you are doing."
She tipped her chin. "The pack survives." And she was half tempted to tell her dumbass sister's lover about Sansa's idiot ideas. But Jon would work just as well and neatly avoid doing something Sansa would definitely kill her for. That was if Jon would get his stupid ass back from the south anytime soon. She'd forgive him if he brought dragons.
/
Rickon stared at Bran, willing his brother to look back at him, to be the sibling he remembered best from before. His older brother that he loved, visceral, and this…thing that had replaced him. "Aren't you cold?"
"I don't really feel it any longer." Bran's dead, an empty voice replied from where he was sitting in his chair at the base of the heart tree.
He ground his teeth together. "Even trees feel cold."
"They feel a lot." Bran turned his cold gaze on him. It was worse than being ignored.
Rickon squirmed at the emotionless regard. "Don't you wanna do anything other than stare at trees?"
His brother looked at him then with an emptiness that might have been sorrow. "The Long Night is coming, there is nothing else."
His jaw ached. He jumped to his feet. "Fine, be cold and miserable out here by yourself then." Turning sharply he walked as fast as he could without running. He needed away from his brother, from the fucking tree, from the magic and insanity that had stolen his brother from him. If he asked Osha he knew she'd tell him the old gods did as they will. Which wasn't helpful, and Fitz would just hand him more things to learn and he was…he was angry.
As his quick strides took him out of the gods' wood he considered finding Arya or Sansa. They would understand but…but they'd be sad too. Which was worse somehow. Instead, he moved without thinking, like he was drawn by a string to the stables where he knew Shaggydog was. The smell of horses was strong, though not unpleasant. The stable hands kept the stalls clean, it mostly smelt of hay, leather, and horse flesh.
He came to a stretching halt as he spotted someone brushing his wolf. His first instinct was to yell at them to get off, Shaggydog didn't like being touched. Only…he could feel his wolf's pleased feelings. Shaggydog was carefully angling his back so his scratchiest spots could get combed properly, his tail wagging. He blinked. "Lyarra?"
Lyarra Karstark gave him a deeply unimpressed look before going back to brushing Shaggydog. "You don't brush him enough. He'll get matted."
"He's a direwolf, not a pet dog?" Rickon frowned as he stalked closer, but he held his tongue from too much upset. He could tell Shaggydog would nip him if he did something to stop the brushing. Watching her suspiciously he stopped an arm's length away. "You're not going to put ribbons in his fur or something?"
She huffed. "He's a wolf." Lyarra looked at Shaggydog critically. "You might want to speak with the armorer about some for him, like what the horses have."
"It'd slow him down." Rickon softened, that wasn't so bad. "What are you doing here?"
Lyarra gave him a look she had to have learned from his sister, it was distinctly disquieting. "I like horses, it's a stable. You're the one who doesn't brush your direwolf enough."
He felt his cheeks heating at that, it wasn't his fault Shaggydog liked rolling in the dirt and running through briars. He brushed him plenty. "Are you going to dump manure on me again?"
"Only if you deserve it." She replied with a sniff.
Rickon really wondered why girls hated him sometimes. At least Lyanna would have the good sense to just clobber him with an axe to his face. He felt a great deal more nervous about the strange creature who was his betrothed. But…Shaggydog liked her? "So..er…"
"You're not very good at talking to people are you?" Lyarra turned and looked at him.
He shuffled. "No?"
"Well, at least you like animals." She set the brush down. "Can you warg into horses?"
That was… "Sometimes? I'm not very good at animals that don't hunt."
"I suppose that makes sense." Lyarra's eyes squinted as she looked at him. "You don't brush your own hair enough."
Rickon's cheeks were definitely hot. "Well, that's just…stupid. Why'd I waste time making everything all perfect like a southerner?"
"Your sister's not a southerner and her hair is always pretty." She ruthlessly pointed out.
His nose wrinkled. "But she's Sansa? Everyone looks messy next to her."
"You're not wrong." Lyarra sighed. "I wish I was that perfect."
Rickon eyed her. "I don't think anyone can be that perfect."
"True." She stepped right up to him. "Look, I don't like you. I don't think you like me?"
That was a trap…it felt like a trap. "You dumped manure over my head."
"Yes, what I'm saying is marrying would be terrible, yes?" She waited for him to reply.
Rickon nervously licked his lips. "Yes…?"
"Queen Sansa says we don't have to, not really." Lyarra's eyes sparked.
He frowned, piecing together what she was getting at. "She said she wouldn't make that decision till we were older?"
"Well yes, but I'd rather ride horses and brush your direwolf than try to be giggly over you." She poked his chest.
Rickon lit up as he suddenly got it. "You mean just go on like we're not going to get married?"
"We'd have to still spend time together. Mother would have a fit if we didn't." Lyarra cautioned.
He nodded. "No more manure?"
"Would you stop whining about the manure? You deserved it anyways." She huffed in sheer exasperation.
Rickon just shrugged, he probably did. "So horses?"
"Do you think if you spent enough time staring at one you'd be able to warg one even if they aren't predators?" She asked.
He bit at his lip. "I'm getting good at cats?"
"Well, let's try. It sounds better than watching you and Lyanna Mormont whacking each other with swords." She nodded, grabbed his arm, and dragged him towards the nearest horse.
Rickon got the distinct impression that Shaggydog was laughing at him. But also at least she wasn't trying to kick him in the shins….and warging a horse would probably be cool.
0.0
Hogg called to Conin across the yard, "Heads up Ser, looks like you have a reckonin' a comin'."
Conin looked past Hogg to where he saw Lord Rodrick Forester coming towards the sparring area. Restrained fury seemed to vibrate in the man's every step.
Conin wanted to sigh but he had known this was inevitable since the moment he had agreed to marry Mira.
It also helped that his beautiful and cunning wife had given him fair warning that her brother had expressed a desire to punch him in the face.
Conin had snorted when Mira told him, his mind immediately reflecting on His Holiness' exasperated complaints that all Northern men are pig headed idiots who only really listen after getting to punch someone in the face or having been punched in the face.
Conin knows his strengths and his weaknesses. People think him dumb but he sees more than they give him credit for. He just prefers being straightforward in his words and his actions. All the politicking and double talk of nobles? He will leave that to his wife. The goddess has shown there is no shame in following a smart woman. Conin can swing a sword, follow orders and be trusted to do what is right no matter how hard. These are his strengths and he is more than content to work with them.
They seem to be serving him well after all: he has a beautiful wife, is the founding member of House Lovewell and trusted of a god.
Mira had advised that Conin let her brother vent his fury but that he not allow him to treat him as an inferior.
Her Holiness would say that people do dumb shit when they are led by emotion so we have to be understanding of it, right up until its dangerous. Then we shut it down. That is the right way of it.
Conin stands in the training yard and allows Rodrick Forester to stomp towards him. The Lord's gait is lumbering due to the lingering injury of his leg from the Red Wedding. Conin remains blandly still and watches the man with his resting face of vague interest.
Rodrick draws back his fist to punch Conin. The move is so painfully telegraphed and over dramatic. Slow too.
Conin actually wants to sigh and correct the man's form as Her Holiness had corrected his.
A good military commander and usually a calm man, Conin can understand how emotion makes Rodrick sloppy. Conin mentaly makes a note to wrangle Lord Forester into some training sessions and sparring before he returns to the Shadow Tower. As skilled a warrior as his good brother is renowned to be, will need all that skill and more that can be crammed into his head if he is meant to stand even the faintest chance of survival.
Personally, Conin thinks the idiot got off lightly. He is no learned noble but even he can see the stupidity in slaughtering an old enemy who was broken and positioned to be on the front lines of the coming war which was merely a more honourable death sentence with a stay of execution. Lord Forester had defied the Queen and raised banners against those the Queen had set to defending their front at the Shadow Tower. Her mercy in letting Lord Forester have a chance of an honourable death or a miraculous survival by doing his duty at the Shadow Tower was more than Conin would have granted. But that was why he was a sword and she was the Queen.
The temptation of seeing his bitterest enemies, the Whitehills, vulnerable and having a superior force had been too much for Lord Forrester and in a rare moment of loss of self control he had snapped and used the opportunity to decimate the once enemy who he saw as responsible for the slaughter of his parents and four sibling of full blood and half.
Conin mourns for his wife. He knows despite Mira's anger at her brother's impulsive actions that she loves him and was so relieved when he had said he would not bar her from seeing her good sister or her nieces and nephews. For that kindness and because he accepts that Lord Forester has a right to his emotional outburst, Conin lets the Lord's punch land.
Conin could have dodged, he could have countered as her Holiness taught him. Instead he shifts his face slightly so that the full blow becomes a glancing hit. It still looks bad and will likely blacken his eye, yet Conin barely rocks back from the hit before he straightens and meets the purple face of Lord Forester.
Conin raises his off hand in a subtle gesture to keep his former Order brethren and sisters from jumping in to his aid. His chest warms in pride and camaraderie as they tense at his defence but then subside at his signal. He had worried that marrying would lose him his comrades and the purpose he had found in the Order, yet the goddess and the Order had ensured he did not feel torn in twain. He was a knight, a husband, hopefully soon to be a father…but he would also always be a part of the Order, no matter that he had left and that he now wore a different cloak and pin.
Once Order of the SHIELD, always Order of the SHIELD.
"Nothing to say? You married my sister without my consent!" Lord Forester growled before rearing back for another punch.
That was enough of that. Conin had made the appropriate allowance for Lord Forester's emotional outburst but he was under no obligation to stand around and take a beating just to make him feel better. His wife would be upset too.
When Lord Forester threw his second punch, his balance from his weak leg made it easy for Conin to pivot and grasp his good brother's wrist, step inside and hip toss him to the ground in a perfect imitation of Her Holiness technique.
Conin immediately steps back and gives Lord Forester room to rise.
Lord Forester glares at him, "Not going to fight back Knight?"
Conin draws on all of his wife's whispered words from bed the previous night as he infects his voice with as much of the command tone of Her Holiness as he can mimic.
"No. We're both Queen's men. I may have allowed you t'strike me once, but I reckon'd I owed ya that much. Bit of a shock t'see your sister married so fas' and while dealing with your other changes in fortune but I will not be your whipping boy."
Lord Forester stiffens at the implication that his actions could get back to the Queen and be interpreted as him attacking a second house under her banner. He swallows thickly and casts his eyes around to see all the witnesses of his attack.
Marching out here to confront Ser Lovewell had probably not been his smartest idea, but he had caught sight of the man laughing and sparring and his blood had been up at the idea of all the problems and insult he imagined from his sister eloping with one of such low rank.
Lord Forester grits his teeth and takes a deep breath. He forces himself to calm and for his more rational mind to prevail.
Lord Forester cursed inside his head, if the Queen didn't reprimand him then his sister would still likely tear a strip from his hide for laying a hand on her husband.
Lord Forester sags, the fight and adrenaline leaving him. His tiredness overcoming him as he stares at the man his sister had chosen.
He pinches his nose between his eyes and sucks in a slow breath before meeting Conin's eyes and trying to salvage the situation.
"My apologies Ser Lovewell. I have allowed my emotions to rule my actions once again. My word I shan't attack you again, yet I think we need speak."
"Agreed," Conin mumbled simply, his defensive stance easing.
Lord Forester blinked owlishly at the simple one word response and the lack of suspicion from Conin. Lord Forester shook his head and gestured away from the sparring area as he spoke.
"Let's walk Ser Lovewell. I assume this is a conversation neither of us relish but it must happen."
Conin nods and settles in to walk at Lord Forester's side for a turn around the courtyard.
Neither man speaks as they match pace together. The curious eyes turning away from them as it becomes apparent the drama of fistycuffs is unlikely to resume.
The Order members return to their training, even if a few surreptitiously watch the forms of Conin and Lord Forester for any signs of further violence.
When the silence becomes too tense Lord Forester grits out, "My sister is too good for you, you insult me and my house by stealing her and marrying her without our permission."
Conin eyes Lord Forester from the side of his eye. This man is far above him yet, but he is a knight now and a husband. Mira had counselled him that her brother respected strength.
Conin hums under his breath, "I know Mira is too good for me. But stealing her?" Conin huffs and scratches absently at the back of his head as he stares into the distance, "Cannae steel a person I reckon, 'specially one like Mira. I did as Mira asked and I had the Queen's blessin'."
Lord Forester glares at Conin. He makes it all sound so simple, whether it is the fact he does not understand the delicate politics of the nobility or that Conin is just ignoring them Lord Forester cannot tell.
Lord Forester's remaining rigidity seems to ease as he grumbles under his breath, "At least you acknowledge her worth."
Conin catches the comment and laughs a dry chuckle, "I know when I'm outclassed. Jus' feel privileged to be able to stand at her side."
Conin's face shines with devotion and good humour.
Lord Forester snorts. In his mind he feels a pinch of pity for Conin, he has no clue how his cunning sister will lead him and hold the rod in the marriage. Lord Forester eyes the serene knight and reconsiders, or perhaps he realises fully and is happy with such an arrangement?
Rodrick sighs, his hand wiping his face as he pauses and stares into the distance, into the bleak future he sees coming for himself at the Shadow Tower.
Rodrick turns to Conin who pauses and faces him unflinchingly, "I have been a fool and I am to pay the price for it." Rodrick clenches his teeth in suppressed anger and impotent fury, "I have been a shit brother to my sister, choosing to seek personal vengeance without considering how it would affect her. I see now I can't blame her for looking out for herself, someone had to. Hell, as she quite recently reminded me I wasn't even man enough to pick up a quill and write her as some small comfort in the darkest of her days gone by. And now she is married. She is yours. I will march to my fate soon, can I do it knowing my sister will be cared for? That you will protect her?"
Conin's eyes which until now had seemed pale and dim to Lord Forester seem to suddenly burn with determination, his soft face hardening into sharp angles, "I swear by Her Holiness, Daisy Johnson, Quake, The Destroyer of Worlds, I will always protect 'er.. With all I am, I'll try t'make 'er happy."
Lord Forester nods shortly, a burning moisture in his eyes.
From a former member of The Order, Lord Forester supposes that is as strong an oath as any that has ever been breathed in this world. Sincerity and devotion quivering in every word Conin spoke.
Lord Forester thrusts a hand out, "That'll do then. You'll do."
Conin smiled, gripped the Lord's forearm and they shook. A short, manly gesture.
The two men may never be friends but they were allies for a woman they both loved. An understanding had been reached.
"Right," Lord Forester grumbled, "Enough of this soft shite, let's go back to the sparring yard and you can show me how you did the dodging throw thing."
Conin coughed awkwardly to clear his throat and nodded, "Aye. Come m'Lord, I'll give ye some pointers on punching too."
Lord Forester laughs and they set off at an easy pace.
