Yara slid her knife into its sheath. She turned to face her brother. "This god, what is her temperament, and not that horse shit Joran never shut up about."
"She listens." Theon frowned, his hands folded behind his back.
She crossed her arms. "Does she?"
"Yes, she can be…impulsive though. I don't think she meant to slaughter the Boltons. Roose did something that displeased her, but I don't think she knew what to do after." Theon's single remaining eye held hers. A certain backbone was in him that hadn't been there before. It'd better fucking stay there.
Yara's fingers tapped at the hilt of her dagger. "You were surprised to hear she's fucking the Stark girl. Why?"
"Sansa was scared of her. We all were. And Sansa…it doesn't seem like her?" Theon offered.
She considered her baby brother. "You were afraid of her, why? Because you are a coward, or because you knew you were her prey? Does she make the hair on the back of your neck stand up, the air you breathe catch in your throat?"
He swallowed, looking down. "Like coming upon a bear. You just hope it doesn't notice you."
"Huh." Yara considered the reports that Joran and the others had so easily given, that were so plainly common knowledge here. "And did you think Sansa had it in her to wipe out four noble houses, personally swing the sword in judgment and rise to power as she has?"
That bothered him all right. "I don't know. She was different when I saw her again. Sharper."
"Men." Yara scoffed, turning. Her brother likely held a great many answers and he didn't have a clue he did and wouldn't be able to explain it even if he did. Because Sansa Stark had been a silly, vain, noble girl from what Theon and anyone who'd met her as a child would say. Someone worth little notice. And now everyone was shocked as she showed her fangs. People were idiots. A pretty face didn't mean there wasn't iron underneath. And Sansa Stark from all anyone would say had paid the iron price for all that was hers.
She strode out of the gold-coated rooms with ridiculous baubles. Things that'd be worth looting if she was here for that. If her father had had any sense they'd have sailed their longships up the rivers into the heart of these southern fucks heartlands and taken as they willed. Raiding the North had been idiotic. Fun though.
Still, she had a position to salvage, uncles to kill, and apparently a very real god to get the measure of. And said god had promised her a spar. Possibly an idiotic decision on her part, but well, at least losing to a god wouldn't reflect badly on her. And she had no intention of skirting shadows to avoid a predator like her brother.
Yara watched with curious eyes as the god worked with Jon Stark's squires. It was clear the awestruck boys had been near her before. Their eager expressions and quick jolting to follow the faintest suggestion from her was…amusing. And it was clear the god knew what she was doing.
She approached as the boys practiced the footwork she'd shown them. "Close quarter fighting a specialty of yours, Holiness?"
"In my world fighting kinda happens from a lot longer distances or up close with a lot fewer spears, swords, and shields." The god's brown eyes turned on her, intelligence plain to be seen on her face. "And what do I call you? Your Grace? Your Highness? Lady? Captain? Admiral?"
Yara enjoyed the thrum of danger she felt. "Highness will do, after all, I'm not a Queen, Yet."
"Interesting, your Highness." And the god certainly understood there was more weight to that than stated. Intelligent indeed. The god tipped her head slightly. "But I have a feeling you care about titles as much as I do."
She reached out picking up one of the blunted practice swords. Live steel with a god sounded spectacularly stupid. "Want to show these boys how it's done?"
"Sure." The god glanced at the most awkward looking of the squires.
The boy practically glowed as he scurried to the rack to grab a blunted tourney sword and bring it back to the god. His chest puffed in pride at being of service. Boy would need that glow knocked out of him if he meant to survive. That sort of innocence would see him killed otherwise.
Yara tested the balance of the blade in her hand as she stepped backward into the yard. "To a yield then?"
"Sounds fine to me." The god slid into a defensive stance as she followed, an easy smoothness that was dangerous. It wasn't a swagger, it was something far more confident than that, and thus far more impressive if she had the skill to justify it.
Yara was not one of the great swordsmen of the era. She wasn't a warrior of such renown men trembled in fear or anticipation at her name. She was good, very good. And she fought to win, not duel. Honor was for fools and the dead.
Dropping the point of her sword to the ground she swung up, sending a shower of dry dirt toward the gods' face. It was a continuous motion as she used the momentum to take advantage of the few precious seconds her opponent's vision would be clouded.
The god moved even as her eyes closed, and it was terrifying as she neatly parried, and then was sliding in close.
Yara dragged her sword slamming it into the god's, and to stop her forward momentum, forcing the god to stay at arm's length away. It should have sent a shudder at least in a strong man to hold the weight of it. The god didn't even seem to notice the force. It'd been the right call not to use an axe.
She needed to get space between them, and the god wasn't attacking. So she shifted and kicked at the god's stomach to try and force her back. She needed to get back, to regroup.
The god shifted, her arm hooking around Yara's leg and then slamming them forward.
They hit the ground hard enough to drive the air out of Yara's lungs, but not to crush her. Her hands were pinned to the ground by a grip like iron around her wrists. The god's hips held her lower extremities down. The god's free hand snagged the dagger from Yara's belt, her face amused as she tapped the flat of the blade against her throat. "Yield?"
Yara coughed, getting air back into her lungs. Fuck. "Yield." She managed.
The god grinned and rolled off of her before hopping easily to her feet. She held out her hand. "Nice try with the kick, it takes most of these idiots forever to try and just bash me with something that's not a sword."
Yara firmly clasped the offered hand and let herself be hauled to her feet. Inhuman strength was easily apparent. She ignored the looks they were getting. "So you don't mind getting close and personal then, Holiness."
The god laughed, brushing some dirt off of herself. "You guys really are prudes if you think that counts as personal." She tossed Yara's dagger back to her.
And there was a challenge there, not a sexual one, which would have been interesting. "You're a brawler at heart aren't you?"
"Basically." The god shrugged and then turned to Jon Stark. "Think your squires there should see different styles of brawling?"
Jon Stark let out an amused sigh. "Aye, probably good. But I think we'll need a few other people if we want her Highness not to be a bruised lump by the end of this."
Normally Yara would be a bit insulted by that. Considering the strength the god was showing…well that was just common sense.
"I'll go a round. If that 'er…would be helpful, m'Lords?" The thick fleabottom accent of the smith Gendry piped in from where he'd apparently wandered in to watch.
Yara looked him up and down. He'd been useful in their escape from King's Landing, and he was a muscled boy. Give him an axe and he'd do damage coming over the side of a ship. She flicked her eyes back to the god. "Why don't you show us with Gendry here, he wants a try after all."
/
Daenerys watched the enthusiastic violence below. Well, it wasn't men hitting each other with sticks, it was men getting punched. So there was that. "What do you think Ser Jorah, do you think any of them will actually manage to strike her?"
"It seems unlikely, your Grace." Ser Jorah made a sound as Jon was tossed over Daisy's shoulder and slammed into the ground. "She is remarkably skilled, and they cannot match her one man alone."
She raised a brow, vaguely amused by the glee everyone seemed to feel for the violence below. "How so?"
Willas Tyrell cleared his throat from where he was leaning on the balcony. "If I may, your Grace, if it was perhaps ten well-trained men, prepared ahead of time, and working together they may stand a chance at forcing her to yield. Well, so long as she refrained from using her powers."
"It truly is something." Prince Olyvar sighed longingly. "She is a deadly fighter, I would pay a great deal to see her fight against her equal." His grin was sly. "I doubt I would survive it, but what a way to go."
Ser Jorah shifted. "If she was mortal she'd stand shoulder to shoulder with any of the great knights of the realm. Though not the greatest."
"I agree." Willas tipped his head towards Jorah.
Daenerys barely repressed a cringe as Daisy hooked her feet around the dark-haired boy's head and flipped him. It was ridiculous, though she could admit it was fascinating to watch how Daisy flowed between attacks and changed clear styles of combat. It wasn't a way she'd seen a man fight before.
Ser Davos coughed suddenly. "That boy."
"Something wrong with that fellow getting the sense beat out of him, Ser Davos?" Tyrion asked. "I had thought you not an expert on the more martial pursuits."
Davos's beard twitched. "I'm no use to anyone with a sword in my hand."
"And not the question I had asked." Tyrion shook his head. His eyes scanned the boy's features as the boy, or perhaps a man really clamored back up to his feet. "Good gods, are you mad?"
Davos shifted awkwardly. "I should hope not, my Lord. But that boy may be."
Daenerys looked at who they were speaking of. He was young, but large, broad-shouldered, handsome enough face, and a wide smile on his face as Daisy said something to him.
It was amusing to see Yara Greyjoy kicking at his side to get him back to his feet again.
Lady Olenna made a scoffing noise. "That boy looks like Robert Baratheon reborn in his prime. Where in the seven hells did you find a living bastard? I'd thought Cersei and Joffrey had them all killed?"
"In a smithy in King's Landing." Ser Davos gave an exhausted sigh. "Doesn't have a lick of sense in his head." He turned his attention to Daenerys. "He's no threat to you, your Grace. He's a baseborn bastard with no learning or ambition. Not even a claimed bastard."
Daenerys felt the familiar bubble of anger in her chest. But it was only a faint lick of heat, nothing consuming. She'd felt far more rage in regard to Jon, and now she was on the brink of marrying the man. So she ignored her distaste. "I will judge that for myself and I would hear it from his own mouth."
"Of course, your Grace." Davos bowed his head without hesitation.
Well, her advisors certainly were going to have opinions about this, and she was unsure she cared. Because she had her own, a Baratheon bastard could be useful to have around. And as Tyrion said, the boy was hardly a threat.
/
Missandei joined the Goddess Daisy where she was laughing while watching the squires run up and down the stairs. "You care for them, Holiness?"
"You can ignore the 'holiness' shit you know, my lady." Daisy shifted, welcoming her at her side, and with easy comfort as if she belonged unquestionably there.
She smiled faintly. "If it pleases you then, Daisy." Missandei let the comfortable quiet between them settle as they watched one of Jon's Reach squires trying to trip his Dornish squire as they tried to race up and down the stairs.
"I take it Jon is attempting to impress Dany somehow then?" Daisy asked absently.
Missandei was unsure how much of Daisy's airs with Jon were truth and how much was intended to make him the most appealing option for husband to a powerful Queen? It might even be both. "They are in the library again."
"Good for him, so me or absolute boredom then?" Daisy had a lopsided smile on her face that took any threat that might have been possibly read in her words.
She gave a faint nod. "You are very kind company."
"You know you could tell the noble idiots to fuck off more?" Daisy's smile grew. "You're very good at telling people to do it without them realizing it."
Missandei felt oddly both pleased and faintly embarrassed by that comment. "A necessary skill."
"No kidding." Daisy hummed. "The nuns used to wash our mouths out with soap if we said 'mean things'. Which we were kids. And then well, foster families, kids from better homes, they know you can't do anything about it if they smack you about. You learn what to say."
She considered the god slowly. "You disagree, irritate and challenge others purposefully quite often?"
"Because I can, and fastest way to figure out who cares, and where their lines are." Daisy shrugged, her face tightening. "And I wasn't a slave, surviving what punishment they'd alot to me wasn't the risk, just a risk of pain or hunger or whatever. At least most of the time. The stakes were different for me, ya know?"
Which, she looked at Daisy, her eyes traveling to the marked scar on her neck. "And yet you were enslaved."
"For a few days." Daisy turned, facing her properly. "I was valuable to them, and I made sure every single fucking one of them died. What was a few days of shit to me was your life. It's different. I wasn't…I didn't break, because I didn't have to."
Missandei understood exactly what she meant. The freeborn, who were captured and collared, who fought and spat and tried to protest their new reality. They were either worth the effort of breaking, or they were killed as a warning to the rest of them. But those who had known freedom, truly known it had always been…different for those first few years before they were as accustomed to their life as anyone else. But even then…they sometimes clung to hope. It'd always seemed cruel to her, to have hope that could never be. "You understand the difference, that is…rare."
"I… it's complicated. But yeah, I get…at least some of it." She huffed. "Enough to know I barely know anything. Enough to know you deserved far better, and I'm sorry it happened to you."
And that was…likely why Missandei felt safe near the strangeness that was Daisy. "Thank you."
"You know if anyone gives you any crap about it I'd take care of it, right?" Daisy's face was completely serious.
Messandei smiled. "As would Daenerys."
"Good." Daisy hesitated. "Walk with me?"
She gave a slight nod. "Where are we walking to?"
"To find Leonette Tyrell, you need to spend more time near them, it'll be safer for you to be friends with them." Daisy politely gestured towards the path.
Which was likely true enough. Messandei felt how alone she was when Dany was occupied and the Unsullied were not near at hand. "I find it…difficult to find common ground amongst them."
"I get that." Daisy huffed. "I don't think a single one of them has ever had to hunt for food in the garbage and worn clothing five sizes too big with holes in them. But at least you're not going to have them thinking if they misspeak around you you're going to kill them for it."
She did wonder at that sometimes. "You seem uncertain of your position quite often?"
"I'm twenty-four..ish maybe twenty-five? Jumping through time makes that kinda iffy." Daisy shrugged. "And I've only been a god for what…going on two years? And six months of that it wasn't like it changed anything for the people who'd known me before." Her face frowned. "And…inhumans, uh, demi-gods? not really people who anyone treats well."
"Why not? Surely a divine lineage would be something of great status?" Missandei blinked, and oh. It would be of very great value, a slave race. "That is why your people were wanted as slaves." And powerful slave masters could make protecting a single person, no matter how valuable dangerous.
"Yeah, and not just that. We're dangerous. I shattered every bone in my body trying to not kill the people around me on accident. How do you trust a person who if they have a nightmare could take your entire castle down before they wake up? Control takes time and practice and I get why people were scared of us. Lincoln almost burned like a few buildings down on accident. Joey melted metal when he was stressed, you don't know how much metal is in buildings and wagons and shit till suddenly it's turning into ooze."
"So you were dangerous to hold free, and of great value to those in power." Missandei's words tasted cruel in her own mouth. "I am sorry for speaking of such things."
"Don't be." Daisy paused for a moment. "If you don't mind, like, do you remember anything from before?"
Missandei allowed her shoulder to brush with Daisy's, sure the woman would understand the meaning of the action. The trust it implied. "I come from the Isle of Naath, when we were very small my three brothers and I were taken by raiders and sold in Astapor."
"You have brothers?" Daisy blinked faintly surprised but with genuine curiosity in her voice.
She smiled. "Yes, they were made Unsullied, though only two survived the training," Missandei spoke softly of her kin. "Do you have brothers or sisters?"
"Not that I know." Daisy's voice was equally as soft. "I only knew my mother for a few days really, and she didn't say. But she was kinda immortal so, maybe? If she did they'd left Afterlife long before I got there."
"That is a sad thing, I think," Missandei said. "Mossador taught me to climb trees and Marselen would sneak me oranges sometimes. They are…I remember very little of what was good, but I always had that."
Daisy reached over, squeezing the hand resting on the crook of her elbow. "Good. Your brothers, are they in Dany's army?"
"Indeed, they are very proud to serve." She knew she must glow with what pride she was allowed. "Marselen is in Meereen, as commander to hold it while Daenerys is here in Westeros. But Mossador is with Grey Worm, at the Westerlands."
Daisy suddenly had an amused expression on her face. "I could drop off a letter, or favor or whatever you guys send your lovers and family when they're away at war?"
"They would not be able to read a letter I sent." She still felt a pleased heat at the thought. "You have never questioned that I would love an Unsullied?"
Daisy rolled her eyes. "You guys are so obsessed with dicks here. Loving someone, and being with them doesn't have to mean sex. It can just be the trust and companionship of a partnership or whatever you want from it. Also, anyone who thinks sex is only insert penis into vagina is having really bad sex."
Mellisander laughed quietly at that, and she relished the joy of being able to do so. "That is a thing that has been said of Westerosi."
"Is it?" And Daisy looked delighted and sly. "Ooo, share the Essosi shade on Westeros. I have thoughts."