Chapter Text
Daisy groaned, burying her face further into the pillow under her face. It was too early, but her smartwatch was vibrating against her wrist. That had not felt like four hours of sleep. Her eyes were gummy, and her skin felt disgusting. She wanted to go back to sleep for another eight hours, at least. Also wiping her memories of the horror in the night as she’d tried to stop the slaughter last night. With those thoughts she was awake, it would haunt her if she tried to sleep despite that now.
Pushing up she looked around the room. The light was streaming through the windows, velvet curtains not fully covering the glass, rolling out of the silk sheets and off the mattress and pillows that were all too soft down stuffed things. It was…way too soft, but she’d been exhausted. Running a hand through her hair she grimaced, this was…going to suck.
Her nose wrinkled as she looked at where she’d dumped her outer clothing before crawling between the sheets of the nearest bed. Her field suit was…disgusting. It was disgusting. Looking around she spotted a bowl of water and towels set aside.
She walked over to the armoire or make-up table or…whatever these things were called. Table with a mirror and things like brushes and water set aside. Looking up she caught sight of herself and winced, well fuck.
Her hair was the knotted mess of how chaotic it got from fighting, flying, and then sleeping. That wasn’t even the worst of it. The worst of it was the dried blood smeared and dried across her face, neck, and arms. She looked like a serial killer.
She choked back the nausea at that. Picking up a towel she got to work. And moving quickly and effectively would keep her from trying to claw the mess off of her skin.
Daisy had been forced to accept her field suit was fucked. It probably needed to be burned honestly. She’d given up the gauntlets and the jacket, pulling them back on wasn’t happening till she dumped them in boiling water, at the least. The pants…it was them or just walking around in her underwear, so she’d been forced to pull them back on. Her boots and pants she’d at least…wiped the gore off of first. But it was…horrible.
At least she’d been wearing a tank top under her field suit. So the jacket and gauntlets could be left. Her hair…her hair she’d brushed out, not questioned why the brush’s bristles had gone from white to pink. The idea of her hair hanging loose on her skin was…no. So she’d braided her hair up and twisted it into a bun.
Goals for the day, find out what the hell the knight in white had been talking about blowing up the whole city, and make that not possible. Somehow manage peace talks between factions of people she knew nothing about, on god knows what planet, and hope she wasn’t fucking it up. And if she managed that, she was asking for a shower or bath or something to get properly clean. Low achievable bars. Sarcasm.
Daisy closed her eyes and breathed in, making sure her heart and breathing were steady and even. Her vibrations settled into a warm hum under her skin, instead of the antsy buzz they’d been. She opened her eyes and headed out the door.
She wasn’t blind to how the people who were likely servants bowed to her, or the guards. They were also startled. She’d been hoping she was wrong that they’d mistaken her for some kind of…possibly a god. Hoping she was wrong about that. So much. But…fuck it could be useful to keep the baby murder from happening again. She’d been being overly dramatic with the whole chilling the air and shit for a reason.
At least by walking with purpose, no one was trying to speak with her. It was going to be important she was careful with what she said. A thing, she was not great at, or well ok she could be very good at it. But she usually knew what the fuck the situation was. The joy of vibrations though, she could at least figure out how to get to Elia. Or well, could feel the two much smaller hearts that were only two hallways and several doors down from where she’d been sleeping. Process of elimination. She was pretty sure the smaller heartbeats of other kids further off weren’t the two currently having their murders plotted.
Which was why, she needed to talk to Elia, who was the princess or queen mother? something like that, and was the person nominally in charge. Because Daisy needed to know how fucked this side of the civil war was, so she could at least understand if they were negotiating surrender or what. She paused as she reached the door, there were six people besides the kids, but she was pretty sure both kids were still asleep from the heartbeats. But everyone else felt awake, but not panicked.
Daisy felt kind of bad for intruding, also kinda bad that clearly she wasn’t the only one who’d taken more of a nap, than actual sleep. Though, Elia had probably gotten to her bed an hour or two before Daisy. Being sure the wolf army was only sending in the agreed on amount of men, the violence was really over, and making sure the traumatized-looking teenager in white hadn’t gotten himself killed going over to the lion army, had taken a while.
She knocked on the door, ignoring the look she was getting from the man in red and black and dragons guarding the door. Daisy could admit that she probably should have asked the guard. Because he just opened the door for her, bowing. So dying in a hole of embarrassment could get added to the list of things to do, after the bath.
“Thank you,” Daisy looked at him, she wasn’t trying to be an asshole.
The guard nearly keeled over he bowed so fast, his face bright red. “Holiness.” His voice croaked.
Well…at least she wasn’t the only one who was going to want to die in a hole.
She walked into the rooms in the light of day without immediate violence, and wow these rooms were so fancy. The wealth on display everywhere was intense. Daisy wasn’t someone who’d grown up around it, but she knew it when she saw it. She barely kept herself from balking though as she spotted the three women, including Elia had risen to their feet before dropping into what was probably curtsies. That’s what that was called…right?
“Holiness, you are most welcome,” Elia’s voice was smoother in the light of day.
Daisy blinked, they were not rising again. “You can stand.” She had to force herself not to make that a question, also she was 99% sure they thought she was a god.
Elia rose, which somehow she made look elegant, her features striking in the light of day. She certainly stood out, in orange and yellow against the reds and blacks of the room. “Thank you, Holiness. Is there a service you require of any of us here?”
“I had some questions if that’s alright?” Daisy had a lot of questions, but she was going to have to refrain from demanding answers to all of them. She just needed enough to function.
Elia waved to the seats around the sitting area that this room seemed to be. “Of course, we would be happy to answer any questions you may have, Holiness.”
They so thought she was a god. And honestly, if she was right, their continuing to think she was a god might be the only thing keeping them alive.
“What are you going to negotiate for, with Lord Stark?” Daisy walked closer before sitting on one of the very fancy velvet couch things.
Elia hesitated, but then followed suit, sitting across from her, eyes dark and examining as she did so. The two women with her followed suit after her. The others in the room were clearly servants. Elia spoke slowly, “Time, if I cannot have time, I would ask for a safe escort for myself and my children to Dorne, the rest of this Household would be spared if we were not here, now that Aerys is dead, Holiness.” She folded her hands in her lap. “Lord Stark is reputed to be a good and honorable man. I would rather risk our surrender to him, than to the army that will arrive next.”
Daisy blinked, “How many factions are there in this civil war?” Because that was two separate armies here to kill them at the gates right now, and there was a third one coming? What the fuck? She paused at the look on everyone’s faces, “Can you show me on a map? I was trying to keep a star from being stolen and then I was here. I’m not caught up on what is going on, and I can’t help you if I don’t know at least some of it.”
“A map if you would,” Elia looked to one of the servants who immediately began to move, before returning her attention to Daisy. “I apologize ahead of time, I am less aware of the details than perhaps Ser Jaime would be, Holiness.”
She waived off the implied offer, “He was still awake when I went to sleep, he should get as much sleep as he can.”
“That is kind of you, Holiness.” Elia hesitated as the rolled-up map was brought to them, “If I may, do you require human sustenance? I ask only so that if you wish we may provide it for you.”
Daisy blinked, oh wow, yeah they really thought she was a god. “I eat human food, slightly more than a human would.”
“If it pleases you then, would you wish for your morning meal to be brought here as well that you might join us, Holiness?” Elia offered, and even though the woman clearly was unsure of what to do about Daisy, she didn’t seem terrified. Or like she’d want Daisy to leave. She seemed more nervous.
Daisy smiled, her body language casual, “That’d be fine.”
“Then it would be an honor for you to join us, Holiness.” Elia smiled, it was even mostly genuine.
The woman in the green dress carefully rolled out a map of a continent.
Elia gently laid her fingers on a mark of a city, “We are here, in King’s Landing, Holiness.” She traced her finger across the map indicating the regions she spoke over, her voice warm. “The Lannister army outside our gates that you saved us from, are from the Westerlands. Lord Stark’s Northern army is allied with the Riverlands, Vale, and Stormlands. The nearest royal force is sieging Storm’s End, south of us.”
As Elia’s voice washed over them, describing names and army locations, Daisy felt a sinking in her stomach. The situation was dire. She could put together a lot from what Elia wasn’t saying, and it was not good. Creepy insane king that Jaime had stabbed being dead and her being inhuman were the only reason there’d been a chance in hell for anyone here to survive. And Elia wasn’t saying it, but it was likely she’d been a hostage of some kind herself.
None of the armies loyal to the dragon faction, she still wasn’t sure what their name was, were close enough to arrive and prevent this from being a surrender negotiation. That’s what this was going to be. She’d have to really flex her powers to put the baby on the throne. And baby King, that sounded like a horrible idea.
Daisy could see the same knowledge painted across Elia’s face. There was nothing for it. “So you want to have surrendered to Stark before the rest of his faction can get here?”
“It is the only choice where my children might live, Holiness.” Her expression was grieved.
Daisy felt a sharp pang, this woman did not deserve to have her children’s lives threatened. “If you do surrender to him, what happens to your children?”
“If Lord Stark is very kind, I will be forced to abdicate their claims and be permitted to bring them to Dorne, only permitted to leave when they are of age, to reaffirm their abdication and loyalty to Robert Baratheon before returning to Dorne.” Her smile was bitter, “He’d be a fool to agree to that. If he is wise Rhaenys will be betrothed to Robert’s heir once he sires a son and Aegon will be a hostage till he is two and ten, and then be sent to the Wall to live out his days. I cannot surrender nor abdicate for her Grace, Rhaella and Prince Viserys. If they are fortunate they will flee.”
It was clear Elia did not think either of those options would happen. “What do you think you can get Stark to agree to?”
“Aegon and Rhaenys raised as wards of House Stark till their fates are decided by the new King.” Elia was…grief-stricken as she spoke, no matter how desperately she was trying to hide it.
Daisy stared at the woman, “You wouldn’t be going with them in that case, would you?”
“No, I would be returned to Dorne, Holiness.” She managed to say.
Daisy had spent over half her life desperate for a family that wanted her. And even once she’d found SHIELD, that pain never left. “I won’t let you be separated from your children if you don’t want to be. No matter how negotiations go.”
////
Elia could breathe, for the first time in weeks, yet her eyes and chest burned with the desperate desire to sob. For the first time in months, she was assured she would not have her children ripped away from her. She did not care if she had to go north, east, west, or south, so long as her children were not stolen from her. The future was uncertain, but this felt like hope. The presence of the Stranger was all that allowed her to keep her composure.
A presence that if she was truly as faithful as she had thought herself should have her crying on her knees in reverence at the sight of. Let alone that that being had saved her, touched her and her children. That was a thing none could say had happened since Hugor of the Hill, the first King of the Andals. Yet she and her children had been so blessed. And in all the chaos she had…oh she was failing horribly as host. Yet even knowing that all she could think of was a desperate desire to go and hug her children and cry into their hair, for they would not be parted.
Elia managed to find her voice, “I can never repay that, holy Stranger, yet I will-”
“Nothing, you don’t owe me,” The Stranger cut in, her tone firm. “It's just basic decency, you love them, you’re their mom. If you want to, you can help someone else when you have a chance.” There was a flicker of something nearly uncomfortable in the god.
Elia was unsure how she might have attempted to repair any insult she may have given, she was too struck by the divine words, the mercy and humility of it to speak easily. But before she had a chance the door from her bed chambers opened, and Rhaenys came bursting out with all the energy of a child of three years could contain.
Rhaenys burst out, eyes wide, and every instinct in Elia’s body demanded she swoop up her daughter into her arms. Only the exhaustion of the last night and the knowledge that to rise was to ignore the divine showing her more grace than she’d have dared imagine in her wildest flights of fancy, kept her in her seat for a few precious seconds. Precious, because Elia’s darling babe, her beautiful daughter, saw their guest.
“Stwengew!” Rhaenys half squealed, before shooting for the startled-looking Stranger, fabric and stuffing dragon squished under one arm. She rushed straight for the Stranger.
Elia could not get to her daughter without diving over the low table and risking knocking into the god, but she still rose to her feet, reaching out, terror forcing her to hesitate.
Rhaenys screeched to a halt just inches from the Stranger’s knee. Her face, thank the gods, turned hesitant, “Do you like dwagons, Stwangew?” And oh, her lisp with the ‘r’s was so apparent, always worse in the morning or late at night. And of course, that is what her daughter would ask.
Her mouth opened, to excuse her daughter, to draw attention away from her, but the words paused in her throat, not from terror, but from the way the Stranger’s face went soft.
“Dragons are very awesome,” The Stranger said seriously with a warm tenor.
Rhaenys nodded seriously and then climbed up onto the chaise lounge. With a puffing effort, she dropped herself on the crushed velvet against the Stranger. And then shoved her fabric dragon as close to the god’s face as her little arms could reach.
“Holiness-” The air caught in Elia’s throat, her words halting, not because she’d been interrupted, but because it wasn’t necessary.
It was a miracle, the Stranger had shifted slightly, though not away from Rhaenys, laughter in her eyes as she carefully accepted the stuffed dragon. “Does your very fierce dragon have a name?”
“Meleys! The wed queen!” Rhaenys excitedly said, “Her wings aw pink! But the west of her is wed!” Her little face scrunched up, “Red!”
The Stranger’s fingers gently ran over the fabric toy that Oberyn had had specially made for Rhaenys when she was still a babe at the teat. “Fearsome and beautiful,” The Stranger agreed, her lips curled as she carefully passed the toy back.
Rhaenys wrapped her arms around Meleys happily, clutching her toy to her chest, her bright warm eyes on the god. “You’re dwessed funny, Stwanger.”
“Maybe I think you’re dressed funny,” The Stranger gently tapped Rhaenys’ nose. “And you can call me Daisy instead of Stranger.”
Rhaenys’ face scrunched up, “But you’re the Stwanger?”
“I have a lot of names, but my friends call me Daisy.” She smiled, “And you did show me Meleys.”
Rhaenys face lit with a smile. “Fwiends!” and then was hugging the side of the god.
The Stranger didn’t hesitate, fondness painted across her face as she wrapped her arm around Rhaenys’ shoulders with all due gentleness. “So, is Meleys your favorite dragon?”
“Your Highness,” Her lady Clare Chelsted, touched her arm, voice soft, as she carefully pulled her attention away from the divine and her daughter, “Perhaps you should send word to a seamstress?”
Elia looked at the woman, forcing herself back into her duties, no matter the rest. “Yes of course, you are right to remind me, if you would fetch a page, Lady Chelsted?”
“At once, your Highness,” Clare gave her forearm a gentle squeeze, before leaving for another room to find a page.
Elia looked at her daughter, she was…safe. Gods may be unpredictable, but she thought, prayed, that this shape of Death held perhaps a softness for children. This was the fourth time the Stranger showed it in regards to Elia’s own children. The image of the Stranger holding Aegon to her the night before while covered in the blood of his enemies was one that would never leave Elia. So she chose to trust in this miracle.
She turned to see to preparations and what matters were her duty until her surrender was given. Though had not been her duty until Aerys had died. She had been more prisoner in truth over a month now. Not in part, entirely. She gestured a servant over, if Rhaenys was awake, Aegon would be waking soon as well. “Pull out the dress for the prince and princess, the black velvets with red silks.”
“The ones made for her Highness’s nameday, your Highness?” Her only servant from Dragonstone that remained to her, asked. Ethis was a woman of middle age, her lavender eyes showing she was a dragonseed. It was a comfort to have her.
She smiled, “Yes exactly, though perhaps we shall wait until the children are fed before we dress them.”
Elia had accepted in her heart, that the Stranger just liked children, genuinely and really. Beyond that, she was used to them. It had not ceased to be strange, but it was no longer frightening every time a bit of food mess from Rhaenys’ porridge ended up on the Stranger. It was clear the Stranger was not merely humoring Elia’s daughter, she was genuinely interested. She found herself speaking, cautiously, “Holiness, I am afraid your trousers will be ruined.”
“They were already shot,” The Stranger gave a half-shrug, her arm staying securely around Rhaeny’s middle to keep her from tipping over. Rhaenys had refused to be separated from the Stranger, even when that meant breaking her fast while sitting on a god’s lap. “Even if they weren’t, it’s just clothing.”
Elia wondered how small they must seem? “Some cleaner trousers could be found for you if you wished, Holiness?”
“It’s fine, though I wouldn’t say no to that for tomorrow. I wasn’t expecting to be here, so I just have what I was wearing.” She popped a berry into her mouth off one of the bowls before her. Though, for all the finest had been brought, she seemed quite content with strawberries and porridge with an admittedly baffling amount of honey.
Rhaenys looked up at the Stranger, “That’s silly.”
“Yes, it probably was,” The Stranger laughed, and used the opportunity to neatly wipe Rhaenys’ cheeks. “Done feasting there, dragon?”
Rhaenys beamed, “Yes!”
Bless her, Lady Celtigar spoke, “If I may, I would take her Highness to prepare her for the day?” She clearly did not know if she was asking the god or Elia. But the god didn’t answer, so Elia did.
“Please, that would be most helpful,” Elia smiled, she found her two ladies in waiting she’d been permitted, while not of her own choosing, not poorly chosen. A kindness she likely owed to her good-mother, for it had certainly not been Aerys who had been kind.
////
Justin Massey was the fourth son of a sixth son of a third son. Which is to say for all he bore the name and arms of House Massey, he was nobody of any import, wealth, or expectation. But, House Massey was well known for their loyal service to House Targaryen since they had first landed in Westeros. As such, being given a position in the Red Keep under the Stewart had not been too much to hope nor ask for. And once he’d been given one he’d worked hard. He was proud of his position. Not head of the royal household or anything so grand. Only, the royal household had been decimated during the sack. So he was here, standing in the bed chamber the Stranger had slept in the night before.
He was filled with a righteous fury. He’d have the servants he’d assigned to these rooms whipped for their negligence if there was time and men to have such a thing done. Turning on his heel, he glared. “Explain to me how this happened?”
“The Stranger only slept four candle marks after her long labor. We had not thought to have the connecting rooms prepared till five candle marks at the earliest lest the noise of such possibly wake her Holiness. How were we to expect all else?” Astris Spinner defended herself hotly.
His mouth tightened, no sense in screaming as he desired. “Do you have no Faith, no reverence? There should have been no possibility that we fail any whim of the Stranger.”
Astris bowed her head, at least in this she saw sense, the other half dozen servants assigned to these rooms shrank back to avoid notice. “What do we do now, my Lord?”
“The clothing and gauntlets, have them cleaned, immediately. Change out the sheets on the bed, burn incense in here, find from the royal chests three options of dress, both male and female for her to choose from, sleeping garb as well. If need be go to the nobles where they are locked in their chambers and relieve them of what dress from their chests as is required.” Justin nearly ran a hand through his hair, “Have the bath prepared, and keep it hot from now till she uses it. And for gods’ sake, someone get these Targaryen symbols out and replace them with the seven-pointed star and symbols of the Fath.”
Astris grimaced, “We’ll need a tailor and three seamstresses to adjust things with enough speed, at the least. Where are we to find such?”
“Send word to the city, only the best.” Justin nodded sharply, he had the King’s chambers to have stripped, and the hundreds of nobles locked in their rooms to pacify. He did not have time to manage every little thing. “Well, see to it! Now!”
////
Ned found the room he and his closest companions and guards were brought to a good sign that the end of this war was in sight. The room was grand as all things in the south and the Red Keep specifically were. But this one was clearly meant for work. It was a large oak table with fine chairs laid out around it, large windows that allowed light in, expensive beeswax candles further lighting the room, and parchment and ink already laid out upon the table. He frowned slightly at who was waiting for him. Standing to greet him were Ser Jaime, Lord Symond Staunton, and Princess Elia Martell.
“Lord Stark, welcome to this table of peace,” Elia graciously welcomed them in, her hand waving to the seats across from her. She stood as if her two babes were not in the arms of her ladies in waiting and being quietly entertained to one side of the room.
He swallowed back a question on why children were here. They were here because there was only one Kingsguard, and Elia did not trust her babes to still live if she left them out of her sight. Only one member of the small council meant the rest were dead or in the dungeons. “Your Highness, it would please me to see this war ended.”
“As it would all of us I think, Lord Stark, please sit. The Stranger will likely join shortly,” Elia meant that, as the seat of most importance at the head of the table was left empty, but clearly prepared to be claimed.
William Dustin’s voice was loud in comparison to the sweetness of the Princess’ voice. “Where are the Lords? Surely the small council should be here for this if it is to be legal, your Highness?”
“Dead, gone, or traitors, I’m afraid my Lord,” Elia replied with all the southern gentleness of her position in her tone if not her words. “However, I am a Princess of Dorne, a Princess of the Targaryen dynasty, and my son is Rhaegar’s true born heir, there is no one more able to hold these talks than myself. Or do you disagree?”
Ned wished that Rhaegar had been content with this woman who was beautiful, poised, and plainly a loving mother to his children. “No one believes it is not your right to speak for yourself, or your children, your Highness.” Or he’d settle it, it was her right.
He stepped to the seat offered and pulled the chair back, his men doing as expected of them and following suit. Not that it was more than William Dustin, Howland Reed, Ethan Glover, and Mark Ryswell. Important men, but not many men.
He looked over as the door on the other side of the room opened, and nearly choked. Ethan and Mark did. His eyes widened, he’d never seen a woman so brazenly dressed as the southern god of death came striding into the room.
“Oh good, you haven’t started yet.” The Stranger said, not a flicker of anything save easy confidence. She was different in the light of day, more human appearing, and wearing less. But he also noticed the scars across her bared skin, of which there were many, as he bowed. She didn’t leave them bent for long in the slightest, “You can straighten, rise, stop bowing?”
He straightened, watching as she slid into the seat at the head of the table. Last night, or far earlier this morning, she had moved like a rock in a stream, commanding, and unflinching. Now, she moved looser, but it still made the hairs on the back of his neck stand on end. For all her grace, utter lack of concern with propriety, or perhaps because of it, she resembled nothing so much as a predator slipping through the woods.
“Holiness, it is an honor you would join us,” Elia welcomed the god.
Ned took his own seat, “Now that we all are here if we could begin, your Highness.”
“Of course, no doubt you already know, but I would assure you that your sister Lady Lyanna has not been brought here at any point of this war. Also, I am unsure of where my husband left her before his death. I truly wish I could give you news or aid in this, all I know is when he came here before leaving for the Trident, he came from the south.” Elia was kind in her tone, her honesty not a thing Ned questioned. Not in this.
His hands did tighten, his knuckles turning white. “I received word of where she was taken, the sooner we end this war the sooner I may retrieve her.”
“Wait, your sister was kidnapped?” The Stranger blinked. “She’s being held hostage somewhere right now? That’s why you’re so intense?”
It was a directionless rage, one cold and sharp he’d beaten down. “Rhagar Targaryen stole my sister and when my father and brother asked for her return the King burned them alive.”
“Your father was not the only one burnt alive, Lord Stark,” One of the ladies in waiting said sharply. “The Mad King wronged us all.”
Elia spoke quickly before any of Ned’s party could speak in outrage, “Lady Chelsted, while we all grieve for your father’s death, that is no excuse for rudeness to Lord Stark.”
The woman, Lady Chelsted, was pale as she faced him, and even he’d heard of Aerys burning his Hand of the King alive. “My apologies Lord Stark, I should not have spoken out of turn.”
The Stranger cleared her throat, ignoring the alarmed looks as they realized at once they’d forgotten a god. “Lyanna, when you say kidnapped, how old is she?”
“Forgive me, my sister is six and ten, though none have seen her for over a year now, Holiness,” Ned replied, his throat tight.
The Stranger’s face sharpened, “Where is your sister being held?” It was an order.
Ned braced himself, “With all respect, no, Holiness.”
“I’m offering to go get her for you,” The Stranger looked at him, the danger fading. “I’m not threatening her.”
“Why, Holy Stranger?” He found himself asking.
She raised a brow, “I don’t care about your political…everything? going on right now. But this war is ending or I’ll end it. So, your sister, I will go and get her.” The Stranger winced, “She’ll probably retch from how I travel, but it won’t hurt her. Motion sickness and all that. You could make her some tea or something for when I get her back to you.”
“Why would you care, my House does not offer worship or tribute to your person, Holy Stranger. There is no reason for you to aid my House?” Ned refused to hope, to believe that this could be good.
The Stranger sat forward, “Because you are telling me there is a sixteen-year-old out there who has been kidnapped for a year. I’m not all-powerful, and my powers aren’t meant for situations like this. But that doesn’t mean helping you isn’t the right thing to do.”
Ned had seen this god contain more power than any army, he’d seen her fly, he’d seen the result of her rage. “Dorne, Rhaegar took her to the Tower of Joy.”
“That’s preposterous!” Lord Staunton and master of laws, the only man of the small council there burst out, his voice nearly covering the sharp hiss from Elia. “What fool's notion is that, that Prince Rhaegar would take the girl to Dorne?!”
“Peace, Lord Staunton.” Elia’s said with more grace than could have been expected. She looked at Ned, “Lady Ashara wrote you, my Lord?”
He gave a slight nod, “Aye, two moons again, your Highness.”
“Can you circle it on a map?” The Stranger leaned against the table. “I’m sure while I get the kidnapped teenager you all have bodies and wildfyre to remove from the city.”
Ned paused, “The city? Is the wildfyre not in the Keep?”
“It's everywhere,” Ser Jaime’s voice was hoarse. “Aerys had it placed everywhere, the entire city.”
“You mean this whole city could burn, with all of us in?!” Ethan Glover burst out in horror that filled them all.
Ned knew as he saw the stacks of wildfyre pots that Ser Jaime had led them to. This was the horror they’d been driven to. Men burned alive, sacking of the city, murder, rape, and war; he found he did not wonder why a god of death had come. “We must move it outside of the city.”
////
Daisy had gone through every swear word in every language she knew about an hour ago. This map could go fuck itself. Pushing herself up she spat out a mouth full of sand. Anakin Skywalker had it right, sand sucked. Also, Daisy squinted, around the desert. She might have overshot. The Tower of Joy had been marked as being in a more mountainous area. Standing up she looked around, fuck, mountains behind her, she definitely had over shot…by like at least fity miles…more like a hundred probably. “Shit.”
She missed the zephyr. So much.
It was still dry and sandy, but more rocky when she landed again. And the tower that had had her angling down was there. It was non-descript and abandoned-looking, but she could feel people inside. Five people were in there. She frowned, if she was a dickbag kidnapper, she’d have put the prisoner above the third story at a minimum, the fifth floor if the girl seemed desperate.
She sat down considering, she was stupidly thirsty, flying was work thanks. Also, the tower had an amazing view of any approach. Hostage rescue 101, don’t let them see you coming till the hostage was secured. Waiting till twilight would be safest, she could get in and out easily once the visibility dropped.
This planet was a medieval hell hole though. Daisy cocked her head to the side. They thought she was a god, one named the Stranger, she’d realized that was a specific name a while ago. A thing she was going to have to figure out who/what the Stranger was…eventually. Problem for later, but if she was being mistaken for a god, they didn’t have people with powers or significant ones around.
Sand storm, she could fake a sand storm. This had better be the right fucking tower.
////
Lyanna was shuffling back to her room, one hand pressed to the small of her back. She let her other hand on her stomach, “You couldn’t stop kicking for a few hours?”
“Huh, that’s going to make things a bit harder.” A woman’s voice came from further into the room.
She looked up, and she wasn’t sure if what was stuck in her throat was a snarl or a scream. It was the first face she’d seen that was not a Kingsguard or the single servant in the tower in over a month. It was not any face or person she could have possibly imagined.
Standing by the window, was a woman, she was of no strange stature, but that was the only thing about her that was not strange. Her features were foreign, her clothing bizarre, and looking rather like she’d rolled in the dirt.
Lyanna swallowed, she didn’t know if she should scream out for help or not. But how had this woman gotten here? “Who are you?”
“Had to go for a complicated question,” The woman held up a Stark banner. “But I’m here to get you to your brother.”
Her eyes burned, “How is he here?”
“He’s in King’s Landing actually, I’m here to get you to him.” The woman replied easily.
Lyanna straightened, this was, this was impossible. Her honorable older brother would not send a woman like this, over that great of a distance, that was not plausible. “Who are you?” She was too heavy with child to fight if need be, and the woman could be to her before any of the Kingsguard could reach her. Delay, she needed to delay.
“And right back to the complicated thing,” The woman tilted her head. “Convenient, the wind that’s been buffeting this place, but it’s stopped almost as fast as it started.”
She frowned, “What?” That made no sense, it was the wind.
The woman sighed, “Right, it’d be easier if you don’t scream.” She raised a hand, the room filling with a breeze, the air turning sharply cold, no more inescapable heat of the Dornish sun. “I have a lot of names, but you can call me Daisy if you want. But we really don’t have long to get you out of here before your guards notice, and I’ve killed so many people in the last twenty-four hours not adding to that would be nice.”
Lyanna went very still. All hopes of reaching her plate and possibly a knife, or grabbing something solid enough to whack the woman over the head, vanished. It’d been a far-fetched hope, she knew how this pregnancy had limited her, her guards no longer worried greatly at her possible escape after all. “I don’t understand.” It was galling how weak her voice was with fear. She could do nothing, again.
“Your brother said his sister had been kidnapped, and I’m not a fan of people being kidnapped.” Daisy, which couldn't possibly be her name, walked over to the sideboard pouring a cup of water, “You can grab the knife if you want, I do bleed if I get stabbed.”
Lyanna took two steps and grabbed the knife off the table from beside her plate, brandishing it lowly. She eyed the woman, “You’re a witch.”
“Uh, no, magic isn’t really my thing, I’m just not human.” She lifted the cup and drained the whole thing, her eyes closing.
Lyanna grip tightened her grip on the knife. But…she’d said her brother had sent her. Hope kept her rooted to her stop.
Daisy turned, it was frustrating how clearly she was trying not to scare her. The woman sighed but held out her hand. “If you want to leave, I can get you to your brother. Or, I can take a letter or note back to him from you. But you need to decide now, your guard is at the bottom of the stairs and coming up.”
"I can't…" Her hand that had never left her bump trembled as she pressed it more firmly against herself.
Daisy took a half step forward, face soft. "Everyone knows you were kidnapped, being pregnant is not going to be a shock to anyone unless they're idiots. Your brother was willing to say no to a god until he was satisfied I wouldn't hurt you. He loves you."
"Which god?" Lyanna stared at the woman, unforgivably challenging. She had to believe Ned would protect her, but she didn't know this woman and she did not like being lied to.
Daisy's voice was steady if careful, "Your people call me Stranger."
"Death," She whispered, staring at the strangest, most serious of the Seven.
Daisy’s eyes widened slightly before she huffed, eyes flicking to the door. "We need to go." She held out her hand again.
Lyanna took the hand, she didn't drop the knife.
Lyanna hadn't retched since that first awful month when near everything had turned her stomach. Now she was retching the last bitter contents of her stomach, her knees had shaken so badly she'd fallen onto them. She was too miserable to be anything but grateful as Death held her hair back and rubbed gentle circles against her back. It was the kindest human touch she’d had in months, selfishly she couldn't pull away from it, even if it came from Death.
"You're ok, it's just motion sickness, it'll pass," Daisy soothed.
Lyanna grimaced, "How are you not ill?" Her voice was a croak, eyes squinted shut.
"Never really got motion sick," Daisy at least sounded empathetic about it. "Feeling up to getting up to your feet?"
Lyanna shook her head, shame curling in her at it. "I do not believe I can stand."
"Alright, I promise no more flying." Daisy then promptly picked her up, hooking one arm under her knees, the other wrapped firmly around her back. It was addictively secure, the god warmer than humans.
Lyanna kept her eyes closed, she could hear the sounds of men around them, she knew the god had landed them on the edges of her brother’s army. She didn’t want to face the Northerners, she could cry from the sound of her name on the lips of men in thick Northerner accents. It felt so much like home she could cry. But she burned, she’d left this, she never should have believed Rhaegar, have gone with him.
She would have to tell rule-abiding, honorable Ned. Ned who’d never faced a rule or duty he didn’t follow. She’d have to tell him all of it. The whole ugly truth of why their father and brother had been killed. That she was ruined and too weak to walk.
“Your brother loves you, and if he’s an idiot I’ll kick him in the shins for you,” Daisy said softly as she carried them across the ground with even strides, her arms too steady for any human.
It was incredibly stupid, but in all the things she’d done, it barely counted, especially since she’d already taken Death’s hand. She wondered which risk had been greater? To trust Rhaegar or trust Death? One had done exactly as they’d promised. “Don’t leave, please?”
“I got you, but I will need to leave eventually,” She was far too kind for Death.
Lyanna wiped at her face, “Thank you.”
“Hey, it’s fine,” Daisy squeezed her gently, “You might want to take a look over there though.”
Lyanna dared to look up, and there was Ned, standing stock still, staring at her like he couldn’t believe his eyes.
His voice cracked, “Lyanna.” And then he broke into a desperate, scrambling, run for them.
She wasn’t sure when she ended up on her feet, the knife clattering from her pockets to the dirt, moving for her brother, “Ned!”
He caught her before she could fall, pulling her into his arms, “You’re safe!” Holding her to him, the smell of sweat, leather, and fur in the air around him, the scratch of the stubble on his chin scratching against her cheek as he held her.
Lyanna cried, great heaving sobs as she clung back to him. “I’m sorry, I’m so sorry.”