"There's not going to be a siege, your Grace." Ser Richard Horpe said to Stannis before he turned towards Winterfell, where Horpe stared. Stannis Baratheon watched as the forces of the Bastard of Bolton charged towards him. Hundreds of men, all mounted on cavalry charged towards him, as his men shivered in the cold, desperate for supplies and in an indefensible position. Knowing their chances of victory were laughably slim, Stannis glared at the charging forces of the Bolton's before raising his sword high in the air, defiant to the last.
Stannis could hear some of the men grumbling that they stood no chance, but it pleased him as he raised his steel to hear them draw swords and prepare for the assault, if they died, they would die together, fighting for the rightful King of Westeros, fighting to save their country and their people. Stannis began to slowly march towards the advancing cavalry as his men followed, before suddenly the Bolton's were upon them, screams and shouts filled the cold autumn skies as swords hacked into horses, horses trampled men, spears shattered onto armour and men, both Baratheon and Bolton alike, took their last breaths in the cacophony of battle.
As the battle progressed and as his men slowly but surely began to falter, they were pushed further back, into the treelines, the Bolton cavalry would do them little good in the forest, and as his men withdrew to shore up their defences, Stannis could see the Bolton forces begin to dismount, and charge towards them in earnest. They knew they had the numbers, the strength and the energy to press home. In that moment, Stannis knew his time had come.
"For Stannis!" He roared as his men roared the war cry back at him and they charged towards the Bolton's once more, hacking and slicing their way through the enemy, but the Bolton's had several times his number, and for every man they cut down, Bolton had three more to replace him. He was pushed further back himself, and tripped over the falling corpse of one of his own men, before a Bolton blade pierced his leg. With a snarl, he whirled around and sliced the neck of the Bolton infantryman, killing him quickly. Falling to his knees, he saw he was alone. The last remnants of the battle had moved away, all around him were dead men, several of whom simply cried out for life, unaware it was too late for them now.
Stannis rose to his feet unsteadily and leaning on his blade, began to limp away from the bodies, hearing a noise behind him, he stopped and turned as he heard a man beg for mercy before the blade silenced his cries. Looking around, he saw two of Bolton's men approach, grinning as they trapped their prey.
With cries they charged at him, blocking their first few strikes, he felt the blade sluice into him and he staggered, as they charged again he threw himself at one of the attackers, driving his blade into his stomach, leaving his sword embedded as he heard the other charging again, he drew his dagger and quickly rammed it into his throat, eyes wide in hate and anger as the man choked on his own blood and fell to the floor, lifeless. The King had slain two foes single-handedly, a great feat for lesser men, but for the last, failing hope of the Seven Kingdom's, it would merely be just another small victory in what had turned out to be a pointless and defeated war.
Falling with the Bolton bannerman, Stannis pulled himself upright and leant against a tree, releasing a cry of agony as he inspected his wounds, he knew this would be his spot to die, whether from his wounds, or if the Bastard would find him and flay him first. Stannis may not be a religious man, but he prayed for the former.
Hearing the soft crunching of snow, he turned to see a large woman standing above him, hand on the hilt of her sword. She looked strangely familiar, but from where he could not place.
"Bolton has women fighting for him?" Stannis asked in shock. He wouldn't have expected the Bastard to have used women soldiers against him.
"I don't fight for the Bolton's." The woman spat, rage and hate on her face as she looked down at the King. "I'm Brienne of Tarth."
'Ah.' Stannis thought. That was where he knew her from. A fellow Stormlander, and technically his bannerman. Was she here to help him escape?
"I was Kingsguard to Renly Baratheon."
'Renly…' Stannis thought, thinking back to a much simpler time, before all this happened, before any of it, back when Aerys still sat the throne, and a small innocent boy would run around Storm's End, calling up to the skies, and Stannis would glare at him for his immaturity, but secretly he would smile behind Renly's back at the younger's actions.
Brienne talked again and drew Stannis from his reverie, as she espoused about how she was there when the shadow demon killed his brother. If Stannis could have made Renly see the light, and the folly of his actions, he would never had had to do that. Yet even though it had been the safest call, it was one of his largest regrets. The Tyrell host had abandoned him for the Lannister's, and in the end the throne was lost. But more than that, it had cost him the life of his only surviving brother. If Stannis could change one thing, he'd make Renly bend rather than kill him.
"You murdered him, with blood magic?" Brienne demanded to know as Stannis felt exhaustion overtake him. But he would not bend, not to anything. He would answer the wench if she had sought him out, it was only fitting and honourable.
"I did." Stannis admitted shortly, refusing to give the pain, the exhaustion or Brienne the satisfaction of his sorrow. He had said his piece, why should he waste energy and breathe on begging for mercy? He knew his time had come, he knew his punishment for kinslaying was at hand. Best to get on with it.
Brienne drew her sword as she began to intone "In the name of Renly of the House Baratheon, First of his name, Rightful King of the Andals and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, I, Brienne of Tarth, sentence you to die." She spat as Stannis looked upon her with resigned dignity.
This was it. The moment of reckoning. He would not run. He would not beg. He would not even fight. She believed it was her duty to avenge Renly, the man may have been a usurper but he was still her King, and Stannis could respect loyalty and devotion to service. Let her do what she must.
"Do you have any last words?" Brienne asked of him, noting his calmness and his resigned acceptance.
There was so much Stannis wanted to say, so much he could have said in this instance, but none of them felt right. They would appear to be begging, or else mindless drivel, from a man wishing to delay the inevitable. Unless this Red God brought him back too, Stannis now knew that Melisandre was also full of it, there were no Gods, there was no prophecy, and there would only be the end of all things once the dead marched through the Wall.
"Go on, do your duty." Stannis finally said, he would not banter with his executioner. He would merely accept it.
Stannis looked into the mad she-bear's eyes as she raised her blade and with a cry, brought it down upon his neck, the slice of steel and the feeling of warmth and cold at once was all Stannis could feel, before everything turned to darkness.
/
"Lord Stannis? My Lord? Stannis?" A familiar voice said as Stannis opened his eyes.
"Where am I?" Stannis asked, feeling a chair beneath him and seeing a table before him. This seemed a long way off from the cold, snowy field outside the ruin that was once Winterfell.
"My Lord, we were discussing the plans for the Targaryen's?" The man said to him, looking up Stannis saw a man he had not laid eyes on in several years.
"Lord Arryn?" He asked as Jon Arryn smiled down at him.
"Ah, I see you're awake again. Good, we can continue." He smiled as he took his seat as well.
'What is happening?' Stannis asked himself as he saw the long dead Lord of the Vale before him.
"Where am I? What happened?" Stannis asked him.
"What do you mean?" Jon Arryn looked confused. "You're in the Red Keep. Did you hit your head, My Lord? Should I send for Grand Maester Pycelle, or a healer?"
"No, thank you My Lord, I shall be fine." Stannis assured him as his head felt like spinning. What was going on here? Lord Arryn seemed to be back and he was apparently in King's Landing and not a condemned prisoner of the bastard, Tommen.
How was this happening?