Chapter 12: Bastard Parley
After a few days the Vale knights separated from their army along with a small number from each house, bringing them below four thousand as they approached Winterfell. That number grew slightly when the Cassels, Condons, Mollens and Pooles joined them along with the Hornwoods.
Finally the day came and Sansa sat mounted atop a gray palfrey beside Jon and a dozen other lords. They watched as a party rode toward them from Winterfell. At the front rode Ramsay Bolton with Small Jon Umber and Harald Karstark at his sides.
When they came to a stop, Sansa barely noticed the briefest of smiles tug at Karstark's lips seeing the lords. He was theirs. Not only had Jon brought his wildling army, but every other house in the North. He'd kept his word relayed by Karstark's rider, and he would be his daughter's hope for a better life.
"It's her," said one of the men behind Ramsay, his eyes locked on Brienne. "The one who killed Hunnel and Lorik on that hunt. The one who got away from us."
Ramsay looked from the man to Brienne, his lips stretching into a vile grin. "Wonderful!" His gaze turned to Jon, briefly flicking toward Sansa, making her skin crawl. "I thank you for bringing me this wanted criminal. Now dismount and kneel before me. Surrender your army and proclaim me the true Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. I will pardon you for deserting the Night's Watch. I will pardon these treasonous lords for betraying my house."
Jon and every lord simply stared at Ramsay.
"Come, bastard. What can you do with half an army, most of them horseless wildlings wielding stone axes and brittle steel sword. You don't have Winterfell. All you have are lords foolish enough to follow a deserter. Why lead those poor souls into a slaughter? There's no need for a battle. Get off your horse and kneel. I am a man of my word." His eyes shifted to Sansa. "I'll let you watch."
Sansa stared at Ramsay, not letting him see her discomfort. She, like the others, looked to Jon, who exhaled.
"You're right. There's no need for a battle."
Ramsay grinned, eyes gleaming with gluttonous guttural glee.
"Thousands of men don't have to die. Only one of us." That earned a smirk from Tormund. "Let's end this the old way. You against me."
A few of the other lords exchanged looks while Davos and Tormund focused on Ramsay and his men, Sansa glancing at Jon. Small Jon's lips twisted into a smirk while Karstark remained impassive.
Jon stayed locked on Ramsay's eyes, ice on ice, neither breaking until Ramsay laughed. "I've heard stories about you… bastard. The way people in the North talk about you, you're the greatest swordsman who ever walked." He smirked, shrugging. "Maybe you are that good… Maybe not. I don't know if I'd beat you… I know that my army will beat yours. I have six thousand men. You have…. Four? Three? How many of them are untrained wildlings and broken men from your brother's war?"
"Aye, you have the numbers," said Jon. "Will your men want to fight for you when they hear you wouldn't fight for them?"
The humor drained from Ramsay's face before restraining himself, waving a finger. "He's good. Very good!" He spoke through grit teeth, then seemed to regain his composure. "Tell me. Will you let your little brother die because you're too proud to surrender?"
"Why should I trust the word of a coward?" asked Jon.
Ramsay's eyes narrowed, his jaw shifting, grinding his teeth. His hands squeezed the reins of his horse. Sansa kept her eye on him while some of the others shared brief glances, wondering if he would accept Jon's offer or even try to attack him.
Instead, Ramsay exhaled and looked to Small Jon. The man seemed unimpressed with Ramsay's display, but wordlessly reached back and tossed Shaggydog's head toward them. Jon and Sansa gave it a glance, her stomach twisting at her hope of it being a lie gone.
"Now," Ramsay nearly yelled before calming himself, saying more evenly, "if you want to save him, surrender."
"When morning comes I'd suggest visiting Old Gods, bastard," Jon said pointedly, "they'll be the only ones who might grant you mercy."
Ramsay's hand trembled slightly, his lips thinning as he stared into Jon's eyes. After a moment they twisted into a grin, his eyes leaving Jon to look toward the lords. "I see now why you followed him. He's a fool, but a brave one. It's a shame you're all going to die, but I'll make sure it's not too soon. Too much fun to be had," he said with lingering looks to the women, his grin growing when he found Lady Dustin's sneer.
"I'm sure Domeric will be happy to see you once my men have finished with you and I've made a cloak of your wrinkled skin Lady Dustin. And you, little Lady Mormont, I'm sure you'll grow into a fine bitch. My men will have so much fun with all of you, I promise!" Ramsay smiled, his eyes settling on Sansa. "But I'll keep you for myself, Lady Stark. Don't you worry.
"As for the rest of you… well, you're all fine looking men! My dogs are desperate to meet you. I haven't fed them in five days. They're ravenous! I wonder where they'll start? Your eyes? You balls?" He laughed, though no one else did. "We'll find out soon enough." Taking his reins in hand he gave Jon a curt nod. "In the morning then, bastard."
Jon sat impassively watching as Ramsay and his men turned to leave, galloping toward Winterfell. Tugging on his reins, Jon slowly turned his horse toward the lords. "Double the guard. He'll send people in the night."
Sansa turned her own horse and saw a grin stretch across Lady Dustin's lips. "Good to see it was as obvious as I thought."
"You sure that was smart?" Rodrik Ryswell asked. "Provoking him?"
"No doubt he'll come to meet us now," said Davos. "Thought he might have drawn on you a moment there."
"One of the perks of having more lords on our side is more swords here and now," said Eddara Tallhart.
"Thank you all," Jon said with a nod to them. "Now I suggest we return, finalize our plans and prepare as best we can. We'll have a fight tonight, and a war to end tomorrow."
XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO
To no one's surprise the guards caught a group of twenty five men trying to set fire to their supply tents. The moment they were found men from all around the camp arrived and the few that survived the initial fight and fled were shot through the heart, throat and eye at they ran.
The lords all gathered around the map in the main war tent and went over their plans for the morning. Once their plans were set a rider left camp to meet up with the Vale knights while some of the crannogmen started toward the river.
Jon made his way to his tent, the candles already lit as he removed his gloves, tossing them on his mattress. With a quick glance toward the flap of his tent he raised his hand, passing it over the flame of a candle. It barely touched his hand before he yanked it away, sucking a breath through his nose.
Of course Sansa would come in as he shook his hand. "You okay?"
Turning to her he squeezed the side of his hand the flame touched. "You know I'm going to disband your guard if this keeps up."
Sansa giggled. "What are you talking about?"
"If you can sneak away from them then someone can sneak past them," he said briskly, walking away from the candle.
Sansa furrowed her brow. "You think they'll come all this way, make it past an entire army to find my tent?"
Jon's eyes darkened. "You saw how he looked at you. What he said to you and the others." Jon's hand clenched. "I should have strangled him there."
"Then you would have done what he wanted," she said walking to him and placing a hand on his shoulder. "You did the right thing, Jon. You played him well."
Jon sighed, letting his hands fall to his sides. "I hope Karstark keeps his word. Otherwise I don't know what he'll do to Rickon."
Sansa frowned. "I… You can't worry about him, Jon. You can't let your concern for him let you make a mistake. If you die everything will fall apart. It's hard enough making them all work together."
"You'd manage," he assured.
"Maybe," said Sansa. "But there's more at stake then just the North."
He glanced at the bundle of dark cloth in her left hand. "What's that?"
Sansa perked up and stepped back, holding the bundle out for him. "I know you won't wear the cloak I made you into battle, so I started on this a few days before we got to White Harbor."
He took it and held it up, letting it unravel, revealing a black tabard with gray embroidery along the edges. On either side of the split along the legs and on the chest were white Stark direwolves with red eyes.
"I thought it serendipitous that it has stark colors as well as black and red."
Jon looked it over and smiled, meeting her eyes. "Thank you, Sansa."
She beamed with pride as she did when she gave him his cloak.
He slung it over his shoulder and stepped forward, Sansa biting her bottom lip in anticipation of him brushing his fingers across her cheeks as he brought his lips to her. Her left hand gripped his jerkin, holding him in place for a moment before they separated with a sigh. Sansa quickly reached into her sleeve, removing a small folded blue ribbon. "Here."
Unfolding it he smirked. "You want me to tie my hair back with this?"
She groaned at his teasing tone. "It's one of my ribbons."
Jon carefully set the tabard on his bed before turning to her. "Help me," he said wrapping the ribbon around his right wrist and held it out for her to tie. When she arched her brow he explained, "I'll be safer under my glove and vambrace."
Sansa nodded, carefully tying the ribbon tight enough to be secure but not enough to be bothersome. Looking it over he gave an approving nod. "And now I could face them alone and walk away unharmed."
Sansa pursed her lips. He sounded a bit too sincere for it to be pure teasing. "You'd better come back without a scratch." She brushed a hand over his chest, frowning. "You already have enough scars for a lifetime."
XOXOXOXOXOXOXOXOXO
"You want to avenge your king, don't you?" Tormund asked as he and Davos walked through the encampment.
"It wasn't the Boltons defeated Stannis. It was Stannis himself," said Davos. "I loved the man. He lifted me up and made me something, but he had demons in his skull whispering foul things."
"You saw these demons?" Tormund asked, making Davos come to a stop.
"What?" Tormund turned to the knight who shook his head. "No, it's a manner of speaking. Not… actual demons."
After a moment Tormund said, "Huh. Well you loved that cunt Stannis, but I loved the man he burnt. Mance didn't have demons in his skull. He didn't torch people or… listen to some red witch. I believed in him. I thought he was the man to lead us through the Long Night. But I was wrong, just like you."
Tormund started to go into his tent when Davos spoke. "Maybe that was our mistake. Believing in men playing at king."
Turning back to Davos, Tormund noted, "And Jon Snow's a king playing a bastard, just as he was a crow playing a free man."
"So he is," Davos said turning to him. "Yet it seems in the end his true colors always show."
Davos spent his night walking through the camp, nearly twice as large as it might have been if they hadn't traveled south. He avoided a peak were a group of guards had built a fire using bundles of charred wood as kindling.
Light broke the horizon and war horns sounded as dawn rose on the final day of the War for the North.
Notes:
Rather than rewatch the episode again and again I actually looked up a transcript for Battle of the Bastards and came across the Emmy script. Reading that really clarified a lot of what I don't like about Sansa in the show. There's a bit where they write "If Jon would kill Ramsay, Sansa would skin him living."
It was confirmation for me that they have no idea what to do with Sansa, just like many other characters. They want her to be vindictive and use Jon to get her revenge, then feel slighted by his being crowned king, but barely show any of that. They want her to seem as smart as Littlefinger but keep her from doing anything smart or decent, make her likely cost hundreds or thousands of lives, and want us to feel sympathetic for her and support her.
It's like the worst fan fiction. They ruined this really interesting character to try and do whatever they want, which is just a black hole dragging down everything around it. It feels like she should call herself Ebony Sansa and be going out for dates with Vampire Jon and Draco Joffrey.
There's so much potential with the book storylines. Sansa becoming Alayne could play out in a ton of ways that lead to interesting duel mentality moments, Ramsay could make a great foil for Jon, and the devastation when Jon realizes he went to war and was murdered for a girl who isn't even his sister could be heart wrenching.
It might have even been interesting if she was so indoctrinated by Petyr she was Alayne doing all this, since his daughter might be that kind of shitty person, and you'd have her struggling to be Sansa, moments of hope that she's still in there. Instead they seem to want her to as bad a person as her mother ever was to the point she's arguably villainous.
