Ramsay, Jon and Osmund all came face to face with each other down one of the corridors leading to the dining hall, all three of them with a sword in their hands. They had a plan. They'd had a plan for the better part of the month. They knew what they were to do if they were attacked. The Free Folk women and children were locked away in some of the hidden passages beneath Winterfell along with the help and the Red Woman who had, had to be dragged from her tower like room. Jon had taken care of the younger Starks. Ramsay had taken care of his two girls. Orys had freed the hounds and went to protect the Tyrells. Loras had headed outside with the men of Highgarden behind him.
"I doubt our attackers were dumb enough to base all of their men in one place," Jon stated, "We need men covering both floors of Winterfell and outside."
"I'll take the second floor," Osmund said immediately.
"I'll head outside," Ramsay offered.
Jon nodded and the men separated instantly. There was no time for kind words and thoughts when there were strange men within the halls of their home.
X
Sandor did not like flames. He didn't like fire. Fuck, he didn't even like heat. That was why he was here in the fucking blistering cold of the north and when he saw the little cunts that had caused the fire at Winterfell he was going to crush their fucking skulls. He wanted- no needed someone to enter the hall he stood in so that he could release some of his anger. Ramsay had given him simple instructions; 'kill anyone who doesn't look like a Stark'. He assumed that meant the Queen's Guard was exempt as well.
When Arya and Rickon headed out of a room, The Hound closed in on them rather quickly. Rickon looked tired and dazed but Arya looked determined. That wasn't a look he liked on her face.
"What are you doing out here little Starks?" he glowered.
This was what he needed, the little hotheaded girl Stark with her complaints and fucking lists.
"Bringing Rickon to Sansa," Arya said simply, "because I'm going outside."
The Hound chuckled at that. It was genuinely funny.
"Over my dead body," he said simply and crossed his arms over his chest.
The last thing he needed to deal with was a mad Sansa. He had no doubt that he could cut down Ramsay if it came to it, but he was enjoying the north. Sansa kept him fed and she wasn't a cunt like Joffrey. Tyrion always had the best alcohol and the whores were of a different breed. People still moved the fuck out of his way when he passed but he wasn't looked at as a freak. Sansa took in every fucking one. He feared it would be her downfall. She took in runaways like Tyrion Lannister and harpies like Olenna Tyrell and strays like him. She let in wildlings and giants and fucking direwolves. She was a shelter.
The Hound watched Arya pull out her sword in mild amusement. She had to be kidding. Did she actually think she was going to cut him down with that little thing? He rolled his eyes and grabbed each of the Stark children by one of their arms. He made his way across the hall and two door down and kicked it open.
He nodded once at Sansa who visibly became less tense at the realization that it was him and then threw her two youngest siblings at her feet.
"The girl wants to go outside," The Hound said simply and then he drew his sword and spun around letting the blade rest at the throat of Osmund.
He didn't like to be snuck up on, even if it wasn't intentional. Osmund had rounded the corner too fast. The Hound shot him a look. Osmund gave the hound a harsh look and then pushed the blade away from his neck. The two of them had a mutual respect. Osmund was probably the only good fight The Hound could get around here.
"I've come baring gifts," Osmund said and walked around The Hound and towards Sansa.
He forced the crossbow in to her hands and then turned back on his heels and headed out of the room without another word. The Hound let out a grunt, but followed him out, slamming Sansa's door behind him.
X
When Ramsay made it outside the first thing he noticed was that the fire had been put out rather quickly. That was one less thing he had to deal with. The second thing he noticed was the droplets of blood in the snow. He let his eyes adjust to the darkness and he looked around what had easily become a sort of battlefield. The Iron Born were gone- off with Yara and Tyrion. A good number of northerners had taken off to The Twins with Bronn. Sansa had sent away 8,000 of Olenna's men claiming she couldn't very well feed 12,000 of them. That meant that there were a handful of northerners, the Free Folk, The Knights of the Vale and a good number of those Highgarden men or knights or whatever they called themselves. Ramsay took that to mean they were still well ahead of the situation. He wasn't sure what Loras' men could do, but he figured whatever it was would be enough. Most of them littered the inside of Winterfell, afraid of abandoning Olenna and Margaery but a few had drifted outside with the Free Folk
It was cold- painfully so, but he liked it. He liked the way his skin was becoming so cold it was getting painful. He'd hopped out of bed and besides putting on shoes, he'd come out without as much as a thought of the weather. The moon was high tonight, a blessing. Torches were burning from high on Winterfell's walls, something he was sure the lookouts had done. At least they had done something right because looking out for trouble seemed to have just been beyond them. He heard grunting and the sound of steel hitting steel made him take a deep breath. Snow had begun to take the ground again and he was thankful for that. He knew that his men were northern born. They could fight in snow as well as they could drink. He was at home here. He sheathed his sword and pulled out two of his blades. He hadn't fought someone seriously in a long time- since Theon's men. Even taking The Twins had just resulted in the beheading of a few men who refused to bend the knee or take the black. This wasn't that. This was an attack. He wasn't attacking this time. He was being attacked. The thought made him laugh. He looked at the men he could tell were his, in their deep blue and brown; the Stark colors.
The third thing that Ramsay noticed was that the knights of the fucking Vale were slaughtering each other. He walked deeper in to the battle field. The grunts were getting louder, the sound of clashing steel was getting more constant. Their attacker had sent more men than they thought he would. These men had been sent to their deaths. Ramsay wasn't sure why the knights of the Vale were attacking each other. It confused him and he decided that any one of them that closed in on him would die, whether they were on his side or not.
Ramsay felt him, the man who was running towards him but as he prepared to throw his first knife, a glint in his eye, he watched the man fall.
He looked around and then up and his gaze landed on her quickly. Out of one of the second floor windows was his wife with a crossbow in hand.
X
Sansa had her eyes on him. She wasn't sure how she'd seen him in the limited light, but she had and she was grateful. She wasn't as good with a crossbow as an arrow to Arya's horror, but she'd gotten him… on her second attempt. She sighed and pulled her head back in to the window.
Rickon had climbed in to her bed taking Ygritte with him and she and Arya hadn't left the window.
"The Vale men are killing each other," Arya said simply, "Some of them are traitors."
"But who are they fighting with? They can't all be traitors."
"It's too dark for me to see," Arya sighed.
Sansa resisted the urge to stick her head back out of the window. The last thing she needed was to draw attention to their position. She closed the window back completely and she and Arya stood close together to peer out of it, their hands unconsciously resting on the glass.
The queen of the north realized that she had a built in finder for her husband. No matter where he was or what he was doing on the battlefield she could spot him. That amazed her. He wasn't the tallest. She was actually slightly taller than him, but out there in the snow he had a rather large presence.
He had long ago run out of blades and returned to his sword. The fact that he was smaller than most of the men and had no armor on made him fast, much faster than his opponents. Sansa saw men fall around her husband. It wasn't a rather large battle. There were maybe a thousand men outside of her window. Compared to the number of men that roamed around Winterfell daily that was a handful. Lady Olenna herself had brought thousands of men with her. Of course Sansa telling her they weren't needed had resulted in her sending more than half of them back, but that still left them with 4,000 of just Highgarden men.
Ramsay seemed to float around the battle field. The clash of swords made Sansa's skin itch. She heard men shouting, some for their friends, others out of fury. She noticed the attention Ramsay paid to his opponents legs. It wasn't until the third man fell that she realized he wasn't killing them. He was crippling them. He was making it so that they couldn't stand. He couldn't do that to every man he came across. Sansa held her breath as she watched the fight unfold before her.
She feared for him. She feared for her husband.
X
Orys was sick of sitting around. It was making his fucking head swim. He could hear the battle and he knew that he was missing it. It was him who was stuck babysitting the old woman and that just pissed him off. Loras got to be free in the halls of Winterfell and here he was sitting around with the Tyrell women and 12 of their best men. He was done. He didn't answer to Osmund anyway. He answered to Ramsay and Ramsay hadn't given him any orders.
X
Jon had secured the bottom floor of Winterfell. He was sure of it. He had men crawling out of every damn room. He had them looking under beds and in cabinets and chests. He had windows being barred as if they were at a war that would last for months. He didn't care. He had ten men at the bottom of both stair cases. No one was coming down to the first floor. He had made sure of that. He had two men at every window and four in doorways he deemed important enough. If you were at your position and you couldn't see another fighter that meant you needed another fighter somewhere between the two of you. There would be no escapes. There would be no retreating. Jon ran through the bottom floor again before leaving Tormund in charge of it and heading up to floor two to repeat the process. His brother by law was outside. He knew that would be taken care of. His domain was inside their home and there was no room for failure.
X
Ramsay's adrenaline was pumping. He didn't even notice the cold anymore. His heart was pounding and he loved it. Blood was splattered on him. His eyes were shining. His hair was messy. He was at peace.
He met the next closest man of their enemies and charged at him. He was rather large, but that just added to Ramsay need to obliterate him.
Sword fighting wasn't about arm strength it was about the transfer of body weight and Ramsay had worked tirelessly at it. That was why he knew exactly what needed to be done for the result he wanted. His cuts and dodges were calculated. People thought he lost himself in battle. He didn't. Only fools did. He was aware of his opponents. He was aware of what he needed to do and how and when. His timing was impeccable. He enjoyed killing people. It was that simple. Ramsay was constantly moving. Standing still made you an easier target. He was sure to always dodge sideways towards the side that wasn't his dominant one. If his opponent paid attention to the arm he held his sword in they may have tried to gage him.
Ramsay stuck at the man and moved and when he retaliated Ramsay dodged back one way and then the other before stepping back in and taking his own blows swiftly, shifting his weight easily. His balance was off. He grunted in frustration when his sword met the sword of the man he was fighting. He resisted the urge to move his feet a certain way to clear out whatever it was that had lodged itself in to his shoe.
His eyes automatically glanced down for a fraction of a second and realized that blood was dripping from his cheek. He'd just dodged an attack aimed at his head. Ramsay headed back in, his amusement far more important than his shoe. Ramsay danced around his opponent. His armor looked heavy and clunky. It didn't give off that it would be easy to get through. Ramsay would be more than happy to try. He timed things. He waited for the man to charge at him again and this time when he moved out of the way he turned around with his step, balancing more on his free foot that the other and crouched, hitting the man behind the knee. He watched it give out only for a little and Ramsay's blade dug between the neck guard and his hairline.
Ramsay bent down and took care of his shoe rather quickly.
He didn't get weary of bloodshed. He dealt with two men easily and when he thought he heard a familiar grunt of pain and spun around, he was one lucky bastard that his blade rose of its own accord and his wrist vibrated from the impact of his attacker's blow. Ramsay closed in on the man rather quickly and had his throat slit soon thereafter. He couldn't see his men. He was still sure he had heard one of them.
The battle raged on for a little after that until their attackers eventually found themselves either throwing down their blades or attempting to retreat. Ramsay was actually satisfied. He had killed a good number of men, a total of at least 6. He watched as his men killed off or collected the last remaining men. He wasn't sure how long he'd been outside, but he was sure that he wanted to see his wife… and he would, but now wasn't the time. His amusement had easily turned to anger.
Ramsay Bolton searched for Osmund.
X
It was Orys who collected Sansa and told her that she was free to go to the courtyard if she wanted. She noted that he was limping but she refused to say anything. She just nodded and dragged herself from the window. Brienne and Shae had entered soon after him and the three of them had hugged. Sansa was glad that they weren't included in the casualties and she was sure that there had been some. Besides Ramsay and Osmund who easily towered over everyone she hadn't been able to tell their men from the enemy's.
Shae agreed to stay with Ygritte and Rickon refused to stay without Sansa so Sansa, Rickon, Arya and Orys headed out of her room and Sansa paused. Bodies. There were six of them, laid out in the hallway, literally feet away from her door. The Hound looked normal. He looked fine. He didn't look tired or like he'd been hit. He just looked fine and Sansa didn't know if she should have been scared of thankful so she pushed the thought down all the same.
Orys didn't let go of her arm and she reached for Rickon's hand as she was dragged along. The Hound closed in behind them and beside Arya with a grunt.
When Sansa made it outside of the doors of Winterfell she noticed blood. It stained the snow. It was everywhere. There were men picking up bodies and she assumed that they were the north's dead. The other bodies were left for Ramsay's hounds to pick off what they wanted before they were burned. The smell of death made her head swim. She had seen the battle from her window, but this was different. It was so different. Knights of the Vale, Free Folk, Northerners and the Knights of Highgarden laid out in the snow all the same.
"This way," Orys began to drag her towards the gates and she realized there was a crowd, a crowd of thousands.
Orys dragged her and her siblings through the people and to the center of the circle where there were ten wooden "X"s and several spikes around them. There was a fire going in the background of Ramsay's little production. Osmund stood near the wood, one arm behind his back, the other holding a torch and her husband stood a little off to the side, several men beside him. They must have been the survivors.
She rested in the front of the crowd and doubted that Ramsay saw her, but she saw him. She saw the blood on him, his hands, his chest, his face. She wasn't sure if the blood was his or not. He seemed to be on edge, the way he was jittery. His eyes were hooded and dark as far as she could tell. Ramsay looked around at the people before him and then he sighed.
"You are all going to die here," Ramsay said and clapped his hands happily together.
He had called attention to this. He had created a crowd to murder these men.
Ramsay pulled out his sword and stabbed it in to the snow.
"Would anyone like a coward's death?" he asked brightly.
The happiness he showed was unnerving to the people that stood around him. Sansa saw when Jon and The Tyrell's made their way in. Orys pushed his way in to the circle and stood on the opposite side of where Osmund stood, although he took up a similar position. The blood coming from his leg hadn't seemed to slow down.
A few of the men raised their hands and Ramsay nodded and collected his sword. Osmund and a few of Ramsay's other men grabbed the volunteers and forced their heads down in to the snow.
"I, Ramsay of the house Bolton, first of his name, Lord of Winterfell and Dreadfort, Warden and King of the north sentence you to die," he said simply.
And then Sansa took a breath and cast a look at Arya and Rickon. She heard the slash and the first head hit the ground and she calmed herself before looking back. He beheaded them, one by one and one by one a northern stepped up and collect the body for the fire. The smell of burnt flesh threatened to make Sansa's stomach churn, but she forced the thought down. She'd seen Margaery avert her eyes. Lady Olenna, however, had not.
There were a good thirty one men left and Sansa feared the fate that awaited them. Ramsay stabbed his sword back in to the snow after the last head rolled to the ground and he grinned with glee before he kicked it back. The circle widened in an attempt to stay away from the body part and Ramsay's hounds made their presence known, pouncing on the rolling head as if it was a toy. He kicked another head towards them and then he began to put the rest of the discarded heads on spikes. No one was moving. No one was even breathing very loud. The only people that were moving were the men that had been with him at Dreadfort. They seemed to know what he wanted without him having to voice it. She wondered if this after battle side of him was normal. The fight was over and Ramsay still looked livid. He looked as if his amusement had turned to anger and it was boiling.
Ramsay closed in on the one closest to him and crouched down pulling a coin out of his pocket. The men who hadn't wanted a coward's death were in for a treat. Their pride would be their downfall.
"Heads or tails?" he asked darkly.
The man looked at him and then back at the snow.
"Heads," he shrugged.
Ramsay tossed the coin in the air and then caught it and flipped it on to his hand.
"Sorry, tails," he shrugged and stood back up.
With a whistle his hounds ripped through the snow and pounced on the man before him.
Ramsay repeated the process. The next 3 men got their answers wrong and was therefore ripped to shreds in front of everyone outside. People had begun to look ill, but no one dared to move. They averted their eyes, but otherwise stood still. Sansa wondered if he was cheating and lying about the coin- that is until he reached person number 5.
Ramsay had stood straight up and beamed a smile at him that was downright lethal and then he'd made a generic 'come here' gesture to Osmund and Orys who closed in on the man together and laid him flat, grabbing him by his legs and hoisting him up by them.
"Even number or odd?" Ramsay asked excitedly.
The man's breathing had gotten quicker.
"Even or odd?" Ramsay repeated.
"Even. Even!"
Ramsay nodded at that and Orys and Osmund strapped him to one of the Xs towards the back.
There were 11 more men eaten by hounds and 7 more strapped to Xs.
Sansa wasn't sure how much more she could take. Arya seemed downright interested and that didn't sit right with her. Rickon continued to yawn despite the fact that he so obviously didn't want to miss anything. Every time she glanced at Jon his jaw was clenched. Ramsay hadn't seemed to calm down any.
"Heads or tails?" Ramsay asked one of the last remaining eight.
The man said nothing. Instead, he leaned his head back and spit. Sansa cringed because she knew that would only make him angrier. She closed her eyes and bit her bottom lip and she squeezed her younger brother's hand as Ramsay descended on the man. They rolled. Neither Orys nor Osmund moved.
Sansa watched her husband beat a man to death and then he stood up and sighed as if he was a child who'd just had their favorite game interrupted. He was angrier now. He seemed to be breathing faster. His eyes were wild and unfocused and he closed in on the next man, and took a blade from the outstretched hand of Osmund before beginning to stab him. He stabbed him. He stabbed him and stabbed him, over and over, in the chest and the throat and when the man fell backwards, Ramsay climbed over his body and continued the assault. Blood began to pour in to the snow. Her husband didn't look like her husband. He wasn't just breathing faster anymore. Now he was breathing hard and ragged when he pulled himself back up and kicked the next man in the head. He watched him collapse backwards, his nose now bleeding horribly.
Ramsay wiped his blade on his shirt and then headed towards the Xs. He paused and put a hand under his chin as if he was thinking.
"Even or odd, Orys?" he asked.
"Odd," Orys hadn't even thought about it.
Ramsay nodded once.
"Osmund, lets light up the odds, shall we?"
Osmund walked over to the first X on that row. The row housed 5 of the 7 men. Jon stepped in to the circle then.
"You're going to burn them alive?" he asked.
Ramsay gave him a puzzled look as if the answer was obvious. Well, to Sansa it was.
"You never gave any of these men the option to take the black or bend the knee."
Sansa knew Jon had been spewing inside. He'd tried to hold it in. He hadn't wanted it to seem as if the north was divided among itself. He drew the line at burning people alive apparently.
"They don't get an option," Ramsay growled, "They wouldn't have given you or I or your siblings an option on how they died, now would they," Ramsay reached for the torch in Osmund's hands, "You don't have to watch," he said simply, "You can pray to the seven or the old Gods, the drowned God, the Lord of Light, the one true God of Death, or any other that you choose, Jon. Pray to them and ask them for mercy for these men's souls," Ramsay chuckled then and cast a look at the audience, "because they won't be receiving any from me."
Before Jon could open his mouth Ramsay had set the very first X on fire. Screaming tore through the night and the heavy silence. Jon mad a move towards Ramsay and was quickly restrained by two of his men. Ramsay laughed.
"Once you step foot in the north with thoughts of harming my family, your life is over," he addressed the crowd, "This is what happens to traitors," he shrugged and walked on setting the next two Xs on fire, "You bend the knee or you die. There are no other options," he lit the next X ablaze, "We are at WAR. Mercy doesn't exist here!" he growled and set the last of the Xs on fire.
The screaming of the scorching men was now accompanied by the screaming of the two men who were rested on the two Xs that were considered even. They were screaming from fear. The remaining 7 men that were kneeled in the snow nearly wept for their burning brethren.
Ramsay made his way to the next row and lifted his blade. The moonlight reflected off of it.
"Men our blades…"
"Are sharp!" his men echoed.
And Ramsay smirked.
"A naked man…" he looked around the circle.
"Has few secrets!" his men chanted.
Ramsay cracked his neck both ways before turning towards the first man.
"And a flayed man?" he questiond, smiling up at the man before him.
"Has none!"
Ramsay nodded at that and removed a quick patch of the man's skin from his arm. Margaery turned and pushed her way through the crowd. Olenna followed. The screaming that tore through the circle gave her chills. Ramsay's eyes were brighter now- more livelily.
He was going to flay a man on display.
"Take Rickon to bed," Sansa pushed her brother towards The Hound, "he's seen enough."
He nodded once despite the smirk on his face and grabbed the youngest Stark by the shoulder to steer him through the crowd.
Ramsay's anger hadn't wavered. He was pissed. He was angry that the fucking Vale hadn't done what they were supposed to do and the little cunt Petyr had yet to show up. He flayed the man before him and his anger started to waver. At first it was meant to be a scare tactic. He wanted everyone watching to know what he was capable of. The northerners knew. The others did not, but they did now. He flayed the man with his hounds, Orys and Osmund nearby. He skinned his fingers and then his toes, his arms and then his legs. The man was dead before he began on his stomach and that was no fun so he set the damned X aflame and whispered to Orys who ran off before he moved to the next one.
"Who sent you?" Ramsay smirked at the man before him, "If you tell me the truth, I'll let you off of the X."
The man bit his bottom lip and Ramsay shook his head in mock disappointment.
"A flayed man?" he asked the crowd again.
"Has no secrets!" his men chanted back.
Ramsay smiled then, a full-fledged smile, showing all of his teeth and then he turned to the man and ran his blade over his face before slicing out a piece of his cheek. His head went forward a little and then crashed back against the wood with his shout.
"Lannisters," he said quickly, "and Baratheons. He promised them the north. Your house is exiled. They won't recognize you. They- They're looking for revolting houses. They told the Vale that Baelish had done something to the Lord and Lady of the Vale and some of them betrayed him."
"Why'd he send so few of you?" Ramsay purred, running his blade up and down the man's arm, hard enough for a pinch but not hard enough to cut skin.
"He just wanted us to map out the place and see how many men were here. He wanted us to find out if the Tyrells had sworn allegiance to Sansa! We weren't supposed to touch her, I swear! Just get information and get out!"
Ramsay nodded at that. Simple.
Ramsay looked around at the crowd around him. Some of the people looked sick, some looked like they would never sleep again. Some people looked at him as if he'd grown another head. He didn't care. His brother by law stood in the same place he'd left him, a scowl on his face that Ramsay knew meant there would be hell to pay later. He didn't care. Ramsay unlatched the man from the X and he began running without even thinking.
"Part for him!" Ramsay yelled.
The crowd did just that and Orys closed in on Ramsay. Ramsay took his arrow, aimed and shot the man through the head.
"You are only as strong as your word," Ramsay told the crowd, "If you bullshit me, I will bullshit you. And I always win these little games," he turned to Orys, "Free the remaining 7."
Orys and Osmund set to work doing that and Ramsay closed in on them
"Tell the Lannisters to come see me," he smiled brightly.
The men looked at each other and then at him and then back at each other.
"Run now," he said and nocked a new arrow in to his bow.
They ran through the crowd, pushing the people that didn't move fast enough. Ramsay sighed.
"You can all go," he waved absently and turned to Osmund, "Fetch me a horse,"
X
The sun had begun to rise when the last man standing ran in to an all but empty camp. Ramsay had shot down the other 6. He was surprised he'd made it. Tywin met him soon after he entered camp. Their job had been simple. They were supposed to scout the place. A few of them were supposed to die, but they had gotten slaughtered. Tywin took in the man before him.
"Where is the rest of your party?" he asked calmly.
"Dead," he forced down a sob that threatened to escape, "behead, eaten by dogs, flayed and burned alive. Ramsay Bolton says for you to come see him," he choked out and then Tywin stood in mild amusement and shock as an arrow entered the boy's head and his body fell forward.
He looked up and just at the lining of the trees he saw the Bolton bastard and what looked like 19 other men. They glared at each other and then Ramsay smiled brightly and waved from where he was, coated in the blood of Tywin's men. When his hand fell, Ramsay turned his horse and began back towards home. He couldn't shoot Tywin down now. Where was the fun in that? Besides he didn't give a fuck about Tywin Lannister. He wanted Joffrey- the little cunt that had tormented Sansa.
A/N: Thank you to all of you lovely people that read my work! Thank you to the people that follow/favorite/review or simply pass through! I appreciate it! And updates should start getting back to normal. Thank gosh. Bc I'm getting ideas faster than I can write them out. ALSO, it just made sense to me that some of the knights of the Vale would turn on Petyr considering the little incident he had with Yohn where he was a liar and manipulator like always. After all, he did have Sansa's aunt kill her husband and then he pushed her out of a moon door. I think that their loyal subjects wouldn't want this man around their leader- especially someone as impressionable as Robin. That boy flips between choices so easily it's insane. ALSO, the Baratheons siding with the Lannisters made sense seeing how Cersei's kids are supposedly Baratheons.
UPDATE: I changed the first none to few. I have no idea how I screwed that up considering I literally googled it to make sure. Lol. But thank you lovelywords for correcting me.