Hello!

As promised, today's chapter will be a little different. I hope you enjoy it. ;)
Most of the dialogues are from Season 6 of GOT.

As always, thank you to those who follow this story. Don't hesitate to tell me what you think in the reviews.

Enjoy!

Chapter LI: Send the ravens

He was outside of Winterfell, snow spotted the ground in white, lightly. Riders were coming his way and he felt a sense of dread growing stronger with each sound of a horse coming his way. They bore the banner of House Bolton. A red flayed man on a cross against a blue field. Daeron turned to his right.

"You don't have to be here." He felt himself say.

"Yes, I do." Sansa answered. What was Sansa doing there? He asked himself as he looked up to the Stark banner floating in the air. He looked behind him to see a young girl with a fierce look on her face, he had never seen her before, an older man, who felt strangely familiar even though he could not place him, Tormund Giantsbane, for some reason, and a few guards.

The Boltons stopped a few meters in front of them. At their head was a young man with dark hair and a grin Daeron immediately felt the need to suppress. "My beloved wife. I've missed you terribly." The man said looking directly at Sansa. Daeron wondered what was happening. Why was he dreaming that Sansa was married? To a Bolton, no less. "Thank you for returning Lady Bolton safely." The man said to Daeron's attention. Daeron wanted to correct the man, to say something, ask questions, but he could not. No sound left his mouth. "Now, dismount and kneel before me, surrender your army and proclaim me the true Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North." The man demanded. "I will pardon you for deserting the Night's Watch." What in the name of the Gods was he talking about? Daeron could not have deserted the Night's Watch, he was not a sworn brother, he was the King. "I will pardon these treasonous lords for betraying my House. Come, Bastard," – even after several years, it hurt to be called that, in a dream or otherwise – "you don't have the men, you don't have the horses and you don't have Winterfell. Why lead those poor souls to their graves? There is no need for a battle. Get off your horse and kneel. I am a man of mercy."

"You're right, there is no need for a battle." Daeron felt his own uneasiness as the words fell out of his mouth. What was he talking about? Of course there was a need for battle, the Boltons needed to be destroyed. "Thousands of men don't need to die. Only one of us. Let's settle this the old way. You against me." He felt Sansa's eyes on him. 'You idiot!' they seemed to yell at him and he agreed with Dream Sansa. He did not know if he wanted to laugh or punch himself in the face. How could he naively think that someone with the advantage of the terrain – apparently – would accept such a bargain? And why would he put himself on the line for this?

Indeed the man laughed. "I keep hearing stories about you, Bastard." – again, it stung – "The way people in the North talk about you, you're the greatest swordsman who ever walked." He had indeed become a great swordsman, but why would people of the North know that? For all they knew Daeron was dead or somewhere South, and he was not even Daeron. "Maybe you are that good, maybe not. I don't know if I'd beat you. But I know my army would beat yours. I have six thousand men, you have… what? Half of that?" Daeron felt uneasy. "Less?"

"Aye, you have the numbers. Will your men want to fight for you when they hear you wouldn't fight for them?" Of course, they would, Daeron wanted to scream at this strange and stupid dreamy version of himself. They would fight if they were under attack. They would fight if they feared the Bolton man in front of him.

Again, the man laughed and pointed a finger at him. "He's good." He commented. "He's very good. Tell me, will you let your little brother die because you're too proud to surrender."

"How do we know you have him?" Sansa, or whoever this imitation was, seemed way calmer and more poised than Daeron and it was frightening somehow. The Bolton man nodded to one of his minions who searched into his saddle bag. He took something bloody out of it and threw it on the ground in front of Daeron and Sansa. It was Shaggydog's head. The head of Rickon's direwolf. Against his better judgement, Daeron felt his blood boil in anger. Especially when the man smirked again, looking at Sansa directly.

"Now." He said. "If you want to say…"

"He was interrupted. "You're going to die tomorrow Lord Bolton." Sansa declared. So, the man was Lord Bolton… But Lord Bolton was Roose… And he did not look like Roose… Then he had to be Ramsay Snow, Daeron realised. "Sleep well." The cold version of Sansa turned her horse around and left the field.

"She's a fine woman, your sister." The man spoke with a smirk, Daeron took a minute to realise he was talking to him. "I look forward to having her back in my bed." This was a nightmare, even in his darkest thoughts, Daeron had never imagined Sansa or Arya married to monsters. He had to calm himself. Ramsay Snow was marrying Cersei Lannister, not Sansa Stark. "And you're all fine-looking men, my dogs are all desperate to meet you." He kept declaring. "I haven't fed them in seven days, they're ravenous. I wonder which parts they'll try first. Your eyes, your balls? We'll find out soon enough. In the morning then, Bastard." Daeron said nothing in response as the Boltons rode away back into his childhood castle.

...

"If he was smart, he'd stay inside the walls of Winterfell." Daeron said as the nightmare continued. It was night-time, in a room he did not know, around him were the same persons that had come with him to the parley.

"It's not his way." The familiar man answered. "He knows the North is watching. If the other Houses sense weakness on his part, they will stop fearing him." They should, Daeron thought. Or at least they should fear a dragon lord more than a monstrous bastard. "He can't have that. Fear is his greatest strength."

"It's his weakness too." Daeron was forced to say again. "Men don't want to fight for him. If they see the tide turning, they'll desert." As any army would. He did not know any common folk who would stand his ground once his liege lord was dead and the battle was clearly lost. This dream version of himself was highly annoying.

"It's not his men that worries me, it's his horses." Tormund Giantsbane intervened. What was the man doing there? "I know what mounted knights can do to us," – us? As in the Free Folks? – "you and Stannis cut through us like piss through snow."

"We'll be digging tranches along our flanks. They won't be able to hit us the way Stannis hit you." Daeron had no idea what Stannis was supposed to have done to the Free Folks, but he was pleased that he was not talking nonsense anymore. Though, the wildling leader did not seem to understand what he was saying. Dream Daeron rolled his eyes. "They won't be able to hit us from the sides." He motioned on the map.

"Good!" The man replied.

"It's crucial that we let them charge at us. They've got the numbers, we need the patience." Daeron liked the man who seemed familiar, he was smart. "If we let him buckle our centre, he'll pursue, and we'll have him surrounded, three side."

"Did you really think that cunt would fight you man to man?" Tormund leaned to Daeron, completely ignoring the sound advice of the other man.

"No." Daeron replied. "But I wanted to make him angry." Dumb idiot. "I want him coming at us full tilt."

"We should all get some sleep." Again, the older man seemed the more sound of mind out of the bunch.

"Sleep well, Jon Snow." Tormund said and Daeron wanted to shout that this was not his name. He could not. "We want you sharp tomorrow."

The two advisors left the room, leaving only Sansa with Daeron. The young woman had not said a word during what looked like a war council. Daeron was surprised she was even here. Sansa knew nothing about war, the closest she had ever been to one were the riots in the streets of King's Landing and the siege from Stannis where she had been secluded in Maegor's Holdfast. She did not have the slightest idea of strategy.

Yet, she seemed dissatisfied. "So, you've met the enemy, drawn up your battle plans…"

"Aye, for all that was…" Daeron sounded almost arrogant in his satisfaction, you should not be you idiot.

"You've known him for the space of a single conversation, you and your trusted advisors. And you sit around making plans on how to defeat a man you don't know." When had Sansa become wiser than Daeron? "I've lived with him, I know how his mind works, I know how he likes to hurt people. Did it once occur to you that I might have some hindsight?" Well, if Daeron was honest, no, it did not. And he did not understand why she had not talked during the council. "You think he's gonna fall into your trap, he won't. He's the one who lays the trap."

"He's overconfident." He retorted. Who was overconfident again?

"He plays with people. He's far better at it than you, he's been doing it all his life!" His cousin insisted. If he was his own true self, he would have been offended.

"Aye, and what have I been doing all my life? Playing with broomsticks?" Daeron jumped to his feet. Sarcastically, judging by what he had seen at the council, he would have answered 'yes'. "I fought beyond the Wall against worst than Ramsay. I've defended the Wall from worse than Ramsay!" He insisted. He seemed to have had an interesting life. A life at the Wall apparently. Which made him question why he was here.

"You don't know him!" Sansa articulated every sound.

"Allright," dream Daeron seemed to give in, "how do we defeat him, how do we get Rickon back?"

"We'll never get Rickon back…"

After his fight with Sansa, which went on for a few more minutes, essentially revolving around the fact that Sansa was afraid of Ramsay Snow, Daeron walked through camp and entered another tent. When he discovered who was in it, he wanted to run, or hit his other self for talking to the wicked woman. But he was only a passenger of this body in his dream, he did not decide.

And so, Daeron talked with Melisandre of Asshai again. A dead woman, who was way older than she appeared to be, all dressed in red. "My Lady, you were not at the war council." Daeron pointed the obvious.

"I'm not a soldier." She replied. Daeron did not believe any of the people present moments earlier were soldiers.

"Any advice?"

"Don't lose." She turned to him. Sound enough.

"If I fall, don't bring me back." Daeron demanded. He had no idea why he was saying that. Actually, he had no idea what it meant.

"I'll have to try…" She started.

"I'm ordering you not to bring me back." Daeron insisted.

"I'm not your servant, Jon Snow." Again, with his old name, he did not know why they called him that.

"You're in my camp, I'm the commander." Daeron sensed a little lack of leadership in his dream version. That being said, he could not make the woman do what he wanted in his true life either, he had to execute her.

"I serve the Lord of Light, I do what he commands." She mystically explained.

"How do you know what he commands?"

"I interpret the signs, as best as I can." She seemed uneasy, so in this version of life – or whatever this dream was – Daeron had also pierced the priestess secret. "How do you think I brought you back, if he did not want you back?" Again, Daeron did not know what she meant. Could she mean 'back from the dead? No, that was simply impossible, the only beings who came back from the dead were the wights, and he did not look like one. "I have no power, only what he gives me and he gave me you." That was not entirely true, she had the power of manipulating people, she did that very well.

"Why?" A good and smart question.

"I don't know."

...

Daeron had never slept in a dream. Well, he guessed it did not matter, his dream self was too nervous about the battle to sleep. He should be, considering the size of his army Daeron now discovered. He had a hundred mounted men at best and approximately a third of Ramsay's army. Not to mention, no proper armour for most of the men, some did not even wear boiled leather. At least he had a giant, he saw him from his black horse's back.

The field was silent as he joined his councilors. Sansa was not there and neither was the Red Woman, they did not belong on a battlefield. Between them and the Bolton army, their enemy had displayed flayed men – hostages probably – on burning crosses. To intimidate them, no doubt. Daeron could not say it really impressed him, he had seen worst sights in his life.

Finally, Ramsay appeared and dismounted. He was dragging something, no, someone, behind him. He got closer on foot, pulling his prisoner with him.

Daeron's eyes widened when he realised who the prisoner was. It had to be Rickon. Ramsay unsheathed a dagger and held it to the sky. Daeron panicked. Was he going to kill his young cousin? With anxiety, he dismounted and got closer. Truly, it was useless, a few feet did not change what he saw.

Ramsay did not kill the boy. With the dagger, he cut the rope binding Rickon's hands. Confusion ran though the ranks of the Stark army – if it could be called that.

A few seconds letter, Rickon started to walk towards them and a Bolton soldier gave his master a bow and arrows. Then, Rickon started to run. Daeron too ran back to his horse. He did not want to go. He wanted to scream to himself that he was an idiot and to listen to Sansa. Rickon was lost. He would only destroy his own plan and put his army in danger by riding to Rickon. Yet, his body did as it pleased.

He knew as he rode that it was in vain. The arrows started to rain around Rickon, but Daeron had the feeling that Ramsay was missing on purpose. He enjoyed it. Enjoyed the hunt. The arrow planted itself in Rickon's back and perforated his chest only a few feet from Daeron, he could almost touch his cousin. When Daeron stopped at his body's side, he was already dead.

Daeron could only guess he had a look of hatred against Ramsay in his eyes… and he could only guess that he was about to make a particularly stupid decision.

Indeed, he charged alone at the Bolton army under hundreds of arrows. His men followed him, of course. The horses, the footmen and the giant. They charged screaming, not anything coherent, only screaming.

As could have been predicted, Daeron's horse died after a few arrows lodged themselves in its flanks. He was now on foot, alone, and with only a sword against an army that had started charging as well. He unsheathed his sword, which he immediately noticed was Valyrian steel, even if it was not Dark Sister.

By some miracle, as he was starting to see death coming his way, the two lines of horses clashed just in front of him and he was shielded by his men's mounts.

The battle was terribly confusing to him. More so than the one they had won with Robb at Riverrun. Horses were falling. Arrows were too. Men flew through the air. With only his sword, Daeron felt very useless. He mostly spun on himself and tried to avoid the blows and falling objects as best as he could.

His first kill was a wounded soldier who had lost his horse. Or at least he guessed that was what he was. Then, he lost count, men on foot, men on horses. But he noticed quickly that the horses were becoming scarcer and scarcer, which was odd. Of course, he did not expect his own horses to last very long, but Ramsay had more, many more. A few times Daeron fell on the ground or on a body. A few times, he was saved at the last minute by a friend or a foe. Yet, he lived long enough to notice the body which started to pile up. Many Free Folks unfortunately. It was becoming harder and harder to run and move atop the corpses and the intensity of the arrows worsened.

Daeron did not know if he noticed all that because he was only in a dream or because he just did. He kept fighting and killing men. Blood and mud started obstructing his eyes. He betted people could not see his face anymore. Why was he not wearing a helm? And proper armour?

At some point, Daeron heard more charging battle cries. Probably the reserve. He hoped his army had a reserve, not that it would make a difference, even a blind man would see they were screwed only by the sounds and smells.

He re-joined Tormund, he did not know how, at the edge of the battle. "Hey!" The man held him up and put his arm on Daeron's shoulder. Frow there, he saw the reserve of his army – with the giant – running to them.

Unfortunately, he also saw that the large remainder of the Bolton army was encircling them. The field went silent for a few seconds. No doubt Ramsay wanted his 'preys' to feel that they were trapped. "Infantry! Get forward!" They heard. The soldiers held their spears down, started making guttural cries, and, little by little, forced Daeron's men into a narrower and narrower circle, atop the pile of bodies.

For what seemed like long minutes, Daeron's army had abandoned, they were being slaughtered like pigs and did nothing about it. Until they heard the cries of their enemies climbing the pile of bodies to trap their back. The familiar man admonished them to break the line of shield and the soldiers regained their forces. Daeron truly hoped that man survived, even if it was only a dream, he was a nice man.

Despite their efforts, more and more men died. While fighting a Bolton soldier, some running fellow pushed Daeron who fell to the ground. Many men were running. They stumped on him, not seeing him in the mud and the pile of bodies. Even if they had seen him, he doubted they would have cared. Daeron did not know what they were running to, only that it failed, because for every man who stepped on him, a corpse fell down.

Daeron was covered in corpses and gasping for air. He felt as if someone was maintaining him under water. With the last of his forces, he climbed to the top. The circle was now so small that the dead and the living were packed, leaving no place for air. Daeron spotted his councillors in the crowd, they gave him looks of farewell.

Yet, the gods seemed to have decided otherwise. In the distance, they heard war horns. They did not sound like retreat and anyway, the Boltons had no reason to retreat and Daeron's army did not have the means. It was a new charge. Now that Daeron was above his men, he could see…

Thousands of mounted night right at full speed toward them. Their banner was flapping in the wind. A white falcon and a moon on a blue field. House Arryn of the Vale. But why would the Arryns come to their aid? They had never participated in the war, at least not in Daeron's true life, he did not know about the world of the dream. And the Vale was a long way from the North, if they were supposed to arrive, surely they would have been included in Daeron's mockery of a war council.

It was then that he spotted her. Sansa with her fiery red hair. A cousin of Robin Arryn. And beside her was a man he feared he recognized. Had Sansa allied with Petyr Baelish?

The knights of the Vale easily broke the lines of Bolton footmen, relieving the pitiful army of Daeron. They probably killed every last one of these footmen. But Daeron did not care. In the confusion, he had climbed the mountain of body to go on the other side where Ramsay was patiently waiting for the end of the battle, on his horse and away from harm. Maybe not so much anymore. Though he could not see his expression, Daeron guessed he was worried.

The giant and Tormund joined him, but they were not fast enough to catch up with Ramsay who had turned around and rode back to Winterfell. The three of them ran after the fleeing bastard. When they arrived at the gate of Winterfell, it had obviously been barred. But Daeron knew that gate… this had been his home… and that gate was not built to resist a giant. It took several tries but the giant did it, his body was full of arrows.

Daeron's men stormed the castle. When the King arrived, the giant was still alive, but kneeling and breathing with difficulty. Daeron stopped at his level. Suddenly, an arrow pierced through his eye, and the giant died.

Daeron turned his head to discover that Ramsay himself had shot the bow. "You suggested one on one combat, didn't you?" The bastard had the guts to say. He was finished and yet, dream Daeron indulged him.

With only a shield, walked forward, toward the man. The sturdy oak protected him from the arrows. Ramsay had the time to shout three before Daeron was on him and hit him with his shield. The Bolton bastard fell and Daeron discarded his protection, preferring to use his fists against his enemy. His face was nothing but bloody pulp and yet still he smirked. When he saw Sansa, Daeron stopped and left the man on the ground.

...

Daeron gasped for air as he woke up from this disturbing dream. He did not understand most of it. He was not sure he understood any of it really. It had all been so… strange. A world where he did not know who he was, where he was still called Jon Snow, where Sansa was still his sister, where he did not know Arianne, where he had been a brother of the Night's Watch. A world where he had died.

Arianne, who, as usual, slept beside him had been awoken by his turmoil. She asked him what he had, what he had dreamed of. Of course, now, she was used to her husband waking of his weird dreams. Daeron could not tell her everything that he had seen in his dream, it would have been too long, so he summarized, as best as he could.

"I think I dreamt of myself… in another life. One where nothing was as it is today." He explained and turned to face her. "But one where I still fought against Ramsay Bolton and almost lost." Arianne frowned. Usually when she asked about a dream, Daeron started by saying who he had met. But he had met no one… just another him. "I think… I think it's a warning." He could think of nothing else. he could not be the past or the future, his life was too different, and it could not be just a coincidence. "Maybe… mistakes not to make…" He was thinking out loud.

"I could ask for water to freshen yourself… or food…" Arianne was looking for ideas to ease his distress.

But Daeron suddenly had a clear head, and a clear view of how to proceed in the future. "No, thank you my love. I don't need that. I need to send the ravens. The Realm needs to know."

So what did you think? I'm thinking of another thing from GOT I'd like to give him a dream of, so tell me what you thought of it. Also, the explanation for this dream and a few others wil come in the next chapter.

Next chapter: Daeron gains allies and prepares for battle.

Guest reviews:

- I'm sorry you don't like it.

- Thank you! Yes, I might have listened to a few podcasts about cults in the past few weeks x). Margeary is not the priority while they fight for the North, but after that, sure, she will be and the Tyrells will make a comeback ;).