Hello everyone!

I hope you're having a nice week-end.
Today we have a chapter in preparation of the battle with the Boltons. Let's see what you think.

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Warning for rape and violence in this chapter.

Enjoy!

Chapter XLIV: A trapped Lion

It was another of these dreams where he was riding Rhoynax and saw the present he realised. He wondered if those kinds of dreams were 'natural' or sent by Bran too. No, it was not possible, the first one he had was of the Battle of the Blackwater, when Bran was still in Winterfell and had not become the three-eyed raven, or whatever he was now, yet.

Rhoynax was walking on the frozen clear grounds around Winterfell. The castle had changed since Daeron's childhood. The top floors of the library tower were destroyed, its walls open to the cold winds. The eastern wall bore the signs of a fire, the stone was blackened completely in spots. Some merlons had also fallen, but Daeron could see the repairs being made, he saw the tools and materials piled around the damaged area. At least the Boltons were taking care of Robb's ancestral home.

The dragon let him climb down from her back when they arrived in front of the main gate. Daeron walked into the fortress that was getting ready for the night. Some elements were as he remembered. The small folks running from aisle to aisle, rushing to finish whatever task they had been assigned for the day before getting some rest. In the Great Keep, candles and fireplaces lit the lives of the nobles. Daeron recognized the private dining room and some of the family quarters that were lit. No one could see him, he was like a ghost, but he could see them, and he was sad to discover that none of the servants he remembered were there. Also, the sounds were different. There was no laugh, the conversations were not joyous-sounding, and dozens of dogs barked from the kennels. The Starks had kept dogs of course, for hunts mostly, but they never barked that much. Daeron wondered whose dogs they were, he remembered the dream Bran had sent him 'I have not fed my dogs in seven days' the bastard said. If these were really his dog then no wonder they were barking so much and so loud, they must be mistreated.

Daeron continued to climb the stairs, until he entered the private dining room. There, he found Roose Bolton, his son, his wife – at least he guessed the fat woman was his Frey wife – and, unsurprisingly, Cersei Lannister. The bastard and the Queen Mother were supposed to have married a week past, while Daeron was destroying the Bolton castle.

"Allow me, my Lady." Daeron saw the bastard pouring wine into his bride's cup. Cersei Lannister had a closed face. She stared into the void in front of her. She did not even acknowledge her husband, she lifted her cup to her lips without even looking at it. Ramsay did not seem to mind, he moved on to the next person. "Mother." He served the fat Frey a cup as well.

The woman had a bright smile on her face. "Thank you, Ramsay." She said genuinely. She seemed appreciative of her son by law. Maybe she had not seen his true nature yet. She appeared to Daeron as a very naïve woman, unaware of the world outside of the Twins. In fact, from time to time, she gave quick glances in Cersei's direction but immediately lowered her eyes, as if she could not believe she was eating at the same table as a Queen. Daeron wondered if she had eaten with Talisa at the Red Wedding.

"I'd like to toast." Ramsay got up abruptly. "To my wife, Cersei dearest, and to family!" He raised his cup before emptying it. His father and 'mother' followed him but Cersei purposefully set her own cup down.

Roose Bolton frowned at his impassive good-daughter, but he said nothing about it. "Since we're all together, Walda and I have some good news." He announced. Ramsay sat back down, concern clear on his face. The lord of the castle looked at his wife to encourage her.

"We're going to have a baby." She declared happily after a few seconds of uncertainty. Ramsay looked at his father interrogatively, and for the first time Cersei indicated that she was indeed listening. She turned to her husband with a smirk that she tried to hide by sipping from her cup.

"From the way she is carrying, Maester Wolkan says it looks like a boy." Roose added.

Cersei scoffed. "As if Maesters knew anything about these sorts of matters." She muttered. Roose looked at her with annoyance though she was not entirely wrong. Ramsay downed his cup and said nothing. He did not even congratulate the expecting couple. "Do you have more information about the bastard's progress?" Cersei intervened. Somehow, Daeron had a feeling they were talking about him.

"Considering the size of his army, he should be here in three to four days." Roose replied. "But don't worry, my lady, we'll be safe inside the walls of Winterfell and we have enough food to last six months, not even taking into account the glass garden." He explained. So that was his strategy, not meeting Daeron in the field and waiting the siege out. A sane plan that would be destroyed by Daeron's dragon if Daeron was willing to use Rhoynax which he was not. So, a very safe plan even if the lord did not know it.

"You won't try to crush him?" Cersei asked with another sip. "Bastards who try to pass as better than they are, should be beaten and crushed to teach the others a lesson." She said making her husband glare at her. It was clear she was targeting him.

"I've fought alongside Jon Snow." This time, it was Daeron's turn to glare even though they could not see him. "He's fairly good in open field but he has no experience of a siege."

"He turned your ancestral home to dust after a successful siege." Cersei pointed out.

"Allegedly." Roose was getting more and more annoyed. "We only have his word." Daeron had sent a raven to Winterfell informing Roose of what he had done before he annihilated the damned castle, without much detail of course. "We have not had the confirmation that the Dreadfort was completely destroyed. Besides, it was way less guarded than Winterfell."

"I have to agree with my lovely wife, Father." Ramsay was seething. "We should meet this bastard in battle and teach the whole North a lesson."

"If our scouts are right, he has the Mormonts, the Cerwyns, the Glovers and the Baratheons with him. The odds would be tight." Roose countered. "We will not attack stupidly to satisfy our ego. We will crush him with time. All we have to do is wait for his men to freeze, starve and mutiny." The answer did not seem to please his crazy son.

Shortly after dinner, Daeron followed the newly wed couple to their chambers – Robb's chambers. "I believe you have a plan." Cersei Said out of the blue.

"Whatever could you mean, dearest?" Ramsay asked with a bright smile as he gave his cloak to a servant. Daeron's heart froze when he realised who this servant was. His cheeks had hollowed, his hair had lost its red shine, he was dressed in rags and he was missing a few fingers but Daeron was certain. This man serving the Boltons was Theon Greyjoy. If he had been outside in the dim light of the evening, Daeron would not have recognize him. But inside and steady as he was, there was no mistake possible even if he held his head hung low.

"Your stepmother is pregnant." Cersei sat and took another glass of wine.

"What of it?"

"She might have a boy." Cersei kept running around her idea.

"I've always wanted a baby brother!" Another bright smile.

"But he'll be the heir." Cersei smirked and Ramsay froze.

"I'm Lord Bolton's eldest son." He reminded her.

"But you are a bastard." She replied using the same tone as him, mocking him. "A trueborn will always have the better claim."

"I've been naturalized by your son." That made Cersei laugh. She looked like she did not care about anything anymore. "And bastards can rise high in the world. Well, look at your son!" He said with fake enthusiasm." The comment triggered Cersei who rose and glared at her husband.

"How dare you!" She started.

"Now, now, sweet wife, a married couple should not hold secrets from one another." He forced her to sit back down and took her glass from her hand, drinking it himself. "Tell me, how is your brother's cock?"

For an answer, she spat in his face. A flash of anger crossed in his eyes. His jaw tightened. Suddenly, he started ripping Cersei's dress. The former Queen cried. "Get your hands off me!" She ordered. He slapped her across the face destabilizing her long enough for him to rip the entire front of the gown. She fought him, but he hit her, in the chest and in the stomach. Her breathing was cut for a few seconds and she was defenceless when he lifted her and tossed her to the bed.

Cersei Lannister was said to be one of the most beautiful women in all of Westeros. Yet, in all her nakedness, she did not appear that way to Daeron. She appeared like a beaten woman. Her hair was disheveled and she had bruises all over her body.

Ramsay pulled his breeches down and entered her forcefully. She tossed around and tried to get away, screaming. It seemed to incite him even more. "Tell me sweet wife, tell me my cock is better than your brother's." He ordered her with a wicked grin.

"You'll never be half the man Jaime is." She shouted aggressively. The answer did not please him. He punched her in the face knocking her out. Her nose started bleeding, but he did not care. He kept pounding into her until he was spent. He then fell back down onto the mattress next to the passed-out Queen Mother.

...

Daeron met his commanders in a tent as they waited for the snowstorm to stop. Thankfully, they had the Free Folks with them, and their army should not suffer too much from it. The weather stopping them might actually be a blessing in disguise. Now they had time to truly plan their attack. They needed time since apparently no lord could come to agree with one another.

"We should go there as fast as we could, a snowstorm cannot stop us!" Lord Cerwyn insisted. "The Boltons will want to impress the other Northern lords. They'll try to crush us in an open field. The faster we can get there the less prepared he'll be." He slammed his fist on the table. The lord was young, and the impulsivity of youth showed in him.

"They'd be fools." The even younger Lady Mormont – who had never even seen a real battle, only ironborn raids – intervened. "If I was them, I'd use the thick walls of Winterfell to protect myself and wait for the invaders to freeze or die." She declared fiercely.

"You're only a girl Lady Lyanna!" Lord Cerwyn showed his disapproval of her presence at the council by shaking his head. But Daeron liked the young lady from Bear Island, she was wise beyond her years but also bluntly honest.

"Can't we just strike through the walls?" Tormund Giantsbane who had been invited as a courtesy did not seem to see where the problem was. He had suggested only minutes earlier that they should take the castle as they had taken the Dreadfort.

The two Northern lords laughed openly at the free folk's comment. "The walls of Winterfell are thicker than the Dreadfort's, Tormund. It's also better guarded and our aim is to damage it as little as possible. It's a symbol." Daeron explained calmly. The big man grunted something along the lines of 'bloody symbol' but seemed to have understood.

"What is your opinion, your Grace?" Lord Stannis who – just like Daeron – had only been listening until now asked turning to the King.

"I think both Lord Cerwyn and Lady Mormont are right…" The councillors frowned. "Everything depends on which Bolton we're up against." Daeron detailed his thoughts. If Roose is still in command when we arrive, we will be in for a long siege. But, if Ramsay kills his father before which is always a possibility, then it will be an open battle."

"Why would the bastard kill his father? He owes him everything!" Lord Glover seemed deeply perturbed by the possibility of kinslaying.

"Varys." Daeron turned to the Master of Whisperers of all Kings.

The eunuch had a blank expression when he announced: "Lady Walda is with child. Surely a legitimized bastard like Ramsay Snow would feel threatened by the possibility of a trueborn brother."

"Then what should we do?" Lord Cerwyn seemed as lost as he had been in the beginning.

"As you said, if we were preparing for direct battle, we should go as fast as we can… but that only applies if the army against us is prepared. Ramsay Snow is a bastard, he's never seen battle, and if he kills his father, his army won't be very stable." Lord Stannis summed up. "I think our best course of action would be to build siege weaponry while we're stuck here."

"I agree." Daeron declared. "Get all your men on the job, Tormund tell the Free Folks to help where they can." The man nodded. All exited except for Stannis and Varys.

"If it comes to a siege, we will be susceptible to the cold and hunger. We cannot spend six months under the walls of Winterfell." As usual, Lord Stannis looked grim.

"We won't wait six months." Daeron promised. "We'll only wait until Robb arrives and then we'll attack. I cannot be seen flying the Targaryen banner and leading a charge against Winterfell. But if the Stark banner is flying beside me, it will be another story. Again, the symbol is important."

"Indeed." Varys nodded. "But, your Grace, have you considered the fact that Robb Stark might not be able to leave Dorne or that he could meet trouble at sea?" The eunuch raised an unpleasant question.

"Then I would be forced to ask Sansa to come to the battlefield. Have you had any news from Dorne?" Daeron asked.

"I have not. Dorne is very far away, I'm afraid my little birds voice is not loud enough to reach us." He hung his head.

"Your little birds whispered from Essos when you served my brother." Stannis commented disdainfully. It was clear he disliked the Master of Whisperers.

"I have friends in Essos, not in Dorne." The eunuch shrugged. "Though, I have news from Lady Sansa." That brought back Daeron's attention. "She's arrived at Castle Black with two hundred men of House Velaryon, led by Aurane Waters himself."

"Good." Daeron smiled a little. "If we start a siege then maybe the Velaryons will have time to join us." It would be good to show Westeros that the oldest friends of House Targaryen were with him.

"They might already be on the road." Varys added.

...

The snowstorm cleared after two days. The road was less practical than before with areas where the snow was up to hip height, but nothing a dragon could not solve. The commanders were relieved to discover that only four men had died in the event. Mainly because of their own stupidity. One of Stannis' men froze to death because he thought the Free Folk's furs they were lending him 'smelled'. A rare knight serving House Cerwyn decided to go for a walk but with the ever-changing landscape, he got lost and fell into a frozen river. The other two died in a contest with other men. They played some kind of game at night where the loser of each round had to take off a piece of clothing. The winners thought it would be funny to hide the two losers' clothes. By the time they realized it was a stupid idea, their companions were still alive, but they died from exposure in the night. No need to say the other players were punished. Since they had stolen the clothes, their non-dominant hands were taken.

During the storm, they also got time to build a few siege weapons. Twenty in total. Fifteen Daeron had no intention to use with full force, they were catapults and trebuchets. The damage they could do to the structure of Winterfell would be too great. Though they probably could use it to throw other things, like prisoners if they managed to take any. And they would be great dissuasion weapons, if the dragon was not enough of course. The other five, they might actually use. They were battering rams, heavy logs used to splinter the gates and covered by a canopy to protect the soldiers from arrows and other materials the defenders might throw.

Daeron could not tire of looking at the men working on the weaponry. Especially the giants who took down the trees that would served to build everything. It looked so easy for them, like plucking a carrot. Then, the men carved the wood into planks or beams depending on what they made. Another group of men, older, with more experience surely, assembled the machines. It was so well organized that it did not take too much time.

Watching the engines being built, Daeron's confidence grew. With so many men and, more importantly, giants, he realised he probably could take the castle with minimum damage anyway, the way he had taken the Dreadfort. Winterfell was not exactly built for a siege, other than its walls, it had no natural protection. No mountain like the Eyrie. To river or open sea like Riverrun, Storm's End, the Red Keep or Casterly Rock. It had several wooden gates, not one single entrance, so it could be breached from several sides. In fact, Winterfell had been built atop a hill, giving the defenders the advantage when they met in the fields just outside of it. Sieges were not a tradition in the North, so maybe Roose Bolton would quickly reconsider and fight them in a real battle. He had no way of knowing.

They started marching again the next morning. In four days, they would be in view of Winterfell.

...

"Lord Cerwyn… we really should send someone of lesser importance as a messenger. You cannot die! Think about what would happen to your House." Daeron pinched his nose as he explained for the hundredth time. Cley Cerwyn had been adamant in his desire to be the envoy they would send to the walls. It was, according to him, an honour. According to Daeron, it was foolish.

A few bang on the head by Lord Glover and Lady Mormont later, he retaliated. They chose Lord Estermont, one of Stannis' only remaining Lords from the Stormlands, an old man with enough heirs back at home and Stannis' uncle through his mother. "Open the gates and surrender. If you do, all those involved except for Roose Bolton and Ramsay Snow will be left unharmed. If you don't you'll know fire and blood. The message is fairly simple, your Grace." The older lord commented.

"Because our terms are simple, we want them to surrender and we want the Boltons' heads, that's it." He replied to which the man nodded.

They watched the man leave with his young squire. The boy carried the parlay banner. They rode through the frozen field outside of Winterfell. The bright sun in the last couple of days had almost completely melted away the snow. Only a thin crust remained, and the ground was hardened. If they had to charge in a battle, it should not work against them.

Lord Estermont was only a small dot in front of the walls when he stopped. Daeron, Stannis, and the Northern Lords held their breaths. Only Tormund talked. "Why are we sending an old man to talk?" He did not seem to understand the concept. "Shouldn't we use the surprise and attack?"

"They probably already know we're here and they expected us, there would be no surprise. A parlay is a custom before a conflict. It won't change much." Daeron indicated.

Tormund nodded gravely. "I feel like your fancy ways had a ton a bullshit, useless non-sense." Daeron would have laughed at the big man's honesty, but he was too focused on Lord Estermont. Finally, the dot turned around and rode back. The commanders relaxed slightly.

It was funny how they all knew the answer but were still anxious to hear it. They did not have to wait long. Lord Estermont rode fast.

"They refuse your terms, your Grace." The old man said. Then, he seemed to hesitate, as if he was embarrassed to repeat the words of Roose Bolton. "He said you're a usurper but that he is merciful. If we were to give you and Lord Stannis to him, and bend the knee, recognizing him as the true Warden of the North, he would pardon the rebel lords. That's what he said. He also wanted to remind you that he still has your cousin. Rickon Stark." Daeron nodded, he had not forgotten.

"Did he give you proof, Uncle?" Stannis intervened. His uncle frowned, he had not understood the question. "Did he give you proof that he has Rickon Stark?" The Baratheon lord repeated. The envoy shook his head.

Daeron, Stannis and Varys sighed together. "You cannot save everybody, your Grace." Varys told him.

"I know." Daeron replied with dread, he wanted to see Rickon's smile again. "We proceed as planned." He ordered.

"Don't worry, your Grace. If anything, Roose is not an idiot. He knows Rickon is his only hostage of real value here, he won't do anything to him, he will threaten, but he won't do anything." Lord Glover repeated as a mantra. The lord should know, he had known Roose Bolton all his life, they had fought together in many wars. But again, it was not Roose who worried Daeron, it was his unstable son.

By midday, they had deployed the men and the weapons though the giants and Rhoynax remained hidden. It was said in a siege the hardest parts were the beginning and the end. At least for the beginning, it verified here. For four hours straight, arrows rained on Daeron's army. They shot some of their own back, and managed to kill a few Bolton soldiers, but they were immediately replaced. They used the trebuchets with parsimony. And they chose light weighed stones to throw to do as little damage as possible.

The night was agitated as well. Some arrows ended the lives of men as they slept, but it was not a continuous rain as they had in the afternoon. Daeron managed to get a few hours of sleep despite the adrenaline and the anxiousness.

For five days, the pattern repeated itself. Rains of arrows, fake hits of the trebuchets and sleepless nights. The commanders were not exactly happy – especially Tormund who was very disappointed to be excluded from the fighting since he could not use a bow – but they understood the manoeuvre.

"Your Grace." Lord Stannis called him out in their morning meeting. "I think it's time to use your secret weapon. I have been on the other side of a siege. I can tell you, when the fighting becomes idle, the confidence of the defenders grow. When I was under siege at Storm's End against the Tyrells, it was much like today. After two weeks, it became clear they had no intention of attack. From then on, I was sure I would get out of there alive, I only had to find food. And even if they had stormed the castle, we would have been ready and put up a real fight." He paused. "Fear will win you a siege more easily than time. You don't actually have to attack or only small ones like what we do with the trebuchets. It won't do much damage to Winterfell, but the men will start to feel fear. They will desert by the thousands." Daeron nodded, considering what the man had just said. He had to admit, even though one of his intention was to buy time, the siege was more monotonous than he had expected. He did not want his enemies to become too comfortable. And, though they lost no more than fifty men per day, he did not want to see his army dwindle too much.

So, the next morning, he mounted Rhoynax. Through his bond with her, he perceived that she was happy with his decision, she wanted some action almost as much as Tormund. "Sovegon." She took them to the sky. That first day, they flew in circles five times over Winterfell. Daeron heard the cries and the shouts coming from the battlements. As far as fear went, it seemed to be working judging by the high pitch he could hear. He even saw Roose Bolton coming out of the Great Keep, with wide eyes. From the distance, he could not say if the lord was fearful or just surprised.

From that moment on, Rhoynax slept at the edge of the woods, on the farthest side of Daeron's camp from the castle. She roared from time to time which not only must have frightened the enemy but also cheered Daeron's men.

They caught fifteen deserters from the Boltons that day. They were kept as prisoners, Daeron had no intention of letting them go free, who knew, they might alert the Freys. And the Freys still had most heirs to the Northern Houses, they did not want them executed.

The second day, he repeated the same process, but they only caught ten deserters. Though Daeron saw a hanging pole with corpses inside the courtyard of Winterfell, Bolton must have caught some of his own.

The third day, Daeron resolved to use Rhoynax's power. "Dracarys." The fifty men posted on the eastern battlement died screaming consumed by the flames. Rhoynax was not even at her full capacity to avoid burning the roofs and the wooden stairs.

The flow of deserters became thicker then.

So, any expectations for the following chapter?
Ramsay really is sickening, isn't he?

Next chapter: Daeron battles against the Boltons.