Hello everyone!
The Battle of Winterfell is here! I'm still not very comfortable writing battle scenes, so if you have any suggestion, don't hesitate, leave a review ;).
As always, thank you to all of you who follow, favourite and review this story!
Enjoy!
Chapter LV: The Battle of Winterfell
About five hundred Bolton soldiers burnt under Rhoynax's breath in the next few days. They were completely defenceless against her since they had not known about her. If weapons that could kill dragons had existed, like the scorpions invented by the Dornishmen, they were not built anymore since the dragons were supposed to have gone extinct. The defenders of Winterfell did not have any weapon that could pierce the dragon's thick skin. They did not even have weapon that could reach an enemy in the air. Several times, when he flew above the fortress, Daeron saw a man aiming at Rhoynax with a bow. The problem was, they did not know how the arrow could fall back and a few times, they injured their companions or a smallfolk running in the courtyard in fear of the dragon.
By the sixth day of flying with Rhoynax every morning, their improvised prison was full and they were faced with a new problem: how could they guard so many men? Thankfully, they would probably not have to come up with a solution. Around midday, a messenger carrying a white flag arrived at the boarder of their camp. He was trembling like a leaf and often glanced in Rhoynax's direction.
"Lord Bolton requests a parlay." The man announced, his voice breaking three times despite the shortness of the sentence. "He invites you to Winterfell, if you will follow me."
Daeron heard Lord Cerwyn and Lord Stannis scoff behind him. "Tell Lord Bolton we will meet him one hour before dusk in the field. Tell him to come unarmed unless he wants to see the Great Keep of Winterfell burn with his whole family inside." Daeron threatened. The man gulped but nodded quickly before turning on his heels and galloping back to Winterfell.
"Do you think they'll come?" Varys asked.
"They should." Daeron replied with confidence.
They did. An hour before the dusk, Daeron and his commanders along with a dozen guards rode to the field between their camp and Winterfell. It was a band of a hundred feet between them and they waited in the middle, Rhoynax lazily laying just behind them.
Roose Bolton exited the fortress with his bastard son and five soldiers of his own. Judging by the fact she hated to be left behind, Daeron half expected Cersei Lannister to be there as well, but apparently Ramsay Snow did not want his wife present.
"Your Grace." Roose Bolton called.
Daeron raised a brow. "I'm not a usurper anymore, Lord Bolton?" He asked sarcastically, a few of his men chuckled mockingly.
"Your beast makes your ancestry very obvious." The former Lord of the Dreadfort replied calmly. Daeron did not like to hear Rhoynax be called a 'beast', but he understood why she was. She was impressive and very deadly, a monster coming out of a children horror story.
"You wanted to parlay." Daeron reminded them.
"I have come with new terms your Grace." Roose kept focusing on Daeron contrary to his son who was fixated on Rhoynax and had a wicked grin on his face. What was he imagining? That he could still win and steal Rhoynax? The fool. "It is not in the interest of the North to have a long siege of Winterfell."
"Agreed." Daeron commented as the Northern lords behind him grunted their approval.
"And you have to progress further South to take your birthright." The distasteful lord continued. Daeron frowned, he did not know where Bolton was going with this talk. "You cannot stay here in the North, but the North cannot be undefended. Therefore, I offer peace." This time, Ramsay Snow stopped looking at Rhoynax to turn his surprised gaze to his father. Apparently, he had not been informed of the goal of the meeting. "I can stay here and act as Lord Stark's regent while my men, and my son, accompany you South to defeat the Lannisters. You can have Cersei Lannister too." The speed at which he turned his cloak was impressive.
"Father!" Ramsay did not seem ready to give up his bride and the lands he had stolen.
"You will stay silent!" The leach lord chastised his bastard who started seething on his horse.
Daeron knew he had an amused smirk on his lips. "Let me get this straight. You want me to let you, a renowned turncloak, have command of the North while I wedge war in the South with your visibly unstable son?" Daeron councillors laughed behind him. "Why would I do that? And why would Lord Stark need a regent?"
"Rickon Stark is nine." Roose reminded him.
"But he's not Lord Stark, is he?" Daeron was slightly confused…
"He's the last living male heir of Ned Stark." Only then did Daeron realised what was bothering him. He was completely dumbfounded. Roose Bolton was convinced that Robb Stark was dead. Cersei Lannister had not told them.
"Robb Stark is alive." He enjoyed the shock on his enemy's face. "He's on his way to the North as we speak. Catelyn Stark is alive. She's coming with him. Sansa Stark is alive. She's already in the North." Bolton's composure decomposed with every sentence. "So again, I ask, why would I need you or your bastard, traitor!" This time, he was more aggressive.
"I've been naturalized by royal decree!" The bastard shouted with rage in his eyes.
"Shut up!" His father ordered.
"By Joffrey Waters, another bastard." Lord Stannis replied mockingly.
"It will be war then." Roose Bolton declared, he had a great hold on his voice, but he could not conceal the trembling of his hands, he was furious and defeated. "I won't die hidden in a keep. I won't die cooked in a giant oven. Tomorrow we meet in the field.
"You'll die tomorrow Lord Bolton." Daeron said gravelly. "Your House will disappear. Sleep well." He finished before turning around and riding back to camp.
...
The commanders had argued again. They had tried to convince Daeron to use Rhoynax again. They had told him the Bolton men would flee if they saw the dragon now. But Daeron doubted it. Sure, some would flee, but not all. He needed to win a fair battle. Westeros respected warriors. They feared dragonriders. He needed both respect and fear to rule, as well as love but that would come later. He needed to win a traditional charge while he still could. And he was not sure the men he had would be enough against a full Lannister army.
Daeron needed to sleep. He needed to be rested for the battle even though he knew he could not have more than four hours before the dawn and the warhorns blew.
"High in the halls of the kings who are gone
Jenny would dance with her ghosts
The ones she had lost and the ones she had found
And the ones who had loved her the most
The ones who'd been gone for so very long
She couldn't remember their names
They spun her around on the damp old stones
Spun away all her sorrow and pain
And she never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave
Never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave
They danced through the day
And into the night through the snow that swept through the hall
From winter to summer then winter again
'Til the walls did crumble and fall
And she never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave
Never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave
And she never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave
Never wanted to leave, never wanted to leave
High in the halls of the kings who are gone
Jenny would dance with her ghosts
The ones she had lost and the ones she had found
And the ones
Who had loved her the most." The man who was singing the song had short and dark hair but, weirdly, the violet eyes of House Targaryen. In any case if he was there, he had to be a Targaryen and Daeron reminded himself that he, for instance, did not have the classic Targaryen looks. The song reminded him of his grandmother the first time he had met her in a dream. "I will never thank you father enough for this song." The man smiled at him. Jenny… Jenny… Jenny was the peasant girl who married the Prince of Dragonstone. Daeron remembered.
"Prince Duncan." He greeted with a warm smile as well. "I wish I could speak to my father." He added with a little sadness.
"I'm sure you will one day." The Prince of Dragonflies replied. "He is so proud of you. We all are really."
Daeron stayed in awkward silence for a few seconds. "I've got to say this is an update compared to the dreams I usually have before battle. Usually, it's mostly doom and everything." He declared sarcastically.
Duncan laughed slightly. "Let's not talk about battle then." He suggested.
Daeron raised a brow interrogatively. "What do you want to talk about then? Surely you did not appear in my dream only to sing to me."
"We could talk about fate." Now, both of Daeron's brows shot upward. "Yes, you're right it's probably not better." His great uncle guessed what he had just thought. "But I think fate will come tangling in your plans soon enough. It always does. I mean, it did for my father. Aegon V, friend of the people, raised with the smallfolks and married for love. I think fate got a laugh with him when I fell in love with Jenny. All of my father's qualities were held against him. They declared him responsible for my delusional fantasies" He said bitterly. "You married for love, did you not?"
"I love my wife, but we did not marry for love." Daeron explained. "I would have married her regardless of our feelings. It certainly helped though." He admitted. "But you say fate will come my way… what do you mean?"
"It always does in the end. For everyone. Your Father raced after prophecies, he wanted a girl, yet he got you and the rest of his family died. My father abhorred incest yet his children and grandchildren married." He paused. "I guess I helped fate in this case… Jaehaerys I built the base of a strong dynasty. One the children of his beloved grandchild tore apart." He enumerated. "Life is full of little ironies and fate laughs of the credulity of humans like us."
"I think I preferred to dream of doom." Daeron told him with humour, Duncan could not help but chuckle.
"Sorry." The Targaryen Prince wiped away the tears that had formed in his eyes. "That was not my intention. What I'm trying, and failing, to say is that fate will mingle with your plans whatever you do. So, when it does, you need to recognize it and use it to your advantage.
...
The horses were nervous. The men were nervous. The dragon was nervous. It was this time of the battle again. The silence before the charge.
Stannis Baratheon would lead the vanguard. Everyone – except for Daeron – agreed that without any Kingsguard present, the King should not go where the fighting was thickest. The Baratheon general waited. He wanted the Boltons to sound the charge first. Considering the terrain, if Stannis charged their advantage might cause them to win despite the difference in numbers. From his position, Daeron could see Roose Bolton looking anxiously at the sky. He was scrutinizing and waiting for Rhoynax to appear. He was certain that he would die quickly in the flames. But Daeron would not do him the honour.
The silence lasted for half an hour. Half an hour where no one moved, and each side looked at the other in defiance. As Daeron had expected the Boltons cracked first and Roose finally gave the order. The King had seen the bastard going back and forth between his position and his father, his impatience clear. Without him, Daeron was sure the traitor lord would have waited longer. But the Bolton patriarch knew he was a dead man anyway, he had nothing to lose or win from waiting too long. Well, he would have spared a few of his men but that never seemed to be at the top of his priorities.
"Spears!" Daeron heard Stannis shout his order which was then echoed down the line of men. "Hold!" A little behind the vanguard, a young girl's voice was heard. "Archers!" Lyanna Mormont might be young, but she had nothing to envy to the other generals. Even Tormund Giantsbane admired the little lady from Bear Island. She reminded Daeron very much of Arya and he was sure his mother would have been honoured to have such a child named after her.
The first row of Bolton men crashed against the spears of Stannis' men, while their companions died under the arrows of the archers. The second and third row new the same fate. But then came the first round of cavalry. While some died, the group as a whole manage to pierce through the tight wall of spears created by Stannis and attack the van. The line of spears became useless then and they turned to aid the foot soldiers and mounted men.
Daeron was becoming rather impatient. He discovered he hated to look at a battle without being in it. At least, when he was inside, he could not really see the horror that it was. It smelled like blood and shit, even from afar and the battle cries were completely washed away by the screams of agony.
Either Bolton's vanguard was smaller than Daeron's or they were less skilled, but it was not long before he had to send in the next salve of men. The battle was now completely disorganised. The young King could not tell who his men were and who were Bolton's in the middle of the fighting. He passed down the order to Lady Lyanna to stop showering the field with arrows as he did not want to accidently injure his men. Roose Bolton seemed to ignore these kinds of reservations since it was precisely the moment he chose to release his first arrows.
Daeron left the reserve under the command of Lyanna Mormont and Lord Estermont as he charged with the best part of their troops. Lord Glover held the right flank and Lord Cerwyn the left.
The Targaryen King felt the rush of adrenaline pumping in his veins as he galloped into the battle. His first clash of Darksister saw a horse lose its head and its rider's belly open under the sharpness of Valyrian steel. When they realised, they were up against giants – beasts they had never seen since Daeron and Tormund had concealed them in the forest – the Bolton soldiers became completely disorganized. Taking advantage of the confusion, Daeron decapitated half a dozen men two of which, judging by their equipment, were nobles. The horse became a hindrance soon enough and Daeron had to dismount to fight.
Suddenly, a mountain of a man stood before Daeron. On his surcoat, the white sun of House Karstark. "Jon Snow!" He challenged as he struck down with his greatsword. Daeron parried it even though the force was great. "Your brother killed my father now I'll kill you!" He declared.
Grinding his teeth and swinging in the man's direction, Daeron replied. "My brother was murdered as a baby." The Karstark lord was obviously experienced with a sword. His movement resembled the ones Robb and Daeron practiced with Ser Rodrick when they were younger.
His opponent tried to hit him from top to bottom with full force. Daeron dodged it, he doubted he could have parried it in this case. "You will never have the North!" The man looked like a mad beast. His eyes were glowing with rage and he spat drool out every time he opened his mouth. After a few more clashes, Daeron found an opening in his defences. He swinged in direction of the right elbow as the man had once again tried to cut him in half. Valyrian steel cut through him like butter. The lord cried out in pain.
"Surrender, Lord Karstark! Surrender now and I will let you live." Daeron offered. He had no wish to see House Karstark disappear. He understood their rage at Robb, it was not lawful, but it was legitimate.
"Never!" The man charged. Unfortunately for him, a greatsword needed two hands to be wielded. With his injured arm spurting blood, he could do little more than to drag it by his side. Deciding he would never be able to get anything from this man, Daeron ended his suffering. A clean death, the head severed from the body in one swing. The same way his father had died from Robb's sword.
Little by little, one dead Bolton soldier by one dead Bolton soldier, Daeron and Lord Cerwyn, who had joined him on foot – the man was supposed to hold the left flank, what was he doing here? –, got closer to the walls of Winterfell and to the Bolton commanders. Turning his head to the left, the King discovered it was not only Lord Cerwyn, but the entire left part of his army had also joined him after annihilating the enemy.
"Attack! We need to send the rest of our men and attack! Hunt them like dogs! Like dogs!" They heard the incoherent vociferations of Ramsay Snow. The dark-haired bastard was way too close to his father and screaming in his ear. Lord Bolton seemed unperturbed by his annoying son other than maybe his tight jaw. His eyes were fixated on Daeron.
Maybe it is why he did not see the dagger coming. In his maddening rage, Ramsay Snow stabbed his father through the throat with a hunting knife. If anyone had asked Daeron before the battle if there was one way he did not want his enemy to die by, it was this one. The former Lord of the Dreadfort's mouth had dropped, his eyes forever stuck in an expression of surprise at the betrayal of his heir. Ramsay Snow was a beast worse than even Joffrey Waters. Daeron heard a gasp behind him, Cley Cerwyn was as shocked as him. Kinslaying was the worst crime a man could commit.
"Charge! I'm your lord now! Charge you dumb bitches!" The bastard shouted still sounding as insane. Some men obeyed, unfortunately. But others did not. Daeron could not see if they had just gave up or if they turned on his since he was once again attacked.
Blood was dripping from Darksister. He avoided a strong Northern horse and its rider's war axe. Then, he gutted a few charging men. The new combatants quickly integrated themselves in the flow of soldiers. Daeron had survived the charge.
Yet, fate was not as kind for Cley Cerwyn. The young lord had a gaping wound on the right side of his chest and he was coughing out blood. "Your Grace." He whispered as Daeron rushed to his side. The man slumped to his knees and Daeron helped to lay him down. "Find someone… honourable and good… for Castle Cerwyn." He demanded with his dying breath.
"I will. I will." Daeron vowed to his body. Thus ended the House Cerwyn of Castle Cerwyn.
Daeron had no more time to spend at the side of his dead commander. Hearing a scream coming his way, he thrusted Darksister behind him striking down the man who was attacking him.
He got up and turned around with the firm intention of back to the fighting when suddenly, warhorns were heard. To Daeron's left, two hundred men on horses or on foot were charging with loud cries from the North. Daeron could feel the panic amongst the men when, for a split second, they did not know who this army was reinforcing. Then, Daeron saw the grey wolf of the Starks and the silver seahorse of the Velaryons. Looking closely, he also saw the distinct red hair of Sansa Stark on the Northern hill.
The arrival of the Velaryon men completely destabilized the enemy. Only a few minutes more before the Boltons capitulated. By that time, they were less than a thousand.
...
Daeron was exhausted by the battle. He walked directly to Winterfell's closest gate.
"Your Grace!" He was greeted by Lord Glover. "What should I do with this one?" The older lord asked. He was holding Ramsay Snow with the help of several of his men. Daeron looked at the prisoner with disgust. The mad man was barking insults and threats still. He was completely incoherent.
"He's not a lord." Daeron commented calmly. "Hang him and feed his body to his dogs." He ordered before turning away. He had no wish to spend more time on the bastard's case, he had more important things to do.
"Daeron!" He was interrupted again, this time by Sansa who came riding his way. She wore a gown of sea green velvet with the Stark's direwolf embroidered in grey and silver, no doubt a gift from her hosts. She dismounted and curtsied perfectly in front of him.
"Sansa! What are you doing here? You were supposed to stay safe in Castle Black!" He chastised her.
"You could not take back Winterfell without a Stark present!" She countered.
"Sansa this is a battlefield. You could have been hurt!" Daeron insisted.
"The Velaryons protected me." She said. Speaking of them…
"Aurane Waters." Daeron greeted the Bastard of Driftmark who was coming their way, his long silver hair whipping in the wind. "Thank you for coming to our aid."
"Your Grace, I assure you your cousin was never in any kind of danger." He vowed with a bow. Sansa smiled at the man and Daeron sighed. Behind them, he noticed Oberyn. The Prince of Dorne was not supposed to be there either, he too should have stayed with Arianne.
He was about to answer when a disturbing convoy attracted his attention. Two Baratheon soldiers were running toward the castle transporting their lord. Stannis was grunting with pain. His legs looked all twisted. "What happened?" Daeron asked alarmed.
Apparently, the Lord of Storm's End was well enough to answer. "Horse fell on my legs." He grimaced, he looked like he was really suffering. "Any loss?" Despite the pain, he still worried for the others.
"Cley Cerwyn died honourably." Daeron looked at the men carrying the injured lord. "Find whoever the Maester is here, Lord Stannis is the priority." They nodded and took away the grunting Baratheon. "Aurane!" Daeron turned back to the Velaryon general. Since he was here, he might as well be useful. "Take a few good men, you have to find Lady Walda and Lady Cersei. Hold them until I come back." He ordered. The silver-haired man did as he was asked. Apparently, he knew his men well, since he instantly shouted six names and the warriors appeared. Daeron returned to Sansa. "Have you been informed of Rickon's situation?" He needed to find his cousin, but he did not want to cause Sansa any shock.
She nodded. "Queen Arianne told me…" Apparently, she also knew what they might find. Daeron prayed to all the gods that existed that they found the boy and not his body.
He informed a few men of who they were looking for and soon, he got fifty men searching every corner of Winterfell. He himself went to the kitchens with Sansa and Oberyn. They even searched the storage room, but Rickon was not there. He went to the dungeons next. However, when he arrived in the second corridor, he crossed the path of a Cerwyn footman who had already looked and did not find the boy.
They went back to the courtyard with the intention of going to the Maester's tower. "I found him!" They heard someone shout. The voice was coming from the kennels. Daeron and Sansa ran towards there together.
They found Rickon curved up into a ball in the corner of a cage with all the hounds barking around him. With the help of the soldiers present, they broke the door to the cage and rushed to the boy's side. Sansa, very delicately pushed away his arms. Rickon lifted his face to them. He was dirty, he was thin, but he was alive. Sansa sighed with relief and Daeron breathed a little easier.
Rickon started shaking his head. "No! No! You're not real! You're not real!" He screamed while trying to disappear into the wall.
So, what did you think of the battle?
Did you see the Velaryons coming? Any idea how they will influence the following chapters?
I admit the dream was not my best though :/.
Next chapter: Daeron deals with the aftermath of the battle and the little gift Ramsay left.
Guest reviews:
- Thank you very much. I think using Rhoynax or not in battle will be a dilemna that stays with Daeron for some time.