In the end, Ygritte had gotten her bow. She had also occupied Jon's bed each evening for the three nights they had spent at Last Hearth. Every bit of common sense told him that it was a horrible idea, but there was something about the wildling that was addictive. She was no great beauty, and by no means a proper lady befitting a prince, but he was sure that was what he liked about her. He had spent his life never seeking to offend or place a toe out of line, and she was wild and uninhibited, his complete opposite. A wry thought crossed his mind that he and his natural father both had a proclivity for women from the far north who they had no business pursuing.

Jon walked alone along the walls of the castle, once again needlessly checking their preparations, just for want of something else to occupy his mind other than his fiery-haired wilding. He had done so each evening. The daylight was beginning to wane, and he was prepared to hunker down again for the night, but as he looked out over the horizon he spotted a pair of riders galloping hard towards the castle. They had stationed numerous scouts to the south as an advanced warning of enemy forces. Now it appeared things were about to finally come to a head.

He was not the only one who noticed the retuning scouts, because bells quickly began to ring from the towers. The castle suddenly exploded with activity, as the Umber soldiers began to mount the walls. The goal was to sparsely line the walls to create the impression that they could easily be taken. If the Boltons contented themselves to maintain a siege, they would be able to starve the castle in a short time, even faster with all of Jon's added men. Jon was betting against such tactics. The Boltons were impulsive, and they had their eyes set on more castles than this one. The faster the Umbers were put into submission, the sooner the Boltons could accelerate their ambitions.

Jon was shortly joined by Robin Flint and Hellman Tallhart, and they all watched on as the Bolton army eventually appeared in the distance. It was clear that the Boltons had brought the bulk of their forces with them, at least five thousand men by Jon's rough count. The army stopped their march about two hundred yards from the castle. A group of mounted soldiers made their way closer, a white flag raised.

Jon turned to his two fellow commanders. "See that our men are ready. Conceal as many as you can in the towers. The rest should be on the stairs ready to take to the walls as soon I give the word. We need them to commit to the attack, so not a moment sooner."

"We'll be ready, Jon," Robin Flint replied.

"Good. When the time is right, I will retreat to the rear of the castle to give Lord Wull the signal to proceed with his attack.

Jon descended from the walls to where Mors Umber was in the process of mounting his horse, preparing to go out and meet the Bolton detachment. Once he was seated, Jon moved forward and grabbed the reins of the man's horse.

"When you meet the Boltons, I need you to maintain our ruse," Jon instructed Mors. "You know nothing of their dealings with the Lannisters. Act surprised. Then do whatever you need to do goad them into a fight. I'm sure Ramsay is with them, so refer to him as a bastard as many times as you can."

Mors Umber grinned down at him. "If there is one thing we Umbers know how to do, it is how to pick a fight. Don't worry, my prince, I'll rile them up. If they think they are taking this castle, they are sorely mistaken."

The urge to mount his own horse and meet the Boltons was strong, but he was counting on Mors Umber to handle the initial pleasantries, without disclosing Jon's presence. The worst that could happen would be Mors agreed to surrender the castle, which Jon would not allow to happen, or the Boltons killed Mors, which would only invigorate Jon's own men.

As the gates shut on the riders, Jon navigated through the courtyard full of soldiers, eventually finding Ygritte and Tormund secluded in a corner. Ygritte was leaning on her bow, a quiver of arrows slung over one of her shoulders. He wouldn't confess it to her, but he had the bow made especially for her by the castle's bowyer, so it was of excellent quality. Tormund was likewise armed with a castle-forged sword that Jon had procured for him. What Jon had not personally provided was the small axe and dagger attached to Tormund's hip. Somewhere in the castle, someone was clearly searching for their missing weapons.

"Is it time, Stark?" Tormund asked. "I'm itching to stick my blade into something."

"Almost," Jon confirmed. "I want you both with me when the fighting starts."

"Don't trust us?" Ygritte pouted.

"I trust you enough to arm you, so that should say enough. You're here because of me, and that means you're my responsibility. I doubt you've ever experienced a siege on a castle beyond the Wall. Things will get hectic, so you need to follow my commands. If I say to do something, you will do it. Am I understood?"

"Understood, Stark," Tormund responded.

"Ygritte?" Jon asked, his tone unconsciously softening.

"Understood," she stated.

"Good. Try not to die. We'll want to move against the front wall. They'll send several volleys into the castle before they attempt to breach it to initially weaken our strength."

Jon retrieved his own bow, waiting in the courtyard for Mors Umber's return. It did not take but another few minutes for the gates to open again for the returning riders. Mors rode straight for Jon, a look of satisfaction on his face.

"Well?" Jon prompted.

"The deed is done. Roose Bolton is calling himself the Warden of the North, so I called him a cunt and told him he could fuck off back to his castle. Then I regaled them with stories of how I made their mothers howl when I fucked them."

"Well, that should probably do it." As if his statement was an act of premonition, a sudden shout of "incoming" came from atop the walls.

"To cover!" Jon shouted, practically ripping Mors Umber down from his horse. He pulled the bear of a man to the wall beside Ygritte and Tormund just in time as a storm of arrows suddenly rained upon the castle. Mors' horse looked like a pincushion as no less than ten arrows impaled the beast, which fell dead to the ground. Many of the men in the castle had sought shelter or raised shields, but more than a handful still fell to the projectiles.

"Incoming!" Came another shout from the walls, and another volley of arrows poured down upon the courtyard. Three more successive volleys came, but each inflicted less casualties than the one before it.

After a brief break, Jon pushed off the wall. "Wait here," he instructed. He pushed his way up the crowded stairs and onto the walls, where he first noticed the Umbers had appeared to lose about a quarter of their men. Jon peered over the edge of the walls and saw that the Bolton forces were moving forward. The archers had fallen to the rear and the infantry was moving quickly with the Bolton cavalry behind them. That was who Jon had his eye on. The infantry was slow, easier to pick apart, but the mounted soldiers could retreat faster from the field.

"Hold!" Jon called. To whom he was calling, he was not altogether sure, but he believed it was mostly to steel his own conviction. The infantry was almost upon the walls, hardly bothered by the remaining Bolton archers who were loosing at will. Jon lifted his own bow and nocked an arrow. Twenty yards…fifteen yards…ten yards…five yards…and then they were at the walls.

"To the walls! To the fucking walls!" Jon turned and ordered at the top of his lungs. He heard the thundering of steps behind him, felt the ground shaking beneath his feet, but wasted no time, pulling back his bow string and loosing into the lines of Bolton horsemen. By the time the first arrow was free, he had already nocked the second and loosed. He finally turned to his right and saw Ygritte with her own bow drawn back, firing onto the attackers. All around him the sky was suddenly inundated with hundreds of arrows descending with lethal intent.

The Bolton army was in a state of confusion, seemingly uncomprehending why their soldiers were beginning to drop by the dozens. The infantry had temporarily halted, apparently stuck between the choices of retreating and attempting to assail the walls. Fear of Roose Bolton's punishment for retreating won out, because the infantry pressed forward again, ladders being raised.

"Defend the walls!" Jon shouted. "These are the King's walls! These are our walls! No Bolton traitor sets foot on our walls!" Jon noticed a Bolton solider had made it half way up one of the ladders and placed an arrow through the soldier's ear, watching him fall limp and lifeless to the throngs below him.

"Down, Stark!" Ygritte's voice called from his right. Without thinking, he ducked down, just in time to watch the wildling's arrow pierce the shoulder of another solider who had made it to the top of wall and was about to attempt to strike Jon. Standing quickly again, Jon pulled his sword from its sheath and finished the soldier off, removing his head from his shoulders. He turned back to Ygritte, who offered him a smirk, before turning to loose her arrows again. Behind her, Tormund was busy stabbing at ascending soldiers with his sword, while using his axe to splinter the top rungs of the ladders. The man fought like a wild animal, almost laughing as his blades struck.

The bodies at the foot of the walls were quickly beginning to pile, making it harder for subsequent waves of attackers to get forward, leaving them exposed to relentless streams of arrows from the castle's defenders. The Bolton infantry had already been close to halved. While that in itself was satisfying, Jon could see in the distance that the cavalry was getting restless and uncertain with the turn of the tides, to the point where they had retreated back out of range of arrow strike. They were also far enough back that he could not risk sending his own men down from the hills. They would be left too exposed to a devastating horse charge.

He wanted to break the Boltons, and that would not happen if he allowed them to retreat back to the Dreadfort. The only way he could think to keep them in the field was tactically illogical, and likely crazy, but it just might be crazy enough to work. Jon ordered Ygritte and Tormund to stay where they were, while he descend down back into the courtyard, where Mors Umber was directing reinforcements where they were needed.

"Are the gates holding?" Jon asked.

"Barely a splinter," Mors proudly replied.

"I need you to let them break through," Jon ordered.

"Break through? Are you fucking mad, boy?"

"We need to draw in their horses. The only way we do that now is if they think they have a chance at taking the castle. We still have the advantage. They have to funnel their men through the narrow gates. We'll surround them from below and pick them off from above."

"We've won the day and you simply want to let them waltz into the castle. Imagine the shame on my name as the Umber who couldn't hold his own damn castle! I won't do it, boy."

Jon surged forward and grabbed the man by the collar, which exceedingly awkward given their differences in size. Jon would not be deterred though. "I'm not your fucking boy. I am your prince, and I speak with the authority of your king. Fuck your pride. You will open those gates, because I have ordered you to open them, or I will remove your head from your shoulders. Have I made myself clear?"

There was clearly still a tempest brewing behind Umber's remaining eye, but eventually, he relented. "I'll see it done."

"You don't need to open it, just weaken it enough to let them break through." Jon didn't give the man another glance, moving around the courtyard until he located an abandoned shield. "To me! Form lines! They are about to breach the gate!" The news that the gates were going to fall was enough to encourage the men in the courtyard to take up arms around him, effectively creating a semi-circle around the gate. He was suddenly joined on his left by Robin Flint and on his right by Tormund.

"What's happening?" Flint questioned. "I thought we had beat them back."

"We did. I am letting them in," Jon answered, not looking at him. A booming laugh drowned out Flint's indignant reply from his right.

"You've got balls, Stark. Giant, fucking balls."

Jon had no opportunity to reply because there was a great crack as the doors imploded inwards, which was followed by a giant cheer from the Bolton attackers.

"Here they come! Hold your ground!" Jon shouted.

The first wave of attackers ran straight into their lines without any forethought, simply trying to bodily pierce their way through. The defensive lines held against the charge. Jon pushed the closest attacker back with his shield, then plunged his sword forward into the man's stomach. Another came behind him, attempting to run Jon through with a spear. Jon turned his body, protecting his torso, but taking a minor cut on his arm. As the attacker's momentum carried him forward, Jon sliced down on his spear, then slid the sword up straight into the spearman's throat, his breached airway spraying blood in all directions.

The rush of men through continued consistently, but the Boltons were unable to make any headway, especially as arrows from the walls hit them as soon as they made it to the castle's courtyard. There were so many dead bodies, that the blood was beginning to pool. Jon, seeing that his men had things in hand, retreated backward and made his way back up to the walls to Ygritte, who was continuing to effectively loose her arrows.

Jon looked over the wall and saw exactly what he had hoped. Upon the breach of the gates, the Boltons had committed everything forward. The Bolton archers who had initially retreated to the rear had been sent in behind the infantry, and the mounted soldiers had moved in closer, prepared to clean up after the infantry. Behind the main cavalry, Jon could see a small group of riders, which he had no doubt was Roose and his bastard. They were close enough.

Jon pushed away from the wall, ready to go signal Lord Wull to begin his attack, but was stopped short when he heard a woman scream beside him. His breath catching in his chest, he turned and watched as Ygritte fell to the ground. He rushed over, dropping to his knees beside her. She was clutching at her left shoulder where an arrow was embedded. Ygritte cried out as Jon pulled her back against the wall.

"I'm fine, Stark," Ygritte growled, clearly in pain. "Go do what you need to do."

"As soon as I've seen to this wound. Lean forward." Jon helped Ygritte lean forward, and he saw the arrowhead had exited through the back of her shoulder. "The arrow passed through. I'm going to break off the head, so I can pull the shaft out. Brace yourself."

"Just fucking do it."

Jon wrapped the fingers on his left hand around the exit point, gripping the shaft to hold it steady, while his right hand snapped off the head. Luckily, he managed not to jostle the shaft and cause her additional pain. Unfortunately, the next part would. "I'm going to pull out the shaft." Jon suddenly felt Ygritte's fingers gripping his thigh, preparing herself. Jon slowly pulled the shaft from her shoulder, feeling her fingernails dig into his leg as she felt the pain of the arrow pulling through her flesh. A rush of blood bubbled out of the wound as the arrow pulled free of flesh. Jon reached beneath his leather jerkin, tearing a strip of his tunic off to use as a bandage. He tied it tightly around the wound to slow the bleeding.

"That'll have to do for now until the maester can see to it," Jon stated, helping to push her more firmly against the wall.

"If you're finished acting like a woman, go win the damn battle," Ygritte huffed, though Jon could also sense affection and appreciation behind her tone.

"As you command," Jon grinned, giving Ygritte a final once-over before taking off along the walls once again. Weaving through scores of defenders still on the wall, he finally made it to the rear of the castle where he had stored another bow. Dipping an arrow in a container of pitch, he lit the projectile in a nearby brazier. Lifting his bow skyward, he loosed his shot high into the hills. As it flew, he heard an answering call from his concealed forces as they prepared to make their descent into the battle. The sky was dark, but Jon could see the men quickly making their way down the rough terrain, the moonlight glinting off of their spears and swords.

Jon quickly returned to the front of the castle, watching as his men suddenly converged from both sides of the castle, falling upon the unsuspecting Bolton forces. Half of the force hammered the Bolton archers and infantry from behind, while the other half charged the Bolton horsemen. While the mountain clansmen were not the most disciplined, they were fierce fighters, and quickly caused panic among their enemies. Jon's eyes strayed from the battle, keeping them locked on the Bolton lord. They were rattled at that the turn of the events, the commanders arguing amongst themselves. Jon could not let them get away.

He made his way back down to the courtyard, where the flow of Boltons into the castle had been completely stemmed. He found Mors Umber trying to get the castle's entrance clear of bodies.

"Umber!" Jon called, as he approached. "We need horses. We need to go after Roose Bolton."

Mors Umber complied with the request, sending his men to bring a dozen horses from the stables. Jon rounded up men to ride with him, including Robin Flint and a surprisingly eager Tormund. The man's face and beard were dripping with blood, clearly not his own. The twelve riders formed up in the courtyard, and Jon turned to give them their instructions.

"We're going after Roose Bolton and his spawn. Don't get caught up in the other fighting. Stay close by me and ride hard." Jon spun his mount towards the open gates and called, "Ghost!" The white dire wolf appeared as if out of thin air, his muzzle streaked with blood. The wolf stared at Jon expectantly. "Lead the way." Without a further word, Ghost took off through the entryway, and Jon encouraged his horse to follow.

As Jon made it out into the open, he was met with the sight of unbelievable carnage. Bodies littered the ground, and the fighting was still ongoing, with soldiers slipping and crunching on the numerous bodies beneath them. Ghost was like a blur navigating the battlefield, and Jon was doing his best to follow the path. Most of the Bolton horsemen had been force off their mounts, fighting for their lives against the invigorated northmen. Several Bolton soldiers took swings at Jon, but slashed one soldier and removed another's arm. He finally broke through the thickest of the fighting and pushed his horse faster when he saw that Bolton was breaking away from the battlefield.

Roose and his men would have likely made it away unscathed had it not been for the white dire wolf on their heels. Ghost weaved his way into the pack of riders and leaped onto the back of one of the Bolton guards, who Jon could hear scream in agony from fifty yards away. The presence of the dire wolf startled the horses, causing several of them to rear up, and at the speed, the horses had been galloping, an inevitable collision occurred, causing a pile up of riders and beasts on the ground.

Jon and his men made up the distance in a short time, and as they approached the enemy, they discounted and charged. There had been at least two dozen Bolton riders with their Lord, but at least a third of them were either dead or writhing in pain on the ground from their fall. The rest of them had formed up to meet Jon and his men. He could see Ramsay pulling up a clearly-injured Roos Bolton from below his horse.

Jon met the first Bolton guard, pushing aside an errant strike and using the pommel of his sword to shatter the guard's jaw, tearing away flesh and sending teeth flying into the air. Not giving the guard a chance to recover, he slashed across the man's sword arm, then impaled him through the sternum, piercing his heart. His sword was frustratingly stuck in the man, which left him open to attack. Another guard made a run for him, but Tormund threw the weight of his body at the guard, sending him to the ground on his back. Tormund then proceeded to drive his axe into the top of the man's skull, cleaving it in half and spilling his brains onto the ground.

Jon, finally able to free his sword, watched on helplessly as Robin Flint took a sword through his stomach. Flint shoved his own dagger into his attacker's neck, felling him, before crashing to the ground, clutching his leaking wound. There was nothing Jon could do for the man, so he turned and approached the two Boltons, Roose to his left, clearly nursing an injury to his leg, while Ramsay, crazed look behind his small, beady eyes. Neither seemed to be aware of the crouched white wolf that has snuck up behind them, waiting on a hair trigger to pounce.

Jon takes slow steps forward and points the tip of his sword at Roose Bolton. "Lord Bolton, you have broken your oaths to House Stark, you have betrayed your liege lord and your King, Robb Stark. You are a traitor, and I detain you, as such."

"And who are you to take such an action?" Roose Bolton questioned, pain lacing his words. "Robb Stark betrayed the true king Joffrey Baratheon, who has named me Warden of the North."

"I am Jon Stark, son of Eddard Stark, and brother to the King in the North, Robb Stark."

"The bastard of Winterfell," Ramsay laughed. "You are nothing."

"And you are?" Jon questioned, brows raised. "Bastard of the Dreadfort, is it not? I was given the Stark name by a King…a true King in the North, crowned by his lords. You were given the Bolton name by a boy pretender without a drop of Baratheon blood inside him, born of his own uncle's seed. As far as the north is concerned, you remain Ramsay Snow…a bastard."

"I will have your head, bastard," Ramsay snarled, sword raised. "Then I will flay ever inch of skin from your body, and parade you through the halls of Winterfell before feeding you to my hounds."

"You are crazed," Jon smirked. "Your army is beaten."

"We will raise another, Snow," Ramsay responded.

"You will not get the chance," Jon stated, looking past the two men to his companion. "Ghost, secure Lord Bolton. I need him alive. He is to be subject to King Robb's justice in person back at Winterfell." The dire wolf immediately moved, leaping up and biting onto the back of Roose Bolton's armor, harshly slamming him to the ground. Ghost hovered over the beaten Lord, teeth bared, daring him to move.

Jon turned back to Ramsay. "You, on the other hand…you are a murderer. You have spilled the blood of innocent northerners at Long Lake and elsewhere. Your life is forfeit, and I sentence you to die. Will you submit?"

Jon did not receive a vocal response. Instead, Ramsay ran straight at Jon, sword raised. Ramsay cleaved his sword down at Jon, trying to split him in two, but Jon sidestepped the strike, bringing his own sword in a horizontal two-handed slice, which Ramsay only just recovered enough to block. Ramsay was relentless, an animal backed into a corner. He hacked wildly at Jon, forcing Jon to dance around him. One of the strikes nicked Jon on his thigh, opening a shallow gash. The pain angered Jon, and he punched Ramsay dead center in his face, breaking his nose and sending blood pouring down his chin. Jon could not say whether the man was dizzied by the strike, or simply crazed, but Ramsay smiled back, his tongue darting out to lick at the blood pouring from his nose.

Seeing Ramsay about to strike again, Jon reached up with his left hand, catching the wrist of his sword hand held high in the air. Jon came in closer, to the point his and Ramsay's noses were almost touching. He locked gazes with Ramsay, watching the man's eyes widen as the tip of Jon's sword pierced his abdomen. Jon twisted the sword, intent on causing the monster as much pain as possible. The sword swirled around Ramsay's intestines, stirring them up until Jon finally drove the sword upward, through Ramsay's chest cavity and likely up into his throat. Blood dribbled from Ramsay's mouth. He hacked out two loud, dramatic coughs before he fell limp against Jon, dead.