Tormund
The first part of the morning was spent by marching to battle against the Bolton fucker's army. The southern men marched together with drums to keep their pace in form while the Free Folk just marched how they pleased. There wasn't time for breakfast so everyone had to eat their food on the way.
The weathers were kind to keep the fields mostly clear of snow. However, that didn't mean that there wasn't something awful waiting for them all when they got there. When the army marched out of the covers of trees to the open field, they all saw several crosses with flayed with a person flayed from head to toe and set aflame.
The Bolton numbers were greater than theirs were, there was no denying it. His ranks of men and horses were organized and waiting for them. Their banners were raised high. Flayed men, grey chains, and white suns were all that showed on his side while black mooses, spotted checkers, lizard lions, long axes, Ironwoods, bears, and direwolves decorated over the Stark army. The Free Folk had no banners, but if they did they would be flying just as high as the others. The Stark army was fewer in number, but more a united people.
The two armies faced each other on the fields outside of Winterfell as the cold winds of the morning brushed gently. Two armies of one Kingdom, ready to clash steel. Jon Snow and the true army of the north, and Ramsay Bolton with the traitors of the north. But everything was still in the calm before the storm.
Tormund waited for whatever was to happen to happen. The Free Folk would have charged in already, roaring so loud the gods would tremble. But this was a southern battle. It had to be fought with wits first before impulsive action. But he couldn't stop wondering what they were all waiting for.
He didn't say anything though. He stood by with his men and waited. It was quiet, so much that it was aggravating. Something didn't feel right.
In the distance, at the front of the Bolton Army, a lone figure on a horse could be seen coming to the front of his army. After years of scouting for Crows from the bottom of the Wall, Tormund could see perfectly that it was that Ramsay fucker.
Ramsay had dismounted his horse and was pulled a rope behind him. On the other end was a boy dressed in ragged furs. That had to be Jon's half brother, Rickon Stark. He was tall for just being a boy.
Ramsay brought Rickon right next to him. He drew a dagger and held it up high so that all could see.
Jon dismounted his own horse and walked closer as if looking to see if what he was seeing was really happening. Tormund could feel Jon hold his breath in the moments that came from seeing the blade. Everyone watched as Ramsay brought the blade down, but he didn't stab or cut Rickon. Instead, Ramsay cut Rickon's bounds.
Tormund became confused. What was this man planning? He didn't know much about him except he was a man he made the word cruelty sound like a joke.
Ramsay moved Rickon forward and sent him on his way to the Stark army, just like that. But then a boy was given to him and Rickon started to run. No one chased after him and no one except Ramsay readied to fire arrows.
Jon quickly mounted his horse and began spurring it forward, going after his brother as fast as he could.
This didn't feel right. Tormund kept his eyes fixed on Ramsay as he began shooting arrows and saw that he hardly put any effort into the first ones. He didn't even look where he was shooting. But the whole time he did, he was smiling. This was all just a game to him.
As the two sons of Ned Stark got closer, Ramsay began to actually aim his shots. He kept missing, but Tormund had seen Ygritte and her skill and knew that this man was still only toying with his target. He was going to kill the boy.
Tormund turned to one of the giants in the army standing with the Free Folk. "Utag!" The giant wasn't the mightiest of the bunch, be he was the only archer among them. "Save the boy! Shoot the one with the bow!"
Utag quickly moved forward, the Free Folk and southern men moved aside as the ground shook from the steps of a giant, and he drew one of his spear long arrows and knocked his enormous bow.
Jon was nearly to his brother but Ramsay was knocking another arrow, this one was for the kill.
Utag drew back his arrow and aimed carefully for only a second before releasing it. The giant's arrow made a noise that cut through the air like a sword through flesh and it flew faster than any of the southern men could believe.
Ramsay had his bow drawn and aimed. He barely noticed the arrow coming at him before releasing his own. His jump out of the way and the dodged the arrow, but the men behind him weren't as fast to react.
The arrow hit an archer on the front lines and tore through the body into the man behind him and again and again. It skewered six men alone, but it didn't find its mark. Ramsay's arrow, on the other hand, was about to.
Jon
Even when the arrow had flown past Jon, he kept his eyes on Rickon. His little brother was running as fast as he possibly could. 'Almost there!' He was so close. He could hear his brother's whimperings of worry and fear. 'I can make it!' He held his arm down from his horse to catch hold of his brother. He was mere seconds away.
Rickon reached out to grab Jon's arm before an arrow pierced through his chest and he collapsed to the ground crying out.
Jon stopped his horse and looked down at his brother. The furs Rickon wore were becoming stained with his blood. His breathing was desperate gasps for air that were becoming shorter and shorter.
In this moment, Jon could hear Sansa's voice in his head. 'Don't do what Ramsay wants you to do.' He looked at where he was and realized he was in the middle of the field, alone and in range of arrows. But the anger in him clouded his judgment. Rickon was only a child and now he was dead. He's going to kill Ramsay if it was the last thing he did!
"Jon," a voice croaked out.
Jon quickly looked down and could see Rickon looking back up at him. His brother was still alive. Jon dismounted and knelt down to him. The arrow barely missed his heart, but the wound had the potential to be fatal. Jon picked up his brother and mounted him on his horse. He climbed on himself and spurred the horse to return to the safety of his army. Rickon groaned and cried. "Hold on little brother, you're gonna be alright!"
Jon's words were contradicted when the hissing of arrows sounded from above and fell all around. A couple found their way into the hind legs of his horse and both he and Rickon and thrown off.
The arrow in Rickon broke at the shaft and a loud pop was made when he hit the ground. He screamed out and hardly moved.
"Rickon!" Jon crawled over to his brother and picked him up into his arms and began to just run as fast as he could.
From behind, what one would think to be thunder was actually the Bolton and Karstark cavalry beginning their charge. Jon was still too far to reach his men in time and carrying his brother slowed him down.
He grew angry with every whimper and cry he heard from Rickon. Every reminder that his brother was getting closer to death. He couldn't be there for Robb when he needed him, he wasn't going to do the same to his baby brother.
In response to Ramsay's army, Jon's cavalry had begun their charge to meet them. Spears raised and banners swaying furiously through the air. The ranks parts to avoid Jon and Rickon and a group of riders slowed and halted for their commander and with them was a new horse for him. One of the men of House Reed dismounted and took Rickon from Jon. "Get him help, as fast as you can!" Jon mounted his new destrier and rode off to join his men as the infantry had nearly caught up with him.
Ramsay's cavalry was too far out of range for Jon's archers except for the giant with a bow. Spear size arrowed cut through the air faster than any horse could ride and with a force greater than any man could throw. They found their marks time and time again, killing more than one man and causing disruption in the charge which created breaking points to exploit.
Jon drew Longclaw and held it up high as he and his men unleashed a war cry. "WINTER IS COMING!"
The two forces met and the air was filled with the noises of men grunting, spears splintering, steel clashing and horses screaming. Jon was in the rear when he met the battle. Followed behind a line of horses that initially cut through but were picked off one by one. The battle became scattered so Jon sought out to find whoever he could to kill.
He met another horse rider but had the faster swing and cleaved his head right off. He found two men about to kill a Hornwood soldier and slashed one across the back and impaled the head of the other. He spurred his horse into a gallop and swung Longclaw at whoever he could.
Cries of death sounded as a volley of arrows came down upon everyone. Jon was struck in his back but his armor caught the arrow between the steel plates within the boiled leather. His horse was spared any injury from the volley as well but was stuck with a spear in the neck. He fell backward with his horse and quickly rolled to the side to avoid the spear sticking him. He rolled back and told hold of the shaft and thrust Longclaw into the soldier attacking him.
All around him was chaos. Mud was kicked up from the ground all around him and the shouts of war were loud. There wasn't any moment where Jon wasn't fighting."Another volley!" he heard someone call out. Without even thinking, Jon grabbed hold of a Bolton soldier and used him as a shield to the incoming arrows. The man struggled to get free but ceased when three arrows buried themselves into him.
Jon knew his army wouldn't fire a volley into this fray. The risk of hitting their own men was too great. Of course, it was Ramsay, he didn't care who died as long as he won. Another volley was incoming, but this time there was no one Jon could use to protect himself. He ducked to the ground and curled his body as the arrows came down and the bodies continued to pile up around him and the fights continued atop of them. The moment the last hiss of an arrow ended, he rose back up and immediately swung his sword at whoever would try and kill him. Time seemed to have no meaning as the fury of battle coursed through him. His blood ran hot with fury and focus and he only realized the moments he attacked and killed someone, everything in between seemed to just flash by.
The ground shook as the infantry joined the fight. The Giants had started slamming their fists to the ground, crushing any unlucky soldier that was in their path. Mag Mar the Mighty wielded a tree trunk as a club and swung it down left and right, sending enemies into the air screaming from pain. Wun Wun had picked up a man by his legs and used him as a weapon to the point that the body was nothing more than a sack of meat and broken bones. Fon Ran had taken to picking men from their horses and throwing them under his feet and crushing them. Because of that and his lack of whalebones for armor he became the main target by the Bolton forces.
In the distance, the archers had abandoned their bows and drawn swords, rushing to join the other men. They wouldn't act as Ramsay did and fire arrows that would kill their own.
Jon could hear the shouts of more men approaching the fight from Ramsay's side. The Umber and Bolton infantry was approaching. Jon looked up to where Ramsay watched the battle. He was surprised when he saw that the majority of Ramsay's cavalry were still with him. Was he saving them in case Jon's army defeated the men he already sent?
The Bolton infantry began to surround a great portion of Jon's men and encircled them against a hill of dead bodies. The front line was entirely shields and spears. Wun Wun and Mag Mar were trapped with them and were constantly stabbed at by the infantry. Fon Ran had fallen from being impaled by twenty spears and the other was still charging with the archers.
The wall of Bolton men chanted together as they advanced forward and thrust their spears, killing anyone unprotected. The space around everyone was growing tighter and tighter. The only escape was to climb over the hill of dead bodies. But when the first few men reached the top the Umbers began to cut them down and any others trying to escape. They pooled into the circle, forcing Jon's men into a tighter space with nowhere to go.
Jon fought many who flooded down from the piles of bodies until he faced Smalljon Umber. This was the man that gave Rickon to Ramsay in the first place. Jon's grip on Longclaw tightened and his inclination to kill rose. But before he could engage with Smalljon, one of the Bolton men dragged Jon down underneath the herd of soldiers running by in an attempt to kill him, but someone had unintentionally stepped onto the soldier's head and crushed it like an apple. The body fell on top of Jon and had pinned him to the ground. The madness around him was too much to even call for help. No one would be able to hear him and the crushing weight over him was making it nearly impossible to breathe. He suddenly became terrified. Terrified that he might die being trampled, that he might die in the dark again. In an instant, Jon mustered as much strength as he could and was able to pull himself up. The space between everyone was so little that he was practically lifted from the swarm of soldiers. Everyone trapped within was in a state of panic. The men around him could barely move at all when being attacked from all sides and nowhere to go.
Tormund
Mag Mar forced himself forward and bashed his club against many men, but their numbers were so dense that the force only killed a few and knock the others down only to get back up. He was impaled by many spears and roared out in rage of the pain.
Wun Wun stole one of the tall shields and used it to swat away spears thrust at him. But these southerners had better weapons than the crows of the Night's Watch. Their spears held strong and their steel was hard.
Tormund shoved his way through men and dead bodies to cramped to fall to the ground. He made for the hill of the dead. They needed to climb free and the only way out was there. His sword wasn't long like the southerners, making it better for close combat, but this was too close.
Whenever a fucking southerner with a flayed man on his armor got in the way, Tormund cleaved through their flesh with his sword. If the wound wasn't enough to kill, he would just do it again and again until that person was dead.
He nearly made it when one big fucker got in his way. The man had long brown hair and a beard that matched Tormund's in length. And he wore a set of chains across his chest like on the banners of the Umbers. He had to be their lord.
Tormund roared out as he clashed steel with this man and found his strength to be reckoned with. He found his strikes to be pushed back when he tried to push forward. He landed a hard punch in the Lord's face but it hardly did a thing. As if returning the favor, the Lord punched Tormund in the face so hard that it knocked him down.
The Umber Lord let go of his sword and pulled Tormund to the ground only to attack with his fists. The strength of his punches was heavy against Tormund's face. It felt like he had iron in the knuckles of his gloves.
Tormund tried to return an attack of any kind but the shuffling of men around him slowed his movements and was blocked each time. Even the space for the lord was getting too little so he resorted to using his head.
Thing's started to become dazed and everything stung. He felt his sword slip through his fingers and pain taking over his strength. He had never felt this way before. Not even fighting the dead. This was what a real fight was like with a hardened southern warrior, not a wild man from the True North.
The Umber Lord kept bashing his head into Tormund's over and over until suddenly, he just stopped. There was a horn being blown from far away and it seemed to get everyone's attention which created the opening Tormund needed. In an instant, Tormund broke free of the lord's grip and instead of using his head like he the lord had, Tormund sank his teeth into the lord's neck and tore out his flesh. The Lord cried out and hot blood began to spray out of his wound.
Tormund wasn't finished yet. He reached for his belt and pulled out a bone dagger he had and stabbed it deep into the wound. He roared out as he kept stabbing over and over until this southern cunt would stop screaming and just die. All the while, the horn kept blasting and the sound of thundering hooves was growing louder.
Jon
In the far distance, Jon heard the sound of a horn blowing. It wasn't one of his, and it wasn't part of the Bolton force. He looked out to a hill and could make out a flag that had the sigil of House Arryn being carried by hundreds of mounted knights. The Knights of the Vale had come to their aid and their numbers kept growing. Jon heard another horn sound coming from where Ramsay watched.
The remaining Bolton and Karstark cavalry forces charged to meet the knights. This was an unplanned move by Ramsay. It had to be. His men were disorganized in their charge and weren't acting on deliberation. In number, they were matched, but in terms of sheer might and skill, the Knights of the Vale had the upper hand. But there was no chance that they would reach the infantry in time. The two cavalry forces met and were clashing steel.
The hope Jon had of an opening being made for his men to escape the trap was lost when the Vale forces were delayed by the Bolton cavalry. The Knights of the Vale were far better than the Boltons, but by the time they would break through, Jon and his men would be dead.
Jon could see Tormund get the better of Smalljon and stabbing him in the neck many times with a bone dagger. That was the most they would get out of this. Jon was as scared as he had been at Hardhome. He couldn't do anything. All of his skill and experience and he couldn't do anything to save himself or his men. In the midst of everything, he couldn't help but call out amongst the chaos. "Someone, help us!"
As if the gods themselves heard Jon's plea, a loud screech broke through the noise of the battle. It was of a kind never heard by anyone. All who heard it turned to the north where it came from. For the briefest of moments, there no was fighting. From within the trees in the distance, two creatures sprang up into the air. When they got closer, Jon couldn't help but feel overwhelmed with joy and satisfaction to see Ygris and Lyarras. They had grown so much, it seemed impossible. Both of them were as large as a horse now. They continued to screech as they approached the battle, causing all that heard them be filled with astonishment and fear.
Jon felt a sudden spark within him that was the start of a fire. He could feel a connection with his dragons that he once tried to shut out. But not anymore. They were his dragons, his daughters. As they gliding over to where he was trapped, he shouted up at them with a bellowing voice. "Dracarys!" The instant his daughters heard him, they breathed fire on all of the Bolton infantry surrounding his men. Ygris and Lyarras split up and began to set fire to anyone who resembled the men that were attacking their father.
The wall of shields broke apart as many men ran from their positions engulf in flames. As the screams of men burning alive filled the air, Jon's men were able to push through and create an opening to escape and emptied out of the trap, killing any who got in their way. Jon managed to climb above the hill of dead bodies with Tormund and Wun Wun. Jon looked straight to Ramsay and watched as the bastard cowered from the battle and retreated back to Winterfell with his personal guard.
The three of them began to pursue Ramsay and more of Jon's army began to follow. By the time they reached the castle, the gates had already been barred. Archers in the ramparts began shooting arrows and crossbow bolts at Wun Wun as he slammed his body against the gates. Ygris and Lyarras flew towards the ramparts and released a short stream of fire that ignited the Bolton archers like they were covered in pitch.
Wun Wun finally managed to break the gates down and charge into the castle. He was met with dozens of arrows and fell to his knees. He roared out as he kept getting stuck by archers, even after Jon's men stormed through and began cutting all of them down.
Jon felt a great rage with every swing of his sword. These men were the last of the ones who betrayed his family. They were the ones that helped kill Robb and thousands of men loyal to his family. He wanted to crush their skulls, tear out their eyes, flay them like the banners they carried. He wanted them to feel the greatest pain ever known. But he wasn't like them. He was a son of House Stark.
With the last of the men garrisoned in the castle dead, Jon stood next to Wun Wun, looking at how exhausted he was. He reached out to him but before his hand got close an arrow was shot straight into the giant's eye. Wun Wun let out one last breath before falling dead to the ground.
Jon looked over and saw Ramsay standing with his bow looking perfectly calm about his situation. "You suggested one on one combat." Ramsay looked around at all the archers aiming their arrows at him and smiled. "I've reconsidered. I think that sounds like a wonderful idea." Ramsay drew another arrow and knocked it to the string of his recurve bow.
Jon tossed aside Longclaw and quickly picked up a Mormont shield and caught the arrow with it. Ramsay knocked another arrow and shot at Jon again as he advanced. Like the first arrow, it was caught by the shield. Ramsay tried shooting at Jon again, but his arrows never made contact with Jon's flesh. Before Ramsay could knock another arrow, Jon bashed the shield against his body, breaking the arrows against Ramsay's body and knocking him on his back. He dropped the shield and instantly began to punch Ramsay as hard as he could. No matter how many times or how bloody it was, Ramsay kept on smiling at him. Jon kept on punching even when his knuckles stung and his hands felt like sacks of loose meat.
After a while, Jon looked up and saw Sansa watching him. Ghost was standing next to her as he had ordered him to guard her before they left for the battle. He looked back at Ramsay and saw he was unconscious, the smile finally faded. He stood up from Ramsay's body, taking one last look at the scum beneath him, and walked away. As he passed Tormund, his words came out las soft as whispers. "Put him with his dogs." The battle was over. Winterfell was in the hands of the Starks once again.
Jon walked over to Sansa and finally found himself weary from the battle.
"Are you alright?" Sansa asked.
Jon merely nodded. His attention turned to the gates when some men had just come through the gates in a cart. In the back of it was the Maester of Bear Island tending to Rickon. Jon and Sansa rushed over to their brother. They saw him pale, and unmoving. "Is he dead?" Jon blatantly asked.
"No, my lord, but if he doesn't receive proper treatment, he will die before nightfall." Jon looked at the maester and then back to Rickon. There was still a chance for him.
"Get him inside. Find the maester of Winterfell!" Some Mormont soldiers had arrived shortly and approached Jon, escorting the maester. He politely bowed his head to Jon. "What's your name?"
"Wolkan, my lord."
"Will you swear loyalty to House Stark, now and always?"
"I will my lord, I only remained loyal to the Boltons out of fear. Roose was fair to me, but Ramsay was nothing but a mad dog. He fed Lady Walda and her newborn to his hounds. I would be honored to serve under House Stark."
"Then go help tend to my brother. If you can see to it that he lives, I'll make sure the rest of your days here are better ones than you've had."
Maester Wolkan bowed his head and followed to where Rickon was taken.
Jon heard the screeches of two whom he had missed for months. Ygris and Lyarras swooped down and landed in the courtyard and approached Jon slowly, inspecting him. Many around Jon watched in fascination the two creatures before them. They had changed not only in size, but the color and scales become more prominent. Ygris used to be pure white, but now there were hints of orange in her wings and at the base of the spikes along her spine. Lyarras color had begun to darken significantly, looking more like the color of the sea rather than the sky, but the winter rose blue remained. Jon reached out and caressed their heads with his own. "I missed you two. I'm sorry for what I did, I promise I won't do it again." He lifted away and pet them on their heads.
Ghost approached them and caught the attention of Ygris. The red eyes of direwolf stared into the orange eyes of the dragon. Ygris let out a small screech before she and Lyarras flapped their wings and took back to the skies.
Tormund looked over at Jon, awed in fascination. "They'll be back, they know this is their home."
Sansa had watched in marvel at them. "You weren't lying about them."
"I never would. I'll introduce you properly when I can." Jon smiled at her with his face bloodied and filthy. He looked around the castle and felt calm that he was home. But even with the battle won, there was one last thing left to do. "Winterfell is ours!" He declared. "Gather every banner and flag with a flayed man and burn them all! Let's see to it that the direwolves of House Stark fly over the walls once again!" he turned to the men who brought maester Wolkan. "Get word to Ser Davos. The dead are to be gathered and counted."
"Aye, Lord Snow." One of them said before they left to carry out their task.
Sansa approached him. "What now?"
"Now… we settle back in our home."
