They all stood in formation towards the North of Winterfell, a strange silence descending on the army. Jon looked upon the old castle, the place that he called home. It seemed darker nowadays. He didn't know whether that was because the Boltons had sucked all the life and joy out of the place or because the things he had seen, witnessed and done had changed him so much that he no longer looked at the fortress with the glinting, hopeful eyes of the child but with the worn, colder eyes of the man he had become. He looked over to Davos, who was perched on his horse next to him. The four of them, including Stannis and Tormund, were at the front of the soldiers. Everyone waited for Stannis to shout the order that began the battle.

They had barely spoken during the short journey to Winterfell. Jon presumed that was because they all wanted to be left with their thoughts as they prepared for what was to come. He sought solace in the fact that the others were in the same predicament as him, although they had more experience of sieges like this. Stannis and Davos had both been involved in the Battle at Blackwater - he hoped that, this time, they would be more successful in overthrowing their opposition.

What concerned Jon was that there was no sign of the opposition. They had been able to march freely here and now stood less than a mile than the castle. He wondered whether it was all part of the Bolton's tactics, either planning to remain within the protection that Winterfell's walls gave or attempt to take them by surprise. The latter would be quite difficult though - Stannis had ordered that sections of the army be cut off, with one party entering the forest to the East of Winterfell and another heading to the West. That way they could entrap the Bolton and Northern armies within Winterfell. They would only be deployed though if the main army became overrun - it would be no use to see them wasted for no proper reason. Stannis had opted to leave the south unguarded as, if the Bolton's chose to go that way, they would just be handing the castle to him. Jon thought that it was a decent plan but did not account for how difficult it would be to impregnate his former home.

They had been stood there for roughly ten minutes with no sign that the Boltons knew they were there still. He looked curiously at Davos, who shrugged, bearing the same expression. Many of the soldiers were glancing around as well, expecting something to happen against the eerie silence that had settled. Jon brought his horse closer to Stannis and his advisor.

"What's going on? We expected to be met head on by the Bolton army," Jon spoke.

"Maybe they're just cocky. Don't think that they have to take us on properly. Either that or they're just plain fucking stupid. Don't know which is more likely," Davos put forward.

"Whichever one it is, they have given us the advantage. They let us get closer to the castle unabated. We should strike whilst we still have the strength," Stannis said, seemingly resolute in his decision. The two of them nodded in agreement, seeing no downside in the choice. Stannis began to speak louder to the rest of the men. "Our enemies are too cowardly to face us!" He was met with a roar and the sound of banging metal. "I say we show our enemies what it means to be a proper army!" Another roar, louder this time. "Men, prepare yourselves! March!"

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Maester Wolkan ran through the dark corridors as fast as his old bones could take him. He headed for Roose's room, with urgent and desperate news. He knew the head of the Bolton family would be furious when he found out but he had to be told as soon as possible. He didn't even stop to knock on the door, barging through the wooden entrance. Roose was sat looking over notes on a table and raised his head in alarm as Wolkan stormed through.

"What's the meaning of this?" he barked, angrily, but he then took note of the maester's grave expression.

"Stannis and his army are headed right for this castle. They will reach the wall in a matter of minutes." Roose was filled with anger and fury.

"How the fuck has this happened? What were the lookers doing up on the walls? If we get through this, I'll kill all of them. You said that Stannis wouldn't think about attacking us for at least another few days. What's changed?"

"I...I don't know, my Lord. His army seems larger than we predicted as well." Roose dragged his hand slowly across his face in frustration, sighing as he did so.

"I'll send a message out now to all our men to get any armour they can on. We still have this fort on our side, which should buy us some time."

"A good idea, my Lord. If you would like, I would gladly send the message out for you. Allow you to get ready yourself."

"You won't be able to," Roose said quietly as he walked over to the other man.

"And...why's that?" A feeling of dread fell over him.

"Oh Wolkan. You were an excellent maester. But I must remove all failure if I am to succeed." He punctuated his sentence by driving a dagger into the chest of the maester, leaving the room as Wolkan grabbed uselessly at the wound, his blood leaving his body quickly as he died.

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Unbeknownst to the chaos that was beginning to ensue at the Castle, a small group of four people looked on from the edge of the forest. They all shared curious and concerned glances as they crouched in the dense foliage. Jaime looked at Brienne, whose complexion had gone pale as she saw the army approach Winterfell. They presumed that Sansa was still inside there, which would put her at a huge risk.

"Well it seems that we arrived just in time," Bronn whispered. This caused the others to look at him questioningly. "What? They're going to be preoccupied with a large army going down their throat, which means we have a good chance of sneaking in without being noticed."

"It's a massive risk though," Jaime replied. Bronn rolled his eyes.

"Of course it is. But it would be more risky if they weren't getting shafted right now. This is our best chance of saving the bonny lass."

"I hate to say it, but I agree with Bronn." It was Brienne that Jaime had to turn to now in surprise. "If we avoid the main focus points, where the bulk of the fighting is, such as at the entrance gate, then I think we can get in. And I think I've seen a way in." She pointed to a large mound situated in the open field ahead of them. From her vantage point, she could see that it was hollowed out on one side and hoped that it led under the castle.

"A secret passageway? Sure, that's never ended badly," Podrick whimpered. Brienne ignored him and looked to the other two men.

"It's worth a shot," Jaime hesitantly agreed. A braver man would argue with the big woman. They all stood up, leaving their horses to stay in the forest. Walking briskly, they made their way over to the mound and soon realised that it was larger than they had thought. Jaime reached it first, and looked inside to see that a stone, damp staircase led down into the depths of the unknown. Shooting a nervous look to the others, he unsheathed his sword and began to tentatively walk down.

It was dark as they reached the bottom of the stairs and wandered through a cold corridor. The only light they had came ahead of them so they approached the opening. They stopped as they looked around a large cavern, which had a small hot spring in the centre of it. Jaime realised that this must have been what kept Winterfell unnaturally warm in the devastating winters. They slowly circled the body of water, lavishing in its heat, but then halted again as they saw two figures huddled in the corner of the chamber. Jaime stood shocked as he took in their appearance - a young girl wearing tatty clothes and a boy sat in a makeshift cart. A boy that Jaime had a difficult and murky past with.

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They charged at the gates of Winterfell, roaring loudly as they did so. He spotted enemies lining the walls above them and raised his shield instinctively to protect himself. Davos beside him did the same, not a moment too soon as the man next to them erupted into an explosion of blood as an arrow pierced his skull. Others though had been prepared and shielded themselves from the aerial onslaught, their metal barriers effective enough to protect them from both the arrows and large rocks that were being dropped on them. Multiple ladders were erected on the side of the wall, soldiers quickly climbing them to reach the defenders. The first to go up were the first to fall down, lifeless but, soon, the people above became overrun by the sheer number of attackers. The Bolton army was in pure disarray, which enabled a group of their men to climb over the wall, jump into the main courtyard and prise open the gates. They quickly turned to see the enemy charging at them and were killed in the process. But their task had been completed and Stannis led his men into the chaos. Jon had his sword out, swinging at anyone that approached him. He sliced one man right across the stomach before impaling another through the chest. He had to parry a well timed blow but then used his strength to shove his sword up, causing the other man to stumble backwards. He was about to strike the final blow when he saw him get trampled by a horse. He looked up to see Tormund swinging his axe wildly at the Northern men whilst he rode. He cackled and laughed as he did so like a bloodthirsty madman. Jon reached a wall that provided him a brief respite from the fighting, looking around at the anarchy that was ensuing. The Bolton army had been caught off guard but they still held the higher number of soldiers and Stannis's men, along with the wildlings, were being slaughtered. Heavy tolls on both sides could be seen, the cramped space they fought in providing a setting for the bloodbath. More soldiers kept flowing in though for both sides, and the Bolton men were beginning to be pushed back. Jon saw Stannis stab his sword through the head of an onrusher before moving onto his next victim. He had a mad glint in his eyes as he moved, empowered by the sweet taste of battle. He was searching the courtyard for any sign of the leaders but they were yet to show themselves. They let their men do the fighting for them, proving their cowardice. Jon knew this castle and knew where they likely would be. He beckoned for a group of soldiers to follow him through a wooden door as they entered further into its depths.

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Sansa had heard the commotion from her room, sitting upright from her position on the bed. Startled, she paced around her room, wondering what she should do. She was panicking, which wouldn't help her in this current predicament. She looked outside her window and saw men fall all over the place, the cries of the dying filling the air. She could not go out there, otherwise she would be quickly killed. It would be safer to barricade herself in the room and wait out the battle. She ran over to the desk that was in her room and began to push it closer to her door. She whimpered slightly, realising that it was heavier than it looked. It hardly moved as she put her weight onto it. She was about to give up when her door swung open heavily. She moved herself behind the desk to put something between her and the person entering. Yet she recognised the person. He slammed the door shut behind him as he ran over to her, panting.

"We...we need to get out of here now," Theon said to her, his stuttering still present even in this situation. "You need to follow me. You...need to trust me." Sansa was lost for words. He hardly paid her any notice whilst she had lived here under Bolton rule and now he asked for her trust. Her mind was racing as she searched for the proper answer. He grew impatient with her silence. "San...Sansa. This is the only chance we'll get. We can sneak through the...the corridors. Find a way out." She nodded but then stopped in fear as she realised their mistake. In the commotion, they hadn't heard the door open again or seen the man stood blocking their way. He wore a malicious grin on his face as he observed the two of them. He wanted to feel disappointment in their actions but he had expected it. Their disloyalty. After all he had done for them. It would make their pain much more enjoyable.

"Tut tut tut," he slowly said, his grin widening with each word. "I expected so much more from you. You've failed me, haven't you? Reek."

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Davos was not used to this level of carnage. Around him, bodies fell constantly, men screaming in agony and pain. Somehow he was still going. He had left his horse outside the castle, not wanting to risk its life for their cause. It would be little to no use anyway in this small area they were fighting in. The battle had spread throughout the grounds of Winterfell and was beginning to leak out onto the open fields surrounding it. Yet Stannis had still not sounded for the waiting soldiers in the forest. Davos knew that, although they were losing a lot of men, the Boltons were losing a lot more but they still had to stay vigilant. He knew how a battle could turn quickly in someone else's favour. He swung his sword as a man staggered towards him, cutting him across the back before shoving him down the stone steps he was making his way up on. He watched as the body tumbled before it was consumed by soldiers. He winced slightly before carrying on up the steps. It was quieter up here, giving him precious time to breathe. He spotted Stannis watching over the wall on the south face of the castle. Numerous corpses lay at his feet but he didn't seem to care. He was fixated on something in the distance. Davos was confused - they had purposefully not sent any men south as it would be a redundant tactic. He sidled up next to him, following his line of sight before his breath got caught in his throat. Stannis had a scowl on his face as he observed this new development.

"What does this mean for us?" Davos urgently asked.

"Who knows. It doesn't change anything for us. We continue fighting until we win this battle." With that, he walked away, looking for someone else to fight. Davos looked back at the approaching target before doing the same.

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Roose hadn't got involved in the fight just yet. After hearing about the army bearing down on Winterfell, he had thought it best to prepare himself properly first. They had caught him unawares, which greatly angered him. He was walking through a corridor, wearing armour that he had just put on. He still didn't intend to fight. He knew a losing position when he was in one. His men had done admirably to last this long, their dominance in numbers being their saving grace. What had to be done now was him making a decision. He could continue this fight and hope that they somehow made it through this, which would greatly increase his prestige and standing within Westeros, as well as improving his place with the Lannisters on the throne. Another option would be to flee - he would lose Winterfell as a result but he would continue surviving, which was his main goal. Power was only ever trumped by life at times like these. His final course of action would be to surrender but he didn't know whether his honour would allow him to do such a thing, and he doubted whether he'd be given the chance to survive that decision. Unless he somehow proved himself to the Baratheon ruler, get into his good graces and then start this process over again.

He was interrupted from his musings by a soldier running towards him. He relaxed when he realised that he was on his side but then grew wary at the ashen face the man had. He halted right in front of him, giving a polite nod of the head and a salute, before delivering the bad news.

"You need to come with me, my Lord. There's been a development and it doesn't bode well." Roose didn't normally like taking orders from people who were below him but the urgent tone in his voice made him quickly comply. They walked at a fast pace up the nearest set of stairs before merging on the south lookout. Below, he could see men crashing into each other, covered in blood and mud. To him, it didn't seem like anything was out of the ordinary. But then the soldier who had beckoned him pointed his finger past the battle and dread fell over him. Another army was coming from the south, meaning that they were now penned in. He looked closer but could not see the emblem of a stag. It wasn't a Baratheon army, that much he knew. As hope filled him, it was quickly dashed. He was right in that it wasn't a stag. If it had been a stag, then they might have been able to cope. This was worse. He looked again to make sure but he knew what it was. The soldier beside must have known too, judging by the way his arm was shaking. He didn't even notice when that soldier collapsed in a dead heap, an arrow protruding from his left eye. He was focused on one thing. The flags that were being waved carried a picture of a golden Kraken. Drastic action now needed to be taken. The Greyjoys were here for battle.

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They all stood in silence, looking at the two young figures. Jaime was fixated on Bran, who was directing a piercing, but infuriatingly ambiguous, stare towards him. Bronn was looking between everyone, wondering why they had all come to a halt. Brienne was mainly looking at Jaime, curious as to what the cause was for his forlorn expression. The young girl stood up, holding out a small, shoddy dagger. It would serve them no purpose to appear unprotected, even if their only weapon was this meagre piece of metal. Her hand shook uncertainly but her eyes held a heady resolve. She would protect Bran with all her might. He was all that she had left now - they had lost her brother, the Raven and Hodor. She would not fail them and him if she had anything to do with it.

"Who...who are you?" she whimpered. Jaime could tell that she was incredibly nervous. He presumed that they had been hiding in here for a while undetected. He wondered how long they had been there. The sound of fighting echoed above them, bringing the point home that they needed to resolve this situation quickly if they were to succeed in their plight. He held out his hands, palms facing the two of them, to show that he didn't mean them any harm.

"I think your friend here knows who I am quite well." The girl sent an accusatory glance at Bran, who's remained locked in an impassive expression.

"Meera, this is Jaime Lannister. We share a connected path that has brought us all here today, starting with a deceitful and self-preserving decision." Jaime looked down at his comment, whereas the others remained just as confused as to what their history entailed. Sorrow filled the lion that was separated from his pack.

"I truly regret my choice that day. If I had known properly who I was protecting, I would not have done it." Bran looked at him curiously.

"I don't need your apologies. If you had not done what you did that day, I would not be what I am now. We should move on from that if we are to work together." Jaime was surprised. He hadn't expected at all to receive forgiveness so easily. He nodded his acceptance to the agreement, avoiding the curious looks of the other people in the room. Bronn stepped forward, running a hand through his hair in bemusement.

"Well, now the pleasantries are all over, are you going to explain what the fuck is going on for us not currently in the loop?" Podrick had to stifle a laugh at the absurdity of their situation. The girl called Meera answered his blunt question.

"I don't know what you're doing here but we came here for shelter. We were beyond the Wall when we were attacked. We managed to escape and made our way here, seeing as we thought this was Bran's home. But, when we arrived, we discovered that it was overrun. Thankfully, Bran knew this place existed. He used to love exploring the castle grounds, he said." She sent him a warm smile.

"Is there any way into the castle from here?" Brienne asked them both. "We're fighting for the same side, it seems. We can help each other. Bran's sister is in the castle right now, we need to get inside."

Bran was the one who answered. "No. There's no way in. This place was here before Winterfell was built, designed to warm it from beneath. We should stay here. The battle is coming to an end."

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Yara Greyjoy took glee out of slicing a man across the throat, feeling the warm spray of blood over her face. How that man would be sickened if he was still alive to find out he had been killed by a woman. She hadn't expected to be in a battle of this large a scale. After Euron, her uncle, had taken the place of the leader of the Iron Islands, after he had killed her father, she had thought it best to flee with their best ships. Without a proper plan, she had come to the decision that she needed to save Theon. Her previous attempts to do so had failed miserably, mainly because of Theon's stupid resistance. But family had to stay together, especially with Euron breathing down their necks now. She had rallied the support of her followers in this idea and had sailed to the nearest port on the coast of Westeros. She had left her small fleet of ships in the hands of her most capable captain and a small number of her men and had then marched over to Winterfell. She realised that the kingdom was in disarray because their progress went smoothly, without any significant interruptions. It was a fractured place now, with people only looking out for their own needs. The common folk barely batted an eyelid as her army marched through the countryside. As they reached Winterfell, she had been alarmed to see smoke billowing from it, and then the war going on. She had ordered them to quicken their pace and they were now in this position. Fighting Bolton men, the people who had destroyed her brother, alongside sigils of a stag. She didn't care who her new allies were; if they kept battling with her, she wouldn't kill any of them. She stabbed another man as she purposefully made her way deeper into the castle grounds. She knew one thing for certain though. Theon better fucking come with her this time.

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Ramsey paced around the room, his face still scarred by his menacing grin. He held out a dagger, pointing it at Sansa. He knew to aim for her - Reek would gladly protect her so would take the first hit, leaving her unguarded to his pleasures. They hadn't spoken since he had walked into the room. They were so boring. Maybe they'd be more interesting when provoked.

"Are not happy about my being here? My love, Sansa, you wound me so deeply. I have always cared for you. Come to me. Don't listen to this, I'd like to say man, but we all know that isn't true." No response from her still, just a cold stare. He sighed and rolled his eyes. Give me something to play with, he pleaded. "Reek. I trained you better than this. You're loyal to me, not her. I thought I made that very clear. Maybe I should reiterate my point again. Get the message across." No words. He banged his hands on the desk between them, causing Sansa to jump slightly, startled. His smile grew. "I didn't want to tell you this, dear. But seeing as you're not wanting to partake in this conversation, I guess I'll continue. Fill this dreary silence between us friends. Your young brother was captured by one of my men, along with a very feisty woman. He was so meagre and incredibly dull. But then he started screaming. They were both very good at that. He didn't last long, sadly. She put a stronger fight but they always give in eventually. I can't seem to remember his name. Rickon, was it?"

Sansa's grip on the desk tightened, her knuckles going white. Tears started to sting her eyes but she held them back, not wanting to give him the satisfaction of seeing the effect he was having on her. Her face grew angry. "You'll die for this, Ramsey," she promised. He let loose a bark of laughter.

"Oh, I always liked you for a reason. Beautiful with a bite. Perfect. But, look at the position you're in. No one will know what happened here. You'll just be the casualties of a needless battle. Such a shame." He started walking closer but was interrupted by the door opening. He turned around to see his father stood in the doorway.

"What's going on here?" he asked, an angry expression on his face.

"I'm just saying goodbye to these two beloved people," he replied innocently.

"We don't have time for this. We're surrounded and losing. We need to leave now, go back south and seek shelter with our allies. It is our only option."

"We will lose all our honour!" Ramsay shouted, disbelief oozing out at the words his father said.

"This isn't about honour, you fool. We have to survive, to preserve our lineage. That comes first, before anything. You need to learn that. Now, come over here. I know a passage out and have horses waiting for our arrival." Ramsay gave one more look back at the other two people in the room, seeing their confused but hopeful expressions. He begrudgingly walked over to his father, shaking his head at the injustice of it all.

"Our lineage will only be preserved if we keep our honour intact." Roose sighed at his son as he got closer.

"I never expected you to understand. You were never a good nobleman. The intricacies of this world were lost on you. A shame." Ramsay's surprised expression at the callous words increased as he felt a dagger being plunged into his chest.