In the darkness, Yara hears the sound of the enemy; men with picks and shovels, scraping away at the earth, perhaps only a few feet now from breaking through. She waits for them with her own men, in the near-darkness, a single oil lamp providing a tiny light. The siege has now entered its fifth week. Her engines of war have battered the outer wall of the fortress, leaving a practical breach which she attempted to carry, a couple of days ago. The attack was a fiasco, with the defenders fighting like tigers, and inflicting hundreds of casualties. Her grudging respect for the Wolf Queen was only enhanced, as she saw her fighting among her men, clad in armour, like a shieldmaiden from one of her own people's sagas. Had matters turned out differently, perhaps the two of them could have been lovers, achieving great things together; after all, she had avenged Theon on the Beast of Bolton. She grins in the darkness as she imagines the man being eaten alive by his own hounds. But, Daenerys came between them both. The Dragon Queen had flirted with her a little, but never responded to her advances in the way she wanted. But Sansa hated the Targaryen, schemed against her, and protected the man who murdered her. That made her an enemy.
Alongside the bombardment, her men have been sapping towards the castle walls. The mine she waits in is less than a hundred feet away from them now. Grey Worm has left behind a corps of sappers and engineers who are familiar with siegecraft. He has sent her word of the fall of White Harbour. Lord Manderly had surrendered the citadel, in return for the lives of his people; he had refused to swear fealty to her, and it had been agreed that he would join the rest of his family in exile. Winterfell must be taken soon. The first cases of dysentery have appeared among the besiegers. Most of the North has now defected from Sansa, but even so, it would be a blow if she had to raise the siege. Despite her sappers' best efforts, their work could not be hidden from the defenders, who inevitably, have dug a counter-mine. Really, she shouldn't be risking her life down here; but, she can't show herself to be any less brave than the Wolf Queen.
A low rumble, and the wall of the mine begins to give way, earth cascading to the floor of the tunnel. She raises her shield, even as arrows and bolts whirr through the gap. Then, the enemy race through. One bearded giant takes a swing at her with axe, a blow that would take her head in a trice, did she not duck. Fortunately, he overbalances, and she drives her sword through his side. "Cunt" screams another, as she drives her shield into the man's face, before kicking him hard in the shin. He screams, and stumbles, even as Ser Tristifer drives the pommel of his sword, hard down on the man's head. "Bring down the shaft" she hears an enemy command, and men with picks start hacking at the props. Worse, some of the enemy have bottles of oil with lighted wicks, which they hurl down the shaft at her men. A couple of them scream as flames engulf them. She coughs on the smoke that roils through the tunnel, before being felled by a blow to the head. She rolls onto her back groggy, to see her attacker about to drive a long spear through her chest. There is nothing she can do now to protect herself, now, as she waits for death; and then, she is showered in blood, as the man's head vanishes, removed by Sigurd Harlaw's sword. The man grins as he drags her up by the hand. The tunnel is lit by flames, now, almost a vision of the hell that so many of the Greenlanders believe in.. "Run" she commands, Harlaw. "We'll burn alive otherwise." They jump through the flames, even as more bottles of oil explode among them, "Run for your lives!" she shouts again to her men, as they sprint back down towards the tunnel entrances. Behind her, she hears an ominous groaning and creaking, a sign that the mine is about to give way, as the props are dismantled and burn. A low rumble builds up behind her, as she sprints back towards safety, no more than fifty feet distant. The rumble becomes a roar as the ceiling collapses down on her, driving her to the ground, filling her mouth with dust. Oh gods! Buried alive is her last thought, before the darkness takes her.
"A complete success" a smiling Beria reports to Sansa, in her study, an hour later. She had thought to lead her men in the fight underground, but the inquisitor had insisted it was far too dangerous, and he would lead the task himself. "We lost a couple of dozen men, but we destroyed their mine. It will take them at least a week to recover the lost ground. A week. Does it make any difference in the end? The North is lost, however fiercely she defends Winterfell, even if she does escape with her life. She had received news of the fall of White Harbour by raven, from Robyn Manderly. She was touched to learn that one lord, at least, preferred exile to pledging fealty to the usurper. "You are my Queen, now and always" the man had written. "I yielded in order to save the city's inhabitants, but I will always remain pledged to your cause". The man had reported that, so far as he knew, Catelyn had escaped. Thank the gods for that at least! "You have my congratulations, my lord" she informs the man. "That's not all" he replies, "I have to reason to believe that disease has begun to take hold in the enemy's camp."
"That's all to the good, but I expect they'll be sending up reinforcements from White Harbour. But, reward the men who took part in the fight."
Yara gradually drifts back into consciousness. She lies on her back, feeling a heavy weight on her chest, in the blackness. If only she had died! Slow suffocation in the dark is far worse than being crushed. Gingerly, she works her right hand, down to her belt, through the earth. She breaths a sigh of relief, as she realises she yet has her dirk. She can still take her own life. On the whole, it has been a good life. She sailed half way across the world to find the Dragon Queen, and lived long enough to avenge her. Sansa's reign is at an end, however staunchly she defends her ancestral home. She has loved a score of men and women, and her husband will rule the Iron Islands and the North, until her oldest son comes of age. She hears a faint scraping. She stays her hand. Unmistakeably, the sound of digging. Her own men, or the enemy? She suddenly feels a draft of air, as the earth gives way behind her. Friendly arms drag her backwards, out of her tomb, even as she coughs and chokes, spitting out the dust and earth she has inhaled. It is now evening, as she emerges above ground, and walks to her lines, two of her rescuers, holding her under arms. She sinks to her knees, retching, as he reaches safety. Looking up, she sees Qarl staring down at her grimly. "Promise me, you will never be so fucking stupid again!" he snarls. It is a promise she will happily keep.
Notes:
I've always thought that underground fighting was the worst aspect of siege warfare.