Castle Black had long gone behind the horizon by the time the sun had risen. Tormund slouched in his saddle, this was the boring part of war, the walking and carrying and then if they were lucky they would get to the camp faster than the dark clouds that trailed behind them. Being soaked and tired would do nothing for morale, but thankfully they got to the location that Stannis had chosen before his attack on Winterfell ahead of time. It was a good position, high mountains on either side of the valley and you could see south for miles, it was just poor luck that a snow storm had caused half of his horses and army to fall before they even got to their destination.
Tormund built his tent quickly before going to help the others, while the Night's Watch was a grand and an historic order, rapists and thieves who had never left their towns were not well equipped to survive in the North. They faffed with the materials until Tormund came over, he showed them how to put it up and then left them to do it by themselves. As night descended, Tormund took a walk through the tents as he would not sleep. He never did before a battle, between nerves and the bloodlust he could only close his eyes to blink. Thankfully Jon had called a war council and required his presence. Jon and Ser Davos explained a few southern military manoeuvres, not that they made much sense to him, the Free Folk strategy was to swarm the enemy with numbers and overwhelm them. The red-headed Stark sat in the corner, brooding about something. Women were a mystery; one he wouldn't figure out today. Once the meeting was finished everyone left the room besides Jon and Sansa, she should have been included in the meeting, she knew the boy they were going to war against and yet Jon dismissed her advice. However, that was Jon's business, Tormund and Ser Davos walked side by side back to camp,
"do you think there's hope?" Ser Davos asked, the taller man looked to him and pondered the question a moment,
"I've never seen these Bolton fuckers fight" he spoke, "but they have never seen the Free Folk fight, so yes, there's hope" he said simply, they continued walking along the rows of tents, "you want to avenge your king, don't you?" he probed. Ser Davos frowned, he believed in Stannis but his faith in the Red Woman had cost him his life,
"It wasn't the Boltons who defeated Stannis, it was himself" he uttered, as if he was still annoyed with the man, "I loved the man, he lifted me up and made me something but he had demons in his skull whispering foul things" he said through gritted teeth. Tormund's brows knitted together, what kind of foul magic was this false-king using?
"Did you see… these demons?" he asked, his curiosity getting the better of him but it only earned him a look humour,
"No, it's a manner of speaking, not real demons" Ser Davos explained. Tormund scoffed at him,
"Well you loved that cunt Stannis, I loved the man he burned" he said looking right at Davos, "Mance didn't have demons in his skull, nor did he torch people or listen to some red witch" he stated. Tormund loved Mance, he was a good leader with a strong heart and a good sword hand, but now he is gone. "I believed in him, I thought he was the man to lead us through the Long Night" Tormund stopped walking and looked at Ser Davos, "but I was wrong just like you" he admitted.
"Maybe that was our mistake, believing in kings" he half joked,
"Jon Snow's not a king" Tormund chimed,
"No he's not" Davos said with a small smile that matched Tormund's, he offered Ser Davos an evening drink to help him sleep but he was kindly refused. With a nod, Tormund took his leave and headed towards his tent. He lay on his roll for a long time, staring up at the canopy and allowed himself a moment to think of Brienne. He thought of her grace when she swung a sword, her power, and then he remembered the gentleness of her touch. Brienne had looked upon him like she would never see him again, like he was a treasured memory. All he wanted was to know she was safe, if not he will carve his way south to find her.
The Bolton army stood two hundred yards from them. At the head stood the bastard, Ramsay Bolton with a young man in tow. From the way Jon sat stiffly in the saddle, he could tell that the boy was Rickon Stark, his brother. Suddenly the boy started running towards them, what sort of trick was this? Then he understood, Ramsay stood with his longbow and fired arrow after arrow at him, each one missing their mark. Tormund's heart was in his throat, if only the boy could run faster. As soon as the boy started running, Jon was already galloping towards Rickon and as he got close he reached out his arm to swing the boy into the saddle so they could immediately retreat out of range of the bows.
Just as their hands met, a single shaft pierced the boy's chest and he fell to the ground. Time seemed to stop, everyone held their breath and watched Jon. He stared at Rickon's corpse for a moment in disbelief, even though he was a hundred yards away from him, Tormund could feel the rage that filled Jon's eyes. "Don't" he whispered, only for Jon to disobey and charge straight for Ramsay. In a matter of seconds, the horsemen had charged after Jon in an attempt to save him, their whinnies piercing the morning air. Once they had gone, Tormund bellowed orders to charge to the Free Folk and they sprinted towards Jon. Jon would lead them through the Long Night, he was certain, without him the Free Folk would surely be dead by now.
The battle was utter chaos, men screamed in pain all around them. The sound of clashing steel filled the air as the army reached Jon, arrows rained down from the heavens, taking men from both sides by the dozens. Tormund was too busy hacking and slashing his way to Jon to notice that the pile of dead bodies was nearly as tall as he. He could hear a voice shouting from the other side of the body-wall and suddenly they were surrounded by spearmen, hiding behind tall shields that held the sigil of the 'flayed man'. The Free Folk were trapped between the wall of bodies that was now two men high and an impenetrable shield wall, Tormund looked around to see if there was an obvious way out of this particular mess. They were surrounded, there was no way out. Wun-Wun the giant stormed the wall of shields, he tore them away and tossed them away regardless of whether the man was attached to it or not. The people around him were panicking, the men behind the shields shouted and lunged forward before thrusting their spears forward and skewered a hundred soldiers all at once. Tormund stared at them in horror before rage consumed him, he ran at the shield and put his sword through the man's heart. He bellowed at him in fury, the loss of his people and Brienne finally coming to surface. It bubbled beneath his skin, threatening to pour out of him and scold the next man with his white-hot wrath. It distracted him so much so, that he only noticed the spear in his leg when his people were dragging him back to safety. No sooner had he been pulled back, the men sounded their call again and another hundred men fell to their deaths around him. What remained of the Free Folk surged towards the wall of bodies in panic, somewhere behind him Jon was being trampled by the heave of a frightened bodies trying to escape. Tormund pushed and shoved his way forwards, despite his injury he was still a force to be reckoned with as he charged onwards. Coming towards them, Bolton soldiers hacked at the people trying to flee, their bodies only adding to the pile and making it more difficult for those behind them to escape.
At the base of the pile, Jon Umber cut down the bolting soldiers one by one as they ran past. Tormund came face to face with the traitorous bastard, they were forced into close quarters, taking cheap shots at one another in an attempt to fight. Smalljon broke his nose with a headbutt as Davos looked on helplessly, between the encroaching Bolton shieldmen and the body-pile they were driven by blind panic which brought the whole army to a standstill. People died standing, they died on the ground and they continued to be impaled by spears. There was not enough room for the dead to fall, the situation was beyond dire.
The Umber whelp had made the mistake of thinking that a broken nose might hinder Tormund, Tormund took advantage and sunk his teeth into the man's carotid artery. Hot blood sprayed into his mouth as Jon Umber stepped back in surprise, Tormund took his dagger and shoved it deep into his eye-socket.
As he fell, a clear and angelic horn sounded through the bloodshed. Tormund looked for the source of the sound, in the distance he could see riders flying a banner he didn't recognise. Their pretty clean armour washed away the filth that held the banners of the flayed man. He breathed a sigh of relief as they massacred the Bolton soldiers from behind, with the few seconds of confusion from the enemy soldiers ahead of him, Wun-Wun, Jon and Tormund charged over the wall. They cut down every man in their path, vengeance for those lost drove them forwards to the gates of Winterfell. As they clambered over the peak of the body mountain they watched as Ramsay tucked-tail and ran back to the safety of the castle walls. Tormund had spoken to Jon before about Winterfell, he had said that fifty men could hold it. But had those wooden gates faced a giant before? He didn't think so.
They ran at the gate with a hundred men, they paused to let Wun-Wun open the gate. It was only as he ran ahead, did Tormund notice the dozen or so arrows that protruded from Wun-Wun's back. The giant shook the door in an attempt to break down the door, figuring out that it was barred he forced his giant hand through the thick wood. As Wun-Wun lifted the barr on the other side, an archer fired a crossbow bolt through his hand, his scream racketed through the courtyard but he used the pain to lift the wood and smash down the door. Wun-Wun ran forward as he made himself a distraction for the archers which allowed Jon's men to run forward and easily capture the castle. Jon followed in after his men and stood by Wun-Wun who had fallen to his knees, weak from his injuries. Tormund joined them and grimaced at the state of his friend, he looked like his might make it. His hide was thick; giants were resilient creatures and he could survive this if he doesn't sustain any more wounds.
Their relief was short-lived, Ramsay fired a shaft that buried itself into Wun-Wun's eye socket. Jon and Tormund watched in shock as their friend fell to the ground while Ramsay sneered from a distance. Fury painted Jon's dark eyes as he grabbed a Bolton shield from a fallen soldier, he marched at Ramsay, lifting the shield everytime Ramsay fired an arrow. Ramsay fired three arrows, and three times he missed. Tormund almost laughed as Ramsay's expression changed from smug to frightened in a matter of seconds as he realised that he wasn't going to win this one. As soon as he was close, he knocked the bow out of Ramsay's hands with the shield, pushing him over without any effort at all. Quicker than he could see, Jon was kneeling over him and giving Ramsay a new facial structure. It was only after he noticed that Sansa was there did Jon stop punching him. Jon turned away without a word and ordered the clean-up.
Tormund was ordered to see the healer about his nose and his leg, the small woman was terrified of him. He supposed he was a scary sight, this was likely the first time she had treated a Wildling and he was covered in blood. Once she was done, he donned fresh clothes and walked back to the quarters Jon had given him. He bee-lined straight for the bed, Tormund had never slept in a feather bed before, it was always a bed roll on frozen ground and this was much nicer. No sooner had he pulled the blanket over him, the large flame-haired man was fast asleep and snoring.