And so the Battle Begins… Snip-its from a couple of POV during the battle.
He could feel the energy of the men around him humming through the air. Could literally feel the anticipation of battle coursing through each man's veins. Most would die here today, mayhaps he would die today, but Ser Davos Seaworth was ready to step into eternity knowing he did everything he could to help the true King of the North win back his home.
Turning his loyalties from Stannis Baratheon to Jon Snow had not been an easy decision. But it was a decision that he did not regret.
Especially not now, not after he heard that Stannis had willingly sacrificed his daughter Shireen to that red woman's god, hoping to turn the tide of the upcoming war.
Davos felt an ache in his heart at the thought of Shireen dying the way she did. Burnt by fire. While her parents stood by and watched. While her parents stood by and did nothing.
She had been the one bright spark in Davos life. The one person who was guaranteed to welcome him with a warm smile and a loving hug.
And Davos had loved her like a daughter. Like how Stannis should have loved his daughter.
And hearing that Lady Arya had killed the red-woman left Davos with a sense of satisfaction. He hoped she suffered, like how little Shireen had suffered. He hoped she had died staring into those cold grey eyes of Lady Arya's knowing that she couldn't seduce or talk her way out of it. He hoped that when and if she woke up on the other side, it was to find that her god no longer wanted her and no longer needed her.
Of course Jon Snow had not been happy about the red woman's death. Not because of any affection for the red woman but mainly because it was Lady Arya that had killed her.
He still needed to come to the realisation that the sister that came back to him was not the sister he left behind all those years before.
Davos blinked, coming out of his ponderings as he heard the Lord Commander draw his horse up alongside his.
Glancing around him Davos viewed many men, both on horses and on the ground ready to face their death. And for as many people as was gathered, there was an eerie silence that surrounded them; only the call of the crows that flew above their heads could be heard.
It was strange to see so many crows congregated around them but Davos pushed that out of his mind, instead he bought his attention back to the battle.
Dressed head to toe in black with his sword strapped to his side, the Lord Commander made for an intimidating force. He sat astride the Dothraki beast that was Lady Arya's as it was well-versed in battle and it was not easily spooked.
The beast pawed the ground beneath its hooves ready to fight while it's rider sat almost placidly on top, his face giving away none of his emotions.
Together they watched Bolton's forces as it grew in numbers and stretched out for what seemed like leagues.
And the hounds that Bolton had boasted about were not there; instead it was only the men and the horses. But still - Ramsay's horses outnumbered their men.
This was not going to be an easy fight.
Watching closely Davos saw as the front-line to their forces parted slightly, and Bolton rode confidently to the front, in his hands he carried a rope as he dragged something – or in this case someone – behind him.
And even from this distance Davos could see the smug look on the man's pale face.
"Who the fuck is that he's got Snow?" Tormund who had taken up the Lord Commander's other side barked. Beside him was the giant they called Wun Wun. Ready for battle. Ready to fight.
"Rickon." The Lord Commander whispered.
The youngest Stark sibling.
Davos watched as Bolton dismounted, roughly pulling at the rope so that the boy stumbled to a stop beside him, pain and rage so clearly on his young face.
He was a tall boy pale with a shock of deep red hair so much like his sister Lady Sansa but his was wild and curly.
He stood taller than Ramsay by half a head, broad shoulders that were thin but hinted of strength.
They all watched as Ramsay drew a dagger from the sheath at his side, that smug grin widening as he pulled Rickon to him and quickly cut the rope that bound his hands. They all watched as he whispered something in Rickon's ear, his eyes never leaving the Lord Commander and he pushed Rickon away from him.
It seemed as if Ramsay wanted Rickon to run.
They all watched as Rickon started running full tilt towards them, barely sparing the mad-man behind him a second glance.
Panicked Jon nudged his horse forward, desperate to get to his brother.
"Snow, wait!" Tormund shouted as they watched Jon speed towards his brother, crouched low over the saddle one arm out as if he could scoop the boy out of harm's way.
"Hold!" he shouted to the troops as they glanced at each other not know what to do. They NEEDED Ramsay to come to them.
Davos watched as Ramsay held out his hand for the bow and arrow that his squire gave him. Watched as he notched the arrow, waited by a few seconds and released as it sailed towards the running Rickon, missing him by just a few steps.
"Shit." Tormund swore, gripping his sword tightly.
Silently Davos agreed. This would not end well.
Again he watched as Ramsay notched another arrow, that smug smile widening again as he tracked Rickon's trail like a dog, drew back and released. This one missing the boy by mere inches.
The Lord Commander was gaining on his brother fast, but Davos feared that it would not be fast enough.
Ramsay threw his head back and laughed the echoes of his laughter reaching them and that's when Davos knew that he was just playing with them. Deliberately missing the boy for his entertainment.
But this last time, this last time when he notched the arrow, drew back and released, this one Davos knew would hit tried and true.
He tensed on his horse watching as the arrow arched gracefully before it descended, heading straight for the boy's head.
Davos resisted the urge to turn away instead drew his sword, watching as it descended, down, down, down… before a crow swooped in plucking the arrow from the air, stopping its descent and causing everyone bar the two moving Starks to freeze.
"No!" Davos heard Ramsay scream after a pregnant pause before he shoved the squire away from him, snatching the quiver out of his hands and began raining arrows down on the running boy.
Only to have each and every arrow plucked out of the air by the flying crows. They squawked loudly, and if Davos was a betting man he would almost say that they were laughing at Ramsay.
Davos allowed a grin to touch his face as the Lord Commander finally reached his brother, scooped the boy up, deposited him safely on the horse behind him and in one graceful movement, rounded the horse so that they were racing back towards them.
Ramsay's roar of rage could be heard even by them.
Suddenly a horn sounded from behind them and on the hill that housed their own archers, was Lady Arya. Seated on a beast drawn straight from the pits of one's nightmares. Taller and broader than any beast he would ever see. Taller than even some of the men's horses.
But it was what was beside her that drew his breath. Wolves. Hundreds maybe even a thousand of them. Spanning for what had to be miles. All of different sizes, all of different colours. All snarling and humming with the same energy that echoed through the men. And intermingled with those wolves, were the hounds that Bolton had boasted about. Some standing at even height with the wolves, some smaller but all waiting obediently for their mistress's command.
Suddenly it looked like the odds just got evened.
Seconds later the Lord Commander reached them, vaulting to the ground and looking up at his younger brother.
"Rickon go to Arya."
"Jon I can fight." The boy told him, his voice deeper than Davos anticipated as he steadied the horse.
"Aye you can. But not today." The Lord Commander told him. "I need you to go to Arya. Please."
Rickon hesitated but nodded, turning he weaved his way through the throng of men, making his way to his sister who vaulted from the back of her beast onto the horse and into her brother's arms.
A small smile touched the Lord Commander's lips as he turned back towards the enemy, watching as Ramsay screamed at his men around him.
Suddenly the word "charge" could be heard and Ramsay's men rode towards them, the screams of war renting the air.
"Hold!" the Lord Commander shouted out, holding up his sword hand.
Closer they got and Davos could feel how antsy the men were getting.
"Hold!" he continued to hold his hands up and as they got closer Davos saw their first line of horses stumble; the Lord Commander gave a triumphant yell. "Now, men!" he shouted as the deafening roar of the wildlings echoed around them as every man they had available ran on foot towards the fray, brandishing swords, knives and spears. The Lord Commander in the mix of it.
Men and horses clashed head on, the screams and yells drowning out everything else. Davos watch as men from the Thenn tribe tore through their enemy like they were nothing, pulling men from their horses and literally tearing them apart.
Archers from their side notched their bows and released a flurry of arrows into the battle, killing both enemy and ally alike, not really caring who they hit. Davos held their archers back not willing to risk their men's lives.
"Go, go, go!" he ordered at their few horsemen resisting the urge to spurn his horse into the fight, remembering Lady Sansa's warning about Bolton.
"We need someone to have eyes on him at all times. To anticipate what he does. Besides Jon and Arya – you Ser Davos are the best person to do that." he remembered her slightly cynical smile as she spoke to him softly. "He will run if he feels that the tide is turning. We need to make sure he doesn't run far."
So Ser Davos waited. Ramsay Bolton would not win today, he thought firmly. Not if he could help it.
:::
Today was not going to be his day to die. At least not if Tormund could help it.
Grunting Tormund dodged a young boy, younger than he could ever remember being, spinning sharply Tormund hacked into his flanks, ignoring the agonised scream before swinging his sword and killing him instantly.
Moving quickly Tormund picked up a discarded shield, crouching as he held it above his head, hearing the thunk, thunk, thunk of the arrows as it hit the front of the shield wishing he could wrap his fingers around that little fucker Bolton's neck and snap it like a twig.
Lady Sansa had been right. Bolton did not care who he killed. Their side, his side, as long as more of their men were being killed; Ramsay's men were just collateral damage.
"Spineless little fucker!" Tormund snarled, raising his head to view the man on the hill, who was screaming at his archers like a mad man.
He had come to the battle all smug and secure in the knowledge that they had more men. More horses and definitely more weapons.
But before the battle had even begun, the Crow had wiped all that smugness from the little fuckers face and now Ramsay Bolton looked scared.
"Tormund!" distantly he heard Edd's voice and Tormund turned seeing the glint of a sword coming towards him and even before he could do anything, Tormund heard a vicious growl, saw a blur of black as the man who sought to kill him was attacked by one of the she-wolf's little wolves.
Stumbling slight Tormund turned to see the little she-wolf's wolves descend on the enemy like a plague. A black plague that honed in on anyone wearing Bolton colours, tearing their flesh from their bones and feasting on the bodies.
Lady Sansa was right again. Bolton's ego gotten the better of him, and he dressed everyone – from those of House Umber, to those of House Frey – in his colours. With his house sigil stamped on the front of each and every man.
Know your enemy and know them good, his father use to tell him. And who would know Bolton better than his ex-betrothed?
"We need to do something about those fucken archers!" Styr snarled, coming up beside him and snatching a man in Bolton colours by the neck and snapping it viciously.
Tormund agreed. Those fucking archers were picking off their men left right and centre.
"What would you suggest?" Tormund snapped back, quickly unsheathing his dagger and throwing it at the Thenn Magnar. It sailed right past the Thenn's ear and into the eye of the man sneaking up on him.
Cursing Styr rounded, swinging his arm he took the man's head off in one swing, both men ignoring as his head rolled past them.
"We -!" he began, but Tormund stopped him. Grabbing him he spun the Thenn Magnar around pointing at the hill.
Bolton was gone. But the scene before them had both wildling commander and Thenn Magnar grinning like fools.
The hounds. The hounds that Bolton had been so fucking proud of were attacking the archers savagely, tearing through them a part like piss through snow. Hundreds of them lunging for the archers, too quickly for the men to try and begin to defend themselves.
Tormund threw his head back and started laughing, clapping Styr on the shoulder, before pushing him out of the way and stabbing another Bolton fucker in the neck.
"Our little she-wolf!" Tormund crowed, dodging another Bolton fucker, and Styr stabbing him through the heart.
"Fuck." Styr cursed, but grinning wildly as he fought off another boy before ripping his throat out with those claw like nails of his. "If I wasn't so scared of that little she-wolf I would kidnap her, fuck her and force her to have my whelps" he grinned, show-casing filed down teeth and looking like a demon people thought him to be.
Tormund chuckled, catching a Bolton man in mid run and tossing him onto an already fallen man's spear. The man jerked for but a few seconds before he slumped. Dead.
"Good luck to any fucker brave enough to take on that little she-wolf." Tormund laughed, his laughter dying at the sight of that massive fucker Umber, storming his way through battle and towards him, eyes full of deadly intent.
"Oh and the gods are smiling down on me." Tormund chuckled, barely noticing as Styr slipped away, snapping necks and separating heads as he went.
Most did not know that he had history with the Umber commander. They had met before. They had fought before.
And Umber had taken from him his family. Slit their throats from ear to ear, ending his daughter's life before it had even begun.
Smiling Tormund welcomed the man with a mocking bow.
One of them was definitely going to die today.
And it was not going to be him.
:::
She appeared by his side from out of nowhere. Seemingly out of thin air. Ghost and Nymeria by her side as they killed and attacked anyone that tried to sneak up on them while they fought their own battle.
And Jon had to admit. Arya was a skilled swordsman.
She was quick and light on her feet. Wielding not one but TWO swords, both hands as efficient and as deadly as the other. Confusing her prey before she ran them through and then slashed them open. Her swords gleaming blue in the sun's light.
The sword she held in her left hand Jon recognised as Valyrian steel by its sharp edges and its distinctive patterns. It looked made for her, light weight, and the right length. And on the handle Jon spied a dragon's head.
Another gift, it seemed from the dragon-queen.
"Jon, Bolton." Arya called out, crossing both swords in front of her body and swinging out so she decapitated the enemies head from his shoulders.
Jon cursed, dancing out of the reach of someone's sword before he swung high killing the man instantly.
"Son of a bitch he's gone!"
Shaking her head she stared at Nymeria who threw her head back and let out a howl. Ghost pounced on a man sneaking up behind Jon, ripping his face from his body.
Moments later, Arya's Dothraki stallion thundered towards them and came to an abrupt stop, snorting and tossing his head.
"Go Jon, I'll follow." Arya snapped, dodging as someone threw a knife at her head, she literally plucked it out of the air and tossed it back, hitting the thrower in the neck before she pounced on him, slitting his throat from ear to ear.
"Wun, Wun!" Arya shouted to the giant that held a massive tree trunk and was swinging it around, battering Bolton men so they went flying through the air. He turned at the sound of her voice as Jon mounted Arya's horse turning it towards Winterfell.
"Go with Jon!" she told the giant as Jon kicked the horse into action, the giant nodded before lumbering after him, causing the ground to shake where he trod.
The battle continued to rage around them and the sounds of slaughter echoing through the air. Jon raced towards Winterfell, past the dying men, the feasting wolves and the ravenous dogs.
What felt like an age later but was in fact only moments, Jon pulled up in front of Winterfell's closed gates, spying the half a dozen men on the top of the walls, all with their bows trained on him.
Wun Wun stumbled to a stop beside him, the ground continuing to shake even though the giant was no longer moving.
"Huh?" the giant grunted, peering down at him from his massive height. Wun Wun grunted again and lumbered forward, ramming Winterfell's doors with a massive shoulder.
The wall shook at his power, the men on the wall stumbling. Some released their arrows, striking Wun Wun in the back, his shoulders and his arms.
Wun Wun roared whether in pain or irritation Jon did not know but he rammed the gates again, causing one man to fall off the wall before he raised a massive foot and crushed him in half.
Suddenly the crows that had helped before swooped down, cawing as they went straight for the eyes of the archers on the wall. The men screamed trying to protect themselves, but more crows came, more crows attacked.
Arya pulled up beside him on Nymeria, a handful of men with her and Ghost at hers and Nymeria's side. Jon watched as her eyes flashed white, and she fell into a trance. The smile widened as she dipped her head.
"Thank you brother." She whispered. "We shall see you soon."
And with a blink she was back. Grey eyes instead of white.
"It's time Jon." She told him softly as Wun Wun rammed the gates once more. Jon saw the cracking of the door and knew that they next hit would break those gates down. "It's time to take back our home."
Jon agreed. This would end now. This would end today. Winterfell was theirs.
:::
He was surrounded by imbeciles. By moronic, stupid fucks who did not know how to protect their Lord and did not know how to fucking fight!
Brimming with rage he ignored the men that rode through the gates with him, dismounting quickly.
"I want more men posted up on the wall." He snapped at the man who was his commander but could not remember his name. Really he never took names. Especially of those he commanded. They should be thankful that he did not kill them at first sight. "And I want someone with me at all times."
"My Lord, there are no more men." The man told him curtly. "You had them all join the fight."
Ramsay paused, feeling his rage reach boiling point. Spinning sharply he grabbed the man by the helmet and dragged him closer.
"Then find more men." He said through clenched teeth. "I don't know from where but find them!" he roared, shoving the man away from him.
Suddenly the screams of the men on the wall caught his attention and Ramsay lifted his head to see the fucking black nightmares that stole that Stark brat's life from him – attack his men! What the fuck was it with the animals around here?
His hounds, his damn so-called-loyal hounds, turned on him! He woke to ready them for the battle and found them gone. All 120 of them. Disa–fucking–peared only to resurface again standing at the side of the Stark bitch that he found himself fascinated with.
There was just something about her…
But his hounds, his fucking hounds no longer listened to his command. He tried calling them off as they attacked his archers, tried giving the whistled command. But it was as if they were deaf, their savagery and hunger for human flesh he had cultivated, but their blind obedience to him was gone.
And he blamed that Stark bitch. When he got his hands on her…
"Shoot them down." Ramsay ordered the handful of men standing around him.
The men turned to him confused causing Ramsay to clench his fists in rage.
Was NO ONE LISTENING TO HIM NOW?
"Shoot the fucking birds down!" he roared, snatching his bow and arrow up and shooting at one of the flying nightmares only to have it dip out of the way and his arrow hit one of his own men.
Just then the gates splintered to pieces and a giant, an actual giant stumbled through the fallen gates.
"Shoot him!" Ramsay ordered but his men were already dodging enemy arrows. Quicker than a snake he grabbed his so called commander pulling him in front of him like a shield, feeling the man's body jerked as he was hit by two maybe three arrows.
Glancing around him he saw his men – his so called battle-experienced men – falling to the bastard's army as they swarmed in through the gates.
Disgusted he shoved the dying man away from him, watching as the Jon Snow came storming through the gates on Winterfell as if he owned it.
But he didn't. Ramsay owned Winterfell. And the bastard and his wildling men will die knowing that fact and that Ramsay would fuck and kill both the bastard's sisters.
The bastard came towards him, his pretty face not so pretty anymore, covered with dirt and blood. He held up his hand, his men OBEYING his silent command instantly as they lowered their bows. Ramsay shook his head.
For a bastard to command such loyalty blew his mind. He was the declared son of a Lord. The bastard's father did not even care to acknowledge him. Yet these men followed him blindly.
"Surrender." The bastard dare command him, glaring at him through the muck and the gore on his face.
Ramsay had never been a person who obeyed instantly. Never been the type of man to give in easily. Especially not to a lesser being.
"How about this." He cajoled the bastard, holding his hands out in front of him innocently. "I have reconsidered. You suggested one on one combat didn't you. I think that sounds like a wonderful idea." He grinned, watching the bastard's face closely.
Without warning Ramsay notched his bow, gritting his teeth in frustration as the bastard in one smooth movement picked up a fallen Bolton shield and deflected the flying arrow, stomping towards him.
Ramsay notched again letting another arrow fly only to have the bastard raise the shield, the arrow sinking into the wood and leather with a loud thunk.
By the third arrow the bastard was on him, slamming the shield into the side of his face.
Ramsay grunted as he fell backwards, and the bastard followed, landing on his chest as he rained blows down on him. He felt his nose break beneath the bastard's fists, saw his blood spurt across the bastard's face.
Pain exploded all over his face and he continued to punch him, hate and rage filling the bastard's eyes before Ramsay's own eyes went hazy with pain.
He didn't know how long the beating lasted. Maybe minutes, maybe hours but by the sixth hit, Ramsay felt nothing.
"Jon." He heard the angel's voice from out of nowhere and suddenly the blows stopped. Ramsay blinked again, his sight clearing a little as he viewed the bastard glared down at him, chest heaving, face still filled with murderous rage.
Ramsay coughed, feeling blood spill from his lips as he started laughing. Ignoring the pain that consumed him, Ramsay continued to laugh in the bastard's face.
"A man's death does not belong to you, Jon." The angel said softly, and Ramsay's head flopped to the side, watching as the angel stared at them, two massive beasts standing on either side of her. Was she the angel of death? "A man's death does not belong to a girl. Instead a man called Ramsay Snow's death belongs to a girl's sister." The angel smiled at him and for the first time in his life, Ramsay felt his first lick of fear. The angel's face kept interchanging. Myranda, his father, his mother, Myranda, his father, his mother… "A man's death belongs to Sansa Stark."
