Author's Notes: Hey everyone, sorry that it has been so long since I last updated. Well, let's get to us, as always I own nothing.
Sansa sat astride her horse and watched the columns of men march past her; she and the army were marching east toward the Dreadfort, the ancestral home of House Bolton. She sighed, feeling even that simple motion slightly impeded by her unfamiliar apparel. Her advisors had told her that, though she was not expected to fight in the battle, Starks had always accompanied their armies when they went to war in order to share in the privations and dangers of the campaign. They had also suggested that she adopt a more martial appearance, to look more like a warrior and less like 'a southern lady on a pleasure ride' as Umber described it. The new look consisted of armor in the form of a chainmail shirt which fell down to her knees, trousers and boots with greaves strapped to them and gauntlets. Over her armor she wore a white tabard with a gray direwolf on it and she retained her wolf-skin fringed cloak. Buckled at her waist was a short sword, though she had very little idea about how to actually use it, she took more comfort from the short bow in the quiver on saddle. Though the weight of the armor was considerably less than the armor worn by Brienne, who rode beside her, Sansa was still uncomfortable with it. She was not used to armor, having never worn armor before. The Dragon Queen had made it seem easy and Brienne practically wore nothing but armor. Sansa; however, was finding it difficult to get used to. She could not seem to get used to the weight, every night when Brienne helped her out of it she felt as if she was light enough to fly; and she was not even sure that it was doing any good. She felt that half the time that men saw her more as a joke than as a symbol. Still, her councilors felt it was a good idea and her army needed all the boosts to moral that it could get.
That was the real cause for her sigh. Though she saw the need for what they were attempting, she could not see how they were to achieve success. When her brother had marched to war Robb had led an army twenty thousand strong, she led a force barely half that. War and betrayals had bled the strength of the North and they now marched against those who had once marched alongside them. How had it come to this? Sansa could not answer that.
Her father had always told them that the North was a place of honor and loyalty, he made it sound as if it was a place untouched by the corruption, greed and division of the other kingdoms. It seemed he had been as wrong about that as he had been about the situation in King's Landing. Many of her ancestors seemed to have had that failing, they assumed that people had honor and that had cost them. Her father had trusted that the men of King's Landing had honor and he had been betrayed and killed. Robb had trusted to the honor of the Freys and Boltons and had suffered the same fate. She had trusted the Queen and had helped in those killings. No more, the foolish trust ended with her. She would show no mercy to Roose, when she was done Jeyne and her child would be the only Boltons still breathing. If she ever found herself in a position to make such a decision.
Even with many of his allies abandoning him Roose still commanded significant forces, even the most generous estimates put her forces at only outnumbering Roose's by two-to-one. Such numbers, her councilors assured her, were nowhere near enough to take the Dreadfort by storm. Not that she wanted to order such an assault. Everyone said that the Dreadfort was as strong as Winterfell and that any attempts at an assault on its walls would result in the destruction of her army. On the other hand, the stories said that the last time her ancestors had besieged the Dreadfort it had taken the Starks two years to starve the Boltons into submission and Sansa did not have time for such a siege. Sir Massey had suggested that they try to lure Roose out into open battle, where their superior numbers could be brought to bear. Hother had been skeptical of the idea. It would be a good idea, if it could be brought about, but that was unlikely. Roose would be as aware of the situation as they were and would realize that it was to his advantage to remain within his walls. While there it was unlikely that the Starks could dislodge him and a well-provisioned Dreadfort could withstand the winter much better than a besieging army could. Also, he had everything to gain through waiting and could quite happily sit out the rest of the war, conserving his strength and then negotiate that strength to the winner; whoever the winner may be.
If the Lannisters won then he would simply retain his position of Warden of the North, which they had given him. If the Dragon Queen won then Roose would be in a good position to receive the title of Warden from her as well. He had no quarrel with her, as was the case with the majority of the Northern houses, who had sided with the Starks and by extension Stannis. In addition to that hostility many of those houses were already significantly weakened and would be little more than shells of themselves by the end of the fighting. The Boltons, on the other hand, would still be in position to control the North, which would save the Dragon Queen from having to place her own forces there. While hated, the Boltons would still be better than having a foreign or southern lord ruling them. Finally, even if Stannis were to win, he would likely not be in a position for a long siege, even if he desired to his army would likely not. Roose may not be Warden under Stannis, but he might keep his lands, or at least be able to receive exile instead of death.
Thinking of the King reminded Sansa of another matter of concern. She had moved against the Dreadfort without first obtaining permission from the King to do so. Sir Massey and Umber had been in favor of this, stating that it would raise her status among her lords that she did not need the permission of a southern king to punish a treacherous lord. Maester Wolkan had objected, while he agreed that if she were to succeed then all would be well. However; the King depended on the Northern lords for the majority of his strength and would look with great disfavor on an over-eager lord, or lady, who wasted his meager reserves of strength on a venture that he had not endorsed as he was planning to undertake it himself. Failure here could cost Sansa more than merely a battle.
Despite all of these considerations Sansa had come to agree that they really did have no choice. She looked around, concentrating on the snow which lay on the ground. The snow was coming more and more frequently, while not even ankle deep yet that would soon change and the roads would become impassible. That was another reason that the siege would have to be brought to as swift a conclusion as possible, if it took too long the army could find itself trapped by the snows and be unable to leave even if they wished to. Shaking her head she spurred her horse forward and the army continued its march.
The army approached the Dreadfort the north in order to avoid having to cross the Weeping Water. Sir Massey had set their riders to serve as a screen and there had been some skirmishes between them and Bolton cavalry, ensuring that there was no way that Roose would be taken by surprise. As they advanced towards the Dreadfort they began to meet people on the road, Bolton smallfolk fleeing the fighting. Sansa had forbidden looting of villages that offered no resistance and she allowed the women, children and old to continue on, but the men she conscripted for as laborers, not trusting them to fight alongside her soldiers.
When they at last reached the Dreadfort Sansa experienced a feeling of dread. The castle loomed tall and brooding, dark, hard and cold, just like those who had raised it. Sansa shook herself, she was Wardeness of the North and was leading an army, she was done being afraid. She turned to look at Sir Massey as he set about giving orders in his role as military commander.
"I want the men setting up siege lines, have those louts we found start felling trees. Have some of them start making mantlets to protect those digging trenches and have the rest start building huts for the men. The siege starts at dawn." The attack on the Dreadfort had begun.
Author's Notes: Hey everyone. First let me say I am sorry that it has been so long since I last updated, the fan on my computer broke and I was out of town. Also, someone mentioned that my story had become rambling and they were right, I was not sure what do with it, having outrun all my initial ideas. I am still not entirely sure, but will try to end the rambling; you may have noted that this chapter is a bit longer, from now on I will try to have them be at least a thousand words, still short but not as bad. What did you think of the chapter? I confess I am not sure how Stannis would react in this situation. Now, I could be wrong, but from what I have seen the Northerns for the most part, with the exception of the Manderleys in the books, don't seem to have much of a siege mentality, what do you think? Feel free to let me know. Please pray for a family friend who has cancer and all who need it. Bye and may Jesus bless you.