Warg Maiden
Disclaimer: I do not own Game of Thrones
Chapter 41: Conflicts
Jon's POV
After a month, Jon, Sansa, and Ser Davos arrived at the camp where Stannis once held. Jon would have to thank House Overton for making arrangements and setting up the camp. The other houses that offered service were there, along with the Free Folk. So far, things seemed to be civil.
In other words, no fighting.
Jon was worried that the Free Folk and the Northerners were not going to get along. But both seemed well…for now.
He glanced around until he spotted a massive black direwolf. Ghost did as well, and in a moment, the albino wolf ran over to the black she-wolf. Undoubtedly, both Skadi and Ghost have formed some sort of kinship. Despite the size difference. Although, in a few more years, Ghost might be the same size as Skadi one day. Skadi adjusted herself to greet Ghost, who revealed her sister. Imogen.
She looked different. As Jon can put it, she was well rested, and her attire showed she was battle-ready. Her dark hair had tight braids on the sides, while a large, loose one was covered in white paint on top of her head. As charms clasped at the end of each braid. Charcoal speared along her eyes, while blue paint trailed on her chin, with three stripes down her left eyebrow to the middle of her cheek and two crescents around her right eye. She wore what the Dire Tribe considered armor, a hard leather vest fitting her form, bracers, and a leather tunic underneath her leggings. While wearing a black fur cloak similar to the Starks.
She did not dress like the Wildlings in furs. Then again, Jon noticed several tribes that were not in their winter gear. She dressed like a spearwife of the Western Clans. Where Snow and springs meet upon the mountains.
Jon was glad to see her but didn't want Imogen here. She had the knowledge to help the living defeat the Army of the Dead. Primarily the Night King. However, she was one of the reasons for uniting the Free Folk to House Stark and returning to join in the Great War. He will have a word with her before the battle against the Boltons. Have Imogen stand this battle down to protect Sansa.
He knows Imogen can fight, seeing her in action at Castle Black and Hardhome. But Imogen is an asset he cannot lose.
The trio made their way over to her while on horses.
"Lady Imogen," Ser Davos greeted.
Imogen gave a scoff, "Using fancy titles, Ser Knight."
"Forgive me. I tend to speak in high regard," Ser Davos replied.
Imogen chuckled, shaking her head. Even though the Free Folk do not believe in titles except for Chief and Magnar. However, based on the Seven Kingdoms custom, if the True North had followed, Imogen would be considered a lady. At the same time, Fenrir would be a Lord of Lunar Haven.
"You all must be exhausted from your travels," Imogen said. "Let me show you where we keep the horses and your tents."
"Appreciated," Sansa sighed.
Imogen led the way with Skadi and Ghost in tow.
"I see you and your army found this place with ease," Ser Davos said.
"We wouldn't if Halbort Overton hadn't arrived to escort us a week ago," Imogen reported.
"Any words on Lord Overton?" Jon asked, still concerned about the man who risked to save Rickon.
Imogen sighed, "Halbort says his father is making a slow recovery. But death will not claim him."
Jon gave a sigh of relief.
"So, what is unique about this place," Sansa asked.
"Stannis camped here on his way to Winterfell," Ser Davos answered.
"And that's a good thing?" Sansa asked with doubt.
"He was the most experienced commander in Westeros. He chose this place for a reason." Ser Davos assured, gesturing to the landmarks. "Those Mountains are a natural fortification. There's a stream down there for the horses."
"We're not staying here long," Jon said. "Another storm could hit any day."
He recalled the reports of what happened here. The Boltons snuck in, burning specific locations to the ground, killing ranking officers, and slaughtering the horses. This area was prone to severe weather. Its blizzard trapped Stannis's army, resulting in rations being depleted and men dying either from malnutrition or starvation.
"Aye, the snows defeated Stannis as much as the Boltons did," Ser Davos said.
"So far, we only had morning flurries," Imogen reported.
Morning flurries might be the Riverland drizzle rains.
They reached the location for the horses, dropped them off, and grabbed their necessary supplies. Imogen helped Sansa down. Sansa nodded in appreciation with a slight smile, then turned attention to the men. Jon got off, feeling sore, yet continued.
"We have to march on Winterfell now while we still can," Jon decided.
"How many men have you gathered?" Imogen asked as she led them to their tents.
"Two hundred Overtons, two hundred Horwood," Ser Davos listed. "One hundred and forty-three Mazins—"
"Sixty-two Mormonts," Sansa sarcastically added, then looked at Imogen. "How many of your men?"
"I'm not good with numbers," Imogen said, giving a calculating look. "Somewhere between four thousand and five hundred to five thousand. I lost count."
Jon nodded, aware that Imogen didn't have a higher education like Sansa and him. She may have learned how to read, and her writing is similar to that of a child, but knowing she can count to that high number is impressive with basic arithmetic. Therefore, they had roughly five thousand men against the Boltons and their allies.
"We also have three giants," Imogen added. "Along with wargs with bears, wildcats, and direwolves willing to join."
"Will the animals cause damage?" Sansa asked.
"When warged?" Imogen replied, staring at Skadi. "Greatly."
Sansa nodded, though they held some doubt.
"It's not what we've hoped for," Ser Davos said. "But we still have a chance if careful and smart."
Suddenly, they heard arguing. They turned around to see a Northerner approaching a group of Free Folk who were minding their own business. One Free Folk got up, accepting the challenge.
"For fuck's sake," Ser Davos snapped, marching over.
"Not again," Imogen muttered as she and Skadi went to handle the situation.
Jon and Sansa watched as the three went over. They made it just in time to prevent a brawl, although it was mainly Skadi's presence.
"So, he's your most trusted advisor now?" Sansa asked, a bit nervous about their situation and doubtful. "Because he secured sixty-two men from a ten-year-old?"
"Ser Davos is the reason I'm still standing here talking to you, and he served Stannis for years," Jon reminded her as they headed to the area where Stark Banners could be seen.
"Stannis, who lost the Blackwater, who murdered his own brother, who doesn't have a head?" Sansa asked sarcastically, then stopped. "It's not enough. We need more men."
Jon walked ahead and then stopped, turning back to Sansa. "Imogen has given us the bulk."
"And I appreciate what she and the Wildling Council have done, but it's not enough," Sansa tried to reason.
"There's no time," Jon argued.
"If we went down to Castle Cerywn, I know that Lord—"
Jon entered her space, interrupting her, "We fight with the army we have."
They didn't have time. Rickon was being held captive. Having a true male heir captive has less chance of surviving than a female. Jon knows it, as he stared at Sansa, who survived through horrible things. But hearing about Theon and what Ramsay did to him, Jon can't risk that fate with Rickon. Let alone what Lord Glover said, how his people were brutally tortured and slaughtered by the Ironborn. The people of Winterfell are dying. The fear that the Boltons have made is creating a plague over the North.
It's the chance he is willing to risk.
Shouting could be heard. Imogen gave orders telling her fellow comrades to stand down, with Skadi standing in the middle. Ser Davos tried to calm the Northerners to stop this argument, which resulted in the two men who started the argument fighting.
"Friends, this is not worth fighting over!" Ser Davos exclaimed. "This'll be it. Right, now we don't need to be fighting—"
Jon sighed, excusing himself as he went to help them out. Leaving Sansa behind. By the time he arrived, there were more Free Folk, as they somehow intimidated the Northerners to stand down. Imogen was ordering everyone to go their separate ways. Ser Davos seemed exhausted.
After separating the men, Ser Davos led the Northerners away while Imogen got her people to go. Jon was impressed with how she handled that. He recalled Imogen standing at the sidelines, giving Tormund advice. She sighed and faced Jon.
"How many times does this happen?" he asked.
"Twice to three times a day," Imogen answered. "Fenrir, Halbort, Tormund, and I try to handle it."
Jon gave another sigh. He can only assume the Free Folk are doing their thing that is outside the norm, which the Northerners take offense to or xenophobia. This was his war with Sansa, yet Imogen and her family have taken the bulk in preparing for battle.
"And your mother and brothers?" Jon asked.
"Boudica is leading the rest at the Night Fort," Imogen answered. "Ethan and Aiden have still kept guard over her."
Jon nodded as they began to walk. He somewhat wished Boudica would allow more men to fight. However, he understands her fears, which requires saving the majority for the Great War. Could the Free Folk fighting style be the advantage they need against the Boltons? Except there was a slight problem: House Umber was fighting alongside Ramsay. It's known that the Umbers have fought the Wildlings for a thousand years. They could probably know their battle tactics. But Jon had to remind himself that each tribe has their own style.
The Umbers made him think about Rickon and how Lord Overton tried to save him. How the Umbers betrayed the Starks and gave Rickon to Ramsay. His mind was spiraling that he did not take advantage of Imogen keeping watch. She used crows to spy on Winterfell yet had no sightings of Rickon. Then again, she doesn't know Rickon's appearance. Let alone not wanting to take advantage of her.
"Imogen," he started but stopped.
She faced him. Her silver eyes seemed vibrant because of the charcoal, "What is it?"
Jon took a deep breath, "Can you send Frigg to watch over Bran?"
"Already have," she said.
This surprised Jon, "You have?"
Imogen nodded, "Frigg has been in Winterfell for a month now. It was challenging, but men talk."
They continue walking and heading to the private tents. "And how is he?"
She sighed, "He is kept in a cell, one with a window. Sharing it with a woman named Osha. She's been taking care of him."
"Ramsay…he didn't," he couldn't finish his sentence.
Imogen paused, grasping what he meant, saying, "He doesn't torture them."
Jon could only nod as he exhaled raggedly. He felt gratitude that Imogen took the extra step to watch over his brother. He honestly doesn't know how to repay her. A part of him believes they can be friends. After everything that had happened from Ygritte's death, Ser Allister flogged Imogen, and Mance's execution. Time has vanished, and it has been over a year since they first met. Several months after Hardhome, they guarded each other's backs. Let alone Imogen stayed behind when he died to protect his body.
All Imogen has done…and Jon doesn't know how to return the favor.
And he was about to ask her not to fight.
Not to fight in his battle.
Just as he was about to speak, someone called out Imogen's name. She looked in the direction to see it was a Wildling Council Member. Jon wasn't sure who, but he seemed urgent.
"I gotta take this," Imogen said, then gestured down a crowded path. "Your tents are down there. Sansa is next to yours."
Before he could say anything, she left.
Skadi and Ghost stayed staring at him. Jon stared back at them before leaving, not going to deal with the wolves.
.o0o.
Imogen's POV
The following morning, I warged into Frigg to spy on the Boltons. Fenrir kept watch of my body as I could faintly hear his humming to help me stay grounded. Frigg was perched in a nest she made over the prison cell. She was keeping watch of Rickon and Osha.
Rickon held a strong resemblance to Sansa. From vibrant blue eyes and dark auburn hair matted to near brown in messy curls. A boy nearing ten, from what Sansa told me of her brother in our passing. Sorrow written on his face.
Osha, on the other hand, was a Free Folk. She was tall and lean, with a hard face and shaggy brown hair. Rickon was wrapped around her arm, as she whispered sweet nothings. From Frigg's memory, Osha knows that Frigg has been watching them.
The door to their cell opened as Bolton guards stepped in. Osha moved herself in front of Rickon, using herself as a shield.
"Lord Ramsay wants to see you, you wildling bitch," the guard said.
"About what?" Osha sneered.
"He did not say," the guard said. "But to get you cleaned up."
They grabbed Osha, forcing her up and taking her away. Rickon tried to stop them but was shoved to the ground. I debated whether to leave Rickon or follow Osha. Having an idea where they were taking her, I flew towards the Lord's chamber, setting myself on the window ledge.
There, Ramsay sat at a table, breaking his fast. His appearance was something one could never forget. It was not appealing; one could say ugly. He was big-boned and slope-shouldered, with a fleshiness. His skin pale and blotchy, his nose broad, his hair dark and dry. Although his mouth is small, Ramsay's lips are wide and meaty, wormy looking, and he smiles a wet-lipped smile. His distinctive eyes were oddly pale, like two chips of dirty ice.
He ate his meal while the center of the table was Dark Sister not sheathed, revealing the Valyrian steel. The last person who had Dark Sister was Stannis Baratheon. No doubt, after he was killed, the Boltons would confiscate the sword. As Jon said, Valyrian steel has been rare in Westeros since the Doom of Valyria. Anger filled my veins, knowing the Bolton's had my sword. The worst is Ramsay Bolton.
I've been watching him, and I can declare this man is a monster. He is aware of the growing numbers of our army as he and his council try to figure out how to defeat us. Lord Umber explained how Wildlings fight, while Lord Karstark focused on the rest of the army. Meanwhile, Ramsay seemed pleased for another battle.
Ramsay finished his meal, though he grabbed a green apple and took a knife to peel it. Not long after, Osha was shoved into his room, all freshened up while wearing a white wool dress. Those beady eyes examined her as the two guards left. Osha stared around the room until spotting Frigg. She said nothing, turning her attention to Ramsay at the table, still peeling the apple.
"They've cleaned you up nicely," Ramsay noted.
Osha fidgeted as she adjusted her dress.
"You know who I am?" Ramsay asked.
"A lord," Osha answered.
"Yes," he confirmed. "A lord." He continued to peel the apple, "You've seen my banners?"
"The flayed man," she murmured, her eyes focused on the knife.
She's going to try and kill him, I thought.
If Osha managed to kill him, it would give us the advantage. However, killing Ramsay will cost her… her life. But seeing how Osha has been taking care of Rickon, she was willing to risk it.
"Does that worry you at all?" he asked, focused on the apple.
"You eat them after?" she asked in return, comparing him to a Thenn.
This caught Ramsay off guard, and he chuckled with a sickening grin, looking at her, "No."
Osha scoffed, "Then I've seen worse."
This intrigued Ramsay, who set the knife and apple down on the table. Afterward, he gestured her over to him. Osha paused, contemplating before stepping closer.
"You've served the Starks," he said.
"Aye," she confirmed. "They put me in chains and put a sword at my throat, so I served them."
"The Starks have been gone for a long time, but you kept protecting Rickon," he noted.
"He'd fetch a good price to the right buyer," she said casually. "I served his family a long time. Didn't get no wages." She glanced at Frigg for a second, then back to Ramsay. "Way, I see it, I'm owed."
Ramsay waved his hands in the air, then back on his lap, "Be that as it may, Rickon's not yours to sell anymore. He's mine. So, what use could I possibly have for you?"
"You know what I am," she murmured.
"A wildling," he said.
"I can tell you all about my kind," she offered. "Who the tribes' leaders are."
"Is that so," he murmured. "Anything else?"
She scoffs with a smirk, "I can give you what you want."
She took another step closer.
Ramsay smirked, "And you're sure you know what that is?"
She pulled the skirt of her dress up to her hips before straddling his lap, "Same thing men always want. And when they really want it, they give it a bath first."
Osha secured his hands on her waist and began kissing him. A moment later, they pulled back to breathe as Ramsay took claim of her neck. His hands groped her ass. He was murmuring something, but it was too low for me to hear as the winds outside picked up. All I could do was watch, seeing how his hands felt her body. Meanwhile, Osha's free hand slowly reached for the knife that peeled the apple.
Suddenly, his hand grabbed her hair, forcing her to sit up straight and look at him.
"I like that," he said, with what failed as a seductive smile.
Osha gave a breathy chuckle before he claimed her neck again. Her hands slither to his trousers. Whispering could be heard, but not clear. But a name was mentioned. Someone named Theon. Osha reached for the knife once more as he claimed her neck with his teeth. Then, he worked his way up to her ear, whispering something.
Whatever he said broke the mask she held as she lunged for the knife. Before she could stab him, he took a dagger he had hidden and stabbed her in the shoulder. Pain and shock consumed Osha as she fell to the ground, screaming in agony. Ramsay sat there, watching her, trying to get up, before grabbing Dark Sister and standing over her.
"Have you ever heard of Valyrian Steel?" he asked.
Osha growled, taking the knife in hand before lunging at Ramsay, except he swung the sword, cutting her hand off. A bellowing scream erupted from her lips as she hunched to the ground, holding her injured arm. The white dress quickly turned red, as blood-drenched it.
"This is Dark Sister," Ramsay murmured. "I found her on Stannis Baratheon's decapitated corpse. Whoever killed him missed out on a treasure."
Osha whimpered as she tried to crawl away towards the hearth.
"They say Valyrian Steel can cut through anything," he murmured. "Dark Sister had her share in blood. Owned by a queen who was second best. Owned by men who seeked power. Lost for over a century. And now owned by me. I would like to see what she can do."
And just like that, he started his experiment by mutilating Osha with Dark Sister. Cutting off her limbs. Her cries echoed off the stone walls. And I could do nothing but watch.
" Imogen!" Fenrir's voice bellowed as he yanked me out of the trance.
I gasped, getting a whiplash as I found myself back in the tent with Fenrir and Jon in front of me. I panted, staring at my hands to see they were locked. Fenrir kept his hand on my shoulder.
"What did you see," Fenrir asked.
"Ramsay has Dark Sister," I answered.
"And," Fenrir continued.
"He used it to kill Osha," I said, then stared at Jon, "Rickon is still alive."
Jon nodded.
Fenrir sighed as he whispered a prayer for Osha. As she died trying to protect Rickon.
I stood up, walked over to the table to pour some water, and then turned to face the two men.
"I take it there is something you want to say?" I said, staring at Jon.
Jon stared at me, then glanced at Fenrir, "A moment."
Fenrir arched a brow and stared at me, to which I nodded. Then, Fenrir gave Jon a warning look before leaving. We waited for a moment before Jon stared at me.
"I don't know how I can thank you in…everything," he said.
"Don't die," I simply said. "I need you for the long night."
Jon gave a faint chuckle, "I'll try my best."
I nodded.
Silence engulfed the tent.
"Imogen, I don't want you to fight this battle," he finally said.
My eyes widened, "What?"
Fury consumed me because he knew I could fight. I fought in many battles, either in small or massive numbers. I spent months training the Free Folk to fight against Southern armies.
"It's not what you think," Jon assured. "I know you can fight."
"Then what is it?" I seethed.
Jon took a deep breath, "This is my battle. I need to lead it."
"And what about me?" I asked. "They are expecting me to fight."
"I need you to live," he answered, his frustration coming out.
"For what?" I nearly yelled. "I'm no damsel."
"For the Great War," he barked.
I stopped glaring at him. We panted, staring at each other.
Jon took a deep breath, "You know how to defeat the Night King. I need you alive for that."
"I told my mother- "
"But what if it doesn't work with her," he interrupted. "That only you can do it. I need you to stay alive. I'm forever in your debt in bringing the Free Folk into the fold. But I can't allow you to fight. Not in this battle."
He stared at me with those dark eyes. Eyes begging me to stand down for this one battle. I stared at him, taking his words in. He doesn't think I am weak. Jon wants me to live for the Great War. He believes I'm the one who can do the spells and rituals. Do I stand down and let the others fight this one battle? It is only one battle.
One battle.
Just one battle.
Jon cares for my safety and survival in the Great War.
Swallowing my pride, I said, "Fine."
Jon sighed in relief.
"However," I started.
Jon scowled when hearing that.
"I'll step in if necessary," I said. "So don't fuck it up."
Jon stared at me, seeing I was trying to make a compromise.
"Very well."
Thanks for reading, and please leave a review.
