This chapter was edited by Gladiusx
7th day of the 9th Moon, 299
New Castle
The Northern Princess
"I still think it unwise that you would join the men in a potential battle, Princess."
"I do not plan for this to descend into a battle," Sansa patiently explained to the fretful Merman Lord, hiding any displeasure from having to repeat herself so many times over the past week. "I shall meet with the so-called Castellan of the Dreadfort and hear what he has to say before judging him."
"Princess, I assure you that Ramsay Snow–"
"Trust me, Lord Manderly. I do believe you, yet my position does not allow me to make a judgement after listening to one side. What would you do if the situation was reversed and the accusations were thrown at you?"
Manderly's usually jovial face was stony, yet Sansa had reached her limit - she could tell the man meant well, yet questioning her decision over and over, especially today, the day before she was to set out, was becoming irksome.
They were having dinner on the terrace overlooking the grounds of the castle and the city of White Harbor. Sansa was surrounded by a gaggle of maidens and ladies, including Wylla Manderly, who, along with Myriam Locke and Branda Flint, would join her as ladies-in-waiting. Perhaps that was why the Merman Lord was so worried. His granddaughter would be in danger during the journey, yet he was the one who offered her in the first place after his good-daughter's less-than-pleasant display on her wedding night.
Thinking about her wedding night caused Sansa's heart to flutter. Oh what a wonderful night it was! Sansa had no experience at all with men or how to please them; the things her mother mentioned offhandedly conflicted with the lessons Septa Mordane had given, and she had simply forgotten them in favor of the courting itself. Percy was such an excellent lover, bringing her to pleasure over and over and over. He was obsessed with kissing her at every opportunity and never shied away from showing how much he loved her.
Her husband was also utterly enamored with her teats, especially now that they were growing even larger with her pregnancy.
Then there was the man himself; if someone had told her before she met him that Percy was divine, she would not have believed it, but now that she had seen his body in all its glory, it would be easy to admit he was a god in human flesh.
Such powerful arms, broad shoulders, a chiseled chest, a stomach and abdominal muscles that were rock hard yet soft to the touch, and finally, his member that had brought her a lot of trepidation when she first saw it. Sansa had no idea what the normal size for men's penises would be, yet Percy's just had to be on the larger side. It was nearly bigger and longer than her forearm!
Oh, how he took her and ravaged her with it, bringing her pleasures she never thought possible - how after she had tired, he would still be raring to go, yet had lovingly held her to sleep and did not force himself on her as Septa Mordane had warned men were wont to do.
After they awoke and had breakfast, she let him use her teats and was surprised it brought her pleasure as much as it brought him. Sansa had even tasted him out of curiosity, vaguely remembering tasting his blood before, and felt incredible energy coursing through her that had her on top of him and worked for her reward instead. She had made sure Percy poured every drop of his seed stored in those large gonads of his, deep inside her over and over again, making sure that it would not be a question of if it would quicken but rather when.
Even then, Sansa was the one to, what was it her husband called it? Ah, tap out and admitted defeat. Percy was utterly incorrigible, with seemingly endless stamina and an appetite that had her wondering if she could ever satisfy him alone.
Considering what the half-maester had told her a sennight ago, Sansa was confident that the life growing in her belly would be just as powerful as their father - if not more so now that the blood of the kings of winter would be flowing in their veins.
"Very well, Princess." Sansa nearly flinched as she remembered herself and gazed coolly at Lord Manderly - pretending she did not just daydream about fucking her husband while in polite company. "I shall pray for a swift journey and the success of your diplomatic efforts."
Gods, all that thinking nearly caused her to break her composure, yet she still managed a calm nod.
"Do not worry, My Lord; I would be a fool not to expect treachery from the likes of Bolton and his spawn. We have planned extensively for every contingency. My husband even cleared out the Bite from two more leviathans, allowing your navy to strike at the Bolton port and potentially the Dreadfort itself if he proved as treacherous as you claim."
Lord Manderly merely nodded before returning to his leviathan pie, which had quickly become a delicacy of the city that the corpulent lord loved almost as much as his lamprey pies.
The rest of the table seemed to have been holding their breath and finally relaxed at the sight of the lord of the castle returning to his dinner. Sansa glanced at Percy standing aside, speaking to the nobles who would join the army on the march. It had taken a lot to convince Percy that she was not a fragile wallflower when he learned of her pregnancy and even more work to allow her to join the campaign.
Twenty warships and thirty cogs would sail out of White Harbor in a show of strength to blockade Bolton's port on the Weeping Water, while five hundred lancers gathered from White Harbor and Old Castle were already halfway to the Broken Branch.
Five hundred was a small number compared to the estimated thousands more that the expansive Manderly lands should be capable of fielding, but that was on purpose. Much of Lord Manderly's army had already gathered in White Harbor, three thousand and more coming every day - yet the finest of the Lord's troops were with his son fighting for her brother in the south. Only Ramsgate and the Sheepshead Hills have retained their muster due to the Bolton Bastard's attacks. However, the majority of the army was protecting the masons and builders sent to Moat Cailin for the rebuilding efforts, along with the permanent garrison five hundred strong already there.
Sansa was adamant never to allow the gateway to the North ever fall into enemy hands again. She had already sent a letter to her brother Robb with all that had happened so far–not trusting a raven, and Percy had mentioned Meera's brother had vowed to deliver it no matter what. She could not imagine what Robb's reaction to her marriage would be like, but considering what they last heard of him taking a paramour and having her join him in his campaign, he hardly had any moral ground to stand on.
But when had kings and crowns cared about morals, fairness or justice? Sansa just hoped the crown had not changed her dear brother too much. But even if it had… even if she owed Robb loyalty as the head of House Stark, she was now accountable only to the whims of one man. Her husband.
'Things wouldn't be too bad,' she mused. With Moat Cailin back in their hands thanks to Percy, Sansa hoped that would be a first step in easing her family to accept her marriage to Percy. Otherwise, she would be forced to take drastic measures; Percy Jackson was hers, and she was his. They were joined in holy matrimony before the gods old and new, and no one would ever deny her this wonderful man, not even her family.
"I'm sure all will be well, my dear."
Sansa felt a pair of warm hands on her shoulders even though no one was behind her. She gently smiled as the Maiden assuaged her worries before returning to her thoughts regarding their upcoming campaign.
Ser Rodwell Long's eldest son, Ser Matrid Long, was already leading the five hundred lancers on land as they march to Ramsgate, while his father took command of the rest of the Manderly force here in the city as they await the results of the talks. Would they be forced to attack the Dreadfort? Or would they march north to Winterfell or west to Barrowton and break its siege?
There were many options, but Sansa had refused to give her plans, for it would not do to plan so far ahead and stumble on the first step. All that mattered now was dealing with the Hornwood problem, pressing the Bolton forces into their numbers, sending riders to Karstark and Umber to begin a second mustering (as they had ignored her ravens) before they decided on the next step. Manderly's fleet could be used to sail up the Last River and ferry those men from Karstark, Umber, and Bolton lands to White Harbor if need be.
Meanwhile, Sansa decided to join Percy as he sailed the Silver Lady to Ramsgate, using the Manderly fleet as an escort and giving them a huge boost to their speed, until they separated at the mouth of the Broken Branch. From there, it was a short way to the agreed upon meeting point for the talks with the Bolton Bastard, a river port near Castle Hornwood.
As she told the disgruntled Merman Lord, Sansa fully expected foul play from Ramsay Snow, his demands for talks were utterly ridiculous; to come alone with only twelve companions in a hostile territory? Was he such a lackwit? If ever there were a trap, then that would be it. That she agreed to meet him regardless had nearly given the elderly Lord Manderly a stroke until she explained Percy and her band of one hundred's role in the plan.
She placed her hand on her belly. Even with all the planning they had done, Sansa could not help but feel trepidation. Lord Manderly did have a point; she was with child now, even though she did not at all feel any of the ails an expecting mother should have. Donnis had been lost on why, but a chuckle from the Maiden in her mind told her all she needed to know. Then, there was the fact she would be dragging Myrcella, Rosamund, Meera, Wylla, Myriam, and Branda on a dangerous sea voyage that could still end in disaster.
The gods were whimsical; even when she had one on her side, Sansa would be a fool to believe that all would be well.
But it was not about trusting the gods this time; it was about placing her trust in her husband. If Percy declined her mad scheme or even hesitated for a second, she would have turned around and never spoken of it again. Yet he had agreed.
"A scheme worthy of the goddess of wisdom." He had declared, after thinking deeply on it.
As Sansa retired for the night, disrobed, and joined her naked husband in bed for another night of passion, She looked forward to leaving White Harbor and properly touring the North. Winterfell was her home, but she had rarely left it and knew little about how her fellow Northmen lived.
18th Day of the 9th Moon, near the Hornwood
Sansa gazed at the docks as Percy willed their fishing boat to stop in the middle of the lake leading to the village - nearly a thousand feet away, well out of range of the strongest warbow. The riverport was more of a fishing village without a dedicated shipyard. Every fisherman would build their own boats from wood supplied by the lumber mills of the Hornwood.
To the west were the Sheepshead Hills, where the headwaters of the Broken Branch, or at least the branch they were sailing up to, could be seen in the form of several picturesque waterfalls. To the north was the eponymous forest that gave name to House Hornwood, and Sansa could see the highest tower of Castle Hornwood a few miles away from their position.
They had left the Silver Lady a few miles back, where several of the river's branches met at a walled town called Branchford, known for its water mills and sawmills. They had waited for Matrid Long to arrive with his five hundred lancers and another five hundred footmen from Ramsgate and were given their orders - Sansa's remaining men were under the command of the first of Percy's captains, Kyle, who had their own task concurrent with Long's.
Then, they purchased a fishing boat and sailed the rest of the way here.
Just as Ramsay Snow demanded, Sansa only had twelve men with her: Percy, Mark, the second captain, and ten of their finest warriors.
A nudge in her mind had her look through Beauty's eyes, and Sansa sighed tiredly. "The village is teeming with people, yet not a single woman or child. I count a score of armed men waiting at the docks. At least two score more spread out in behind huts and cottages - all of them are armed with bows and crossbows."
"Perfect tools for assassinations," Percy grunted as he adjusted the cloak he was wearing. He had left his suit of armor back on the Silver Lady, too cumbersome and eye-catching for what they had in mind. He still had his magical spear and Aegis, the Valyrian Steel shield he recovered from the depths of the Bite - with Ice gone, Percy had used every opportunity exploring the capabilities of his new weapon. "I bet the jabroni is probably hiding in one of the houses too."
"My Lord, the woods are too quiet; I am certain men are waiting in ambush." Mark, the serjeant of her troop, whispered as he fingered the string of his bow. None of the men wore any obvious weapons or armor, even leaving behind their expensive crossbows to appear as weak and vulnerable as possible under their cloaks, yet they were not helpless. "What are your orders?"
"Sansa?"
Another look through Beauty confirmed what Sansa had already seen hours prior - it would have been foolish to come here without scouting ahead, yet things may change with time, and the forest that was empty half a day ago, was teeming with men. "Nearly a hundred men are watching us from the woods - those near the lake and the village at least, for the forest is vast. All of them are dressed lightly and armed with bows, axes, daggers, and… I believe they are on the Bolton's side; I see several men in flayed man livery among them."
"Woodsmen," Mark whispered. "They have to be Hornwood men. They would join forces with the man who slayed their lady?"
"They have no choice," Sansa whispered back. "There are no more Hornwoods; Halys and Daryn Hornwood perished in the south, the heir unmarried, and their closest relatives were the Tallharts and a bastard of Lord Halys living with the Glovers. None of them are in any position to press a claim at the moment. Ramsay Snow married Lady Donella, which, in the most obtuse of legal senses, makes him Lord Hornwood, even if Lady Donella did not have a claim to the land, only to live in the castle according to the Widow's law… Not that the simple huntsmen would know the difference."
The men nodded seriously though Sansa had the strongest feeling that they barely understood half of what she said and she did not blame them. Succession crisis and politics rarely made sense to most nobles, let alone small folk like her warriors.
"What are your orders, My Lord? Princess?" Mark looked to Percy and then to her, his dark eyes hard with determination. "Know that we are ready to fight regardless of the odds."
Sansa bit her lips as she gazed at the eleven men who had joined her in this endeavor. They were personally trained and handpicked by Percy for this mission, and she knew they were far more capable than some of the finest knights of the realm. Aside from Percy's training, he had confessed to tampering with their food and drink, infusing them with his blood, when she mentioned how his body fluids made her more powerful.
These men had been loyal to House Stark before she met them. Since Percy took them under his wing, they had become fanatically loyal to him as well. Sansa was concerned that they had been mind-controlled and had turned into thralls of some sort, but the Maiden alleviated her concerns.
"What your husband has done was simply bring out what was already there and remove any inhibitions that come with the strappings of loyalty. If one of them were a traitor, then you would be sure they would have done all they could to slay you instead of the loyalty you see."
Every one of them gazed at her with resolute eyes, ready and willing to fight to the death for her. That made her feel warmth and she swore she would never ask them to needlessly throw away their lives.
Sansa expected treachery here, yet she did not expect Hornwood men to join the Bastard. They could still turn back and sail south, yet that would ruin the other ruse that was already underway. In fact, the more Bolton troops that came here, the better the results would be of that ruse. In the end, only one man's opinion mattered in this situation, and her gaze fell to her husband, boldly standing on the bow with his hood down, showing his grin for all to see.
"What do you think, Percy? Can you take them on?"
"That's the wrong question, honey." Her husband's eyes seemed to shine with power as he gazed at the dock where a group of men were waiting. "The question is, when do you want them gone?"
Sansa giggled at the bravado. If it came from anyone else, she would have called them mad, yet this is Perseus Jackson, the father of her unborn child. It was inconceivable that he would allow her here if he were not confident in both protecting her and defeating her enemies at the same time.
"Let's give them the benefit of the doubt. For all we know, Ramsay could simply be showing off his men before he swears fealty to me." Though, judging by the men's looks not even one believed her snarky tone.
"Well, our welcoming party is already here." Percy's grin widened, "I say let's give them a greeting."
Her husband took a deep breath, "IN THE NAME OF SANSA OF HOUSE STARK, I COMMAND RAMSAY SNOW TO SHOW HIMSELF!"
The shout was loud and clear, for even the distant woods shook. Percy willed the boat to sail closer to the docks, well within shooting range yet that was an accepted hazard for that was also shouting range. A man wearing dark armor with a red helm and a pale pink cloak approached.
"I am Ramsay Bolton, Lord of the Hornwood and heir to the Dreadfort. Who speaks in the Princess's name, and where might she be?"
Sansa hid herself under her cloak as she closed her eyes and stared through the flying Beauty. The moon hawk had excellent vision and could see from miles away as well as a human could see from ten feet. Through her eyes, Sansa could see the so-called Lord of the Hornwood; he was certainly dressed in what Ramsay Snow was purported to wear: calfskin boots, velvet doublet, a silver-chased swordbelt, and a sable cloak. Not to mention the expensive armor and how the surrounding men seemed to defer to him, yet Sansa had learned everything she could about the Bastard of Bolton from Wyman Manderly.
The vengeful lord of White Harbor had studied everything there was to know about the Leech Lord and his son, from their favorite food and drink, which chamber pot they preferred to use, their most disgusting habits, and many others. But the most important had been a charcoal painting one of the Merman Lord's spies had managed to sketch of the brazen bastard who had taken to strolling in Hornwood lands as if he owned them.
And that was not Ramsay Snow. Now, the question was, where was the Bastard of Bolton?
"I am Perseus Jackson." The gust of wind that blew at the men on the dock was most likely unnecessary, yet it did bring the message; the sorcerer was here. "Are you the bastard of Roose Bolton?"
There! Just as Percy ignored the insolent claim of lordship and called Ramsay for what he was, a mere bastard, one of the men in the back scowled; he was an ugly young man holding a longbow, and his attire fit for a kennel man did not help. Big-boned and slope-shouldered, he had pink and blotchy skin, a broad nose, matted dark long hair, wide and meaty lips that reminded Sansa of worms, and finally, the most important feature that reminded Sansa of the one time she had ever seen the Leech Lord: Small, close-set, and pale eyes that reminded her of curdled milk.
There were also several hounds nearby, and Sansa recalled Wyman's words, "The bastard is known to hunt maidens like a sport and names his dogs after them."
"I am Ramsay BOLTON!" Whoever the man in the armor was, he was a good mummer, as he shouted angrily. "Where is the princess? She was the one who demanded I submit to her authority yet she refuses to show herself and sends some foreign charlatan instead?"
Percy glanced at her questioningly, his right hand resting on their opening gift, and Sansa shook her head. She stood up and let her hood down.
"Ah, there you are, Princess! Why don't you come ashore so we may discuss matters of us joining forces?"
"Ramsay Snow," Her voice was loud as she glared at the Bastard of Bolton - not the mummer in armor, but the one in the back who flinched. "Do you take me for a fool? I come in good faith, yet you play a mummer's game with me? You are accused of usurping the lands of Hornwood, forcibly marrying the Lady Donella Hornwood before murdering her. I gave you this chance to speak your piece, yet I have seen more than enough. I judge you guilty of treason against House Stark of Winterfell and sentence you to die."
"Treason?! I did nothing that constitutes treason, and none can claim otherwise!" The ugly young man sneered at her as he approached the dock, pushing aside his armored mummer. "I was merely being prudent when dealing with a sorcerer. Who knows what tricks they could come up with? Besides, no matter how much you try to pretend otherwise, you have no authority to give judgement in such matters, girl. Only the king, a highlord, or the regent can."
"You dared call yourself Bolton, Bastard." Ramsay's eyes grew wide and murderous. "Only the King of the North can legitimize noble bastards, and my brother did no such thing since his reign began. Your father does not even acknowledge you as a son, let alone a Snow; that was me being courteous, yet instead of thanking me, you spit in my face. As for my authority, you will have to suffer it regardless of your opinions on the matter."
Sansa gazed coldly at the dock and could not help but compare Ramsay Snow with the only bastard she had ever known; her half-brother. Septa Mordane's words of warning about bastards and their sinful ways echoed in her mind, yet Sansa was never one to take them at face value - Jon had always been kind to her, even when she treated him distantly. He was honorable, loyal, dutiful, and comely, and had all the qualities that a noble lord would look for in his son. Knowing what she learned of Ramsay Snow, it appeared the vile creature became as he was due to his upbringing, or lack of. While Jon Snow was raised among his trueborn brothers and sisters, ate and drank from the same table, learned the same lessons, learned to love them… Ramsay Snow had none of that.
Then, she recalled that her own husband was also a bastard, and Sansa's opinion on the whole matter solidified; Bastards were a result of their upbringing and the people around them, rather than any nonsense regarding sinful nature or the like.
As Sansa looked at the petulant creature gnashing his teeth and remembered all she had learned about him, she felt it incredibly insulting to even compare her brother and husband with that filth. Pity, perhaps, but still insulting. Not even the scum under her boots should be equated with him.
Her gaze passed to the other men on the dock before moving to the woods, where she knew several woodsmen were listening in.
"I offer you and your men one chance and one chance only: Lay down your arms and surrender. Only Ramsay Snow shall be given the choice of the block or the Wall. The rest of you may join my forces as we rid our homeland of reavers and barbarians. I shall give you until–"
Sansa had not even finished speaking when the Bolton bastard unslung his bow, nocked, drew, and loosed an arrow, all in the span of two heartbeats. It was truly an impressive display of marksmanship that would have slain anyone but Percy, who simply grabbed the arrow an inch from his throat. Clearly, Ramsay Snow did not expect that to happen as he gawked, allowing a second arrow to slip from his fingers.
"I guess that concludes negotiations." Percy crushed the shaft in his palm, his grin growing savage and his eyes narrowing dangerously. "I think he just signed his death warrant, wouldn't you agree, honey?"
Sansa sighed, staring sadly at the nearly sixty men in the village that could have joined her cause if not for the will of a madman. "Indeed, my beloved, not even the Wall would be an option now. Still, be swift about it, and they may yet lay down their arms."
"Swift? I know just the thing." Her men grabbed onto the rails, looking queasy as the wind picked up and Percy's grin widened.
"S-Shoot them, damn you! I don't care about the bitch anymore, just kill them all!"
Suddenly, the boat lurched backward at great speeds, traveling hundreds of feet just as a hail of arrows shot from the docks, striking at where they just were. The only reason she didn't lose her footing was Percy's strong arm pulling her to his chest. Sansa, ignoring the slight bout of nausea, glared at the men on the docks; all of them had crossbows, even those who came out from the houses, and all had just tried to kill her.
So much for offering them a chance at surrender.
Now that they were well out of bow range, Percy grabbed the opening gift, his dagger morphing into its spear form, "Time to see if the curse traveled here."
Curse?
Before she could ask, Percy stuck his tongue out as he aimed at his target, his thumb seemingly acting as an aiming focus, before in one fluid motion, sent his spear flying so fast it crossed the thousand-foot distance near instantaneously, cut through the water, caused waves to break and rocked the boat.
And unceremoniously impaled Ramsay Snow through his groin, utterly destroying his pelvis and piercing through his rear before nailing him into the ground. The anguished squeal of pain that came from the Bastard of Bolton's mouth reverberated across the lake, and all the men on the docks jumped in fright.
"Gods, My Lord, that was…" One of the men on the boat fumbled with what to say.
"Needlessly cruel." Mark finished as he gazed stoically as the Bolton Bastard screamed himself hoarse as he thrashed uselessly on the spear that was thrown with such power that all of its blade and a third of the shaft was underground - deep enough to hold his body up like a slaughtered pig on a roast. It was doubtful if any regular javelin or spear could have survived the impact intact, yet Percy's weapon was truly made from something unnatural.
Divine even.
Sansa and the men turned at the sound of Percy clicking his tongue, and she could not stifle her giggle as he grimaced heavily, "… I was aiming for the head."
"Clearly, you nailed it, though most likely not the right one."
"Aw, shut up, Mark."
"Is that an order, My Lord?"
"… Fuck you."
"If the Princess allows it, My Lord."
"W-What the fuck, man?! I don't swing that way! Besides, I thought you were married!"
Sansa snorted at the completely deadpan delivery before guffawing at Percy's splutter, even as the rest of the men hesitantly joined in - all of them had experienced her husband's tortur–training and knew how harsh of a taskmaster he could be. Mark was one of Percy's captains, so he had more leeway, but they knew their place.
Soon, the wails of pain receded, and Sansa checked the dock through Beauty's eyes; Ramsay Snow must have lost the strength to even whimper yet she could still see him twitching. "Percy, offer them another chance at surrender. They might have dared shoot at me, but the Wall is always in need of men. And tell the woodsmen to surrender as–"
Sansa did not get to finish before the sounds of bows twanging and men screaming came from the village. The Hornwood men rained death on the Bolton men in the village, and Sansa sighed once more. A glance through Beauty's eyes told her that even the scant few wearing Flayed Man livery along the woodsmen were quickly swarmed with hatchets before they could escape.
She supposed that solved the problem.
"Princess Sansa, we are yours to command!"
Sansa Stark gazed stoically at the spokesman of the band of woodsmen. There were two hundred of them in total who made a living in the Hornwood as woodcutters, huntsmen, and various other professions. She was certain some, most likely all of them, were also poachers during hard times - or when the land did not have a noble to bring law and order. They had heard her clearly during the farce of a parlay and the moment Ramsay Snow was slain, decided she was the better option to serve.
Naturally, she was distrustful of them, yet she had given her word, and they had certainly proven their worth. Bolton's men may or may not have surrendered, but that would not have been a problem. The biggest worry was they could have easily run away, retreated to the Dreadfort and warned the rest of the men-at-arms there, or turned into banditry. Percy was strong, but he could do nothing when over fifty men fled in several directions.
The woodsmen had done well in pinning them to the village until Percy and the men landed and slayed the survivors to a man, not allowing a single man to escape… or surrender - after the first man tried to gut one of her men when he feigned surrender, Percy and the rest had no more mercy. The hazards of the village being surrounded by the Hornwood; there was no escape route without going through the woods.
Sadly, as she gazed through Beauty, she found two riders that must have been waiting outside the forest galloping as fast as they could to the north. Most likely the Dreadfort would be forewarned of their coming.
Sansa turned to Percy, finding him cleaning his spear with a rag; despite her planning and presence here, he was the one experienced in the gritty details of war. "You shall join the rest of the army as irregulars. I see all of you are armed with longbows and hatchets. I have also seen your aim, and it's acceptable, yet you are an undisciplined lot who will need a lot of work until you can work as a single unit."
The leader of the woodsman looked confused over most of what Percy said but nodded regardless. It did not matter; knowing her husband, he would most likely turn this band of vagrants into a ranged force to rival the Raven's Teeth.
"What about the castle, Princess?" The leader asked hesitantly, "There are still Bolton men holding it, and the Hornwood serjeants and men-at-arms, those that are still alive anyway, were forced out."
"You need not worry about it," Sansa assured before turning at the sound of galloping horses and finding Kyle approaching with several other riders. "I believe we are about to find out."
"We have taken the walls and gatehouse, Princess, but many Bolton men have barricaded themselves in the keep."
Sansa nodded to Kyle, glad that she had sent him, Matrid Long, and the rest of the Manderly men ahead to take the castle in case the talks fail - it was as simple as sending Beauty over with a prepared message on her leg for them to begin the attack.
She gazed at a certain head planted on a spike; its body abandoned on the ground where the bastard's hounds were feasting on it - he must have been starving the poor dogs. It would have taken a long time for Ramsay Snow to die, yet Sansa obliged the wretch with a merciful death… about an hour after Percy had thrown his spear. It was not out of cruelty, but she honestly had forgotten about him in the chaos of the battle and the cleanup.
Even Percy forgot about his weapon as he used his fists and shield to devastating, and utterly lethal, effects. Saying something about a Captain and Vibranium not holding a candle to him.
"Take the bastard's head and show it to them. They have one chance to surrender. Black or the block, I have no use for treacherous scum. If they refuse, you may burn the keep."
"I'm sure Ben will love the idea of us testing the spitfires."
Kyle grinned, turned to Percy for anything else he may want to add, received nothing, grabbed the head, and left. Despite being near the Sheepshead Hills and its quarries, Castle Hornwood did not have a stone keep, although its walls were stone. Apparently, Donella Manderly's marriage to Halys Hornwood was part of a deal allowing the Hornwoods to use Manderly's quarries in the Hills to rebuild their wooden castle from stone. The late Lord Hornwood had decided to start with the walls and gatehouse before his keep, so burning it was no great loss.
Besides, with the lack of any Hornwoods, the castle, and its lands would revert to the Hornwoods' direct liege lord, House Stark, until they either found a claimant or rewarded the castle to another lord.
"Well, I guess that settles it. Mark!" Percy waved over his captain and the rest of their men. "We have fresh blood. Archers, all of them. You know what to do with them."
The stoic marksman did not smile, though Sansa could see his eyes gleaming as he gazed at the woodsmen like a butcher would gaze at a calf, deciding how best to harvest its meat in the quickest and most efficient way possible. The rest of the Stark men gave the meanest, most filled-with-anticipation chortles she had ever heard. Yet it couldn't be denied that Captain Mark was efficient.
Within a few minutes, the army of woodsmen was gone, and now it was just her and Percy as they awaited the Silver Lady after Sansa had sent them Beauty with another letter summoning them.
"I gotta admit," She turned to Percy as he took her in his arms, Sansa smiling as he kissed her forehead. "This was incredibly anti-climactic."
"Everything ended well for once. Peacefully even. That's good." A small part of her felt queasy at the death of a hundred men in a matter of minutes. But she knew the other outcome, she had heard what the Bolton bastard did with wayward maidens. Sansa decided this was definitely a peaceful end; the Hornwood lands and the Sheepshead Hills would certainly be peaceful. Peace had to be nourished with the blood of traitors and foes to flourish.
"Yeah, I totally agree, but I feel like we overestimated this Bolton dude way too much. We brought so many men, and even Manderly's fleet, along with all that planning and contingencies - our backup plans had back-up plans and more! You are even more of a meticulous planner than anyone I've met, and I knew someone who loved her plans. Yet, we didn't even get to use a single one of them! And no, we already expected the talks to be a farce, so a fight was the normal outcome."
"I'm sure you wanted to skip all those contingencies and go straight to the last resort; put the fear of you in their hearts, just like you did the Ironborn."
"Oh, don't remind me," Percy groaned as he visibly grimaced, "It must have been super cringe to hear about."
"I don't know what cringe is, but from what I've heard, those Ironborn are still obediently doing what you told them. Fear is a good tool to use, I'm told, as long as you use it against your enemies. It prevents you from devolving into meaningless slaughter as well."
"Hey, fear of me or you, it's both the same thing. You did pretty good cowing those lumberjacks to join us."
"… Lumberjacks?" Of all the terms that Percy comes up with, this was the strangest so far.
"Nevermind. So, what's the next step?"
What indeed… Sansa dearly wished she could head straight west for Winterfell. She missed Bran and Rickon and home. It's been far too long since she had been in the Heart of the North, yet there was more work to be done. Those Ironborn were still sieging Barrowton; for all she knew, they could have already taken it in the weeks since she left White Harbor. Then there were the worrying ravens that came from the Wall; a massive Wildling army about to attack, and she could not help but worry about Jon and Uncle Benjen. There was also word about giants, Others, and monsters awakening and being an all-around nuisance.
A few moons ago, Sansa would have dismissed such fantastical stories as tales by the smallfolk. Now that she was married to a man who would not be out of place in one of those tales, the Stark Princess was forced to take such warnings seriously.
Nevertheless, there was a far more concerning problem that she had to deal with as soon as possible. With the death of his son, Roose Bolton was now an unpredictable element, and the sooner they destroyed his power base, the better.
"Next, we consolidate before we join Ser Medrick Manderly at the Weeping Water. We have a castle to sack."
A*H*M
Same day
Maidenpool outskirts
"My Lord Lannister, Maidenpool is just ahead."
Kevan nodded to his outrider, stifling the urge to sigh in relief. His trip to Cracklaw Point was not as disastrous as he feared, yet it still ended up becoming a waste of time. The Clawmen were not hostile, though they were not friendly either. He was still provided with bread and salt when he arrived in Brownhollow as they explained why they could not join the war on any side owing to the vast majority of their troops already mustered and fighting their own war.
Against the land itself!
Kevan would have called Bennard Brune a liar if not for the strange creature he had shown him in his dungeons. It was a short and filthy creature with grey leathery skin, a wide mouth full of sharp teeth, floppy ears, small beady eyes, and two holes in its face in place of a nose. It was utterly rabid and screamed incoherently at them when they approached.
"I am unsure about the rest of Westeros, but the entire peninsula is infested with these strange beasts." Lord Brune explained as he scratched at his missing ear that he had lost to one of the… monsters. "They come out of the depths of the earth, from hollows and burrows long forgotten. Hundreds of them in the smallest swarm and thousands in the larger ones. They always hunt in large groups, usually at night, and are armed with primitive weapons yet are quite cunning. One man could easily defeat one or two of them. A man-at-arms can hold his own against three, but ten? Twenty? Their numbers are many, and they're learning from fighting us, as we discovered a recent group using slings, of all things! Mindless beasts aren't supposed to learn how to use tools in a matter of moons! They also seem to have an unhealthy appetite for flesh."
The last part was said almost in a whisper as the Knight of Brownhollow just deflated, his face grim.
"Human flesh?" Kevan asked in worry.
"If they manage to catch a fisherman or hunter unawares, perhaps. Yet, they would eat anything as long as it had flesh and blood. Many livestock were lost to them, and the rest of the clans were up in arms. We are mustering for war, aye, but not one between men, but against monsters and creatures of the night."
Kevan had received supplies from Lord Brune then but no troops. Accepting the situation, he continued to Dyre Den and the Whispers, receiving the same welcome and similar results: some supplies but no troops. Every House of the Crackclaw Point was suffering attacks from these… grumpkins or snarks; none knew what to call them, for the beasts talked only in grunts and screams.
In the end, he had to call off his procession when they had to fight off three attacks by the damned creatures, losing a few men in the process. Returning to Maidenpool with nothing to show for but the staple of the Clawmen's trade, bows and arrow and spear shafts, was disheartening, yet at least they had managed to recover Jaime, so that was still a victory in his heart, if not as significant as he hoped for.
"My Lord…"
He turned to the outrider, surprised he was still there, "Yes? Anything else to report?"
"Aye. The army is gone, My Lord."
"Gone?" For a moment, Kevan did not understand. "What do you mean it's gone?"
"There are no war camps outside the walls. Not even a single tent and our scouts can't spot the Lannister banners for miles. Maidenpool itself seemed emptier than usual. The harbor hardly had any ships either, from what I could see, but–"
Kevan had a terrible feeling in his heart that his nephew had done something foolish. He quickly called for the men to hasten, and within a couple of hours, he was standing in front of the cowardly Lord William Mooton.
"He did what?!"
"We received word of the fall of the Golden Tooth and a raven for you from Lord Tywin a-about three days ago. I-I swear I didn't open it, but Ser Jaime insisted on reading it. H-He had this angry look on his face before he took the army, even my men, and c-commandeered all the boats in the harbors before sailing away!"
Oh, Jaime. What have you done?
Ramsay getting ganked was honestly a no-brainer. There was just no way he could ever prevail against Demigod Percy or Sansa "Touched by the Gods" Stark and her pet hawk.
I did plan for an utterly brutal fight with Percy going full Kratos with his super sharp shield, but ultimately, it was just overkill. You can assume that last bit with the mop-up after the woodsmen turned on the Boltons included some sick shield decapitations.
I've been teasing small creatures running in the woods for several chapters now. I'm sure some thought they were Children of the Forest, and while I will not deny there may be some clans of them in the South, there are more things awakening in the world.
Oh dear, what is Jaime up to now?
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