Ned sat armored on his mount, watching as his archers traded shots with the men on the walls and the ram and ladders slowly marched forward. The ram was covered, protecting the men pushing it, but the men with the ladders could only hold their shields up and pray to the gods that their arms or legs weren't hit. There were four ladders in total, two to each side of the ram. A little further back, behind the infantry lines, were the extra ram and ladders that had been constructed in case any broke.
The Greatjon was in the center of the front lines, his massive form hard to miss as he yelled at his men, inspiring them and telling them how many of the 'sick bastard' they would kill once the ram broke through the gate. He was also swapping cheerful insults with Hugo Wull about how many of the buggers each of them could kill. Rickard Karstark wasn't too far behind him in the vanguard, his son and heir Harrion right beside him.
The men of the North were spread in front of the lord of Winterfell, who was near the back of the army with the reserves and old lord Flint.
While Ned knew that he had to keep his focus on the battle, he couldn't help but feel the urge to look back over his shoulder at where Jon and his cavalry were hidden. Ned had given his son a thousand mounted men, a force that Jon had split in half and given shared command to Eddard Karstark. They're only job was to watch the flanks and watch to see if the Boltons would spring any traps on Ned and his men.
"My lord, the ram has reached the gate." one of Ned's captains said.
Ned nodded. "Thank you, captain."
Ned's, Howland's, and Jon's plan was very simple. Ned would draw all the men he could to the front gate. Hugo Wull and a thousand berserking clansmen would certainly achieve that, along with a rampaging Greatjon. Jon would cover the flanks, waiting for a surprise attack that would most certainly come.
And while the battle raged, Howland and his men would sneak in and get Cat out before Derren and his cavalry arrived to join the battle.
There were a lot of moving pieces that needed to be kept in mind, hence why Ned stayed back from the front lines, even though that was where he wanted to be most. He wanted nothing more than to be leading the men of the North forward, tearing through the traitors and rescuing his wife, but he had to play into Roose's hand, at least for now.
"Any word from the Company of the Rose?" Ned asked.
"None, my lord." a captain responded. "Last we heard, they were a day away."
Ned suppressed a sigh and thought about the men he had. Around eight thousand foot and infantry, thanks to the reinforcements from the Mountain Clans and White Harbor. Jon had lost very few cavalry at Eagle's Roost, and so Ned had most of the four thousand host of mounted men, though a fourth of that was with Jon.
"Send word to Lord Hawker on the western flank. Tell him that his son Erik is to take five hundred men from both his father's and Lady Mormont's flank and report to me." Ned ordered, not watching as the man rode off.
"You don't think the sellswords will arrive?" Flint asked, riding up next to Ned.
The old lord's son, Brandon the Younger, was with Wull and the other fur and iron-clad clansmen just behind the Greatjon. But Lord Flint himself had given up his desire to fight on the front lines long ago, ever since he had to start using a cane to walk.
"Always expect something to go wrong." Ned answered grimly.
"Good advice." Flint grunted. "Who taught you that?"
"Life." Ned answered, glancing over at the old lord.
Flint chuckled. "Aye, it's a wily bitch, ain't it."
"It's had its moments." Ned replied.
"So did my first wife." Flint said. "Thank the gods for her tits."
Ned laughed. Speaking with the old clansman did a lot to steady his nerves. He could remain calm during a fight, but he hadn't had this much on the line since the Trident. His fingers danced on the pommel of his sword. Because he was on horseback, he had a normal longsword at his side while Ice remained sheathed across his back. It was a weapon better used on foot.
The two men watched as the fighting picked up. The ram was nearly through the gate and the walls were a mess of fighting as northerners fought hard to create footholds against the traitors. But Roose knew his stuff as much as Ned did. He had archers firing out of whatever crevice they could and they were taking a toll on the unprotected men on the wall.
With a crash, the ram finally broke through the gate. The Greatjon raised his greatsword and spurred his horse forward, thousands of roaring northmen and clansmen at his back. Hawker and Mormont charged forward as well, overtaking the infantry and were the first ones to enter the castle. The clansmen and the Greatjon were right behind them.
Lord Karstark split his host in two and sent each half up the ladders to help the men on the walls.
This would be the turning point of the battle. Ned's men had to break through or else they wouldn't be able to take the castle. But they couldn't be too quick doing it, or else Bolton would bring his men away from the fight and further into the castle, where Howland and Cat were.
"Lord Stark." Erik Hawker said, riding up to the Warden of the North. "I have a thousand men with me.
"Ride west and bring your men to the other side of the castle." Ned ordered. "If the Company doesn't arrive, there are ladders hidden in the snow. Use them."
Erik nodded. "Aye, my lord."
"Erik." Ned said before the younger man could ride off. "Howland Reed and his men are working on getting my wife out of the castle. If you see a small group slip over the walls, protect them. You remember what my wife looks like? And Lord Reed?"
Lord Hawker's son nodded firmly. "I'll watch out for them."
"Good lad. Now get going." Ned said.
Line Break
Howland
Howland checked around the corner before motioning for his men to follow. Twice already, he and his three companions had almost run head on into a squad of soldiers running to man the battlements or defend the gate. Thankfully, when staying perfectly still, most people don't see what they don't expect to see, and in this case, it's four crannogmen sneaking through the castle in the middle of a battle.
The lord of Greywater Watch moved quickly and silently down the hall until he found the room he was looking for. He had been in the Dreadfort before, when Roose had first married. He had taken the time to note down certain rooms and what they might be used for.
Howland's father had passed the habit onto him.
The three men that were with Howland were some of his best, most experienced scouts. They could move just as quietly through the swamps of the Neck or the frozen tundra of the North as they could through a castle hallway. They all wore the same dark cloak over light-weight leathers and carried a plethora of knives and other tools that could incapacitate a man within seconds.
Roose grabbed the handle gently and turned it slowly. Just as he suspected, it was locked.
"Dunn." Howland whispered, stepping away as one of his men went to work on the lock. In a few moments, there was a satisfying click and Dunn pushed the door open. Howland was the first through the door, moving his hood back.
Catelyn was standing by her bed, her pillow in her hand. After a quick glance around the room, Howland knew that it was the only viable weapon she had at her disposal. She dropped the pillow as soon as she saw who was under the hood.
"Howland?" Cat said.
Howland put a finger to his lips. "Quiet, my lady, please."
Cat quickly nodded, remembering where they were. Howland produced a cloak and a pair of boots from a bag he had under his cloak. "Put these on, hurry."
Cat sat on the bed and quickly changed boots before wrapping the cloak around her. The boots would help her move quietly and the cloak would hide her dress and red hair. It was slightly shorter than it should have been, but it was the longest cloak Howland had. Most crannogmen were shorter than average height, and even Howland himself was shorter than the Lady of Winterfell.
Cat flipped up the hood and nodded. "Let's go."
Howland grabbed her hand and led her out, instantly dropping into a slight crouch that Cat tried to copy the action with one hand holding Howland's and another holding up her dress. One of Howland's men scouted ahead of them while the other two watched their back. None of them were prepared to handle any actual fighting. They had knives, not swords.
They had nearly made it to the battlements when Howland forced them all into an empty room as the sound of footsteps came from behind them. While Howland's men helped Cat hide, Howland flattened himself up against the wall, peeking through a tiny crack in the door.
"We'll come from behind and crash into the fuckers." Ramsay Snow instructed his captains. The mad bastard wore black chainmail and leathers under a blood red cloak, the flayed men of his father's house outline in pink.
Howland held his breath as they walked past. Ramsay was so caught up in his own fantasy that he failed to notice the door wasn't closed all the way. When they were past, Howland counted slowly to five before opening the door, checking both ends of the hallway and motioning for his men to come out from hiding.
"Where's Ned?" Cat whispered.
"Fighting a battle." Howland answered. "Please, my lady, quiet."
Howland and Cat had a good relationship. She never treated him like he was different or lesser because he was from the Neck, and she always treated Ned while, which as his friend, Howland respected. She was also kind, caring, and fair for the most part. She was a hard person to dislike.
But right now, Howland was in command of the situation and if they wanted to make it out of the castle alive, then she had to stay silent.
The group found their way outside and found the spot where they had made their way over the rope. As Howland's man unwrapped the rope and grapple from around his body, they all stopped dead when they saw a ladder slam against the battlements.
Howland instinctively pushed Cat behind him as he drew his knife, his men doing the same.
Erik Hawker's face appeared over the battlements, turning from a growl to a grim smile as soon as he laid eyes on the group of crannogmen and the Lady of Winterfell. He hauled himself over the wall and landed lightly on the battlements, drawing his sword. He nodded to Howland.
"Lord Reed." he said. "My lady."
"Erik Hawker." Cat breathed.
"Why are you here?" Howland asked.
"We were a little late." another voice said. A man who looked very much like Ned climbed over the walls as more ladders were put against the wall. "Lord Reed, Lady Stark."
"Who are you?" Cat asked, unable to hide her confusion and shock.
"Derren Stark, my lady." Derren answered. "Captain of the Company of the Rose."
Line Break
Jon
Jon watched the hills to the west carefully, knowing that that is where the attack would come from. A thousand northern horse had ridden east for reasons Jon didn't understand, but the action alone would have alerted the northern army to any surprise attack from that direction.
When that happened, Jon pulled Eddard Karstark and his men back to him.
"Why would Bolton send men to flank us?" Eddard asked. "He needs all his men to hold the walls."
"Because Bolton doesn't need the castle or the walls." Jon answered. "He wants to inflict death before making his escape or dying himself."
"Bloody traitor can't even die with honor." Eddard spat.
"He gave it all up the moment he threw his lot in with the Lannisters." Jon said. "He's free from the burdens that confine men like our father's."
"You think honor is a burden?" Eddard, taken aback by Jon's comment.
Jon looked at him. "Say Bolton gets away with Lady Stark and makes it to Castle Black and takes the Black somehow before my father can get to him." Jon said, setting up the hypothetical situation. "Now, my father can't touch him if he does that. Not even if he kills Lady Stark. That's because he honors and respects the Night's Watch."
Eddard nodded slowly. "Aye, that's true." he admitted before adding a few moments later. "Would your father really leave him be if he joined the Watch?"
Jon grunted. "The Lord Commander would probably lock the man in an ice cell and wait for my father to arrive. The Watch knows that House Stark still supports it. Besides, I know of at least two men who would kill Roose regardless if he wanted to join or not."
"Jon." Eyan said. "They're here."
Coming over the hills were hundreds of riders, all dressed in black and bearing the pink flayed man of House Bolton. At their head was Ramsay Bolton, whose face Jon had committed to memory since he had been the one to burn Winterfell to the ground.
"Right lads!" Jon called, drawing his sword. "For the North!"
"FOR THE NORTH!"
Jon and his men charged out from where they were hiding and galloped full pelt at the Bolton men, their two paths set to meet just before the Bolton cavalry connected with the archers under Lord Cerwyn's command.
Ghost was the first to reach the enemy, the albino wolf tearing the man out of his saddle before mauling him.
They met in a clash of metal and flesh, with horses rearing in terror and men shouting their war cries. Jon carved his way deep into the ranks of the Boltons, cutting men down left and right. No shield or armor could stop Frost, and Jon's horse just kept moving forward, bringing the man known as the 'White Wolf' further and further into the bloody skirmish.
The two groups soon became just a mass of death and carnage as both horses and men went down. Horses slipped and slid on the muddy earth, avoiding bodies and trampling those they couldn't. Men continued to cry, whether in pain or in anger, and the clash of metal became louder and louder as more men went down.
Jon cut down another man, wiping the blood from his eyes. One man had cut a line across Jon's head with the tip of his sword as he had fallen out of the saddle, and blood had dripped annoying into his eyes ever since. He finally took a chance to look around and find the man he was looking for. Unfortunately, he wasn't the only one looking for the Bastard of Bolton.
Ser Wendel was a good man, large like his father and brother, and had handled himself well on the battlefield in the south. He was a knight who fought with honor and most men he had fought during his lifetime did the same. Unfortunately, Ramsay was a mad dog that Wendel was in no way ready for.
They clashed while Jon cut his way through the mass of bodies, but watched helplessly as Ramsay slit Wendel's horse's throat. The animal went down quickly and violently, and when Wendel pulled himself back to his feet, his own throat was slit as well by the waiting Ramsay.
"Ramsay!" Jon roared.
Ramsay looked at Jon and smiled. "I would love to stay and kill you, but I'm afraid I have other plans."
When the Bastard of Bolton galloped off, the Bastard of Winterfell was right on his heels. The two men raced across the hills around the Dreadfort, with Jon following Ramsay wherever he went. The ugly youth was a decent rider, but unlike Jon, he had not grown up in a castle. Jon had been riding ever since he could remember and knew that he could keep up with Ramsay no matter what.
Ramsay finally pulled his mount to a stop as he turned to face Jon.
"You just don't give up." he called, his chest heaving slightly. "Do you relish death so much?"
"Just yours." Jon said, charging the mad bastard.
The two men met in a flurry of blows. Ramsay's fighting style was fast and overly aggressive, almost like he was hacking at Jon rather than fighting. But his sword was shorter and thicker, and because they were practically right next to each other, he had the advantage.
"You know what I'm going to do after I kill you?" Ramsay asked. "I'm going to return and rape that pretty red-head."
Jon's blood turned to ice as his horse backed away. "You'll never touch her." he said, tightening his grip on his sword. "You won't make it back alive."
Ramsay snarled and charged Jon, but Jon was ready for it. Just before Ramsay reached him, Jon danced his horse to his left, giving him more space as his opponent charged by. The Bastard of Winterfell parried Ramsay's attack before cutting at the man, feeling his sword bite into the bastard's ribs.
Ramsay cursed and held his side as he glared at Jon.
"I wish I had a chance to flay you." he growled. "You'd look lovely next to the squid."
"Try me." Jon responded.
Jon didn't move out of the way when Ramsay charged him. Instead, when Ramsay attacked, Jon took the blow on his vambrace, gritting his teeth as he felt the bones in his arm crack. Thankfully the metal held.
Frost slid in and out of Ramsay's neck in one fluid motion. His death was instantaneous and practically painless, which is far more than he deserved for the chaos and carnage he caused. When the body fell, Jon glared at it for a second before kicking his heels into his horse and riding back towards the castle where the rest of the bolton cavalry was being wiped up. Ramsay Snow was dead, now it was time for Roose Bolton to face justice as well.
Line Break
Roose
Roose watched from his solar as the battle raged under him. He had watched curiously as Stark threw his men against the gate and the wall around it, neglecting his advantage of numbers. Nevertheless, the plan had worked and thanks to the barbarians from the mountains, Ludd Whitehill and his men had barely been able to contain them.
Though the fat lord of Highpoint wasn't long for this world. The last Roose saw of the man was him fighting a strong, muscular lad whose cloak bore the tree and sword of House Forrester.
Ramsay and his cavalry had arrived, just as Roose wanted, and was about to sweep away the enemy archers when Stark's own bastard emerged and thwarted that plan. Roose knew that it was wishful thinking that Ramsay and his men could break the northern host with a few hundred men, but it had been a hope. But Jon Snow had destroyed that plan and chased down Ramsay after the cruel idiot tried to escape.
And since Snow eventually returned to the battle, that meant that Ramsay was dead.
Roose didn't care.
No, he had other things to worry about. Hundreds, if not thousands, of northmen had managed to get around the castle and were now attacking Roose's men from behind. They were being led by Erik Hawker and a man who was said to look like Ned Stark and bore the snarling direwolf of House Stark.
Roose knew that the battle was hopeless, but he had fought it anyways. He had no intention of going quietly, not without leaving a pile of bodies for Stark to clean up afterwards.
"My lord, Lord Whitehill is asking for more men." Steelshanks said, striding into the room. Roose's long-time captain was covered head to toe in blood, as was his shield and spear. He had certainly done his fair of fighting since he had been the one Roose had sent to cut off the attackers who had gotten behind them.
"Denied." Roose grunted. "We're leaving."
"We're abandoning our men." Steelshanks said, frowned.
Roose glared at him. "I don't care."
The two men gazed at each other before Steelshanks nodded and straightened slightly. As always, he was loyal to his lord's command and would follow them regardless of his own thoughts.
Roose and Steelshanks left the solar and made their way to a room nearby where Roose had been keeping Catelyn Stark. He didn't trust Ramsay around, certainly not when she was his one and only bargaining chip. But this way, he was within earshot of anything happening. The lady of Winterfell had been annoyingly stubborn in all of Roose's attempt to get anything of value out of her. Ramsay had mentioned many times that raping or flaying her would work much faster, but Roose had disregarded his bastard at every turn. Catelyn Stark was his saving grace, as much as she would hate it.
Roose broke the cord around his neck that held the key to the door before swiftly unlocking the door and pushing it open. To his shock and fury, the room was completely empty.
"My lord?" Steelshanks asked, glancing behind him.
"She's gone." Roose said quietly, looking around the room as if she might magically appear.
Roose didn't hear a response, but instead a squelching noise along with a pain grunt. It was a sound that he knew all too well. It was the sound of a sword entering the body and life leaving it.
Roose stepped back out into the hallway and saw a massive, scarlet covered blade sticking out of Steelshank's back before it was yanked back. When the body fell, Roose felt a shiver of fear run down his spine as he came face to face with Ned Stark. Behind him were the massive forms of Hugo Wull and Greatjon Umber.
"Roose." Stark growled.
Roose unsheathed his broadsword and held it in both hands in front of him. Compared to the greatsword Ice, it was pitifully small. "If I can't kill your wife, I might as well kill you."
Stark flicked the blood from the greatsword before bringing it up as well. "We'll see."
The two men launched themselves at each with controlled fury. Roose was a very good swordsman with all the experience that Ned had. He had seen the Warden of the North fight on several occasions during the two wars, and although Stark was not a stellar swordsman, he was efficient and deadly.
Unbeknownst to Roose, Ned had worked himself hard to get back into fighting trim, and thanks to Tomas, the healer from the Company of the Rose, Ned was in as fine a shape as he had been during Robert's Rebellion.
The two men locked blades as the duel became a test of strength. Roose glared at Stark, slowly working his hands behind his back and grabbed hold of the dagger he kept there. In one movement, he pulled the dagger free from its sheath and was about to plunge it into Stark's eye when he caught Roose's wrist, holding it in an iron grip. Roose struggled for a few moments, trying to break free, but Stark refused to relinquish his hold.
One moment, Roose was glaring at Stark, the next he was staring at the northmen who had followed him. He felt an excruciating pain erupt in his back and looked down at his stomach as the tip of a massive greatsword emerged.
Then everything went black.
Line Break
Eddard
Ned pulled Ice from Roose's lifeless body, watching with grim satisfaction as the traitor landed on the floor never to rise again. He continued to stare at the body until he heard pounding footsteps behind him. He turned and raised Ice, ready for anyone to come around the corner.
Jon was covered in blood, but other than a bloody bandage around his head, he looked good. As soon as he saw Ned, he rushed towards him and the two embraced quickly, with Jon holding his left arm awkwardly.
Jon glanced down at the lord of the Dreadfort. "Good."
"Aye." Ned agreed. "Ramsay?"
"Same." Jon answered. "I got word from Howland. Lady Stark is back at camp and is safe. Howland also reports no extra harm on her."
"Thank the gods." Ned sighed. "Rickard and Maege are cleaning up the rest of the traitors."
"Ned." Derren called striding down the hall from the other direction. Like Ned and Jon, his armor was also colored red. "There's something you both need to see."
Ned nodded to Greatjon, who got the message and led the others off to find more enemies while Jon and he followed Derren. He also took the time to speak with Jon.
"What happened to your arm?"
"Used it as a shield." Jon said wryly. "Might have cracked a bone or two, but it paid off in the end."
"And your head?"
"Just a scratch, father." Jon responded.
Ned patted Jon on the shoulder, smiling slightly before turning the conversation on his cousin.
"I thought you wouldn't make it."
The former sellsword glanced over his shoulder. "We arrived a little late, but better late than never."
"Where are you leading us?" Jon asked.
"It's better if you see for yourself." Derren answered, the tone of his voice leaving no doubt that neither Ned nor Jon would like what it was.
The three men took a flight of stairs and descended into the bowels of the castle. Standing at one end of another hallway were two sellswords, both of whom looked a little pale. They saluted Derren as he approached.
"Open the door." Derren instructed.
One man nodded and pushed the door open. Immediately, Ned was met with the smell of infection and death. It was like walking onto a battlefield covered in bodies that hadn't been moved in a month. It churned his gut and produced a physical reaction from both he and Jon.
In the middle of the room was a giant X, with the remainder of a body strapped to it. Ned knew immediately that he was looking at the body of a flayed man. Strips of his skin were torn away, fingers and toes were missing. The man was starved and stripped down to his bloody muscle. All he wore was a dirty, bloody loincloth that had a dark stain on it. The poor soul had a bag over his head.
Derren grabbed the back, looking at his cousin. Ned steeled his nerves and nodded.
Theon Greyjoy, or Theon Turncloak as many northerners now referred to him as, was nothing like the arrogant young man that Ned had left behind. His face was unnaturally pale and the light in his eyes was barely there. Ned had heard of the phrase 'dead man walking', but this was an actual case of a man who should be dead and wasn't. This was a dead man stuck to life with barely a thread.
Ned heard Jon choke back something and turn away, and Ned wanted to do the same but he knew that he couldn't.
He handed Ice to his cousin and drew his dagger. Normally, with someone in Theon's position, he would have him dragged outside and beheaded, but he couldn't allow the boy to be seen in such a fashion, no matter what he did. Whatever evil Roose and his bastard had unleashed on Theon, death was a gift, not a punishment.
"Pl….please." Theon whimpered, his voice barely recognizable.
Ned took a breath. "Theon Greyjoy, I sentence you to die. Do you have any last words?"
Ned's former ward lifted his head using the last of his fading strength. Ned found it miraculous that he could do that much.
"I...I'm…..so….sorry."
Ned nodded slightly before slashing his dagger across the young man's throat, giving him a quick and painless death. Some would say that he didn't deserve it, and while flaying is excessive and banned in the North, there weren't many who would say that he didn't deserve it.
Ned wasn't one of those people. He believed in justice, not torture.