Ours is the Fury | Game of Thrones OC

62

Then everything happened at once, arrows were loosed and Jon charged but was quickly knocked off. I couldn't see what happened next but the fighting had begun, I winced at every stab and slice, tore my eyes away from the gushes of blood. 

The arrows kept raining down, killing men after men. Ramsay had no regard for his own soldiers, he just wanted Jon dead and he may have succeeded. My heart was racing, I had no way of knowing who was alive and who was dead. 

Then I realised they were surrounded, men with shields and spears killing them slowly, Sansa was right. Everyone had underestimated Ramsay, we were all fools.

I covered my face with my hands as I watched them fall, all of them.

Then the horn sounded and the swarms of horses rounded the corner, the army was larger than we could've ever hoped for and at the helm was Sansa and- I squinted to make out the figure beside her, it looked like Lord Baelish. 

I was frozen in time, locked in one position as I watched the knights from the Vale taken out Ramsay's men swiftly. Only then did I see the figure I had been searching for, Jon had emerged from the battle alive and my heart could beat again. He and two others were running from the battle, running towards Winterfell.

They were chasing Ramsay. 

I kicked Trovion in gear and moved as fast as I could towards to castle.

As promised, I still kept my distance but I watched closely as they tore down the gates and charged the courtyard. I couldn't see clearly anymore but slowly got closer.

I watched as Sansa went inside so I followed suit, vaulting off of Trovion once inside the walls, it was silent inside, the only sound was Jon's fists cracking against Ramsay's face. Everyone was watching quietly, letting it happen. 

When Jon finally stopped, Ramsay was a bloody mess on the floor. He just stared at him for a moment, I took that time to run towards him. Once I was close enough, Jon stepped away from Ramsay and made a beeline for me, I couldn't help but stare at him in disbelief, he was alive and that was all I could ask for. 

"Come, lets get you cleaned up" I whispered, taking his blood covered hand, he winced but when I tried to pull away, he held on tighter. 

Whilst the injured were dragged into the courtyard, we sat to the side, opposite one another with a bucket of water and a rag. I silently wiped the blood from his face and neck, he just sat their and let me, not saying a single word. A few minutes passed, only when I ran the rag over an open cut, he winced and I pulled away. 

"Hands" I demanded in the nicest way, he lifted one and I took it in my own, wiping the dirt and blood off, every knuckle on both hands was split, I imagined it was from hitting Ramsay. When I was done, I held one in my own, running my thumb over each cut in turn, Jon still didn't say a word, watching the gates the entire time, the adrenaline still governing his body.

Suddenly, he was on his feet and I realised why when the stretcher was brought in. It was Rickon, both Jon and Sansa stood by him, mourning their youngest brother.

I averted my gaze, instead choosing to watch Lady Melisandre who was on the highest balcony, watching over the wounded, she must have arrived shortly after ourselves. I could only wonder how long she would stay, was her business here done? Jon won, the North belonged to the Starks again. 

"Princess" An unfamiliar voice came from beside me, I turned and dropped the rag in the bucket, bloody water splashed up at me. A bit back a gag and wiped it from my face with my cloak.

"Yes" I replied, staring at the man in front of me, he obviously had not been involved in the battle.

"I've been instructed to take you somewhere to rest" He gestured for me to follow him but I just frowned at him in confusion.

"Rest?" I retorted, "From what?"

"Your grace-"

"No stop!" I almost shouted, "Go away, I don't need rest! I did nothing today!"

"My apologies, princess" The servant disappeared and I threw my head back with a growl, I had never felt as useless as I had today. 

When I raised my head, I made direct eye contact with an injured man, he was holding his arm as blood gushed from an open wound. I drew my brows together as I thought a moment, not fighting did give me one advantage: I wasn't injured. I unclipped my cloak and headed over to the injured man, tearing off a section and applying pressure to his wound. 

I spent the rest of my time tending to the wounded as best I could.