Narrator POV
True to his word, Davos has been walking and thinking, unable to sleep.
As the light starts to rise in the east, he comes upon a pile of wood, nearly snowed over, and sees a charred timber peeking out from beneath the snow.
He stoops to pick it up: a wooden stag, scorched on one side. The one he carved and gave to Shireen.
In the distance, the war horns sound. Outside Winterfell, Battlefield. Jon's Troops. The Battle of the Bastards begins.
The battlefield is about 400m long, a small valley bordered by two hills peaked with trees. At one end is a forest of high trees (the Stark side).
At the other is a ridge with a reasonably soft incline that plateaus and stretches out to Winterfell in the distance (the Bolton side).
The Stark armies are on their end of the battlefield, arrayed in pitched battle formation. Davos oversees the Longbow Archers on the flanks, standing behind defensive caltrop-shaped structures.
Thousands of arrows are divided into large bundles. Tormund stands at the ready, overseeing the large wilding infantry force that is the single biggest contingent on the Stark side.
Wun-Wun is the centrepiece of this wildling infantry formation. Other, Non-wilding infantry stand side-by-side with the wildlings.
And in front: a rank of cavalry, organized according to the house. The banners of Mormont, Mazin, Hornwood. Steam comes from their horses' muzzles.
Everyone stands stock-still, staring across the battlefield.
Jon rides his destrier through the cavalry to stand out in front of his army and looks across the battlefield.
Outside Winterfell, Battlefield. Ramsay's troops. The Bolton army, with Winterfell in the background behind them.
They also have archers, infantry and cavalry in a similar arrangement to the Starks, only there are noticeably more of all.
Crucified flayed bodies hang head-down on Bolton Xs, roasting over eight large bonfires that flank either side of the army, a twisted form of intimidation only Ramsay could have thought of.
Banners for the Boltons, the Karstarks, the Umbers, and all the other quisling houses abound.
Lord Karstark sits his horse at the front of the cavalry, war lance in hand. The Boltons have far more cavalry than the Starks, three ranks to the Stark one.
SmallJon Umber stands with the infantry, eager to separate some people from their limbs. He takes a huge pull off a leather-covered flask of something very alcoholic.
On ground level: a set of horse hooves walk through the Bolton ranks, past infantry, past cavalry.
We see him from behind as he emerges at the front of his army. Both the silhouette and the deference he is shown make it clear that this is Ramsay.
Ramsay is very far away from him, but Jon can see him dismount.
A figure is just visible between the horses behind Ramsay.
Jon dismounts himself, and steps forward several paces to get a better look as Ramsay pulls on a rope and Rickon stumbles forward into view, his hands bound in front of him with the end of the rope.
Ramsay pulls Rickon alongside him, like a dog on a lead.
He walks the boy out toward the center of the battlefield, arm around his shoulder.
Jon steps forward, watching intently.
Ramsay stops about twenty yards from his own lines. He draws his dagger and holds it up for Jon to see.
Jon, Davos and Tormund watch, furious and powerless.
Ramsay lowers the dagger to Rickon's bound wrists, frees his hands and resheathes the dagger.
Ramsay tousles Rickon's hair, and speaks to him "Do you like games, little man? Let's play a game. "
Ramsay points to Jon "Run to your brother. The sooner you make it to him, the sooner you get to see him again."
One of Ramsay's soldiers is approaching him in the background, carrying something.
Ramsay says "That's it. That's the game. Easy. Ready? Go! "
Rickon starts walking across the battlefield.
Ramsay says "No, you have to run, remember? Those are the rules!"
Rickon turns. He sees the approaching soldier, and what he's carrying: a mean-looking longbow, and a quiver of arrows.
Rickon turns and runs.
Smalljon and Karstark grin. They like this game.
Ramsay takes the bow and quiver from the soldier (who returns to the line). He takes his time nocking an arrow and drawing the bow.
When Jon sees the telltale archery pose and motion, he turns and sprints back toward his horse.
Ramsay loses the arrow. Rickon runs harder.
Without stopping, Jon turns to make sure Rickon is still running. Ramsay's arrow misses Rickon, but not by that much.
Jon reaches his horse and does a front-jumping mount, hands on the horse's neck, half-twisting in midair to land forward in the saddle.
He kicks his horse forward and gallops for Rickon.
Ramsay nocks another arrow, taking his time. He draws. He fires.
The arrow hits the ground closer to Rickon this time.
Rickon runs harder. Jon digs his heels into his horse, driving it faster.
Ramsay really appreciates the high level of sport going on here. He draws and fires again.
This arrow sails right over Rickon's shoulder to plant itself in the ground a few yards ahead of him; Rickon tramples it as he runs.
Jon is closing on Rickon. He leans out from his saddle, reaching down with an outstretched arm, ready to scoop up his little brother. He's so close. He sees the hope on the boy's face.
And watches it turn to confusion, as an arrowhead punches through Rickon's chest.
Rickon falls. his body is closer to Stark lines than Bolton lines.
Jon looks down at Rickon. The boy's eyes are still open, his face a fixed mask of shock. He is dead.
Tormund shakes his head. He knows Jon can't hear him, but he says it anyway "Don't."
Tormund waits with dread for Jon's response.
Davos doesn't: he runs along the cavalry line, telling them all "Prepare to charge. Prepare to charge."
Ramsay waits. Umber smiles as he drinks, glad that Rickon is dead.
Jon does not look back at his own lines. His gaze remains straight ahead, focused on Ramsay, the object of his mounting rage.
Ramsay smiles. Perfect. He walks back to his horse, in no great hurry, then nods towards the Bolton archers.
The Bolton Archer captain yells "Nock!" The Bolton archers nock arrows "Draw!"
They draw. Ramsay swings back into the saddle of his horse, in time to watch:
Bolton archer captain yells "Loose!"
The Bolton archers lose a wave of arrows in Jon's direction.
Jon charges toward Ramsay, one man against an army.
Arrows fall in the space Jon just occupied, puncturing Rickon's dead body.
Davos calls the charge "Go! Go! Go! Follow your commander!"
The Stark cavalry pushes forward -- a great charge across a vast, snow-strewn field, wolf banners flapping.
Tormund isn't going to be left out. With a rebel yell, he signals his wildling infantrymen to follow the cavalry.
The wildlings are ready and eager. Wun-Wun runs forward, and the others come with him. Wun-Wun run fast!
Jon urges his horse forward as a wave of Bolton arrows land all around him.
Karstark looks to Ramsay "what are we waiting for?"
But Ramsay is holding, a psychotic William Wallace, watching the Starks come. Another wave of Bolton arrows lets fly.
An arrow drills through the neck of Jon's horse.
The horse whinnies in agony and goes down, throwing Jon end over end.
Ramsay smiles "Now."
Karstark yells to the Bolton cavalry "Cavalry! Charge!"
Out goes Karstark and the Bolton cavalry.
Ramsay stays put, at a slight elevation, as his forces stream forward around him. This allows him to survey his forces.
Jon staggers to his feet. The fall has dirtied him, but he's unhurt for the moment. He stares at what's coming.
The entire Bolton cavalry, thousands of them, galloping straight for him, lances leveled.
Jon exhales. This is the end, then. He draws Longclaw and readies himself.
The sound of pounding hooves and war cries is so loud we don't realize we're hearing it from both directions.
The Stark cavalry swoops past Jon a moment before he would be overrun, colliding with the Bolton cavalry.
We are with Jon who is right in the center of the action as the two cavalry clash.
Flashes of the colossal impact, horse on horse, rider on rider.
Ramsay says "Nock!"
The Bolton archers nock their arrows.
SmallJon says "Our cavalry's engaged with his."
Ramsay says "Yes, and we have twice their numbers. Reducing the fields in our interest. Simple arithmetic."
The Smalljon nods in acceptance: yup. Stands to reason.
Ramsay to the archers "Pull! Loose!"
A Captain of the archers shouts to Davos "Should we lose?"
Davos says "No. We'll kill our own men! Stand down."
The Stark archers lower their bows.
Jon must use every fibre of his being to dodge, weave and survive the chaos around him as panicked horses careen out of the smoke and fog from every angle in one lovely Wagnerian shot.
It's like being caught in the middle of the busiest intersection in town.
The Bolton archers fire another barrage and another.
All around Stark horses are wild with pain throw other riders, who trip up still more riders.
Bolton riders are felled by Bolton arrows as well, but as Ramsay pointed out, the ratio only gets worse for the Starks as men on both sides are shot off their mounts.
Jon pivots out of the way of one horse only to walk right into the path of another, its dead rider bouncing limply in the saddle.
He throws himself to the ground and then scrambles to avoid yet another panicked animal. This time he manages to thrust his sword out and take the rider out just as a new wave of arrows pepper the horse and it crashes to the ground.
From nowhere, a Bolton soldier runs at him. Jon makes short work of him before another soldier appears.
Their frenzied sword fight is cut short when a large horse hurtles through the frame, mowing down the unlucky soldier.
As Jon backs up a giant stallion bears down on him. By the time he sees it, it's too late and then, out of nowhere a riderless horse t-bones the first and the two crash to the ground, leaving a startled but miraculously alive Jon still standing, sword in hand.
Through the smoke from the fires beyond Jon begins to see the level of carnage the cavalry charge has created in the form of a pile of bodies, a natural obstruction created by the corpses of horses and men.
Davos has no intention of sitting the battle out. Davos to Stark Archer Captain "We may as well be taking shits back here" to all "Forward!"
The Stark archers leave behind the safety of their defensive caltrops and move toward the battle.
As more die the pile of dead men and horses is becoming a feature of battlefield geography, blocking forward motion.
Ramsay speaks to Smalljon "It's time. Go."
Smalljon grins about fucking time he turns to his infantry "Who owns the North?"
Infantry shouts "We do!"
Smalljon turns and runs toward the fray, leading by example, and the infantry howls and follows after him. Smalljon uses the body pile as a natural divider in the centre of the field, directing half his infantry to one side of it and half to the other.
Smalljon himself, along with a bodyguard of ten men, charges straight up the hill of bodies.
Covered from head to toe in mud and blood, Jon frantically fights for his survival.
Fog of war flashes: Jon slashes desperately at the men trying to kill him. Takes a hit, kills the man who scored it. Uses another as a human shield.
Catches an arrow in their eye socket. But they are coming thick and fast now and there are simply too many.
Jon turns to see a Bolton infantryman lunging at him. He dodges out of the way, and the Bolton infantryman presses his advantage, swinging hard on Jon, once, twice, three times... Until Tormund runs the Bolton through.
The Stark infantry has arrived at the battle line. Wun-Wun is with them too. He swats a mounted Bolton and his horse out of the way and is quickly followed by Davos and the Stark archers, shooting arrows as they arrive.
Ramsay watches the beginning of the double envelopment manoeuvre unfold.
Using the advantage of his height Wun-Wun howls a warning at what he sees beyond the body pile:
Hundreds and hundreds of Bolton infantry surround the Stark army from either side of the body pile. Each Bolton infantryman carries a 6ft tall rectangular shield. In a synchronized lethal pincer movement, they use their raised shields to create an impenetrable wall.
Jon, Tormund, Davos and Wun-Wun watch the Bolton infantry complete the circle of shields with a cordon several men deep.
Stark archers take some of them out -- but the circle starts to close, bringing the archers into weapon range where they're murdered by the score in their light armor.
The circle tightens forcing the Starks into a smaller and smaller space. It is clear the Boltons have the upper hand and the Starks are fucked.
Davos isn't giving up. He rallies the men around him. Davos orders "With me, lads! Break their lines!"
They push forward towards the wall of shields. Ramsay is pleased. The success of the envelopment is clear.
The pincer movement has created a quagmire of bodies as the Stark forces are slowly being pushed back by the Bolton phalanx, crushed against each other so tightly it's barely possible to swing an axe without hitting one of your own.
Smalljon Umber is carving through the chaotic crush of wildlings with his greatsword. He's a badass of the first order, the strongest man on the field who isn't Wun-Wun, and he's in his element.
Tormund sees this beast cutting down his people, and he goes to stop him.
Jon is in berserker mode, fighting like a madman but he's been pushed back towards the body pile, and into Smalljon's path.
Slicing through an advancing Bolton, Jon spins around and locks eyes with Smalljon. Both men pause momentarily, accepting the challenge.
But as Jon starts his advance, he is knocked to the mud by a swarm of retreating wildlings. He tries to get up but is pinned down by the stampede of fighting and men escaping the phalanx.
The Smalljon sees Tormund coming through the crush and welcomes the contest. The bearded wildling goes up against the bearded Northman, with a ferocity that would make a Southerner piss his pants.
At the epicenter of the scrum, Jon struggles against the continual force of bodies surrounding him. We see other soldiers squashed by the weight of those above them, adding to the body pile.
Jon gasps for air, grabbing hold of anything he can, frantically trying to get to his feet.
Tormund finally manages to plunge his sword into the Smalljon's belly.
This really pisses the Smalljon off. He grabs Tormund, lifts him off the ground and head-butts him so hard Tormund's nose bursts open. And then again.
Tormund's face is starting to look like a Jack-o'-lantern two weeks after Halloween. He struggles as best he can, punching at Smalljon's face, but the big man took a sword through the belly, punches aren't going to faze him.
Fighting his way out, Jon clambers to the top of the body pile where he has a perfect view of the carnage: Bolton men in red X helmets, grinding up Starks in an atrocity mill.
The crush of men desperately trying to stave off the inevitable.
The Bolton soldiers have finally worked out how to deal with their giant problem. It requires the force of two men per pike but they surround Wun-Wun and spear him like a woolly- mammoth. Wun-Wun fights back but the odds are overwhelming. It's only a matter of time now.
The battle is lost.
Atop his horse, Ramsay takes in the lay of the land: The pile of the dead. The Stark forces were enclosed by the body pile and the Bolton infantry. A tightening circle of flesh and steel that will inevitably kill the Stark forces.
Ramsay has a moment of deep contentment. And his contentment turns to confusion as a war horn sounds in the distance.
Ramsay widens his eyes as receives a golden arrow in his shoulder and turns to see it.
Ramsay's only face he could see Lyanna Snow smiling smugly at him. she wearing red and black armour and in her belt Bloodfyre.
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Lyanna POV
I smile smugly at Ramsay Bolton and ride my horse fast toward him. I shout "A battle of the Bastards without inviting me"
Ramsay shouts "Who are you?"
I shout "I Lyanna Snow of House Stark. I and Ser Jaime Lannister send our regards to the Boltons. The same as that sent to King Robb Stark" I rode my horse back to the field shouting "On me!!!"
The war horn sounds again, and Smalljon makes the mistake of looking to its source. The instant of distraction is all the battered Tormund needs to sink his teeth into Smalljon's ear.
Smalljon roars with pain as Tormund rips his ear off and releases his grip on Tormund, who grabs a dagger from his belt and pops Smalljon's eyes like eggs.
The Strong horn sounds again.
Jon sees the source of the war horn: Mine and Jaime's army is emerging from the woods flying the House Stark, Strong, Targaryen and Blackhraven sigil, three thousand strong, galloping against the glare of the sun as it rises above the treetops.
Ramsay sees them riding in to ruin his day.
I smile again behind me on their horses Viserys Targaryen, Daeron Targaryen, Lyonel Dondarrion and Harwin Strong.
Below us, the army rushes toward the Bolton flank.
We see all this from above, The Bolton circle dissolves as if by centrifugal force as we approach.
I take out my sword and jump running to the battlefield and fighting the men. Making my way toward Jon.
Viserys, Daeron, Lyonel and Harwin take their swords out and run to the battlefield.
Ramsay sees all this from his vantage point. He may be furious, but he is smart: he knows it's all falling apart. He turns and looks at Jon, atop the body pile.
A beat where the two glorious bastards glare at each other from a distance.
Jon glares at Ramsay.
Ramsay doesn't sit and wait for the checkmate. He whistles to two remaining generals. He turns to ride for the castle, and his generals follow.
I stand on Jon's back "Miss me?"
Jon still fighting "Lyanna!?"
I slew a man "We can hug later"
Jon slain another "Yes we should"
Daeron approaches us as we fight "Jon"
Jon smirks "My day gets better"
Daeron slain a man "Where did you get that from?"
Jon to him smiling "From the best" Three of us smile at each other.
Leala and Reagan riding on their horses on the hill with two hundred archery men
Reagan shouts "Draw!" The arrows draw.
Two horses approach them. On them Sansa and Littlefinger.
Laela says "You are too late, Lady Stark"
Reagan smiles "Our queen saved the battle"
The Vale cavalry is emerging from the woods flying the House Arryn sigil, two thousand strong, galloping against the glare of the sun as it rises above the treetops.
Sansa asks "Who are you, which queen?"
Littlefinger says "Laela and Reagan River, long time"
Tormund comes up beside Jon on the body pile, with Wun-Wun behind him.
In the background, the Vale makes short work of the already weary Bolton army.
Together, we see Ramsay getting away.
I, Jon, Tormund and Wun-Wun tearing after Ramsay, with Wun-Wun in the lead. But Ramsay will get to Winterfell first.
Even from this distance, Sansa knows who she's watching. The situation does not look good to her.
A reserve force of Bolton men has remained in Winterfell and three of these close the gate behind Ramsay.
Bolton archers man the walls.
Ramsay makes the best of the situation, speaking to his general as he dismounts.
A Squire takes his horse's reins and leads it away, just beyond the courtyard arch.
Ramsay says "Their army is gone."
Bolton says "Our army is gone."
Ramsay says "We have Winterfell. They don't have the men for a siege. All we have to do is wait."
Some commotion on the walls draws Ramsay's attention. A few archers start firing.
A loud boom, as something hits the gate. The archers manning the battlements over the gate signal for the archers in other positions to come and help them. Boom. Boom. Boom. BOOM.
The first hole appears in the gate, made by Wun-Wun's cinderblock fist.
Seeing the giant's fist, Ramsay understands. All the archers have come around to the battlements overlooking the main gate, firing down at the giant.
Still, the hammering continues, as Wun-Wun batters down the gate, splintering its ancient wood.
Ramsay backs away, leaving his increasingly terrified soldiers to defend the gates alone.
Up on the battlements the archers' rain arrows down on the unseen giant beyond the wall.
We hear Wun-Wun roar and the huge gates rattle with every impact.
More holes appear. Wun-Wun is breaking through; we see his bloody face through the shattered boards. There's not much fight left in him, but he spends it all here.
He starts smashing into the compromised gate with his shoulder. Smash, smash, smash.
Archers in the courtyard shoot at Wun-Wun through the holes in the door.
Wun-Wun howls and his siege stops abruptly. Silence follows.
Is it over? Yells from the archers above suggest the contrary.
A series of thunderous footsteps and Wun-Wun finally comes crashing through the gate into the courtyard, covered in so many arrows he looks like a porcupine. Wun-Wun falls to his knees, his blood seeping into the dust.
Wildling archers and Northern infantrymen stream in around him. The Bolton archers have no more cover and the wildlings are great shots.
Bolton archers get a few Stark loyalists, including a hapless Morment infantryman but the Bolton archers are not long for this world.
Tormund, I, and Jon enter the courtyard. As the wildlings clean up the Bolton archers, Tormund and Jon go to Wun-Wun, who is gasping, his lungs penetrated by arrows.
And from the far end of the courtyard, an arrow drills deep into Wun-Wun's eye, a foot from Jon's face. Wun-Wun collapses to the dirt.
Jon, I, and Tormund look to the source of the kill shot:
Ramsay Bolton, standing beneath the archway with its defaced direwolf relief. Bow in hand, quiver on his back.
Jon is wounded and exhausted. Only hate keeps him standing.
I wounded and get tired "Son of whore"
Ramsay says "You suggested one-on-one combat, didn't you? I've reconsidered. I think that sounds like a wonderful idea."
Jon takes an unsteady step toward Ramsay.
I say "Jon, do not"
Tormund speaks low "Do not."
Jon doesn't hear us or doesn't listen. He stoops to pick up the Mormont man's shield and walks toward Ramsay.
Ramsay pulls an arrow, nocks, draws and shoots.
Jon catches the arrow with his shield. He lowers the shield and keeps walking, and gains focus as he goes.
Ramsay pulls another arrow, more hurried this time. He nocks, draws and shoots.
Jon blocks; the arrow punches through the shield, its point an inch from Jon's face. Jon keeps walking.
Ramsay is frantic now. He pulls the arrow. He fumbles the nock. He draws the bowstring--
And Jon's shield catches him upside the head, sending his shot wide and dropping him.
Jon stands over Ramsay and beats down on him with the shield, opening his forehead, breaking his nose, and his ribs.
Ramsay makes a feeble attempt to rise, but Jon is on top of him before he can, pummeling his head with fists and forearms. He has every intention of methodically beating Ramsay to death.
But Sansa, Littlefinger, Reagan, Laela, Viserys, Harwin and Davos arrive through the broken gate.
Hearing their horses, Jon turns to see them.
Jon doesn't care about Davos or Littlefinger at this moment. He only looks at Sansa.
Sansa looks back at him and at Ramsay.
I turn to Jon leaning on a wall "Ramsay is not yours to kill."
Jon climbs off Ramsay, whose face is now a bloody mess, and rises to his feet.
Ramsay looks up at the blurry, silhouetted form of Jon, breathing heavily from the exertion of the beating, staring down at him.
Jon walks away, as Ramsay blacks out.