winterfell, the north
— THE DAWN'S BREAKING WAS COLD AND UNFORGIVING. The men were quiet but restless, and the horses nervous. Nymeria had decided to leave Koda behind at camp with Sansa and Lyanna and the few guards that had remained with them. The last thing she wanted was to lose him to this battle, a fate he most certainly did not deserve. She rode a white mare now, stationed at the front of their army as Jon rode up through the ranks, surveying them one last time. The men near Nymeria shifted nervously, giving her a wider berth, but for once, it wasn't because of her. No, she suspected it had more to do with the large dark-furred bear at her side who huffed and growled impatiently at her mother's side. The only ones who didn't seem so intimidated were Tormund and Wun Wun, who stood just opposite of Wren from the Huntress.
Jon's eyes didn't hold much hope when he came to a stop beside her. Only darkness. Scattered through the field between them and the Boltons stood a few burning Xs. It was hard to see from here whether they were empty or not, but there was no mistaking the smell of burning flesh for anything else.
She glanced over at him. "Hey." Her voice was soft, but firm. Encouraging. "We've fought worse odds before, remember? And we're still here."
"Aye." He agreed. "But we don't have a Wall to protect us this time." He nodded at the castle. "They do."
"Remember what you said to me that night?" He shot her a small, confused frown. "I was ready to give up, and you told me that we were going to make it, because they could never win if we refused to die. Not if we'd never surrender." His eyes lightened slightly at the memory, and she offered a tiny smile. "Even if it's just you and I. Right?"
He nodded. "Even if it's just you and I."
Across the field, a singular horse broke rank, the rider descending to walk calmly a few paces towards them. Nymeria felt Jon tense beside her at the sight of the figure he pulled with him, hands restrained with rope, and she was reminded of something Sansa had said to her the night before. He can't accept that Rickon is not going to make it, and I'm afraid it's going to get him killed too. Rickon is our father's last remaining trueborn son. As long as he lives, Ramsay's claim on the North is threatened, and when Ramsay feels threatened... Ramsay stopped, drawing a blade. He raised it in the air, and Jon dismounted, pacing forward, breathing hard. Ramsay cut Rickon's bonds. A deep crease etched itself between Nymeria's brows. She had no idea what he was plotting, and chances were, that meant they were about to get fucked. She exchanged worried looks with Davos, who looked equally perplexed.
Then Ramsay released the boy. For a second, he just stumbled forwards, moving slowly and looking back, as if confused. When a man appeared at Ramsay's side with a bow and quiver and Rickon started running, she finally understood what was happening. Jon turned on his heel, rushing back to mount his horse. "Jon, don't-" Nymeria warned, fear leaking into her voice, but she should've known it would be useless.
"Hiyah, hiyah!" He charged forwards.
"Jon!" As if sensing her fear and the urge to follow, her horse moved forward a couple of steps. But Nymeria swallowed the horrible taste in her mouth and tugged back on the reins, making the mare stop. "Hold!" she ordered, though she was surprised the word made it out past the thudding in her chest. The first arrow missed, and Nymeria knew he was taunting them intentionally. She knew from the way Sansa talked and even just watching him shoot from across the field that his aim was better than that. A second arrow missed, the space between Jon and his brother nearly closed. Dread crept up her spine. A third arrow... but the fourth and final shot did not miss its mark, piercing straight through Rickon's chest and sending him tumbling to the ground. Jon's horse came to a sudden stop beside the boy, Nymeria could feel the fear beginning to weave through their ranks.
"Don't." she heard Tormumd mutter.
It's crucial that we let them charge at us. But she wasn't going to let him stand alone out there, and it couldn't have been more obvious that he wasn't coming back to them. "Prepare to charge!" She shouted. "Prepare to charge, and hold!" across the field, the Boltons drew arrows, and she watched with bated breath as Jon charged forward, narrowly evading them. A second bout of arrows were drawn. "To the Commander! Now!" at the front of their lines, she snatched a spear from where it sat waiting in the ground beside her, levelling it as they surged forwards. Hot on her heels, she could hear Wren, as well as Tormund shouting for his own men to follow.
A third wave of arrows struck, and then Jon's horse went down. When he hauled himself back to his feet, he could see the Bolton cavalry charging. There was a sinking feeling in his chest as certain as defeat, overpowered only by the boiling rage of loss. He let it carry him, unsheathing his sword and readying himself for the final blow...
And then the horses charged in from behind him, Nymeria at the head, cutting into them with the sort of ferocity that comes with true loyalty rather than fear. Horses and men fell like flies from even the first strikes, mud and dirt flying all around from the horses' hooves and the falling bodies, quickly mixing it with blood.
Nymeria galloped through the chaos, gripping the reins tightly in one hand, manoeuvring this way and that to avoid her or the mare getting skewered. She spun her spear expertly in the other, swinging it in wide arcs, knocking Bolton men from their steeds as well as slicing them open. She would have been able to continue like that, but even the battle for the Wall had been less chaotic than this with everyone on foot. Now, there was too much happening for her to notice the charging knight until it was too late. He charged straight at her side, spear burying itself deep in the mare's lungs. The pale horse reared, and Nymeria lost her grip on her spear in favour of desperately gripping the reins, and then they toppled. Pain shot through her as the horse's body landed atop hers, trapping her from the waist down, and she cried. The knight had leapt down from his horse now, his own bloodied spear raised as he stood over her. Struggle and writhe as she might, Nymeria couldn't free herself and couldn't pull her daggers from beneath the weight of her own body and her steed's. Then an enraged roar echoed in her ears, and a huge dark form barrelled into the man. He screamed as her claws came down on him, snapping his ribs and tearing his flesh. Another snarl dragged from her throat as her teeth sank into his face. Nymeria finally managed to pull herself from beneath the horse with a strained groan, and when she stood, huffing, Wren turned towards her, head bumping her side lightly, lower. An offer, she realised. Sucking in a breath, Nymeria accepted, and she reached up, hand grasping the fur atop the bear's shoulders...
°
Men had died in scores thanks to Ramsay's relentless volleys of arrows. Now those who were left were surrounded by tall Bolton shields and at least a couple hundred spears. They were trapped.
"Forward!" one of the men shouted. Their spears pointed inwards, ready to strike, and then a roar split the air. The men froze, and a second later, a small section of the circle around them had shattered.
Wren swung enormous paws this way and that, taking down several men at once, sharp teeth snapping and snarls echoing amidst the screams of the Bolton men. Atop her back was Nymeria, face smudged with dirt and blood, battered and furious. An arrow hit the bear, whose pained and further angered roar matched Nymeria's enraged scream. She swung an arm out, snatching a spear from a falling man as the bear claimed him and slashing out at others. "With me now!" She shouted. "Fight with me!"
With rekindled hope, the northmen and wildlings charged into the gap she'd made for them, fighting harder than ever.
Then a horn sounded over the hill, and a new army charged forth. Jon's eyes widened when he spotted Sansa atop the hill right next to who he could only assume was the leader of this new force bearing the banner of the Vale of Arryn as they rode through, bringing ruination to those of the Boltons left.
"Jon!" he turned at Nymeria's shout, her eyes hard as her spear pointed towards the three horses still watching from the direction of Winterfell. Ramsay and two soldiers guarding him. As they watched, he turned, riding back towards the castle gates. "He can't hold the fortress again!"
He nodded. "Tormund!"
Having heard it all, the wildling nodded, calling to the giant. "Wun Wun!"
The Commander, the wildling, the giant and the Bear all followed, rushing across the now-empty fields to pursue the Bolton bastard. When they arrived, the gates had been shut, but it mattered little. Wren charged with full-force, slamming against the gates, and Nymeria heard a satisfying cracking at the impact. As the giant charged, she stood aside. With the third strike, his fists broke holes in the gate, allowing arrows through, and the others ducked. A few men shot down on them from above, but it mattered little when the gate was finally smashed open. Inside, he fell to his knees with a final roar, pierced by several dozens of arrows and spears. Free Folk charged into the courtyard, firing on the Bolton men and killing their archers, and then the final arrow fired from Ramsay's bow pierced Wun Wun's eye, and he fell for good.
All stares turned to him. He stood alone now, unscathed, an infuriating sight. He looked at Jon. "You suggested one-on-one combat, didn't you?" he looked around at the Northmen and Free Folk surrounding him, arrows aimed and drawn. "I've reconsidered. I think that sounds like a wonderful idea." Nymeria's ringing laughter at his words was chillingly cold and sadistic. Wren growled softly beneath her. At the noise, he turned an arrow on them, Nymeria's eyes widened, a gasp escaping her. As if instinctively, her hand shot up... catching the arrow. The tip was barely a hair from her chest as she stared down at it in her grasp. Her next breath came shakily, and she lifted her eyes to stare at Ramsay, a sudden spark of sureness and anger in them.
Her anger was nothing compared to the murderous glare Jon was now fixating on the Bolton. As he drew once more, Jon dropped his sword, snatching a Mormont shield from the ground. The arrow buried itself in the wood, splintering it, but Jon pressed forwards. The others lowered their weapons in shock and awe as he blocked a second, never slowing. A third arrow buried itself in the shield, and when Ramsay moved to draw a fourth, it was slammed across his bow, snapping it, and rammed against his chest. He fell to the ground with a pained grunt, and Jon's shield dropped, fists swinging, landing one strike after another after another after another against Ramsay's face. When he rose to his feet, finally finished, Nymeria felt a spark of satisfaction at the blood now covering the man's face. Still, her unease at the smirk he bore – even when beaten senseless and hauled to his feet to be dragged away – sent a chill through her.
°
Every Bolton banner had been cut down, replaced with a direwolf once more. Nymeria had been given a room and she'd filled a basin with warm water to wash away the dirt and blood from the battle. She'd stripped off the heavy leather she wore, dropping it unceremoniously in one corner of the room and leaving her in her – thankfully – comfortable black pants and a loose white shirt. She'd tugged her hair from its braid too, washing it and now allowing it to fall over her shoulders in damp waves. Looking in the mirror now, she noticed a small cut on her lip and another on her cheek that was beginning to bruise. It ran horizontally to the thin scar that already lay there from the night she killed Karl, making a small X shape on her cheekbone. Gently, she dabbed at them with a damp cloth, cleaning away any remaining blood.
There was a knock at the door. "Come in." The door creaked quietly open, and she glanced over to find Jon there. His expression was tired, and there was a gleam of grief in his eyes that had her crossing the room to pull him into an embrace that he returned almost hesitantly. "I'm so sorry about your brother, Jon." She whispered. "I wish we could have saved him."
He nodded, drawing back. "I know." His eyes flitted to the mark on her cheek that was no doubt darkening with each passing moment. "You alright?"
She nodded. "Yeah, it'll heal just fine. You?"
He shook his head. "A few cuts and scrapes. Nothing that won't go away soon." But something in his face told her there was more weighing on his mind.
"What is it?" She frowned softly. "What's wrong?"
He looked at her for a long moment, his expression something unfamiliar and unreadable. "I've been a complete fool." he said. "I was so afraid of losing you that I never... it took a fight for our lives that we very nearly lost just to..." He closed his eyes, shaking his head. "When I came back to the Wall from the wildlings, you said to me that when you love someone you know it." He took a long breath. "I did love Ygritte. I did, and I lost her." Her lips parted slightly, not sure what to say. "But I wasn't in love with her. And I was so afraid because if it hurt to lose her... I couldn't imagine the pain of losing you."
"I..." the word slipped out in a fumbled, hushed whisper, Nymeria's eyes flitting over his features with a sort of nervousness she'd never felt before, more even than standing on the precipice of battle.
"I'm in love with you," he spoke softly, hands resting now against her cheeks. "For longer than you can imagine, and I'm such a fool for how long it took me to understand it." His thumb grazed her lower lip gently as a shaky breath escaped her. "I just... had to tell you." He admitted. "We could have died today and you would never have known..." He shook his head, eyes searching hers. "But I'll bury it right now, forever, if you want me to. If I'm too late and you don't feel the same anymore, I'll bury it for the rest of my-"
He was cut off abruptly by her lips against his, and he froze for a second before warmth flooded him, sending every bit of uncertainty far from reach. The same warmth he'd felt at the sound of her voice after his return from the dead. Her arms encircled his neck, fingers lacing through his hair and pulling him closer, his own hold on her tightening. She tasted like blood oranges and chocolate and sunshine, he decided, and he couldn't get enough. When her mouth left his, she kept their foreheads leaned together, a smile playing at her lips as she breathed a laugh. "You're a fucking idiot, Jon Snow."
He grinned. "I know."
She looked up at him now, eyes devoid of any humour, though she still smiled. "I'll love you the rest of my life and after I'm dead. And there's nothing anyone could ever do to stop it."
A/N:
I think I speak for everyone when I say FUCKING FINALLY.
Also Wren was really freaking awesome this chapter, love her <3