BLOODLINES ↠ JON SNOW

X. BATTLE OF THE BASTARDS

X. BATTLE OF THE BASTARDS
[Disclaimer - violence and gore ahead. It's GOT, after all]

DAYLIGHT FLOODED THE BATTLEFIELD AS THE STARK AND BOLTON ARMIES SAT ACROSS FROM EACH OTHER -- watching and waiting. Amodera was perched upon her ebony steed, flanked by Tormund and Wun Wun. The fate of them all depended entirely upon the outcome of this day.

Jon Snow sat at the head of the Stark army, armour glistening in the sun. His gaze was set upon the horizon. Ramsay Bolton was yet to show his face on the battlefield and it had them all on edge. After Sansa's warnings about the Bolton man, his tardiness did not seem circumstantial. Something was coming; Amodera could feel it in her bones.

The Bolton army began to shift slightly before giving way to Ramsay, with a figure trailing behind him.

"Somethings wrong." Amodera stated as Jon stiffened. Lightly kicking her horse, the Wildling woman trotted up beside him. "Jon, who is that?"

"My brother....Rickon."

A deep breath escaped the woman's lips. This was not good; not good at all. Jon would do anything to get his brother back, and Ramsay knew this. He would exploit every weakness in their plan -- starting with Jon.

Ramsay raised a dagger high in the air as if it were a trophy. The Stark man dismounted and walked forwards, gripping the hilt of his sword for dear life. But he just brought the dagger down, cutting Rickon's bindings. The conversation that ensued what inaudible to them across the battlefield, but Rickon began walking, before stopping to glance back at Ramsay once more. One of the soldiers handed him a longbow, at the sight of which Rickon fled.

"Jon..." Amodera warned, but it didn't matter. He was back in his horse and galloping across the field towards his brother within seconds.

Ramsay began firing arrows; each missing Rickon by a fraction. Jon charged for his brother as if his life depended on it -- and it did. When they were just metres apart, the Stark man extended his hand for his brother, only to see him fall to the ground -- an arrow embedded in his chest.

Jon came to a sudden halt beside Rickon's body, staring down at him in horror before glancing back at Ramsay's grinning face. "Don't..." Amodera whispered, shaking her head as she watched Jon be taken over by his hate.

The Bolton archers raised their bows in unison, firing on Jon's exposed position. The man kicked his horse; galloping towards his foe.

"Go! Go! Follow your commander!" Ser Davos yelled at the Stark Army.

"Free Folk -- with me!" Amodera commanded, her ebony destrier rearing before they galloped off at the head of the Stark army. She could see Jon in the distance; his horse tumbling to the ground in a flurry of Bolton arrows.

Two great armies, and only Jon Snow between them. He pulled his sword from it's sheath; facing his impending doom with every shred of strength he had left. The Bolton cavalry drew closer every second, and just as they were about to greet him, the Stark cavalry met them in a cascade of metal.

Amodera charged into the mess of battle, swinging her sword at the Bolton soldiers with everything she had. Politics may not come easy to her, but war she was good at. The chaos which ensued could frighten those with the strongest hearts, but she had been born into war, she lived in war, and one day, she would die in war. But she prayed to all the gods that day would not be today.