Northern Conqueror

Chapter 12: Bastard Parley

Chapter 12: Bastard Parley

After a few days the Vale knights separated from their army along with a small number from each house, bringing them below four thousand as they approached Winterfell. That number grew slightly when the Cassels, Condons, Mollens and Pooles joined them along with the Hornwoods.

Finally the day came and Sansa sat mounted atop a gray palfrey beside Jon and a dozen other lords. They watched as a party rode toward them from Winterfell. At the front rode Ramsay Bolton with Small Jon Umber and Harald Karstark at his sides.

When they came to a stop, Sansa barely noticed the briefest of smiles tug at Karstark's lips seeing the lords. He was theirs. Not only had Jon brought his wildling army, but every other house in the North. He'd kept his word relayed by Karstark's rider, and he would be his daughter's hope for a better life.

"It's her," said one of the men behind Ramsay, his eyes locked on Brienne. "The one who killed Hunnel and Lorik on that hunt. The one who got away from us."

Ramsay looked from the man to Brienne, his lips stretching into a vile grin. "Wonderful!" His gaze turned to Jon, briefly flicking toward Sansa, making her skin crawl. "I thank you for bringing me this wanted criminal. Now dismount and kneel before me. Surrender your army and proclaim me the true Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. I will pardon you for deserting the Night's Watch. I will pardon these treasonous lords for betraying my house."

Jon and every lord simply stared at Ramsay.

"Come, bastard. What can you do with half an army, most of them horseless wildlings wielding stone axes and brittle steel sword. You don't have Winterfell. All you have are lords foolish enough to follow a deserter. Why lead those poor souls into a slaughter? There's no need for a battle. Get off your horse and kneel. I am a man of my word." His eyes shifted to Sansa. "I'll let you watch."

Sansa stared at Ramsay, not letting him see her discomfort. She, like the others, looked to Jon, who exhaled.

"You're right. There's no need for a battle."

Ramsay grinned, eyes gleaming with gluttonous guttural glee.

"Thousands of men don't have to die. Only one of us." That earned a smirk from Tormund. "Let's end this the old way. You against me."

A few of the other lords exchanged looks while Davos and Tormund focused on Ramsay and his men, Sansa glancing at Jon. Small Jon's lips twisted into a smirk while Karstark remained impassive.

Jon stayed locked on Ramsay's eyes, ice on ice, neither breaking until Ramsay laughed. "I've heard stories about you... bastard. The way people in the North talk about you, you're the greatest swordsman who ever walked." He smirked, shrugging. "Maybe you are that good... Maybe not. I don't know if I'd beat you... I know that my army will beat yours. I have six thousand men. You have.... Four? Three? How many of them are untrained wildlings and broken men from your brother's war?"

"Aye, you have the numbers," said Jon. "Will your men want to fight for you when they hear you wouldn't fight for them?"

The humor drained from Ramsay's face before restraining himself, waving a finger. "He's good. Very good!" He spoke through grit teeth, then seemed to regain his composure. "Tell me. Will you let your little brother die because you're too proud to surrender?"

"Why should I trust the word of a coward?" asked Jon.

Ramsay's eyes narrowed, his jaw shifting, grinding his teeth. His hands squeezed the reins of his horse. Sansa kept her eye on him while some of the others shared brief glances, wondering if he would accept Jon's offer or even try to attack him.