Northern Conqueror

Chapter 14: White Raven

Chapter 14: White Raven

Rickon had wrapped his arms around Jon, who had an arm around him while Ramsay's body and head were taken away. Sansa fought off tears, sharing a smile with Jon before he looked down to rub Rickon's back. After a few moments Rickon pulled himself away from Jon, sniffling and wiping his nose, backing toward Sansa, who held his shoulders.

"Lord Jon," a man called out to him, drawing the attention of the yard.

Sansa gasped as she watched a soldier step into the courtyard with a gaunt, broken Theon Greyjoy. The soldier held Theon with an arm around his shoulder to keep him from collapsing as Theon's feet dragged behind him. He was conscious, staring at Jon, Rickon and Sansa, but frozen in terror so severe he couldn't make himself move.

"Theon?" Sansa asked in disbelief, anger laced in her voice. Rickon sneered at him while Jon's glare was relatively less severe.

"Theon died," he said weekly, dragged before them but unable to meet their eyes. "I'm Reek."

"Reek?" Jon asked.

"Poor fool," Barbrey Dustin said coming to a stop beside the Starks, looking Theon over. "I can't believe he made another one of you."

"Another one?" asked Sansa.

"Roose had this awful soldier who stunk endlessly, so he gave him to Ramsay's mother to help raise him. Bethany, my sister, said him and the man they called Reek were inseparable, training together and going on their hunts together... He was dead a month after Ramsay poisoned Domeric." The often bitter Lady Dustin seemed to pity Theon. "He's tried making others, but they always just killed themselves or went mad, if they even made it through the dungeons."

Jon looked from her to Theon, his jaw shifting as he looked to the men holding him. "Lock him in a cell," he ordered before looking to Sansa. "We'll decide what to do with him tomorrow."

She nodded, watching as Theon quietly followed the soldier toward a cell.

"We need to gather the bodies and burn them," Jon told the lords and captains gathered around them. "Strip what we can, keep anything useful. Armor, clothes, anything..." When he noticed a few of them looking confused, he clarified, "We'll need to the arm the Free Folk and resupply ourselves before our next fight, and the rest can go to the Wall. We can't waste supplies just because they belonged to the enemy."

"Our next fight?" asked Daryn Hornwood.

"The Night King is still coming. I'd rather us be ready when he does."

The yard began to empty, the men returning to the field to help gather the dead while the lords prepared letters.

Maester Wolkan collapsed into a chair when he saw Jon Snow enter his room. "Oh thank the gods," Wolkan sighed. Looking to Jon he asked, "I pray he's dead?" Once he nodded, Wolkan rose and hurried over to grasp Jon's hand. "Thank you, my lord. Thank you."

"I take it you're not loyal to the Boltons?"

"As loyal as a frightened man can be," Wolkan frowned.

Jon nodded, wondering just how many Bolton men died on the field out of fear for what might happen if they turned and Ramsay won. Looking around the room, Jon asked, "Have you maintained the rookery? We'll need ravens."

Wolkan smiled weakly. "I have, my lord. I am at your command."

A dozen ravens left Winterfell while piles of bodies burned in the Wolf's Field and their camp was moved to the fields around Winterfell. Bolton banners fell and Stark ones raised, men came to and from, clearing out as much as they could from the Boltons.