When a fierce wildling meets a cunning lady, no one wants to be caught in the crossfire. Between enemies closing in from all sides, growing unrest within their own people, and their own budding romance; time was quickly running out and soon the long...
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Asena waited on her horse, inching closer to Sansa as she spotted the Bolton men approaching. The wildling settled her gaze on the man who seemed to be the leader, glaring at him as she resisted the urge to jump off of her horse and lunge at the bastard who had done so many unspeakable thing to the magnificent woman beside her.
What mattered now was that Sansa was safe, at least for the time being.
"You don't have to be here," Jon said, sending a worried glance over to his sister.
"Yes, I do," the Stark woman answered, her hands tightly gripping the reigns of her horse as Ramsay Bolton came to a stop in front of them.
"My beloved wife. I've missed you terribly," Ramsay called out, Asena's hands tightening into fists while she glared at him. "Thank you for returning Lady Bolton safely. Now, dismount and kneel before me, surrender your army and claim 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. Come, bastard, you don't have the men, you don't have the horses, and you don't have Winterfell. Why lead those poor souls into slaughter? There's no need for a battle. Get off your horse and kneel. I'm a man of mercy."
"You're right. There's no need for a battle," Jon agreed. "Thousands of men don't need to die. Only one of us. Let's end this the old way. You against me."
"I keep hearing stories about you, bastard," Ramsay chuckled, the sound made the hair on Asena's neck stand up and her hand twitch toward her sword. "The way people in the North talk about you, you're the greatest swordsman who ever walked. Maybe you are that good. Maybe you're not. I don't know if I'd beat you, but I know that my army will beat yours. I have 6,000 men. You have, what, half that? Not even?"
"Aye, you have the numbers. Will your men want to fight for you when they hear you won't fight for them?" Jon questioned.
"He's good. Very good," the Bolton said, pointing at the Stark bastard. "Tell me, will you let your little brother die because you're too proud to surrender?"
"How do we know you have him?" Sansa asked, her expression hard as she looked at the man in front of her.
Ramsay nodded to one of his men who pulled a dire wolf head out of his satchel before throwing it on the ground. Asena glanced at Sansa, she could see that she was worried and the wildling wanted nothing more than to wipe the twisted smile off of Ramsay Bolton's face. Preferably with a very sharp blade.
"Now, if you want to save-" the Bolton bastard started but he was interrupted by Sansa.
"You're going to die tomorrow, Lord Bolton. Sleep well."
Asena watched as the Stark woman rode off, her head held high.
"She's a fine woman, your sister. I look forward to having her back in my bed," Ramsay said, looking like he was about to say something else but the wildling woman beat him to it, her rage finally getting the best of her.
"She's right, you will die tomorrow. Wether it's by Jon's hand or her's, but I honestly hope it's mine. You will suffer, just as you made her suffer. You will plead, just as you made her plead. And then you will die with no one left to mourn you," Asena explained, a calm rage in her eyes that made even Ramsay Bolton gulp in fear.
Without another word, she turned her horse around and followed behind Sansa.
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Asena grunted as she continued her assault on the tree in front of her, her sword cutting through the air as she pictured her target as the the Bolton Bastard. She only paused when she heard crunching footsteps making their way toward her through the snow.
"You're angry," Sansa spoke up as she came to stand beside Asena.
"Of course I'm fucking angry! That little shit did so many unspeakable things to you and now he's sitting in your home, eating your food, and calling your people his own!" the wildling woman ranted, plunging her sword into the tree before running her hands through her hair and trying to calm her breathing. "I'm sorry, I just... I want you to promise me that if we lose this fight you'll run, as far as you can. Find Brienne and hide until you can get the chance to kill that sorry fucker."
"No, I-" Sansa started, looking offended by the mere thought, but Asena interrupted her.
"Sansa, please. I just want to keep you safe and if I die, I need to know that you'll still be safe. So please just promise me you'll find Brienne if we lose," she begged, stepping toward Sansa with a pleading look on her face.
"I promise..." Sansa trailed off, tears gathering in her eyes as she looked at Asena.
The wildling sighed and gently grabbed the other woman's hand with both of her own, making sure to look her in the eye as she made a promise of her own.
"And I promise that I will do whatever I can to get back to you, My Lady."
