Battle planning seemed to go quicker than any of them wanted it to. Their tactics seemed almost simple as soon as they put their theories to the test on the great table, and Lyanna couldn't help sitting there in dread as she moved certain pieces representing the Starks or the Boltons, knowing that if they made one small error during the real thing the next morning, that could be it for all of them.

Every alternative had been planned, and so the command team of Tormund, Ser Davos and Cassius took their leave, leaving just Sansa, Jon and Lyanna. The three each took different positions, Jon pacing up and down by the table, Sansa stood over in the corner, Lyanna sat by the war table, fiddling with one of the Stark pieces.

The nerves of the next day had gotten to her, her stomach in knots, her entire body becoming numb. What if this was it? Her end? The end of House Stark? It seemed wrong, almost dirty to think of House Stark being wiped out so simply, as if it was just a smudge on a history book, but yet it was a possibility. The battle of the next day would be something people would talk about for years, it would become the thing of legends. The Battle of the Bastards, they were calling it due to each Commander of the battle starting out as a Snow, would be something Bards would write songs about. Their songs could be the new Rains of Castamere, though the dreaded fate of House Castamere laid between the Starks and the Boltons.

"Lyanna," Sansa called, snapping her back into reality. "Tell him! Tell him that it's not enough! He doesn't know Ramsay like I do!"

"Jon..." Lyanna began, standing up to more closer to her siblings, clenching her forehead together, her head aching from exhaustion taking its toll. "Sansa has a point, she lived with him, she has an insight into what he's like,"

Jon looked between the two girls, both so different in appearance but similar in experience. He saw them as the same in that moment; two young girls making the best out of the circumstances they were thrown into, two young girls who'd almost been destroyed, but had come back seeking vengeance. Jon may have not always trusted Sansa's judgement when it came to the subject of the battle, but he did trust Lyanna, and so he sighed, knowing that whatever either of them were to say, they would be right.

"You're right," he sighed, moving to sit down across the table, whilst Lyanna remained stood by Sansa's side.

"You think he's going to fall into your trap, he won't, he's the one who lays traps," Sansa spoke, and behind her eyes Lyanna could see all of the suffering and pain that had enforced Sansa's judgement. "Ramsay is overconfident, he plays with people! He's far better at it than either of you, he's been doing this his whole life!"

"Aye, and what have we been doing?" Jon stood again, almost as if he was offended.

"Jon," it was Lyanna's turn to sigh, calling his name as if it was a warning, knowing that whatever he was to say could result in an argument.

"Well what have we been doing, playing with broomsticks?" he continued, glancing at Lyanna as if to make her take his side. "I've fought beyond the Wall with worse than Ramsay Bolton, I've defended the Wall from worse than Ramsay Bolton! The same goes for Lyanna!"

"I know what Lyanna has done, I saw her fight the Lannister soldiers that killed father's men in King's Landing, she even attempted to take on the Hound, but yet you still don't know him!" Sansa raised her voice, and even though the two were using her name to fight their own perspectives, Lyanna felt so isolated from their argument.

"Tell us then," Jon gestured for her to carry on speaking, and Lyanna took a seat again. "Tell us what we should do, how do we get Rickon back?"

At the mention of their brother, Lyanna felt her heart sink. It was pure stupid optimism for Jon to think that their brother would survive this situation. Lyanna knew that, and from one glance to her sister, she could tell Sansa knew it too. When Lyanna looked at her sister, she remembered the way she'd plead for their father's life to be spared, for his 'crimes' to be pardoned, and then she remembered the cruel way Ned Stark had died, all whilst Joffrey grinned as if he was watching his favourite Jester. Sansa knowing that pleading for someone's life was pointless, and that was when Lyanna realised her little sister had really grown up.

"We'll never get him back," Lyanna spoke up before Sansa had the chance. "Men like Ramsay just don't surrender their enemy's loved ones, they take them away... and enjoy doing it,"

"Rickon is Ned Stark's trueborn son," Sansa continued, much to Jon's dismay. "He's a greater threat to Ramsay than you, a bastard, me, a girl, and even Lyanna, Brandon Stark's heir but still a girl. As long as he's alive Ramsay's claim to Winterfell will always be contested, which means..."

"He won't live long," Lyanna finished, bluntly, her gaze fixed to the floor.

"I can't give up on our brother!" Jon protested, looking between the two of them.

"Listen to me, please, he want's you to make a mistake!" Sansa spoke, sounding almost desperate.

"Well what should I do different?" Jon asked, and even his tone had turned to desperation; possibly realising their situation.

"I- I don't know anything about battles, just... Just don't do as he wants," as she spoke, Sansa fixed eyes with Lyanna, almost wishing to be in her place; to be a fighter. Jon scoffed, noticing how obvious and predictable her suggestion was. "If you'd have asked for my advice earlier, I would have told you not to attack Winterfell until we had a larger force!"

"We've pleaded with every house that would have us, we have no other allies, this is what we have!" Jon shouted, slamming his hand onto the table slightly, making even Lyanna flinch.

"It's not enough but it's what we have," Lyanna spoke up, attempting to be the voice of reason between the two.

"Battles have been won against greater odds," Jon pointed out, almost calmly compared to his previous manner.

The tent fell quiet for a moment, the three siblings just caught in the intensity of the moment. Sansa paced towards the tent exit, then hesitated, turning back to face both Jon and Lyanna.

"If Ramsay wins... I'm not going back there alive," she spoke flatly, her words making Lyanna stand, realising the implications.

"I won't let him hurt you ever again, I won't let him touch you again," Lyanna spoke before Jon could, stepping closer to her sister. "I'll protect you,"

Even though it was Lyanna speaking these words, Lyanna who had suffered just as much as herself, Sansa refused to believe them. She shook her head gently, and moved to the tent opening.

"No one can protect me, no one can protect anyone," she said, and with that, left the two Snows alone.

"Sansa's right, Jon," Lyanna sighed, watching as her sister stormed out. Her brother sighed, rolling his eyes as his head fell into his hands. "Don't do that, Jon, looking all annoyed because I'm siding with her,"

"Don't start as well, Lya," he muttered tiredly, looking up at her, shaking his head.

"Why not?"

"Because you've been in battle too! You know what it's like to be outnumbered but with no other option than to fight!" He snapped slightly. Lyanna let out a short laugh.

"And I also know what it's like to be abused by my husband!" She snapped back with a glare. "Joffrey abused me, neglected me, raped me, beat me! He ordered his men to torture me because he wanted to hear me scream, he had Meryn Trant rape me and beat me because he wanted to watch me hurt,"

Jon cringed, not able to meet Lyanna's gaze. However, she was staring him dead on, although her eyes were streaming red, angry tears. Lyanna realised as she spoke she'd never gone into all the details to anyone. She'd spoke to Ned about it, but back then it was too fresh to come to terms with fully. Daenerys tried to never let her dwell on her pain, and Willas, whilst she loved him, couldn't bare to tell him all of it. Jon however, always knew all of Lyanna's secrets as children, and he was refusing to listen. If recounting all of her suffering would make him listen, then she would tell a thousand people, despite the weight now resting on her chest as she recounted it all.

"Lyanna, please..."

"No, Jon, I want you to hear all of this, I want you to know what men like Ramsay are like," she shook her head. "I wasn't married to Ramsay, but Joffrey was just like him. Joffrey had our father executed, he had me tortured and raped, he ordered the deaths of countless Stark men, he even tried to murder his own son. He was so caught up in making me suffer that he killed his own heir. He wasn't  a stable, logical man, Jon, he would have done anything to hurt me. Joffrey isn't Ramsay. Ramsay is worse. If this battle was against Joffrey, you'd listen to my advice, so don't ignore Sansa. You and I may have the experience of warfare, but Sansa knows our enemy!"

Jon stared at her for a moment, unable to find the words. I mean, what could he say? His sister had just confessed to him every hardship she had faced, every brutality, and he hadn't been able to do anything about it. When Joffrey was hurting her, he was up north, unknowing of her fate. He remembered that when she fell pregnant, she'd written to him at Castle Black. Mormont had pulled him into his office to give him the letter, and remind him of his duty. He received another letter seven months later saying that she'd had a boy, a middle name to honour him, and he was faced with another reminder from the lord commander that whilst Lyanna was his sister, the Night's Watch was his place. It was only when a third letter came, this time not from Lyanna but Sansa, saying that Lord Stark was dead, Prince Brandon Jon had been murdered and Lyanna had thrown herself off the Tower of the Hand (according to Cersei, they obviously never let Sansa see any body), that the reminder of Jon's duties failed to keep him loyal.

For so long he'd thought of his sister as dead. It was easier, it hurt less to think of her as dead than constantly being hurt, and that's what he believed was the truth. To think of her buried in the south hurt, knowing that she was away from all of her family forever, but it hurt less than her in pain and married to that bastard. After a time, Jon grew to accept it, it was just another hardship he wasn't there to help prevent, but then Lyanna showed up very much alive at Castle Black, and it wasn't until they were both resurrected that he realised the full extent of how much she had already endured. He admired his sister, she was too strong and stubborn to pity, but at the same time he knew that there was a part of him that did truly feel sorry for her, especially now his stubbornness had forced her into reliving it all.

"Are you alright?" He managed to ask after a moment, watching as she sat down, closing her eyes. Her hands were gripped to her stomach like she was trying to support herself, as if she was about to throw up. "Lyanna, I'm sorry. Nothing can take away the pain of the past. You've suffered, I know now. I'll never be able to fully understand, but I can try and make things right. It's too late to buy more time against Ramsay now, but it's not too late to defeat him,"

"Willas always said the North would rally around us," she muttered, as if she was thinking out loud. "The children of Eddard Stark and the daughter of Brandon Stark, leading a cause against the house that betrayed their king. I thought it would be easy, Willas always told me it would be easy,"

"Nothing ever is," Jon sighed. "But look at us both, Lya. Two bastards. You're half a Targaryen and were once a queen, briefly, but still a queen. You've led armies in the east. I was the Lord commander of the Nights Watch, I've killed Wildlings and White Walkers. We were both dead. We've constantly fought against the odds, now we're here,"

Lyanna forced a smile and closed her eyes, letting out a long sigh. Her hands drifted from her stomach to her neck, her fingers working to go underneath her high necked collar,gently touching the jagged scar that had once killed her. That was all it had taken to kill her the first time, one messy slash of a dagger; what would it be tomorrow? An arrow through the heart? A sword through the stomach? An axe to the head? She didn't want to think about it, but that was all her mind could focus on. As she rubbed her neck, she remembered the way Lord Stark had died, and how that had caused all of this, in some way. It hurt, but so did every thought in her head at that point.

"Do you ever miss Father?" Lyanna asked, opening her eyes to look at Jon straight in the eye, seeing he looked turly taken aback with her question. "I mean, do you ever think of him and just... just hurt? I used to think about him a lot in the east, whether he'd think I was doing the right thing, if I was being honourable enough, if I was making him proud. Do you think he'd be disapointed in us right now?"

"I miss him, but I don't think he'd be disapointed, how could he be?" Jon sighed.

"No he always said, the lone wolf dies but the pack survives," Lyanna muttered. "We're what's left of the pack, may the gods have mercy on us,"

***

Word count: 2412

***

Hey!
I know I only updated a few days ago but I'm trying to get back to Sunday updates, and I guess this makes up for me being missing for so long!
I hope you enjoyed this, the next two chapters will be the battle (originally only gonna be one chapter but it'll work out far too long!) Please vote and comment!

Also, remember to check out my other stuff! This story is nearly done so I've begun work on another, though it's The Walking Dead. I've posted the first few chapters and I'm really happy with it so far so I'd love you guys to go and show it a bit of love! Don't forget about my Star Wars stories as well, and my Sherlock fic!
See you next week!
~Olivia