CHAPTER 40 | THE BATTLE OF THE BASTARDS

MAIA had once read that battles can last up to a week. She didn't know if she could survive that, because it had only been an hour, and she was ready to tear her skin off. She stood by the edge of camp, digging her fingernails into her palms as she watched the sun move through the clouds. Snowflakes fell on top of her head and she wished nothing more to see the sight of Jon coming back each passing minute.

Sansa walked through her tent, seeing Maia waiting in the snow. She approached the older woman and laid her hand on her shoulder in comfort. Maia glanced her way, enjoying the red-head's smile. "Waiting will only make you more worrisome," Sansa guided, staring off at the horizon.

"I don't know what else I can do." Maia admitted. "We can't just sit back and do nothing because women cannot include themselves in war. I refuse to stand by idly."

Sansa wrinkled her nose. "Maia, you don't know how to fight in battle."

"That is besides the point." Maia quipped. "Have you ever questioned the rights we are given as women in this time? Are we forever burdened to stay by, watching our men become victorious when our only victory is if we make a pie without burning the bottom? I know I'm incapable of holding a sword, but I feel so ... useless. I swear, no one actually thinks of this and it angers me."

The two were silent as the sky grew darker. Maia looked down over the cliff, noticing something unfamiliar. Riding their way, looking like a black mass, was a large army. The blonde's eyes bugged out of her skull – could it be Jon? The men held flags with sigils on them she could not decipher, but she knew they weren't Stark banners. The horses trudged forward, causing Maia to shake her friend's body in astonishment.

"Sansa," she gasped, "what is that?"

The other girl looked up, her face immediately lighting up in excitement. She turned to Maia, exclaiming, "Go find our horses. We need to be ready to leave when they arrive."

Still confused, Maia did as she asked. She ran to the mill, where only her and Sansa's horses sat. She untied the rope from them, trying her best to guide the two stallions over as quickly as she could. Maia sprinted with the horses over, shocked to see the army of over five thousand men waiting at their camp. She approached Sansa and an oddly familiar man, handing her friend the reins to her horse.

The man stared at her as Sansa stood with her horse. "Who might you be?"

"This is Lady Maia of House Sanders." Sansa smiled, gesturing between them. "Maia, this is Petyr Baelish. He has offered to lend us the Knights of the Vale to defeat Ramsay."

Maia shook Petyr's hand, still in disbelief at his timely arrival. "We must leave now," he said, hoping onto his own horse. "The battle has already commenced. Hopefully, we will make it in time."

Before she could leave, Maia grasped Sansa's arm. "You didn't tell anyone about this." She whispered. "Why?"

"Sometimes the surprise factor helps you win the fight." Sansa replied.

The two girls nodded at Petyr before mounting their horses. They began riding South for Winterfell, with the three leading the front. After speeding down the snow-covered bluffs, they had made it to a icy hill-top that overlooked Winterfell. The Knights of the Vale waited for Petyr's signal, and as a horn was blown, they came charging forward into the battle below. Maia could just see from the overhang that Bolton soldiers were trying to compress Jon's army inside a ditch, with dead bodies littered on the outside. The fight raged on inside the ring, but Maia could tell the bodies within were becoming too tight, especially with Wun Wun forged right in the middle as he knocked down the Bolton army.

Almost immediately, the Knights of the Vale came crashing into Bolton soldiers. They eliminated them from the first try. Maia spotted Ramsay sitting on the other end of the battle field with two guards at his side, watching his army get slaughtered by the incoming knights. She wished she could see the horror on his face, but she wished she knew if Jon was alive even more.

Sansa and Maia relished in the massacre below, both holding the same smirk. Screams echoed. Blood stained. Fire rippled amongst the armies. But the two women laughed at the defeat.

From far off, Maia witnessed a man – bloodied from head to toe – climb the pile of bodies used to compress them into a circle. She squinted her eyes, noticing the familiar bun hairstyle coated with dirt. She pointed ahead, screaming, "There's Jon!"

Tormund and Wun Wun appeared next to their commander, ashes and blood tainting their entire beings. Ramsay stared at the three in dismay, not knowing what to think of the surprise attack. Maia watched in anticipation, realizing the way Jon was casually flipping his sword in his hands.

"He's going to kill Ramsay." She muttered, turning to Sansa.

At that call, the Bolton leader spun his horse around, allowing him and his guards the right amount of time to leave. He began to head in the direction of Winterfell, and Sansa snarled, "He's going to flee."

"We have to follow," Petyr recommended.

The two girls nodded in approval, and instantly set off to follow Jon and the others. They rode fast and steady, though Maia was not used to riding a horse at such a speed. They trailed Jon, Tormund, and Wun Wun by fifty feet, and rode by the slaughter in shock. Maia had never seen so many corpses in her life. It almost made her sick to her stomach. She slashed her reins to force the stallion to go faster, and soon, they were close enough to watch Wun Wun the Giant plow through Winterfell's wooden doors. Ramsay had tried to plan a siege, and though Jon didn't have an army, he did have a giant.

Sansa and Maia arrived inside the walls of Winterfell as Wun Wun collapsed in the courtyard, a dozen arrows pierced in his skin. Maia turned her head at just the right moment, witnessing Ramsay shoot one last arrow in the giant's eye. A hand clasped over her mouth at the sight of Jon, battered and bloodied. She couldn't see his eyes, but by his stance, she could already tell he was ready to murder anyone in his path, and that petrified her.

They watched Ramsay lower the bow in his hands. His soldiers all aimed their weapons on Jon, careful not to strike. "You suggested one-on-one combat, didn't you?" He glanced around, noticing Jon's soldiers then targeting their bows at him. "I've reconsidered. I think that sounds like a wonderful idea."

Ramsay pulled out an arrow from his sheath, setting it into the bow in under a second. Jon threw down his sword, leaving Maia with wide eyes. He grabbed a spare shield at the moment Sansa and Maia dismounted their horses, observing the arrow hit Jon's shield at the top and just missing his head.

The Bolton sent another arrow, and another, and yet another. All pierced the shield Jon held, but did not puncture his body. Jon advanced towards Ramsay quickly, and just as he was about to load another arrow, Jon knocked him into the mud with his shield.

Jon's men lowered their weapons as the two women sprinted to the scene, watching Jon's fist transcend onto Ramsay's face with Tormund by their side. The Wildling had his arm outstretched to cover them as blood splatter everywhere. Jon continued to punch Ramsay's demented face, all the while the former bastard smiled at his defeat. Maia looked down at her skirt, noticing the trim stained with blood – Ramsay's blood.

His rhythm slowed as his fist began to throb. Sweat coated his brow. Hairs flew in his face. Blood and soot masked his features. No matter how many times Jon punched Ramsay, he didn't die. The commander then looked up, seeing his sister and lady staring at him in horror. Maia gripped Sansa's arm for her dear life, snowflakes shielding her vision.

Jon finally halted his movements, taking a few breaths of air before standing up from Ramsay's lap. He glared down at the bloody fool, hate deepening within him with every breath the Bolton man took.

He looked around at the thousands of men that cluttered the courtyard of his home. Snow feel atop the bodies. Blood traveled from one to the air, but Jon still found the strength to walk away.