CHAPTER 37 | SLEEP WELL

STARK banners flared in the air behind them. Wind whisked the hair off their shoulders. Tall grass in an open field just about brushed their ankles.

Maia shielded her eyes from the sun just peeking out of the clouds, finally getting a look of Winterfell in the distance. It was a large, beautiful structure, even more magnificent than what it seemed like in books. She grasped her horse's reins tightly within her fingers, spotting Bolton flags heading in their direction. The familiar sight of Ramsay Bolton made her insides twist.

When the blonde had been woken up in her shared tent with Jon, the memory of Ramsay's malicious face almost made her refuse to go. She told Jon she wanted a place in the battle, but that was before she got to meet the Bolton Lord himself. After deciding she was not going to let Ramsay make her yet another pawn in his schemes, Maia left with them, hoping he wouldn't manage to spot her behind the Stark siblings.

Jon and Sansa sat on their horses in the front of the line, with Maia and Ser Davos just behind them. Lyanna Mormont and Tormund watched from afar, accompanied by two knights for comfort. Jon turned to his sister, muttering, "You don't have to be here."

Sansa continued her stare ahead. "Yes, I do."

The commander then looked over his shoulder, watching Maia breathe heavily at the familiar stench of rusted blood in the air. "You don't either."

Maia only glanced his way, no words falling from her chapped lips. Jon twisted back around on his horse, viewing Ramsay's own stallion stopping short just a few feet from them. He, too, had a small army with him, which consisted of a couple knights, Harald Karstark, and Smalljon Umber.

Ramsay first locked eyes with Sansa, his face expressionless until a smirk made its way. "My beloved wife. I've missed you terribly."

Sansa was silent.

"Thank you for returning Lady Bolton safely," he then gestured to Jon. "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."

No one said a word. Maia was even afraid to breathe, in fear that Ramsay would focus on her.

"Come, bastard," Ramsay reasoned, "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. Kneel. I am a man of mercy."

Jon nodded his head. "You're right. There's no need for a battle. Thousands of men don't need to die. Only one of us." He watched Ramsay's brow furrow. "Let's end this the old way: you against me."

Sansa and Maia narrowed their eyes, as they were unaware of Jon's plan. Maia's breath came out into the air, causing fog. The word, bastard, repeated in her head, causing her wonder the Bolton Lord's exact case when she remembered hearing information that he was also a bastard once.

Ramsay laughed. "I keep hearing stories about you, bastard. The way people in the North talk about you: you're the greatest swordsman who ever walked. Maybe you are that good. Maybe not. I don't know if I'd beat you, but I know that my army will beat yours." He shrugged. "I have six thousand men. You have ... what? Half that? Not even?"

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

A hint of a smirk graced Ramsay's face as he pointed at Jon. "He's good. Very good." He then licked his lips. "Tell me: will you let your little brother die because you're too proud to surrender?"

"How do we know you have him?" Sansa then questioned with a frown.

The former husband and wife locked eyes, and then Ramsay turned to look at Lord Umber. Smalljon pulled out a dark, severed object from his satchel: Shaggydog. Maia released a quiet gasp at the sight of the direwolf's head on the grass.

Jon closed his eyes for a moment, while Sansa shook her head. The two men then stared at each other for a long moment, before Ramsay laid his eyes on his former wife, and finally, Maia.

He cocked his head to the side at the familiar blonde, watching the bruise on her cheek heal nicely. Purple and blue from the wound mixed with the redness of her cheeks, creating a mural on her face. "Lady Maia of the corrupted House Sanders," he smiled, pointing to her cheek. "I never got to express my regret for that. My sincerest apologies."

Maia didn't say a word. She could feel her fingers becoming limp as her grip on the horse's reins grew firmer, as well as the remembrance of his hands on her. She wouldn't allow him to make a fool out of her.

Ramsay faked an expression of false hope. "Did you manage to tell the bastard of my message?"

"Let us not forget who was once a bastard too, Lord Bolton. News spreads. People talk." Maia held her head high as she scowled. "Jon knows. But be forewarned, it will not change the minds of those who side with House Stark."

Ramsay frowned, eyeing the blonde before releasing a sigh. "Now, if you want to say –"

"You're going to die tomorrow, Lord Bolton." Sansa snarled. "Sleep well."

Sansa made her horse turn before allowing it to gallop back to their camp. She seemed incredibly upset without exactly showing it. Jon looked back at Maia, nodding for her to go. The blonde slapped the reins of her horse and went to follow her, calling out the girl's name in the distance.

Ramsay grinned darkly when the two women left, noticing Jon's face contort. "She's a fine woman – your sister. I look forward to having her back in my bed. Your lady is quite a great woman as well. Beautiful body. Maybe after your death tomorrow I shall take her as another wife." He laughed and looked at the rest of Jon's party. "And you're all fine-looking men. My dogs are desperate to meet you! I haven't fed them for seven days. They're ravenous! I wonder which parts they'll try first: your eyes? Your balls?"

The group was silent. Jon grit his teeth.

"We'll find out soon enough." Ramsay declared. "In the morning then, bastard."

•••

Sansa had explained to Maia that she was fine. She explained that no matter what Ramsay said, she was fine. The blonde knew what she was doing, because all women were expert manipulators in their own right. It was as if they were born with it.

Tormund laughed loudly as Maia was stuck between his sword and her own neck. The sun was setting on their camp, and the only way to lift spirits for the day to come was to practice. Maia allowed Tormund to use her as his own double. She wasn't an expert on sword fighting, so this was practically child's play for him.

"Tick, tick, tick." The Wildling clocked on. "Make your move, m'lady. By now you would've been headless in a real fight."

Maia swiveled around, clashing her own sword against his. Her palms began to sweat, but she still smirked at Tormund's surprise from her move. "I don't fight. I strategized." She reasoned, pushing him off of her as they readied a fighting stance. Maia twirled the sword around her hand, a trick Jon taught her.

The two were about to run at each other when they were stopped by Ser Davos. The knight walked right into the fight, his arms extended. "Enough," he sighed. "You're both wanted at a meeting."

They nodded their heads as Tormund approached Maia, slapping her back. The blonde huffed, handing the sword she borrowed back to the knight in question. She looked behind her at the sky and watched the colors blend seamlessly into the clouds. Only a few hours remained before the battle, and she prayed it wouldn't be their last.