Game of Thrones: The Dragonborn - Chapter 143 - Arriving at Winterfell.

[Chapter Size: 2000 Words.] Third Person POV. North. ... ... The troops began to move, entering Stark territory. Leading the group of 5,000

[Chapter Size: 2000 Words.]

Third Person POV.
North.

...

...

The troops began to move, entering Stark territory.
Leading the group of 5,000 men was Bak, to whom Daemon had given command of this squad to form a force capable of creating a small siege at Winterfell.
It didn't take long for them to enter Stark lands. While his men terrified anyone in sight—whether fleeing peasants or enemy scouts.
Bak gathered the men as soon as they made their first camp at nightfall in these lands, needing to organize the troops.
He was a bit clumsy and clearly preferred Val to lead the group, but Daemon didn’t deny her request to follow him while they were still in the southern lands.

"So, what do we have on these kneelers?" Bak immediately asked as he gathered a dozen men around him, using a map Daemon had provided.

The free folk had never in their lives needed to organize into a descending military company. All they ever did north of the Wall was run through the forest toward enemies and kill them individually. They never thought about acting in an organized way or having a collective formation.
That was until Daemon arrived north of the Wall and forced them to follow strict war orders, create formations, maintain them, think of the group as a whole, protect it by doing their part in the formation, and march—march long distances while maintaining order and discipline among the men, managing logistics and resources, saving where possible, and always keeping an eye on the regional map, carefully choosing paths to avoid ambushes or getting trapped and delayed.

Bak was performing all these duties, feeling quite lost, yet still managing. He just didn’t want their leader to feel ashamed for having trusted him.

"We have some enemy scouts... Looks like those ironborn men Daemon fought on Bear Island. But there are also men with the flayed man banner." one of them said, being one of the few wargs watching the skies among the 5,000 free folk.

"Looks like our enemies already found us... So be it." another laughed, excited to destroy them.

"The leader isn't here, so we can have a bit of fun," said another, as they were having a hard time killing—Daemon often solved everything alone or even without fighting.

"We still need to maintain the troops and not go around chasing men just for watching us," Bak said, trying to keep them focused.

"They're just kneelers... we can handle them," another laughed.

"Even so... we must be careful. I don't want to suffer losses before we reach the castle, do you understand?! Always keep an eye on the enemy. And remember, we're kneelers here too." Bak said.

"Kneelers?!" another made a face at that.

"We’re following the leader who will command everyone south of the Wall. If we have to kneel to someone, at least let it be to the one who took us out of that frozen desert full of dead." Bak said.

Many nodded in agreement while others didn’t seem to like it much, but remained silent.

The free folk did not admit it openly, but they were enchanted by the South. First, when they were in the heart of the North—while it was still summer, even if at its end—there wasn’t much snow at that time, and they experienced earth beneath their feet for the first time.
It was, at the very least, invigorating to see so much green, and they couldn’t even imagine what the South might be like, though they had heard many stories.

In any case, the group organized the best path, though there weren’t many difficulties, as this region of Stark territory was quite flat, with only a few hills and clusters of forest—nothing as large as the Wolfswood in the western side of the North—while the free folk group led by Bak were entering from the east side, which belonged to the Boltons.

After organizing the meeting, everyone returned to rest. The next day, they resumed the march. As the group advanced, and not wanting to go without some fun, Bak had allowed them to hunt down some enemy scouts snooping around the group, which was quite easy. The group of wargs spotted scouts getting close and managed to ambush them, with only a few escaping before reaching the sight of the main force.
The wargs were perfect for this. They kept hunting and hunting more and more men. In the end, no one else had the courage to investigate them during those days.

Until, on the third day, a warg spotted a certain movement: it was a group of Bolton men, more than a hundred of them, heading for a cluster of hills where they didn’t expect to be found. They would wait inside a forest at nightfall when the main group had to make camp.
Bak saw that the fools believed they could create chaos during the night against a group of five thousand men—and he let them. When the darkest part of the night came, with no moon, the group approached the camp on horseback, but was met with arrows, caught by surprise as the screams of horses and men echoed.

Their strategy had been to shoot flaming arrows into the camp and flee on horseback, but what they hadn’t counted on was the enormous line of archers coming out from behind the tents, at the same time as they were surrounded on both sides by men wearing cloaks to hide themselves—so they ended up getting hit by arrows from all directions.

After the failed attempt to delay or sabotage them, they moved on without any problems. They continued taking down scouts here and there—it didn’t matter how well hidden they were—they were always caught, which greatly confused the enemy because they couldn’t identify the approaching enemy force.

Winterfell was finally ahead of them, a few days later. It impressed all the men of the free folk, being the largest castle they had ever seen so far.
The castle had already been burned after the invasion by Theon Greyjoy, but the Boltons had taken the fortress back, and the banners of the flayed men could be seen atop its towers and standards.

"Let's prepare the siege immediately," Bak said, while the sun was still in the late morning, taking advantage of the afternoon to prepare the camp and get ready to secure the castle until the leader arrived.
The Bolton men on top of the castle wall were mocking them, while the town seemed more frightened by the lack of protective walls that a castle could provide.
Many of Bak’s men were eager to plunder, but he made it very clear that this would not happen. Otherwise, they would share the same fate as the fools who went against their leader—and he had already left a trail of executed men as they committed atrocities during Daemon’s military campaign.
Daemon would not forgive them. In the end, the camp, at a safe distance from Winterfell, was established, while they had five thousand men against only a thousand guarding Winterfell.

The mockery from the Bolton men continued, but the wildlings responded in kind, also hurling insults from that distance. From atop the walls they shouted at them—some calling them savages, others yelling back, "Kneelers!" and "Southern sons of bitches!" as many of the tribal men liked to say.

There were no siege weapons or anything of the sort in Bak's group. They were simply securing the castle or protecting against external reinforcements.
Bak left everything organized as he believed was most appropriate, and his men were also under control. He also received news from the south, with some men from Wintertown approaching them the previous day about Daemon executing men at Hornwood Castle.

As his group made contact, it became clear that the local people, as long as they committed no crimes, were tolerated. The town had already been heavily devastated by the ironborn when they attacked Winterfell, so the fear of a new group—especially wildlings, as they called them—was quite visible in the looks they cast at the group.
Bak simply held his position. Now, he had to wait for Daemon's forces from the south, with ten thousand men, and the other thirty-five thousand stationed in Bolton territory.

At that very moment, Daemon was having a rather pleasant conversation with Lady Cerwyn. Although she didn’t care much for the presence of Val and Ygritte, due to their origins alongside Daemon, he made no effort to hide them. He made it very clear that they were with him and should be respected.
The woman said nothing, though her look betrayed a certain displeasure. Daemon didn’t take offense—if it didn’t go beyond that, it wouldn’t ruin the small conversation.

Young Cerwyn was cautious. Not that this was a great surprise—due to his age, the child was afraid of Daemon the entire time and almost hid behind his mother.

"You're telling me your husband was flayed by Roose Bolton?" Daemon asked. He had thought Lord Cerwyn had died in the war.

"Yes, my lord... I mean, your majesty, forgive me. He was captured as one of the last men to survive the Red Wedding. But Roose made sure to kill him. According to the reports, he was flayed," she said with sorrow and horror.

"I see... That certainly would’ve helped Roose Bolton secure his position by also holding these lands... The Boltons are idiots too," Daemon muttered.

They seemed like a family of sick sadists who wanted to flay everyone. They were doing it in every possible territory. The only reason they hadn’t done it here was because they failed to take the castle—but they certainly had intentions, with the child next to his mother, to take the land for themselves. What they did to Lady Hornwood was proof of that.
They had basically taken Hornwood through the bastard by forcing the woman into marriage... They had nearly taken Cerwyn territory and seized Winterfell due to the castle falling into the hands of the ironborn. It was a difficult situation as Daemon pondered all of it.

“No longer, my lord... your majesty,” the woman said, slipping on his true title a few times but always correcting herself. “You’ve already destroyed their castle. That alone leaves them in a very low and desperate position. They’re afraid,” she said with some relief.

“Good... it’s good to know this land may still have a future,” Daemon said, looking at the boy, who lowered his head, unable to meet his eyes. He must have been terrifying to the child—even more so with his reputation.

“What will happen to the Hornwoods and the Boltons, Your Majesty?” this time she got his title right, though she still seemed to almost stammer.

“They will belong to those I deem worthy of holding them. I will deal with that with whoever ends up sitting in Winterfell. But I’ll do so to reward those who fought by my side. Unfortunately, House Hornwood will no longer exist, because of what they did to its lady. And the Boltons... I don’t even need to explain why. I intend to wipe out Roose Bolton’s bloodline completely,” Daemon said.

“Do you think they’ll keep heading north, with Stannis here too and now you...? Maybe he’ll retreat south again,” she said.

Daemon had to agree with that thought.
“You’re not wrong, my lady. It’s more likely Roose Bolton marches south today in search of protection from Tywin Lannister than stays in the North. He’s stuck at Monte Carlo and can’t leave,” Daemon laughed, taking a sip of his wine, amused by the idea. Val drank a little too, though with distaste. Ygritte didn’t touch the drink at all.

“We’ve also received a letter from the south, Your Majesty,” she added, playing with a hint of interest.
“Robb Stark is with Howland Reed in the swamp,” she informed, while Daemon nodded. Things were starting to get a little more interesting.