Ursa Major | Tormund Giantsbane

Chapter 11

The night was cold.

Jon's raven had arrived late, informing them that the Baratheon army was on its way to Winterfell. Smalljon and Thyrsa went ahead, their army following a mile and a half behind, clearing a path for Stannis's army.

The plan was simple. Kill Roose and Ramsay as soon as possible. Smalljon had sent a raven ahead of them to say he accepted the terms, that he offered his sister who had unsuspectingly come to ask for men for the Night's Watch.

Smalljon wouldn't be lying when he told the Boltons that he wanted House Umber to be safe. He didn't even need to fully lie about not wanting the wildlings on this side of the Wall; he was still warming up to the idea.

Each Umber would kill one of the Boltons. Smalljon would presumably speak alone with Roose about the terms of the marriage and Thyrsa would likely be forced to talk to Ramsay. They'd kill them as soon as they had an opening, hopefully with no witnesses each. As soon as they could, they'd ring the bells of Winterfell to call their men (which would include other houses arriving from different angles: the Karstarks, the Hornwoods, the Cerwyns, and the Manderlys) to converge on the Bolton men. With any luck, they'd kill the entire Bolton army or at least lessen the numbers that Stannis had to deal with.

Thyrsa knew this might be the end of her. There was no way of being sure.

She found that she wasn't afraid. It comforted her.

Smalljon gave her a knife to hide in her boot, to make sure Ramsay Bolton would suspect nothing and be too focused on the sword strapped to her side. She could lay that down and still have something to use against him.

It wouldn't be hard to play the role of unhappy siblings. Thyrsa could easily be bitter about having to see Roose Bolton's stupid face and Smalljon could be bitter about having to leave his children behind and they could both make their anger seem relevant to another situation entirely.

Who would suspect them when they seemed to come alone?

"Lord Umber," said Roose Bolton as they arrived, Thyrsa's horse tied to Smalljon's and her hands bound tight to her reigns. "My lady."

She glared at him with hatred-filled eyes. "How dare you even speak to me?"

"Oi," said Smalljon, dismounting. "Thyrsa, quiet."

"If I'm going to be subjected to this at the very least I will spit in his face," said Thyrsa venomously.

Smalljon yanked her off her horse, grabbing the back of her head as if to scold her, "You think I like any of these fuckers?" he snapped. "I've already told you why were are here. If you care at all about your nieces and nephews–"

"Stop using them to make me feel guilty!" she shrieked, trying to break free of his hold. "I swore vows to the Night's Watch, I went to Castle Black because he killed our family!"

"You're not actually part of the bloody Night's Watch and you know it." He released her wrists from the reins. "You'll do your fucking part to keep our house alive and you'll be fucking pleasant about it."

He made her face the Boltons. She could see Ramsay behind Roose, a man with crazed eyes, pale skin, and almost shorter than her. Nothing like his father, though if the stories were to be believed, he was far worse in terms of what he found amusing in his spare time.

"Lord Bolton," muttered Smalljon, "this is my sister, Thyrsa, as requested." He pinched her arm. "Curtsy."

She did, despite not wearing a dress. She stared furiously at Roose, not even acknowledging Ramsay. Though, it didn't seem to bother his son. He was staring at her in a strange way, perhaps wanting to know how deep her hatred ran, perhaps liking it. She certainly didn't think he disliked it.