章節 61: Glorious Death

"Damnit, she's not here." Theon cursed, he and his men breaking into the bedchamber formerly belonging to Lord Stark. This is where they had believed Lady Stark to be considering she was Ramsey's wife. But that wasn't the case as they looked around at the empty chamber.

"Where?" One of the clansmen asked with their limited grasp of the Westerosi language.

"I don't know," Theon answered frustratedly, running one hand through his hair in frustration. Their group had split in two the moment they exited the Godswood. One pair had headed into the courtyard which was empty and then to the Guest House. There they were to move down, checking the Library Tower just in case.

Theon and his group on the other hand moved further east beyond the Armoury. They split off into smaller groups, some checking the Guards Hall, the First Keep, the Great Keep, the Sept and even the Great Hall.

He had gone to the Great Keep and he found nothing.

Moving to the window, he looked out over Winterfell and saw those that had come with him gathering by the Armoury, no Bran, Rickon or Catelyn insight. "Damnit, Bolton's must have been lying. There's nowhere else to keep them."

As soon as the words left his mouth, Theon had only a moment to turn around before a fist slammed into his face. He could feel his nose breaking upon impact and Theon let out a cry as he stumbled backwards. His hands reached out, gripping the edge of the window stopping him from falling out, but when the same clansmen kicked him in the chest his grip proved to be too loose.

With a cry, he fell from the window and felt the wind rush around him. His hands reached out, grasping for nothing but the air in a reflexive movement as he futilely tried to stop his fall.

And as he did, the muddy ground rushed to meet him.

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With a taunting cry, Greatjon swung his sword down, smashing into the shield of a Dustin soldier who attempted to block the swing. The force behind the blow knocked his shield down and the Greatjon came down once more with a swing that cut deeply into his neck, nearly decapitating the man.

"Come on, ye fuckers!" Greatjon roared, all around the battle erupting fully as he looked around with a bloody smile upon his face.

Again, and again, his blade swung round, each blow leading to or being a killing blow as he cut a bloody path through the rebel army. The Smallfolk around him echoed his war-cry and despite being largely untrained, swung their swords and thrust their spears to try and match the ferocity and savagery of the Lord Umber.

It was a brutal battle and there seemed to be no end in sight despite how much the Stark Loyalists were outnumbered.

Feeling a blade pierce his side, Greatjon let out a groan of pain, turning to see a Dustin knight stood there. "Got you now, Greatjon!" Beron, captain of Lady Dustin's personal guard proclaimed with a smirk upon his face.

However, instead of dying, Greatjon reached out and gripped Beron by his throat. "Yer wrong, ye dumb cunt." Again, the bloodthirsty smile comes onto his face as he tightened his grip on both his longsword and on Beron's neck. "I've got ye!" And Beron couldn't even let out a cry as the Greatjon swung his blade around and down onto him.

The blade cut deeply, cutting straight through armour and down to his hip.

With a final kick, Greatjon ripped his blade free, swinging round and cutting through one man only to have a spear come from his right side this time and pierce into his flesh. Another two came soon after, piercing through his front.

But even with this, the Greatjon didn't stop and swung his blade around killing all three spearmen. And as he looked at the spears in his stomach, the Greatjon laughed before charging into the battle once more. His blade swung fast and in wide sweeping strikes that send blood and limbs flying into the air.

Then, he swung his blade down onto a Dustin man at arms and luckily for the man, the Greatjons sword snapped. Even so, he let out a cry of pain as his shoulder pad dented and a sickening pop sounded as his arm came out of its socket.

This cry was soon silenced as the Greatjon used his broken blade to stab the man through his neck.

Stepping away, he noticed a group of men closing in on him as if recognising he was weapon less and therefore less of a threat. They didn't know who the Lord of Last Hearth was.

The man reached down, gripping two of the spears sticking out of his chest and with nary a grunt, pulled them free, blood rushing out of the holes in his body. But he ignored it and instead with one step, throw both spears across the distance between him and the approaching men.

One pierced through a man, making him fold around it and fly backwards a short distance.

Another skewered one man and then pierced into another behind him.

And as the Greatjon pulled out the final spear and Beron's blade from his side. He met the charge of the approaching enemy with a smile upon his face. These were his final moments, he recognised that instantly.

"The King in the North!"

But he would make it a glorious one.