CHAPTER 187
Along the Kingsroad, the smell of blood mixed with the damp scent of churned earth, blanketing the battlefield in the aftermath of slaughter.
The golden lion banner of House Lannister and the black standard of the Brave Companions lay tangled together upon the blood-soaked ground, both stained crimson until they were almost impossible to distinguish.
Garon stood silently, breathing slightly heavier than usual.
His heart still pounded like a war drum, and every muscle in his body ached from the fierce battle, yet when he removed his helm, his face had already regained its usual calm composure.
The Glover soldiers, the Skagosi warriors, and the Riverrun guards nearest to him looked upon their lord with nothing but reverence.
Even Ser Amory Lorch and the surrendered Westerlands soldiers lowered their heads in fear, not daring to meet his eyes.
Garon slowly swept his gaze across them before turning toward the Northern and Riverlords gathering around him.
The more he looked...
The more confused he became.
"Where is His Grace?"
"Where is Lord Edmure?"
"What happened here..."
A terrible possibility quietly formed in his mind.
Suppressing the growing unease, Garon first walked toward the unconscious Ser Kevan Lannister.
After personally confirming that Kevan still lived, he quietly let out a breath.
"You."
"Guard Ser Kevan closely."
"He must not die."
After instructing several Glover veterans, Garon strode toward the approaching lords.
Lady Maege Mormont was the first to reach him.
A hearty laugh escaped her despite the exhaustion on her face.
"Garon."
"You came at exactly the right time."
The surviving Northern and Riverlords also stepped forward one after another.
Each nodded gratefully toward him.
Some smiled in relief.
Others bowed their heads in respect.
Yet Garon showed no trace of joy.
His sharp gaze swept across every face present.
The coldness in his eyes caused every lord's heart to tighten.
"Where is King Robb?"
"Who commanded this battle?"
"Why were our armies charging like frightened sheep?"
"Did none of you realize the Lannisters would butcher us if you fought this way?"
His questions struck like hammer blows.
Every smile disappeared.
Only shame and grief remained.
Lady Maege Mormont sighed heavily.
"His Grace..."
"King Robb..."
"He was murdered by Stannis Baratheon's shadow sorcery."
"What?"
Garon's body visibly trembled.
It was as though lightning had struck him where he stood.
Lord Tytos Blackwood quietly continued.
"And Prince Rickon..."
"He also died during the battle."
For a brief instant...
Garon's thoughts exploded.
Robb was dead.
Rickon was dead.
Sansa Stark now stood as House Stark's sole surviving heir.
For a single heartbeat, overwhelming excitement surged deep within his heart.
Everything...
Every arrangement...
Every plan...
Had unfolded even more perfectly than he had imagined.
Yet that dangerous emotion disappeared almost as quickly as it had appeared.
His iron self-control crushed it completely.
To everyone watching...
Garon simply looked stunned.
Confusion.
Disbelief.
Then overwhelming grief.
His body swayed violently.
Ron hurried forward and caught him before he could lose his balance.
"My lord."
"Are you hurt?"
Garon's voice became hoarse.
"No..."
"This cannot be..."
"Robb..."
"How could..."
Rickard Karstark looked upon him with genuine sympathy.
In that moment, he felt thankful that House Stark still possessed such a loyal bannerman.
"Lord Glover."
He stepped forward solemnly.
"This isn't the time to surrender to grief."
"His Grace left final orders."
Garon slowly raised his moist eyes.
"...What orders?"
Rickard drew a deep breath.
"His Grace declared that Lady Sansa Stark, your betrothed, is his lawful heir."
"He placed every Northern army under your command."
"And he asked you..."
"To avenge him."
"And lead us home."
"...Avenge..."
Garon quietly repeated the word.
His face remained filled with sorrow.
Inside...
His thoughts stayed perfectly calm.
"This isn't enough."
"I need them to believe."
He noticed that several Riverlords still watched him with uncertain expressions.
Slowly raising his head toward the heavens, tears streamed down his bloodstained face.
The sight deeply moved everyone present.
"So the stories were true."
"Garon truly loved King Robb as a brother."
"No man could fake such grief."
Many Riverlords who had once remained wary now unconsciously developed admiration for him.
Lord Jonos Bracken finally stepped forward.
Although he had survived the battle, most of his household soldiers had not.
"My lord."
"Revenge can wait."
"But we need your judgement immediately."
He looked sorrowfully toward the remnants of his house.
"We cannot repeat today's mistakes."
"We need your command."
The surrounding lords quickly voiced their agreement.
"We remained here specifically to await your arrival."
"Now that you've come..."
"Please lead us."
"This battlefield isn't safe."
"There are still many matters requiring your decision."
"And His Grace's body still awaits us."
Gradually, Garon appeared to recover from his overwhelming grief.
He wiped the tears from his face with the back of his hand.
The fire slowly returned to his reddened eyes.
"Very well."
His voice regained its familiar authority.
"Pass my commands."
"Lord Karstark."
"Dispatch cavalry immediately to the Trident crossings."
"Secure our fleet and provisions."
"I won't allow fleeing Lannister soldiers to seize them."
"The rest of you."
"Clean the battlefield."
"Count every casualty."
"Take every surviving prisoner."
"Especially Ser Kevan Lannister."
One clear order followed another.
Within moments, Garon had completely taken control of the battered army.
His will spread through every surviving lord.
Soon, Northern and Riverlands soldiers began carrying away the wounded, collecting weapons, burying the dead, and securing prisoners.
Everything proceeded in orderly fashion.
While supervising the work, Garon quietly questioned the assembled lords.
When he learned that Roose Bolton had escorted Edmure Tully toward the Twins...
His heart skipped a beat.
"Roose left?"
"Just like that?"
"Was this his plan all along?"
He silently considered the possibility.
Had Roose deliberately abandoned these loyalists for the Lannisters to destroy?
Though suspicious...
Garon revealed nothing.
Only after the battlefield had been cleared and the Karstark riders reported that the fleet remained secure did he finally lead the army back toward the Trident camp.
Upon entering the camp, the assembled lords escorted him directly toward the pavilion where King Robb and Prince Rickon rested.
Several days had already passed since their deaths.
Their bodies had been placed within wooden coffins, awaiting the journey back to Winterfell.
Standing before Robb's coffin, Garon remained silent for a long time.
His gaze never moved.
The entire pavilion became deathly quiet.
Every lord held his breath.
Only grief lingered in the air.
Suddenly...
Garon knelt upon one knee.
Slowly drawing the weirwood dagger Robb had once carried, he sliced open his own left wrist without the slightest hesitation.
Bright blood immediately flowed onto the ground before the king's coffin.
Looking toward the roof of the pavilion, Garon spoke in a solemn voice.
"Old Gods."
"Hear me."
"I, Garon Glover of Deepwood Motte, a bannerman of House Stark and descendant of the First Men, swear before you."
He slowly raised his bleeding arm.
His eyes never left Robb's coffin.
"So long as I draw breath..."
"I shall avenge my king."
"I shall destroy the false kings Joffrey Baratheon and Stannis Baratheon."
"I shall defend the North."
"I shall defend Winterfell."
"Should I break this oath..."
"May the Old Gods forever abandon me."
Finishing his vow, Garon rose to his feet.
Holding out his bleeding arm toward every lord gathered inside, he spoke with unwavering determination.
"My lords."
"Bear witness."
The words struck every heart within the pavilion.
"Avenge the King!"
"Avenge the North!"
The cries spread rapidly.
At last, one voice shouted above all the others.
"Garon..."
"The King's Protector!"
Like a spark falling upon dry grass...
The title spread instantly.
"Garon!"
"The King's Protector!"
"Garon!"
"The King's Protector!"
The cries rushed from the pavilion into the camp.
From the camp...
Across the entire army.
Every surviving soldier shouted the title with all the strength remaining in his body.
The thunderous voices merged into one unstoppable roar.
An old age had ended.
A new age had begun.
Standing amidst the deafening cheers, Garon slowly lowered his bleeding arm.
His face still carried the grief of a loyal friend mourning his fallen king.
Yet deep within his lowered eyes...
A faint trace of indescribable satisfaction quietly flickered.
"Robb."
"Rest peacefully."
"I'll lead the North to heights never before imagined."
"And one day..."
"I'll claim the Iron Throne."
"Bear witness to the road that lies ahead."