CHAPTER 99
Winterfell, Great Hall.
The fire crackled within the hearth, yet it could not dispel the icy fear permeating the hall.
Seated beneath the direwolf banners, Sansa Stark received the survivors who had fled from Castle Cerwyn after its fall, namely Ser Cley Cerwyn, heir to House Cerwyn, and his sister.
Maester Luwin and Ser Rodrik Cassel stood on either side of the long table, studying the disheveled Cerwyn siblings.
Fourteen-year-old Cley Cerwyn looked utterly terrified. His eyes were unfocused, and his body trembled uncontrollably.
It was as though part of his soul still remained trapped within that nightmare.
Maester Luwin stepped forward, took a cup of warmed wine from the table, and gently placed it into the boy's shaking hands.
"Lord Cley, drink some wine and steady yourself."
"You are safe now."
Cley raised the cup with trembling hands and took a large gulp, immediately choking and coughing violently.
Standing nearby, Ser Rodrik shook his head helplessly.
Once the boy calmed slightly, he immediately pressed for information.
"How exactly did Castle Cerwyn fall?"
"How many men did Euron bring?"
As memories resurfaced, Cley seemed to sink back into terror.
"Men... men..."
"He... he had seven or eight hundred mute crewmen. They moved like ghosts."
"And... and at least a thousand Ironborn. But... but that wasn't the most terrifying part..."
His breathing became ragged, and terror filled his eyes.
Ser Rodrik, however, was already calculating Winterfell's available defenders.
"There are a little over three hundred men in Winterfell capable of bearing arms, plus the hundred survivors Cley brought with him."
"If Euron only has slightly more than a thousand men, Winterfell's walls should allow us to hold for some time."
The tension on Sansa's face eased slightly.
Yet Cley suddenly let out a painful whimper, as though reliving something horrific.
Under the alarmed gazes of everyone present, he continued.
"He... he captured many of our people. Old men, women, even children."
"He forced the Ironborn to drive them forward at spearpoint."
"They had to carry timber and assemble huge siege engines."
"Anyone who... who moved too slowly..."
Cley abruptly stopped.
His body shook violently.
His older sister, sitting beside him, seemed to remember the same scene and immediately burst into tears.
Ser Rodrik's voice tightened.
"What happened to them?"
"They were cut down on the spot!"
Cley practically screamed.
"Their heads... their heads were placed on sharpened stakes and planted outside the walls."
He doubled over, retching before continuing.
"Euron... he sat on his horse laughing."
"As though he were watching some amusing play."
"He didn't care who died."
"He only cared about fear."
Sansa covered her mouth.
Her face had gone completely pale.
The images Cley described made it difficult for her to breathe.
"He was feeding fear with slaughter."
"There was blood everywhere."
"He forced Northmen to attack their own castle."
Cley collapsed onto the bench and buried his face in his hands.
"He is a devil."
"Castle Cerwyn... my home..."
"It's gone."
"Everything is gone."
His words ended, leaving only broken sobs.
Silence fell across the Great Hall.
The horrors he described chilled everyone who heard them.
Maester Luwin frowned deeply, his gaze toward Sansa filled with concern.
Ser Rodrik's hand tightened around the hilt of his sword until his knuckles turned white.
Sansa sat frozen.
Cley's words echoed endlessly within her mind, reminding her of the Others from Old Nan's stories.
Then suddenly—
Dong! Dong! Dong! Dong!
The warning bells rang frantically throughout Winterfell.
The Cerwyn siblings instantly jolted.
"They're here!"
Cley's sister screamed.
The Great Hall exploded into motion.
Ser Rodrik reacted first.
Despite his age, he moved with astonishing speed.
"Everyone to the walls!"
"Quickly!"
"Organize the defenses!"
He rushed from the hall, leading soldiers toward the battlements.
Maester Luwin forced down his own fear and turned to Sansa.
"Sansa, take them to Bran."
"No matter what you hear, do not come out until I come for you myself."
Without waiting for a response, he hurried after Ser Rodrik.
Sansa forced herself to remain calm.
Escorted by several guards, she led the Cerwyn siblings toward the inner keep.
As she departed, she glanced back toward the Great Hall and silently prayed.
"Garon... I'm scared."
"When will you arrive?"
When Ser Rodrik and Maester Luwin reached the walls, the sight before them nearly stopped their hearts.
Beyond the Hunter's Gate, an enormous Ironborn host stretched across the snow-covered fields like a dark tide.
They had already advanced to within bowshot of Winterfell.
The Ironborn laughed openly, their savage eyes fixed upon the ancient castle.
Weapons flashed in their hands as they drove hundreds of ragged Northern captives before them.
The farmers stood shivering in the frozen wilderness, serving as living shields.
Their cries and pleas drifted faintly upon the wind, piercing the hearts of every defender.
At the center of that dark formation sat Euron Greyjoy.
Clad in smoke-black scale armor and mounted upon a brown horse, he studied Winterfell from afar.
Noticing Ser Rodrik and the others upon the battlements, he casually raised a hand and waved as though greeting old friends.
Then he lowered his head and quietly muttered something to himself.
Euron did not immediately attack.
Winterfell was far stronger than either Torrhen's Square or Castle Cerwyn.
With another wave of his hand, he led part of his army and their captives toward the Wolfswood northwest of the castle.
They intended to harvest timber for siege engines.
Meanwhile, a small group of mounted Ironborn rode beneath Winterfell's walls.
With arrogant confidence, they hammered several sharpened stakes into the frozen ground.
Mounted atop them were the freshly severed heads of Northern captives.
They were repeating the same atrocities committed outside Castle Cerwyn, using terror itself as a weapon against Winterfell's defenders.
"Animals!"
Ser Rodrik trembled with rage.
Snatching a bow from a nearby archer, he loosed several arrows.
The mounted Ironborn easily evaded them.
Ser Rodrik could do nothing except watch them ride away.
As he stared after them, an overwhelming sense of helplessness settled upon him.
The garrison was simply too small.
The defenders had to spread themselves thin across Winterfell's vast walls.
Without reinforcements, Euron would eventually grind them down.
Worst of all, they could only watch.
Watch the enemy calmly construct siege engines.
Watch them torment Northern captives.
Watch fear spread through the castle.
Ser Rodrik noticed morale beginning to falter.
Pulling Maester Luwin aside, he lowered his voice.
"Maester, we can't hold out forever."
"We need help."
Maester Luwin sighed heavily.
"I've already sent every raven available."
"Now all we can do is hope for Garon."
The two men almost simultaneously turned toward the distant Wolfswood.
The same thought arose in both their minds.
"Garon..."
"What exactly are you doing?"
"Why haven't you arrived yet?"
At that very moment, Garon was still riding hard through the North.
Winterfell remained nearly a full day's ride away.