CHAPTER 103
Let us rewind one hour.
Just as Euron Greyjoy was discussing plans for a night assault on Winterfell, Garon Glover and the cavalry from Deepwood Motte were finally emerging from the Wolfswood after riding day and night without rest.
Garon remained cautious.
Fearing an ambush near the edge of the forest, he immediately ordered the cavalry to slow their advance and dispatched scouts to investigate under the cover of darkness.
Sure enough, the scouts soon returned with alarming news.
A large group of people had gathered at the edge of the Wolfswood, cutting down trees.
Garon's expression changed.
He immediately ordered everyone to dismount. Using the darkness and their familiarity with the Wolfswood, he quietly led the cavalry northward through the forest until they reached a concealed position among the sentinel trees overlooking the Ironborn camp.
The soldiers silently observed the enemy.
"It looks like they're using captives to build siege engines."
Jon Snow carefully studied the scene.
"If that's true, Winterfell hasn't fallen yet."
The heavy burden weighing on his heart finally eased slightly.
However, Shanks, who served as Jon's deputy, remained cautious.
Squinting into the darkness, he tried to estimate the enemy's numbers.
The night was too dark to count accurately, but judging by the torches burning among the tree cutters and the numerous campfires around Winter Town, he estimated there were no fewer than a thousand Ironborn.
"My lord."
Shanks turned toward Garon.
"The enemy has at least a thousand men, perhaps even more hidden elsewhere."
His voice was careful and respectful.
"Should we retreat for now?"
Several centurion captains immediately agreed.
"Yes. We can wait for Roone and the infantry to arrive before engaging."
"Winterfell's walls are strong enough to hold for several more days."
"We've ridden day and night without rest. Many of the horses and men are exhausted."
Garon understood their reasoning.
Before he could answer, however, his eyes suddenly narrowed.
The Ironborn near the forest edge had begun moving.
Not toward the woods.
Toward Winterfell.
Garon immediately became alert.
The others followed his gaze and noticed the movement as well.
"They're moving."
Jon stepped forward.
"Are they preparing a night attack?"
In the darkness, large numbers of Ironborn extinguished their torches and quietly converged on the Hunter's Gate side of Winterfell.
The castle itself appeared completely unaware.
"Damn it."
Jon clenched his fists.
"Who's guarding the walls?"
"How have they not noticed?"
Before he could continue, faint sounds of fighting suddenly drifted through the night from another part of the castle.
"My lord!"
Shanks immediately became tense.
"The Ironborn have begun their assault!"
"What are your orders?"
After the victory at Sentinel Hill, the officers already trusted Garon completely.
Now they looked at him almost as if he were chosen by the old gods themselves.
Even Jon remained silent and waited for Garon's decision.
Garon stared toward Winterfell.
Recalling everything he had learned through the heart trees, he immediately understood how dangerous the situation truly was.
"Winterfell's garrison is too small."
"Euron is cunning, ruthless, and unpredictable."
"Ser Rodrik cannot hold forever."
His eyes sharpened.
"I must act."
"But I only have five hundred cavalry."
"The enemy still greatly outnumbers us."
"Meeting them head-on would be foolish."
"To win, I must use mobility and terror. I must divide them, scatter them, and destroy their confidence."
Watching the Ironborn forces converging around the Hunter's Gate, Garon finally made his decision.
He stepped before his men.
His voice carried clearly through the cold night air.
"Gentlemen!"
"The Ironborn are attacking Winterfell!"
"The fate of the North may be decided tonight!"
His gaze swept across the assembled cavalry.
"If Winterfell falls, the North loses its heart."
"If Winterfell falls, the future of the North falls with it."
"We must reclaim Winterfell!"
With a sharp metallic hiss, Garon drew his greatsword.
"For the North!"
Jon and Shanks drew their swords almost simultaneously.
"For the North!"
Instantly, five hundred voices roared as one.
"For the North!"
The cry echoed through the sentinel trees and across the snow-covered forest floor.
Garon mounted his horse.
Jon and the others followed immediately.
"I will ride at the front!"
"You need not fear."
"You need not hesitate."
"Simply follow me forward until victory or death!"
His confident voice ignited a fire within every rider.
"I will bring you glory."
"I will bring you victory."
He spurred his horse forward.
Then he pointed his sword toward Winterfell.
"Gentlemen!"
"There are no enemies before us!"
"Charge!"
The next moment, five hundred cavalry burst from the darkness like a bolt of silver lightning.
As they emerged from the Wolfswood, the riders immediately formed a wedge formation.
Garon rode at the tip.
Five hundred warhorses accelerated together.
At first came a trot.
Then a gallop.
Then a full charge.
The earth itself began to tremble beneath their hooves.
There were no battle cries.
Only the thunder of approaching cavalry.
Aeron Damphair, who was still directing the final groups of Ironborn toward the Hunter's Gate, instinctively turned toward the sound.
What he saw nearly stopped his heart.
A torrent of mounted warriors was charging directly toward him from the darkness.
"Cavalry!"
Before he could finish shouting, Garon's vanguard smashed into his formation.
Boom!
The collision was devastating.
Using the momentum of his charging horse, Garon swung his greatsword and effortlessly sent Ironborn flying.
Those thrown aside were immediately trampled beneath the hooves of the riders following behind.
Within moments, the one or two hundred Ironborn serving as Aeron's rear guard were completely shattered.
Even Aeron himself was thrown from his horse by the impact.
Whether he lived or died was unknown.
Yet Garon did not stop.
His eyes remained fixed on the battlefield.
Using the Hunter's Gate as the center point, he led the cavalry in a wide sweeping arc across the open ground toward Winter Town.
In the darkness, the Ironborn could not determine how many horsemen had arrived.
All they saw were riders appearing from every direction.
Any man who stood in Garon's path died beneath his sword.
Those fortunate enough to survive fled in panic.
Exactly as Garon intended.
"The enemy is numerous."
"I am not."
"Never stop moving."
"Never become trapped."
"Keep charging."
"Keep spreading fear."
"Only by breaking their morale can I save Winterfell."
The cavalry thundered across the battlefield, scattering every Ironborn formation they encountered.
As Garon swept past the Hunter's Gate, he noticed immediately that the gate had already fallen.
The Ironborn had breached Winterfell.
His expression hardened.
"Hurry."
"Before Euron reacts."
"We must break them now."
Without slowing, he led the cavalry toward the main gate.
Dagmer Cleftjaw, who had intended to reinforce Euron, saw the cavalry approaching and immediately panicked.
"Retreat!"
Before the order could leave his mouth, Garon swept past him.
One stroke.
Dagmer's head flew from his shoulders.
His body crashed heavily into the snow.
The Ironborn around him were cut down moments later.
Only a handful escaped, fleeing toward the kingsroad like terrified animals.
Garon wheeled his horse around.
Again he charged toward the Hunter's Gate.
"Form ranks!"
"Regroup!"
Several Ironborn captains desperately attempted to organize resistance.
But Garon deliberately targeted every man trying to restore order.
Before formations could take shape, the cavalry shattered them again.
His greatsword rose and fell ceaselessly.
No one could stop him.
"Not enough."
"Still not enough."
"I must completely destroy their will to fight."
As he rode, Garon raised his sword high.
"Tell these sea monsters!"
"Who are we?"
Jon and Shanks answered immediately.
"Glover of the Wolfswood!"
Garon roared again.
"Gods bless Glover!"
Five hundred voices thundered together.
"Gods bless Glover!"
The cry echoed across the battlefield and into Winterfell itself.
Inside the castle, Ser Rodrik, who had already fallen into despair, suddenly felt life return to his eyes.
Using his remaining arm, he pushed himself upright.
Blood spilled from his lips as he laughed.
"Hold the line!"
"Glover has arrived!"
"We're going to win!"
Meanwhile, panic erupted among the Ironborn.
One captain fought his way toward Euron.
"There are cavalry everywhere!"
"They came out of the Wolfswood!"
"They're killing everyone!"
The constant thunder of hooves and screams of fleeing Ironborn shattered the confidence of many warriors.
Several captains turned toward Euron.
"Lord Euron!"
"Deepwood Motte's reinforcements have arrived!"
"What should we do?"
Euron's smile vanished.
His expression darkened.
The sounds outside forced him to think rapidly.
"Winterfell is almost mine."
"If I can seize the Stark children, I can control Winterfell."
"But if the relief force is large enough and I fail to secure them first..."
"They'll tear me apart."
Reason battled ambition within him.
For a moment, Euron considered gambling everything.
Then the panic spreading among the captains poured cold water over his thoughts.
"Captain Euron!"
"We must retreat!"
"If we stay, we'll be surrounded!"
"Asha has likely failed. If we lose here as well, the losses will be catastrophic!"
The captains could not see how many enemies had arrived.
They only heard thunderous hooves and the screams of dying Ironborn.
One by one, they urged retreat.
Some had already begun withdrawing their own crews.
Euron knew the opportunity was gone.
Grinding his teeth, he finally gave the order.
"Retreat!"
"Form ranks outside the gate!"
"Withdraw immediately!"
His perfect plan had been destroyed at the final moment.
Fury and suspicion twisted together inside him.
Before leaving, Euron suddenly snatched an axe from a nearby warrior and hurled it toward Ser Rodrik.
Caught off guard, Rodrik managed to twist his body slightly.
The axe still buried itself deep in his chest.
He groaned in agony.
"Quickly..."
"Raise the gate..."
Moments later, darkness overtook him and he collapsed unconscious.
The remaining guards rushed him to safety and immediately raised the gate behind the retreating Ironborn.
Outside, Euron ignored Winterfell completely.
Instead, he searched the battlefield for the man responsible.
Yet all he saw were fleeing Ironborn.
No massive army appeared.
Only cavalry.
His anger surged.
He had been moments away from victory.
"Women are useless."
"They couldn't even defeat Deepwood Motte."
Just then, Garon launched another charge.
This time Euron reacted quickly.
He ordered his men into a defensive shield circle.
The shields prepared for the siege finally served a purpose.
Seeing the formation, Garon understood that charging directly would only waste lives and cripple horses.
He immediately redirected the cavalry and swept around the edge of the formation.
As the two groups passed one another, Garon and Euron's eyes met briefly across the battlefield.
At that exact moment, something extraordinary happened.
A crimson comet suddenly blazed across the night sky.
Trailing a long tail of fire, it illuminated the darkness in blood-red light.
Euron's eyes widened.
The prophecy returned instantly.
"It's him."
"It must be him."
His face became fanatical.
His eye burned with murderous intent.
For a moment, he nearly ordered every man under his command to kill Garon at any cost.
Yet the screams of fleeing Ironborn and the relentless thunder of cavalry forced him back to reality.
"There will be another day."
"I will take everything that belongs to you."
He stared at the distant cavalry before finally gathering his remaining men and disappearing into the darkness.
Meanwhile, Garon also chose caution.
Unsure what other tricks Euron might possess, he refused to pursue recklessly.
After driving the Ironborn away from Winterfell, he finally halted before the Hunter's Gate.
Soon afterward, Maester Luwin personally arrived at the gate and welcomed him into the castle.
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