CHAPTER 123
The clamor along the Kingsroad gradually faded away.
In its place came the heavy footsteps of victorious soldiers clearing the battlefield and the agonized groans of the wounded. The air was thick with the smell of blood, so heavy it was almost enough to turn a man's stomach.
As they worked among the corpses and wreckage of battle, the surviving Northmen repeatedly cast fervent glances toward Garon, who stood at the center of the battlefield like the unquestioned hero of the day.
"Lord Garon is truly fearless!"
"He slew the enemy commander with his own hands, and that was Victarion Greyjoy himself, commander of the Iron Fleet!"
"Aye, I thought the Giant Bear Slayer was simply fortunate before, but his swordsmanship is every bit as terrifying as his cunning. No wonder Lady Sansa thinks highly of him!"
"We are lucky Lord Garon was here. Otherwise the Ironborn would have ravaged the North unchecked!"
The soldiers gathered in small groups, whispering among themselves, their faces filled with excitement and admiration that could not be concealed.
Nor were they alone.
The lords and captains from Houses Manderly, Hornwood, and Umber all looked upon Garon differently now.
Before the battle, some of them had regarded him with skepticism because of his youth.
After today, those doubts had completely vanished.
Victarion Greyjoy's severed head had erased every question.
Even Ramsay Snow, the Bastard of Bolton, felt a trace of reluctant admiration.
"Lord Garon, what are your orders?"
Ron Glover, who had fought beside him throughout the battle, approached while breathing heavily and waiting for instructions.
Garon immediately noticed the dried blood covering his clothes and the dust caked across his body.
"How badly are you hurt?" he asked.
Ron glanced at his left arm and laughed excitedly.
"Nothing serious. An axe caught me during the pursuit, but it's only a flesh wound."
Garon nodded.
"See that it is cleaned and bandaged. The last thing we need is an infection."
After a brief pause, he returned his attention to the battlefield.
"Begin counting casualties. Separate our dead from the Ironborn."
His gaze swept across the valley littered with corpses as he continued issuing orders in a calm, steady voice.
"Gather all Ironborn bodies and burn them. We cannot risk disease spreading among the camps."
"As for our own dead, collect them carefully. Record their names and houses. Let their families claim them when possible. If necessary, arrange for them to be returned to their homes for burial."
He paused before adding another instruction.
"Send word to Mihawk. Have him take three hundred men and search for Jon Snow's position. Tell him to proceed carefully."
Ron immediately nodded.
"As you command, my lord."
With that, he turned and hurried away to carry out the orders.
Not long afterward, Daryn, captain of the Hornwood guards, approached as well.
His expression was respectful, almost reverent.
"Lord Garon, what should be done with the captives?"
Garon considered the matter for a moment before replying.
"Disarm them and place them under guard. Once everything here is settled, they will be sent to Winterfell for judgment."
Daryn immediately agreed.
"Understood, my lord."
After a brief hesitation, he continued.
"Should we continue the pursuit? I would gladly lead the vanguard if it pleases your lordship."
The eagerness in his voice was impossible to miss.
Daryn knew very well that today's victory would be remembered throughout the North.
Upon returning to Hornwood lands, Lady Donella Hornwood would undoubtedly reward those who had distinguished themselves in battle.
Since the death of Lord Halys Hornwood and his heir in the south, Lady Donella ruled Hornwood in her own right.
Daryn naturally hoped to earn the favor of his liege lady through further accomplishments.
Garon immediately understood what lay behind the captain's request.
A faint smile appeared on his lips.
"There is no need to rush. The remaining Ironborn are already broken and no longer pose a serious threat. Our own losses are not light, and caution is preferable to recklessness."
He pointed toward the nearby hills.
"Take your men and cut timber from the slopes. Once the Ironborn dead have been gathered together, burn them all."
Disappointment flashed across Daryn's face, but he still bowed obediently.
"As you command."
As Garon watched him depart, another figure surfaced in his thoughts.
Lawrence Snow.
His father's adopted son.
The current situation of House Hornwood was unusually delicate.
Lord Halys Hornwood and his heir had both perished in the fighting in the south. Lady Donella had no children and little hope of producing another heir.
A thoughtful look appeared in Garon's eyes.
It is time to push Lawrence into the position of heir to Hornwood.
As for Captain Daryn, perhaps he can be persuaded.
If he supports Lawrence's succession, much trouble can be avoided.
A faint smile tugged at the corners of his mouth.
Should Lawrence inherit Hornwood, the close bond between them would effectively place House Hornwood within Garon's sphere of influence.
It would grant him a reliable foothold in the eastern North.
More importantly, if House Bolton ever attempted anything suspicious in the future, information could reach him through Hornwood lands long before trouble emerged.
Having settled the matter in his mind, Garon continued moving through the battlefield, ensuring that no unexpected incidents occurred.
Roughly an hour later, the preliminary casualty reports arrived.
The North had lost approximately one thousand men.
More than three-quarters of those casualties belonged to House Bolton.
The losses suffered by the Ironborn were even more devastating.
Victarion Greyjoy's death had shattered their morale entirely.
During the retreat and subsequent pursuit, over fifteen hundred Ironborn had been killed, while roughly two hundred had been captured alive.
The number of fugitives who escaped was estimated to be no more than three or four hundred men.
"My lord, a tremendous victory!"
Ron practically shouted the words, unable to contain his excitement.
"After this battle, the Ironborn no longer possess the strength to threaten the North. We can drive them from our lands whenever we choose!"
Garon smiled faintly.
A strange gleam flashed in his eyes.
"How is Ramsay Snow?"
Ron answered immediately.
"Lord Ramsay received several minor wounds and is resting with the rear guard. He does not appear to be in particularly good spirits."
Garon nodded thoughtfully.
"Only a few hundred of House Bolton's thousand men remain alive. It would be surprising if he were cheerful."
His gaze deepened.
"Still, since the Bastard of Bolton survived, let him live a while longer."
"Now is not the time to deal with him."
After thinking for a moment, he issued another series of orders.
"Have Shanks take a cavalry detachment and ride to Winterfell immediately."
"Report the victory at Ox Horn Mountain to Lady Sansa, Bran Stark, and Maester Luwin."
"Tell them Victarion Greyjoy has been slain, Euron Greyjoy has fled, and the main Ironborn host has been destroyed."
"Our casualties are significant, but morale remains high. A complete report will follow later."
Ron straightened immediately.
"Yes, my lord."
As Ron departed, Garon quietly considered the implications of the victory.
With this triumph, Winterfell's confidence should be completely restored.
My influence throughout the North will only continue to grow.
When turmoil erupts in the south, the North's response will inevitably be shaped by my voice.
A sharp glimmer appeared in his eyes.
For a fleeting moment, he could almost envision himself leading armies south beneath the banners of the direwolf and the wolf's allies.
Still, another matter demanded his attention first.
I must carefully consider how to use Asha Greyjoy to obtain the dragon horn.
As he was lost in thought, a familiar voice suddenly sounded behind him.
"Lord Garon!"
Turning around, he saw Mihawk and Jon Snow approaching with a group of battered soldiers.
Their armor was stained with blood and mud, and nearly every man carried some kind of wound.
A look of relief appeared on Garon's face.
He quickly stepped forward.
"Jon, it is good to see you alive."
Jon offered a bitter smile.
His expression carried a trace of frustration.
"My apologies, Lord Garon."
"I did everything I could, but Euron Crow's Eye still escaped."
Garon placed a reassuring hand on his shoulder.
"You were never ordered to destroy his entire force."
"Your task was to stop Crow's Eye and protect our flank."
"If Euron escaped today, then he escaped. One day we will kill him and settle the debt he owes the North."
Seeing that Jon still seemed disappointed, Garon continued.
"You held back Crow's Eye long enough for us to secure victory. That alone is a tremendous achievement."
"When we return to Winterfell, I will personally recommend you for reward and recognition."
"I am certain Lord Eddard Stark would be proud of your conduct."
At those words, Jon's face reddened beneath the layers of blood and grime.
He suddenly found himself at a loss for words.
Fortunately, the stains covering his cheeks concealed his embarrassment.
Otherwise, Garon would certainly have noticed and teased him for it.
After giving several brief instructions regarding the wounded soldiers, Garon ordered Jon and the others to seek treatment and rest.
Only then did he resume supervising the cleanup of the battlefield.
As evening approached, enormous funeral pyres were erected along the Kingsroad.
Towering flames rose into the sky.
The smell of burning flesh spread throughout Ox Horn Mountain.
When the last of the Ironborn dead had been reduced to ash, Garon finally led his exhausted army toward the northern entrance of Ox Horn Mountain.
The soldiers desperately needed rest.
He decided the host would remain there for several days before marching again.
At the same time, messengers rode out in every direction.
One was sent to Helman Tallhart at Torrhen's Square.
Another was dispatched to Barrowton and the lands of House Dustin.
Their instructions were simple.
Remain alert for scattered Ironborn survivors and prevent them from regrouping.
As for Garon himself, he had already made his decision.
In three days' time, the Northern host would march on Moat Cailin.