CHAPTER 126
A cold northern wind swept across the camp, causing the oil lamp inside the command tent to sway violently.
The mournful whistling instantly pulled Garon's consciousness away from the weirwood network.
His eyes snapped open.
Rising from his seat, he quietly surveyed the tent.
For a long moment, he listened to the wind rattling against the canvas walls before finally letting out a soft sigh.
Only then did he begin sorting through the information he had just learned through the heart tree.
"Ned Stark is still dead."
The flickering lamplight danced across his face as he murmured quietly to himself.
"So even with my warning, he couldn't escape his fate."
A complicated expression flashed through his eyes.
After a moment, he took a deep breath and suppressed the emotions stirring within him.
"Ned's death and Robb's coronation mean the timeline has reached one of the most critical turning points."
"If events continue as they did before, Robb should now be pressing deeper into the Westerlands after bypassing the Golden Tooth."
"He'll eventually be wounded, meet Jeyne Westerling at the Crag, and the chain of events leading to the Red Wedding will begin."
Then he suddenly shook his head.
"No."
"The Red Wedding will be far more difficult to arrange this time."
Frowning slightly, Garon rose from his camp bed.
He picked up the oil lamp hanging near the entrance of the tent and carried it over to the wooden table.
After setting it down, he unfolded a detailed map of Westeros and quickly located the Twins.
His gaze lingered there.
"Now the situation is different."
"The North has already been secured."
"The Ironborn invasion has effectively been broken."
"Once Moat Cailin is reclaimed, Robb's route home will no longer be threatened."
"He won't need to rush back through the Neck and the Twins."
"He can simply return by way of the Kingsroad."
A faint smile appeared on his face.
"If that happens, even if he breaks his marriage pact with House Frey, what exactly can Walder Frey do about it?"
His fingers began tapping rhythmically against the tabletop as countless possibilities flowed through his mind.
Everything had happened too quickly.
Far more quickly than he had expected.
"In the original sequence of events, Balon Greyjoy launched his invasion after Robb had already been crowned King in the North."
"But this time he struck almost immediately after Robb marched south."
"The entire timeline shifted forward."
A trace of frustration flashed across Garon's face.
Euron Greyjoy's unexpected appearance had brought both opportunities and complications.
On one hand, it had allowed Garon to distinguish himself far earlier than expected.
On the other hand, it had accelerated every subsequent event.
Now he faced a difficult reality.
If Robb returned safely to the North and resumed direct control over Winterfell, much of Garon's influence would inevitably diminish.
His accomplishments would still be respected.
His standing would still rise.
And he would almost certainly secure his marriage to Sansa.
But beyond that, he would gain very little.
Unless he could obtain the dragon horn, master dragons, and use that overwhelming power to secure the support of House Stark and the North.
But in Garon's eyes, that was the least desirable option.
"Robb cannot return north too quickly."
His tapping finger suddenly stopped.
A sharp glint appeared in his eyes.
"At the very least, he must remain in the Riverlands long enough for me to consolidate everything."
"But how do I keep him there?"
His gaze swept across the various kingdoms displayed on the map.
"The Vale remains neutral."
"Dorne remains neutral."
"The Westerlands are still suffering from Robb's campaigns."
"Meanwhile the Baratheons are divided against one another."
His thoughts quickly moved to Storm's End.
"Judging by the timing, Melisandre should soon act against Renly."
"Once Renly dies, House Tyrell will most likely align itself with the Iron Throne."
"And the balance of power will begin shifting again."
Garon slowly reviewed every piece of information he remembered.
Then his thoughts settled on a single name.
"Stannis Baratheon."
"And Melisandre."
A thoughtful look crossed his face.
"If there is anyone currently capable of consistently threatening Robb's position, it is Stannis."
"Not because of numbers."
"Because of Melisandre."
His finger moved across the map and rested upon Dragonstone.
Then he recalled what he had learned through the heart tree.
"Rickon Stark is currently on Dragonstone."
"Robb has been crowned King in the North."
"Given Stannis's character, he will never willingly acknowledge another king."
"Their conflict is inevitable."
A new possibility gradually formed in Garon's mind.
Stannis and Ned Stark shared certain similarities.
Both valued duty.
Both were rigid.
Both believed strongly in law and obligation.
Yet there was a crucial difference.
Ned Stark would never sacrifice innocent lives for personal gain.
Stannis could.
If he believed the outcome justified the cost.
Garon remembered how, in another timeline, Stannis had nearly sacrificed Edric Storm after listening to Melisandre's counsel.
The desire for victory had nearly pushed him beyond the limits of morality.
"If Stannis begins viewing Robb as a major threat..."
"He may once again turn to Melisandre's methods."
"He could attempt to use Rickon as leverage."
"Or even go further."
His finger rested firmly on Dragonstone.
A dangerous thought formed in his mind.
"What I need is to ensure Robb continues appearing strong enough to threaten Stannis."
"The greater the threat Robb represents, the more likely Stannis will resort to desperate measures."
"And desperate men make desperate decisions."
The corners of Garon's lips slowly curved upward.
Then his attention shifted back toward the North.
"But before any of that matters, I need to finish my work here."
"The remaining Ironborn must be destroyed."
"Moat Cailin must be reclaimed."
"Asha must help me secure the dragon horn."
"Only then can I march south."
By now, the outline of his future plans had become much clearer.
He continued studying the map for several more hours, refining every detail and examining every possibility.
Eventually dawn arrived.
The first rays of sunlight filtered through the tent entrance.
Garon rolled up the map and pushed aside the flap.
Outside, he immediately ordered messengers to summon every major commander still stationed at Ox Horn Mountain.
Not long afterward, the officers gathered inside the command tent.
Once everyone had arrived, Garon stepped forward and pointed toward the map.
"Gentlemen."
"Although we achieved victory at Ox Horn Mountain, Euron Crow's Eye remains at large."
"And the Ironborn still hold Moat Cailin."
His finger tapped firmly against the fortress.
"Moat Cailin is the gateway between the North and the South."
"We cannot allow it to remain in enemy hands."
The assembled lords and captains nodded eagerly.
Seeing their enthusiasm, Garon continued.
"Therefore, I have decided that we march immediately."
"We will retake Moat Cailin."
"We will destroy the remaining Ironborn forces."
"We will reclaim every inch of Northern soil."
The response was immediate.
"My lord, just give the order!"
"We are ready!"
"Wherever you lead, we will follow!"
The atmosphere inside the tent instantly became animated.
Garon smiled and raised a hand for silence.
"Very well."
"In that case, I will explain the deployment."
He looked down at the map.
"I will personally lead the cavalry ahead to scout Moat Cailin and assess the enemy's condition."
"Greatjon Umber, you will command the infantry and advance south along the Kingsroad."
Then his gaze shifted toward Ramsay Snow.
"Lord Ramsay."
"House Bolton has suffered significant losses."
"I will leave responsibility for protecting the supply train to you."
Ramsay's expression remained unreadable, but he offered no objection.
Garon continued.
"Send riders to Torrhen's Square."
"Inform Ser Helman Tallhart that we are advancing on Moat Cailin."
"Have him gather as many men as possible to intercept Ironborn fugitives fleeing toward the Stony Shore."
The remaining commanders received their instructions in turn.
Soon the entire camp burst into motion.
Orders spread rapidly.
Soldiers packed equipment.
Horses were saddled.
Supply wagons were organized.
The Northern host, having barely rested after one great victory, once again began preparing for war under Garon's command.
After the meeting ended and the officers dispersed, Garon stepped outside alone.
His gaze drifted southward.
The rising sun painted the valley in brilliant shades of gold.
Countless soldiers moved through the camp below, preparing for the next campaign.
Watching them, Garon felt both the weight of responsibility and the certainty of purpose.
The path ahead had become clear.
Retake Moat Cailin.
Return to Winterfell.
Secure the dragon horn.
Then march south.
A sharp light flashed in his eyes.
Facing the morning sun, he silently reaffirmed his resolve.
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