CHAPTER 136
The cold winds of the North carried fine snow, lashing against the chainmail of the marching host with a steady metallic rhythm.
Garon rode at the head of the column upon his warhorse. Beside him, the steel gauntlet banner of House Glover snapped loudly in the wind as the Northern army advanced silently along the Kingsroad. Though the soldiers' faces were lined with exhaustion, an even stronger emotion shone through: the pride and honor of warriors returning victorious after a hard fought campaign.
Before long, they reached the force led by Ser Sevon and merged their ranks. Soon afterward, the gray silhouette of Winterfell emerged beneath the overcast sky like an ancient giant watching over the North.
"Winterfell..."
Even Garon felt his heart stir at the sight of the great castle.
After this campaign, his military achievements would rank among the greatest in the North, and his standing among the Northern lords would rise accordingly.
He had delivered the victory House Stark desperately needed.
Now it was only natural that House Stark fulfill what he sought in return.
Sure enough, while they were still nearly half a mile from the gates, a welcoming party rode out from Winterfell.
At its head was a striking figure wrapped in a deep blue velvet cloak trimmed with white fur, standing out vividly against the endless gray and white landscape.
It was Sansa Stark.
Garon lightly pressed his heels against his horse's flanks, urging it forward, while Jon Snow followed closely behind.
As the distance closed, Sansa's appearance became clearer.
She rode a gentle mare with composed posture. Gone was the young girl who had once dreamed of gallant knights and courtly songs. Before him sat the acting Lady of Winterfell.
Her auburn hair was neatly braided and pinned behind her head. She remained beautiful, yet the innocence that had once defined her had given way to quiet composure. Even so, traces of exhaustion and lingering grief remained visible in her eyes.
Behind her rode Maester Luwin, Lord Wyman Manderly, Lady Alysane Mormont, and a company of Winterfell guards.
The two groups met upon the snowy plain.
"Lord Garon."
Sansa spoke first, her voice carrying both joy and a faint reliance she could scarcely conceal.
"Winterfell welcomes you and your brave warriors home. The North will forever remember the blood House Glover and the men of Deepwood Motte shed for our homeland."
Her words were graceful and proper, exactly as befitted the formal welcome offered by the Lady of Winterfell to a victorious bannerman.
Garon dismounted in one smooth motion, stepped beside her horse, and bowed respectfully.
"Lady Sansa, we merely fulfilled the oath sworn by House Glover. For the present, the Ironborn remaining upon Northern soil have been wiped out."
He raised his head, meeting Sansa's gaze.
The two exchanged a quiet smile of mutual understanding.
Only then did Garon look beyond her, greeting the others behind with a respectful nod.
Following the brief welcoming ceremony, the procession continued toward Winterfell.
Garon and Sansa rode side by side ahead of the main host.
"Garon... you weren't wounded, were you?"
Rather than asking about the battles, Sansa's first concern was his safety.
Garon smiled.
"They were only Ironborn. They were never capable of harming me."
Relief immediately spread across Sansa's face.
"That's wonderful."
"Father... and Robb would certainly..."
As thoughts of Eddard Stark surfaced, her voice faltered.
Noticing the change in her expression, Garon gently asked, "While I was away, did any news arrive concerning Lord Eddard or Robb?"
Sansa's eyes reddened as she struggled to hold back tears.
"Father... King Joffrey had him executed."
Garon stiffened in apparent disbelief before sharply pulling on his reins.
"What?"
"Lord Eddard... he..."
Maester Luwin, riding just behind them, noticed Garon's stunned reaction and spoke gently.
"This is not the place. We shall discuss everything once we return to the castle."
Garon let out a long sigh before urging his horse forward once more, leading the victorious host toward Winterfell.
Half an hour later, as the army entered the castle, Winterfell erupted with life.
Cheers echoed from the battlements while the rich aroma of food prepared for the celebration drifted from the kitchens.
After exchanging a few more words with Sansa, Garon left to oversee military matters.
Only after every soldier had been properly quartered did he, accompanied by the grief-stricken Jon Snow, who had only just learned of Lord Eddard's fate, make his way toward the Great Hall.
Meanwhile, Bran Stark, who had not gone to welcome the returning army, remained quietly within the godswood alongside Meera and Jojen Reed.
Summer rested silently beside Bran's chair.
Jojen broke the silence.
"Are you still flying, Bran?"
For a long moment, Bran did not answer.
Then Jojen spoke again, his deep green eyes remaining perfectly calm.
"I dreamed of something else."
"Cold blue eyes awakening within an endless winter."
"They are coming."
Bran's expression darkened.
"Yes... they are drawing closer to the Wall."
Jojen slowly pushed Bran's chair toward the heart tree.
"There is little time left."
"Only the wisdom of the Three Eyed Raven can save this world."
"He is calling you."
"You must journey beyond the Wall and find him before the Long Night truly falls."
Bran remained silent.
He understood exactly whom Jojen meant.
He also understood what such a journey would demand of him.
Jojen offered no further persuasion, simply waiting patiently.
After a long silence, Bran finally reached his decision.
He looked up at the face carved into the ancient weirwood. Though his young face remained pale, determination now filled his eyes.
"I understand."
"I'll go."
Meera stepped forward immediately.
"My brother and I will escort you safely until we reach the Three Eyed Raven's cave."
Bran nodded quietly.
"Let's return."
"The child spoken of in the prophecy has come back."
Jojen said nothing.
Together, he and Meera wheeled Bran toward Winterfell's Great Hall.
Behind them, a single crimson weirwood leaf drifted gently to the ground, as though silently witnessing the choice they had made.
By the time they entered the Great Hall, everyone had already learned the news from Sansa.
"Lord Eddard was falsely condemned for treason and executed by King Joffrey."
"Robb Stark has been proclaimed King in the North at Riverrun."
The shocking news left everyone stunned.
The celebration that should have accompanied victory vanished instantly.
Karstark, Cerwyn, Tallhart, Locke, and the other Northern lords sat silently in their seats, each wearing a different expression.
Jon Snow's eyes were red with grief.
The laughter that had only recently filled the hall had completely disappeared.
Heavy silence settled over everyone.
Only after Garon noticed Bran entering and exchanged a brief nod with him did he finally speak.
"So... King Robb's war still remains at a stalemate?"
Maester Luwin answered in Sansa's place.
"Yes."
"The latest raven reports that King Robb bypassed the Golden Tooth and has begun campaigning through the Westerlands."
"Lady Catelyn has also traveled south to seek an alliance between King Renly and King Stannis."
"If those two brothers unite, the Lannisters can surely be defeated."
Garon sighed quietly.
"If only matters were that simple."
His eyes swept across everyone gathered inside the hall.
"The moment Robb accepted the crown, the North placed itself in opposition to every other claimant to the Iron Throne."
"Unless King Robb one day lays down his crown and bends the knee once more, every other king will regard us as rivals."
"There can be no true alliance."
Though Garon had already learned all of this through the weirwood network, he concealed that knowledge perfectly, instead looking toward Maester Luwin with apparent confusion.
"But why?"
"Why would Robb accept a crown?"
"Doing so only places the North..."
His gaze slowly swept across the assembled lords before he allowed the sentence to trail away unfinished.
Maester Luwin merely lowered his head and shook it helplessly.
Once again, silence descended upon the Great Hall.
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