CHAPTER 137
The sudden news cast a pall of gloom and tension over the victory feast. Each person was lost in their own thoughts, and no one had the heart to continue celebrating. After only a few drinks, they quietly dispersed.
Jon Snow, unable to conceal his grief, took a wineskin and walked alone toward the godswood. Worried that something might happen to him, Garon quietly instructed one of his men to follow at a distance and keep watch over him.
Bran, who was equally burdened with heavy thoughts, was soon wheeled away by Meera and Jojen Reed.
Only Garon, Sansa, and Maester Luwin remained inside the Great Hall.
Garon's gaze swept across the untouched dishes before finally settling on Sansa as he broke the silence.
"Besides the news about Lord Eddard and King Robb, has any other important news arrived recently?"
His true intention had been to ask whether any word had come from the Iron Islands, but instead Sansa began recounting the information Lord Wyman Manderly had previously brought.
"Earlier, Ser Davos from Dragonstone delivered news about Rickon... and about Joffrey and the others..."
Her expression became slightly unnatural, and she failed to finish the sentence.
Garon had already learned much of this through the weirwood network.
Even so, he feigned surprise.
"How could Rickon be on Dragonstone? Is Arya there as well?"
Sansa gently shook her head.
"I don't know."
Maester Luwin answered in her stead.
"Arya is unlikely to be there. Otherwise Ser Davos would certainly have mentioned her."
Garon remained silent for a moment before speaking.
"It seems Dragonstone intends to use Rickon as leverage to force King Robb to bend the knee."
Maester Luwin nodded.
"That was my conclusion as well. I immediately sent a raven informing King Robb about Rickon's whereabouts. He should receive it soon."
A thoughtful look flashed across Garon's eyes.
"So there is still no word from the Iron Islands."
"It seems the time has not yet come to reveal my plans."
"I'll wait a little longer."
With that thought, he changed the subject and began recounting every detail of the recent campaign to Sansa and Maester Luwin.
As she listened to Garon describe the Battle of Ox Horn Mountain, the carefully laid traps, and the systematic destruction of the scattered Ironborn, Sansa's emotions rose and fell with every turn of the story. Gradually, the grief weighing upon her heart eased ever so slightly.
Only after Garon finished did she notice the exhaustion visible upon his face.
Without another word, she personally led him toward the bathhouse fed by Winterfell's famous hot springs.
Along the way, Garon continued offering gentle words of comfort.
When they reached the entrance, the two embraced almost naturally.
This time, Garon made no improper advances.
He simply held Sansa quietly, allowing her to lean against him as she eased the sorrow buried deep within her heart.
Only after footsteps approached did they reluctantly separate.
Garon entered the bathhouse alone, enjoyed a long soak in the hot springs, then returned to his chambers for a well deserved rest.
The night passed peacefully.
The following morning, he awoke at his usual hour to continue his daily training.
After breakfast, Lord Wyman requested permission to return to White Harbor.
As the acting Lady of Winterfell, Sansa granted his request and instructed Maester Luwin to prepare supplies for the journey.
Soon afterward, the various Northern lords also departed, returning to their own castles with the spoils and provisions gained during the campaign.
Once the warriors from Bear Island had likewise departed, only the thousand men of House Glover remained within Winterfell's walls, making the castle noticeably quieter.
At the request of both Sansa and Maester Luwin, Garon remained behind.
Since the Iron Islands had not yet sued for peace, neither dared lower their guard, believing it best for Garon to stay at Winterfell until the situation became clearer.
Garon was more than willing to remain.
He allowed his soldiers to rest while quietly considering matters of his own.
House Glover had lost more than three hundred men during the war.
Although those casualties were small compared to the magnitude of their victory, Garon still felt genuine regret.
Every one of those men had been carefully trained by his own hand.
Each death permanently reduced the strength he had painstakingly built, and there was currently no practical way to replace them.
"I must find a reliable method to replenish my forces."
"If Deepwood Motte alone continues supplying my armies, several more wars will exhaust every able bodied man under House Glover."
He considered the problem repeatedly but found no immediate solution.
For now, he could only place his hopes upon future opportunities in the south.
Around this time, Maester Luwin sought him out and mentioned the agreement Sansa had reached with Asha Greyjoy. He suggested arranging a meeting so Asha could write a letter urging the Iron Islands to seek peace.
Yet Garon instinctively felt the timing was not yet right.
He intended to leave Asha imprisoned for several more days, allowing frustration to weaken her resolve while he prepared to gather more intelligence about the Iron Islands.
The days passed swiftly.
Taking advantage of the rare peace, Garon spent several days accompanying Sansa throughout Winterfell, helping her gradually emerge from the grief surrounding Lord Eddard's death.
Because of this, Sansa's dependence upon him quietly deepened.
Had she already flowered into womanhood, Garon suspected their relationship might have progressed much further.
Another day passed.
Feeling the time had finally come, Garon decided to visit Asha in the dungeon and obtain the information he needed.
Yet before he even reached the cells, the great warning bell atop Winterfell suddenly rang throughout the castle.
It was the alarm announcing approaching enemies.
"Have the Ironborn returned?"
Garon's expression immediately changed.
Forgetting Asha entirely, he turned at once and hurried toward the battlements.
But what he saw left him completely stunned.
The newcomers were not Ironborn.
Instead, nearly five hundred massive warriors stood outside Winterfell's walls, each wrapped in thick untanned furs. They carried weapons fashioned from obsidian and crude stone, following behind a towering man mounted upon a shaggy unicorn.
The leader looked up toward the battlements.
The moment he spotted Garon and the defenders, delight appeared upon his weathered face.
Speaking the Common Tongue with a thick Skagosi accent, he shouted loudly,
"In the name of the ancient First Men of Skagos!"
"I am Sparte, chief of the Skagosi!"
"I come seeking aid from House Stark, our ancient allies sworn by oath!"
Everyone upon Winterfell's walls stared in bewilderment.
"The Skagosi?"
Garon searched his memory.
From everything he knew, Skagos was the remote island northeast of the North, inhabited by fierce descendants of the First Men who had once rebelled against Winterfell generations ago. Little else was known about them.
His gaze slowly settled upon the unicorn beneath Sparte.
His eyes narrowed thoughtfully.
"Lord Garon, what should we do?"
Jon Snow, equally surprised, looked toward him.
"Should we allow them inside?"
After considering the matter briefly, Garon nodded.
"Go inform Lady Sansa and Maester Luwin."
"I'll bring their representatives to the Great Hall."
Jon immediately nodded before hurrying down from the walls.
Garon then called out to the Skagosi.
"You may send only a few representatives into Winterfell."
"The rest must remain outside the gates."
Sparte hesitated for only a moment before agreeing.
Selecting several trusted warriors, he led the unicorn they had apparently brought as a gift and entered Winterfell.
Standing beneath the gatehouse, Garon carefully observed the Skagosi chief.
Like his followers, Sparte wore nothing but heavy animal skins, looking almost like a wildling from beyond the Wall rather than a bannerman of House Stark. Strange ancient tattoos marked his exposed arms, resembling forgotten runes or tribal totems.
Sparte noticed Garon studying him and immediately returned the stare without yielding.
Yet after only a brief moment, he seemed to sense the tremendous strength hidden beneath Garon's calm demeanor.
The defiance in his expression gradually faded.
Garon finally spoke.
"Come."
"The Starks will receive you in the Great Hall."
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