Rewind time to one hour ago.
While Euron was in Winter Town discussing the night raid, Galon was leading the Deepwood Motte cavalry through the night, finally approaching the exit of the Wolfswood.
Galon acted with characteristic caution, fearing an enemy ambush at the wood's edge.
He signaled his men to slow their pace while sending out mounted scouts under the cover of darkness to reconnoiter.
As expected, the scouts returned with a report: a large crowd was gathered at the edge of the Wolfswood, felling trees.
Galon was startled. He immediately ordered everyone to dismount.
Relying on the pitch-black night and their intimate knowledge of the Wolfswood, he led his men silently toward the northern side of the forest exit.
Hidden behind sentinel trees, the group quietly observed the Ironborn's movements.
"It looks like they are forcing captives to build siege engines. That means Winterfell hasn't fallen yet!" Jon took a quick look, and the heavy stone in his heart finally hit the ground.
However, Shanks, acting as Jon's second-in-command, was not as optimistic.
He looked as far as he could, trying to confirm exactly how many Ironborn there were.
But the night was as dark as ink; he could only judge by the torches lit for woodcutting and the scattered lights toward Winterfell—there were no fewer than a thousand Ironborn.
"Lord Galon," Shanks looked at Galon, speaking gravely. "The enemy has at least a thousand men, and there might be other hidden forces."
"Should we pull back for now?"
Other captains echoed the sentiment.
"Yes, we could wait for Captain Ron's team to arrive before engaging."
"With Winterfell's high walls, the Ironborn can't possibly break in within a few days."
"Exactly, we've ridden day and night to get here. Many of the men are exhausted."
Galon knew the captains had a point.
But just as he was about to speak, his eyes swept toward Winterfell, and he noticed the Ironborn at the forest exit were quietly advancing toward the castle.
Galon's body went rigid.
The others followed his gaze and noticed the Ironborn's movement as well.
"Are they... launching a night raid?" Jon grew tense, instinctively stepping forward to see more clearly.
In his field of vision, a large number of Ironborn extinguished their torches, using the darkness to converge from various directions toward the walls of the Hunter's Gate.
Meanwhile, Winterfell, shrouded in gloom, seemed entirely unaware.
"Dammit, who is guarding the walls?" Jon couldn't help but curse. "How have they not noticed a thing!"
Before he could finish his complaint, the sounds of slaughter drifted faintly from the other side of Winterfell.
"My Lord, the Ironborn have started!" Shanks tightened his grip on his weapon, looking to Galon for instructions. "What should we do?"
Following the great victory a few days prior, Shanks and the others, who already respected Galon, now looked upon him almost as a god.
This time, even Jon didn't rush to offer an opinion, instead fixing his gaze on Galon, waiting for his next command.
Galon watched the shifting Ironborn in the distance.
Recalling the information he had gathered about Winterfell through skinchanging with the Weirwood, he realized the situation was dire.
'Winterfell is undermanned, and the one attacking is the cunning and treacherous Euron. Rodrik alone will likely fail to hold it,' Galon thought to himself.
'I must act. But I only have five hundred riders, and Euron's total strength is unknown.'
'A head-on collision would be suicide. To be safe, I must leverage the advantage of cavalry—divide and conquer the enemy bit by bit!'
Galon's eyes shifted, noting the Ironborn at the forest exit and those still converging on the Hunter's Gate.
His mind was made up.
With a solemn expression, he faced Jon, Shanks, and the men to deliver his pre-battle speech.
"Everyone! The Ironborn are at the gates. The fate of Winterfell's survival will be decided this very moment!"
Galon's gaze swept over the blurred faces of his soldiers. His voice was heavy and powerful, like muffled spring thunder.
"If we lose Winterfell, we will no longer have a place to stand on this land! The North will lose its future entirely!
We must take back Winterfell now!"
Galon suddenly drew the greatsword at his waist and barked, "For the North!"
Jon and Shanks drew their swords in unison the moment Galon finished speaking. "For the North!"
In an instant, the remaining soldiers raised their weapons, their expressions resolute. "For the North!"
The sound shook the surrounding sentinel trees and oaks, causing a few leaves to flutter down onto the unthawed snow.
Galon vaulted onto his horse, followed closely by Jon and the others.
"I shall be the vanguard! Do not fear, do not falter. Simply follow my back and press forward until the end!
I shall bring you victory and glory!"
He pulled the reins, riding to the front of the line, his voice igniting a fire in the soldiers' hearts. "My friends, before us, there are no rivals!"
Galon pointed his greatsword forward and roared, "All units, charge!"
In the next heartbeat, five hundred cavalrymen burst from the darkness like silver lightning tearing through the night.
The moment they cleared the Wolfswood, the cavalry shifted formation.
With Galon as the tip of the arrow, they formed a sharp wedge. Five hundred warhorses accelerated simultaneously.
There were no shouts, only the thunderous, rhythmic pounding of hooves against the earth.
From a trot to a gallop, then to a full-speed charge, the process was as fast as a lightning bolt.
Aeron, who was urging the last group of Ironborn toward the Hunter's Gate, instinctively turned his head at the sound.
In the blackness of the night, a flood of cavalry pressed toward them like a collapsing mountain of snow.
"Cavalry!"
The panicked cry had barely left his lips when Galon's vanguard slammed into Aeron's ranks.
The sound of the collision was terrifying.
Galon swung his longsword, using the kinetic energy of his full-speed gallop to easily toss aside any Ironborn in his path.
Their bodies were trampled into the mud by the following riders before they even hit the ground.
Within moments, the five hundred riders had completely torn through and crushed Aeron's rearguard of nearly two hundred men.
Aeron himself was struck by Galon's horse and sent flying before he could react, his fate unknown.
But Galon had no intention of stopping. His gaze pierced the night.
Using the Hunter's Gate as a pivot, he led the cavalry in a lethal arc across the battlefield, charging toward Winter Town.
The night was deep, and the Ironborn on the road couldn't tell how many riders there were.
Upon the first encounter, they were harvested by Galon's blade. Those few who survived fled toward the rear in terror.
This was exactly what Galon intended.
'The Ironborn have the numbers; I have the speed. No stopping, no prolonged fighting. Maintain high speed and fracture the enemy's formation.'
'Only by making them flee in panic can I save Winterfell!'
Galon led the cavalry back and forth across the fields before Winterfell, scattering the gathering Ironborn.
As they passed the Hunter's Gate, Galon caught a glimpse and noticed it was already occupied. He realized the Ironborn had broken inside.
"Faster! We must deal a heavy blow to the Ironborn before Euron can react!"
A sharp light flashed in Galon's eyes.
He remained unshaken by the fact that Winterfell was on the verge of being lost. He bypassed the Hunter's Gate and led the charge toward the main gate.
Dagmer, who had been conducting the feint, was planning to support Euron at the Hunter's Gate when he suddenly saw the cavalry.
He was scared out of his wits.
"Move—"
Before he could finish his sentence, Galon flashed past him, a single stroke taking his head.
Dagmer's body was tossed by the force, slamming heavily into the ground. His crew, unable to dodge in time, were cut down by the riders following Galon.
Only a small portion of Ironborn escaped, fleeing like headless chickens toward the Kingsroad.
Galon turned his horse, heading back toward the Hunter's Gate once more.
"Form up! Assemble!"
"Quickly!"
An Ironborn captain managed to react, desperately calling for his crew to gather.
But with hooves like thunder and eyes like lightning, Galon charged specifically at those shouting and organizing a defense.
Often, before these groups could even coalesce, they were scattered again by the riders.
Galon's greatsword never stopped swinging as he charged through the chaos as if no one stood in his way.
'Not enough, not yet!'
'I must completely break the morale of the Ironborn at the Hunter's Gate!'
Galon's red eyes flashed. While galloping, he raised his greatsword and gave a thunderous shout.
"Tell these krakens who we are!"
Jon and Shanks, to his left and right, roared in unison: "Glover of the Wolfswood!"
Galon shouted again: "Gods bless Glover!"
The soldiers behind him answered as one: "Gods bless Glover!"
The roar of five hundred knights finally reached inside Winterfell through the wails of the Ironborn.
The despairing Ser Rodrik's eyes suddenly filled with life.
Using his remaining left arm and his greatsword to prop himself up, he coughed up blood but laughed as he encouraged the dozen or so lightly wounded soldiers left.
"Hold on! The Glovers are here! We're going to win!"
Behind Euron, the Ironborn began to panic. One captain near the Hunter's Gate pushed his way to Euron's side, screaming in terror.
"So many... so many... so many riders!"
"They... they came out of the Wolfswood!"
"Lord Aeron... he's been killed by them too!"
Instantly, the Ironborn surrounding Euron began to waver in fear.
Someone couldn't help but ask, "Lord Euron, Deepwood Motte's reinforcements are here! What do we do?"
Euron, who had been grinning with the belief that he controlled the situation, could no longer smile.
His expression was dark as he listened to the vibrations of the galloping horses outside.
'The castle is right here. If I kill these few people, I can take the Starks and control Winterfell.'
'But if the Glover force is large enough, and if I don't find and control the Starks before they break in, they will tear me apart...'
Euron's instinct and logic clashed. He considered taking a mad gamble.
But as he weighed his options, the cowardice of the Ironborn captains acted as a bucket of cold water.
"Captain Euron, we must retreat!"
"If we don't leave now, we'll be surrounded by the Glovers!"
"Asha probably failed. If we lose ourselves here too, the loss is too great..."
The captains didn't know how many enemies had arrived. They only felt the earth shaking and heard the terrified screams of their comrades.
Fearing they were being encircled, they began urging Euron to withdraw. Some had already started leading their crews back.
Euron knew the battle could no longer be won. He gave the order with bitter reluctance.
"Retreat. Everyone form up at the gate and pull out!"
His perfect plan had been shattered at the final moment. Intense fury and suspicion intertwined in his heart.
As a parting shot, the enraged Euron snatched a hand-axe from a nearby Ironborn and hurled it violently at Ser Rodrik.
Caught off guard, Ser Rodrik managed to shift his body slightly, but the axe still buried itself in his chest.
He groaned in pain, forcing out his final command.
"Quickly... raise the portcullis!"
Then his vision went black, and he slumped into unconsciousness.
A dozen soldiers scrambled to move Ser Rodrik aside before quickly raising the portcullis again.
Euron, having retreated to the Hunter's Gate, ignored the castle and scanned the field, trying to identify exactly who had ruined his plans.
But as far as he could see, besides fleeing Ironborn, he saw no massive army.
The fire in Euron's heart flared. So close, he had been so close to taking Winterfell.
"Women are useless. She couldn't even beat a pittance of Glovers!"
While Euron cursed, Galon noticed the retreat and realized his plan had worked.
He immediately led the cavalry in another charge.
But Euron reacted quickly. He ordered his men into a circular formation, shields facing outward.
The shields the Ironborn had carried for the siege finally served a purpose.
Seeing the shield wall, Galon realized that charging further would only injure the horses.
He skillfully turned his mount, leading the cavalry along the flank of Euron's formation.
In the moment the two groups crossed paths, Galon and Euron's gazes met briefly in the air.
As if to mark the moment, a crimson comet suddenly streaked into view across the deep night sky, dragging a long trail of fire.
Brilliant red light slashed across the heavens.
Euron looked up at the red comet, and a prophecy he had heard the day before thundered through his mind.
'It's him! It must be him!'
Euron's expression went wild, his right eye gleaming with murderous intent. He instinctively wanted to command his men to destroy Galon right then and there.
But the vibration of the cavalry and the shrieks of his retreating men forced a shred of logic back into his mind.
'There will be other days. I will take everything that is yours for my own!'
He stared fixedly at the blurred figures of the departing cavalry, before gathering his remaining men and slowly vanishing into the darkness.
Galon, fearing Euron might have another trick up his sleeve, did not pursue.
After scattering the Ironborn near the castle, he brought his team to a halt before the Hunter's Gate.
A short while later, Maester Luwin, having received word, came to the gate personally to welcome him into the castle.
__________
Upto 20 chapters ahead on patreon :-
patreon.com/Xorath