Winterfell, the Hunter's Gate.
Maester Luwin came personally to the gate, his aged face filled with relief and deep exhaustion after surviving disaster.
"Lord Galon…"
"Thank the gods, you have finally arrived!"
His voice trembled, his eyes still haunted by fear.
"So close… so very close!"
"If Winterfell had fallen, how could I ever face Lord Stark again?"
Seeing the maester so shaken, Galon quickly dismounted.
He was spattered head to toe in dried blood, and fatigue from days of forced marches lingered in his brow.
Yet he paid no mind to his own condition. He steadied Luwin with calm words and immediately asked about the situation inside the castle.
"Maester Luwin, who commands the defense of Winterfell now?"
"And what are our casualties?"
The maester's expression darkened.
"Ser Rodrik has been commanding… but he has suffered grievous wounds and fallen unconscious."
"As for the losses, we have not yet had time to tally them."
Galon's face tightened.
"How grave are Ser Rodrik's injuries?"
Luwin shook his head.
"I have done what I could, but whether he survives now rests with the gods."
Galon frowned. Ser Rodrik's condition left no one fully informed about the defenses.
After a brief silence, he asked, "If the knight is incapacitated, who oversees the walls?"
"For now, it must be you," Luwin answered solemnly. "Lord Galon, come inside. Lady Sansa and Bran are waiting in the hall."
At the mention that command would fall to him, Galon inclined his head.
Before entering, he glanced once more at the dark plain beyond the walls.
Only when he was certain no Ironborn sounds lingered did he lead his cavalry into Winterfell. The remaining Stark soldiers quickly lowered the portcullis behind them.
After a few steps, Galon said quietly to Luwin, "To prevent another night assault, I will deploy the defenses first. I will see Lady Sansa and Bran afterward."
Luwin nodded in agreement.
"I will summon the remaining guards. They are yours to command."
The lightly wounded soldiers gathered what men they could from the gates and towers.
When counted, only a little over eighty defenders remained alive within Winterfell, nearly half bearing minor injuries.
Galon considered briefly, then mixed his five hundred riders with Winterfell's garrison, stationing them in shifts at the four gates.
"Men," he called out, "the Ironborn have just withdrawn. To protect Winterfell, I ask you to endure one more night."
"When this is done, I will petition Lord Stark to reward you well."
He bolstered morale even as he issued crisp orders.
"Shanks, half the men rest, half take over the walls. Reinforce all damaged sections, especially the Hunter's Gate."
"After I see Lady Sansa, I will personally inspect every battlement."
His commands flowed in steady succession.
Only when all arrangements were complete did he take Jon and Shanks and follow Maester Luwin toward the Great Hall.
Outside the hall, Sansa had long been waiting.
For her, this night had been an unbearable storm of terror and hope.
The Ironborn night assault had shaken her deeply.
When Maester Luwin escorted her and Bran toward the crypts, she had heard the Ironborn shouting that the castle had fallen.
Her face had gone white. Were it not for the presence of others, she might have broken into tears.
Then, from beyond the walls, she heard the cry of "Glover!" rise into the night. Hope had surged through her like fire.
At that moment, she had prayed only one thing to the old gods: let Galon win.
And the gods had answered.
When she saw him now, standing whole and alive before her, she could no longer restrain her emotions.
"Galon!"
She nearly ran to him, lifting her skirts without thought for decorum. Her voice trembled.
"You finally… you finally came. I knew you would. I knew you would not fail us."
Her eyes were filled with reliance and gratitude. In that instant, she felt a profound sense of safety.
Galon saw the flush of emotion on her face, and the hardness left his battle-worn gaze.
"I am sorry, Sansa. I came too late and frightened you. But from this moment on, I promise you, Winterfell will be safe."
His reassurance restored her smile.
She sniffed softly, about to speak, when he added, "Sansa, Jon is here as well."
Only then did she notice Jon behind him, also covered in blood.
Jon smiled gently. "Sansa, it has been a long time. Where is Bran?"
A wave of warmth rose in her chest.
Even though Jon had once been a brother she kept at arm's length, blood ties overcame old distance.
Her eyes shone with tears. "Jon, I am so glad you are safe. Bran is inside. Come."
She ushered them into the hall.
The moment Jon entered, he saw Bran seated in a chair, watching the doorway.
"Bran! It is a miracle you are awake!"
Jon hurried to him, clasping his hand and speaking excitedly of his recent days. It was his first time seeing Bran after his fall from the tower.
Bran, pale yet smiling, listened calmly. His gaze carried a depth beyond his years.
When Galon's eyes met his, Bran gave a faint nod, as if to say, I knew you would come.
Even as Jon spoke, Bran's thoughts drifted elsewhere.
In the endless green dreams, he had learned to fly under the guidance of the three-eyed crow. From those visions had come a prophecy about Galon.
When the cold star bleeds, the song of ice and fire shall rise anew.
In the clash of wolf and lion, the kraken will ride the waves. The child of the old gods shall answer the call and turn the tide.
The rest of the prophecy was hazy now, fading like mist.
"The child of the old gods… Glover…" Bran murmured inwardly.
Unaware of Bran's thoughts, Galon listened as Maester Luwin spoke again. "My lord, how fares Deepwood Motte?"
"There is no danger there," Galon replied evenly. "Three days ago, Asha Greyjoy led seventeen hundred men into the Wolfswood.
They were annihilated. A little over a hundred escaped. They are no longer a threat."
Luwin gasped. "Seventeen hundred, destroyed? How?"
"A small stratagem," Galon answered with a faint smile.
He explained briefly that after receiving Winterfell's call for aid, he had been delayed dealing with Asha and prisoners before riding ahead with five hundred cavalry.
"The remaining infantry follow under my officer Ron. They should arrive by tomorrow evening at the latest."
"Prisoners?" Luwin seized on the word, eyes widening. "Do you mean… you captured Asha Greyjoy herself?"
Galon nodded.
"She is held securely at Deepwood Motte."
Luwin's face lit with sudden hope.
"This is a gift from the gods! Balon Greyjoy may be mad, but he will not ignore the life of his only daughter."
"We could trade her for peace. Force the Iron Islands to withdraw, perhaps even demand Moat Cailin returned. The North's crisis may yet be resolved!"
Galon did not share the same enthusiasm.
"Maester," he said quietly, "Balon is far away. Euron is near. And I suspect he would not mourn Asha's disappearance. He stands next in line."
Luwin's optimism dimmed.
Galon did not press the point.
"Our priority is restoring Winterfell's defenses. Organize the wounded. Assess the damage."
When Luwin nodded, Galon turned to Sansa and Bran.
"It grows late. Jon, escort Sansa and Bran to their chambers. Guard them well."
There was concern in his tone, but also authority.
Sansa obeyed, though she cast Galon one lingering look before leaving. Bran was carried away by Jon.
"Shanks," Galon said, "with me. We inspect the walls."
He watched until they disappeared, then strode out into the night.
He had to assess the losses, restore morale, and prepare for the inevitable return of the Crow's Eye, Euron Greyjoy.
Above him, the red comet burned fiercely in the sky.
Galon could not shake the feeling that its presence heralded far greater storms yet to come.
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