Winterfell passed the night without incident.
Galon, however, had not slept at all.
He spent the entire night patrolling the freezing battlements, encouraging the weary defenders and keeping watch for any renewed Ironborn assault.
At dawn, Maester Luwin hurried to find him, his face filled with grief.
"Lord Galon... Ser Rodrik is dying. He wishes to see you one last time."
Galon's heart sank.
Though he had not stayed long at Winterfell, he had grown quite fond of the hearty old knight.
Before the king's visit to Winterfell, the two had often sparred together in the mornings. Galon admired Ser Rodrik's character deeply.
Hearing the news, he immediately set aside his duties.
"Maester Luwin, take me to him."
The two hurried down from the wall and entered a chamber within the main keep that had been turned into a temporary infirmary.
The moment Galon stepped inside, the heavy smell of herbs and blood struck him.
Ser Rodrik lay on the bed, wrapped in blood-soaked bandages. His face was pale as paper.
The fighting at the Hunter's Gate the previous night had cost him dearly. His right arm had been severed, and a hand axe had split his chest.
Despite Maester Luwin's desperate efforts, the old knight could not be saved.
Galon's face darkened as he glanced around the room.
Ser Rodrik's daughter, Beth Cassel, sat beside the bed, quietly sobbing. Sansa stood behind her, her own expression heavy with sorrow.
When Ser Rodrik saw Galon enter, a faint spark of light flickered in his clouded eyes.
"Ga… lon…"
His voice rasped like a broken bellows.
Galon stepped forward quickly. Beth moved aside, and he knelt beside the bed, taking the old knight's remaining hand.
"Ser Rodrik, I am here."
The knight gripped his hand with surprising strength, staring at him with fierce determination.
"Winterfell… the Starks… I entrust them to you…"
"Galon… promise me… you must hold it… until the lord and Robb return…"
His life was already burning out. Every word cost him immense effort, his chest heaving with each breath.
Galon knew what the old knight truly meant. With the last of his strength, Ser Rodrik was begging him to protect Sansa and Bran.
Galon drew a deep breath and met his gaze solemnly.
"I swear upon the name and honor of House Glover. So long as I still stand, Winterfell will never fall into enemy hands again."
"I will defend it with my life until House Stark returns."
Relief washed over Ser Rodrik's face. His tense body finally relaxed, and the last trace of worry faded from his eyes.
He struggled to turn his head toward his daughter. It seemed as if he wished to give her a comforting smile, but his strength failed him. His arm fell limp.
A loyal master-at-arms of House Stark passed away at last.
"Father… Father!"
"Wake up… please wake up…"
Beth threw herself onto the body, sobbing uncontrollably.
Sansa's tears flowed as well. Everyone present shared the same grief.
Galon sighed softly and rose to his feet. He lowered his head in silent respect for a moment.
Then he spoke to Sansa and Maester Luwin.
"Ser Rodrik served House Stark faithfully for many years. He was loyal and dutiful. Now that he has fallen in service, his funeral must be arranged with proper honor."
Maester Luwin nodded solemnly.
He had worked with Ser Rodrik for many years and would never neglect his old friend's final rites.
Galon looked once more at the knight's body and sighed inwardly.
He began considering who should remain in Winterfell.
He still had to organize forces to sweep the remaining Ironborn from the North. The castle would need someone trustworthy to command it.
Otherwise, if something like the original disaster happened and Winterfell fell to the Bastard of the Dreadfort, it would bring endless trouble.
Originally he had hoped Ser Rodrik would remain behind. But now that was impossible.
After much thought, he concluded that Jon seemed the most suitable candidate.
The only issue was that Jon might not be willing to remain behind at Winterfell.
"I will decide after Ron arrives," Galon thought.
Just as he reached this conclusion, a commotion erupted outside the room.
Galon frowned.
He exchanged a glance with Maester Luwin, and the two stepped out together.
Outside, a boy around Robb's age was arguing loudly with the guards from Deepwood Motte.
"That is the Cerwyn heir," Luwin murmured unhappily.
His old friend had just died, and yet this boy had chosen this moment to cause a disturbance. Still, mindful of the boy's status, he forced himself to remain calm.
"Clay, what are you doing?"
Clay Cerwyn brightened immediately when he saw the maester.
"Maester Luwin, I heard the Glover reinforcements have arrived. Please send them to retake the Cerwyn Castle."
The previous night he and his sister had been hidden away by the maester during the attack. With everything that had happened, Luwin had forgotten to send for them afterward.
Only that morning had Clay learned that Galon had driven off Euron. After a quick discussion with his sister, he had rushed over.
He hoped the Starks would send Galon to help reclaim his home.
Maester Luwin looked troubled and instinctively glanced at Galon.
Galon asked, "This is the son of lord Medger Cerwyn ?"
Luwin nodded and introduced the two men.
Clay stared at Galon in awe as he realized that the tall warrior before him was the man who had saved Winterfell the previous night.
"Lord Glover, please send your troops to retake the Cerwyn Castle," Clay pleaded. "That bastard Euron burned my home. I will make him pay with blood."
His eyes burned with fury.
In truth, Galon already intended to retake the castle. Its location was too important. It lay only half a day's ride from Winterfell.
If the Ironborn gathered there, Winterfell would always be under threat.
"I promise you," Galon said calmly, "Cerwyn Castle will be reclaimed."
"But not yet. We must prepare."
"Prepare for what?" Clay demanded. "Every moment we delay is another moment the Ironborn destroy my home."
Galon shook his head patiently.
"I rode ahead with cavalry because I feared for Winterfell. Although I drove off the Crow's Eye last night, his forces may still be largely intact.
I will first clear the battlefield and confirm the Ironborn situation."
Clay was stunned that Galon had dared ride to Winterfell with only a small force.
"My infantry will arrive tonight at the earliest, tomorrow at the latest," Galon continued.
"Until then, you may remain in Winterfell."
Clay finally nodded.
Seeing the boy calm down, Galon turned back to Maester Luwin to discuss the funeral arrangements for Ser Rodrik.
Given the urgency of the war, the ceremony would be simple but dignified.
Once everything was arranged, Galon wasted no time resting.
He led men outside the walls to inspect the battlefield and assess the results of the previous night's fighting.
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