Thirty kilometers northwest of Ramshead Hill lay a shallow river crossing.
This ford was still several days away from Hornwood, but it was only half a day's ride from Winterfell.
Ramsay Snow, thick-bodied and broad-faced, urged his soldiers to hurry across the river.
Mounted on horseback, he looked toward the direction of Winterfell with a malicious smile on his face.
Things had unfolded differently from the canon.
When war broke out between lion and wolf, the Iron Islands did not remain neutral. Instead, three separate armies struck the North.
Because of this, Winterfell never held its harvest feast.
Lady Hornwood never traveled to Winterfell either. She remained in Hornwood Castle, mourning the deaths of her husband and son, both slain while marching south to war.
As a result, the fate she once suffered—being abducted by Ramsay, forced into marriage, and eventually starved to death—never occurred.
But Ramsay had still set his sights on Hornwood.
The moment he heard that Lord Hornwood and his heir had both died in battle, he immediately realized that Hornwood, now without a man to lead it, was nothing more than meat waiting to be devoured.
Ramsay's heart stirred at once.
Eager to prove to his father, Roose Bolton, that he was a true Bolton, Ramsay decided he would seize Hornwood and present it as a gift.
So when Winterfell sent ravens calling for aid, Ramsay was already marching his forces toward Hornwood.
But events soon changed in ways he had not anticipated.
Halfway through his march, Ramsay received several pieces of news that delighted him even more.
Moat Cailin had fallen to the Iron Islands. Torrhen's Square had been taken.
Winterfell was calling for help.
The clever Bastard of Bolton quickly realized what this likely meant.
Winterfell might not be able to defend itself.
Soon enough, reports arrived that Euron had begun slaughtering people around Cerwyn Castle. Winterfell had sent no army to fight him.
That confirmed Ramsay's suspicion completely.
"Winterfell must be little more than an empty shell," he thought. "If the Ironborn are going to take it anyway, I might as well seize the Starks first."
"What is Hornwood compared to Winterfell?"
"If I marry a Stark, the entire North will belong to House Bolton. Father will be very pleased."
Ramsay immediately changed the direction of his march.
While sending word to his father, he crossed the White Knife and began riding toward Winterfell.
Along the road, Ramsay turned his head toward his servant. "Reek, how do you think I should win the heart of a Stark girl?"
Reek grinned wickedly.
"With your 'weapon,' of course."
Ramsay burst into laughter. "You're right. Even the so-called Bear Slayer couldn't compete with this."
"And there's been no news from Deepwood Motte. I'd wager they're struggling just to stay alive."
"I wonder which is stronger, the Bear Slayer... or my dogs."
Reek chuckled and made a suggestion.
"Once we take Winterfell, we could capture him and make him fight your dogs. Then we'll see which is stronger."
Ramsay's mood improved even further.
"Yes. And we'll let the Stark girl be the judge. Watching her fiancé torn apart by dogs should make her very happy."
Both men laughed.
After crossing the river, Ramsay wasted no time pushing his army forward toward Winterfell.
He feared that if he moved too slowly, the Ironborn might seize the prize first.
Within half a day they reached Winter Town.
But Ramsay halted there.
Looking across the fields, he noticed the scattered corpses of Ironborn. Someone had clearly come to Winterfell's rescue.
"Who could it be?"
"Who dares ruin my plans?"
He cursed angrily.
But as Ramsay looked at the damaged walls of Winterfell and the sparse defenders along the battlements, greed and cruelty flickered in his eyes.
After a moment of thought, he sent several men forward to test the situation.
They approached Winterfell claiming to be reinforcements, hoping to trick the garrison into opening the gates.
No matter what they said, however, Jon refused.
Following Galon's strict orders, he would not open the gates under any circumstances.
While Ramsay was still considering his next move, the ground suddenly began to tremble.
A disciplined army appeared on the horizon.
The red banner bearing the silver steel fist of House Glover snapped in the wind.
Galon rode at the front.
His cold gaze immediately noticed the Bolton soldiers gathered near Winter Town and the infamous bastard among them.
'Ramsay Snow... the Bastard of Bolton has arrived after all.'
'Excellent cannon fodder.'
A faint smile appeared at the corner of his mouth as he led his army forward.
"Glover?" Ramsay muttered as the approaching army drew closer.
His expression changed several times.
Although the enemy army was slightly smaller than his own, the Glover soldiers marched in perfect formation.
Their steps were synchronized. Their ranks were orderly.
The men's faces carried fierce determination, as if any enemy who dared face them would be crushed without hesitation.
They advanced in silence.
Yet the oppressive pressure they exuded was far greater than any shouting army.
In contrast, the soldiers of the Dreadfort muttered uneasily among themselves, clearly shaken by the intimidating presence of Galon's force.
Ramsay's eyes quickly filled with caution and calculation.
'In a battlefield fight, I would lose to him... But who says victory must be decided on the battlefield?'
A thin, unsettling smile crept across his face. He rode forward to greet Galon.
"May I ask if you are Lord Galon?"
"I am Ramsay of the Dreadfort, son of Lord Bolton."
Galon pulled his horse to a stop.
His cold gaze swept across Ramsay and the soldiers behind him before returning to the bastard himself.
He said nothing at first. But the authority in his eyes seemed to see straight into Ramsay's dark heart.
Ramsay suddenly felt uneasy.
The air seemed frozen.
At last, Galon spoke in a calm yet meaningful tone. "You arrived very quickly. House Bolton truly is loyal."
Ramsay's eyes flickered as he responded smoothly.
"Of course. When I heard that the Ironborn were ravaging the North, I rode day and night to bring aid."
"Seeing Winterfell still standing is truly a blessing from the gods."
His words flowed easily, as if he were a faithful ally who had come to help.
But Galon nearly laughed inwardly.
"House Bolton has shown admirable concern," Galon replied evenly. "I have been entrusted by House Stark to command the defenses of Winterfell."
He paused before continuing.
"The castle is quite crowded at the moment. I suggest that your men establish camp in Winter Town for now."
"Once your camp is settled, you may accompany me into Winterfell to meet Lord Stark. How does that sound?"
With a single sentence, Galon calmly kept Bolton's thousand soldiers outside the walls of Winterfell, cutting off Ramsay's chance to enter the castle.
Ramsay's eye twitched slightly.
But the smile on his face remained unchanged.
"That is perfectly reasonable."
"My men will camp outside and await your orders, Lord Galon. Together we will protect Lord Stark and the North."
He emphasized the words "Lord Stark" slightly, as if reminding Galon who the true authority was.
Galon narrowed his eyes but said nothing more.
He simply nodded and led his army past the Bolton camp, marching straight back toward Winterfell.
Jon, watching from the battlements, immediately ordered the gates opened. Galon's army passed through and returned to the castle.
Ramsay stared at Galon's departing back.
The smile slowly faded from his face. In its place appeared a cold, serpent-like expression.
He licked his thick lips, his eyes glinting with dangerous patience.
'It doesn't matter.'
'The first to win isn't always the true winner... The last one standing is.'
After muttering this quietly, Ramsay turned away and began setting up his camp in Winter Town.
After all, he would soon have the chance to meet Lord Stark.
Meanwhile, inside Winterfell, Galon had already found Sansa and Maester Luwin.
Together, they began discussing the matter of commanding the armies of the North.
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