A gust of northern wind swept through the camp, causing the oil lamp inside the tent to flicker wildly.
The mournful howl of the wind snapped Galon out of his connection with the heart tree.
He rose abruptly and looked around.
In the dim light, he stood still, listening to the wind for a long moment before letting out a slow breath.
Only then did he begin to process what he had just learned.
'Ned is still dead…'
Galon stared at the trembling flame of the lamp and muttered softly.
'So even with my warning, he still failed.'
A complicated expression crossed his face, but he quickly steadied himself and suppressed the emotions rising within him.
'With Ned's death and Robb crowned king, the timeline has reached its most critical point.'
'If nothing changes, Robb will now be trying to bypass the Golden Tooth and continue his advance into the Westerlands.'
'After that… he will be wounded, meet Jeyne Westerling, and everything will lead toward the Red Wedding.'
He paused, then frowned.
'No… the Red Wedding will likely not happen anymore.'
Galon stood from his bed, took the oil lamp from beside the tent entrance, and sat down at the wooden table.
He spread out a map and located Riverrun.
'Now that I have swept through the North and shattered the Ironborn main force…'
'Once Moat Cailin is reclaimed, Robb's line of retreat will be secure.'
'He will not need to rush back through Riverrun. Instead, he can return via the Kingsroad.'
'If that happens, even if he breaks his marriage pact, what could the Freys do to him?'
Galon tapped his fingers rhythmically against the table as he thought through the future.
'Everything is moving too fast.'
'The Iron Islands were supposed to invade only after Robb was crowned king.'
'But Balon attacked the moment Robb marched south, forcing me to act earlier than planned.'
A trace of frustration flickered in his eyes.
Euron's unexpected involvement had caused damage to the North, but it had also given Galon more opportunities to prove himself.
At the same time, it forced him to save the North much earlier than intended.
Now he faced an awkward problem.
If Robb returned safely to the North, all of Galon's achievements would be overshadowed.
Aside from gaining Sansa, he would gain nothing.
Unless he could obtain the Dragon Horn and control a dragon in advance, using it to secure the support of House Stark and the North.
But that would only be a last resort.
'Robb cannot return to the North safely.'
Galon's tapping stopped. His eyes hardened instantly. 'At the very least, he cannot return so soon.'
'But how do I keep him in the Riverlands?'
His gaze moved across the map, scanning the powers in the south.
'The Vale and Dorne remain neutral.'
'The Lannisters are still struggling, being pressed by Robb.'
'The Baratheons are fighting among themselves, though by now Melisandre is likely preparing to deal with Renly.'
'Once Renly dies, the Tyrells will turn fully to the Lannisters, and the balance will shift again…'
Fragments of future knowledge surfaced in his mind as he carefully considered his next move.
'Stannis… Melisandre…'
'If there is anyone in the south who can defeat Robb, it is Stannis. Because he holds Melisandre.'
Galon's gaze shifted toward Dragonstone.
'Ned sent Rickon to Dragonstone before his death. Now Stannis holds him.'
'And Robb has declared himself king... With Stannis's rigid sense of justice, he will never tolerate a non-Baratheon king.'
'The two are destined to clash.'
A spark of realization lit his eyes.
He had found a way to keep Robb in the south.
Stannis was rigid and rule-bound, much like Ned on the surface. But his methods were far harsher.
Ned would never resort to vile means, even in the face of death.
Stannis would.
In the original events, he had even considered sacrificing Edric Storm, simply to gain victory through king's blood.
'If Stannis feels threatened by Robb, he will resort to extreme measures again.'
'He could use Rickon to control Robb… or even go further and eliminate him entirely.'
Galon tapped a finger on Dragonstone. 'And my role is to amplify Robb's threat until Stannis feels fear and pressure.'
'Once he does, he will inevitably turn to Melisandre's magic.'
With that thought, Galon shifted his focus back to the North.
'Next, I must eliminate the remaining Ironborn as quickly as possible. Then use Asha to obtain the Dragon Horn.'
'After that, I march south to aid Robb.'
A faint smile appeared on his lips as his plan took shape.
He continued studying the map, refining every detail.
Only when dawn began to break did he finally rise.
Galon pushed open the tent flap and ordered all officers still at the northern entrance of Bullhorn Mountain to assemble.
When everyone had gathered, he stood before them and pointed at the map.
"My lords."
"Though we achieved victory at Bullhorn Mountain, Euron is still at large, and Ironborn forces remain at Moat Cailin."
"Moat Cailin is the gateway between the North and the south."
"It must be retaken."
He paused briefly, noting the excitement in their expressions.
"Therefore, I have decided to march on Moat Cailin today, destroy the remaining Ironborn, and reclaim it."
"Do any of you object?"
The moment he finished speaking, everyone except Ramsay responded eagerly.
"My lord, just give the order!"
"We will follow you!"
"Where you point, we strike!"
The tent filled with energy.
Galon raised his hand, silencing them.
"Then I will issue the plan."
"I will lead all cavalry ahead to scout Moat Cailin."
"Lord Umber, you will lead the infantry along the Kingsroad and advance steadily."
"As for Lord Ramsay, the Bolton forces have suffered heavy losses. You will oversee the supply train."
He glanced around, seeing no objections, and continued.
"Send a messenger by another route to Torrhen's Square."
"Inform Lord Tallhart that I am marching south to retake Moat Cailin. He is to gather whatever forces he can and intercept any Ironborn fleeing toward the Stony Shore."
Orders were quickly passed along.
The Northern army, having only just recovered from a great victory, was set in motion once more under Galon's command.
As the officers left to prepare, Galon stepped out of the tent and looked south.
The rising sun bathed the valley in golden light.
Watching the busy soldiers, he felt both the weight of responsibility and the clarity of his ambition.
'Retake Moat Cailin. Return to Winterfell. Seize the Dragon Horn.'
'And then... march south.'
A sharp glint flashed in his eyes as he made his decision beneath the morning sun.
__________
Upto 20 chapters ahead on patreon :-
patreon.com/Xorath