Morning.
The mist had yet to disperse.
Galon tightened the reins, and his warhorse snorted clouds of white breath as it came to a halt in the cold air.
Behind him, six hundred Northern cavalry stood like a silent black tide upon the Kingsroad.
After three days of forced marching, a trace of fatigue showed on Galon's face.
But his eyes remained sharp as he stared ahead.
Before him lay a shadow swallowed by swamp and fog.
Moat Cailin.
Yet something was wrong.
There were no signs of alert defenses.
No Ironborn.
Not even the kraken banners that should have marked their rule.
Only an unnatural silence. And carried faintly on the wind was the scent of blood and burnt wood.
"Too quiet…"
Jon Snow rode up beside him, frowning.
"Have the Ironborn abandoned Moat Cailin?"
Galon did not answer.
But his eyes grew colder.
The importance of Moat Cailin could not be overstated.
Even if Victarion had marched north with Euron, it made no sense to abandon it completely.
Something was wrong.
"Send two scouts ahead," Galon ordered.
Two riders immediately obeyed, slipping into the mist like ghosts and disappearing among the broken towers.
The wait was brief.
But when the scouts returned, their expressions were filled with disbelief.
"My lord!"
One of them spoke as though he had seen something unnatural. "There are signs of recent fighting inside the towers."
"We saw dozens of Ironborn corpses. It looks like they were ambushed."
"They've gathered inside the gate tower. About two hundred remain."
The other scout added, "They look terrified. Like they're guarding something… or hiding from something."
Ambushed?
Hiding?
Galon's expression darkened.
'Robb is still in the south. Who would attack the Ironborn here?'
'The Lannisters? Or someone else?'
The uncertainty lasted only a moment.
Then Galon made his decision.
"Advance."
He drew his sword. "No matter what happened, we take it now while they are in chaos."
Hooves thundered as the cavalry surged forward into the mist.
Moments later, the Ironborn inside the gate tower spotted them.
"Northerners!"
"Damn it, why are the Starks here?"
"Where is Lord Victarion?"
"Fuck, run!"
Already on edge, the Ironborn panicked at the sound of the charge.
Not knowing how many enemies approached, they broke almost immediately.
Instead of holding the tower, they fled into the mist, abandoning their position.
But that only sealed their fate.
Out in the open, they became easy prey.
The battle was completely one-sided.
Six hundred Northern cavalry against barely over a hundred shaken Ironborn who had already suffered internal chaos or an ambush.
There was no contest.
Galon's riders tore through them like a blade through butter.
Within moments, the remaining resistance collapsed, and Moat Cailin fell.
The Ironborn were either cut down or forced to surrender. The entire battle ended almost before it began.
Galon stood beneath the gate tower, boots pressing against the damp stone as he surveyed the scene.
Ironborn corpses lay scattered across the ground.
Blood soaked into the moss-covered stones.
His riders searched the area and soon discovered that several longships had been burned.
'Who attacked them?'
The ease of victory, combined with the burnt ships, only deepened Galon's unease.
Then, a disturbance arose among the outer guards.
Galon turned sharply.
Soldiers were pointing their weapons toward the swamp, tense and alert.
From the depths of the Neck, where green mists drifted over hidden traps, a group of figures emerged.
They were smaller in stature.
Fewer in number, perhaps a hundred.
Their clothing was unlike that of the North.
Dark leather, blending seamlessly with the swamp itself.
They carried frog spears and iron-tipped weapons, moving silently like spirits stepping onto the land of Moat Cailin.
At their head were two figures.
A young woman, agile and sharp-eyed, holding a three-pronged frog spear.
Beside her stood a younger boy, slender and quiet, with deep green eyes that seemed to pierce through the mist itself.
They did not look like an army.
They looked like guardians of the swamp.
Northern soldiers moved to surround them, weapons raised. But Galon raised his hand.
"Stand down."
Recognition dawned in his eyes.
"So it was House Reed..."
The young woman stepped forward.
Her gaze passed over the soldiers and settled on Galon.
"In the name of House Reed of Greywater Watch," she said clearly, "are you men of Winterfell?"
Galon nodded and signaled his soldiers to withdraw.
"I am Galon of Deepwood Motte, acting under the command of House Stark to retake Moat Cailin."
He paused before asking,
"Were you the ones who attacked the Ironborn?"
The young woman nodded.
The boy beside her watched Galon silently, his green eyes calm yet heavy with something beyond his years.
"I am Meera Reed," she said.
"And this is my brother, Jojen Reed."
"We were sent by our father, Howland Reed, to support Winterfell. We crossed the swamps and happened upon the Ironborn from behind."
Her explanation was simple, yet it clarified everything.
Galon felt a flicker of surprise.
In another telling, Meera and Jojen had only come to Winterfell for a feast. But now even the crannogmen had taken up arms.
Then again, House Reed had always been fiercely loyal to House Stark.
Especially Howland Reed, who had fought beside Ned Stark at the Tower of Joy and knew secrets few others did.
"The siege of Winterfell has already been lifted," Galon said.
"You have our thanks for your aid."
Meera nodded.
"We heard of the fighting at Deepwood Motte. It seems the North is gathering its strength again."
Before Galon could respond, Jojen spoke.
His voice was soft, yet it carried clearly through the air.
"The young wolf must gather his strength. The winds of winter have begun to rise."
"But the greater cold comes from the south. We must reach Winterfell as soon as possible."
His words sounded almost like a prophecy.
Galon felt a strange unease.
He looked at Jojen's deep green eyes and remembered that the boy possessed the gift of green sight.
'Has he seen something... through the Three-Eyed Crow?'
The thought lingered.
There was no doubt in Galon's mind now. The arrival of House Reed was no coincidence.
"Very well," Galon said decisively.
"House Reed has always been loyal to House Stark. You know the swamps better than anyone."
"I will leave two hundred men here with your people to hold Moat Cailin."
"Lady Meera, does that suit you?"
Meera glanced at her brother.
Jojen answered without hesitation. "It is acceptable. Lord Galon, please assign men to escort us to Winterfell."
His calm certainty only reinforced Galon's suspicions.
"Of course. Give me a moment."
Galon immediately gathered his officers.
After some thought, he left two hundred soldiers from White Harbor behind to hold Moat Cailin alongside the Reed warriors.
Once the arrangements were complete, Galon noticed the fatigue on his men's faces and ordered a short rest.
Meanwhile, far to the west along the Stony Shore, Euron finally arrived with the remnants of his shattered forces.
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