The cold winds of the North carried fine flakes of snow, striking against the soldiers' armor with dull, steady sounds.
Galon rode at the front of the column.
Behind him, the steel fist banners of Deepwood Motte flew side by side, snapping loudly in the wind.
The army marched in silence along the Kingsroad.
Fatigue was visible on the soldiers' faces, but even stronger was the hardened resolve and pride of warriors who had survived brutal battles and returned victorious.
Before long, they would reach Winterfell.
Soon after joining with the forces from Cerwyn, the gray silhouette of Winterfell rose into view like a silent giant beneath the dim sky.
"Winterfell…"
Even Galon felt a stir in his heart at the sight of the castle.
After this battle, his achievements would win over most of the North, and his status would rise significantly.
He had brought House Stark the victory it needed.
In return, House Stark should give him what he wanted.
Sure enough, when they were still half a mile from the gates, a group of riders came out to meet them.
At the front was a striking figure.
A deep blue velvet cloak trimmed with white fur stood out vividly against the pale, snowy world.
It was Sansa.
Galon lightly pressed his heels against his horse and quickened his pace, with Jon following closely behind.
As the distance closed, Sansa's appearance became clearer.
She rode a gentle mare, her posture upright and composed. She was no longer the girl who dreamed of knights and songs, but the acting ruler of Winterfell.
Her auburn hair was neatly braided and pinned behind her head.
Her face remained beautiful, but the childish softness had faded, replaced by calm authority and quiet determination.
Only a trace of exhaustion and worry lingered in her expression.
Behind her stood Maester Luwin, Wyman Manderly, Alysane Mormont, and a group of Winterfell guards.
The two groups met upon the snowy field.
"Lord Galon."
Sansa spoke first, her voice bright with relief, carrying a subtle note of dependence.
"Winterfell welcomes you and your brave warriors home."
"The North will forever remember the blood and honor that Deepwood Motte and House Glover have given for its sake."
Her words were formal and flawless, like a proper lady of a great house welcoming a victorious bannerman.
Galon dismounted smoothly and stepped forward, bowing slightly before her horse.
"Lady Sansa, we have only fulfilled our oath."
"The Ironborn on Northern soil have, for now, been cleared."
He raised his head, meeting her gaze.
They shared a brief, understanding smile. Then Galon looked past her, nodding in greeting to those behind her.
After a simple welcoming ceremony, the army resumed its march toward Winterfell.
Galon and Sansa rode side by side, slightly ahead of the main force.
"Galon, you're not injured, are you?"
Sansa did not ask about the battle first. Instead, her concern was for him.
Galon smiled faintly.
"They were only Ironborn. They couldn't harm me."
Relief spread across Sansa's face, and she smiled.
"That's good."
"Father... and Robb would have been so happy..."
Her voice faltered as she remembered.
Galon noticed the change in her expression. His thoughts shifted slightly as he asked,
"While I was away, was there any news from Lord Stark or Robb?"
Sansa's eyes reddened. She held back her tears as she answered,
"Father... was executed by Joffrey."
Galon's body stiffened. He pulled his reins sharply, his expression shifting to shock.
"What?!"
"Lord Stark... he..."
Maester Luwin, riding behind them, saw Galon's reaction and spoke quickly.
"This is not the place to discuss it. We will talk inside."
Galon let out a long breath and urged his horse forward again, leading the army toward Winterfell.
Half an hour later, the returning army brought life back into the castle.
Cheers echoed from the walls, and the scent of food prepared for celebration drifted from the kitchens.
After speaking briefly with Sansa, Galon rode off to arrange military matters.
Once the soldiers were properly settled, he returned, bringing with him Jon, who had just learned the news and was overwhelmed with grief.
Together, they walked toward the great hall.
Meanwhile, Bran, who had not gone to greet Galon, remained in the godswood with Jojen and Meera Reed, quietly praying.
His direwolf, Summer, sat calmly at his feet.
Jojen spoke softly. "Are you still flying, Bran?"
There was a moment of silence.
Jojen's deep green eyes remained steady as he spoke again in a strange tone.
"I dreamed of something else."
"Cold blue eyes... awakening in endless winter..."
"They are coming."
Bran's expression darkened slightly, his voice trembling.
"Yes... they are moving toward the Wall."
Jojen stood behind him, resting his hands on the wheelchair as he looked toward the heart tree.
"We do not have much time. Only the wisdom of the Three-Eyed Crow can save the world."
"Bran, he is calling to you."
"You must go north. Before the Long Night truly falls, you must find him."
Bran fell silent again.
He knew who Jojen was speaking of. He also understood what it would mean to go north.
Jojen did not press him further. He simply waited.
After a long time, Bran finally made his decision.
He lifted his head toward the heart tree. His face was pale, but his eyes were firm.
"I understand. I will go."
Meera stepped forward, her voice resolute.
"We will escort you. All the way beyond the Wall, to the cave."
Bran nodded and let out a quiet breath.
"Let's go back. The chosen one has returned."
Jojen said nothing more. Together with Meera, he pushed Bran's wheelchair back toward the great hall.
After they left, a red leaf drifted down, as if silently witnessing their choice.
By the time they entered the hall, the news Sansa had shared had already stunned everyone present.
"Lord Stark was executed by Joffrey for treason."
"Robb has been crowned King in the North at Riverrun."
The string of shocking news left the entire hall reeling. The celebratory mood vanished instantly.
Karstark, Cerwyn, Tallhart, Locke—each sat in silence, their expressions grim and conflicted.
Jon Snow's eyes were red, his face filled with grief.
The hall fell into a heavy silence.
At last, Galon glanced at Bran as he entered and gave a slight nod before speaking.
"So Robb... the king's war is still at a stalemate?"
Maester Luwin answered in Sansa's place.
"Yes. The latest news says King Robb has bypassed the Golden Tooth and is advancing into the Westerlands."
"Lady Catelyn has gone south to the Reach, seeking an alliance with Renly and Stannis."
"With such an alliance, we should be able to defeat the Lannisters."
Galon let out a quiet sigh.
"If only it were that simple."
He looked around at everyone and continued calmly, "Robb declaring himself king means the North now stands opposed to all others who claim crowns."
"Unless King Robb kneels again, we will be seen as enemies."
"There is no real possibility of alliance."
Although Galon had already learned all of this through the heart tree, he still acted as if hearing it for the first time, turning to Luwin with a puzzled expression.
"Why?"
"Why would Robb choose to crown himself?"
"This decision will only…" He glanced at the others and left the sentence unfinished.
Maester Luwin could not answer. He simply shook his head.
The hall fell into silence once more.
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