Chapter 505

Inside the cold, thick granite walls, Winterfell was abuzz with an intensity it hadn’t seen in years, as preparations for war unfolded.

The ancient castle, long hailed as the seat of the North, was said to have been built by Brandon the Builder with the help of giants. Over the centuries, it had endured sieges by most of the major houses of the North, yet it had never fallen. But this proud history did little to comfort its defenders now, for the enemy approaching was unlike any Winterfell had ever faced.

Rebellions by the Night’s Watch and Wildlings breaching the Wall were not unheard of, though rare. If one expanded the historical timeline enough, such events could be found a handful of times. But this was unprecedented: for the first time in history, the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, leading the Free Folk from beyond the Wall, had crossed the borders of the Gift and the North, bypassed the northern bulwark of Last Hearth—now no longer under Northern control—and was marching with fierce determination toward the heart of the North.

On one side stood an ancient castle that had never fallen. On the other was the first man in recorded history to have repelled the White Walkers, a figure second only to Azor Ahai in the hearts of the North’s people. The sharpest spear now clashed against the sturdiest shield. Who would emerge victorious? No one dared to predict, but one thing was certain: the coming battle would be brutal.
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In the Great Hall of Winterfell, warmed by roaring fires, Robb Stark stood alongside Ser Rodrik and Lord Clay Cerwyn at a table dominated by a map of the North, their expressions grave as they discussed how to counter the sweeping advance of the Night’s Watch rebellion.

This council would have been smaller had Cerwyn not arrived with reinforcements. Cerwyn Castle was less than half a day’s ride from Winterfell, and upon receiving the call for aid, Lord Clay had swiftly armed his men and joined the castle’s defenders the previous night, becoming the first and only reinforcements to arrive ahead of the enemy.

Not long ago, this hall had been filled with lords and their bannermen, eager to fight in the war against the White Walkers, only to arrive too late to join the Battle of the Long Lake. Their armies had turned Winterfell into an ocean of tents. But to conserve supplies—and lull Aegor into complacency, tricking him into believing the so-called “expedition beyond the Wall” was still on—Robb Stark had declared neutrality, dissolved the war footing, and sent those forces home after a few meetings to plot the overthrow of the Gift.

At the time, Robb had been proud of his decision, believing he could resolve the situation with minimal bloodshed. Now, in hindsight, it was clear his cleverness had backfired spectacularly. His effort to make Aegor drop his guard had instead left himself vulnerable. The so-called expedition beyond the Wall might have been a ruse all along, and he—foolishly—had only realized it two days ago.
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“It’s too late. They’re too fast,” Clay Cerwyn said, oblivious to Robb’s frustration. He studied the map, measuring distances with his fingers before delivering his grim conclusion. “Our scouts can only send ravens after reaching the nearest outpost with a rookery. By the time their message arrives, the enemy has already marched nearly a full day further.”

“Based on the reports, the rebels likely departed from Crown’s Hill four mornings ago. To have entered our patrol zone in just two days means their marching speed is remarkable. If they maintain this pace...” The young Lord Cerwyn moved a token representing the Gift’s forces halfway between Crown’s Hill and Winterfell. “The enemy has likely already completed half the journey. They’re only three days away—perhaps even less.”

Robb clenched his fist against the table’s edge before releasing it. “What about the dragon-hunting scorpions? How far along are they?”

“We’ve started making them,” Ser Rodrik said with a shrug, clearly frustrated. “King Stannis managed to send us the blueprints despite King’s Landing being sealed off, but without an expert who’s seen or built one, our craftsmen—bless their hearts—might as well have wooden heads. Just understanding the designs took ages. Best case? Another week or two.”

That was the optimistic estimate. Realistically, even a month seemed unlikely. Of course, none of them knew that the man who understood these weapons best was currently part of the “Night’s Watch rebels,” marching on Winterfell at breakneck speed.

“Didn’t they say the two remaining dragons are still recovering from their injuries? We should have time, right?” Cerwyn asked, his tone uneasy, though he hesitated to voice the thought lurking in his mind: If the Mad Queen’s dragons appeared over Winterfell before the scorpions were ready, surrender might be the wisest course.

“What about House Tallhart? Can their forces arrive in time?” Robb asked, exhaling heavily as he shifted focus to another possibility.

Tallhart lands were the next closest to Winterfell, and the only bannermen who might still be able to reinforce them before the enemy’s arrival.

“The journey from Torrhen’s Square to Winterfell is also three days,” Cerwyn replied, clearly well-versed in the geography of the North. “But that’s assuming Lord Tallhart rides out the moment he receives your raven. In reality, the message could be delayed, gathering troops takes time, and—most importantly—the roads between Torrhen’s Square and Winterfell haven’t been repaired or cleared of snow.”

Silence fell over the hall. All three men standing at the map table were seasoned commanders. They had each witnessed countless battles and planned many ambushes. Yet despite planting spies throughout the Gift and deploying patrols hundreds of miles out, they had still been caught off guard. Even after detecting the enemy’s movements, they had no way to mount an effective response. The humiliation was almost unbearable.

Such a bold and unprecedented blitzkrieg—a deep strike into enemy territory—would usually be a laughable folly, the sort of plan mocked over wine and meat as they planned its inevitable failure. But this wasn’t just anyone. This was Aegor Wester: Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch, a friend and protector of the North. And for reasons they couldn’t fully articulate, all three felt a vague but unsettling sense of dread.

“That bastard,” Rodrik growled, his face dark with anger. “When he rebuilt the roads between the Gift and the North, cutting the travel time from Crown’s Hill to Winterfell from two weeks to one, he must’ve been planning for this all along! Maybe even—”

“Enough,” Robb interrupted sharply. Accusing Aegor of fixing roads solely to stage a rebellion felt like a stretch, especially since Aegor hadn’t even been Lord Commander at the time. As for Rodrik’s insinuation that even Last Hearth’s fall to the undead had been part of Aegor’s scheme, it was too absurd to entertain. There was a limit to how much one could demonize their opponent.

Yet belief or not, the rebellion was now a reality. Robb had no patience to argue in defense of an enemy. Drumming his fingers on the table, he asked, “How many men do we have?”

Ser Rodrik abandoned his rant and quickly answered. “I’ve recruited young and able-bodied men from nearby winter towns. Including Lord Cerwyn’s three hundred, we have nearly a thousand well-equipped fighters in the castle and several hundred more who can wield farm tools and sticks.”

“Cerwyn could’ve sent more, but I didn’t know the rebels were still three days out when I left,” Lord Cerwyn explained quickly. “I left a deputy behind to continue recruiting, but I brought only the best-prepared men to ensure immediate reinforcements.”

“That’s enough. Cerwyn needs defenders too,” Robb said. “And for a castle defense, numbers don’t matter as much as positioning. A thousand men are sufficient.”

Encouraged, Ser Rodrik sought to lift Robb’s spirits. “With Winterfell’s double walls, even if Aegor has ten times as many men, he won’t breach the castle before our food runs out.”

“Exactly,” Cerwyn added, his confidence bolstered. “One thousand seasoned defenders against five thousand Wildlings? Even Cerwyn Castle could hold against those odds. With Winterfell’s fortifications, we can wait for reinforcements to arrive and trap Aegor like a wolf in a pit.”

By the numbers, their odds of success seemed overwhelming. Yet Robb, knowing Aegor’s resourcefulness and having witnessed the Night’s Watch’s unconventional tactics against the undead, couldn’t shake the feeling that this wasn’t a conventional siege. He doubted someone as calculating as Aegor would charge blindly into Winterfell’s granite walls without a plan.

“Have the craftsmen work around the clock on the scorpions,” Robb ordered. “Find anyone nearby who can help, give them whatever they need, and finish as quickly as possible. And send another raven to Lord Tallhart—tell him to coordinate with the other lords and march together instead of coming here alone.”

A knock at the door interrupted him. A guard’s voice called out, “My lord, Maester Luwin is here with urgent news from the Dreadfort!”