The besiegers sought to lure reinforcements into a trap, while the defenders aimed to delay, hoping for a shift in the situation. Each side harbored its own motives, and the negotiations between The Gift and Winterfell dragged on day after day. To demonstrate sincerity, both sides met regularly, beginning with excessive demands that gradually moved toward compromise. Not only were all formalities observed, but proper documents and terms were even drafted.
After several days passed with no reinforcements appearing from any direction, Aegor finally sensed something was wrong. It wasn't just a matter of instinct, but of intelligence gathered by scouts and wargs from various sources.
The first wave of reinforcements had indeed arrived nearby. Through aerial scouting conducted by bird controllers, it became clear that the distant troops from Torrhen's Square and Hornwood had reached Seven City. Together with the levies that Seven City had been raising, over two thousand Northern troops were now encamped less than a day's march from Winterfell. Despite their considerable numbers, these soldiers showed no intention of advancing. Instead, just like the forces from The Gift, they set up camp and stayed put outside the city.
This was a miscalculation. Inside the second-story stone building that had once served as Winterfell's inn, Aegor sat at a table, deep in thought, considering how to deal with the fish that refused to bite.
"The Northern lords are fiercely loyal to House Stark. They won't just stand by and watch from so close. This must be Robb Stark, commanding from afar by raven, instructing his bannermen not to act rashly," said Humfrey, watching the Lord Commander. "Either the Young Wolf is extremely astute and saw through your strategy from the start, or your agreement to negotiate on arrival led them to believe the pressure was not serious. Regardless, we must act soon to break the stalemate."
Aegor nodded silently.
Everyone understood that basic principle.
When the target of your feint refuses to respond, there are only two choices: turn the feint into a real attack and seize the objective, or admit failure, lift the siege, and turn your forces elsewhere.
Applied to the current battle, this meant either launching a full assault on Winterfell, or abandoning the siege to strike at Seven City, dozens of miles away, where the first reinforcements had gathered.
From a military standpoint, the former was clearly preferable. However, Winterfell, with its moat, dual granite walls, and thousand-strong garrison, was no easy target. The initial production of Powder, having just entered service, lacked the numbers, caliber, firepower, and endurance to breach such a fortress. Even if a weak point could be found and the gate forced open, the ensuing street fighting would be bloody and costly.
More importantly, Winterfell, as the political heart of the North, held little actual value for Aegor. Capturing it by force would offer few rewards, and if one or two Starks were injured in the process, it would only reinforce the image of him as a heartless traitor and oathbreaker. The risks far outweighed the potential gains.
The second option? Attacking a small settlement like Seven City and routing two thousand levies in open battle was certainly easy. But doing so while leaving Stark lands behind, even if victorious, would lack the impact and deterrent effect he needed. What would be the point?
Robb Stark's tactical coordination had exceeded Aegor's expectations. His sound command of the Northern forces had placed the so-called "rebels" in an increasingly awkward position. Aegor tapped his fingers on the table, frustrated, unable to decide.
Perhaps it was time to bombard Winterfell, just to prove he was serious. Yet the Powder units were not suited for prolonged siege warfare, and the current stockpile was limited. A premature attack might not intimidate House Stark at all, but instead steel the resolve of these stubborn Northerners, making future negotiations even harder.
As he weighed whether to intimidate Winterfell with force or to strike at Seven City instead, a soldier arrived to report, "Lord Commander, Ser Rodrik has come again for negotiations."
He was back again. The repetitive nature of the past few days had grown dull, even for the messengers.
"Tell him to wait," Aegor waved irritably. Negotiations were meant to resolve things peacefully, but Robb Stark's shrewd coordination had made that all but impossible. A peaceful resolution now felt like nothing more than wishful thinking.
Just as he was discussing strategic options with several mid-level officers, a second messenger entered with urgency.
"Lord Commander, a little miss with her face covered approached me in secret. She says, 'I must speak with you about something very, very important.'"
A little miss? Aegor looked up, puzzled. The messenger had emphasized "little," suggesting she was quite young. Could it be Arya Stark come to demand his surrender? But if it were her, everyone here would recognize her. No one would refer to Arya that way.
Intrigued, Aegor nodded. "Let her in."
Moments later, a small girl entered, her hood pulled low, her face partly hidden by a scarf.
"Good afternoon, Lord."
Myrcella. Aegor recognized her immediately from the voice, soft but not overly sweet. But wasn't she supposed to be safe inside Winterfell? Would Robb Stark really allow her to leave during such a tense moment?
He motioned for everyone else to leave, stood up, and stepped closer to the girl. "My... Miss Meave, how did you manage to get out?"
Myrcella's face, visible above her scarf, was flushed from exertion. She was out of breath. "I waited until Ser Rodrik had just led the delegation out the gates. I ran after them, told the guards that Lady Catelyn had sent me with an important message for Ser Rodrik, and that once I spoke to you, you would lift the siege and withdraw. But instead of following them, I slipped away near the town and found a sentinel on the other side to bring me to you."
So even the gatekeepers of Winterfell had grown complacent from the repetitive nature of the talks. They had allowed a young girl to leave the city alone with an army at their walls.
Aegor frowned at this carelessness, then caught himself. He had made an assumption. Not everyone knew the secret that "Meave Snow" was actually Myrcella Baratheon. He couldn't judge her treatment in Winterfell based on her former royal identity. As a likeable, well-mannered, and sharp adopted daughter trusted by both the Lord and Lady of the castle, it would be entirely plausible for her to run minor errands. If she claimed she had an urgent verbal message, the guards might not question her at all.
Still, one problem remained. Leaving by lying was one thing. How would she return? And what would she do if the lie was discovered?
"Hmm, clever." Aegor quickly realized these details weren't the heart of the matter. He smiled gently and shook his head. "So, what is this 'very, very important matter' that made you act so recklessly?"
"You must run, Lord!" the girl said with urgency, stamping her foot in frustration. "Lord Bolton took the dragon-hunting ballista to Last Hearth to deal with Queen Daenerys. News came back this morning that he succeeded in a surprise attack and is now heading south toward Winterfell. You no longer have anyone to support, your retreat is cut off, and you are surrounded by Northmen. Turn around and break out immediately. Retreat to The Gift, find a ship at Eastwatch-by-the-Sea, and flee across the Narrow Sea. The Seven Kingdoms might not even pursue you, considering what you've done to fight the White Walkers!"
(To be continued.)
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