Three days later.
The north wind howled, sharp and biting in the early morning cold.
House Karstark arrived at Winterfell with three hundred cavalry and nearly two thousand infantry.
Bran was in a guard tower along the outer wall.
Seated on Hodor's shoulders, he was using Maester Luwin's bronze spyglass to observe the army advancing toward the castle.
Lord Rickard Karstark led the host in person, riding alongside his sons Harrion, Eddard, and Torrhen.
Guided by the beat of drums, the force of more than two thousand men moved slowly toward Winterfell.
Bran watched closely and noticed that the Karhold cavalry was loosely spread out, while the infantry could barely maintain formation. They were no different from most other northern levies.
"They're far behind the army of Deepwood Motte…"
Ever since waking from his coma, Bran often dreamed of the Three-Eyed Raven.
Under its guidance, he would sometimes fly above Deepwood Motte, glimpsing fragments of life there.
Among those visions were scenes of Galon training his troops.
What Bran did not know was that he could only see what Galon allowed him to see.
As for the true secrets of Deepwood Motte, Galon had no intention of letting Bran know too much at this stage.
Beside him, a dark-haired maid laughed softly.
"Young Master Bran, you're talking nonsense again. Lord Galon hasn't even arrived yet. How do you know his army is stronger than Karhold's?"
Bran quietly lowered the spyglass and did not argue with her.
He had once spoken to Maester Luwin about the Three-Eyed Raven, but the maester said he was simply confused from too much sleep.
Robb and Sansa thought the same.
From then on, Bran kept everything the Three-Eyed Raven told him locked away in his heart.
A short while later,
The Karhold army encamped to the west of the winter town.
Lord Rickard led his sons toward the South Gate, riding in to meet Robb.
"Come on. Robb is going to host Lord Rickard. We should head back too." Bran patted Hodor's head, signaling him to take him to the great hall.
After learning that his father was imprisoned, Robb seemed to have grown up overnight.
He ordered Maester Luwin to summon all the northern lords to war against the Lannisters, hoping to rescue his father.
Whenever a lord arrived at Winterfell with troops, Robb would seat Bran at his lower side, openly displaying Bran's presence to all.
Bran did not like it.
The looks he received were filled with pity and disdain, as if asking why someone crippled was still alive.
Now that Lord Rickard had arrived, Bran knew he would have to endure it all once again.
Just as he was feeling down and preparing to return to the hall, his direwolf Summer suddenly began to howl toward the Wolfswood.
"Hm?"
Bran raised the spyglass and looked toward the forest.
At first, he saw nothing.
Then, several riders bearing red banners emblazoned with silver steel fists burst out from the Wolfswood.
Among them, a horn blower raised his horn and sounded it toward the sky—
Wooo—wooo—wooo!
The call was desolate and powerful, cutting through the cold air.
Robb, who had just learned of Lord Rickard's arrival, climbed the outer wall and looked toward the Wolfswood.
Behind him, a group of northern lords gathered.
"It's the Glovers!"
"Ha, they finally came. I thought they were afraid of the south and wouldn't show up."
"Exactly. They're so close to Winterfell, yet they arrived this late."
"Watch your mouths. A Glover is about to marry into House Stark."
"If they're marrying a Stark, they should have arrived even earlier!"
"That's right. The Riverlands have their late Freys. Looks like the North has its late Glovers."
The lords bickered loudly.
Greatjon Umber was especially vocal, shouting about giving the Bear-Slayer a lesson.
But soon, their voices faded, replaced by shock and fear.
Because with the sound of the horn—
The Glover army revealed itself with an overwhelming presence.
The first to appear were five hundred elite cavalry.
Unlike the loose, disorderly riders of other houses, they advanced at a controlled trot in precise formation, spreading swiftly across the open field to form a protective semicircle.
Their movements were calm and professional, as if this were not a march but a battlefield drill.
Then, behind the cavalry screen, Galon's infantry emerged.
Galon, clad in leather armor, rode at the head of the formation.
Behind him—
Two thousand Glover soldiers marched in ranks so tight they were suffocating, like a massive gray serpent slowly sliding out of the forest's jaws.
Their advance came with a low, unified, earth-shaking rumble.
Thud… thud… thud…
It was not the sound of drums.
It was the resonance of two thousand trained soldiers, their boots striking frozen ground in perfect unison.
The sound was oppressive, drowning out hoofbeats and wind alike.
It traveled through the earth itself, making the ancient stone walls of Winterfell tremble faintly, almost imperceptibly, yet undeniably.
Anyone watching could tell this was no hastily gathered rabble, but a finely honed instrument of war.
Robb stared at the scene before him, his eyes filled with shock and joy.
In that moment—
The crushing pressure he had carried since learning of his father's imprisonment eased at once.
He realized that Galon had brought him not just an army, but a crown of victory within reach.
Robb turned to look at the equally stunned northern lords behind him and burst into laughter.
"Hahaha—"
"Come! Let us go welcome the Glovers!"
He hurried down from the wall toward the Hunter's Gate.
Meanwhile, in the guard tower, Bran flushed with excitement and shouted to the dark-haired maid.
"See? I told you the army from Deepwood Motte was strong!"
He lowered the spyglass, patted Hodor's head, and urged him eagerly.
"Quick, take me there!"
But Hodor stood frozen, staring at the approaching army, completely oblivious to Bran's voice.
Only after Bran smacked him firmly did he snap out of it.
With awe written all over his face, Hodor carried Bran down from the tower and toward the great hall of Winterfell.
At this moment, the Glover army advanced to within two hundred meters of the Hunter's Gate.
With a long, lingering horn call—
The entire host transitioned instantly from motion to stillness, standing like silent stone gargoyles.
Only Galon rode forward, passing beyond the cavalry to stop before the gate.
His expression was cold as he gazed at Winterfell, ambition burning ever brighter in his eyes.
'From this moment on, I will climb step by step to the very top.'
'I will become the supreme king.'
Just then, Robb emerged from Winterfell, laughing loudly.
Galon's expression changed at once.
He swung down from his horse, stepped forward, and before Robb and the assembled northern lords, bowed solemnly.
"Lord Stark!"
"Deepwood Motte honors its ancient oath and brings two thousand five hundred men to answer your call!"
"House Glover will forever heed the commands of House Stark!"
His words echoed between the walls, each one as firm and unyielding as the Wall itself.
Galon's display of loyalty deeply moved Robb, filling him with joy.
'With a bannerman like Galon,' Robb thought, 'what are the Lannisters to me at all?'
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