Catelyn walked with Cersei and the others toward the inner bailey.
The rest of those who had come to welcome the king drifted away in small groups, each heading off to their own tasks.
All except Galon and Jon.
Just as she ignored the bastard, Catelyn conveniently ignored Galon along with him.
Only Maester Luwin paused on his way out to give Jon a piece of news: Benjen Stark would be returning to Winterfell that day.
He would arrive by afternoon at the earliest, evening at the latest.
Jon lit up at once and began excitedly telling Galon all about his relationship with Uncle Benjen.
Galon listened, standing with him near the gate. Seeing Jon so happy, he suddenly asked, "Jon, are you still planning to join the Night's Watch?"
Jon froze.
If this had been before, he might have answered yes without hesitation. Until recently he'd believed that, as a bastard, the black cloak was the only path open to him.
But after these last few days with Galon, he had begun to realize there were other ways to live—ways that might mean more.
So he hesitated.
That was enough for Galon to understand. He stepped forward and clapped Jon on the shoulder.
"If you haven't decided yet," Galon said, "then after my betrothal is settled, come visit me at Deepwood Motte."
"The Wall and the Watch aren't going anywhere. If you truly want it, you can still go later."
Jon's eyes brightened, but he soon faltered. "But… Lord Stark, he…"
"You're interested already," Galon thought.
He smiled. "Don't worry. I'll ask Lord Eddard. I believe he'll agree."
Jon grinned and held out his hand. "It's a promise, then!"
Galon raised his palm and met his. "It's a promise."
At that moment, a grey horse came galloping from the direction of the town. Its rider wore a black cloak.
Jon needed only a glance to recognize him.
"Uncle Benjen!"
Benjen Stark drew his horse up before them, looking weary from the road, but at the sight of Jon his face broke into a broad smile.
"Jon! You came out just to welcome me?"
He swung down from the saddle and wrapped Jon in a rough hug.
"Maester Luwin told me you were returning today," Jon explained happily. "I had nothing to do, so Galon and I waited here."
"Right—Uncle Benjen, this is Galon. Galon Glover."
"Glover?" Benjen turned to him, curious. "Are you Galbart's son?"
Galon nodded with a small smile.
"How is he? Last I heard, his old wounds had flared up again."
Galon's expression darkened. "The pain worsened. My father passed away half a year ago."
Benjen stiffened, clearly taken aback. He sighed quietly. "I'm sorry. I should go see Ned first. Jon, come with me."
He glanced at Galon as he remounted. "We'll talk more tonight."
Jon and Galon both agreed.
Galon stood watching as they rode away, his smile fading slowly from his face.
'The king has arrived,' he thought. 'The curtain has risen.'
'To be safe… it's time to set the backup plan in motion.'
He turned his gaze toward the broken tower. Before long, that would become the secret meeting place of Cersei and Jaime.
And he planned to send someone there to watch.
After thinking it through, Galon left the gate and made his way toward the guardroom where his men from Deepwood Motte were stationed.
About half an hour later, he found his captain, Roger, loudly trading stories with some of Winterfell's soldiers.
"Ser Roger."
Galon called from the doorway with an easy smile.
Roger and the four other men from Deepwood Motte broke away at once and hurried over.
"Lord Galon! What brings you here?" Roger asked. "Shouldn't you be with Lord Stark and the king?"
Galon shook his head slightly and glanced at the Winterfell men still gossiping loudly about Lannister scandals.
"This isn't the place to speak," he said quietly. "Come with me."
Roger was puzzled, but he obeyed at once.
Galon warned the remaining four men not to cause trouble, then led Roger back toward his guest chamber.
Just before they reached it, they passed a group of Lannister knights swaggering down the corridor.
Galon and Roger stepped aside, letting them pass without a word.
Only when the red-and-gold cloaks had disappeared did Galon open his door and usher Roger inside.
He closed it carefully, shutting out the noise of the castle.
"Wait here a moment, Roger," Galon said.
Roger nodded and looked around the room, suspicion deepening. He had no idea why Galon had brought him there in such secrecy.
Galon said nothing at first. He sat at the table, pulled a sheet of parchment before him, dipped a quill, and considered his words.
Then he wrote a brief message.
Tomorrow morning, meet me at the broken tower. This concerns a grave matter. Tell no one.
- Balon Greyjoy.
He folded the parchment in half and rose, turning to face Roger.
"Roger," he asked quietly, "can I trust you?"
Roger's easy expression vanished at once, replaced by a soldier's stern seriousness.
He understood immediately that whatever Galon needed was no trivial errand.
"There is nothing I would not do at your command, my lord," he said without the slightest hesitation.
Galon nodded.
He had every reason to trust him. Roger had been Galbart Glover's most reliable man. He had taught Galon the sword when he was a boy and watched him grow up.
After Galbart's death, Roger had sworn a new oath of loyalty to Galon. He was, at present, the person Galon trusted most.
The question had been more warning than doubt.
Seeing that Roger understood, Galon stepped closer and handed him the folded parchment.
"Tonight," he said softly, "Lord Stark will host the king. Everyone will attend."
"While they're at the feast, I want you to slip this letter into Theon Greyjoy's chamber without anyone noticing."
Roger took the note and, without glancing at its contents, tucked it into his tunic.
Galon, worried about any leak, repeated himself. "No one must see you. Not a soul."
Roger nodded firmly. "I understand, my lord."
Satisfied, Galon walked him to the door and sent him on his way.
'Storm's coming,' he thought, watching Roger's back disappear around the corner.
Ever since Sansa had told him that Catelyn meant to seek a royal marriage alliance, Galon had felt an ever-present sense of danger.
He suspected tonight's feast would not be peaceful. Catelyn would stir trouble. He was certain.
Better to strike first than wait to be cornered.
If something did happen during the feast, Galon intended to overturn the entire table— by luring Theon into discovering the secret between Jaime and Cersei.
Theon was not Bran. If he stumbled upon their shame, there were only two possible outcomes.
Either Jaime killed him on the spot, and Ned, enraged over his foster son's death, would search the castle from top to bottom.
Winterfell was not King's Landing; with Ned's control over his own stronghold, Galon would only need to nudge him in the right direction to direct suspicion at Jaime and Cersei.
Any talk of a royal alliance would crumble.
Or Theon survived. With his nature, he would never dare bear the risk of Lannister revenge alone. He would tell Ned everything.
Then Robert, in his fury, would execute the twins himself.
And Theon would become a sworn enemy to the Lannisters. Tywin would not rest until the boy was dead.
No matter which path events took, Galon would stand unshaken.
He could keep his path to Sansa's hand clear—and perhaps even use the Lannisters to remove Theon.
Two birds with one stone.
Only the ripple effect troubled him—the unknown consequences of changing the story. But the bowstring was already drawn, and there was no turning back.
Galon would marry Sansa Stark.
Whoever stood in his way would die.
He quietly reviewed his plan once more and found no flaws. He had just turned to re-enter his room when a lazy, mocking voice came from the side.
"Hey. Do you know where the nearest brothel is?"
__________
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