The sky was a sheet of leaden gray, heavy clouds pressing down.
Fine snow drifted on the wind, wrapping the open fields around Winterfell in lonely desolation.
Especially after Winterfell received the plea for aid from Torren's Square, there was a palpable sense that the great house was on the verge of collapse.
Several days had already passed since Euron broke Torren's Square.
Inside the inner keep, in the sewing room.
Sansa sat by the window, gazing at the falling snow outside. Her heart was filled with longing for her family and unease over the current situation.
To her right, Jeyne Poole wore the same sorrowful expression.
Her father had followed Ned to King's Landing. Since Ned was imprisoned, there had been no word from him at all.
Compared with Sansa and Jeyne, Beth Cassel was clearly in much better spirits.
Just a week earlier, her father, Ser Rodrik, had safely returned to Winterfell and brought news that Lady Catelyn was safe.
That news had eased some of the tension weighing on Sansa's heart.
After sitting in a daze for a long while, Sansa saw the snow outside growing heavier and planned to send her companions back.
But just then, hurried footsteps sounded outside the sewing room.
Sansa looked up and saw Maester Luwin and Ser Rodrik entering together.
"Sansa!"
Snow clung to Maester Luwin's robes, his face tight with urgency.
The moment he stepped inside, he called out anxiously, "Something's wrong!"
Sansa's expression changed instantly. "Is there news of my father and Robb?"
At that moment, Ser Rodrik followed closely behind. Seeing his daughter and Jeyne present, he frowned slightly.
Interrupting Maester Luwin before he could continue, he said to the girls, "You should go back now. We have urgent matters to discuss with Sansa."
Jeyne and Beth were used to this by now.
Since Robb had led the army south, the true authority in Winterfell rested with these three.
The two girls gathered their sewing and quickly left the room.
Only after watching them go did Ser Rodrik speak in a low voice. "No. It's Torren's Square and Cerwyn Castle. Something has happened there."
Maester Luwin stepped forward and handed the letters he was holding to Sansa.
Hearing that it was not bad news about her father or Robb, Sansa forced herself to calm down and opened the letters.
The next instant, her eyes widened in terror.
The first letter, from Torren's Square, was scrawled in a shaky hand and stained with traces of smoke.
"THE CASTLE HAS FALLEN. THE IRONBORN ARMY MARCHES EAST. THEIR TARGET MAY BE WINTERFELL."
The second letter, from Cerwyn Castle, was even more urgent.
"EURON'S MAIN FORCE IS ATTACKING FURIOUSLY. SURROUNDING VILLAGES HAVE FALLEN. WE DESPERATELY NEED REINFORCEMENTS. SAVE US AT ONCE!"
Ser Rodrik slammed his fist onto the table beside him.
"By the gods! Torren's Square is finished, and Cerwyn Castle is on the brink! Euron Greyjoy, that madman, is surely aiming for Winterfell!"
Maester Luwin's face was pale, but his voice remained steady.
"We must respond immediately."
"The garrison in Winterfell, plus every man who can bear arms, amounts to only a few hundred. We cannot withstand Euron's army head-on…"
Before he could continue, an assistant from the maester's tower burst into the sewing room, nearly stumbling as he rushed forward and handed a scroll to Sansa.
A third raven had brought yet another devastating message.
"Moat Cailin..." the assistant's voice trembled. "Moat Cailin has fallen! Victarion Greyjoy has taken the fortress! The passage to the south... has been completely cut off!"
Sansa covered her mouth in horror.
She knew what this meant. Her brother Robb and the northern army he led were now cut off in the south.
Ser Rodrik's face turned iron-gray.
"A chokehold, a stab in the ribs, and now they go for the heart. That squid Balon means to swallow the entire North in one bite!"
Maester Luwin drew a deep breath, his gaze moving across the map before finally settling on the west.
"Our only hope is Deepwood Motte."
"Lord Galon is the closest to us, and he commands the most elite force remaining. If he can reach Winterfell in time, we can hold until other bannermen arrive."
"Sansa, we must ask him for aid at once!"
Sansa's eyes lit up. "I'll write to him immediately!"
But Ser Rodrik cautioned, "Deepwood Motte is also threatened from Cape Kraken."
"It is our only hope, Ser," Maester Luwin said firmly. "We must trust that Lord Galon can weigh the priorities."
"Send the fastest ravens. No, send five! Tell Lord Galon that Winterfell is in mortal danger and beg him to march east with all haste!"
In such a situation, there was nothing else to do but comply.
Soon, five ravens rose into the snowy skies above Winterfell, vanishing into the Wolfswood with the wind and snow.
While the ravens raced onward, Asha Greyjoy was already preparing to lead her men ashore at Cape Kraken.
The night was black as ink. A hundred longships slid onto the beach like drifting ghosts, utterly silent.
The ironborn wore dark clothing, moving as quietly as possible as they leapt from their ships and dragged them ashore. Their breath turned to white mist in the cold air.
"Cursed weather," Asha muttered, glancing up. "The North is already snowing?"
A snowflake landed on the bridge of her high nose, making her shiver.
Her sharp gaze swept the dark coastline and the even darker outline of the forest beyond, like a vigilant she-wolf.
"Be careful. The ones who escaped last time ran into men from Deepwood Motte up ahead. They may have left scouts behind."
After giving the order, her trusted lieutenant Old Oar took dozens of men and silently crept up the nearby hills.
Asha began organizing her soldiers and waited for Old Oar's return.
About an hour later.
Old Oar reappeared. "Captain, you were right. I caught one alive. He confessed that the entire Cape Kraken has five lookout posts deployed."
"Galon Glover is cautious," Asha said with a cold smile. "Find them. Wipe them all out."
Old Oar nodded and led her toward the positions of the lookout posts.
Soon, they reached the first watchtower at the edge of a pine forest.
With a flick of Asha's hand, her men took advantage of the darkness and silently killed the four guards inside.
She climbed the tower and looked around, spotting a spyglass. She snorted.
"Glover really spared no expense. Even a Myrish spyglass. Come on, let's visit his next eye."
Using the information Old Oar had extracted, Asha led her men toward the second, better-hidden post.
This time, they were even faster.
The sentries fell before they could raise any alarm.
From a guard who was still clinging to life, Asha used a cold blade and an even colder voice to force out the exact locations of the remaining posts.
She finished him cleanly and led her men toward the third post.
But just as they were about to arrive, something went wrong.
A soldier, desperate to relieve himself, had just undone his trousers when he stumbled straight into Old Oar and the writhing shadows behind him.
"Enemy!"
"Ironborn! It's the ironborn!"
The man didn't even bother with his trousers, spinning around and shouting toward the watch post.
"Damn it. Kill him!" Asha shouted.
A throwing axe flew from her hand, burying itself squarely in the sentry's chest and cutting off his cry.
But it was too late.
In an instant, a towering beacon fire flared into the sky from the watchtower.
At the same time, the rear posts saw the signal and quickly lit their own beacons.
Galon's contingency plans took effect.
In the depths of the Wolfswood, the final watchtower saw the flames. A rider burst from the tower, lashing his horse into a desperate gallop toward Deepwood Motte.
The remaining watch post soldiers followed their predetermined routes, converging toward their rally point in the forest.
Seeing this, Asha knew her perfectly silent landing had completely failed.
She turned to her crew, her voice turning cold and sharp. "They know... But it doesn't matter. They won't react in time."
"Send word to Quenton. Leave three hundred men to guard the longships.
All the rest, assemble. Before they can stuff the farmers into their castles, we'll stuff fear down their throats first!"
The ironborn let out wild war cries.
Abandoning all stealth, they surged forward like a black tide, following their leader as they charged into the Wolfswood.
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