Leaning on the railing of the guest room's second floor, Arya looked out over the busy Winterfell courtyard.
She had hoped it was all just a bad dream, but unfortunately, she had awoken to find it was all real.
The gates were wide open, with frightened townsfolk flooding in. Soldiers in mismatched armor rushed about, organizing defenses. On the castle training grounds, where the standing army usually drilled, countless men, women, and children were unloading baggage, setting up tents, and settling down in some semblance of order under the guidance of guards.
It was Winter, and the Winter Town outside the walls housed tens of thousands who had clustered together to survive the cold. When word came of the Gift army marching south, everyone's first instinct was to rush into the castle for refuge. But the Stark stronghold could not possibly shelter so many people. After consulting with the Lord, the garrison implemented a divided arrangement. Most of those still able to walk were sent toward Seven City and Torrhen's Square, where those Houses would make other accommodations. The elderly, infirm, and skilled workers or able-bodied youths who could aid in the defense were allowed into the castle for temporary shelter.
To house as many people as possible, the guards made use of every last inch of space within the walls. Even the Stark children, at Robb's request, temporarily gave up their private bedrooms and shared quarters with their siblings.
Yet, compared to the slight frustration of having to share a bed with Sansa, what Arya truly felt at this moment was a deep, simmering humiliation and anger.
Weeks ago, when she heard in Crown Town that Aegor had sworn allegiance to the Mad King's daughter, she had been so furious she swore never to speak to that liar again. But her temper passed quickly. After returning safely to Winterfell and spending a few peaceful, dull days, Arya had begun to defend him again in her mind. Perhaps she had misunderstood her teacher. Maybe he had only pretended loyalty to deceive the Mad King's daughter into using her dragons to fight the dead. Once the war ended, he would cast her aside just as he had promised Arya, and remain the good Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, the loyal guardian of the Seven Kingdoms, and a faithful friend to House Stark.
In her strangely wired mind, she had even imagined how she would accept his apology with reluctant grace, forgiving him in the end. As a condition, she would make him break off her engagement at once, name her the first female member of the Night's Watch... and take her to travel the world.
Arya could never have imagined that before any of those imagined scenes could come to pass, she would receive news that Aegor had led an army of Wildlings to rebel and was marching straight for Winterfell.
Unlike Robb or Ser Rodrik or Clay Cerwyn or the other men in the hall, she was not thinking about "how to defend Winterfell," "how to handle potential dragons," or "how to suppress this Night's Watch rebellion." Her first thought was this: had all of Aegor's kindness, protection, and companionship over the years been nothing but a lie? Had he only pretended for the sake of reaching this moment?
Was she just a bothersome child, granted a shred of attention only because she was a Stark? And now, with a woman of greater status and value in the picture, was she the one to be discarded?
Margaery Tyrell, her old friend from King's Landing, had ended up poisoning her own father. Now the man closest to her besides her father and brothers had raised his sword against their family. Could it be that she was cursed from birth to bring ruin upon her kin?
With her thoughts running wild, feeling both betrayed and doomed, Arya grew more and more aggrieved. Tears welled up in her eyes.
Blinking hard, she swore not to let them fall. She was a Stark of Winterfell, one of the finest female sword fighters in the Seven Kingdoms. For those who lied to her and hurt her, she would respond with steel, not tears. The next time she saw that man, she would make sure he remembered just how sharp Needle was.
After sniffing and composing herself, Arya spotted Maester Luwin hurrying from his tower, crossing the training grounds toward the main keep.
Had something new happened?
Aegor was still dozens of miles away. As much as she wanted to stab him right now, the truth was, she had nothing to do at the moment. After a moment's thought, she left the railing, darted down the stairs with rapid footsteps, crossed the yard, and caught up with the Maester.
"Maester Luwin, is there new news from the North?"
She desperately hoped he would tell her it had all been a misunderstanding, and that Aegor was still dutifully serving as Lord Commander. But the old man glanced at her and shook his head.
"Not from the North, from the East."
"What is it?"
Maester Luwin sighed. "Arya, at times like this, a good child should stay in her chambers and not run about. The castle is crowded and complicated right now. It's not entirely safe."
"But I want to help!"
The Maester said nothing more and kept walking toward the keep, climbing the steps to the main hall where guards were posted.
Maester Luwin had served Winterfell for more than twenty years. He had watched every young person in the castle grow up. So while the two guards reached out to block his way, they still spoke to him with respect.
"Maester Luwin, the Lords are in council discussing the war. They've ordered no interruptions."
"I have urgent news from Dreadfort. It's related to the war."
If the Maester responsible for Winterfell's ravens said the news was important, then it was. The guards didn't hesitate. One turned and knocked on the great door.
"Lord Robb, Maester Luwin requests an audience. He says he brings urgent news from Dreadfort."
Robb's voice came quickly from inside, granting permission. The doors opened, and Arya slipped in through the gap beside the Maester.
"Arya, what are you doing here?"
"I... just want to listen. I promise I won't interrupt."
Robb frowned at his little sister but had no time to scold her. He turned back to the Maester. After greeting him with a nod, he got straight to the point.
"Is it good news or bad?"
"Lord Bolton reports that his patrols have also detected movement from the Gift army. Additionally, he confirms that the Queen and her two dragons remain at Last Hearth and have not moved. The dragon-hunting ballistae at Dreadfort are nearly complete and will be operational within days. He requests your permission to launch an attack on Last Hearth as soon as preparations are ready, to capture the Queen and her dragons in one stroke."
Everyone at the map table immediately sat up straighter, their eyes fixed on Luwin.
Robb took the message from the Maester and read it again. The hopelessness he had felt just moments before vanished.
"Bolton claims he will gather three thousand men in the next few days, bring four or five dragon-hunting ballistae north, and launch a surprise attack on Last Hearth, eliminating the Mad King's daughter in one blow."
"Is that even possible?"
"No way."
The first to doubt was Ser Rodrik, who had overseen the ballista work at Winterfell.
"The blueprints only arrived a few days ago. How could they possibly have built them so quickly?"
"Perhaps Dreadfort already had ballistae in place. Modifying the base and aiming mechanisms for anti-dragon use is much faster than building from scratch, so I don't doubt that." Clay Cerwyn shook his head. "But if Dreadfort can field three thousand elite men and several dragon-hunting ballistae, wouldn't it make more sense for them to march here and help defend Winterfell? Why risk going after the Mad King's daughter instead?"
"I think the same," Maester Luwin agreed with Cerwyn. He turned to Robb. "Shall I write to Lord Bolton now, instructing him to link up with House Karstark and come here instead?"
Robb reread the message, then handed it to Clay Cerwyn. He crossed his arms and stood in thought for a long while before slowly shaking his head.
"Lords," he said, with a trace of reverence and memory in his voice, "my father once told me that being a lord is like being a father. You must treat every subject as your child. Whether it's the farmers in the fields, the servants in the hall, or the soldiers at your side, you must protect them as you would your own children."
"Rather than venting my anger by punishing traitors, I would rather think of how best to protect my people." He gestured to Winterfell on the map. "The rebel army has just claimed two major victories. Their morale and strength are at their peak. If we call our forces here to break the siege, we will pay in blood. Even if we win, the Queen and her dragons will come to avenge the loss."
He moved his hand toward Last Hearth on the map. "But if we eliminate the very person they serve, the war ends there."
"That's two dragons and hundreds of Unsullied, entrenched in a castle. How could a surprise attack possibly succeed?" Clay Cerwyn remained skeptical. "The North is still at war with the Ironborn. The forces of House Glover, Flint, and Dustin are tied up on the western coast. We have only about ten thousand spare troops. If those three thousand Bolton men are burned by dragonfire, we may not even be able to muster a force strong enough to defeat the rebels here."
Northmen often boasted they could fight ten to one, but no one in the hall would dare say that now. To defeat five thousand of Aegor's northern troops, they all knew they would need more than that number of elite men.
Ser Rodrik nodded grimly. "Yes. And what if Bolton's attack fails?"
The question struck the heart of the matter. Robb looked at Arya, whose wide eyes were locked on him, then at the three loyal men surrounding him. After a long silence, he finally spoke again.
"Though Lord Bolton is not known for warmth, his actions have always been dependable. I believe he has sufficient confidence to propose such a plan. But if, by chance, he fails, then for the sake of the North's greater good and the safety of our people, I would have no choice but to follow the example of my ancestor, Torrhen Stark. I would bow to reality and acknowledge the Queen as the rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, with the Night's Watch under her command."
Silence fell. After Daenerys had joined the Battle of Long Lake atop her dragon, much of the North's resistance to her Targaryen blood had faded. The real reason Robb still refused to recognize her claim was that she had never approached him directly. Instead, she had secretly gone to Aegor, the one man meant to be the North's gatekeeper. That had left Robb deeply humiliated.
Still, if resistance proved hopeless, surrendering to the Queen who had saved Westeros did not seem entirely unreasonable.
Now that the decision was made, the others had little reason to object. Robb's choice was already a major concession. He was placing the welfare of his people above his own pride. And the risk now fell entirely on House Bolton. If the Queen died, Aegor would lose both his cause and his confidence. If not, it would be Bolton's men who died, and Robb Stark would bear the name of the North's second "King Who Knelt."
People are selfish. What lord would refuse such a convenient arrangement?
"In that case, we must revise our plan," said Clay Cerwyn. Though fiercely loyal to House Stark and willing to die for Winterfell, he had grown weary of war. Hawkish views no longer held weight. "We should still prepare to hold the castle, but once the Gift army reaches the gates, send envoys to negotiate with Aegor daily. Stall for time, give Lord Bolton the chance to act. One way or another, those talks will bring us a result."
Arya blinked. She didn't fully understand why the lords seemed to have decided everything in a few words, but she did understand this: the Queen she had failed to kill was now besieged by an even more dangerous man, Lord Bolton, and that damned Aegor, who had dared to bring war to Winterfell, was about to be in serious trouble.
"Robb, if Lord Bolton kills the Queen, how will you deal with my master... Aegor?"
The Queen's death would be good, but as for the other person she had just vowed to stab to death, she suddenly found herself asking more.
"Him?" Robb took a deep breath, speaking through clenched teeth. "If Daenerys dies, and he lowers his banners, disbands his army, and surrenders peacefully, I may spare his life and exile him from Westeros. But if he dares to assault this castle and causes bloodshed..." He looked into his sister's eyes. "Even if one person in this castle dies, someone must pay the price."
"What are you looking at me for? I'm not pleading for him. That bastard... deserves to be hanged." Arya muttered angrily. Then she realized that might be wishing for someone in the castle to die. She tried to work through her thoughts, but even she wasn't sure what she truly hoped for. In the end, she stamped her foot, turned, and ran from the hall.
(To be continued.)