novelraw Chapter 207 209: The Fall of Winterfell
Chapter 207 209: The Fall of Winterfell
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Sandor crept low, closing fast on two patrolling Ironborn. The moment they spotted him, a flash of cold steel was the last thing they saw. Their faces split into gruesome scarlet grins as they dropped dead.
Sandor glanced at the bloody gashes and knew they weren't getting back up. He turned and waved toward the grass behind him. Harken and several mountain clansmen emerged, dragging a small cart. On it lay three crippled warlocks, mouths stuffed with rags.
Two of them were the sorcerers they'd found on the Silence. One was Pyat Pree.
Even gagged, they made desperate muffled sounds.
Jon stepped out, flanked by fully armed guards. The second Pyat Pree saw him, he started thrashing in panic.
"My lord, I never meant to deceive you! I only wanted to live! I swear I never planned to harm you—never!" Pyat Pree's Common Tongue had never been this fluent.
Ever since their last meeting, Pyat Pree had been terrified. Jon remained unmoved. He switched to Valyrian, his voice cold: "A wizard's promise is a house built on bones."
He intended to use their blood for the sacrifice.
Everyone—Pyat Pree, the other warlocks, even Sandor—looked stunned. They clearly remembered Jon didn't speak Valyrian. Had he learned it in just two months?
Sandor, who was with him constantly, knew damn well Jon hadn't been studying any foreign languages.
"My lord, I truly never intended you any harm!" Pyat Pree switched to Valyrian too, desperate.
"Do you know Daenerys?"
"What?"
"I'll tell you a secret—we're family. And now I'm going to settle some old debts for my kin."
"Family?!" Pyat Pree's mind clearly couldn't process it. The next second, Jon ordered his mouth stuffed again.
If I don't do this, I might start abusing this blood magic, Jon thought as the gagged warlocks were re-bound. He silently vowed this would be the first and last time he used sacrifice magic.
It wasn't about being noble. If he limited the victims to enemies and those who deserved it, the concept could easily expand. He would never use it again himself—and he would make sure no one else did either.
Jon walked to the ridge overlooking the sea cliff. Below lay a sheltered bay packed with longships and larger sails, neatly anchored.
His fleet had been halfway north when his ravens spotted the Ironborn ships. He left the fleet with Brynden and came overland with Sandor and a small guard to this unnamed bay.
He knew Euron had a way to take Winterfell fast. If he went straight to the castle, he might miss them—or Euron would slip away and order the fleet to move. Jon wanted annihilation. He wanted to wipe out a fifth of the Iron Islands' fighting men in one blow.
These were Balon's best—vicious, experienced reavers. Killing them all would be a devastating blow.
The spell he planned was simple: freeze the entire bay solid. Trap every ship in ice. When Euron returned, he'd have no choice but to fight Jon on land.
The Ironborn were deadly at sea, but without ships they'd have to fight on foot—and foot combat was their weakness. With Jon's superior armor and weapons, they'd have no choice but to fight to the death to reclaim their fleet before Robb arrived.
That was the entire plan.
Just like Euron had done near Winterfell, Jon began his own blood sacrifice here.
He personally slit the throats of the two warlocks with his short sword and began chanting under the watchful eyes of Sandor and Harken.
"My lord… what are you doing?" Harken asked, face pale.
Jon hadn't originally planned to bring him, but the clansman got seasick easily, so he'd kept him on land.
Sandor had no idea what Jon was doing or saying. He knew better than to ask questions that weren't his business.
Soon everyone felt the dead grass whipping around their feet. The temperature plunged. The wind grew savage. They had to lean into it to stay upright.
Down in the bay, the ships began rocking violently.
The Ironborn left aboard clearly sensed something was wrong.
Does the lord really know magic? Harken remembered the stories about Jon summoning rain. It suddenly made sense. What they were witnessing now was impossible to explain any other way.
Jon had killed two men and summoned a storm. To the mountain clansmen—and honestly most of Westeros—that was straight-up sorcery.
They simply believed their lord trusted them enough to let them witness it. Nothing else mattered.
Before long, the wind around Jon's group died down and the cold eased. Down below, the fleet was caught in a raging localized blizzard.
Freezing rain hammered the ships. The sailors shouted and hid below decks—no one dared stick their head out. In this era, catching a cold was almost as dangerous as a battlefield wound. On the Iron Islands, the sick and injured were often abandoned.
The unnatural localized storm raged for a full day.
By evening, an exhausted Jon sent ravens to scout.
The bay was frozen solid. Every longship and sailing vessel was locked in thick ice.
It would take at least ten days for that ice to thaw.
Jon immediately sent word to Brynden to bring the fleet and seal off the bay.
---
Meanwhile, inside Winterfell.
After the blizzard's fury, the castle was practically defenseless.
Six or seven thousand Ironborn reavers swarmed over the walls with ladders. They poured into Winterfell in less than fifteen minutes.
Winter Town suffered the same fate. The raiders unleashed a festival of rape and pillage.
Euron stood on the battlements, looking down over the castle like a king surveying his conquest.
He had already sent dark ravens to hunt for the Stark family.
When Maester Luwin heard the enemy was attacking, he immediately ordered Catelyn and the children to flee through the secret passages. He stayed behind with what few men could still fight, buying them time.
From the tower, Luwin took one look at the attackers' armor and knew exactly who they were. The sight of the Greyjoy kraken banner made it even clearer.
He couldn't understand it. These men had fought alongside the Westerlands just a year ago. Why were they suddenly enemies?
And though he had no proof, Luwin was certain the unnatural blizzard that night was their doing.
"Loose! Loose!" he roared, directing the last defenders. He only prayed they could hold a little longer.
But many men could barely grip their swords. Their arrows flew weak and harmless. Luwin knew this was the day he would meet the Stranger.
The tower fell soon after. Sawane Botley led the final assault.
Taking the tower gave him little satisfaction. The commander had been an old man, and most of the defenders were already crippled by frostbite.
His mind was still reeling from Euron's display of magic.
There was one other reason for his grim mood—he had personally killed Victarion.
From this day forward, Sawane would swear Victarion died heroically in the assault. He had no choice but to tie himself completely to Euron now. There was no going back.
He approached Maester Luwin and demanded to know where the Starks had gone. Luwin stayed silent.
Whack!
In frustration, Sawane smashed his scabbard across the old maester's face, knocking out several loose teeth.
"I'll ask one last time—where did the Starks go?!"
"I have… nothing… to… tell… you," Luwin spat, eyes burning with defiance.
"Stubborn old fool!" Sawane drew his sword, but Euron stopped him.
"Wait. He's still useful."
---
The Wolfswood.
Maester Luwin's robes had been ripped open, exposing his pale, sagging chest to the freezing air.
He was tied to a cart while Ironborn soldiers shouted:
"Lady Catelyn! Come out! We mean you no harm!"
Crack! "Ahh!"
The whip lashed across Luwin's ribs, leaving a bright red welt.
"Come out, Lady Catelyn! Lady Jeyne! We mean you no harm!"
"Come be our guests on the Iron Islands!"
Crack!
Luwin realized they were using him as bait. He clenched his teeth and refused to cry out.
Meanwhile, deeper in the trees…
Catelyn and Jeyne each carried an infant. Arya and Sansa walked behind them, followed by little Rickon. Bran was strapped to Hodor's broad back, with Myrcella close behind.
Fewer than ten guards, led by Ser Cassel, scouted ahead and protected the rear.
They had escaped through the secret passages. There were no horses and no carts.