Chapter 164: Bran Enters the Wall
"You bastard—why are you dodging me? I told you to stand still!"
Already seething with rage and nowhere to vent it, Euron Greyjoy caught sight of a crewman trying to back away.
Cursing viciously, he snatched up a heavy axe from the deck and charged.
The sailor froze for a heartbeat under the shout—but the moment he saw the axe, he turned and ran toward the cabin.
Too slow.
Euron closed the distance in two strides.
The axe came down.
It bit deep into the man's neck.
Blood erupted in a violent spray. The sailor tried to turn his head—only managing the slightest twitch before his body went limp and collapsed to the deck.
The brutality stunned everyone nearby into silence.
No one dared move.
Not even Victarion Greyjoy, standing just a short distance away, said a word.
BOOM!
A dull, crushing impact shook the ship.
Then another.
The hull lurched violently—
and flipped.
Euron and the rest of the crew were thrown into the sea.
Cold water swallowed him.
Euron surfaced, immediately trying to swim toward another ship—but what he saw made his expression twist.
In the distance, Yara Greyjoy's fleet had already advanced.
Hooks.
Blades.
They were striking at his men in the water.
He turned back.
His fleet—
half of it was gone.
Capsized. Scattered. Broken.
Even if he refused to believe the sea creature had targeted him—
the result was undeniable.
They had lost.
"AAARGH!"
He slammed his fists against the water in fury.
Once.
Twice—
Then suddenly—
his eye rolled back.
His body stiffened.
Foam spilled from his mouth as violent convulsions overtook him.
"Euron!"
Nearby, Victarion saw it instantly.
Another seizure.
He swam over as fast as he could.
On Yara's flagship, after issuing the order to attack, she collapsed onto the deck.
Her face was deathly pale.
Blowing the tidecaller conch for so long had nearly drained her dry.
Her men quickly helped her sit upright, bringing her water. After a few sips, her breathing steadied.
"Don't mind me… go. Take command," she said hoarsely to her lieutenant.
Even as she spoke, she forced herself back to her feet, gripping the railing to steady her body as she surveyed the battlefield.
Without the conch's call, the sea gradually calmed.
But the battle did not.
Just as Euron's surviving men began to regain their footing—
Yara's fleet struck.
Relentlessly.
At the same time, the sea serpent continued to harass the remaining ships, preventing any coordinated resistance.
The tide of battle had completely turned.
Both sides now understood what had happened.
The tidecaller conch.
And the sea monster.
And then—
word spread.
Euron had fallen.
Seizure.
Unknown whether he lived or died.
Morale shattered.
When Yara's warriors closed in, most of Euron's men threw down their weapons and surrendered.
Only a few resisted—
and they were cut down without hesitation.
More than an hour later—
the battle was over.
Yara's complexion had improved slightly as she listened to the reports.
Euron had brought one hundred and twenty ships—
twelve thousand men.
Now?
Only a dozen or so ships had escaped.
Euron himself, rescued by Victarion during his seizure, had fled with them.
Over six thousand men were captured.
The rest—
dead.
Missing.
Or lost to the sea.
Compared to their enemy, Yara Greyjoy's side had suffered minimal losses—just over five hundred men.
It was a decisive victory.
And yet, as the adrenaline faded, what lingered most in Yara's heart wasn't pride—but relief.
If not for Daenerys's warning…
If not for the power of the tidecaller conch…
If not for the sea serpent's support…
Then Euron's ambush would likely have ended very differently.
The moment she spotted her uncle's banner, Yara hadn't hesitated—she had immediately activated the conch.
Because she knew one thing clearly:
At sea, she was no match for Euron Greyjoy.
Even her father Balon had fallen to him. If she truly stood a chance, she wouldn't have fled the Iron Islands in secret with fifty ships in the first place.
So she made the only correct decision—
Cripple his fleet first.
Break his formation.
Then strike.
With the conch disrupting the sea and the serpent tearing through his ships, the battle had turned into near-total annihilation.
Once the counts were complete, Yara divided her forces.
Three thousand men escorted three thousand prisoners—along with captured ships—back to Dragonstone.
She herself led the remaining forces onward.
The Iron Islands still needed to be reclaimed.
Far to the north—
At The Wall,
Jon Snow was handling routine matters when a report arrived:
A group had appeared beyond the Wall.
Their leader claimed to be—Bran Stark.
Jon froze.
Then moved immediately.
He hurried up the Wall without delay.
Below, a small group stood facing the colossal ice barrier—
Eight people.
Two wolves.
And at their center—
Bran Stark, gazing upward.
"Bran! Is that you? Bran!"
Jon's voice rang out from above, unable to hide his shock—and joy.
He had heard Bran and Rickon were missing.
Never did he imagine—
That Bran would appear here.
At the Wall.
Bran raised a hand and waved.
"Open the tunnel gate! Now!" Jon ordered, barely able to contain himself.
Inside Castle Black, Jon barely spared a glance at the strange-looking Children of the Forest beside Bran before striding forward.
He pulled Bran into a tight embrace.
The last time he had seen him—
Bran had been lying motionless in bed at Winterfell.
Jon never thought he would see him again.
Now—
He held him.
Alive.
Bran, looking at his half-brother—the one who had always protected him, now Lord Commander—felt something he hadn't felt in a long time:
Peace.
Since fleeing Winterfell after escaping Theon Greyjoy, he had lived in constant fear.
No rest.
No safety.
Until now.
Back within the Wall…
Back with family.
Jon pressed a kiss to Bran's forehead, then moved to pick up Rickon Stark, smiling despite himself.
Though he had always been closest to Arya and Bran, seeing Rickon safe filled him with equal relief.
He set him down and turned to the others.
Bran began the introductions.
"They're the Children of the Forest."
Jon's eyes flickered with disbelief. He had heard the stories as a child—
But never imagined they were real.
"This is Meera Reed."
Jon looked at the girl with renewed interest.
The House Reed had always been loyal bannermen of the Starks, guarding the Neck for thousands of years.
"How did you end up with him?" the question lingered unspoken.
"And this is Osha. Without her… Rickon and I might have died at Theon's hands."
Jon turned to Osha and gave a quiet, grateful nod.
As for Hodor—
There was no need for introduction.
Jon glanced at the giant man pulling Bran's sled, unable to comprehend how this group had dragged Bran all the way beyond the Wall—
And back again.
Then—
Without warning—
Bran spoke.
His tone changed completely.
Serious.
Urgent.
"The Night King's army is coming."
A pause.
"We don't have much time."
Silence fell.