Chapter 189 – Drawing the Enemy
Robb halted mid-step, shifting his gaze back to Ramsay. After seeing what had become of Theon, any urge to beat him into the ground vanished completely.
He couldn't even begin to imagine what Ramsay had done to turn the once-proud Theon into… this.
Robb's reaction didn't go unnoticed. Catelyn Stark and Sansa Stark followed his gaze to the second floor—and froze in shock when they recognized Theon.
Seeing that they had noticed, Jon Snow stepped forward and explained what he had learned from Bran Stark.
Only then did they understand how Theon had ended up as Ramsay's cupbearer… and why he had become like this.
Back then, Robb had sent Theon to the Iron Islands to seek an alliance with his father, Balon Greyjoy. Instead, Balon rejected the alliance and ordered the Ironborn to raid the North.
Theon betrayed the Starks—the family that had raised him—and joined the invasion. He seized the undefended Winterfell, executed Ser Rodrik Cassel, who had taught him swordsmanship since childhood, and killed Maester Luwin. He had even nearly murdered Bran and Rickon Stark.
Later, when Winterfell fell to Ramsay, Theon was captured… and broken.
Tortured repeatedly. Mutilated. Stripped of everything that made him who he was.
All that remained was "Reek."
From the balcony, Theon—no, Reek—had already recognized them.
He tried to shrink behind Ramsay, avoiding their eyes, but a single glare from Ramsay froze him in place. He dared not move again, only tilting his head downward, muttering "Reek… Reek…" under his breath.
After hearing everything, Robb no longer felt the need for revenge.
But neither did he feel any urge to save him.
This… was the consequence Theon had earned.
Five days later, the Dothraki cavalry and the forces arriving by sea—led by Tyrion Lannister—reached Winterfell one after another, bringing with them supplies and dragonglass.
When Tyrion arrived, Sansa finally met the man who was, at least on paper, her husband.
Tyrion informed her that he had already arranged for their marriage to be annulled before coming north.
Hearing this, Sansa quietly let out a breath of relief—she was free again.
Two days later, Daenerys convened an emergency council with her commanders.
According to Bran's observations, the Night King's army was less than two days away from Winterfell.
Meanwhile, the marching infantry would need at least three to four more days to arrive.
With their current numbers and equipment, they simply couldn't hold the line.
Bran proposed a risky plan: he would leave the city and act as bait, drawing the Night King away. Once the infantry arrived and preparations were complete, he would return—giving the living a real chance to fight.
Since it was widely believed the Night King was targeting Bran, the plan was accepted.
A cavalry escort of fifty riders was assigned to protect him.
Jon personally led the group, riding out of Winterfell toward the northeast.
Meanwhile, the remaining forces continued forging dragonglass weapons and arrowheads, digging trenches, and reinforcing defenses.
After traveling roughly thirty kilometers, Bran checked again—the Night King had indeed changed direction and was following them.
Only then did Jon relax slightly, leading the group in a wide arc to keep moving northeast.
Half a day later, more than a hundred kilometers from Winterfell, Bran sat beneath a tree during a brief rest.
His eyes rolled back.
His consciousness slipped into a lone eagle circling high above.
He guided it toward the expected position of the army.
Nothing.
He flew farther.
Still nothing.
A chill ran through him.
Immediately, he turned the eagle and flew straight back toward Winterfell.
After thirty kilometers, he finally spotted the movement of the dead.
Breaking out of his warg vision, Bran quickly called for Jon and relayed what he had seen.
"The Night King… has turned back toward Winterfell?" Jon's expression changed sharply.
He hadn't expected this.
Without hesitation, he issued orders:
"Reddy! Bowman! Ride along the White Knife for twenty miles, then cut straight back to Winterfell. Inform the Queen—the Night King is no longer following us. He's heading for Winterfell. At most… one day away."
Jon quickly summoned two riders and ordered them to return to Winterfell at full speed with a warning. He would follow behind with Bran Stark.
More than two hours later, the two messengers arrived and relayed Jon's report to Daenerys.
The revelation stunned everyone—the Night King had not pursued Bran.
That single fact overturned all their assumptions.
Their dragonglass weapons were still insufficient. The infantry reinforcements hadn't arrived yet. If the army of the dead attacked now, it wouldn't just mean heavy losses—there was a real chance they wouldn't be able to stop the Night King's advance at all.
And if they failed here, nothing would remain to halt the long night sweeping south with him.
For a moment, the war council fell into silence.
Then, a voice broke it—not spoken aloud, but heard only by Daenerys.
[I'll draw him away.]
It was Drogon.
In truth, the idea had crossed many minds already. Some had even considered sending him to confront the Night King directly. Everyone present knew how powerful he was—few believed the Night King could match him.
But without Daenerys giving the order, no one dared suggest it.
Now, hearing Drogon's intent, she spoke decisively:
"I'll go with Drogon and draw the Night King away."
Drogon immediately pushed back in her mind.
[I'll go alone…]
He hadn't expected her to insist on coming. Against the Night King, even he wasn't certain he could escape unscathed. Bringing her along would only make things more dangerous.
Tyrion stepped forward, unease clear on his face.
"Your Grace… it would be better if Drogon goes alone."
His fear wasn't unfounded. The Night King was still an unknown variable, and even Drogon might not be able to guarantee her safety.
Daenerys hesitated.
She had already declared her intention in front of her commanders. Backing down now would make her seem afraid—unfit to lead in the eyes of both her own people and the allied forces.
Tyrion's advice she could ignore.
But Drogon's warning… she couldn't dismiss so easily.
Before she could decide, Drogon lifted off from her shoulder and flew out of the hall.
Thinking he had chosen to go alone, Daenerys immediately followed.
The others, realizing what was happening, trailed after them.
Yet Drogon didn't leave the castle immediately. Instead, he drifted slowly toward the gates, as if waiting.
Seeing this, Daenerys understood.
She stepped outside the gates with him.
On the open ground beyond, Drogon landed—and in a heartbeat expanded to his full, colossal form, lowering himself beside her.
If she had publicly declared she would go, then she would go.
There was no retreat now.
All Drogon could do was keep distance from the Night King… and keep her alive.
Daenerys climbed onto his back, steadying herself. She gave a final nod to Tyrion and the others.
With a powerful beat of his wings, Drogon launched into the sky.
According to the scouts, the enemy lay due north.
Less than twenty minutes later, from high above, Drogon saw them—
An endless sea of the dead, stretching to the horizon.
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