Chapter 188 — The Host Arrives
After Jon and Daenerys exchanged updates, they moved on to planning how to defend against the army of the dead.
Winterfell would serve only as a staging ground—not a true defensive stronghold. Their real defense would depend on trenches.
Daenerys immediately ordered all soldiers to begin digging, aiming to complete two defensive trench lines before the dead arrived.
Once the meeting ended, she returned to the room prepared for her.
The moment she stepped inside, she noticed something unusual—the temperature was far warmer than outside.
She looked around.
There was no fireplace.
Yet the room was comfortably heated.
Drogon noticed it too. Though the cold meant nothing to him as a fire dragon, curiosity drove him to circle the room, searching for the source.
He found nothing.
Frowning, he pressed a claw against the wall.
Warm.
Then he leaned closer—listening.
A faint, continuous sound.
Flowing water.
[Central heating?]
The familiar sound startled him.
"Drogon, have you figured out why this room is so warm?" Daenerys asked. She pressed her ear to the wall as well, feeling the heat and hearing the faint rush of water.
She knocked lightly—the wall was hollow.
"How did they do this?" she murmured in amazement.
Even Drogon was puzzled. He had never seen a system like this built inside walls.
A knock sounded at the door.
Daenerys opened it, Drogon fluttering over to perch nearby.
"Your Grace, is the room acceptable? If not, I can have another prepared," Jon asked from the doorway.
Now that he had entered Winterfell, he had effectively reclaimed his role as its lord. Ramsay Bolton might resent it, but there was nothing he could do.
This had always been Jon's home.
And with Daenerys's backing, Ramsay had no choice but to step aside.
"The room is very warm," Daenerys said. "But what's the water flowing inside the walls?"
Jon smiled faintly, a hint of pride showing.
"Winterfell is built over hot springs. When the castle was constructed, pipes were laid inside the walls to channel the hot water through them. That's how the castle stays warm even in winter."
"That's incredible," Daenerys said, genuinely impressed.
Even Drogon had to admit—House Stark's ancestors, and the craftsmen who built this place, had remarkable ingenuity.
Satisfied that she was pleased, Jon stepped aside, revealing a young girl of about twelve behind him.
"This is a temporary attendant for you—her name is Naya. She's from Last Hearth. If you need anything, you can ask her."
Knowing Daenerys had arrived alone without attendants, Jon had arranged for someone to serve her.
"Your Grace…" Naya curtsied nervously.
With everything settled and no further requests from Daenerys, Jon took his leave.
Two days later, a report arrived.
A cavalry force had appeared on the Kingsroad south of Winterfell.
Daenerys and Jon went to the battlements to see for themselves.
As the riders drew closer, Jon's expression gradually turned complicated.
The riders were led by Robb Stark, commanding roughly five thousand Northern cavalry—the first reinforcements to reach Winterfell.
As the castle came into view atop the hill, Robb's eyes grew slightly moist. He hadn't thought he would ever return here.
Beside him, Catelyn Stark and Sansa Stark were just as emotional. Though they had only been gone three years, it felt like a lifetime.
With a flick of his reins, Robb urged his horse forward, and the three of them sped toward the gates.
On the walls, Jon Snow quickly confirmed it was Robb. He hurried down, gathered Bran Stark and Rickon Stark, and went out to meet them.
Just as Robb and the others were about to ride through the gate, they saw the doors open from within.
Rickon pushed Bran forward in a wheelchair, with Jon walking behind them.
Catelyn was the first to dismount.
She rushed forward and wrapped Bran tightly in her arms.
He had always been her most beloved child. Back at the wedding at the Twins, when escape had seemed impossible, she had believed she would never see him again.
Letting him go, she immediately pulled Rickon into an embrace as well.
Behind her, Robb and Sansa dismounted and joined them, the siblings gathering together in a long-awaited reunion.
Years apart had changed them all—except for young Rickon, the others had grown and hardened in different ways.
After releasing Rickon, Catelyn looked toward Jon, who stood a short distance away, and gave him a small nod.
After everything—the execution of her husband, the near destruction of her family—her feelings toward this "bastard son" had changed. The old resentment was no longer there.
Jon was visibly surprised by the gesture, but quickly managed a faint smile in return.
After exchanging a few words with Bran and Rickon, Robb stepped forward and embraced Jon tightly. The distance that once existed between them had long since faded after years of hardship.
Sansa then stepped forward and gave Jon a gentle hug as well.
Not seeing Arya Stark among them, Bran understood she had likely made it safely to Braavos, and said nothing.
The family entered the castle, where Daenerys Targaryen was already waiting.
Robb led his mother and sister forward and bowed respectfully.
Seeing Daenerys—only two or three years older than herself—Sansa couldn't help but feel a deep, quiet envy.
As Robb looked around the still-familiar halls of Winterfell, even after multiple repairs, a thought settled firmly in his mind.
This was a reclamation.
Now that he had returned, there was no place here for the Boltons.
It wasn't about relying on Daenerys's power—if she hadn't come, he would still have taken Winterfell back, even at great cost.
As he continued observing, Robb suddenly noticed someone watching him from a second-floor balcony.
Looking up, he saw a pale young man leaning casually against the railing.
Robb narrowed his eyes.
Ramsay Bolton.
The bastard son of the traitor Roose Bolton.
Seeing Robb looking his way, Ramsay raised his wine glass with a faint smile, took a sip, and handed it off to a servant beside him.
But as Robb's gaze shifted, something else caught his attention.
The servant beside Ramsay…
looked familiar.
"Theon?"
Recognizing Theon Greyjoy—once like a brother to him, later his betrayer—Robb instinctively stepped forward, anger flaring.
But as he moved closer, he stopped.
Something was wrong.
Theon's appearance was mostly unchanged—but everything else was gone.
No arrogance.
No defiance.
No trace of the man he used to be.
Only dull, vacant eyes… and a trembling fear.
His lips moved constantly, muttering under his breath, as if repeating something over and over again.
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