Fixed target, forty meters away, no hostile interference…
Such ideal conditions for shelling left no reason to miss. Just two-tenths of a second after the projectile left the barrel, the sound of it striking the target reached the ears of everyone inside the armory. When the smoke cleared, Aegor, who had been observing the impact, was slightly surprised to see that despite the low charge, the shot had pierced the gate and entered the main castle without resistance. It not only punched through but left a long crack running along the wood grain. He wondered whether the gate had been poorly constructed or if cross-era thermal weapons simply possessed such terrifying and overwhelming destructive power.
Hopefully, no one had been standing behind the door, Aegor thought to himself. Without dwelling on it, he nodded and ordered, "Continue. Fire three more rounds."
Gun repositioning, barrel cleaning, reloading... Aegor had no intention of launching a full assault on the main castle, so he placed no demands on rate of fire. Not only was he in no rush, he even wanted the pace to be deliberately slow to give those inside the main castle time to react, to let them fully experience the fear of artillery bombardment and the fragility of old-era strongholds in the face of such weapons. Within ten minutes, the artillerymen completed four shots in total, calmly and methodically, like a demonstration. Again, and again... the roar of cannon fire echoed between the buildings and walls of Winterfell. The entire world seemed to fall silent, leaving only that single sound.
Shortly after the fourth shot, the person Aegor had been waiting for was finally brought to the second floor of the armory.
Maester Luwin had a bruise on one cheek. He had still been releasing ravens when the Gift soldiers stormed the Maester's Tower last night, and he had taken a severe beating. If Aegor hadn't placed a ten-gold-dragon bounty on capturing him alive, he might not have survived the hands of those burly soldiers.
"Lord Aegor!" The Maester rushed toward the Night's Watch officer the moment he entered, speaking urgently and sincerely. "You have already taken Winterfell. There's no need to hurt more people. Please allow me to go and persuade them to surrender. I am certain I can convince Lady Catelyn to yield the main castle."
"That's exactly why I had you brought here," Aegor said kindly, gesturing to the pile of equipment behind him. "You've already heard the sound, so I won't demonstrate again. I can blow open the main gate or even flatten the entire keep. The ceasefire is because I don't want to hurt anyone inside. Please convey this to Lady Catelyn, Maester Luwin, and ask her to make a wise choice."
The old Maester agreed without hesitation and hurried to the door that led to the main castle, as if afraid Aegor would change his mind if he delayed a moment longer. He raised his hands high to ensure the archers in the fortress could see him, then slowly approached the main gate. Upon reaching it, he began negotiating with the defenders through the hole made by the cannonball. The conversation lasted some time. As everyone waited, they could vaguely hear the arguments between the defenders and the Maester's voice attempting to persuade them.
Aegor didn't rush or strain to listen. The display of power had been made. The negotiator sent was the most rational and trustworthy person in the castle. If, despite this, the defenders inside were still determined to die rather than yield, then Aegor would have no choice...
But there weren't that many "ifs." About an hour after the echo of the fourth cannon shot faded, Maester Luwin, who had been arguing in the cold for half the day, finally stopped talking and stepped aside. Behind him, the gate that had taken four cannon strikes creaked open, and a group of people emerged.
Leading them were several armored soldiers. They walked empty-handed at the front to show the main castle had ceased resisting. Their number was even smaller than Aegor had expected. The first Gift troops who had entered the city the night before had executed the armory assault so effectively that none of the defenders had managed to retreat to the main castle. Behind them came a large group of stewards and servants responsible for various duties within the keep. They followed their masters in surrendering, as per Aegor's request to "empty the main castle." And sandwiched between these two groups were the members of House Stark.
First came young Rickon. Since Bran had joined the Night's Watch and Robb was captured and unconscious, the eight-year-old had naturally become the eldest Stark male remaining in the castle, and thus assumed the role of temporary head of the family and representative of the surrender.
Next was Lady Catelyn. Her hand rested on Rickon's shoulder, walking half a step behind her youngest son, as though pushing him forward. Though she stood second in line, everyone knew—at least for now—that she was the true person in charge.
Third was Roslin Frey Stark, Robb's wife, a beautiful woman who had grown into a swan from a weasel's den. In her arms, she held their daughter Lyanna, only a few months old, named after the woman who had fled with Rhaegar Targaryen twenty years earlier and indirectly triggered the fall of House Targaryen. It was clear Robb had named her in memory of the aunt he had never met.
Further back came Sansa, the eldest daughter of the Stark family, followed by Arya, and then the "third daughter," Myrcella. It was worth noting that Maester Luwin, having completed his mission of persuading surrender, had joined the group halfway through. He followed closely behind Arya, holding her arm and speaking to her anxiously. This old man, who had served Winterfell for decades, knew each Stark's temperament by heart. Among this group, the most likely to stir up trouble were the two mischievous children, Rickon and Arya. With the former under his mother's watchful eye, the Maester had naturally chosen to keep a close grip on the latter.
"Lord Commander," the young head of House Stark pouted and reluctantly began reciting the lines his mother had taught him. "On behalf of House Stark, I surrender to you. Winterfell is yours."
Aegor smiled and waved his hand. A group of soldiers stepped forward to escort the surrendered retainers away from the armory, while another group passed by the Starks and entered the main castle to search for any remaining stragglers. Then, the man who had received the surrender walked slowly toward the Stark family, his expression calm, carefully scanning each face.
...
Catelyn's face was expressionless. Rickon looked unhappy. Roslin clutched her baby tightly, as if afraid Aegor might try to take her child. Sansa stared nervously at her toes, trembling slightly. Myrcella blinked at him, cast a confused glance, then lowered her head. Even Arya turned her face away the moment his gaze landed on her.
Everyone behaved as expected—except Arya. Aegor had been worried she would hurl insults or glare at him with killing intent. Yet to his surprise, she remained silent and didn't even make eye contact. He had no idea what she was planning.
There was no time to dwell on it. He withdrew his gaze and said, "Everyone, I regret having to enter the city in such a rough manner to meet you, and I apologize. However, Lord Bolton has officially sworn allegiance to Queen Daenerys and is currently marching here. As a friend of House Stark, I had to seize control of the castle before his arrival, to prevent any harm from befalling you."
In truth, Aegor had received no concrete confirmation. But of course, he could not tell the people in front of him that he had taken Winterfell on a hunch. He had always disliked those dramatic tales in which people who once had no enmity, or were even close allies, ended up killing each other due to misunderstandings and poor communication. To avoid falling into such a farce himself, his approach was straightforward. He explained his reasons and intentions directly to the Starks.
Better to clear things up early. Even if they only half believed him, it was still better than being met with outright hostility.
"Where is Shaggydog?" Rickon suddenly asked, ignoring everything Aegor had said and demanding to know the whereabouts of his direwolf.
The question left Aegor momentarily speechless. As far as he knew, the Gift soldiers who entered the city the previous night had been attacked in the godswood by a "large dog." It had taken more than ten of them, with multiple injuries, to finally bring the beast down. That must have been Rickon's wolf. But... how could he break the news?
Your wolf is dead? Of course not.
The wolf fought valiantly and died heroically? Would a child even understand the sentiment behind that phrasing?
What if the boy threw a fit right here and now? Then what?
"Thank you for your kindness, Lord Aegor," Catelyn cut in, changing the subject in time. Seeing his hesitation, she already understood that Shaggydog's fate was grim. But in this moment, people mattered more than animals. "We will cooperate with all your requests and instructions. Please, for the sake of our past friendship, do not harm the innocent people of Winterfell."
"My Lady, you speak too seriously. The North is a friend of The Gift, and none of you are prisoners. You will continue to live in the main castle. Until Lady Stark..." Aegor paused, realizing there were two Lady Starks present, and corrected himself. "Until Lady Catelyn or Robb and I agree on a proper follow-up plan, I will leave on my own and allow life here to return to normal."
"Where is Robb?" Catelyn's composed expression flickered at last upon hearing the implication in his words.
"He is in the next room. You may go see him yourself." Aegor tilted his head and instructed his men, "Please escort the young lords and ladies back to their rooms. One room for each, except for Roslin and the child. Take good care of them." Then he extended a hand and said, "Lady Catelyn, please come with me."
(To be continued.)
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