Lord Illyrio: Rebuilding Order on the Battlefield's Ruins
The morning mist of Winterfell, carrying the lingering scent of char, condensed into frost on Lord Illyrio's iron boots. He trod over shattered stones mixed with ice shards and black blood, walking from the ruins of the southeast corner tower towards the plaza—the wight corpses incinerated by Rhaegal's dragonflame last night were still emitting wisps of smoke, their greenish-black bones curled into grotesque shapes. Some still had broken dragonglass spears embedded in them, their faint glow shimmering in the morning mist.
"My Lord, this pile of wights needs another round of fire oil," Grey Worm's voice came from the east side of the plaza. His bronze armor was stained with dark red clotted blood, and the leather cord that had bound his hair was half-broken, his black hair clinging loosely to his neck. Two Unsullied were carrying ceramic jars, uniformly pouring dragonglass fire oil over the pile of wights. As soon as a tinder touched it, greenish-blue flames shot up half a zhang high, burning the lingering chill with a sizzling sound.
Lord Illyrio nodded, his gaze sweeping over the busy figures in the plaza—most of the Northern Soldiers were wrapped in thick wool cloaks, using wooden levers to drag wight corpses to the central incineration point. Their faces still showed unvanquished fatigue, but the despair of last night was gone from their eyes. Dothraki Riders, meanwhile, led their warhorses to the troughs beneath the city walls, cleaning ice shards from their tack. Occasionally, a few rough laughs broke the deadly silence of the battlefield.
"How are the casualty reports coming along?" Lord Illyrio walked over to Grey Worm, watching the green flames of the burning fire oil, and thought of the Unsullied who had fallen among the wights last night—among them was a centurion named Karon, who had once helped him repair a dragon saddle in Meereen. Now, only a frozen corpse remained, wrapped in coarse linen, awaiting cremation.
Grey Worm's Adam's apple bobbed. He pulled out a roll of parchment from his tunic, inscribed with charcoal: "Of the original 8,300 Unsullied, 1,246 were killed last night, and 317 severely wounded—most were struck by the ice axes of ice wights, with wounds frozen too deep. The maesters say 62 will not live beyond three days." He paused, his fingertip tracing Karon's name. "We lost three-tenths of our spears, over four hundred shields were shattered, and most of the remaining ones also have cracks and need to be repaired at the Forge."
Lord Illyrio took the parchment, his fingertips touching the rough surface. The charcoal writing on it was a bit shaky due to Grey Worm's trembling hand. He looked up at Winterfell's Forge, where the clang of hammers could be heard—the Northern blacksmiths had spontaneously arrived, re-grinding broken dragonglass spears and reinforcing shattered shields with iron bars. "Send the walking wounded to the Forge to help," Lord Illyrio returned the parchment to Grey Worm. "Tell them that supply ships from Dragonstone will arrive within three days, bringing new weapons and salves."
Just as he spoke, a Northern ranger rode a swift horse from the west gate, a blood-stained wild rabbit hanging from his saddle—caught during this morning's patrol, intended for stew for the wounded. "Lord Illyrio! Lady Sansa requests your presence in the council chamber. She says Lord Jon and Queen Daenerys have arrived and are waiting to discuss the next steps." The ranger dismounted, his breath a little ragged. "Also, a dozen surviving commoners were found outside the city gate, having escaped from nearby villages. They bear marks of wight scratches, and the maesters are keeping a close watch on them."
Lord Illyrio nodded, instructing Grey Worm to continue overseeing the battlefield cleanup, and then headed towards the council chamber. Passing the Godswood, he saw Bran in his wheelchair, with Lyra helping him wrap a wool blanket tightly around him. Ice shards from last night still clung to the weirwood branches, gleaming coldly in the morning light. "Bran, how are you feeling?" Lord Illyrio paused, looking at Bran's pale face—his eyes still had faint dark circles from overusing Greensight last night.
Bran looked up, his eyes unfocused, yet accurately directed towards Lord Illyrio: "The cold from the North hasn't dispersed. The Night King's remnants lingered fifty miles beyond the Wall, leaving behind the scent of ice core fragments." He paused, his voice as soft as the morning mist. "Go to the council chamber. Sansa will bring up Northern autonomy. Daenerys won't refuse, but you must remind her that the Northern Lords still harbor apprehension in their hearts, and you need to give them reassurance."
Lord Illyrio's heart stirred, recalling Bran's words from last night, "the ice core fragment will resurrect the Night King." It seemed his Greensight had captured new clues. "I understand," Lord Illyrio raised a hand and patted Bran's shoulder. "Get some good rest. Don't use Greensight anymore; your body won't be able to take it." Bran didn't respond, merely closing his eyes again, as if sinking back into that green mist where he could see the past and future.
Sansa: The North's Stance in the Council Chamber
Winterfell's council chamber was much warmer than last night, with pine logs burning in the fireplace, the flames crackling and casting everyone's shadows on the stone walls. Sansa sat beside Jon, wearing a dark grey wool dress with a Direwolf embroidered on the collar—an old garment left by her mother, Catelyn. When she found and put it on last night, her fingertips lingered on the embroidery for a long time, as if she could feel her mother's warmth.
Daenerys sat at the head of the table, having changed out of her black dragon-patterned robe into a light brown leather armor, a dragonblood jade belt—a gift from Lord Illyrio—tied around her waist. Lord Illyrio had salvaged it from a sunken ship at Dragonstone, and it was said to ward off the cold. Her silver-white hair was simply tied back with a leather cord, revealing a smooth forehead, and her eyes were much softer than last night, lacking the sharpness of the battlefield.
"How much longer until the battlefield cleanup is finished?" Daenerys spoke first, her gaze sweeping over the Northern Lords and allied generals seated on both sides—on the left were Northern Lords like Manderly and Mormont, and on the right were allied generals like Grey Worm and Jorah Mormont (who had arrived from Dragonstone last night to reinforce, just in time for the end of the final battle). Lord Illyrio and Tyrion had not yet arrived, leaving two empty seats at the entrance of the council chamber.
Jon took over, pulling a roll of parchment from his tunic: "The Northern Soldiers have finished clearing the wights inside the city walls; outside will take another day—we discovered three hidden wight nests, all in nearby caves, harboring dozens of wights that hadn't managed to join the attack. Dothraki Riders are needed to help encircle and eliminate them." He paused, looking at Daenerys. "Additionally, the Night's Watch at the Wall sent word that wights tried to climb up the east gate last night, but were repelled by dragonglass arrows. However, the ice cracks in the Wall are larger than before and need to be reinforced."
Sansa then cleared her throat softly, drawing everyone's attention. She set down her ceramic cup—filled with hot mulled wine prepared for the wounded, of which she had purposely kept a cup to warm her hands—and slowly began: "Queen Daenerys, Jon, Lords, I have something I wish to discuss with everyone." Her voice was not loud, but carried an undeniable firmness. "The decisive battle at Winterfell last night came at a great cost to the North—three-tenths of our soldiers died, over two hundred commoners perished, and many villages were burned down by wights, leaving only ruins."
The Northern Lords nodded in agreement, with Lord Manderly even standing up excitedly: "Lady Sansa is right! The Northmen have shed too much blood fighting the Others! We can fight Cersei with the alliance, and together guard against the Night King's counterattack, but after the war, the North must be autonomous! We can no longer be dictated to by King's Landing, whether by Lannister or Targaryen!"
Daenerys's brow furrowed slightly, her fingers rubbing back and forth on the armrest—she understood the Northmen's concerns but also worried that autonomy would split the alliance, especially as they still had to fight Cersei and the potentially resurrected Night King. "Lord Manderly, I understand your worries," Daenerys's voice was steady, "but Westeros needs to be united to completely counter the threat of the cold god. If every territory demands autonomy, who will lead a unified command when a crisis strikes? Who will allocate resources?"
"We can accept the alliance's unified command, but the North's sovereignty must be preserved," Sansa immediately interjected, looking directly at Daenerys. "After the war, Winterfell will still be ruled by House Stark, and the North's taxes and army will be managed by us. When the alliance needs Northern troops, we will send men to fight, but we cannot be forced to fight battles unrelated to the North." She paused, her tone softening slightly. "Queen Daenerys, I know you want to build a Westeros without war, but the North has experienced too much betrayal. We need a sense of security."
Silence fell in the council chamber, broken only by the crackling of the fireplace. Jon looked at Sansa, then at Daenerys, wanting to mediate but unsure what to say—he understood his sister's sense of responsibility to the North, and also Daenerys's insistence on unity. Just then, the council chamber door opened, and Lord Illyrio and Tyrion walked in together. The former still carried the charred smell of the battlefield, while the latter was dusty from travel, his cloak stained with mud from the journey.
"It seems we've arrived just in time," Tyrion said with a smile, walking over to Daenerys and pulling an apple from his tunic—he had bought it from a farmer on the road, and it was still fresh. "I just heard the word 'autonomy' outside the door. Why don't you hear my news first, it won't be too late to decide then."
Tyrion: Urgent Intelligence from Dragonstone
Tyrion sat in the empty seat next to Daenerys, biting into an apple, the sweet juice alleviating his travel fatigue. He looked at the solemn atmosphere in the council chamber and then at Sansa's and Daenerys's expressions, immediately understanding what had just transpired. "Let's put the matter of autonomy aside for now," Tyrion placed the apple core on the table and pulled a wax-sealed parchment from his tunic. "When I was traveling from Dragonstone, I encountered a merchant ship that had escaped from King's Landing. The captain was an old acquaintance of mine, and he gave me this—Euron Greyjoy's fleet movements."
Everyone's gaze focused on the parchment. Daenerys gestured for Tyrion to unroll it, and he spread the parchment on the council table, pointing to the red circles on it with his finger: "The remaining two thousand men of the Golden Company, led by Commander Harry Strickland, have all pledged allegiance to Euron. Euron's fleet now consists of forty-two warships, ten of which are giant warships bought from Lys, each capable of carrying three hundred soldiers and twenty scorpions. They are currently stationed at the entrance to Blackwater Bay, blockading the sea route to King's Landing."
"What does he want?" Jon frowned, recalling Euron's previous threats to Daenerys—the pirate king had always sought to seize the iron throne, even wanting to marry Daenerys. Now controlling Blackwater Bay, he clearly intended to choke off the alliance's southward advance.
Tyrion's expression grew serious: "The merchant ship captain said Euron sent an envoy to King's Landing and reached an agreement with Cersei—Cersei will provide Euron with gold and weapons, and Euron will be responsible for preventing the alliance's fleet from approaching King's Landing, while also helping her encircle and suppress the resistance in the Riverlands."
He paused, looking at Illyrio. "Also, when I was on Dragonstone, I found Qyburn's men secretly active near the dragonglass mine on the island, seemingly trying to steal dragonglass—luckily, they were discovered by the Unsullied guarding the mine, who captured two alive.
They confessed that Qyburn wanted to mix crystal and dragonglass to create a weapon that could control dragons."
This news intensified the atmosphere in the council chamber.
Illyrio walked to the table, his fingertip tracing the location of Blackwater Bay: "If Euron controls Blackwater Bay, we will certainly be ambushed if we go south by sea.
If we go by land, we need to pass through the Riverlands, where there are now remnants of House Frey and troops sent by Cersei, and we might also encounter Euron's cavalry—his Ironborn cavalry are good at surprise attacks and difficult to deal with."
"Then we cannot wait," Daenerys's eyes became firm.
"Cersei has wildfire, and Qyburn is researching dragon-controlling weapons.
If we drag this out, she will only grow stronger.
Although the Night King is severely wounded, the ice core fragment is still there, and he could revive at any time.
We must deal with Cersei before he counterattacks, otherwise, we will be attacked from both sides."
Sansa then spoke: "Queen Daenerys, if you are heading south, the North can send three thousand men as support, but the remaining forces need to stay in the North—we need to clear the wight remnants, reinforce the Wall, and protect the surviving civilians.
We cannot deploy all our forces."
She looked at the Northern lords, and Lord Manderly immediately echoed: "That's right, the North cannot be left unguarded, otherwise, if the Night King returns, we will be caught unprepared again, just like last time."
Tyrion nodded: "Lady Sansa makes a good point; the North does indeed need to be garrisoned.
I have a suggestion—we divide our forces into two paths.
One stays in the North, responsible for clearing wights, reinforcing the Wall, and monitoring the Night King's movements.
The other goes south to deal with Cersei and Euron.
This way, we don't have to worry about the safety of the North, and we can also stop Cersei's schemes as soon as possible."
Everyone's gaze turned to Illyrio; after all, he was the tactical core of the alliance, having devised the previous three-pronged plan and the crypt raid.
Illyrio pondered for a moment, then walked to the map and drew two lines on it with charcoal: "Tyrion's suggestion is feasible, but dividing forces requires clear responsibilities.
I suggest Jon and Sansa stay in the North—Jon is familiar with the Night's Watch and the Wall, and Sansa is good at managing the territory and can appease civilians and lords.
Daenerys, I, Tyrion, and Jaime will lead the main force south; the Unsullied, Dothraki Riders, and the remnants of the Lannister forces will all come with us.
Drogon and Rhaegal will also go south; dragonflame is useful against Euron's fleet and Cersei's army."
"What about the dragonglass supply for the North?" asked Lord Mormont.
"We only have half of our dragonglass spears left; if the Night King counterattacks, it might not be enough."
Illyrio had already considered this: "The dragonglass mine on Dragonstone has large reserves.
I will have the commander of Dragonstone send a batch of dragonglass to the North every five days, which should be enough for you.
Additionally, Sam discovered a dragonglass mine beneath The Citadel; once he arranges things there, it can also send supplies to the North."
He paused, looking at Jon, "Also, Bran's Greensight can perceive the Night King's movements.
Have him stay in the North, and if he detects any signs of the Night King's revival, immediately notify us with a raven, and we will head north as quickly as possible to provide support."
[Illyrio: Details of the troop division plan finalized]
The council meeting continued until noon.
The pine wood in the fireplace had burned to ashes, and the handmaidens added new logs, the warm air dispelling the chill from everyone.
The troop division plan was finally settled: The Northern garrison would be commanded by Jon, consisting of five thousand Northern Soldiers (one thousand wounded soldiers responsible for defending the city, the remaining four thousand for clearing wights and reinforcing the Wall), two thousand Night's Watch (stationed at various passes along the Wall).
Sansa would assist in managing the internal affairs of Winterfell, and Bran would be responsible for monitoring the Night King's movements using Greensight.
The southern expeditionary force would be commanded by Daenerys, consisting of six thousand Unsullied (Grey Worm as commander), twelve hundred Dothraki Riders (Jorah Mormont as commander), eighteen hundred Lannister remnants (Jaime as commander).
Illyrio would serve as tactical advisor, Tyrion would be responsible for logistics and diplomacy, and Drogon and Rhaegal would accompany the southern force, directly commanded by Daenerys.
After the meeting, Illyrio remained in the council chamber with Tyrion and Jaime to refine the southern route and supply arrangements.
"We will depart from Winterfell and first head to Riverrun," Illyrio said, pointing to the Riverlands on the map.
"Arya should still be in Riverrun; she went to deal with the remnants of House Frey, and can conveniently rendezvous with us—Brynden Tully, the Blackfish, is also there.
He has a thousand remnants of Riverrun's soldiers, who can join our southern force and strengthen our numbers."
Jaime nodded, pulling out a map of Riverrun from his pocket—it was one he had drawn when he attacked Riverrun in his youth, marked with weak points in the city walls and surrounding paths.
"Riverrun's west gate is near the river, we can enter the city from there," Jaime's finger traced across the map.
"The remnants of House Frey are mainly concentrated in the fortress in the east of the city.
We can use the Dothraki Riders to go around to the rear of the fortress, while the Unsullied attack from the front.
With a pincer movement, we can quickly take it."
Tyrion, meanwhile, focused on supply issues: "We have a force of nearly ten thousand men, requiring two thousand catties of grain and five hundred catties of fodder daily."
He pulled out a ledger from his pocket, which recorded the grain reserves in the North and Dragonstone.
"Winterfell's granary still has thirty thousand catties of grain, enough to sustain us until Riverrun.
Dragonstone's supply ships will travel along the coast and meet us at Saltpans to replenish food and weapons—I have already sent someone to notify the lord of Saltpans to prepare warehouses in advance."
"How do we avoid Euron's fleet in Blackwater Bay?" Jaime asked, concerned that the fleet might attack Saltpans from the sea, cutting off the alliance's supply line.
Illyrio had already devised a countermeasure: "I will have Yara Greyjoy lead the Iron Islands fleet to depart from the north, circle around to the west side of Blackwater Bay, and divert Euron's attention."
He paused, "Yara has a vendetta against Euron and will surely be willing to help—she previously sent an envoy to Winterfell, saying she was willing to join the alliance on the condition that she rule the Iron Islands after the war, which Daenerys has agreed to.
Additionally, we will send Dothraki Riders to patrol near Saltpans in advance.
If Euron's warships are spotted approaching, they will immediately notify us with wolf smoke, and we can temporarily withdraw and continue our advance after Yara's fleet arrives."
As they spoke, an Unsullied soldier entered the council chamber and handed Illyrio a letter from Arya—it had arrived this morning from Riverrun via raven, just reaching Winterfell.
Illyrio unfolded the letter, revealing Arya's delicate yet strong handwriting: "The remnants of House Frey have been cleared, the wildfire transport ship has been destroyed, the Blackfish is willing to lead his troops to join the southern force, and Riverrun has prepared grain and fodder, awaiting the alliance's arrival.
Additionally, Qyburn's men have been spotted active near Riverrun, seemingly searching for something.
Personnel have been dispatched to track them, and any news will be reported immediately."
"Excellent," Illyrio handed the letter to Tyrion and Jaime.
"Arya has already taken care of things in Riverrun; we can depart with peace of mind."
He looked up at the window; the sun was shining through the clouds onto Winterfell's plaza.
Soldiers had already begun packing their luggage, and the sounds of the Smithy and the neighing of warhorses mingled, full of the bustling atmosphere before departure.
Jaime looked at the scene outside the window, recalling when he left Casterly Rock in his youth.
Then, he was a spirited knight, but now he had endured much, lost a hand, and carried the infamous title of "Kingslayer."
"I never thought I would go south with a Targaryen to fight my own sister," Jaime's voice carried a hint of emotion.
"But I know this is right—Cersei has gone mad.
Her wildfire will destroy all of Westeros; I cannot let her do that."
Illyrio patted Jaime's shoulder, understanding his complex feelings: "You are not fighting for the Targaryens, nor for me.
You are fighting for the common people of Westeros, for those who do not wish to be burned by wildfire or devoured by Others."
He paused, "Once we deal with Cersei, you can choose your own life—return to Casterly Rock, or go somewhere else.
No one will force you to do what you don't want to do anymore."
Jaime nodded, a hint of relief in his eyes.
Tyrion smiled and picked up an apple from the table: "Alright, no more sentimentality; we still have a lot to do—I need to discuss the logistics details with Daenerys, and you two should also hurry and prepare.
Let's try to depart first thing tomorrow morning."
Illyrio and Jaime both laughed, and the three walked out of the council chamber together, heading towards their respective camps.
In the plaza, Northern civilians were offering food and warm water to the soldiers.
A little girl handed a bunch of dried flowers to an Unsullied, who took it somewhat stiffly, yet a rare smile appeared on his lips.
Illyrio watched this scene, his choice becoming even firmer in his heart—no matter how many difficulties they encountered, they had to protect this land, protect the smiles of these people.
This was the meaning of fighting the Others and Cersei.
In the evening, Illyrio went to the Smithy to check on weapon preparations, seeing Northern blacksmiths adding iron handguards to dragonglass spears, Dothraki Riders oiling their horse tack, and Unsullied organizing their armor, nailing broken plates with iron nails.
"My Lord, all the dragonglass fire oil has been packed," Grey Worm walked up to Illyrio, holding a ceramic jar.
"Each soldier has three jars, enough to handle small skirmishes on the road."
Illyrio took the ceramic jar and shook it; the fire oil inside made a slight sloshing sound.
"Tell everyone to get a good rest tonight," Illyrio told Grey Worm.
"We depart first thing tomorrow morning.
We might encounter snow on the way, so tell everyone to bring more warm clothing."
Grey Worm nodded, then turned to relay the orders.
Illyrio stood at the entrance of the Smithy, looking at Winterfell under the setting sun—the city walls, though somewhat damaged, were still sturdy.
The weirwood trees in the Godswood swayed in the wind, as if guarding the city.
Campfires gradually lit up in the plaza, and soldiers gathered around, singing Northern songs.
Though the songs were not melodious, they were full of hope.
He knew that after they departed tomorrow, they would face Euron's fleet, Cersei's wildfire, and potentially the resurrected Night King, but he was not afraid—because he was not fighting alone.
He had Daenerys, Jon, Arya, Tyrion, Jaime, and tens of thousands of people willing to fight to protect their homeland by his side.
These people were the light against the darkness.