But why had these dragons belonging to the Dragonlord suddenly come to Winterfell?
Had their Stark lord not only recently reached a peace agreement with King's Landing? House Stark had renewed its allegiance to the Iron Throne, the North's autonomy had been recognized, and Duke Robb had inherited the title of Warden of the North...
Had the Targaryen Dragonlord gone back on his word? Did he still see House Stark as a threat, and now intend to come in person to wipe out this ancient northern house, just as Aegon the Conqueror had dealt with the kings who refused to submit?
Uneasy whispers and rumors began spreading among the guards on the walls. Their knuckles whitened around their weapons, but none dared make a rash move.
After all, they still did not know the truth. Besides, faced with the might of a flight of dragons, they were only ordinary humans without any effective defensive weapons. Any hostile action they could take would be laughable.
Before Winterfell's alarm bells rang, Robb Stark had been attending to business in his study.
The study had once belonged to his father, Eddard Stark. Now it was piled with parchment scrolls, ledgers, and letters from across the North, and even from the Wall.
The air carried a mingled scent of aged leather, ink, and the faint traces of burning firewood.
Robb sat behind a heavy oak desk, his brow furrowed. The very young Warden of the North now looked more exhausted than his years warranted, with dark stubble shading his chin and shadows beneath his eyes from lack of sleep.
Several letters lay open before him. The topmost was from Earl Glover of Deepwood Motte, its hurried scrawl describing the havoc the Ironborn had wreaked on his lands.
Although Viserys had annihilated the main force