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RM: Battle of the Wall Part III
🕑 Added 2025-08-22 23:19:15 +0000 UTCJon Snow frowned as he parried a copper-headed spear that was thrusting for his throat with his bastard sword. The Wildlings had come in force this time, and word was that they had overrun the section of the wall near Rimegate where Lord Bolton had been in command. Jon scowled as his riposte struck the head off the Wildling Spearman that had attempted to impale him. They had been at this for three days now, yet the Wildlings had refused to withdraw. They were relentless in their attacks, giving only brief respite between waves. Honestly, it was working for them. With Rimegate having fallen, more and more pressure was being put on the Brothers of the Night's Watch and the Forces of the North that Lord Stark had brought to reinforce the Wall. It was starting to wear the defenders down.
John ducked a blow from a pilfered axe that a Wildling Warrior aimed at his skull before running the Fur-Clad Axeman through with his blade. Alongside him, Grenn howled in anger as he cleaved the right arm off a Frozen Shore Wildling wielding a harpoon made from fire-hardened wood and a walrus tusk. Jon could see his friend had been grazed by the tip of the harpoon along the meat of his right thigh, underneath the tassets of the Arsenal Steel Breastplate he wore. A loud crack and a plume of smoke from nearby sounded off as Satin fired the Matchlock Musket he had traded his usual bow for. The Musketeer wouldn't be needing it anymore, after all. Not after having had his brain punctured by a Wildling Arrow to the face. Satin's shot punched into the torso of a Wildling Brute that was wearing a looted Chainmail Hauberk, likely taken from one of Lord Bolton's Men-At-Arms. The Wildling sank to the floor, dropping his gnarled greatclub, dead.
Satin and Grenn weren't the only ones fighting alongside Jon, of course. Pypar was also here, his twin daggers flashing out as he carved up a Wildling from the Cavedwellers Tribe with his teeth filed into points and his face dyed blue with woad. Renly, meanwhile, was commanding forces down in the tunnel, making sure no Wildlings got through the gate. Supposedly, they'd managed to do so at Rimegate by having a Giant batter the gates off their hinges. Lord Stark and Lord Commander Mormont hadn't wanted a repeat of that and had sent the reserves forward, putting a decent number of forces on the remaining gates. Jon ducked a cut from a Wildling with a stolen Arsenal Steel Sword, cutting out with his own blade as he did so to cut the legs out from under the attacking Wildling.
As he came back up in time to parry a jade club that was swinging down at his head, Jon couldn't help but wonder just how many had been killed so far in the fighting at the Wall. He knew the casualty count among the Night's Watch and the Forces of the North equaled roughly two thousand, though he wasn't certain how many were wounded and how many were dead. The Wildlings, however, were difficult to figure out, as they tended to take their dead back with them after an attack wave withdrew. It made getting accurate numbers impossible, though the Haunted Forest seemed to be ablaze with pyres during the night. If those were pyres at all. As Jon smashed the Wildling Mace-Wielder's temple with a strike from his hilt, he reflected that it was possible that those were cookfires. Some Wildling Tribes were known cannibals, after all.
Booting the dazed Wildling over toward Grenn with a thrusting front kick, Jon scowled as the thought of casualties made him remember Dolorous Edd's current troubles. As Grenn hacked down with his blade, cleaving the Hapless Wildling from shoulder to groin, Jon recalled that Dolorous Edd had so many of his ribs broken that even if he made a good recovery, the Maesters insisted on assigning him a less perilous detail, such as assisting Maester Aemon. They seemed to think it might not even be possible for Dolorous Edd to fight again, after all. Snarling at the thought of the Wildlings having likely permanently maimed one of his closest friends, Jon Snow bulled forward, bastard sword cleaving the legs off one Wildling, even as he shoulder-checked a second off the Wall to plummet to his doom.
Behind him, another belch of smoke and flame heralded another shot from Satin that punched into the face of a Wildling that was wearing a Looted Arsenal Steel Breastplate over his Leathers. The Wildling's skull practically exploded in bits of bone and brain matter, even as Pyp and Grenn surged forth, Pyp's daggers parrying a copper knife and punching into a Wildling's Throat, while Grenn's Bastard Sword chopped the head off one Wildling before cleaving into the leather-clad torso of another. Behind them, Satin charged with a shout, turning his Musket around and swinging it like a club to brain a Woad-Painted Cave Dweller Wildling with the stock. A horn blasted out twice as the wildlings began to withdraw, this wave having been withstood. Jon Snow, however, wasn't willing to let them leave uncontested.
"After them! Keep the pressure on! For Dolorous Edd!" Insisted Jon.
"Right! For Edd!" Roared Grenn.
Jon, Grenn, and Pyp charged forward, while Satin reloaded his Musket. They caught three more of the retreating wildlings with their blades while Satin slew one with a parting shot before the Wildling Attack Wave managed to withdraw. Unfortunately, even with the Forces of the North, they didn't have enough men to truly turn that withdrawal into a rout by charging into the Wildlings. That wasn't to say they were alone up here, not by a long shot, but the group being led by Ser Alliser Thorn was facing attacks from climbers and had their own fighting to do. As for Jon, he'd started today's fighting with thirty men under his command. The others had either been slain or wounded over the course of the numerous attacks. Some of them would be trickling back in shortly, having been patched up by the Maesters. The rest were too wounded or slain.
Jon huffed and puffed, taking a knee to try and conserve energy. Grenn made his way over and produced a wineskin, offering it first to Jon, then passing it around the group. As they took their short rest, drinking the Wineskin, Jon looked out beyond the wall to the horizon. The sun was about to set. If they were lucky, there would only be one more attack today from the Wildlings before their relief arrived for the night shift. The whistling of the wind and the glow of the sun over the Haunted Forest would have actually been rather pretty, if not for the Horde of marauding Wildlings that was currently trying to kill Jon and all his friends. As he realized that, however, the telltale creaking of the lift system could be heard. Jon turned to see Scarfaced Tybald, a Tyroshi Brother of the Watch who had been part of Jon's initial group and taken an arrow through the meat of his upper arm, return to the fray alongside five other Brothers.
Scarfaced Tybold and his five companions would be the first of Jon's wounded subordinates to return to duty, but they wouldn't be the last. By the time the final attack of the day came at them, Jon Snow would have seventeen men under his command to face it. They were going to need the reinforcements.
As it would turn out, the last attack the Wildlings sent their way before nightfall would be led by the Weeper. . .
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Lord Commander Jeor Mormont, meanwhile, was having similar difficulties. He had taken overall command of a section of wall that was the Easternmost Section, based around Eastwatch-By-The-Sea. Cotter Pyke was in command at Eastwatch, but Jeor had always believed in being proactive and had set up his headquarters near Greenguard. That had perhaps been a mistake, as Greenguard had come under heavy and constant attack ever since Rimegate had fallen. Jeor Mormont knew the reason why, of course. The Wildlings wanted a shot at him. To slay the Old Bear would be a major feather in any Wildling Chieftain's cap. Normally, Jeor would have welcomed such a challenge. Unfortunately, he was getting far too old for this sort of thing.
As the sun began to set over the horizon, however, he realized exactly which Wildling Chieftain was driving this attack forward. The last attack of the day began with shouts and hollers, the Wildlings letting off a half dozen different kinds of full-throated War Cries that merged into one terrifying cacophony as they began their assault. Thankfully, Jeor's men were hardened and well-trained. Brothers of the Night's Watch were not some green farmboy levy that might break from such a display. He raised his blade, Longclaw, the ancestral Valyrian Steel Bastard Sword of House Mormont, into the air as he shouted out for his men.
"Brothers! They come! Ready yourselves, we'll throw these misbegotten wretches back just like all the others!" Roared Jeor.
"To the Lord Commander!" Came the cry from his men as they rallied around Jeor.
Then the attack began, and Jeor saw it. The skull-faced helm and bleached bone chestpiece, though now the Chestpiece was worn over a looted Arsenal Steel Chaimail Hauberk, along with a Runic Bronze Blade and Runic Bronze Shield liberated from some ancient barrow somewhere. Rattleshirt was leading this attack. The Wildlings must be desperate if that was the case. They were either on their last legs as a force, or Rattleshirt was just that arrogant to believe he was the one who should claim Jeor's head. Of course, there was a third option, that the Wildlings felt they could claim victory with one last major push, but Jeor couldn't think about that. If he did, he might give himself to defeatism, and that wouldn't do for the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch. Not while the battle was still ongoing, at any rate.
As the lines met, Jeor found himself face to face with Rattleshirt himself. The so-called Lord of Bones parrying a strike from Longclaw with his Runic Bronze Shield. Jeor wasn't too surprised to see that happen. It was well-known that the Secret of Magic Runes had been prolific back during the Age of Heroes, when many of the Barrows beyond the wall had been dug, but it was still a problem. As Rattleshirt's riposte came in, Jeor was forced to jank to the side, avoiding the thrusting sword. He didn't know what the runes on Rattleshirt's looted Bronze Blade were for, but he honestly didn't want to find out. Jeor's own counterattack crashed into Rattleshirt's shield, and Jeor used his size and strength, still formidable even after all these years, to bear down on Rattleshirt, no pun intended, forcing his opponent to one knee.
"So, Rattleshirt thinks he can take my skull, eh?" Questioned Jeor with a grunt.
"Of course! Why should that fool the Weeper be the one to do it?" Queried Rattleshirt, behind gritted teeth.
"Many others have tried. Better swordsman than you. Do you really think you'll be the one to slay me?" Asked Jeor, huffing.
"I'll make a drinking cup out of your skull!" Snarled Rattleshirt as he finally angled his shield properly.
Longclaw slid off Rattleshirt's freshly angled shield, and Jeor was forced to back away from a thrust of Rattleshirt's Runic Bronze Blade. With a growl from deep in his throat, Jeor struck back, a flashing riposte that cut out for Rattleshirt's Neck, forcing the Wildling Leader to duck. Rattleshirt wasn't quite fast enough to escape unscathed. Longclaw sliced a chunk off the top of Rattleshirt's skull helm, taking hair and a sliver of scalp with it. Jeor smirked as Rattleshirt's eyes widened behind his skull helm, realizing he'd been scalped slightly. He bulled forward, striking out with the rim of his Runic Bronze Shield, trying to smash Jeor off the Wall. Jeor danced back as he did so, letting out a chuckle at the furious attack that the Wildling Commander was practically throwing himself into.
"What's wrong, Rattleshirt? Too close a shave for you?" Questioned the Old Bear, tauntingly.
"You dare make jokes?" Queried Rattleshirt, furious.
"Why shouldn't I?" Asked Jeor with a smirk.
"I'll kill you, Old Man!" Spat Rattleshirt.
Then he drove forward with his Runic Bronze Shield and Sword in tandem, fury lending his strikes strength and speed. It was only after the first two passes that Jeor realized that he may have miscalculated. Against a normal opponent, fury might lend their attacks speed and power, but it tended to make their technique sloppier. Rattleshirt, though, seemed to treat anger like an old friend. From the Man's reputation for plots and schemes, you wouldn't think Rattleshirt to be a berserker. In truth, he wasn't one, not an archetypal one, at any rate. Instead, Rattleshirt seemed to be the more dangerous sort of berserker, the type that had learned to master their fury instead of having it master them. Rattleshirt's technique wasn't degrading with the anger. If anything, it was marginally more precise.
Jeor realized now that he was in trouble, and he began parrying and dodging for all he was worth. He was still more technically sound than Rattleshirt, but his age was catching up to him, sapping his stamina. Each parry came a little slower, each dodge had a little less margin, until finally, the Old Bear made an error. Rattleshirt thrust the rim of his shield for Jeor's face, and Jeor leaned back away from it, only for Rattleshirt to sneak a cut to the back of Jeor's right knee, between the arsenal steel greave and tassets of his armor. The Bronze Blade slipped into Jeor's flesh, cutting the tendons in his knee and sending Jeor toppling to the floor. Rattleshirt let out a laugh in triumph and dove forward, blade coming down for Jeor. At the same time, Jeor threw Longclaw up, point first.
Both blades hit home at the same time. Rattleshirt's blade sank into Jeor's left shoulder even as Longclaw impaled Rattleshirt through the heart. Both combatants slumped to the floor of the Top of the wall, Jeor wounded badly, Rattleshirt slain. In the end, however, Jeor's men would pull him from the line, sequestering him back to the Keep of Greenguard whilst the reserves under Ser Helman Tallheart rushed forward to plug the gaps in the line. The Wildling attack would falter soon afterward, and Ser Helman would order a full counterattack, despite the relative lack of forces. That attack would ensure that the Wildling attackers were cut down to a man while retreating.
Furthermore, it would also ensure that Rattleshirt's Runic Bronze Weaponry would be brought back to Greenguard for study. . .
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Meanwhile, while the Lord Commander was fighting his duel, another had broken out between Jon Snow and the Weeper. The Weeper's Runic Bronze Armor and razor-sharp scythe against Jon's Runic Arsenal Steel Sword and Arsenal Steel Breastplate, and Chain Hauberk. It was proving to be quite the even match, as neither Jon nor the Weeper had managed to land so much as a single blow on one another. Jon growled in frustration as he ducked a swing of the Weeper's scythe, which was whirling about, marking out a circle of death about the Wildling Chieftain that had already claimed the lives of two of Jon's subordinates as they tried to back Jon up against the Rheumy-Eyed Wildling Warlord. The Scythe came up, around, and down in an arc, trying to plunge into Jon's shoulder from above, only for Jon to parry.
The Weeper smirked and tried to hook Jon's blade out of his hand with the crook of his scythe then, but Jon was wise to the trick, moving with the motion to swap positions with the Weeper in a circular flurry of footwork. Winding and binding ensued as Jon and the Weeper each tried to gain leverage enough to either disarm the other or press home an attack. As they did so, Jon had to admit, the Weeper was good with his chosen weapon. He would have made for a fantastic Men-At-Arms had he taken his Father's offer to just bend the knee and settle the Gift. As they jockeyed for leverage in the bind, Jon grit his teeth and demanded to know the reason for his obstinacy.
"Why? Why go through all this?" Questioned Jon through gritted teeth.
"You wouldn't understand!" Growled the Weeper.
"Is it just for your traditions? You have to know what's coming, don't you?" Queried Jon with a grunt.
"The Others, you mean?" Asked the Weeper between breaths.
"Yes! You have to have seen the Wights! You could have passed through the Wall without giving the enemy more cannon fodder!" Scowled Jon, managing to break the bind with a twist of his blade.
"Then we would not be doing this." Insisted the Weeper, backpedalling away from Jon's follow-on cut.
"You wanted to attack the Wall rather than pass through peacefully?" Questioned Jon.
"No. Mother Mole foretold this clash between you and I in a vision. I must slay you, or you must slay me. There is no other way forward." Intoned the Weeper.
"What do you mean, Vision?" Queried Jon.
"What does it sound like?" Asked the Weeper.
"It sounds like you're mad. Seers and Sorcery aren't exactly reliable, you know!" Scoffed Jon.
"I knew you wouldn't understand." Scowled the Weeper.
"Well, tell me what this Mother Mole said and maybe I will!" Insisted Jon.
Of course, as Jon said this, he didn't actually care. He was trying to stall the Weeper, instead. As he kept the Wildling Warlord occupied with chatter, Pyp was making his way over behind the Weeper. Slowly, so as not to give away his position. If Jon could keep the Weeper's attention for long enough, Pyp could attack the Wildling from the back, and together they would make short work of the Weeper while Grenn and Satin led their remaining forces to see off the rest of the Attackers. It wasn't the most complex plan, of course, but it was one that might have a shot at working. Unfortunately, just as Pyp managed to close the range, he tripped over the corpse of a fallen Wildling, the pilfered Spangenhelm-style Halfhelm clattering against the icy floor of the Top of the Wall, alerting the Weeper.
With a scowl, the Weeper whirled around, Scyth cutting through the chill evening air for Pyp's neck. Pyp, having stumbled, couldn't get out of the way in time. Jon let out a cry of anger and dismay as he rushed forward toward the Weeper's now unprotected flank. Two things happened at once next. The Weeper's scythe bit into the side of Pyp's neck, and Jon's blade rammed through the armpit of the Weeper's armor. The Weeper didn't only wear the Runic Bronze Scale Shirt, but also an Arsenal Steel Chainmail Hauberk that he had looted from a dead Ranger. Jon's blade, which had been fighting all day, finally broke from punching through the Arsenal Steel Chainmail Hauberk worn under the Runic Bronze Scales. He left a good foot of Runic Arsenal Steel in the Weeper's Torso. Meanwhile, Pyp's Jugular was severed by the simultaneous scythe stroke.
"Pyp!" Called out Jon as Pyp slapped a hand to the side of his neck, trying desperately to staunch the flow of blood.
It wasn't working, though. The blood gushed from the wound without slowing even a little, and Pyp sank to his knees on the floor of the top of the Wall, pale as a ghost. Jon threw the hilt of his shattered blade to the floor and rushed to Pyp, trying desperately to keep pressure on the wound. He was so consumed with ensuring that one of his closest friends stayed alive that he didn't notice when the Wildling Horns sounded out, calling for a retreat. He didn't even order a counterattack, leaving that to the reserves under the Smalljon Umber. Unfortunately, it would be all for naught. Before they could get Pyp to a Maester, he bled out, dying in Jon's arms, with his blood staining Jon's Arsenal Steel Breastplate. That he'd slain the Weeper was of no real consequence to Jon Snow. He still felt crushed by the weight of Pyp's death under his command.
Fortunately for Jon Snow, he would have time to get himself together, as this would be the last Major action of the Wildling Campaign. . .
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Over the rest of the week, numerous things happened. The first was dealing with the remaining Wildlings. Some thirty thousand of their remaining forces had holed up in and around the Castle of Rimegate to await the counterattack by the victorious forces under the command of Harle the Handsome, a Wildling Chief and Expert Archer renowned for his Skill with a bow and his good looks. Lord Stark sent envoys to offer them terms. Having them settle the Gift, though they would do so under the oversight of one of Lord Stark's chosen envoys, in this case, Theon Greyjoy, who was being proclaimed Lord of the Gift, now that the Ironborn were seemingly rallying behind House Volmark rather than House Greyjoy.
In either case, Harle agreed, and it was quickly discovered that the Wildlings had taken not just Warriors to battle, but women, Old Men, and Children. All had thought that they'd left their women, old folk, and children behind in camps in the Haunted Forest, but that hadn't been the case. It was no wonder that they had fought so hard for so long, even after the eighty thousand had surrendered to join the more level-headed Wildlings under Mance in establishing new villages in the Gift under Northern Oversight. They would establish the Villages of Hunter's Hall, Woodcutter's Warren, and Copperpans over the course of the next two years, with Help and careful oversight from Northerners under the command of Theon Greyjoy.
It was also revealed that in the fighting, approximately thirty thousand Wildlings had been slain while attacking Craster's Keep and the Wall. With a further sixteen thousand having been killed in the initial fighting along the Milkwater. Combined with the Battle of Baker's Hearth, the Wildlings had suffered sixty thousand dead and wounded in their war. Most had been cremated by the survivors, but at least some would rise again as Wights when the Others came. Comparatively, the North and Night's Watch's casualties were far lighter, at least in terms of statistics. Seven-thousand-five-hundred men had been slain or wounded in the war, with roughly one thousand of those dead and one-thousand-five-hundred of those wounded belonging to the Night's Watch. The rest belonged to the North, though overwhelmingly, the wounded would recover over the course of the next year.
Unfortunately, this would include Lords Bolton and Ryswell, along with all their heirs, as well as Ser Wendell Manderly for the North, and Donal Noye, Bowen Marsh, and Lord Commander Jeor Mormont for the Night's Watch. More personally, for Jon Snow, Pypar was dead, and Dolorous Edd Tollett was permanently maimed. However, he had to keep moving. There needed to be an election for Lord Commander, and new Commanders for Westwatch-By-the-Bridge and Rimegate had to be appointed as well. Ironically, it was his father who managed to drag Jon out of his funk in time to participate in the election for Lord Commander. Ned Stark found Jon glaring out over the Wall at the Haunted Forest, a frown on his face.
"Jon. I thought I might find you here." Intoned Ned as he stepped off the lift carriage.
"Pyp's dead. He was my responsibility, under my command. He died helping me." Spoke up Jon.
"And you blame yourself?" Questioned Ned.
"It was my fault, wasn't it? I was in charge. Who else's fault could it be?" Queried Jon.
"From what your friends told me, he died to give you a chance to slay the Weeper." Pointed out Ned.
"So? Yes, the Weeper is dead, but so is my friend. I miss him." Admitted Jon, bitterly.
"And it doesn't seem fair. I know the feeling well." Mused Ned.
"You do?" Asked Jon.
"I never told you what happened at the Tower of Joy, did I?" Questioned Ned.
"I don't remember you telling anyone. You just said that Howland Reed saved your life." Responded Jon.
"Would you like to hear the story?" Queried Ned.
"You'd tell me?" Asked Jon.
"I would. First, though, you should know that you've been awarded the Weeper's Runic Bronze Scale Shirt, since you killed him, and Lord Commander Mormont has willed Longclaw to you. Apparently, he saw great potential in you, Jon." Informed Ned.
"I'm honored." Blinked Jon.
"Now. Let's get to the story. Myself, Howland Reed, Willam Dustin, Ethan Glover, Theo Wull, Martyn Cassel, and Mark Ryswell made our way to the Tower of Joy, an old round tower in the Dornish Marches, where Ser Arthur Dayne, Ser Oswell Whent, and Lord Commander Gerold Hightower were holding my sister, Lyanna, hostage all under the orders of Prince Rhaegar Targaryen. . ." Began Ned.
The story started like something out of the Bards' Songs, a kidnapped lady being held in a tower by a trio of rogue knights, while a cadre of heroic knights march forth to save her. As it continued, however, reality seemed to infect the Bardic Narrative, as several of the Heroic Knights were slain by their opposition. Ser Mark Ryswell had been the first to fall, slain by Ser Oswell Whent. Next had come Theo Wull and Martyn Glover's deaths at the hands of the White Bull, though in doing so, he gave Howland Reed the chance to stab his Crannogman Frog Spear through Lord Commander Gerold Hightower's side. Ser Oswell Whent had been slain next, Willam Dustin managing to slip a fatal blow between the plates of his Armor, only for the Sword of the Morning to knock Ned to the floor, turn about, and thrust Dawn through Willam Dustin's backplate. Ethan Glover tried to intervene and was slain for it.
Then the Sword of the Morning turned to finish off Ned. Ned Stark had been certain this would have been his death. Ice was lying several feet away with Ser Arthur Dayne and his magic sword bearing down on him. Then Howland Reed had leaped onto the Sword of the Morning's back, trying to slip a dagger into Ser Arthur's visor from behind and clinging onto him like a Yi-Tish Monkey. That attack distracted Ser Arthur long enough for Ned to reach Ice. The Sword of the Morning finally managed to toss Howland Reed to the Floor, raising Dawn high in the air to strike the final blow when Ned thrust Ice through his backplate and into his heart from behind, slaying the last of their opposition. It was a hard-won fight, with many parallels to the one that Jon just went through, including the loss of friends in battle.
That wasn't what truly surprised Jon Snow, however. No, what truly surprised Jon was what came after. Ned described to him the scene of Lyanna's room at the top of the tower, smelling of blood and strewn with rose petals. Of the child she bore in her arms as she slowly bled out, and of the promise she had forced Ned to make to raise the child as his own and to never let anyone know his true parentage, for fear of reprisals.
"That child, Jon, was you." Finished Ned.
"Wait, so you're not my father then?" Questioned Jon.
"I am technically your Uncle. That does not mean I love you any less. I raised you, Jon. Lyanna, your mother, would have been proud of the Man you've become." Informed Ned.
"Why are you telling me this now?" Queried Jon.
"Because you took the Watch's Oaths. You're protected by the same reasons that Old Maester Aemon is, and Stannis is more willing to forget and forgive than Robert would have been." Answered Ned.
"So my birth father was Rhaegar Targaryen. I can see why my Mother had you keep the secret." Sighed Jon.
"What will you do now?" Asked Ned.
"Well, if I have the Blood of the Targaryen Kings and the Kings of Winter in me, then there's only one thing left to do. I will stand for Lord Commander." Intoned Jon.
"You have the prestige of slaying the Weeper and of the Old Bear being fond of you. You will need something more, though. I will make it known that the North supports your candidacy, but you will face stiff competition." Mused Ned.
Ned Stark was right about the Competition. As the elections began, it swiftly became evident that Jon was not the only one with Royal Blood to throw their hat in the ring. Renly, too, was making a bid for Lord Commander. It seemed this would turn out to be another challenge for Jon to overcome.
At this point, however, Jon wouldn't have it any other way. . .
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AN: All right, so here's the next chapter. Thus concludes the section of the fic involving the Wildling War. As it turns out, the more things change, the more they stay the same. Jeor Mormont is still dead, and an election for Lord Commander still needs to be held, but the Wall is in a much better spot as a whole than it had been previously. Not only do they still have around two thousand men, but both Gifts are being settled, and there's a friendly Northern Presence in Molestown under Theon Greyjoy. Meanwhile, many of the Wights that the others could have gotten have been cremated instead. It might take the Others a year or two compared to Canon to get going against the wall now.
At any rate, the next chapter will have us head back to the Crag to check in on Stannis versus Tywin before returning to the Iron Isles for the Battle of Hammerhorn, before finally returning to Ricasso's POV for the next part of the Battle of Maidenpool.
Stay tuned. . .
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KnightofTempest
Edited for Spelling and Grammar
