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RM: Interlude: The Battle of Craster's Keep
🕑 Added 2025-04-26 23:45:34 +0000 UTCIn the aftermath of the Battle of Baker's Hearth, the Wildlings' forces had been deprived not only of their most disciplined and best-equipped troops but also of a majority of their most experienced and best commanders. Mance Rayder himself had been captured and forced to kneel. In any normal time, that would be that, and the rest of the army would ask for terms while they still had some semblance of a cohesive force. These were not normal times, however, as the dead had crawled out of the frozen ground in the far north to force the Wildlings south. Accordingly, the Wildling Horde was less an Army and more a mass migration. They had to fight or they would die and join the ranks of the unquiet dead that had begun forcing them south, to begin with.
It was because of that fact that the Battle of Baker's Hearth did not end the Wildling Incursion. That wasn't to say that Lord Stark and Lord Commander Mormont didn't try. They trumpeted news of their victory, offering anyone who would follow Mance Rayder, Tormund Giantsbane, and Styr of Thenn in bending the knee land in the New Gift. Some Wildlings even took them up on the offer, villages worth of Wildlings bending the knee and being allowed through the wall with their families and herds of aurochs and other such things. Others refused, insisting that they would not kneel and give up their traditions for safety. To kneel and accept the yoke of the laws of the Seven Kingdoms, these said, would be little better than slavery. This schism broke the Wildlings more surely than the Battle of Baker's Hearth even had.
Eighty thousand wildlings, many of whom were women, children, and other non-warriors, had been let through the wall, following Mance, Tormund, and Styr through the wall. Thirty-five-thousand of these were the Thenns, the sole fully agricultural society north of the wall, though they only worked bronze. Twenty thousand were Mance's nomadic bands, with their herds of Aurochs and fur tents. Fifteen thousand were from Ruddy Hall, the people of Tormund Giantsbane, who were known to supplement their mead production and rudimentary agriculture with hunting and fishing. The remaining ten thousand were from the Frozen Shore, the Great Walrus leading the dog-sled using, seal-hunting people through the wall.
These would form the core of a new, more prosperous, society in the New Gift which would be beholden to the Night's Watch, as Lord Stark had decided that with the Gift prospering with villages like Molestown, Queenstown, Baker's Hearth, and so on meant the Night's Watch could clearly handle the task of helping the Wildlings Organize. The villages of New Thenn, Golden Hall, Stonetent, and Ivory Harbor would crop up eventually under Styr, Tormund, Mance, and the Great Walrus over the next two years, while the Night's Watch sent advisors to help them to do so, while smaller hamlets and villages would pop up around them. These would be the more fortunate wildlings, who, in defeat, found salvation by kneeling.
The remaining sixty thousand included the remaining twelve thousand Warriors who refused. These included the Ice River Clans, Hornfoots, Cave Dwellers, and remaining Giants. These, gathered under three figures, the Weeper, Rattleshirt, and Mag Mar Tun Doh Weg, known colloquially as Mag the Mighty. These would continue their attempts to force a path across the Milkwater, continuing their attacks in an attempt to force their way past the Night's Watch and take lands in the Gift by force so that they would not need to give up their traditions and accept the glorified slavery that was bending the knee. When they did, the Weeper and Rattleshirt swore that they would each steal one of Lord Stark's Daughters to take as a bed-thrall, while simultaneously slaying those who had betrayed the cause.
The campaign would all come to a head at Craster's Keep, where the remaining Wildlings had staked their existence on a battle, managing to cross the Milkwater thanks to the Weeper crossing in the dead of night with an advanced party to slay the sentries and kill the party of Black Brothers guarding the Milkwater North of Craster's Keep in their beds, allowing a major crossing. By the time the Night's Watch and Lord Stark had realized what was happening, the remaining Wildlings were already across the Milkwater. Lord Commander Mormont was forced to march a delaying force to Craster's Keep in the hopes of stalling the Wildlings to give Lord Stark time to move up from the Gift with his Forces. The stage was set for a major clash.
And only time would tell who would come out the Victor. . .
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Jon Snow was nervous. The Watch and North had been having this war with the Wildlings their own way for far too long. Now the Wildlings had taken the opportunity presented by their complacency to prove they were still dangerous. Craster had been no help, allowing their delaying force to use the earthworks around his small, timber keep as defenses, but closing his keep itself, along with its stores, to them. Craster had also pulled all his fighting men, in reality about two dozen of his cousins and extended family he'd called in from various wildling settlements, back into his keep, allowing the Watch to hold the other fortifications. Jon felt that had been ungrateful of him, but had kept his opinion on the matter to himself. Likewise, Grenn had held his tongue, and while Dolorous Edd was more vocal about his grumbling, he had nothing on Renly.
The former King had only just arrived at the wall in the last two weeks with a number of men-at-arms and so on who had been forced to take the Black in the aftermath of the Battle of Storm's End. For the most part, Renly still hadn't learned how things worked in the Watch and was therefore given to voicing his opinions on various issues quite vocally when the smart thing to do would have been to swallow his pride and his opinions alongside it. He would learn, though. Just as he had already learned how to work the stewards to his advantage for equipment requisitions. Renly was good at figuring that sort of thing out, it seemed. The only question was whether the lesson would be overly painful for him or not.
"I cannot believe how ungrateful this Craster Fellow is being! We defend his home and his many, many wives from attacks, yet he shuts us out? It's damned unconscionable!" Griped Renly.
"Aye, that's not the half of it. The Watch helped to build up his Keep into the state it's in now." Huffed Dolorous Edd.
"Truly?" Questioned Renly.
"Aye. You should've seen it before. A crude earth dike and log palisade surrounding a timber hall with a deer skin for a door. It was a shiteheap and only Craster and his wives had lived here." Smirked Dolorous Edd.
Renly looked back at the hillfort, topped by a drystone and timber keep and proper wooden wall, with its few hundred people, all of whom were members of Craster's extended family plus their thralls, and then back at Dolorous Edd. Looking at the place now, you would be forgiven for thinking of it as a small settlement and holdfast of the First Men from the time before the Andal Invasion, or perhaps of the Clans of the Mountains of the Moon prior to Baelish's conquest of them. He cocked a single, well-manicured eyebrow at Dolorous Edd and shook his head before talking.
"That is nothing like what's there now. You're jesting, surely?" Queried Renly.
"No jest. In fact, some of the Lads we got off Lord Seawynd's Stepstones Campaign had their first ranging missions be to help build this place up. To give them experience and help keep our alliance with Craster strong." Huffed Dolorous Edd.
"Some alliance." Scoffed Grenn.
"Not you too? Do you want Ser Aliser to give you Midnight Sentry duty again?" Asked Jon.
"He's just speaking his mind, Jon. Surely he can do that much among brothers?" Questioned Renly.
"Aye, and brothers ought to look out for each other instead of engaging in what'd Braavosi Ben call it? A Vendetta?" Queried Jon.
"Aye." Rumbled Grenn.
"Sounds like you have a problem, then. Perhaps I can help. I have a way with people." Offered Renly.
"Good luck. Ser Aliser was sent here by your Brother, King Robert." Scoffed Dolorous Edd.
"Indeed. And I was sent here by my brother Stannis. Perhaps that's a thing we have in common to build trust off of?" Asked Renly.
Before Jon or anyone could answer that, however, a horn blast split the air. Three sharp blasts, followed by the pounding of a drum beating stand to. It seemed the Wildlings were coming, and there was no more time for talk. There was only time for action. Jon and his group raced for their assigned section of fortifications, a position near the North Gate through the second tier of earthworks and wooden walls. They reached their position just in time for a roar to ring out from the Haunted Forest, mounting his spot on the wooden wall to the left of the gates, Jon could see the Wildling Horde leave the treeline in droves, charging forth toward the first ring of fortifications at the base of the hill. Smoke and flame belched out from musketeers atop the walls, but Lord Mormont hadn't had time to lug cannons through the Haunted Forest while the Wildlings were crossing the Milkwater.
The Night's Watch was paying for that haste now, as dozens of Wildlings went down to musketballs, but thousands more remained to rush forward. As the Musketeers reloaded, crossbowmen and Archers took their places, arrows and bolts showering the approaching Wildlings, many failing to be as decisive as the Musketeers. Unfortunately, there just weren't enough Musketeers in the delaying force to put up the sorts of sustained volleys needed to truly punish the Wildlings. Lord Mormont had needed to travel light to arrive in time, with minimal supply trains. Most Musketeers had enough powder and shot for one Battle at most. Accordingly, when the Musketeers resumed firing, the front rank of Wildlings was already halfway to the first ring of fortifications, and there seemed to be no end to them.
"Look at them all! There must be tens of thousands of them!" Breathed Jon.
"Aye, looks like they're throwing everyone into the attack." Agreed Dolorous Edd.
"We may not have the force needed to hold them off." Frowned Renly.
"May not?" Questioned Grenn.
"I don't know. If this were a normal force, we would definitely be over a barrel. Most of these seem to be smallfolk and the like, given hide shields and stone-tipped spears, though." Explained Renly.
"So?" Queried Grenn.
"So our superiority in discipline and equipment might win us the day. I cannot be sure." Shrugged Renly.
"You're the most experienced of us in war, and you're unsure?" Asked Jon.
"Aye, that may be the case, however, when it comes to fighting savages, I'm afraid I have little and less experience than you all." Shrugged Renly.
"Look, they've reached the fortifications." Pointed Dolorous Edd.
Jon looked over, indeed, he saw the Wildlings had reached the first ring of fortifications around the base of the hill. A series of earthworks, dikes, and wooden walls that formed the first defense of the proper hillfort that the Night's Watch had turned Craster's Keep into. The Wildlings fired arrows at the Black Brothers atop the wooden walls, killing some, wounding others, and forcing the rest to duck as crude ladders of branches and leather straps were brought up to the walls while a giant with a felled and stripped down tree trunk rushed toward the gates, intending to batter them down. Jon frowned as he saw that, but relief flooded through him as a series of cracks rang out from the gatehouse as musketeers belched smoke, flame, and lead at the giant.
The Brother in charge of the Gatehouse, Qhorin Halfhand, had clearly realized that he had to deal with the Giant before it could break open the gates. Small wonder, there, as the Halfhand was one of the more veteran Brothers of the Watch. The thick fur and mammothbone armor of the Giant seemed to soak in the Musketfire, and the thick shaggy hide underneath likewise was hard to punch through, but the Musketeers managed, though it took several shots to do. The Giant fell to its knees bleeding from a dozen proportionally tiny wounds, and slumped to the muddy, frozen ground, dead. That caused a bellow of rage to ring out from the forest as another giant emerged. Mag the Mighty was garbed in armor of bronze that seemed to have runes worked into it and which was clearly fitted for him by the Thenns prior to their bending of the knee, or possibly had been removed from an ancient barrow. He carried a similar-looking great maul of runic bronze and weirwood as he stepped out of the woods.
"Look at that!" Hissed Dolorous Edd.
"Aye, it's like something out of an Old Story." Agreed Jon.
"Old Stories don't come to life and try to kill you." Intoned Renly.
"What's he doing?" Wondered Grenn.
Indeed, Mag the Mighty had gone back into the trees, and when he returned, he had brought with him what appeared to be a tree trunk that had been stripped of branches and had its tip sharpened as if it was going to be used as a stake in a log palisade. With a bleating bellow from deep in his chest, Mag the Mighty hefted the log in one, meaty hand, before throwing it like a javelin at the Gates. Mag the Mighty's throw flew true, smashing into the wooden gates with great force and breaking them open. Another volley from the Musketeers rang out at Mag the Mighty, but the Last of the Giants was already returning into the trees of the Haunted Forest, and most of the shots missed, thudding into tree trunks or going wide. One shot managed to strike the bronze pauldron on Mag the Mighty's left shoulder, but the ancient, rune-scribed bronze was only dented as the musketball struck sparks off the metal.
Then, Mag the Mighty was gone. In his place, a party of Wildlings led by Rattleshirt, who had a rune-scribed, bronze sword and rune-scribed, round, bronze shield, rushed for the suddenly open gates. Jon watched on in horror as Rattelshirt and his men cut their way through the party the Halfhand had sent to hold the gate. Around an hour into the battle, a horn blast rang out three times, two short blasts and one long blast. The order to withdraw to the second tier of fortifications. Jon Snow gritted his teeth at that. He knew the Lord Commander had hoped to hold the Wildlings at the First Ring of Fortifications for at least a day. Losing them in an hour was completely unexpected.
But then, who could have anticipated that the Wildlings would have pulled ancient magic out of a barrow somewhere? Or that the King of the Giants would have used a log the size of a battering ram like a javelin to break down the gates of the first ring of fortifications in one go? How did you plan for the sort of opponents you only heard about in Old Nan's Stories? You couldn't, not really. The best you could do was fight your hardest and hope you made it out alive. Fortunately, the Night's Watch managed to do just that. They funneled wildling attackers into prepared kill zones using the Earthworks, showering them with musketballs, crossbow bolts, arrows, and even stones. They held the second tier of fortifications for hours, even Mag the Mighty's prodigious strength was unable to hurl log-javelins this far, after all. For three more hours, the battle raged before abating as the sun began to set.
The wildlings retreated back into the Haunted Forest then, leaving a carpet of their dead behind them all the way back to the treeline. Jon, huffing and puffing, his blade slick with the blood of the Wildlings, parried an incoming spear strike as he fought the Wildling Rear Guard at the Second Tier Gate. His parry sheared the wooden spear haft in half before his riposte took the throat out of the flame-haired spearwife that had tried to attack him, the light left her blue-gray eyes as she toppled to the ground, but Jon couldn't stop as he was already being forced to duck aside from a pilfered sword of castle-forged steel that a Wildling Raider from the Hornfoots had swung at his head. His riposte was parried by the Raider, who snarled and spat a gobbet of phlegm into Jon's eye. Reflexively, Jon staggered back, giving the Raider the opening he needed to bull forward to try and split Jon's skull in twain. Only that never happened.
Suddenly, Grenn was there, his bastard sword parrying the pilfered blade of the Raider, even as Dolorous Edd punched his arming sword through the side of the Man's neck, popping the Raider's head clean off his shoulders with a twist of the embedded blade. A Third Raider with a stolen castle forged steel hatchet and boiled leather armor charged Edd's back, but found himself intercepted by Renly, whose longsword found an exposed target as the Raider chased after Edd, cutting up and nearly bisecting the unfortunate Raider. Jon nodded to his Brothers and together they advanced, cutting their way through the Wildling Rearguard. Jon lashed out, his blade cleaving a head in twain, parrying an attack from a bronze spearhead before cutting the spear in half and cleaving into the torso of the unfortunate Raider. Likewise, Grenn, Edd, and Renly did the same. Before they knew it, they'd cut down twelve more wildlings, cutting their way deep into the Wildling Rearguard formation.
It was at that point that Jon noticed the Commander of the Wildling Rearguard up ahead. A blonde-haired man with watery eyes, carrying a scythe of castle-forged steel and garbed in a shirt of runic bronze scale armor. The Weeper himself was leading this rear guard, and despite the watery eyes, he had noticed Jon's advance. They had a chance to cut one of the three heads off of the Wildling Horde, and Jon was prepared to try to take it. Unfortunately, before he could, a horn blast rang out from the treeline. The Weeper sneered, spitting out on the ground before ordering a withdrawal. Jon tried to chase after the Man, but found himself blocked by a pair of his Guards wearing looted Night's Watch Ringmail and wielding Castle-Forged Steel Arming Swords along with their Leather and Wood Wildling Shields.
By the time he and his Brothers had finished with them, the Weeper was long gone. . .
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For the next three days or so, the Forces around Craster's Keep settled in for a Siege, with occasional sallies and skirmishes happening to liven things up. Lord Commander Mormont insisted that such a War suited the delaying force more than it did the Wildlings, and that was the truth. After all, with every day that passed, the Forces of the North under Lord Stark got closer and closer to relieving them. The only problem, of course, was that the Black Brothers were losing supplies with every day that passed as well, unable to forage or hunt in the Haunted Forest, as that was Wildling Territory. That wouldn't be so bad, as the Lord Commander had practically forced Craster to open his larder and keep to the Watch, but Craster had no powder and shot to supply the Musketeers of the Night's Watch.
Still, the situation was favorable enough, even in terms of casualties. The Night's Watch had lost perhaps two hundred killed and wounded, with roughly half of those being wounded. Out of the force of seven thousand Black Brothers, Allied Wildlings, Stark Guards, and Gift Militia that Lord Commander Mormont had scrounged up for his Delaying Force, that was a bit over a mere two percent. Wildling casualties were far heavier. Some six thousand Wildlings lay dead on the field of battle, though the Wildlings had recovered their wounded, so it was possible that the enemy casualty rate was much higher than that. It was at least five times as many casualties as the Night's Watch had suffered. A full ten percent of the Wildling force.
As the days passed, it became clear that the Wildling Horde was not going to take Craster's Keep by force of arms. Not before Lord Stark arrived with his Army to relieve the siege and put an end to the Wildling Threat once and for all, at any rate. That was likely why the Wildlings turned toward treachery as a means of gaining control of Craster's Keep. Rattleshirt was always quite good at Skullduggery and plots, after all, and he found a willing ally in Craster, who wanted the Black Brothers out of his keep and larder. Together, Rattleshirt and Craster would launch a plot to seize control of Craster's Keep by Coup de Main on the fourth night of the Siege.
It would be the largest Wildling Victory of the War. . .
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AN: Here's the next chapter. It turns out that Mance, Tormund, Styr, and the Great Walrus, plus their followers, were willing to bend the knee in exchange for Land and the protection of the Wall. The advance of the Others spooked them that much, along with the Capture of Mance and company. The rest of the Wildling Horde, plus the Giants, have followed the Weeper, Rattleshirt, and Mag the Mighty in continued resistance.
Unfortunately, their position is hopeless enough that the Weeper, Mag the Mighty, and Rattleshirt decided to raid the Barrow of a pair of ancient Wildling Heroes, Styrbjorn Giantfriend and Dar Wun Mag Mel, to get their supposed mystical equipment. They had to slay the Wights of both Heroes to do it, but that was accomplished by breaking the wights apart with axes and hammers from multiple sides and setting them aflame using looted whale oil as they stirred from their slumber. They then looted the Barrow. Fortunately, there was only enough mystical gear to split between the leaders, which was why they failed to take Craster's Keep by Force. Unfortunately, Craster is an asshole and is about to sell his allies out to the Horde so they'll leave.
At any rate, the next chapter will be an interlude on the betrayal of Craster and the loss of Craster's Keep. Then we'll see the Targs, with Dany plotting to get rid of Viserys in Tolos.
Stay tuned. . .
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Edited for Spelling and Grammar
