Chapter 440

The wights were capable of deceit and conspiracy?

Daenerys arched an elegant brow, finding Aegor’s suspicion a little overcautious. However, it was clear this was his army, his war, and she had only been his queen for two days. She hadn’t yet contributed to their agreement, and if she rushed ahead with her dragons to claim all the credit for defeating the Others, it might indeed be inappropriate.

With this thought, she shrugged and didn’t object. “What makes you think something’s amiss?”

“It’s not intuition—it’s calculation.” Aegor gestured at the map spread before him, pointing to the line connecting the western Wall to Crown’s Rest. “We know the speed of our own troops; we’ve marched and eaten with them, so that’s a fixed variable. As for the wights, their average movement speed can be roughly deduced from their trek to Crown’s Rest two days ago. Factoring in their head start of over ten hours and their ability to march day and night without rest, we have—”

He paused, struggling for words, then sighed. “Let’s call it a basic arithmetic problem.”

This world had neither elementary schools nor a term like “pursuit problem,” so Aegor improvised. Under Daenerys’s curious gaze, he sketched out his calculations on a blank sheet, explaining his conclusion. “Unfortunately, whether I estimated their speed conservatively or liberally, the result is the same: it’s impossible for us to catch up to them before they reach Long Lake.”

“But here we are,” Daenerys pointed out, smiling slightly as she watched him scribble. She found his focus on numbers and maps oddly charming, but she was more intrigued by how he would reconcile the discrepancy between his math and reality.

“Indeed. Either my calculations are wrong, or something else is skewing the results. The problem is so simple it’s nearly impossible to get wrong, so I doubt I miscalculated.” Aegor handed the sheet to a nearby guard with basic literacy. “Pass this around and double-check for mistakes.”

When none were found, he continued, “If the math holds, then either the wights wasted hours futilely assaulting Last Hearth—which seems unlikely—or their speed has slowed drastically.”

“That sounds like good news. Why stop here, then?”

“Because slowing down has two possible explanations: one, they’re truly unable to move faster, or two, they’ve deliberately slowed to lure us into an ambush. Right now, we lack the information to discern which is true.” Aegor’s tone turned grim. “It’s nightfall, the troops haven’t eaten, and if we charge blindly ahead, we risk fighting a chaotic battle in the dark on empty stomachs. Better to camp here, wait until morning, and see what unfolds.”

As he retrieved the paper from the guards who had reviewed it, Aegor concluded, “If their pace is genuinely slow, we’ll catch up by midday tomorrow. If not, and we only reach them near nightfall again, then we’ll know for certain they’re toying with us—baiting Your Grace into flying ahead of the army and straight into a trap.”

“Lord Aegor’s prudence serves the realm well,” quipped Marcher Lord Machiro, who had just ridden in from Castle Black to join the main force. He turned to Daenerys with a smile. “Your Grace, if the commander is overly cautious, all we lose is a day of marching. But if he’s right, and the enemy truly intends to bait you and your dragons, his plan may spare you and them from disaster. You are too valuable to take such risks.”

Daenerys considered their reasoning and nodded in agreement. Just then, one of the scouts waiting for orders hesitantly spoke up. “What about Last Hearth, my lord? How should we handle it?”

“There’s no need,” came Bran Stark’s quiet voice from his wheelchair. Having been silent for some time, his pale eyes now seemed to refocus. “Through the ravens, I’ve confirmed the bodies at Last Hearth are ordinary. The Others likely lacked the power to reanimate them and simply left them behind. Send word to Crown’s Rest for their logistics to handle it. There’s no threat there.”

“They’re out of power to raise wights?” Aegor raised an eyebrow, his thoughts racing to the possibility this also meant the enemy couldn’t reanimate dragons. He hesitated but ultimately kept the speculation to himself. No need to gamble recklessly.

“Waiting one night is sensible,” Daenerys acknowledged, but her tone grew firm. “Still, what if tomorrow confirms your suspicion that the Others are intentionally slowing to lure me? How will we end this? We can’t let the dragons simply tail your army indefinitely while the Others retreat south.”

“They’re not retreating into the wilds beyond the Wall; they’re heading into the populated North. As long as we stay on their heels, someone—whether us or the Northern lords—will eventually pin them down,” Aegor said with confidence. He turned to Bran. “Your brother leads the Northern host. Can you locate them and coordinate with ravens? A pincer movement between us and them would corner the Others.”
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When Robb Stark received the Wall’s warning, he immediately called for a Northern mobilization.

To save time, he had designated the rendezvous point not at Winterfell but at a village near Last Hearth along the Kingsroad. Winter’s arrival had already concentrated the population in settlements, and the North’s longstanding readiness for war allowed the bannermen to muster quickly. Winterfell’s forces departed the day after the first attack, moving northward at a steady pace. Along the way, they were joined by the Karstarks, Glovers, and Boltons, swelling the host to over six thousand.

By the morning of their fourth march day, the army was camped west of Long Lake when an unexpected event occurred.

A raven descended, landing squarely on Robb’s shoulder as he sat eating breakfast. It made no attempt to flee as he gently grabbed it and untied a small scroll from its leg. The message bore the Night’s Watch sigil and stated that Last Hearth had fallen, the Others were heading south, and the Northern forces should halt and prepare defenses.
----


Robb read the note aloud to his gathered lords, who erupted into debate.

“How did this raven find you here?” asked Lord Seven. “Trained ravens only fly between fixed roosts, not moving armies. This could be sorcery, a ploy to delay us while the Others advance!”

The raven let out a sharp caw, almost as if protesting the accusation.

“The Free Folk have wargs—beastmasters capable of controlling animals,” Lord Glover countered. “The message bears the Night’s Watch seal and is signed by your brother, Bran. It looks authentic. What do you think, my lord?”

Robb hesitated, glancing at the raven, then back at the message. “I can’t say I recognize Bran’s handwriting anymore, but the seal is convincing enough. If he’s gained such abilities, it’s news to me. The question remains: do we trust this?”

The debate grew heated. Some lords were ready to dismiss the raven as enemy trickery, while others argued the risk of ignoring the warning was too great.

Finally, Robb silenced the clamor with a raised hand. “We will proceed with caution. Halt the march. Build defensive fortifications and ready the men for battle. Meanwhile, send outriders north to confirm the report. Whether we find the enemy or reach Last Hearth itself, I want answers by tomorrow.”

As his lords dispersed to carry out his orders, Robb stared at the raven, now perched quietly on his shoulder, and muttered under his breath, “Bran... I hope this isn’t some cruel jest.”