Chapter 436

The miracle of the two dragonsteel bombs turned the Battle of Crown’s Rest into a relatively short-lived engagement. Supplies of wildfire, dragonglass, and standard explosives were still sufficient for another one or two medium-intensity battles, but the dwindling stock of Lightbringers and the number of combat-ready soldiers required immediate attention.

Recovering the dragonsteel shards scattered across the snowy battlefield and the remnants of the wights was a futile endeavor. However, the still-intact Lightbringers—distinguishable by their gilded shafts and unique design—could be retrieved. Despite the fires, chaos, and other obstacles, the soldiers managed to recover nineteen arrows after a rough search. Adding those to the six made from ordinary steel and the dozen or so stored in the remaining fortresses along the Wall, the Night’s Watch was left with just over thirty usable weapons capable of killing the Others.

In defensive battles, even lightly injured soldiers, teenagers, robust women, and less mobile giants could contribute. But for a counteroffensive, only fully healthy, strong, well-trained adult fighters capable of understanding tactical orders could participate. Even with slightly lowered standards, only around three thousand individuals in Crown’s Rest met these criteria. Factoring in the need to maintain order within the town and guard against a potential counterattack, Aegor could deploy no more than three thousand from the town.

Fortunately, an additional two thousand soldiers from the surviving Wall fortresses could reinforce the effort, bringing the total to five thousand troops for this southern pursuit of the remaining Others.
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Logically, the safest course of action would have been to wait for reinforcements from the Wall and for Daenerys to return with her dragons before setting out. But the remaining wights and Others wouldn’t wait. The dragons couldn’t transport thousands of soldiers, and every moment of delay brought the enemy closer to the populated heart of the North. Each mile gained increased the risk of civilian casualties, providing the Others with fresh bodies to swell their ranks. The best chance of stopping them was to act immediately.

Aegor ordered the remaining livestock in Crown’s Rest to be mobilized for transporting supplies and sent ravens to the fortresses along the Wall, instructing them to send their elite troops south along the Kingsroad with all remaining dragonsteel arrows. Meanwhile, Daenerys would rendezvous with the main force as soon as possible. This plan maximized their use of time and increased the likelihood of success.
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“Accepting the roles of ‘hero’ and ‘prophesied savior’ has its drawbacks,” Aegor mused as he donned his full armor. “And there’s one in particular: when disaster strikes, the hero has to take responsibility, whether they’re ready or not.”

As Commander of the Night’s Watch and Lord of the Gift, Aegor had delegated countless duties—scouting missions in the Frostfangs, icebreaking operations in the Bay of Seals, manning the Gorge, and even aiding the North in building ships in Icebay. His orders, backed by his reputation and authority, were implemented efficiently and effectively. But defending Crown’s Rest and leading the pursuit of the remaining Others? Those were tasks he couldn’t delegate.

These were not routine matters; they were defining moments where the difference between “lead from behind” and “lead from the front” became a matter of principle. If Aegor had stayed in the keep during the battle and commanded from safety, the disorganized defenders wouldn’t have fought as valiantly. And if he now handed off the pursuit to another officer, there was no guarantee the soldiers would follow orders willingly—or even at all. Even if the campaign succeeded, the credit wouldn’t be his, and people would inevitably ask: What did the prophesied savior actually do?

This was his burden to bear.
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Standing before the assembled three thousand soldiers outside the eastern gate, Aegor suppressed his sigh of frustration and adopted the grim expression of a commander ready to lay down his life. These were no longer defensive maneuvers; this was an unplanned offensive, and a rousing pre-battle speech was essential.

“Brave warriors of the Gift!” Aegor’s voice boomed across the snowy plain. “Last night, we achieved a victory that will go down in the annals of history—a battle unparalleled in its scope and scale. Together, we stood against an enemy ten times our number, an inhuman foe, and struck them down with a force that shook even the dead!”

Cheers erupted from the ranks, though Aegor raised a hand to quiet them. His tone turned serious. “But today, I must make a hard decision. Just hours after our triumph, I must ask you to march again—to pursue and destroy the remnants of the enemy we defeated last night.”

As murmurs of surprise and unease spread, Aegor raised his voice again. “This dangerous campaign is not for the South. It is not for any lord or king. It is for us!”

Aegor’s words struck a chord. These soldiers, a mix of Free Folk and hill tribes, had little love for the South. Appealing to lofty ideals of serving Westeros would have fallen on deaf ears. Instead, he appealed to their pragmatism and survival instincts.

“I want to rest just as much as you do,” Aegor continued, his tone heavy with sincerity. “But the Southerners don’t know the true terror of the enemy we face. They are unprepared in every way—physically, mentally, tactically. As much as I wish otherwise, the truth is clear: no one but us can stop these monsters!”

Aegor’s honest assessment resonated. Murmurs of approval rippled through the crowd as soldiers began pounding their chests and raising their weapons.

“If we allow these creatures to escape, they will only grow stronger, turning the corpses of Southerners into more wights—more enemies! If we falter today, the price will be paid tomorrow by our children and grandchildren. We fight not for glory but for survival—for our families and the future of our people!”

Drawing his sword, Aegor raised it high. “The enemy seeks to freeze our lands, enslave our bodies, and destroy our homes. We will not let them. We will destroy them, down to the last one!”

“Not one left!” someone roared.

“Not one left!” the soldiers echoed, their voices swelling into a resounding chant.
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Aegor was about to signal for silence and give the order to march when the cheers suddenly grew louder, more chaotic. He frowned, puzzled by the unexpected fervor. Moments later, a guard whispered urgently in his ear, explaining the commotion.

Turning to the southern sky, Aegor saw three dark shapes growing larger against the gray clouds. The assembled soldiers had spotted them first, and their excitement wasn’t for Aegor’s speech—it was for Daenerys Targaryen and her three dragons, arriving at the perfect moment to reignite their hopes.