Chapter 431

A raven from Stone Door Keep brought the latest news: the army of wights did not attack the fortress but instead bypassed it entirely.

Initially, everyone, Aegor included, assumed that the enemy had decided to forgo this last stronghold and march directly on Castle Black. However, unlike their previous tactics beyond the Wall, the Others did not use any magical means to harm the warg-bound birds or prevent observation. Daybreak saw the start of large-scale aerial reconnaissance, and by mid-afternoon, the truth became evident: the vast sea of the dead was spotted northwest of Crown's Rest.

Perhaps the Others knew they couldn’t conceal their movements or perhaps they reveled in spreading terror from miles away. Under the dim sunlight that barely pierced the clouds, the endless tide of corpses was an unnerving sight to behold.

With Crown's Rest having fully evacuated its civilians, the wights gained no new numbers from the villages they passed. Aside from the soldiers killed during last night’s fortress assault, their forces remained unchanged. However, due to the varying speeds of the wights—many of which were in varying states of decay—and the Night King’s reluctance to split his forces, the advancing army stretched across the Gift’s snowy plains like an irregularly spaced line, surging and halting in waves as the front slowed to wait for the rear. From above, the sight was hauntingly surreal: the undead, moving leisurely yet inexorably, resembled a migrating herd on the vast savanna, their sheer scale stretching far beyond the horizon.

When the bells of Crown's Rest tolled wildly, the already tense atmosphere reached its breaking point. Soldiers and townsfolk scurried across the walls and streets, preparing for the inevitable clash. Yet, when the wights arrived outside the town, they did not immediately attack. Instead, they slowly spread their ranks, extending to either side, forming a massive black ring that encircled the town like the maw of a monstrous beast, ready to swallow its prey. Although their lines appeared thin from a distance, the unbroken black line extended beyond the eye’s reach, creating a crushing sense of dread for all who stood atop the town’s walls.

The Night King was waiting for nightfall. Unlike the assaults on the Shadow Tower or Sentinel Stand, this battle was not about swiftly capturing a specific target. The goal was to annihilate all within Crown's Rest—including its hundreds of resident giants—and transform them into wights, strengthening his forces for the final push northward to Castle Black. He aimed to take the Wall in one decisive blow, even without resorting to magic.

Fighting at night would minimize his losses. The cover of darkness and the terror it sowed among the living would double the wights’ already overwhelming lethality.

For the defenders, there was some good news. With daylight still remaining, Crown's Rest had time to implement its revised defensive strategies, ensuring that all ranks and units were briefed. The bad news was that only two hours of daylight remained.

At Aegor’s insistence, the black-cloaked Bran Stark reluctantly revealed new information: he could use ravens to track the Night King and his army, even without the Others casting spells to obscure their presence. With the Wall’s protection, this condition was barely met.

Thus, amidst a flock of birds controlled by the various wargs among the Free Folk, there flew ravens with unseeing white eyes, circling above the wight army around Crown's Rest, scanning for signs of their leader.

“Any luck yet?” Aegor asked impatiently as Bran sat, eyes closed, guiding the birds for over thirty minutes.

“The Night King is northwest of us,” Bran said as he opened his eyes, “but I’ve discovered something troubling. The Others are not concentrated in one location. They’re evenly distributed around the town.”

“That’s bad news.” Aegor’s expression darkened. “So, when the battle begins, the pressure on other fronts might rival—if not surpass—the direction where the Night King is.”

“Exactly.”

“I understand.” Aegor nodded grimly. Fortunately, the new defense plans accounted for such a scenario. “But we cannot be everywhere at once. This battle will only end if we kill the Night King. I have no choice but to face him directly. Guide me with the ravens—I need to get to the wall closest to his location.”
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The snow thickened, and the temperature dropped further, as if the Others brought the chill with them. The sun, hidden behind clouds all day, began to sink below the horizon after barely ten hours of light. Smoke rose across Crown's Rest as soldiers were ordered to eat an early meal, ensuring they wouldn’t go into battle on an empty stomach.

When darkness finally fell, the wight army—one mile away—seemed to merge with the deep shadows of the night sky. Invisible killing intent and a chilling air spread across the battlefield. Some soldiers, desperate for courage, joked about placing bets on when the attack would begin.

The enemy gave their answer immediately.

As the last sliver of sunlight vanished, the wight army surged forward without delay.
----


Amid the blaring horns, the great battle for Crown's Rest began. The town, home to nearly a third of the Gift’s population, faced an unprecedented clash between the living and the dead.

Unlike the Wall’s fortresses, Crown's Rest was isolated, unable to receive reinforcements once the battle started. It was heavily stocked with supplies, and wildfire was abundant, allowing defenders to use flames liberally. As the wights surged forward, two firewalls were lit, awaiting the first wave.

But the Others had learned. With no hesitation, they unveiled their trump card. The Night King, knowing his magic would be less effective at Castle Black, chose to fully deploy his mages here. Using magic instead of wight bodies to break the defenses, they rendered the firewalls ineffective.

“The fire won’t light!”

“Stop yelling! We all know! Follow the contingency plan—get the dragonsteel bombs here now!”

The Night King’s strategy was ruthless. He sacrificed no wights unnecessarily. Instead, he sent undead elephants and giants to batter the gates, using their massive frames to create blood-and-flesh ramps to scale the walls.

Despite the defenders’ meticulous plans, they faced the worst-case scenario from the very start. Though Aegor’s contingencies worked seamlessly, it was clear: without fire to destroy the dead completely, they were doomed to be overwhelmed.

Aegor hated desperate, last-minute heroics, preferring overwhelming, calculated victories. But the Night King’s icy magic had shattered his hopes. Now, there was only one option left: to end this himself.

Gripping two dragonsteel bombs—each forged at great cost—Aegor prepared to face the Night King and end the war, even if it meant fulfilling the prophecy of the “Prince That Was Promised” in a way he despised.