Chapter 308

For the first time since becoming the Chief Logistics Officer, Aegor sincerely apologized to someone. In that fleeting moment, he even felt a sense of camaraderie with Dennis Mallister. Unfortunately, that sentiment didn’t last twelve hours.

At dawn the following day, Robb Stark summoned Aegor and the Northern lords to announce the grim news: the Ironborn had launched another invasion of the Northern coastline.

Ice Mark lacked messenger ravens, so it wasn’t hard to deduce how the information had arrived. It was clear that Dennis Mallister, armed with this critical knowledge, had deliberately chosen the previous night—when Aegor was still in the dark—to negotiate a deal that would shape the future of the Night’s Watch. The crafty old fox had gained a significant advantage.

And as if feeling guilty or fearing Aegor might renege on their agreement, Dennis had departed Ice Mark early that morning, leaving Aegor seething with frustration and nowhere to vent it.

What’s done is done. You can’t win every deal.

Taking a deep breath, Aegor reassured himself. Compared to the monumental tasks awaiting him once he became Lord Commander, fretting over a minor advantage ceded to Dennis seemed petty and pointless. It was a distraction unworthy of someone in his position. People had to look forward, and Aegor was no longer just an ordinary man.

He cleared his thoughts and refocused on the discussion before him.

The Ironborn's incursion wasn’t technically the Night’s Watch’s responsibility. However, Aegor’s prior feats—leading a force south to capture Asha Greyjoy and repel the Ironborn—along with his current role escorting the Northern lords along the Wall, made it a matter of courtesy to include him in this strategic meeting.
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“Euron Greyjoy sent a declaration to Deepwood Motte,” Robb Stark began, his tone laced with exasperation. “He demands the release of his niece, Asha Greyjoy, and accuses the North of betrayal for not committing forces to assist King Stannis in suppressing the so-called rebellion. He claims his actions are in the name of justice.” Robb gave a wry laugh, anger simmering beneath the surface. “The first claim is laughable enough, but the second? Shall I free Asha to satisfy his sense of justice?”

“Justice? It’s all nonsense,” Rickard Karstark growled. “He’s just making excuses for war. If Euron truly cared about his niece, he’d have come to negotiate first, not raid the North’s coasts. The man’s a lunatic. There’s no use reasoning with him. You only deal with madmen one way—beat them until they’re too scared to move. Let’s head back, muster our armies, and drive these pirates into the sea!”

Karstark’s fiery response resonated with the room. Most of the Northern lords nodded in agreement, eager for Robb to give the order. Their anticipation was palpable—they were ready to return home and defend their lands.

“Sounds straightforward,” said Roose Bolton, his voice cutting through the room like a blade. “But if we rush into this, we’ll be playing right into his hands.”

The hall grew quiet, and all eyes turned to the cold and calculating lord of the Dreadfort.

“Euron Greyjoy is no fool,” Roose continued. “He was exiled for years but returned to the Iron Islands with nothing—no power, no allies—and yet he seized the Seastone Chair without opposition. Mad? Perhaps. But never mistake madness for stupidity. He abandoned the rich, undefended coasts of the Reach to come here, to the North, a barren, frigid land teeming with returning armies. Why? Because he wants to prolong the chaos in Westeros. He knows a divided Seven Kingdoms benefits the Ironborn. I wager he’s already struck the Westerlands and may even have forces harassing the Riverlands. His goal is to weaken both sides in this civil war until they’re no better than him.”

“By the gods, Roose, must you analyze everything to death?” Lord Glover snapped. “You think too much. We can’t just sit here while our people suffer!”

“Of course not,” Roose replied evenly. “But rushing headlong into battle without a plan would be foolish. Deepwood Motte is better fortified than it was during Asha’s surprise attack. It won’t fall so easily. We have time to strategize. Marching a massive army to the coast will only exhaust our supplies and leave us vulnerable to the winter ahead. The Ironborn thrive on mobility. We’ll never pin them down.”

“So, what then?” Greatjon Umber barked. “Sit in Winterfell and do nothing? That’s cowardice!”

Roose sighed. “Not at all. We fortify our key holdings, evacuate the countryside, and deny the Ironborn the chance to plunder. Without supplies or soft targets, they’ll be forced to retreat. A few small, mobile cavalry units can patrol the coasts, ready to intercept raiders.”
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Aegor smirked. Roose’s plan was sound, rooted in logic. The Ironborn weren’t suited for prolonged campaigns, especially in the unforgiving North. Denying them resources would render their raids futile.

But practicality didn’t always win over pride. The North, vast and resilient, would never abide a strategy that reeked of retreat. Robb Stark, still securing his position as King in the North, couldn’t afford to appear weak. Perception mattered as much as strategy.

“Lord Bolton makes good points,” Robb finally said. “But abandoning the coast without a fight would be seen as weakness. And we must consider that the Riverlands may also be at risk. We need to muster our forces—not the full army, but a thousand of our best troops, enough to hold the line and protect our people.”

It was clear Robb had made up his mind. The lords murmured in agreement, though Roose’s cold stare betrayed his dissatisfaction.

“As for naval support,” Robb continued, “we’ll call upon White Harbor and Bear Island. Their ships will accompany our forces. We’ll not let the Ironborn dictate the terms of this fight.”

The meeting concluded with a mixture of excitement and trepidation. Plans were hastily drawn, and the Northern lords prepared to return home. Robb turned to Aegor before dismissing the group.

“Chief Logistics Officer,” he said, “it seems this tour must end here. From what I’ve seen, I trust you’ll keep the Free Folk—new Giftfolk, rather—under control. But before we leave for the coast, I’d like to see one thing for myself. I’ve heard much about these giants you’ve welcomed into the Gift. I’d like to meet them. Make the arrangements—we’ll leave today.”

Aegor bowed, masking his irritation with a polite smile. “Of course, my lord. Consider it done.”