Chapter 115

Are the mountain clans truly difficult to deal with?
Not really. They’re poorly equipped, malnourished, and utterly untrained—fighting them would be no different from fighting the Free Folk beyond the Wall. So why haven’t the rulers of the Vale ever made an effort to eliminate them?

The answer is simple: the same reason the Night’s Watch hasn’t wiped out the Free Folk. Sure, a few thousand well-trained soldiers—even ones of Aegor’s modest skill level—could annihilate the tens of thousands of Free Folk, driving the survivors into the Lands of Always Winter. But where would those soldiers come from? How long would the slaughter take? Who would pay for their food, wages, and equipment? What about the compensation for casualties if the Free Folk organized resistance? And once they were exterminated, what purpose would the Wall serve, aside from providing a comfortable retirement for Westeros’s scoundrels and political prisoners?

The mountain clans of the Vale are far fewer in number than the Free Folk, but their reliance on guerrilla tactics—living in the mountains without fixed villages—makes them even harder to root out.

In the end, the equation is straightforward: the effort and resources required to eradicate the mountain clans far outweigh the benefits. It’s easier to station a small escort when traveling the mountain passes—enough armed men to deter both bandits and clansfolk. Typically, as long as a caravan has at least ten armed guards, it rarely faces attacks.

Ultimately, this comes down to “productivity.” These three words limit human imagination and lofty ambitions. It is an insurmountable wall, forcing people to confront harsh reality and struggle for survival in a cold, dark world.
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On the day the “White Walker slayer” presented his strategy to the king, the war council ran longer than usual. When the nobles and generals finally left the royal pavilion and returned to their camps, the army camp buzzed with activity. Within an hour or two, groups of troops, ranging from dozens to hundreds, began leaving the camp, heading away from the Bloody Gate. From a distance, it looked like a breakdown in discipline—soldiers deserting to return to their farms. But once out of sight of the Bloody Gate’s defenders, they circled back, disappearing into the Mountains of the Moon to hunt for the mountain clans.

The mountain clans had initially retreated deep into the mountains as soon as Robert’s massive army entered the Vale, hiding and going hungry for over a month without making a move. They hoped their quiet compliance would spare them from trouble. Unfortunately, they hadn’t anticipated that a suggestion from a transmigrator would bring hundreds of elite scouts and soldiers adept at mountain warfare to their doorstep.
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Aegor had planned to return to King’s Landing after presenting his plan, but Earl Buckwell brought word from the king: Robert had finalized the operation and set a deadline. The small forces infiltrating the Mountains of the Moon would aim to coordinate with the main army in an assault on the Bloody Gate. If the plan failed within two weeks, Robert would negotiate peace with the Brotherhood of Justice.

With this clear timeline and a sliver of hope, Aegor decided to stay. If his plan brought victory, there was a chance he could claim some reward.

Still, as a member of the Night’s Watch, offering counsel to the Iron Throne was already skating on thin ice. Actively participating in the campaign? Out of the question. Remaining in the camp, Aegor had no idea how his plan was progressing. The units sent into the mountains couldn’t maintain regular contact, and the overall situation was now a black box to him. All he could do was wait.

The “siege” of the Bloody Gate continued day after day. On the surface, it was the same routine: a small contingent staged a half-hearted attack on the gate. But within the camp, the atmosphere had shifted. The allied forces had quietly moved into a state of high alert. While the daily “siege” continued as a show, soldiers from the other five kingdoms were armored and ready, prepared to launch a full-scale assault at a moment’s notice.

As Earl Buckwell explained, “We’re just waiting for the signal. Once it comes, the army will surge forward and take the Bloody Gate.”

What form this signal would take, or when it might come, even the old earl couldn’t say.
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As days passed, Aegor’s confidence in his plan began to waver. He realized how speculative his proposal had been. The mountain clans undoubtedly existed, and they might know secret paths into the Vale—but could Robert’s elite troops find them? Were the paths navigable? Were they guarded by the Brotherhood’s forces at the other end?

Aegor had no answers. He’d gambled everything on historical precedent, hoping that what had worked in his world would hold true in Westeros.

This uncertainty gnawed at him until the sixth day after presenting his plan.

That afternoon, Aegor was sharing a drink with Earl Buckwell, listening to the old man grumble about war expenses and how the conflict had disrupted his lands. Suddenly, the long, resonant sound of a horn broke through the camp. It was followed by the clamor of footsteps, the neighing of horses, and the distant rumble of hoofbeats shaking the ground.

“What’s happening?” Buckwell shouted as he and Aegor rushed out of the tent, calling to a passing soldier.

“My lord! The signal’s been raised—full assault! Bring the siege ladders!”

There was no need for further explanation. The shouting and clamor from the direction of the Bloody Gate made it clear. The usual token “siege” was over, but the sounds of battle hadn’t stopped. The soldiers stationed at the gate were now fighting for real. The flanking units had reached the Bloody Gate!

“Damn it… Aegor, stay here in the camp. I need to join the attack—Robert will be leading the charge himself, and this is a chance to earn some glory!” Buckwell barked, turning to rally his troops. “Stay in formation! Don’t lose your weapons! Stick with your officers!”

“The king’s already led the cavalry forward!”

“Seven hells! Keep moving! Stay together, and don’t drop your swords or armor!”
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What does it look like when over ten thousand men charge together? Aegor saw it firsthand as he and Yoren climbed a nearby hill for a better view. As Night’s Watchmen, they were the only ones in the camp who could afford to sit back and watch, unconcerned with earning glory.

Robert’s crownlands cavalry led the charge, with the king himself at the forefront. None dared to outrun him, and the white cloaks of the Kingsguard protecting him gleamed in the sunlight. They drove like a spearhead toward the Bloody Gate. On the walls, there were no arrows or stones raining down—those defenders were already locked in desperate combat with the troops who had flanked them.

Behind the cavalry came wave upon wave of infantry, darkening the hills with their sheer numbers. Discipline had all but disintegrated among the peasant levies, especially after the departure of many officers and elite troops into the mountains. On any other day, such a chaotic assault would be a disaster. But today, as long as the men reached the walls before the defenders could repel the flanking troops, the battle would be won.

“Gods….” Aegor murmured, watching the spectacle. A king leading the charge might be romantic in Westeros, but to a transmigrator’s eyes, it was reckless and unnecessary. “Let’s hope Robert doesn’t get himself killed out there.”

“Don’t worry,” Yoren replied confidently. “I’ve seen enough battles to know—the moment the rebels got caught from behind, the fight was already over.”

The cavalry reached the Bloody Gate, crossing trenches already filled with rubble and blood. Robert and the Kingsguard dismounted, followed by the rest of the crownlands cavalry. They couldn’t scale the walls until the infantry brought up the ladders—but some abandoned ladders from previous attempts lay nearby. Dusting them off, the men began to climb.

From the hill, Aegor and his squire, Kasey, watched as a white-cloaked Kingsguard knight was the first to reach the battlements. Securing the ladder, he was followed by Robert himself. More ladders went up, and with no one to stop them, the tide turned swiftly.

The cries of battle began to fade. With no deep hatred between the defenders and the attackers—many of whom had fought side by side in Robert’s Rebellion—resistance crumbled. Surrender became the only option.

Within half an hour, the banners of the Brotherhood of Justice were hauled down, replaced by the crowned stag of House Baratheon.

The Bloody Gate had fallen.