Chapter 34: Reinforcements
Bang… bang…
Mormont slammed both hands down on the table, the thunderous impact echoing through the council chamber.
"Silence! Silence!"
The uproar gradually subsided.
"Have we truly reached the point where we fall into chaos before we even know who our enemy is?"
Mormont swept his gaze across the gathered brothers of the Night's Watch. Some met his eyes directly. Others looked away. A few pretended not to notice at all.
He sighed inwardly.
This is no longer the Night's Watch of old.
The elite brotherhood sworn to guard the realms of men had already begun to decay—and it seemed inevitable that its decline would happen on his watch.
At that moment, Ser Alliser Thorne sneered and spat out his anger.
"Those damn southern lords can rot beyond the Wall for all I care. Instead of whoring in their warm castles, they came north to stir up trouble. A pack of bastards blinded by honor. We can barely protect ourselves—where are we supposed to find the strength to rescue them?"
"Yes, Ser Thorne is right," several brothers echoed, nodding in agreement.
Donal Noye, the chief smith of the Wall, slammed his fist against the table.
"Our duty is to guard the Wall and face the dangers beyond it. Ser Thorne—have you forgotten your vows?"
Thorne shot back angrily, "Of course I haven't forgotten my vows. But tell me—where are these extra men you think we have? We don't! That's why I say our priority must be defending the Wall, not throwing lives away chasing ghosts."
Bowen Marsh, the First Steward, frowned and spoke up.
"And the brothers who went missing beyond the Wall? Are we simply going to abandon them?"
The chamber fell into uneasy silence.
No one answered immediately.
The truth weighed heavily on them all.
Ser Alliser spread his hands helplessly and said,
"We've already turned the area around the Wall upside down. We even lost a few brothers in the process. Everything that could be done has been done. Now all that's left is to pray the gods watch over them."
Mormont turned to the maester beside him.
"Maester Aemon—has Winterfell replied?"
"Yes," Aemon answered. "The raven arrived this morning. Lord Eddard writes that he has already assembled over a thousand troops directly under Winterfell's command. He will personally lead them to support the Wall. They have already set out and are on the road. He also asks that we prepare the necessary camps in advance."
As he spoke, Aemon handed the letter to Mormont.
Mormont read it, his brow furrowing slightly.
"Did Lord Eddard summon his bannermen as well?"
"The letter makes no mention of it."
Mormont sighed.
"Very well. Have the steward handle the preparations for the camp."
Then he added, "Maester Aemon, send a request for aid to the Iron Throne as well. Until Winterfell's forces arrive, we will hold the Wall with what we have."
---
"So this is the Fist of the First Men?" Saelen asked, gazing up at the flat-topped peak ahead.
"Yes," Benjen Stark replied. "Remnants of an ancient First Men fortress remain on the summit. The view is wide and commanding—any wildlings or White Walkers moving within several leagues would be spotted immediately."
Benjen wore a face covering to conceal his inhuman features, though his icy blue eyes could not be hidden.
Nearby, Jon stood quietly, cradling a fossilized dragon egg in both hands, studying it with complete focus, oblivious to everything else. The others had grown used to this.
When Saelen first obtained the dragon eggs, everyone had crowded around to touch and admire them, marveling at their beauty. But once they learned the eggs were petrified fossils, interest quickly faded.
Everyone, that is, except Jon.
He often held the eggs in his arms, turning them over, examining their intricate patterns. Saelen, recalling Jon's Targaryen blood, had eventually entrusted both eggs to him. Who knew? Perhaps something unexpected might come of it.
Theon Greyjoy smirked and said, "Jon, you should sleep with them at night. By morning, you might wake up to two hatchlings crying for milk."
Laughter rippled through the group.
Jon ignored them. His fingers traced the fine ridges on the shell, and he frowned slightly. Sometimes, he could swear the eggs felt warm. Ever since he began carrying them, he occasionally dreamed of dragons—though the details always vanished by morning.
He had asked Robb about it once.
Robb only laughed and said all he felt was a cold stone.
Jon had no choice but to suppress his doubts, chalking it up to imagination.
---
They reached the summit before nightfall and rested there for the night. At dawn, they set out toward the Milkwater. Their ultimate destination was the Frostfangs.
In the original course of events, this was where Mance Rayder would gather the wildling host, searching for the Horn of Winter—the legendary artifact said to be capable of bringing down the Wall by waking giants beneath the earth.
Saelen didn't know whether the horn truly existed.
In the stories, Mance never found it. He resorted to a fake, attempting to trick the Night's Watch into opening the gates. The real horn was supposedly discovered much later by Jon and Samwell Tarly in an abandoned wildling village.
But now, everything had changed.
Jon had not joined the Night's Watch. Sam was still safe in his father's castle. Mance Rayder was likely still traveling from tribe to tribe, trying to unite the free folk.
With Saelen in the picture, the future had become uncertain.
So for now, they would test their luck here. If they encountered a wildling tribe, they might just learn where Mance Rayder was.
---
They traveled all day and reached the Milkwater before nightfall.
The area was a vast mountain range of jagged peaks, deep ravines, and narrow passes, perpetually covered in ice and snow. The peaks were sharp as fangs of ice—hence the name.
"The terrain here is broken and dangerous," Qhorin warned as they advanced. "There are countless hidden caves, glaciers, and rocky corridors. It's easy to defend—but just as easy to get lost. Stay close to the group."
"And if someone does get lost?" Theon asked casually.
"Then you'd best pray your Drowned God guides you back to the sea," Qhorin replied calmly.
Robett Glover burst out laughing.
"This is inland. Your sea god won't save you here—and the Old Gods won't bless a pirate either."
Theon's face darkened. Deepwood Motte had suffered Ironborn raids more than once; Glover's disdain was not subtle.
Catching the hostile looks around him, Theon finally understood—aside from Robb, no one in this group truly welcomed him.
Under Qhorin's guidance, they found a concealed cave and took shelter for the night. The wind howled outside, but the cold could not penetrate the cave. There was no need for a fire.
They huddled together, sharing warmth, and waited for dawn.