Chapter 414: Coincidence or Traitor?
Eastwatch was the first to face the challenge of the dead, but whether by coincidence or design, at the other end of Westeros—separated by the entire length of the Wall and a great gorge—another coastal fortress garrisoned by the Night's Watch, Westwatch-by-the-Bridge, encountered trouble from the living.
The newly formed Northern Navy certainly did not dare sail out to engage Euron Greyjoy, but the latter's fleet was equally wary of Westwatch's sophisticated defensive installations and dared not launch a direct assault. Thus, the Ironborn flaunted their might within the Bay of Ice, while the Northern craftsmen, sailors, and Sworn Brothers remained safely tucked away inside the harbor, churning out ships and soldiers. On the surface, it seemed a stalemate, but the shipyard was working day and night; with the advantage of resources and sheer scale, the North was bound to win a war of attrition. Realizing this, Euron finally made his move after several days of confrontation.
Soldiers patrolling the coastline during the day were the first to bring back word: less than ten miles south of Westwatch, numerous longships had made landfall, offloading a large number of raiders.
There were no villages along the Bay of Ice to pillage, so the intent of landing troops was obvious. The Ironborn, thousands of miles from home, were unwilling to wait any longer. They prepared to seize Westwatch in a pincer movement from land and sea, nipping the Northern Navy in the bud.
The fortress held barely a thousand defenders and had to monitor the Shadow Tower gorge simultaneously; it was more than capable of defense but lacked the numbers for a sortie. Despite knowing of the threat in advance, the commander of Westwatch, after some deliberation, chose to send ravens to the Shadow Tower for reinforcements and hold his ground.
The sky was as black as if soaked in ink, the moon struggling to peek through heavy clouds. The ice storm that had scoured the coast at Seal Bay did not reach this far west. It was an ordinary night of whistling cold winds; between the gusts and the rhythmic crashing of waves against the shore, there seemed to be no other sound.
The night sentries had finished their supper and taken their posts atop the walls. Knowing a night attack was possible, the number of men on duty had been doubled. They stared into the darkness with wide eyes, vigilant toward every direction, unwilling to miss a single rustle in the grass. Whenever someone spotted a suspicious shadow, they immediately reported it to their captain for a secondary inspection via a Myr lens.
However, the first to spot the target was the guard on the seaside watchtower.
Euron had intentionally allowed the landing of some Ironborn to be scouted by Northern patrols, but the primary direction of attack remained the sea. Tonight, with the dense cloud cover and minimal light, over a dozen sailing ships equipped with catapults and other long-range weapons arrived in the waters of the Bay of Ice outside the mouth of the Milkwater. They sailed in a straight line toward Westwatch, opening fire only when they were a few hundred meters from the coast. A dozen projectiles trailing fire and smoke tore through the dark night; some fell into the freezing water with a splash, some struck the stone walls in a shower of sparks, and others hit the brand-new Northern warships moored at the docks, immediately threatening a conflagration.
The quiet of Westwatch was instantly shattered. Alarm bells rang and horns blared. Men in various states of undress burst out of every building—regardless of whether they had been asleep, everyone who heard the alarm rolled out of bed, donned their gear, grabbed their weapons, and rushed out to find their officers and race to their combat stations.
...
"Anyone who knows how to use a catapult, get to the western towers to help! Those who don't, go to the harbor to put out the fires! One squad stay on the walls; if you see the enemy, sound the alarm!" the officer on duty shouted, leading half the soldiers down the battlements toward the docks.
Soon, the shore-based catapults and scorpions, manned by ample crews, began returning fire at the Ironborn ships. With stable platforms, the impossibility of being sunk, and the devastating power of wildfire incendiaries, the shore batteries quickly gained the upper hand in the exchange.
However, while most eyes were drawn to the spectacular exchange of long-range fire, several hundred Ironborn warriors who had disembarked earlier and hidden in the woods rushed from their cover. Under the veil of night, they reached within a hundred meters of the walls before the sentries atop the battlements spotted them.
A young soldier, who moments before had been watching the firework-like exchange in the bay, suddenly heard footsteps and voices from outside the wall. Cautiously, he tossed a torch down. In the flickering light, he saw a dense mass of dozens of heads. Terrified, he nearly fell over, screaming to his comrades and ringing the alarm bell for the assault on the south wall.
This was the scene Jaime faced as he emerged from his room, fully armed: artillery fire was flying over the harbor, and under the cover of this noisy but largely non-threatening diversion, the alarm for an enemy breach came from the south and east walls.
What is he playing at?
The Kingslayer frowned in confusion.
He had never supported Egger's decision to lease Westwatch to the North as a naval port, nor did he care for this sycophantic strategy of providing heavy military protection to trade for Stark cooperation... let alone being required to fight Ironborn now.
He had initially volunteered for the Wall because his shameful secrets had brought his family to the brink of ruin. He wanted to atone by fighting the enemies of humanity like the White Walkers, and perhaps find a place to spend the rest of his life in peace.
If he had simply moved to a different place only to end up fighting the living—especially fellow Westerosi—what was the point?
Though he despised the bigoted and greedy pirates of the Iron Islands, he didn't exactly love the stubborn and self-righteous Northmen either... Now Egger wanted him to fight one group of pests for the sake of another group he didn't like. The feeling was wretched! This wasn't his war!
Despite his annoyance, Jaime had no intention of quitting. First, the Iron Islands were currently at war with the Westerlands, so fighting them did not conflict with his family's interests. Second, Egger, as Lord Commander, had treated him well, using his authority to look after Jaime's three children and even Jaime himself. The third reason was a bit harder to voice—for the first time, he had experienced the feeling of love from someone other than Cersei. He had someone to protect besides his family.
Because of his exceptional looks since childhood, Jaime had seen plenty of women throw themselves at him... being pursued was nothing new, but Val had shown exactly why she earned the title 'Wildling Princess'. Even after learning of his broken oaths and the scandal of his incestuous affair, and despite his lack of power or wealth, Val was willing to get to know him, peeling back the hard shell he kept around himself to reach his soft heart.
Once she decided she wanted to be with him, her pursuit—utterly unlike the fainting and coy noblewomen of the Seven Kingdoms—was unrestrained, passionate, and sincere enough to make any sane man fall.
Jaime now had a reason to fight—and besides, the Ironborn led by a madman like Euron Greyjoy wouldn't spare him just because he shouted, "Stop, I don't like Northmen either!" In every sense, he had to give his all.
His squad of loyal Westermen was already armed and assembled before him. Though these men had followed him to the Wall somewhat voluntarily under the pressure of Lord Tywin, their families were being well cared for in Lannisport, and Egger had promised them home leave in the future. Their morale and loyalty were decent. After a quick scan to ensure no one was missing, the Kingslayer looked around and decided to reinforce the southeast wall where the alarm was loudest.
After all, no matter how fierce the noise at the docks, sailing ships hundreds of meters away couldn't teleport into the harbor to seize the fort. But if the walls or gates fell, the enemy would pour in instantly.
Dozens of Westermen hurried toward the wall, picking up several stragglers from the North and the Gift who had lost their officers in the confusion. Like a snowball, they had grown into a force of over a hundred by the time they reached the battlements. Merging with the reserves brought by the actual commander of Westwatch, they formed a formidable reinforcement—half the soldiers in the fortress had rushed to the walls to assist.
There was no time for pleasantries; the two groups scrambled up the battlements. The situation was better than expected. Though the raiders were numerous, they had traveled far and lacked siege engines, relying instead on crude wooden ladders. Their momentum was grand, but the actual threat was moderate. Aside from the human wave, there was only one squad carrying a fresh log as a battering ram, pounding against the eastern gate. The log sent shudders through the thick wooden door; while it wouldn't break immediately, the sound of the overstrained wood kept everyone on edge.
In the panic of the sudden attack, the inexperienced defenders had wasted quite a bit of the wildfire intended for the wights. Though powerful, it was a massive waste of resources.
With a single stroke, Jaime cut down an Ironborn warrior who had just crested the wall and hadn't even had time to scream. He and the Westwatch commander split their forces, sweeping across the battlements in two directions. They quickly reclaimed the few lost sections of the wall and pushed over several ladders, instantly stabilizing the defense.
"Stop wasting the wildfire! That's for the dead; we don't have enough to throw it away!"
After shouting at a few youngsters to stop wasting war materiel, Jaime sheathed his sword, took a bow from a nearby soldier, and cautiously leaned over the battlements to observe the field. Wildfire wouldn't burn on cold snow, but if a lucky hit struck a person, it could use their clothes and gear as fuel. By the red and green light of the flames burning on several corpses and shields in the snow, the general state of the enemy came into Jaime's view: dozens, perhaps a hundred men, crowded beneath the walls. Their gear bore the sigils of various houses—the Kraken of Greyjoy, the golden-banded black horn of Goodbrother, the entwined green waterspouts of Merlyn...
A rabble like this dares to attack a fortress I'm holding?
Jaime gave a cold laugh. He nocked an arrow and pulled the fletching to his ear. Aiming casually at one, he let fly, then nocked another and drew again. He wasn't a master archer, but the enemy formation was chaotic, and their defensive fire was negligible. One by one, the Ironborn raiders screamed and fell, while his own side suffered few casualties. Under his leadership and steadying presence, the other soldiers on the wall regained their composure, ceasing the wasteful tossing of wildfire in favor of the more practical defense of stones and arrows.
The Ironborn were never skilled at siegecraft. Facing a prepared garrison and failing their initial rush—and with their battering ram now a pillar of flame thanks to pitch and wildfire—the attackers left behind dozens of corpses and retreated hurriedly into the darkness.
...
That's it? They sailed a thousand miles for a sneak attack only to make this little noise?
Cheers erupted around him. Regardless of the actual body count, this was indeed the first defensive victory for Westwatch since its completion. Jaime felt suspicious but couldn't put his finger on where the problem lay. However, in the darkness where no one could see, Euron's true killing blow was silently approaching the harbor. Whether it was the sailing ships trading fire with the fort or the land assault on the walls, the participants were not the elite of the Iron Islands. The truly fiercest warriors and most seasoned sailors of the Ironborn were currently seated in longships, biting down on whatever they held in their mouths, rowing silently. Led by a small boat measuring depth and reef distribution, they moved at a snail's pace—inching along the coast from south to north toward Westwatch.
Normally, such a shore-hugging infiltration would be spotted by the sentries on the seaside watchtower.
However, with the ships to the northwest burning torches and actively drawing fire, the attention of the watchtowers and the harbor sailors was entirely diverted. Everyone was focused on the exchange of projectiles; the inexperienced commander had completely forgotten to assign men to maintain a 360-degree watch, thus missing the longship fleet passing quietly under their noses.
Meanwhile, the raiders feinting at the walls had drawn the fortress's defensive strength toward the southeast, far from the coast and the harbor. The main assault team led by Euron seized this moment. Ten longships filled with soldiers, propelled by double rows of oars, suddenly emerged from the shadows. They bypassed the natural breakwater and surged into the harbor, sailing straight past the moored Northern warships until they hit the beach. Over three hundred of the toughest Ironborn warriors leapt out and charged onto the shore, rushing into the empty harbor where only a dozen men were fighting fires, and began to wantonly destroy the buildings and warships.
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