Chapter 228

Aegor had requested Samwell Tarly be assigned to New Crown's Rest a month ago to manage the ravens, but training birds to carry messages reliably was not an overnight task. The lack of an efficient communication system was becoming glaringly obvious—any news required runners going back and forth. To ensure clarity, Aegor decided to visit in person once again.

...

“The Castellan of Winterfell has called on Northern lords to reserve a quarter of their harvests for winter stores and sell the rest at fair prices to support the Wall,” Yam reported. “Most houses have cooperated, except for the Dreadfort and the Hornwood, where there’s no active leadership to handle the arrangements. The first shipment of grain has already arrived from the Umbers of Last Hearth, but as for the others...” He paused. “I’ve looked into it—most of the North’s fertile lands are in the plains east of the First Men’s Barrows and the rich soil around Brightflame Bay. These are in the southern and western North, areas now threatened by the Ironborn raids. Protecting their own territories will be hard enough, let alone sending supply trains north.”

“Those damned Ironborn...” Aegor muttered, calculating in his mind. Euron must be close to returning and assassinating Balon to claim the Seastone Chair. For once, he found himself hoping for the arrival of a villain—Euron’s ambitions might at least shift the Ironborn focus southward, toward the wealth of the Westerlands and the Reach, instead of stubbornly attacking the poor and unyielding North. “How much grain have the Umbers sent?”

Yam pulled out the records. “Enough to feed 1,000 people for a month.”

“There should be more on the way,” Yam continued, “but with the Ironborn pushing eastward and threatening the Kingsroad, we’ll soon have to send escorts for the grain convoys.”

Escorts? The Wall’s ten fortresses now housed over 7,000 people, including the clans. Even though many clanspeople were battle-ready, combining them with the 1,000 Night’s Watch soldiers yielded a mere 3,000 combatants—barely enough to hold the hundred-league-long Wall against tens of thousands of wildlings, let alone sweep the Gift clean of infiltrators. Sending men to protect supply trains would stretch their numbers to a breaking point.

Theoretically, more clans could be summoned to bolster their ranks, but every additional mouth required more grain. More grain meant more purchases, which required more escorts—a vicious cycle that led nowhere.

“What about sea routes? Could we purchase grain from the Riverlands and transport it to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea?”

“In theory, yes, but the Ironborn block the western coast. The eastern coast has no major ports except White Harbor, which itself...” Yam trailed off, gesturing to the map. White Harbor sat precariously close to the Ironborn-controlled Torrhen’s Square. Grain from the Riverlands would need to pass through the Neck, already under Ironborn blockade. Worse, for fear of wildling raids, White Harbor might restrict or close its port entirely.

Aegor rubbed his temples. “The only solution is to appeal to the King for aid—transport Riverlands grain to King’s Landing, load it onto ships at Blackwater Bay, and send it north to Eastwatch.”

“But that requires far more authority than we possess,” Yam pointed out. “It would mean coordinating nobles from two regions, not to mention Riverlanders already send their grain to King’s Landing. With grain prices in the capital soaring due to war with the Reach, who would dare redirect supplies to the Night’s Watch at a loss, risking riots in the capital?”

The situation was grim. Managing a territory without self-sufficiency was proving to be a nightmare. Aegor stared at the map, cursing silently. He had deliberately kept his settlement plan conservative, bringing only a few thousand clanspeople to avoid overburdening the system. Yet even this modest number was straining their resources.

...

Aegor’s thoughts drifted to alternative solutions. The Riverlands weren’t the only fertile region—perhaps they could turn to the Reach and seek help from House Tyrell? But the Tyrells likely hoped for chaos in the North, weakening Stannis’s position. Aegor could already envision their response: polite hospitality masking endless excuses. Even if Margaery, his old acquaintance, greeted him warmly, the actual negotiations would go nowhere.

His brooding was interrupted by a knock at the door. A guard entered, bowing slightly. “My lords, a large group has arrived from the Kingsroad, claiming to be reinforcements sent by King Stannis to aid the Night’s Watch. They’re too numerous for me to let in without orders.”

“Reinforcements?” Aegor raised an eyebrow. This should have been good news, but he was already struggling to feed the people he had. “Did they bring grain?”

The guard hesitated. “It doesn’t seem so. There are only two carts, and they’re filled with people, not supplies.”

Aegor sighed. More mouths to feed. Then again, if these were Stannis’s troops, they could serve as messengers to plead their case to the King. “Fine. Let’s go see them.”

...

At the gates of New Crown's Rest, Aegor saw the group being held outside. Among them, a figure in red stood out like a flame. His heart sank. Melisandre?! What’s she doing here?

“Chief Logistics Officer, it’s been a while,” the red priestess greeted him with a faint smile. “This little town you’ve built isn’t bad, though your guards are rather unwelcoming. Are you not going to invite us in?”

Aegor forced a polite smile. “Of course, Lady Melisandre. Please, come in.” He motioned for the gates to be opened. As he turned back, a small figure darted out from behind the priestess and threw herself into his arms.

“Master!”

“Arya!” Aegor exclaimed in shock. It had been over a month since he’d seen her. Her hair had barely grown back, and she wore a drab gray tunic that made her nearly unrecognizable. “What are you doing here? Does your family know about this?”

“I doubt they do,” Melisandre interjected, her tone amused. “She ran away from home and caught up with us two days ago. I decided to bring her along to see you.”

Ran away?! Aegor’s heart sank. The journey from Winterfell to New Crown's Rest was hundreds of leagues, through wildling-infested and Ironborn-raided lands. Without a group to travel with, Arya’s survival was nothing short of a miracle. He stared at her, barely suppressing his frustration. “Care to explain?”

Arya buried her face in his chest, sniffling but refusing to answer.

“Fine. We’ll talk later.” Aegor sighed, letting it slide for now. Turning to Melisandre, he forced another smile. “Lady Melisandre, thank you for taking the time to support the Night’s Watch. On behalf of the garrison, I welcome you.”

“The Long Night is upon us,” Melisandre said solemnly. “The ancient enemy of the Lord of Light threatens all living beings. Every soul must play their part.”

“Well said, my lady,” Aegor replied. “But we are facing significant challenges. Let us prepare accommodations and a meal for you. We can discuss the situation over dinner.”

Melisandre nodded in agreement and followed Aegor into the town. As the guards escorted her group to their quarters, Aegor brought Arya back to his office. Sitting across from her, he folded his arms. “All right, no one else is here now. Explain yourself. Why did you travel all this way? And don’t tell me it’s because your stomach hurts again.”