Eastwatch-by-the-Sea was the first to face the onslaught of the dead, but whether by coincidence or design, on the far western side of Westeros, beyond the Wall and across the Great Canyon, another coastal fortress of the Night's Watch—Ice Canyon Port—was encountering trouble of its own, this time from the living.
While the newly formed Northern navy dared not take the offensive against Euron Greyjoy, his fleet likewise hesitated to challenge Ice Canyon Port's formidable defenses. Thus, the Ironborn swaggered about the waters of Ice Bay, while the North's craftsmen, sailors, and garrison calmly worked within the port, building ships and stockpiling resources. On the surface, neither side had the advantage, yet with its resource superiority and greater shipbuilding capacity, the North was bound to prevail in a prolonged standoff. Perhaps realizing this, after several days of fruitless confrontation, Euron finally acted.
Patrolling soldiers along the coast were the first to spot it: less than ten miles south of Ice Canyon Port, numerous longships had landed, and a large number of raiders were disembarking.
There were no villages near the Ice Bay coast worth plundering, so the meaning of this landing was obvious. The Ironborn, far from home, did not wish to prolong the standoff any further. They were preparing a pincer assault by land and sea, hoping to seize Ice Canyon Port in one decisive strike and crush the Northern navy before it could rise.
The port fortress had a garrison of just over a thousand men, also responsible for guarding the Great Gorge. They were enough to hold but not enough to attack. Despite the advance warning, the commander of Ice Canyon Port, after careful consideration, chose to send a raven to the Shadow Tower requesting reinforcements, while holding his ground for the time being.
The sky was black as ink, the moon veiled behind thick clouds. The great ice storm that had devastated the Bay of Seals had not reached this far west. Here, it was merely another night of bitter winds. Beyond the howling gusts and the crashing waves, no other sound could be heard in the world.
The night sentries had finished their meals and were stationed atop the walls. With prior notice of a possible enemy night attack, the number of sentries was doubled. Every soldier kept his eyes wide and alert, watching every direction around the fortress, unwilling to miss even the faintest movement. Whenever someone spotted a possible figure in the dark, they immediately reported it, prompting the captain to verify it through a Myrish lens.
Yet the first to spot the enemy was not a wall sentry, but the watchman atop the seaside tower.
Euron had deliberately allowed the Northern patrols to spot a few Ironborn landings, but the real attack would come from the sea. Tonight, under the heavily clouded sky and dim light, more than a dozen sailing ships equipped with catapults and other ranged weapons moved into formation. After entering the waters of Ice Bay near the Milkwater estuary, they advanced directly toward Ice Canyon Port. When they were only a few hundred meters from shore, they suddenly opened fire.
A dozen blazing projectiles streaked across the night sky, leaving trails of fire and smoke. Some splashed into the icy sea, sending up sprays of water; others struck the city walls, bursting into sparks; and a few hit the newly constructed Northern warships anchored near shore, quickly setting off fires.
In an instant, the quiet port erupted in chaos. Alarm bells rang. Horns blared. Half-dressed figures rushed out of their quarters. Regardless of the hour, anyone who heard the alarm sprang into action, grabbing weapons, throwing on armor, and assembling under any officer they could find, hurrying to their assigned posts.
...
"Anyone who knows how to use a catapult, to the western tower! The rest, get those fires on the ships under control! Leave one squad to keep watch outside the walls, and report immediately if you see anything!" the duty officer shouted, before leading half the men down from the wall toward the port.
Soon, the shore-based trebuchets and ballistae, manned by plenty of soldiers, began to counterattack the Ironborn vessels. With their stable firing platforms, immunity to sinking, and the devastating power of Wildfire projectiles, they quickly gained the upper hand.
But as most defenders focused on the distant exchange of artillery fire, hundreds of Ironborn warriors who had disembarked earlier and hidden in the coastal woods seized the opportunity. Using the confusion as cover, they crept out of hiding and advanced under the night's veil, getting within a hundred meters of the southern wall before being spotted.
The young sentry who first noticed them had been staring, half in awe, at the fiery battle over the water. But the sound of footsteps and murmurs from below caught his ear. He threw down a torch, and in its flickering glow saw dozens of dark heads packed together. Terror seized him. He almost fell backward, then shouted to his comrades and struck the alarm bell for an attack on the south wall.
---
That was the sight Jaime Lannister faced as he rushed from his quarters, fully dressed. "Cannon fire" flared over the sea toward the port, and beneath the thunderous din of battle, alarms sounded from the south and east walls.
What in the Seven Hells is going on?
The Kingslayer frowned deeply.
From the start, he had never supported Aegor's decision to lease Ice Canyon Port to the North as a naval base, nor did he approve of the tactic of "bowing" to House Stark by "voluntarily offering military protection" in exchange for cooperation and aid. And now, he found himself fighting the Ironborn again.
He had volunteered to come to the Wall in the first place because his sins had driven his family to the brink of ruin. He sought redemption by fighting the White Walkers—the true enemies of mankind—and to live out his remaining years in peace.
But now, he was once again fighting the living—men of the Seven Kingdoms, no less. What was the point?
He despised the Ironborn, those savage and greedy pirates, but he didn't think much better of the stubborn, sanctimonious Northmen. And now Aegor wanted him to fight one group of fools for the sake of another? It was absurd. This wasn't his war.
Still, despite his frustration, Jaime did not intend to shirk his duty. The Iron Islands were still at war with the Westerlands, so fighting Ironborn did not betray his house. Aegor, as Commander of the Night's Watch, had also treated him fairly—more than fairly, even helping his three children and himself in quiet ways.
And then there was another reason, one far more personal. For the first time, he had found affection from someone not named Cersei. He had found someone else he wished to protect.
Jaime Lannister had always been handsome, and women had always shown him favor. But Val, the "Wildling Princess," was unlike any of them. She knew his past, knew the rumors of incest and dishonor, knew he had lost his power and titles, yet she still approached him fearlessly. She broke through the shell he'd built around himself and reached the vulnerable heart beneath.
Once she had made her choice, her boldness, her passion, and her sincerity—so different from the demure pretense of the noblewomen of the Seven Kingdoms—could make any man fall in love.
Now, Jaime had a reason to fight. Besides, Euron Greyjoy's mad horde would hardly spare him if he tried to declare neutrality. For both reason and emotion, he had to fight with all his strength.
His trusted Westermen squad stood ready before him. Though these men had been half-forced into the Night's Watch by Lord Tywin's decree, their families were being well cared for in Lannisport, and Aegor had promised they could visit home one day. Their morale and loyalty were solid enough.
After a quick headcount, Jaime decided where to go first. The port itself, though ablaze, was not in immediate danger—the ships offshore couldn't simply leap into the harbor to seize it. But if the southern and eastern walls fell, the enemy could flood in at once.
"Form up. We head for the southeastern wall," he ordered.
The squad moved out, gathering scattered Northmen and townsfolk soldiers along the way. By the time they reached the wall's base, their numbers had swollen to over a hundred. Merging with the reserve forces under the port's commander, they became a formidable relief unit—half of Ice Canyon Port's defenders now rushed to reinforce the walls.
There was no time for greetings. The two groups ascended from opposite stairways.
The situation atop the wall was better than feared. The raiders were many but lacked siege weapons. They climbed with crude wooden ladders and attacked in swarms. Only one team carried a makeshift battering ram, hammering the eastern gate with a fresh log, making the heavy wooden doors shudder but not yet break.
Caught off guard and inexperienced, some defenders panicked and hurled Wildfire meant for wights. Though effective, it was wasteful.
Cutting down an Ironborn who had barely crested the parapet, Jaime and the commander split their men and swept the wall in opposite directions, clearing the breaches and pushing over several ladders. The defense, which had teetered on collapse, quickly steadied.
"Stop throwing Wildfire like fools! That's for the dead, and we don't have much of it!"
He barked at a few frightened recruits, then grabbed a bow from a nearby soldier and leaned over the parapet to survey the field. Wildfire wouldn't burn long in snow, but when it struck a man, it clung to his clothes and armor, burning green and red in the darkness.
By its glow, Jaime saw the enemy clearly: dozens, maybe a hundred Ironborn at the base of the wall, wearing mismatched gear from various houses—the black kraken of Greyjoy, the golden-trimmed horn of the Goodbrothers, the green entwined pipes of the Merlyns.
A rabble like this dares assault a fortress defended by me?
Jaime sneered, notched an arrow, and loosed. He wasn't a master archer, but the enemy formation was chaotic and unshielded. His arrows found marks easily. Ironborn fell one after another, their screams lost to the howling wind. The defenders, heartened by his calm and skill, stopped wasting Wildfire and returned to more practical weapons—arrows and stones.
The Ironborn were poor at siegecraft to begin with. Facing a ready garrison, their morale broke. Their "battering ram" was reduced to ashes under flaming pitch and Wildfire. Abandoning their dead, the raiders fled back into the night.
...
Is that it? They sailed a thousand miles to launch a raid, only to flee after this much noise?
Cheers erupted around him. It was the first true victory for Ice Canyon Port since its founding. Jaime should have felt proud, yet something gnawed at him. The whole thing had been too easy.
Unseen in the darkness, Euron Greyjoy's real strike was already unfolding.
Neither the fleet bombarding from offshore nor the land assault outside the walls involved his elite warriors. The true veterans, the fiercest killers and best sailors of the Iron Islands, were advancing in silence. Ten longships, guided by small boats mapping depth and reefs, crept northward along the coast, rowing quietly under the shroud of night.
Normally, the seaside watchtower would have spotted them. But now, every eye on the wall was fixed on the fiery battle offshore. The torches of the decoy fleet dazzled the watchmen, and the inexperienced commander had forgotten to assign fresh sentries. No one noticed the dark ships sliding by beneath their noses.
At the same time, the feigned assault on the southern walls had drawn nearly all defenders away from the harbor.
Euron himself led the strike force. Ten longships packed with warriors suddenly surged forward, propelled by double banks of oars. They slipped past the natural breakwater, burst into the harbor, and ran aground on the beach.
Over three hundred of the Iron Islands' strongest warriors stormed ashore. The port, left nearly empty, lay before them—unguarded save for a handful of men still dousing flames. The Ironborn descended like wolves, setting fire to ships and warehouses, cutting down all they found.
(To be continued.)