Chapter 32

Eastwatch-by-the-Sea
Two days later...

He was back from Castle Black ... Tormund Giantsbane, with whatever fresh provisions he could requisition for the defense of the coastal fort. He also had clear instructions from Dolorous Edd, the Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch. Eastwatch must not be surrendered intact, must not be abandoned while a single brother could fight to hold it. It was far too vital to the defense of the realm, after all. If Eastwatch fell, then the Night King and the Army of the Dead could use it to outflank the Westerosi and invade the North. That must not be allowed while there was still a chance to stop it.

Everyone knew the stakes, of course. How could they not? Too many had already perished to hold Eastwatch to just give it up without fierce resistance against the Dead. Every man on down from Cotter Pyke, Commander of Eastwatch, to Tormund Giantsbane, to Sandor Clegane, the Hound himself, to Theon Greyjoy, was resolved to fight on to keep Eastwatch in human hands. This was sure to be a very great battle indeed, so much so that there were reports that even Eddison Tollett, better known as “Dolorous Edd,” seriously considered sending fresh troops to Eastwatch to help guard the castle after all.

If that happened, Eastwatch could well become the focus of the entire war. Could enough men and supplies reach it in time to really punish the Dead for daring to attack a castle on the Wall? Would the Night King really be stopped here, at the water’s edge? Would it all come down to a coastal battle, of all things, rather than a typical, inland encounter? That was by no means certain to any of them, but it seemed more plausible by the hour.

Well, there were a lot worse places to have a last stand against the Dead, weren’t there? Winterfell, for instance, had crypts full of the dead who could become the Dead instead. No place with that many corpses was safe from the Dead for very long, not once the Night King was close enough to reanimate them (was that even the right word in this case?). If the Night King was to reach Winterfell, the chances for Men were a lot lower in terms of survival, alas. How long could men stand against their undead ancestors, anyway?

No, it was far better to meet the Army of the Dead head-on, as close to the borders and to the Wall as possible, where the advantages stacked up much nicer for the living instead. If they could turn this battle into a coastal, naval one, it could favor humans much more than it might otherwise, and might even scare some folks in Essos into joining the fray. After all, the sea was a bit closer to them than Westeros was, wasn’t it? If the Dead endangered their shipping and commerce, the Free Cities in particular might opt to turn their focus away from the Bay of Dragons toward the common enemy: the Army of the Dead and the Night King himself. They couldn’t dismiss it as a fable anymore.

“You’re back in the nick of time, Tormund. The enemy’s been harrying us from the sea at every turn. I count some seven attempts already to land at Eastwatch and seize the place from us in the past week, not to mention to turn us all. The Dead keep losing wights and boats, but we’re losing as many as are prepared to burn alive to stop them. Yes, my friend, that’s the price that we’re paying to repel them. The volunteers in question have to face the flames to defeat them, something that I can’t force any man to do. He has to be willing, or else it won’t work and he’ll be turned by the foe.

“We’ve already lost some thirteen men, including Benjen Stark, Howland Reed, Daario Naharis, Thoros of Myr, Ragnar Slait, Lord Beric Dondarrion, Earic Flowers, Jatham Stone, Ser Eltham Stone, Ser Ian Storm, Balon Pyke, Hoster Rivers, and Gregor Waters. That last one claimed to be a bastard son of the Mountain begotten on a King’s Landing whore, and to look at him, I’d believe it. He was a lot better man than his father, if that’s the case. I somehow doubt that the Mountain would ever risk fire and death in such a noble cause.

“Thirteen men have willingly endured flames on their skin, burning alive to save the realms of Men in keeping with their oaths as sworn brothers of the Night’s Watch. Some of them didn’t even take such oaths and were not technically brethren of ours, but they suffered the torment and death of such a fiery demise bravely and resolutely to protect our castle. Thankfully, such agony was only temporary and now their suffering is at an end. And now their watch has ended,” Cotter Pyke waxed sentimental about the men, both sworn brothers of the Night’s Watch, and those who only temporarily joined them at the end.

“And now their watch has ended. What is dead may never die,” Theon Greyjoy declared, feeling very powerful emotions about this sacrifice, but not being ready to commit it yet until he saw his sister again.

He had to see Yara one last time. And the others. When he had made all of his amends and settled all of his differences and debts, then he could die with honor, but only then. In the meantime, he did what he could to assist in the defense of the realms of men. He had even agreed to take the black himself soon, consecrating himself to the Wall and the Night’s Watch in the sight of the Drowned God. That would formally relinquish all claims to the Salt Throne in favor of Yara, his own sister. After all, what concern was celibacy to a man with no privy parts?

“What is dead may never die, but rises again, harder and stronger,” Cotter Pyke repeated the words, being Ironborn himself, after all.

“Aye, and now their watch has ended,” Sandor Clegane, the Hound, recited that part.

He had his doubts about the rising again business, of course. From what he saw of Thoros of Myr, the dead only came back weaker, not stronger. They were always something ... less. Also, the Hound admired the courage of others in facing the flames, but give him practically any other form of death than that. He hadn’t lost any of his own abject terror over even the thought of burning alive. He was a brave man in most ways, sure enough, but honest enough to admit to himself that he was still terrified of any kind of fire.

“And now their watch has ended,” Tormund agreed, also omitting the Ironborn chant, not being keen on the whole rising again business due to its association with the Dead.

That neither Cotter Pyke, nor Theon Greyjoy, took offense was understandable. Only Ironborn men could understand their ways. No one else could be expected to appreciate the truth of that mantra. What was dead might indeed return, harder and stronger, but they knew that was hardly a popular view among the mainlanders. Few Westerosi had any interest in the ways of the Drowned God, after all. Only the Ironborn did.

“Here they come again, friends! Who will go and face the flames to defeat them now? Who will sacrifice all to hold them back? Our numbers are few, but we will stand tall and resist them nevertheless! We will hold them back at the water’s edge!” Cotter Pyke called for more brave and worthy volunteers to immolate themselves in order to repel the amphibious invasion.

The enemy could not be allowed to get ashore! That was the firm commitment of the Eastwatch garrison. He must be pushed back into the waters time and again, however long it took to force him to find another way around the Wall. So far, the Night’s Watch had prevailed every single time, because they had to prevail. Defeat was an intolerable prospect, given the high stakes here.