Finally crossing the Gorge, Lancelot, Tyrion, and the others arrived at the westernmost Night's Watch castle: Westwatch-by-the-Bridge.
To their disappointment, Westwatch-by-the-Bridge had long since become a complete ruin. Only a single collapsed stone wall remained; everything else was ice and snow.
"I suggest we abandon the idea of rebuilding Westwatch-by-the-Bridge here at the Gorge," Tyrion said.
"Uncle, your reason?" Lancelot asked, looking at the ruins.
"There are nineteen castles along the Wall. This one is isolated and alone. Rebuilding it would cost too much manpower and resources. It's not worth it."
"Besides, even the White Walkers don't come to this godforsaken place!" Tyrion cursed.
The Gorge was a natural glacial valley, devoid of life. No plants, no animals, and naturally, no wildlings. without wildlings, the White Walkers had no reason to come here to kill.
"If we wanted to restore Westwatch-by-the-Bridge, we'd have to start from the Shadow Tower, go through the tunnel under the Wall to the north side, and take a long detour just to get here."
"I estimate restoring Westwatch would take three times longer than restoring the Nightfort," Tyrion calculated.
Lancelot nodded.
"The Milkwater empties into the sea here, flowing into the Bay of Ice. Bear Island, the seat of House Mormont, lies in the Bay of Ice. But the wildlings lack shipbuilding capabilities; they can't cross such a distance to invade Bear Island."
"Their most suitable crossing point is still Eastwatch. So, the west truly doesn't need defending."
"Let's search the area for anything unusual, then return to the Shadow Tower."
The group split up to search. Lancelot rode Hrakkar back to the edge of the Gorge.
The figure he had seen earlier seemed to have vanished.
"Hrakkar, fly down."
Fighting the strong updrafts, Hrakkar carried Lancelot down to the riverbank at the bottom of the Gorge.
Due to the low temperature, the river's surface had frozen over, creating a thick layer of ice suitable for walking.
"Are these... footprints?"
Lancelot landed on the ice, but Hrakkar continued to hover. The lion was too heavy, and Lancelot feared the ice might break under his weight.
Lancelot examined the marks closely. They were indeed human footprints—barefoot ones. Unlike southerners, wildlings beyond the Wall rarely wore boots with distinct soles.
Lancelot followed the tracks; they were moving toward the coastline.
"Could it be that wildlings really left by boat?" Lancelot wondered.
He immediately mounted Hrakkar.
"Go, Hrakkar. Head in that direction."
Lancelot pointed, and Hrakkar accelerated.
When they reached the coastline, they saw a ship already setting sail.
"No markings. I can't tell which faction the ship belongs to. But daring to come here... are they trading slaves?"
Lancelot didn't know who had made a deal with certain tribal chieftains beyond the Wall, but they definitely weren't hiring wildlings as bodyguards. They were capturing them to sell as slaves.
Life beyond the Wall was primitive. Conflict between tribes was frequent, and the defeated were often killed or sold. It seemed Mance Rayder hadn't fully stopped the infighting among the wildlings yet!
It made sense. Mance Rayder had reportedly united a hundred thousand Free Folk, but the total wildling population was surely several times that number.
When Lancelot returned to the ruins of Westwatch-by-the-Bridge, everyone except Aguda had returned.
"There are signs of human activity nearby, but we didn't see anyone," Tyrion reported.
"Let's wait for Aguda. Maybe he went to catch someone," Lancelot said.
"You trust him that much? He's a wildling!" Tyrion was surprised by Lancelot's faith in Aguda.
"Wildlings keep their promises too. Since I saved him, he's willingly become my squire."
Shortly after, Lancelot used the Spark spell to start a fire, and the group began cooking.
Lancelot had to admit, Podrick's cooking skills were improving, especially in the wild.
The wine was finished, but there was plenty of snow. Melted snow was clean mountain spring water. One sip was refreshing; two sips left a lingering sweetness; a few more sips, and you'd be squatting somewhere with the runs.
Tyrion was currently off doing exactly that.
The ice here had been frozen for thousands of years, trapping microorganisms that hadn't died. When Podrick melted the ice in the kettle, they revived.
Tyrion got sick because he drank the water teeming with these microorganisms.
Lancelot and Melisandre knew magic, so they were fine. Podrick had a unique constitution and was immune to such ailments.
Only Tyrion suffered, his small body lacking the resistance.
Aguda returned from afar, dragging two wildlings.
"Ser Lancelot, while searching the area, I saw these two acting sneaky, so I tracked them. Their camp was empty of others, and they were planning to return beyond the Wall, so I caught them."
Lancelot looked at the two wildlings thrown onto the snow. Their most distinctive feature was their large, bare feet.
"Which tribe are they from?" Lancelot asked.
"The Hornfoot tribe. They are famous for their tough feet. Their tribe is very ancient and doesn't speak the Common Tongue. I can translate for you. What do you wish to ask?" Aguda said.
"Ask them what they were doing here. There's no game and no shelter. They must have had another reason for coming."
Aguda began speaking the Old Tongue of the First Men. It was said that the Children of the Forest and the giants also spoke this language.
The Seven Kingdoms, including the North, no longer spoke the Old Tongue.
Only beyond the Wall were the accents and intonations of thousands of years ago preserved.
Most wildlings spoke both the Old Tongue and the Common Tongue, allowing them to communicate with people from the Seven Kingdoms.
Lancelot listened as Aguda conversed with the two captives using distinctive guttural sounds.
"Do you understand them?" Lancelot looked at Melisandre.
She shook her head.
"I studied the Common Tongue, Dothraki, High Valyrian, Asshai'i, and some High Valyrian dialects at the Temple of the Lord of Light in Volantis."
"But I have never heard anyone speak the language of the First Men."
Lancelot found watching Aguda talk to them fascinating. They didn't just use words; they used body language, gesturing wildly with their hands and feet.
"Ser Lancelot, I have the answer. They say the Hornfoot tribe won a great victory against the Ice-River Clans (Cannibal Clans), capturing dozens of them. Their chieftain, a man called Iron-Legs, sold the captives to a captain from the Iron Islands."
"So that's it. No wonder I found footprints at the bottom of the Gorge. But do the Ironborn have contact with the wildlings?" Lancelot asked.
"Yes, Ser. They do."
"We actually have contact with many lords of the Seven Kingdoms. We do business in secret. Mostly slave trading and fur trading," Aguda explained.
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