What was the next step in Jeor Mormont's master plan?

[Alyn Oakenfist]

So at the fist of the Frst men Mormont was ready to attack the wildlings. With 300 men. The stupidity of that decision is mind boggling. There was no chance of winning. You might say, but Stannis did it. Yes, but Stannis had knights, the premiere late medieval troop as well as several thousand men, all while the wildlings were as disorganized as they could ever hoped to be, and they had the Wall to one side, forcing a rout in one direction. Mormont had nither of those things. How on Earth did he hope to win?

[James Steller]

27 minutes ago, Alyn Oakenfist said:

So at the fist of the Frst men Mormont was ready to attack the wildlings. With 300 men. The stupidity of that decision is mind boggling. There was no chance of winning. You might say, but Stannis did it. Yes, but Stannis had knights, the premiere late medieval troop as well as several thousand men, all while the wildlings were as disorganized as they could ever hoped to be, and they had the Wall to one side, forcing a rout in one direction. Mormont had nither of those things. How on Earth did he hope to win?

Stannis didn’t have several thousand men, he had less than 1,500 by that point. But everything else you said still stands.

And Mormont did at least pick the high ground. He could have his men rain arrows down on the wildlings, most of whom would be wearing leather at best. He only had to hold the Fist until Mance gave up. Plus I feel like he might have been hoping to pull a Thermopylae by stalling the wildlings for the Wall to properly prepare itself. Maybe he didn’t expect to walk away from that once he was at the fist and realised how powerful Mance really was?

[TheLastWolf]

4 hours ago, Alyn Oakenfist said:

How on Earth did he hope to win?

He didn't. Not after learning the strength of Mance's host. He would have led everyone to Valhalla or whatever Westerosi equivalent. Die with a sword in hand and curse on his lips, bravely. A death every warrior dreams of. To go down in history as the LC of the NW who valiantly tried to save the Realm. 

3 hours ago, James Steller said:

Maybe he didn’t expect to walk away from that once he was at the fist and realised how powerful Mance really was?

Yeppity yep

[Canon Claude]

14 minutes ago, TheLastWolf said:

He didn't. Not after learning the strength of Mance's host. He would have led everyone to Valhalla or whatever Westerosi equivalent. Die with a sword in hand and curse on his lips, bravely. A death every warrior dreams of. To go down in history as the LC of the NW who valiantly tried to save the Realm. 

Yeppity yep

Mormont really is an idiot, all things considered. He didn't need to lead 300 men to their deaths just to find out how many wildlings were with Mance Rayder. If he had to lead the ranging himself, it could have just been fifty rangers or something, and then they could have made a hasty retreat when they learned the truth about Mance's army. 

[Aebram]

Wasn't there some explanation of this in the text?  I seem to recall reading it.

The black brothers may not be knights, but they're better trained and equipped than the Free Folk.  The FF were spread out over miles of terrain, traveling with their wives, kids, animals, and all their possessions.  They were poorly organized, and didn't set up their camps to be defensible.

The plan was for the NW to conduct a series of quick raids at various places, and then ride back into the hills before the FF could muster a counterattack.  Enough of that, plus hopefully killing a few of their leaders, would break the FF's spirit and make them give up their plan to attack the Wall.

... Or am I thinking of some other battle?

[Lord Lannister]

Mormont seemed like a good guy and leader until the Great Ranging. Maybe he just really had no idea what he was getting himself into when he left Castle Black in force and certainly the prospect of riding out behind the wall in force is exciting from a narrative standpoint, but a much smaller force could've accomplished the same mission objectives with much less risk. 

[John Suburbs]

7 hours ago, Alyn Oakenfist said:

So at the fist of the Frst men Mormont was ready to attack the wildlings. With 300 men. The stupidity of that decision is mind boggling. There was no chance of winning. You might say, but Stannis did it. Yes, but Stannis had knights, the premiere late medieval troop as well as several thousand men, all while the wildlings were as disorganized as they could ever hoped to be, and they had the Wall to one side, forcing a rout in one direction. Mormont had nither of those things. How on Earth did he hope to win?

He didn't. When he first arrived at the fist, it was to set up a defensive position so he could determine where exactly Mance was, how large was his host, what it was comprised of, etc. People like Smallwood wanted to attack while Wythers wanted to retreat, ut Mormont chose to wait until the Halfhand arrived. And when Thorin did show up with tales about a great host and giants and mammoths and all, Mormont sends the three parties of rangers into the range to see for themselves.

The plan was to gather this information and alert those on the Wall, who would then hopefully implore the king(s) to come in defense of the realm. He was only going to attack if he had to, and even then attack from the relatively defensible position from the Fist. His aim was not to win then and there, but to slow down the wildling advance to give the kingdom time to respond -- even at the cost of all their lives.

[Trigger Warning]

They didn't want to defeat them so much as to harass the column and cause enough fear and disruption to break it apart. I'm assuming they thought this was possible due to typical Wildling disunity, if you strike at a vulnerable part of the column, kill enough non combatants and disperse enough livestock it might start a chain reaction. 

[Universal Sword Donor]

3 hours ago, John Suburbs said:

He didn't. When he first arrived at the fist, it was to set up a defensive position so he could determine where exactly Mance was, how large was his host, what it was comprised of, etc. People like Smallwood wanted to attack while Wythers wanted to retreat, ut Mormont chose to wait until the Halfhand arrived. And when Thorin did show up with tales about a great host and giants and mammoths and all, Mormont sends the three parties of rangers into the range to see for themselves.

The plan was to gather this information and alert those on the Wall, who would then hopefully implore the king(s) to come in defense of the realm. He was only going to attack if he had to, and even then attack from the relatively defensible position from the Fist. His aim was not to win then and there, but to slow down the wildling advance to give the kingdom time to respond -- even at the cost of all their lives.

I was a fan of the concept of the great ranging, just quibbled with the numbers. Would have left more men back at CB and increased the patrols on top of the wall. Not much one can do to predict wights and WW, which is ironically one of the things he sent out to find (where Waymar and Benjen went).

[Trigger Warning]

4 hours ago, John Suburbs said:

He didn't. When he first arrived at the fist, it was to set up a defensive position so he could determine where exactly Mance was, how large was his host, what it was comprised of, etc. People like Smallwood wanted to attack while Wythers wanted to retreat, ut Mormont chose to wait until the Halfhand arrived. And when Thorin did show up with tales about a great host and giants and mammoths and all, Mormont sends the three parties of rangers into the range to see for themselves.

The plan was to gather this information and alert those on the Wall, who would then hopefully implore the king(s) to come in defense of the realm. He was only going to attack if he had to, and even then attack from the relatively defensible position from the Fist. His aim was not to win then and there, but to slow down the wildling advance to give the kingdom time to respond -- even at the cost of all their lives.

 

I think there's some confusion here, Smallwood tries to convince Jeor to attack Mance at different times. The scouts weren't sent out after Smallwood came back with news they were sent to find out what Mance was looking for in the Frostfangs, Smallwood was the leader of one of those scouting parties and was the one that found Mance's column. When he comes back with that more urgent news he convinces Locke to support his plan to attack and Chett is convinced that he's close to convincing Jeor as well but Jeor wanted to wait for his other scouts, though this could just be bias on Chett's part to help convince himself to desert. (I can't remember if we learn that smallwood actually persuaded Jeor or not) I believe the OP is referring to this rather than Smallwood's previous attempts to covince Jeor to attack and the purpose of the expedition as a whole. 

 

[Ivan Tsarevich]

Mormont's chosen course does not necessarily include survival.

He first learns Mance's whereabouts from Craster. ACoK, Jon III.

Spoiler

Other wars. Yes. I must remember. "Jarman Buckwell said I might have need of my sword soon."

"Did he?" Mormont did not seem pleased. "Craster said much and more last night, and confirmed enough of my fears to condemn me to a sleepless night on his floor. Mance Rayder is gathering his people together in the Frostfangs. That's why the villages are empty. It is the same tale that Ser Denys Mallister had from the wildling his men captured in the Gorge, but Craster has added the where, and that makes all the difference."

"Is he making a city, or an army?"

"Now, that is the question. How many wildlings are there? How many men of fighting age? No one knows with certainty. The Frostfangs are cruel, inhospitable, a wilderness of stone and ice. They will not long sustain any great number of people. I can see only one purpose in this gathering. Mance Rayder means to strike south, into the Seven Kingdoms."

"Wildlings have invaded the realm before." Jon had heard the tales from Old Nan and Maester Luwin both, back at Winterfell. "Raymun Redbeard led them south in the time of my grandfather's grandfather, and before him there was a king named Bael the Bard."

"Aye, and long before them came the Horned Lord and the brother kings Gendel and Gorne, and in ancient days Joramun, who blew the Horn of Winter and woke giants from the earth. Each man of them broke his strength on the Wall, or was broken by the power of Winterfell on the far side . . . but the Night's Watch is only a shadow of what we were, and who remains to oppose the wildlings besides us? The Lord of Winterfell is dead, and his heir has marched his strength south to fight the Lannisters. The wildlings may never again have such a chance as this. I knew Mance Rayder, Jon. He is an oathbreaker, yes . . . but he has eyes to see, and no man has ever dared to name him faintheart."

"What will we do?" asked Jon.

"Find him," said Mormont. "Fight him. Stop him."

Three hundred, thought Jon, against the fury of the wild. His fingers opened and closed.

They stop at the Fist to wait for Halfhand. Jon IV.

Spoiler

The way up was steep and stony, the summit crowned by a chest-high wall of tumbled rocks. They had to circle some distance west before they found a gap large enough to admit the horses. "This is good ground, Thoren," the Old Bear proclaimed when at last they attained the top. "We could scarce hope for better. We'll make our camp here to await Halfhand." The Lord Commander swung down off his saddle, dislodging the raven from his shoulder. Complaining loudly, the bird took to the air.

The views atop the hill were bracing, yet it was the ringwall that drew Jon's eye, the weathered grey stones with their white patches of lichen, their beards of green moss. It was said that the Fist had been a ringfort of the First Men in the Dawn Age. "An old place, and strong," Thoren Smallwood said.

"Old," Mormont's raven screamed as it flapped in noisy circles about their heads. "Old, old, old."

"Quiet," Mormont growled up at the bird. The Old Bear was too proud to admit to weakness, but Jon was not deceived. The strain of keeping up with younger men was taking its toll.

"These heights will be easy to defend, if need be," Thoren pointed out as he walked his horse along the ring of stones, his sable-trimmed cloak stirring in the wind.

"Yes, this place will do." The Old Bear lifted a hand to the wind, and raven landed on his forearm, claws scrabbling against his black ringmail.

Mormont insists on staying when the possibility of battle is brought up, but doesn't want to scout too far. The same chapter.

Spoiler

As he worked, he could hear the voices from inside the tent. Jarman Buckwell said, "The easiest road up into the Frostfangs is to follow the Milkwater back to its source. Yet if we go that path, Rayder will know of our approach, certain as sunrise."

"The Giant's Stair might serve," said Ser Mallador Locke, "or the Skirling Pass, if it's clear."

The wine was steaming. Jon lifted the kettle off the fire, filled eight cups, and carried them into the tent. The Old Bear was peering at the crude map Sam had drawn him that night back in Craster's Keep. He took a cup from Jon's tray, tried a swallow of wine, and gave a brusque nod of approval. His raven hopped down his arm. "Corn," it said. "Corn. Corn."

Ser Ottyn Wythers waved the wine away. "I would not go into the mountains at all," he said in a thin, tired voice. "The Frostfangs have a cruel bite even in summer, and now . . . if we should be caught by a storm . . ."

"I do not mean to risk the Frostfangs unless I must," said Mormont. "Wildlings can no more live on snow and stone than we can. They will emerge from the heights soon, and for a host of any size, the only route is along the Milkwater. If so, we are strongly placed here. They cannot hope to slip by us."

"They may not wish to. They are thousands, and we will be three hundred when the Halfhand reaches us." Ser Mallador accepted a cup from Jon.

"If it comes to battle, we could not hope for better ground than here," declared Mormont. "We'll strengthen the defenses. Pits and spikes, caltrops scattered on the slopes, every breach mended. Jarman, I'll want your sharpest eyes as watchers. A ring of them, all around us and along the river, to warn of any approach. Hide them up in trees. And we had best start bringing up water too, more than we need. We'll dig cisterns. It will keep the men occupied, and may prove needful later."

"My rangers—" started Thoren Smallwood.

"Your rangers will limit their ranging to this side of the river until the Halfhand reaches us. After that, we'll see. I will not lose more of my men."

"Mance Rayder might be massing his host a day's ride from here, and we'd never know," Smallwood complained.

"We know where the wildlings are massing," Mormont came back. "We had it from Craster. I mislike the man, but I do not think he lied to us in this."

"As you say." Smallwood took a sullen leave. The others finished their wine and followed, more courteously.

In this chapter we also get this bit about the greater force being easier for Benjen to find.

Spoiler

"We could do with fresh meat." Mormont dug into a sack and offered his raven a handful of corn. "You think I'm wrong to keep the rangers close?"

"That's not for me to say, my lord."

"It is if you're asked."

"If the rangers must stay in sight of the Fist, I don't see how they can hope to find my uncle," Jon admitted.

"They can't." The raven pecked at the kernels in the Old Bear's palm. "Two hundred men or ten thousand, the country is too vast." The corn gone, Mormont turned his hand over.

"You would not give up the search?"

"Maester Aemon thinks you clever." Mormont moved the raven to his shoulder. The bird tilted its head to one side, little eyes a-glitter.

The answer was there. "Is it . . . it seems to me that it might be easier for one man to find two hundred than for two hundred to find one."

The raven gave a cackling scream, but the Old Bear smiled through the grey of his beard. "This many men and horses leave a trail even Aemon could follow. On this hill, our fires ought to be visible as far off as the foothills of the Frostfangs. If Ben Stark is alive and free, he will come to us, I have no doubt."

Halfhand arrives in Jon V. His delay has caused concern.

Spoiler

Mormont moved to the fire. "The Halfhand. And past time." He had grown more restive every day they waited; much longer and he would have been fit to whelp cubs. "See that there's hot food for the men and fodder for the horses. I'll see Qhorin at once."

"I'll bring him, my lord." The men from the Shadow Tower had been expected days ago. When they had not appeared, the brothers had begun to wonder. Jon had heard gloomy mutterings around the cookfire, and not just from Dolorous Edd. Ser Ottyn Wythers was for retreating to Castle Black as soon as possible. Ser Mallador Locke would strike for the Shadow Tower, hoping to pick up Qhorin's trail and learn what had befallen him. And Thoren Smallwood wanted to push on into the mountains. "Mance Rayder knows he must battle the Watch," Thoren had declared, "but he will never look for us so far north. If we ride up the Milkwater, we can take him unawares and cut his host to ribbons before he knows we are on him."

"The numbers would be greatly against us," Ser Ottyn had objected. "Craster said he was gathering a great host. Many thousands. Without Qhorin, we are only two hundred."

"Send two hundred wolves against ten thousand sheep, ser, and see what happens," said Smallwood confidently.

"There are goats among these sheep, Thoren," warned Jarman Buckwell. "Aye, and maybe a few lions. Rattleshirt, Harma the Dogshead, Alfyn Crowkiller . . ."

"I know them as well as you do, Buckwell," Thoren Smallwood snapped back. "And I mean to have their heads, every one. These are wildlings. No soldiers. A few hundred heroes, drunk most like, amidst a great horde of women, children, and thralls. We will sweep over them and send them howling back to their hovels."

They had argued for many hours, and reached no agreement. The Old Bear was too stubborn to retreat, but neither would he rush headlong up the Milkwater, seeking battle. In the end, nothing had been decided but to wait a few more days for the men from the Shadow Tower, and talk again if they did not appear.

He has news, about the Crowkiller's party...

Spoiler

They found Dolorous Edd frying a rasher of bacon and boiling a dozen eggs in a kettle over the Old Bear's cookfire. Mormont sat in his wood-and-leather camp chair. "I had begun to fear for you. Did you meet with trouble?"

"We met with Alfyn Crowkiller. Mance had sent him to scout along the Wall, and we chanced on him returning." Qhorin removed his helm. "Alfyn will trouble the realm no longer, but some of his company escaped us. We hunted down as many as we could, but it may be that a few will win back to the mountains."

"And the cost?"

"Four brothers dead. A dozen wounded. A third as many as the foe. And we took captives. One died quickly from his wounds, but the other lived long enough to be questioned."

"Best talk of this inside. Jon will fetch you a horn of ale. Or would you prefer hot spiced wine?"

"Boiled water will suffice. An egg and a bite of bacon."

"As you wish." Mormont lifted the flap of the tent and Qhorin Halfhand stooped and stepped through.

...and the information extracted, as well as his thoughts on the subject.

Spoiler

Edd cut three thick slices off a stale round of oat bread, stacked them on a wooden platter, covered them with bacon and bacon drippings, and filled a bowl with hard-cooked eggs. Jon took the bowl in one hand and the platter in the other and backed into the Lord Commander's tent.

Qhorin was seated cross-legged on the floor, his spine as straight as a spear. Candlelight flickered against the hard flat planes of his cheeks as he spoke. ". . . Rattleshirt, the Weeping Man, and every other chief great and small," he was saying. "They have wargs as well, and mammoths, and more strength than we would have dreamed. Or so he claimed. I will not swear as to the truth of it. Ebben believes the man was telling us tales to make his life last a little longer."

"True or false, the Wall must be warned," the Old Bear said as Jon placed the platter between them. "And the king."

"Which king?"

"All of them. The true and the false alike. If they would claim the realm, let them defend it."

The Halfhand helped himself to an egg and cracked it on the edge of the bowl. "These kings will do what they will," he said, peeling away the shell. "Likely it will be little enough. The best hope is Winterfell. The Starks must rally the north."

"Yes. To be sure." The Old Bear unrolled a map, frowned at it, tossed it aside, opened another. He was pondering where the hammer would fall, Jon could see it. The Watch had once manned seventeen castles along the hundred leagues of the Wall, but they had been abandoned one by one as the brotherhood dwindled. Only three were now garrisoned, a fact that Mance Rayder knew as well as they did. "Ser Alliser Thorne will bring back fresh levies from King's Landing, we can hope. If we man Greyguard from the Shadow Tower and the Long Barrow from Eastwatch . . ."

"Greyguard has largely collapsed. Stonedoor would serve better, if the men could be found. Icemark and Deep Lake as well, mayhaps. With daily patrols along the battlements between."

"Patrols, aye. Twice a day, if we can. The Wall itself is a formidable obstacle. Undefended, it cannot stop them, yet it will delay them. The larger the host, the longer they'll require. From the emptiness they've left behind, they must mean to bring their women with them. Their young as well, and beasts . . . have you ever seen a goat climb a ladder? A rope? They will need to build a stair, or a great ramp . . . it will take a moon's turn at the least, perhaps longer. Mance will know his best chance is to pass beneath the Wall. Through a gate, or . . ."

"A breach."

Mormont's head came up sharply. "What?"

"They do not plan to climb the Wall nor to burrow beneath it, my lord. They plan to break it."

"The Wall is seven hundred feet high, and so thick at the base that it would take a hundred men a year to cut through it with picks and axes."

"Even so."

Mormont plucked at his beard, frowning. "How?"

"How else? Sorcery." Qhorin bit the egg in half. "Why else would Mance choose to gather his strength in the Frostfangs? Bleak and hard they are, and a long weary march from the Wall."

"I'd hoped he chose the mountains to hide his muster from the eyes of my rangers."

"Perhaps," said Qhorin, finishing the egg, "but there is more, I think. He is seeking something in the high cold places. He is searching for something he needs."

"Something?" Mormont's raven lifted its head and screamed. The sound was sharp as a knife in the closeness of the tent.

"Some power. What it is, our captive could not say. He was questioned perhaps too sharply, and died with much unsaid. I doubt he knew in any case."

Jon could hear the wind outside. It made a high thin sound as it shivered through the stones of the ringwall and tugged at the tent ropes. Mormont rubbed his mouth thoughtfully. "Some power," he repeated. "I must know."

"Then you must send scouts into the mountains."

"I am loath to risk more men."

"We can only die. Why else do we don these black cloaks, but to die in defense of the realm? I would send fifteen men, in three parties of five. One to probe the Milkwater, one the Skirling Pass, one to climb the Giant's Stair. Jarman Buckwell, Thoren Smallwood, and myself to command. To learn what waits in those mountains."

"Waits," the raven cried. "Waits."

Lord Commander Mormont sighed deep in his chest. "I see no other choice," he conceded, "but if you do not return . . ."

"Someone will come down out of the Frostfangs, my lord," the ranger said. "If us, all well and good. If not, it will be Mance Rayder, and you sit square in his path. He cannot march south and leave you behind, to follow and harry his rear. He must attack. This is a strong place."

"Not that strong," said Mormont.

"Belike we shall all die, then. Our dying will buy time for our brothers on the Wall. Time to garrison the empty castles and freeze shut the gates, time to summon lords and kings to their aid, time to hone their axes and repair their catapults. Our lives will be coin well spent."

"Die," the raven muttered, pacing along Mormont's shoulders. "Die, die, die, die." The Old Bear sat slumped and silent, as if the burden of speech had grown too heavy for him to bear. But at last he said, "May the gods forgive me. Choose your men."

Qhorin Halfhand turned his head. His eyes met Jon's, and held them for a long moment. "Very well. I choose Jon Snow."

In ASoS Prologue, Smallwood has come back.

Spoiler

Three hundred sworn brothers of the Night's Watch had ridden north, two hundred from Castle Black and another hundred from the Shadow Tower. It was the biggest ranging in living memory, near a third of the Watch's strength. They meant to find Ben Stark, Ser Waymar Royce, and the other rangers who'd gone missing, and discover why the wildlings were leaving their villages. Well, they were no closer to Stark and Royce than when they'd left the Wall, but they'd learned where all the wildlings had gone—up into the icy heights of the godsforsaken Frostfangs. They could squat up there till the end of time and it wouldn't prick Chett's boils none.

But no. They were coming down. Down the Milkwater.

Chett raised his eyes and there it was. The river's stony banks were bearded by ice, its pale milky waters flowing endlessly down out of the Frostfangs. And now Mance Rayder and his wildlings were flowing down the same way. Thoren Smallwood had returned in a lather three days past. While he was telling the Old Bear what his scouts had seen, his man Kedge Whiteye told the rest of them. "They're still well up the foothills, but they're coming," Kedge said, warming his hands over the fire. "Harma the Dogshead has the van, the poxy bitch. Goady crept up on her camp and saw her plain by the fire. That fool Tumberjon wanted to pick her off with an arrow, but Smallwood had better sense."

Chett spat. "How many were there, could you tell?"

"Many and more. Twenty, thirty thousand, we didn't stay to count. Harma had five hundred in the van, every one ahorse."

The men around the fire exchanged uneasy looks. It was a rare thing to find even a dozen mounted wildlings, and five hundred . . .

"Smallwood sent Bannen and me wide around the van to catch a peek at the main body," Kedge went on. "There was no end of them. They're moving slow as a frozen river, four, five miles a day, but they don't look like they mean to go back to their villages neither. More'n half were women and children, and they were driving their animals before them, goats, sheep, even aurochs dragging sledges. They'd loaded up with bales of fur and sides of meat, cages of chickens, butter churns and spinning wheels, every damn thing they own. The mules and garrons was so heavy laden you'd think their backs would break. The women as well."

"And they follow the Milkwater?" Lark the Sisterman asked.

"I said so, didn't I?"

The Milkwater would take them past the Fist of the First Men, the ancient ringfort where the Night's Watch had made its camp. Any man with a thimble of sense could see that it was time to pull up stakes and fall back on the Wall. The Old Bear had strengthened the Fist with spikes and pits and caltrops, but against such a host all that was pointless. If they stayed here, they would be engulfed and overwhelmed.

And Thoren Smallwood wanted to attack. Sweet Donnel Hill was squire to Ser Mallador Locke, and the night before last Smallwood had come to Locke's tent. Ser Mallador had been of the same mind as old Ser Ottyn Wythers, urging a retreat on the Wall, but Smallwood wanted to convince him otherwise. "This King-beyond-the-Wall will never look for us so far north," Sweet Donnel reported him saying. "And this great host of his is a shambling horde, full of useless mouths who won't know what end of a sword to hold. One blow will take all the fight out of them and send them howling back to their hovels for another fifty years."

Three hundred against thirty thousand. Chett called that rank madness, and what was madder still was that Ser Mallador had been persuaded, and the two of them together were on the point of persuading the Old Bear. "If we wait too long, this chance may be lost, never to come again," Smallwood was saying to anyone who would listen. Against that, Ser Ottyn Wythers said, "We are the shield that guards the realms of men. You do not throw away your shield for no good purpose," but to that Thoren Smallwood said, "In a swordfight, a man's surest defense is the swift stroke that slays his foe, not cringing behind a shield."

Neither Smallwood nor Wythers had the command, though. Lord Mormont did, and Mormont was waiting for his other scouts, for Jarman Buckwell and the men who'd climbed the Giant's Stair, and for Qhorin Halfhand and Jon Snow, who'd gone to probe the Skirling Pass. Buckwell and the Halfhand were late in returning, though. Dead, most like.

Later Mormont announces his intent to attack despite the casualties.

Spoiler

"Assemble!" The shout came suddenly, from a dozen throats, and quickly spread to every part of the hilltop camp. "Men of the Night's Watch! Assemble at the central fire!"

Frowning, Chett finished his soup and followed the rest.

The Old Bear stood before the fire with Smallwood, Locke, Wythers, and Blane ranged behind him in a row. Mormont wore a cloak of thick black fur, and his raven perched upon his shoulder, preening its black feathers. This can't be good. Chett squeezed between Brown Bernarr and some Shadow Tower men. When everyone was gathered, save for the watchers in the woods and the guards on the ringwall, Mormont cleared his throat and spat. The spittle was frozen before it hit the ground. "Brothers," he said, "men of the Night's Watch."

"Men!" his raven screamed. "Men! Men!"

"The wildlings are on the march, following the course of the Milkwater down out of the mountains. Thoren believes their van will be upon us ten days hence. Their most seasoned raiders will be with Harma Dogshead in that van. The rest will likely form a rearguard, or ride in close company with Mance Rayder himself. Elsewhere their fighters will be spread thin along the line of march. They have oxen, mules, horses . . . but few enough. Most will be afoot, and ill-armed and untrained. Such weapons as they carry are more like to be stone and bone than steel. They are burdened with women, children, herds of sheep and goats, and all their worldly goods besides. In short, though they are numerous, they are vulnerable . . . and they do not know that we are here. Or so we must pray."

They know, thought Chett. You bloody old pus bag, they know, certain as sunrise. Qhorin Halfhand hasn't come back, has he? Nor Jarman Buckwell. If any of them got caught, you know damned well the wildlings will have wrung a song or two out of them by now.

Smallwood stepped forward. "Mance Rayder means to break the Wall and bring red war to the Seven Kingdoms. Well, that's a game two can play. On the morrow we'll bring the war to him."

"We ride at dawn with all our strength," the Old Bear said as a murmur went through the assembly. "We will ride north, and loop around to the west. Harma's van will be well past the Fist by the time we turn. The foothills of the Frostfangs are full of narrow winding valleys made for ambush. Their line of march will stretch for many miles. We shall fall on them in several places at once, and make them swear we were three thousand, not three hundred."

"We'll hit hard and be away before their horsemen can form up to face us," Thoren Smallwood said. "If they pursue, we'll lead them a merry chase, then wheel and hit again farther down the column. We'll burn their wagons, scatter their herds, and slay as many as we can. Mance Rayder himself, if we find him. If they break and return to their hovels, we've won. If not, we'll harry them all the way to the Wall, and see to it that they leave a trail of corpses to mark their progress."

"There are thousands," someone called from behind Chett.

"We'll die." That was Maslyn's voice, green with fear.

"Die," screamed Mormont's raven, flapping its black wings. "Die, die, die."

"Many of us," the Old Bear said. "Mayhaps even all of us. But as another Lord Commander said a thousand years ago, that is why they dress us in black. Remember your words, brothers. For we are the swords in the darkness, the watchers on the walls . . ."

"The fire that burns against the cold." Ser Mallador Locke drew his longsword.

"The light that brings the dawn," others answered, and more swords were pulled from scabbards.

Then all of them were drawing, and it was near three hundred upraised swords and as many voices crying, "The horn that wakes the sleepers! The shield that guards the realms of men!" Chett had no choice but to join his voice to the others. The air was misty with their breath, and firelight glinted off the steel. He was pleased to see Lark and Softfoot and Sweet Donnel Hill joining in, as if they were as big fools as the rest. That was good. No sense to draw attention, when their hour was so close.

Jon, who has seen the wildling host up and close, seems to think that the attack could work. ASoS, Jon II.

Spoiler

And somewhere close ahead, Jon knew, the Fist of the First Men loomed above the trees, home to three hundred black brothers of the Night's Watch, armed, mounted, and waiting. The Old Bear had sent out other scouts besides the Halfhand, and surely Jarman Buckwell or Thoren Smallwood would have returned by now with word of what was coming down out of the mountains.

Mormont will not run, Jon thought. He is too old and he has come too far. He will strike, and damn the numbers. One day soon he would hear the sound of warhorns, and see a column of riders pounding down on them with black cloaks flapping and cold steel in their hands. Three hundred men could not hope to kill a hundred times their number, of course, but Jon did not think they would need to. He need not slay a thousand, only one. Mance is all that keeps them together.

The King-beyond-the-Wall was doing all he could, yet the wildlings remained hopelessly undisciplined, and that made them vulnerable. Here and there within the leagues-long snake that was their line of march were warriors as fierce as any in the Watch, but a good third of them were grouped at either end of the column, in Harma Dogshead's van and the savage rearguard with its giants, aurochs, and fire flingers. Another third rode with Mance himself near the center, guarding the wayns and sledges and dog carts that held the great bulk of the host's provisions and supplies, all that remained of the last summer harvest. The rest, divided into small bands under the likes of Rattleshirt, Jarl, Tormund Giantsbane, and the Weeper, served as outriders, foragers, and whips, galloping up and down the column endlessly to keep it moving in a more or less orderly fashion.

And even more telling, only one in a hundred wildlings was mounted. The Old Bear will go through them like an axe through porridge. And when that happened, Mance must give chase with his center, to try and blunt the threat. If he should fall in the fight that must follow, the Wall would be safe for another hundred years, Jon judged.

It should be noted, however, that Jon keeps this internal monologue while wishing that he wouldn't have to kill Mance himself.

So to sum up: Mormont, the man who has seen the dead walk, is introduced to the possibility that the wildlings could magically damage the legendary defensive structure he is responsible for and gets reminded that dying in defense of the realm is alright by the living legend who pretty much lives up to what he says. He hopes to use his mobility and other advantages, including the possible element of surprise, to wreak havoc, kill the leaders, and presumably to buy time and lessen the pressure to the Wall as much as he can. Also, remember the ravens. The more information he can gain and send to the Wall the better. He accepts the possibility that the whole force could be annihilated.

He does want to preserve lives of his men. That is clear. He is also entirely willing to sacrifice them, including his own.

[TheLastWolf]

10 hours ago, TsarGrey said:

He does want to preserve lives of his men. That is clear. He is also entirely willing to sacrifice them, including his own.

Here I come, Valhalla!!! 

(The Old Bear, not me) 

[Floki of the Ironborn]

2 hours ago, TheLastWolf said:

Here I come, Valhalla!!! 

(The Old Bear, not me) 

The Old Bear was worthy of the gods. He is no doubt feasting and drinking in Odin's Hall with the Young Wolf, sharing their stories of war and being betrayed by their followers.

[James Steller]

8 minutes ago, Floki of the Ironborn said:

The Old Bear was worthy of the gods. He is no doubt feasting and drinking in Odin's Hall with the Young Wolf, sharing their stories of war and being betrayed by their followers.

I read that in Floki’s voice. If only he’d been around to give Roose Bolton the blood eagle treatment to avenge Robb.