William Royce considered himself a warrior of courage and skill trained by the very best in combat within the training grounds of Runestone. But no amount of training prepared him to battle nightmares of moving dead bodies and demons made of ice. He didn't know what was real and unreal nowadays. He felt like he was going mad.
'It's all a dream – a terrible dream.' He consoled himself in the beginning.
But now, he was not sure of that either. When he opened his eyes, he had found himself a prisoner in a wildling camp. It only took a few moments for him to learn he was a prisoner of Mance Rayder, an infamous deserter of the Night's Watch who now styled himself the King-beyond-the-Wall. He felt like he was waking from one nightmare to another. First, it was the White Walkers, and now it was the wildlings.
However, the wildlings didn't harm him, and he was content to stay mum as long as he was not disturbed. The wildlings took some sick pleasure in staring at him all day without saying a word. But they needn't have said a word because he could see the hate in their eyes. They wanted him dead, and for some reason, someone in their camp made it so that he was not to be touched yet. So, he moved with the wildlings from place to place as they moved their camp. As days passed by, he only felt like the hostility in the eyes of his captors was increasing. He'd have tried to escape, but he had no idea where he was and had no supplies to survive the wintery wasteland.
He was outmanned and a stranger in a strange land. He was far away from the Wall and most likely deep inside the Haunted Forest. The air beyond the Wall was unlike anything William had ever breathed. It carried the bite of winter even in the heart of summer, the icy wind slicing through his woollen cloak as though it were parchment. He shivered, his breath forming ghostly plumes that vanished into the vast, snow-covered wilderness. Around him, the Wildlings—a teeming, chaotic throng of men, women, and children—moved with purpose, their voices discordant of languages and accents. To his ears, it sounded like the very essence of disorder.
William snapped out of his musings when the ground beneath his feet trembled. He stood straight and pressed himself against the post he was tied while his hands shook in fear. One giant passed nearby, pulling a massive sledge laden with enormous logs. Its eyes—dark, intelligent, and ancient—met William's for a fleeting moment, and he felt an inexplicable primal fear in his heart. He saw his death for a moment, but the giant turned away from him with a grunt.
He let out the breath he was holding as he watched the giant slink away with the ground trembling with each step. The giants were the first to seize his attention. He had read of them in old, half-forgotten tales, but no ink on parchment could capture the sheer magnitude of their presence. Towering creatures covered in shaggy, matted hair loomed above the camp like living mountains. Their deep, guttural voices resonated like the rumble of distant thunder, and each step they took made the mountains tremble. The fact that these mythical creatures were real made it plausible that he saw the White Walkers and their wights instead of a nightmare.
The Wildling camp stretched out as far as the eye could see, a sprawling sea of tents and open fires lighting the way. The smell of roasting meat mingled with the tang of unwashed bodies and the pungent aroma of pine and earth. Children ran through the snow, their laughter a surprising counterpoint to the grim, battle-hardened faces of their elders. Occasionally, a few children came to watch him as if seeing a rare creature of wonder. Warriors sharpened weapons, haggled over stolen goods, or brawled in drunken revelry. It was a society at once alien and familiar, its raw vitality a stark contrast to the rigid hierarchies of the Seven Kingdoms.
William's eyes fell on a group of three men coming towards him with a mean look on their faces. It made him alert as he felt like the days of his imprisonment were coming to an end. He had been expecting death for a while, and now he supposed the Stranger was done waiting.
The three men stood before him with harsh stares directed at him. The red-haired one with a long beard nodded at the two men who started untying him from the post.
"You're come with us now, crow. I hope you have said your peace with the gods." The red-haired giant of a man growled before the two men pushed him along to the centre of the camp.
Mance Rayder's tent stood at the heart of the encampment, a larger and more elaborate structure than the rest. It was made of white bear's pelt, and a pair of giant antlers crowned its entrance. Guarded by a pair of tall, grim-faced men with axes slung across their backs, it exuded an air of authority and danger. William was dragged before it, his captors—a burly man with a braided beard and a sharp-eyed woman clad in furs—exchanging words in a dialect he could barely follow. The tent flap was pushed aside, and he was shoved into the warmth within.
Mance Rayder sat at a wooden table, studying a map spread before him. He looked up as William entered, his dark eyes assessing. Dressed in simple but well-made clothes, he bore none of the trappings of a king, yet there was no mistaking the power he commanded.
"Tormund, I thought I asked you to bring our prisoner with the bindings removed." Mance said with a pointed look at the red-haired giant.
Tormund growled before cutting the bindings on William's hands. The wildling man gave him a cold stare before standing behind the self-proclaimed King-beyond-the-Wall.
"So," Mance began, his voice calm but edged with steel, "you're the knight they caught skulking near the Skirling Pass. What brings a lordling of the Vale to our frozen corner of the world?"
William straightened as much as his bonds allowed. "I am no lord, only a knight. My name is William Royce of Runestone. I came beyond the Wall to—"
"To what?" Mance interrupted. "Spy on us? Hunt for glory?"
William didn't say anything. He just glared at the traitor who abandoned his post on the Wall.
"If there is one crow, there is bound to be others. Where are the rest of your company, Ser William?" Mance asked, leaning forward in his seat, pinning him with a hard stare.
"Dead." William answered without a shred of emotion.
But something in his eyes might've signalled something else for Mance Rayder because the man's expression changed to one of interest.
"Oh! You've seen it, then. Are your fellow crows dead or worse than dead?" Mance asked with a grim note that brought chills to William's bones.
"You… you know about those things?" William asked, his voice holding a slight inflexion towards the end.
"Know about them? Our people war with them for survival. This is why it's imperative that all of us have gathered here under my leadership."
"You mean to invade the Seven Kingdoms." William accused, staring frostily at the would-be king.
Tormund snorted. "Invade? We're running, boy. Running from things you can't even name."
"The dead," Mance said quietly. "They rise, ser knight. We can't stop them. If my people are to survive, we need to get to the other side of the Wall. Even the Wall might not hold them back, but as of now, that is the only place we know the Walkers refuse to tread."
The weight of Mance's words settled heavily on William's shoulders. He had heard whispers of the Others, the White Walkers, but dismissed them as superstition in the past. But he had seen them with his own eyes. He couldn't undo what he saw, and the terror that brought within him refused to leave his mind.
"The Night's Watch won't allow you to cross the Wall. Even if you become a threat to the Watch, the North would rally under the Starks and crush you." William said with a note of finality.
"Hmm… I'm not so sure about the Starks leading an expedition to crush us free folk." Mance said with a grunt, fishing a small wooden box.
When William watched the man flip open the cover of the little wooden box, he saw a small black needle spinning inside it, which settled on the dial before settling on pointing to the side marked north.
"You see, I do have a wee bit of rapport built with one of the Stark pups – the one that matters. Anyway, I need someone to go to the Black Wolf and deliver a message."
"And that's me?" William asked with a frown while his heart thundered in his chest.
William was internally rejoicing at the prospect of getting far away from the frozen wasteland – far away from ice demons and their wights. But he clamped down on the hope and the joy as he stared at Mance Rayder.
"Why not? You're a knight and a Royce. I'm sure you'll be granted an audience, and I have no doubt you'll be allowed to travel to Winterfell if you ask Lord Commander Mormont." Mance said with a dismissive wave.
"Why do you think the lord of Avalon would heed your message?"
"You see, Harrion Stark knows what is at stake. He is a practical wolf and one with a reputation for helping those who ask for it. I'm sure he'll be most generous to my people." Mance said with a grin.
"And what message would that be?" William asked sceptically.
He doubted the traitor knew the Black Wolf's reputation as he did. But then again, the North regarded the lord of Avalon almost godlike esteem, the one with no faults and just as they come. So, the rumours flitting past the Wall would mirror those from the North.
"He knows it is better to have us free folk on the other side of the Wall rather than as wights on this side of the Wall. So, ask him whether he wants to face a hundred thousand strong armies of wights and dead Giants or much lesser when the Long Night arrives." Mance said with a confident smirk.
*****
Mance watched the Vale knight walk away from his camp with an armed escort to ensure the southerner reached the Wall unharmed.
"I don't know whether this is the right thing to do – letting go of the kneeler." Tormund grumbled from his side, making Mance look at the Giantsbane with a raised eyebrow.
"Ser William is a knight raised in southern honour. By nursing him to health and saving his life, he is in my debt. His task is only to pass along a message, and he'll do it come what may."
"What then, Mance?"
This time, his wife's highly opinionated sister challenged his decision.
"This kneeler you sent your message is just as bad as the rest of 'em. Nothing good will come off this." Val said with a huff, glaring at him.
Mance scoffed as he turned away from his sister-in-law.
"What do you know of Harrion Stark?" Mance asked, nodding at Val.
"Nothing much other than he is a kneeler like the rest of 'em." Val said dismissively.
"Do you understand the power Starks wield in the North and Westeros itself?" Mance questioned with a snort, "They have vast fleets and a large army that can guard every inch of the Wall. They have ships that can fly over the Wall and rain death upon us all. I'd rather make such a power our ally rather than court their enmity."
"Now, you sound like a kneeler." Val accused, her nostrils flaring up in anger.
"Then I suppose you need not suffer my presence any longer." Mance said, pointing his hand to the tent's entrance.
Val left with a huff, making Mance shake his head.
"Well, she is not wrong to be doubtful. When has kneelers ever been trustworthy?" Tormund grunted.
"Are we any different?" Mace asked with a pointed look.
"Hmm… talk like that more, and you'll soon find this host become thinner." Tormund warned with a cold look.
"Then they're welcome to become slaves of the Walkers. Meanwhile, we must consider exploring all ways to cross to the other side of the Wall."
"Even if those ways lead us to kneel before the southerners?" Tormund asked with a low growl that reminded Mance of a distant thunder.
"No. We are the free folk. We do not kneel. But we need allies and an understanding with the Starks." Mance said, taking to his feet and staring at the vast camp of his people.
He suddenly turned to gaze at Tormund with a serious look in his eyes.
"Tell me Giantsbane. Do you think the Walkers will stop hunting us even if we cross the Wall?"
"They've not tried to cross the Wall or even attacked the Wall." Tormund answered, his shoulders slightly tense.
"That's because the Walkers have us to hunt. But if we were to cross to the other side of the Wall, can we say for certain the Walkers would stop hunting us?"
Only silence greeted his query, and Mance nodded to himself.
"You see… it's not enough that we cross the Wall. We need to destroy the Walkers, and the only one strong enough to do that is the North's sorcerer." said Mance, plopping down into his seat with a sigh.
He placed a wooden coin carved with the wolf's head on the map sprawled before him on the Wall.
"Brandon Stark's bloodline put the Others to sleep thousands of years ago. Maybe this time, the Starks might destroy them for good."
*******
The war galleys of the North came to the Three Sisters like spectres born of sea mist, their hulls cutting through the turbulent waters with ominous purpose. Godric Borrel watched the gigantic fleet lining up near the shore of his island with a healthy dose of fear. The seas of his land were the strength of his people, but now its power was subsumed by the North. The sea carried with it the wrath of the North, and that wrath was clad in black and grey, led by the banners of House Stark. The black and grey direwolf banners fluttered on the ships converging on his shores. Occasionally, he saw the banner of a white merman in some ships as well, owing to the presence of Manderly's fleet.
"What're they waiting for?" Tristan Sunderland muttered with a scowl.
Godric wanted to curse the man for putting them in this position. It was his liege lord's greed that landed his people in this position. He had lost much of his ships and his harbour to the Northerners. So, there was ample reason for him to dislike Tristan Sunderland.
At the same time, he also concurred with the general sentiment. The Starks had agreed to a parley, and his shore opted to host peace talks, but they hadn't shown up so far. It was humiliating, but he supposed that was the point. The Starks were the clear victors in the brief conflict, and the complete inaction of the lords of the Vale further weakened their position. The innumerable number of ravens sent from the islands remained unanswered or outright rejected. The message from the mainland was clear: the Sistermen were alone, and the Vale lords were not interested in a conflict with the North.
"I suppose we ought to grin and bear the insult. We have lost abysmally. Our ancestors will be ashamed of what happened here." Alesandor Torrent grumbled with a melancholic look.
"We should not have trusted the word of that conniving bastard. When I get my hands on that little shit, I'll have his hands cut off. Let's see whether anyone else calls that traitor Littlefinger." Rolland Longthrope growled with fire in his brown eyes.
"We are in no position to seek vengeance against Baelish. The Starks and Manderlys have decimated our ships and our castles. We'll be lucky to see our islands survive the coming moons." Gerold warned before rage directed his fellow Sistermen to more ruin.
"Aye." Alesandor nodded, looking grim. "We'll be lucky to survive the next few moons without starvation gripping our islands."
Godric eyed the man out of the corner of his eyes. If he had his way, it was time to replace House Sunderland with someone more sensible to lead the Three Sisters. In his eyes, Alesandor Torrent was the man for the position. Littlesister was the sole island that remained somewhat intact in this conflict. In the days ahead, House Torrents ships would be crucial to feed the islands.
Suddenly, a large shadow fell upon them, making Gerold frown.
"Oh, gods!" Tristan shouted before stumbling backwards and falling on his ass while staring in fear at the sky.
It was only then Gerold found the towering form of a flying ship above his head in the sky. He scrambled to make space and leave the bottom hull of the flying ship with the rest of his fellow lords. When the ship finally landed its gigantic hull on the shore, it shook the ground, making his heart skip a beat.
Gerold was not alone in staring at the massive ship with his mouth wide open. He joined his fellow lords in staring in utter surprise as servants came out of the open hatch carrying a long table and some chairs. It didn't take long for the servants to set everything on the beach beneath the shade of a tree. Then he saw three youngsters accompanied by Lord Wyman Manderly take the four chairs as their seats.
"My lords, I hope you weren't waiting for long." Lord Wyman opened.
"It was no issue, Lord Manderly. Shall we wait for Lord Eddard to join us?" Godric asked patiently.
"Lord Eddard Stark has charged his sons Robb, Harrion and Jon Stark to represent him in this meeting." Lord Manderly said shortly.
"We've been charged by the Warden of the North with the task of ensuring peace in the Bite. I hope you will find no issue with this, my lords." Robb spoke tentatively.
"Of course, Lord Robb. We pray for good terms from you and ask for only one from our side." said Lord Tristan with bowed head.
Godric was satisfied that his liege lord had followed their agreed-upon approach. There was no point in trying to pretend they were not beaten soundly. It was better to bow their heads and appeal for mercy from the vastly powerful neighbours.
"What term do you seek, Lord Sunderland?" Harrion Stark asked, his grey eyes glowing eerily.
"We have lost all our ships and our harbours in this conflict. Our people depend heavily on fishing to get by. With the steep loss of our ships and harbours, our islands are threatened with starvation. Once peace is established, we hope you will help us overcome this disaster until we build back our boats."
"I see. We have terms of our own, and if we are satisfied with the accord we reach here, we'll be more than happy to address your concerns to your satisfaction." said Harrion.
"Then let's proceed with the terms." Gerold said happily, knowing they were about to sell themselves and their islands to the North for good.
But this was not the time to make a fuss. It was the time to swallow the pride and bear the weight of failure.
To read ahead of the update schedule; pat(r) eon. C (O) M/Dragonspectre.
For artwork related to the fic:
https://discord.gg/Nw2JH25fJf