"Move your frozen arses already, we're almost to the wall!" Tormund yelled out as he slowed down enough to grip one of the men Mance had assigned to him. He held the stumbling and struggling man up, then pushed him ahead as he continued to pelt out insults to keep his men going.
They were heading to a wall. For the first time in free folk history, that sentence was not held with revulsion, with the sake and desire to plunder. No, that sentence held hope. Hope for life, hope that what was left of their group won't be cut even further.
They had started out with over thirty people in their band alone; however in total, there had been over a hundred groups. Over a hundred free folk men and women who had been sent out in search of their alternative plan. The last option, according to Mance, in case the Crows proved stubborn, and considering they were Crows, Tormund fully expected them to prove stubborn.
If it were left to him, their new recovery would be the first option, their plan A, B, and C rolled into one, but he wasn't the King Beyond the Wall. He was not smart enough for that; however, there was one thing that he was. Strong.
He saw it before anyone else, a particularly smart wight riding a dire wolf. Tormund instantly moved to skirt the edge of the group of men and women carrying torches. The intelligent wight moved like he was a hunter in a past life. He shied away from the main group, acting as an advance for the slow-moving horde. Its target was clear; it was aiming for the slowest person in their group, the giant they simply called Gar, his real name too complicated for them to remember.
The ten-foot shaggy-furred giant was young, yet that was not why he lagged behind. The reason rested solely on what he carried behind him. A package wrapped in cloth to hide it. Its weight and size meant that only the giant in their group could lift it, let alone move with it; still, the burden slowed it. Slowed it enough that it was gradually losing the protection of the group of men wielding torches.
That was the opportunity the too-smart-for-its- fucking-breeches wight was waiting for. However, it was not the only one looking to capitalize on the opportunity.
The wight was focused, too focused on the giant and the package it carried, no doubt an order from the... Others. Tormund struggled to even envision them again. They had met one. A single one in the burial burrows, yet that one had been enough to decimate their group from over thirty to just shy of twenty. It had taken Tormund destroying the already aged and rotted wooden support with his axe to slow the Other, as it was buried under the earth. However, he knew it would not last for long, and the presence of the horde alongside the too-intelligent wight was proof of it.
Still, the fact that the Other wasn't here meant there was still a chance. All hope was not lost. Now all he had to do was kill this persistent fucker. Tormund was watching and waiting for it, so he saw the opportune moment. The giant stumbled, the weight of the package and the fatigue of lugging it for miles building up and leading to the stagger. The wight moved.
The undead dire wolf raced out of the forest, its four feet eating up the pace till it was in range, then it pounced, teeth bared, as the rider carried naked steel ready to bury it into the giant. If the wight had been less focused on the giant, it would have seen Tormund running towards them. It would've seen him swing his dragonglass axe the moment the wolf pounced.
It didn't.
Instead, all it felt was the kiss of dragonglass against withered skin, then that was all as Tormund relieved it of its head in a single swing. Unfortunately, the wolf carried on, but the giant was not as oblivious as it seemed. It shrugged the package off its shoulders and spun in time to offer up a heavy furred hand to the beast.
The dire wolf bit into the limb, but even a young giant was still a giant. Heavy fur and leather-like skin resisted the dull edge of the undead wolf's teeth enough for the giant to slam the package into the side of its head, hard enough that the sound of bone breaking echoed out in the snow, as black blood and rotted brain sprayed the ground.
Tormund flinched at seeing the package used as a blunt hammer, but that was all he did. He could hardly blame the giant for making sure to kill the undead wolf after his life. He let out a grunt as he cleaned the axe head on his forearm before returning his focus to the giant.
"How are you holding up, lad?" he asked, his Old Tongue fluent considering he was breastfed and raised by a giantess. He learned the Old Tongue before the more common one.
"Gar is tired." The giant replied, yet it shouldered its package and began to trudge forward again. The both of them were lagging behind, mainly due to the giant struggling, but Tormund refused to leave him behind, so he kept pace, eyes vigilant, till he looked up again and realized the rest of the men were already at the stone wall, over three men high, with heavy wooden gates.
The construction was better than anything he had seen bar the one time he passed Hardhome, yet he didn't have the time to survey the structure. All that mattered was what it indicated. A refuge. The duo finally got to the base of the wall, and he met up with the stragglers. Moving ahead of the giant, Tormund reached out to one of the men and tugged on his shirt.
"What's the hold-up? Why are you still outside? The wights are coming!"
"They've not opened the gates, look at them up the walls. I don't even think they're free folk."
Tormund, for the first time, looked at the people looking down at them imperiously. A group led by two dark-skinned men who looked like they had washed up in the North. If their skin didn't speak to their strangeness then the clothing and the hair of one of the men did.
Tormund pushed and struggled his way to the front of the group. This time, when he yelled, the dark-skinned men having a hushed conversation above him stopped enough to look down at him and listen.
"Alright, I don't care which particular tribe you belong to, but you must know me. My name is Tormund Giantsbane, and I'm on a task from the fucking king himself, Mance Rayder. Now we're being chased by a horde of wights, which means there are two options here. Open up this fucking gate, or I'll have my pet giant break it down in two blows."
He skipped the part where he was certain that Gar was too tired to do more than lean against the wall and very much doubted the furred giant could throw as much as a punch anymore, talk less of taking down the gates that looked to be banded with iron. But the wights were at their heels, and they were desperate. There was no time to have a discussion or an interrogation. They needed to be behind those walls as soon as possible.
There was a silence after his words, the kind of terrifying silence that made his heart beat all the louder, that heightened how tired Gar was, considering his breathing sounded heavy and raw. The giant had finally caught up. Tormund's hands on his axe tightened as he considered if they were going to call his bluff, if they were going to stay behind their fancy wall and watch all of them die like the fucking Crows would. Before he could sink further into his fears, a voice called out.
"There are more polite ways of asking for sanctuary, you old fuck!" Tormund's eyes widened at the familiar voice as a woman, her smaller frame hidden behind the much taller men, finally peeked out. Red fire-kissed hair and green eyes that stared down at him, dancing. A pale face with freckles stared down at him and smirked, and Tormund burst into a laugh at the sight of the girl he had helped raise before dumping his own children on her to raise as he had raised her.
"Ygritte!!!"
His call was punctuated by the gate opening, and at once the group rushed into the entrance with cheers and jubilations.
x
Tormund was not a particularly smart man; however, he believed even Mance would have been surprised if he was in his shoes as well. There had been rumors of a castle of towering black stones in the middle of the Frostfangs, and a settlement that was rapidly growing around it. However, considering everything that had been happening, most had been too busy to give it much thought.
Tormund was one of the few who knew and believed there was some truth to the story, considering his own children had declined his help and refused to join him because of the settlement they claimed they were building. That was why Tormund had rushed in this direction, to ask for their aid. Yet reaching here and seeing what they had accomplished was far beyond his expectations, and that was without putting the towering black castle into consideration.
"I say we let the Night's Watch in. They are minutes away at most. They are also ahead of the wights hounding them, which means they can make it. All we have to do is open the doors and let them through. With their help, we would be able to hold the walls better."
A strange man with metal chains on his neck and a brown cloak spoke up. His words, as well as his mentioning of the crows, were enough to draw Tormund back to attention as he looked at the people gathered at the base of the wall. His men had been spread out, each finding a way to assist in the defense. The only person that remained was Gar, who sat resting against one of the houses, package tightly held in his hands.
"The wights are slowing their pursuit, just as they did to them." The dark-skinned man with the blank eyes gestured to Tormund with a jerk of his hand as he continued to speak, his voice empty of emotion.
"It doesn't matter, they're fucking crows. I say we leave them to die," Ygritte replied, and Tormund grinned in approval. Before they could speak further, the gates began to bang as someone yelled something behind it. A runner called for them, and as one, the group ascended the walls again. This time, Tormund was on the other side of the wall, he noted with a widening grin.
The irony must not have been lost on the crows, because they looked like they had been forced to suck on a sour lemon. Wildlings behind a wall that protected them, and crows on the other side of it.
A group of men rode ahead of the main mass of bodies that were already positioned into a defensive formation, with the bulk of their men focused behind them in anticipation of the wights that had been chasing after them. They looked tired, hungry, and barely rested, yet the leader sat straight on his horse. His white hair was cropped short, his armor hidden beneath his black cloak, and one hand rested partially on the sword at his hip.
However, like the kneelers loved to act, it was not the man who spoke up but another. This one had stringy black hair and cold eyes, yet he was dressed like the others. If Tormund did not recognize the face, he recognized the man the moment the figure waved.
"Master Hector, I've come seeking your aid once again, I fear."
The dark-skinned man with pale hair let out a sigh, yet before he could speak, Ygritte yelled back at the group.
"I'm certain Master Dracula warned you not to come here again, and more importantly, not with a fucking army at your back."
Qhorin Halfhand, a man that Tormund considered one of the bravest, upright, and most experienced men even among free folk, squirmed in his seat at those words. Who the hell was Master Dracula?
"Unfortunately, we do not have a choice. We're not an attacking force. A group of wights led by the Others has been chasing us for days. We have raced our horses weary and have lost more than a few people and lives to the cold and ambushes. Master Dracula understands the importance of our order. I would plead with you, Master Hector. Speak to him for us."
Qhorin was met with nothing, and Tormund watched with curiosity how they were going to handle it. However it seemed like the Crows were not content to simply let them waste time thing about it. The white-haired man jerked his horse forward to the dismay and vocal complaints of the other men until he was close enough to speak, which meant much like Qhorin, he was in arrow range.
"Greetings, My name is Jeor Mormont, the 997th Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, and I can swear to you both on my honor and on my life. We do not wish you harm.
The free folk and the Watch have had our differences, but we face a threat greater than that. The Others do not care for our differences. They would kill us all today. Allow us entry, allow us to fight together, and I promise you an alliance that would last more than a lifetime. An alliance..."
The man hesitated as if the words fought him; however, in the end he finished. "An alliance that might lead to the free folk migrating south."
At once there was a bustling murmur from the free folk as well as the crows behind the man. Tormund stared, wide-eyed and confused, at those words. He had never even considered it, that the Watch would seek an alliance like this, that they would escape south without having to pull the Wall down or lose thousands of men trying to take it. However, a cool voice silenced the murmurs.
"Do you have the right and power to make such a claim and enforce it?" The bald, dark-skinned man with the empty eyes spoke, his words pouring cold water over their enthusiasm.
The Lord Commander hesitated for a second before shaking his head. "Unfortunately, I do not. Not at this moment. However, with such heavy evidence of the Others and their wights, when I return south, I would petition the King, enlightening him to how great the threat is. It has been spoken before: the Wall was not created to merely hold back your people. Our true enemy is the Others."
Despite the speech, Tormund could tell that the old man was beginning to lose everyone. However, the dark-skinned man simply hummed and gave a nod in response before pivoting on his feet and turning to face his partner.
"What do you think, Hector?"
"I... I'm not certain, Isaac. Master Dracula clearly holds some disdain for them, yet to simply leave them to their very likely fate, to allow them to die outside the walls, doesn't seem right."
Isaac simply gave a nod in response before turning to Ygritte.
"I say we leave them outside to die," the red-haired girl said, yet her words lacked the fire Tormund expected. Isaac turned to the man in brown robes and cloak, urging him to speak as well.
"If the Lord Commander can keep to his promise, it would be a great boon for the free folk and even the Night's Watch if either group can bury the hatchet long enough to deal with the greater threat. However, the possibilities of that..."
Isaac nodded, then turned back to face the group of free folk before speaking. "I do not care for you, and my lack of emotional attachment applies to the watch as well. Yet Master Dracula has spared you, so I will see that you do not die of your own stupidity. Leave the Crows outside, and they will rise as wights in steel. Then you will be the fools who armed the dead."
"So what do you suggest?" Hector asked.
"We let them in. We ask for something of value, something important enough to motivate the Lord Commander to do as he promised. If he accomplishes it, then the free folk would be free to leave, and once again Master Dracula would be free of them."
Hector mused on the thought for a few seconds, gave a glance toward Ygritte, then finally nodded in agreement. "Fine."
The pale-haired man walked back to the edge of the wall and gave out the terms, and to no great surprise, they agreed.
The Lord Commander unbuckled the belt strapped to his waist, then unsheathed the sword strapped to it, revealing a longsword with wavy ripples etched into it.
"The ancestral Valyrian steel sword of House Mormont, Longclaw. Would this be enough?"
The Lord Commander's question was answered by the gates grinding open.