Winter's (GOT) Nothing on Me #96

Leaning against a sturdy oak atop the hill, the vantage point offering a sweeping view of Winterfell, I stifled a yawn and cast a glance skyward to gauge the hour. It had been a couple of days since my arrival at this destination, and it appeared I had arrived earlier than expected. 

Skirting the Karstark Territory and not lingering much at the Dreadfort had granted me this head start, arriving before both King Robert, who made his entrance just yesterday, and Rayder, who I reckon will be here any minute now. 

It seemed I had idled away my time ruminating on my limited time, and while relieved at the outcome, a trace of frustration lingered. At least, I hadn't found the need to spill too much blood in the process.

A symphony of footsteps approached from behind, prompting me to straighten and pivot, my eyes scanning the gathering figures shrouded in hooded cloaks. 

The figure at the forefront stepped forward, withdrawing the concealing hood, and in an instant, I recognized him as Mance Rayder, the very man I had been anticipating.

"Rayder," I greeted with a nod, acknowledging his presence with a calm demeanor. "You sure took your sweet time getting here..." 

He returned the gesture with a wry smile, his gaze assessing me. "I'd say you're the one in a hurry, but I suppose it doesn't matter," he observed, his voice carrying a note of intrigue. "So, what is it that you want to discuss, lad?" He inquired, clearly playing dumb, much to my chagrin.

I rolled my eyes in frustration. "Can we skip the pointless games and get to the point?" I stated, my tone flat. "Val should have explained everything to you when you arrived at Castle Black," I continued, a hint of exasperation tinging my words.

Rayder flashed a knowing smile. "Did she indeed?" he countered. "But how would you know? You weren't there, were you?" His chuckle grated on my patience. I rubbed my forehead, battling the urge to vent my growing frustration.

"Fine, if that's how you want to handle this," I acquiesced with a sigh. "I can't sneak you into Winterfell without Lord Eddard's permission," I confessed, trying to reason with Rayder.

Rayder's gaze hardened, his eyes narrowing at my statement. "Can't or won't?" he probed, a hint of suspicion lacing his voice.

"Both," I replied firmly. "I simply don't trust you, goat-fucking lot not to make a mess of things," I admitted, prepared to elaborate before a wildling behind Rayder abruptly interjected.

"What the hell are you blabbering about, boy? If you don't watch your fucking..." His sentence trailed off as I swiftly cut him off, a burst of frosty energy from my hand sending him sprawling.

"Shut your mouth! I'm trying to converse with Rayder here," I snapped, lowering my hand and taking a deep breath to regain composure. "As I was saying, I don't trust you not to cause trouble, and I certainly don't trust the Southerners not to gut you all once they find out you snuck into the castle," I continued, my words measured and deliberate. 

Mance Rayder arched an eyebrow, his expression questioning. "I know Lord Stark... he isn't so petty or narrow-minded," he asserted confidently.

"And that's precisely why we shouldn't blindside him," I countered, shrugging in response. "If we approach him honestly, he might consent to your presence, keep it discreet, and ensure your safety," I explained, emphasizing the importance of gaining Stark's trust. 

"But if we go behind his back and sneak a bunch of wildlings into his home, he might not take it lightly. I certainly wouldn't," I concluded, attempting to convey the potential consequences of a clandestine entrance.

"You're speaking in ifs and thens, lad," Rayder scoffed. "You can't expect me to agree to that," he rebuffed, his tone assertive.

His words tightened my expression into a frown. "Matter of fact, I do. Ifs and thens are all I can offer, and you can either take it or leave it," I admitted frankly. 

"I didn't want it to come to this, but it seems I have no choice but to be direct— I won't sneak you into Winterfell behind its lord's back," I stated firmly, the weight of the situation evident in my voice.

"You have two options," I continued the gravity of the moment palpable. "Either accept my offer and meet Lord Stark with me, or turn around and fuck off to the northern wilderness. Forget about peace, or even the survival of your people, for that matter," I declared, the lines drawn with clarity and resolve.

It might seem callous, but I felt cornered. I had grown weary of bending to everyone's whims, and my reservoir of patience had run dry. Perhaps a more diplomatic solution existed, but I lacked the energy or inclination to seek it out. All I yearned for was closure to this tangled mess, with as little bloodshed and upheaval as possible.

Rayder's insistence on secrecy held some merit, considering the historical enmity between his people and the northern lords. Yet, reality wasn't a forgiving place. Lord Stark held the position of Warden of the North, while Rayder was considered the king of a less reputable title. 

If I had to endanger a relationship, I'd rather it be with Rayder. I couldn't, under any circumstances, jeopardize the longstanding bond between the Night's Watch and House Stark for Rayder's justified demands.

Stark wasn't merely the Warden of the North; he was a close confidant to the king and held sway with numerous allies across Westeros. If Rayder failed to see this, perhaps it was for the best that we part ways here, leaving him and his people to face their fate, even if it rendered my previous efforts futile. 

Sometimes, the broader perspective outweighed individual concerns, be they one or even tens of thousands. 

Rayder's bitter smile greeted my words. "You've lived among my people and the Southerners, yet somehow managed to absorb the worst traits from both," he remarked with a heavy sigh. "A Northerner's temper paired with a Southerner's lack of empathy," he added, his disappointment evident, shaking his head in disbelief. 

"But regardless, you understand the stakes; I can't abandon my people now, not when their lives hang in the balance," he concluded, a sense of determination in his tone.

Internally exhaling with relief, I kept a composed exterior. "It's reassuring that you can see the logic in this, Rayder," I acknowledged with a nod. "Now I'll have the joy of trekking over to Winterfell and persuading Lord Stark to willingly receive the king of the wildlings into his fortress... lucky me," I added, the sarcasm not lost in my tone.

As Gale departed, Rayder's gaze lingered on the retreating figure. A wildling from behind Rayder stepped up, removing his hood to reveal the grinning face of Tormund Giantsbane. 

"I told you it would play out this way... Threya's death hit the lad hard, harder than anyone could have imagined," Tormund remarked, maintaining his grin despite the gravity of the situation. "And judging by the looks of it, he didn't leave Castle Black on the best terms with his ranger comrades either," he added with a chuckle.

Rayder sighed, acknowledging the change in Gale. "He does seem altered... more callous, definitely more impatient," Rayder observed, his concern evident. "But I can't help but wonder..." He turned his attention from Gale's diminishing form to Tormund. "Do you think he was bluffing or genuinely serious?" he inquired.

Tormund shrugged casually. "Who can tell?" he replied nonchalantly. "Maybe he was bluffing, perhaps he was serious. What matters is, he accomplished what was needed," Tormund said with a chuckle, emphasizing the outcome over the intentions.

Rayder shot Tormund an exasperated look. "Remind me, whose side are you on again?" he queried, casting a sideways glance at the towering wildling.

"I'm on the side that secures the survival of our people, always," Tormund replied with an expansive grin, asserting his unwavering loyalty to their cause.