Winter's (GOT) Nothing on Me #78

Harma stood with a steely resolve as her men diligently filled the cave entrance with dried wood and kindling. Satisfied with their preparations, she gave her command. 

"Light up the fires!" Her voice echoed with authority, and the men promptly obeyed, hurling torches into the piled kindling. The flames ignited the wood, spreading swiftly into the cave's depths.

She waited until a thick column of smoke rose toward the sky before issuing her directive. "Start fanning the flames! Smoke the rats out!" Her words were firm and commanding, and her men responded by using their cloaks, fabrics, and anything else at hand to stoke the blaze, channeling the smoke deeper into the tunnel.

Harma's eyes scanned the heavens, watching the plumes of smoke ascend. A satisfied grin spread across her face as she noticed several more pillars of smoke rising in the distance. 

The signal had been received, and the other groups had initiated their movements.

Harma leaned against a nearby boulder, her gaze fixed on the billowing smoke rising from the cave entrance. Her thoughts swirled as the scenes of leadership and command flickered through her mind. 

To many, it might have appeared that she had been sidelined, eclipsed by the leadership of Gale and the others. Yet, deep within, she harbored no resentment nor desire for that position.

She was more adept than most raiding band leaders at strategic planning and ensuring her men's well-being. Despite that, leadership was never something she actively pursued or envisioned for herself. 

Her rise to prominence had begun with her clash against the self-proclaimed Lord of Bones, Rattleshirt. Unintentionally, she had found herself thrust into a leadership role as people rallied around her.

Being capable was one thing, but at her core, she was a warrior. Her heart yearned for the days when she could charge into battle without the weight of countless lives resting upon her decisions. 

In a peculiar way, being relieved of the mantle of command was a relief—a surprising respite from the burden she had never sought.

...

As the columns of thick smoke ascended into the sky, the orchestrated chaos unfolded as planned. Multiple groups initiated fires near the cave entrances, their purpose clear—to smoke out the elusive cave dwellers. 

The acrid tendrils snaked their way into the labyrinthine tunnels, creating a choice for those within: a suffocating demise if they remained concealed or an attempt to escape that would only result in their deaths. 

Amid the commotion, Tormund Giantsbane strode, guiding the Night's Watch dissenters led by Ser Alliser Thorne. 

Mounted atop his steed, Thorne's voice carried an edge of suspicion. "Where are you leading us, wildling? What's taking so long?" he interrogated, his skepticism palpable. 

His disdain for the wildlings was no secret, and yet that damned stray mutt deemed to charge a wildling with guiding them, making the situation all the more perplexing. 

What's more, his group consisted of a group of rangers who shared his distrust towards the free folk and harbored the same intentions to hinder the budding alliance between the Night Watch and the free folk tribes no matter the cost. 

Doubts began to surface in his mind, but despite his misgivings, Thorne recognized the meticulousness with which they had orchestrated their actions, leaving no room for doubt about their intentions. 

His suspicions lingered like ghosts, but he dismissed them, convinced of their careful planning and secrecy.

Tormund's grin widened, and he turned to face Ser Thorne. "Taking you right where you need to be, no worries," he replied with a casual shrug. "If I had a steed, we'd be there in a flash. But alas, riding's not my skill," he added, simulating disappointment with a mock sorrowful expression. 

"Horses aren't exactly abundant beyond the Wall. Only a lucky few get their hands on them," he remarked, continuing ahead without bothering to halt his stride.

Ser Thorne snorted derisively. "I should have expected as much from a wildling savage," he muttered, his words loud enough for Tormund to hear yet seemingly muttered under his breath. 

Tormund heard him clearly and took no offense, merely chuckling inwardly. The insults from a doomed man sounded like nothing more than mere amusing prattle to the towering wildling.

The group continued to march until they reached a precarious ledge flanked by dense bushes on one side and a sheer drop on the other. Tormund gestured for the rangers to stop their mounts. 

"This ledge ahead is famously tricky. Let me scout ahead to ensure it's safe for you all," Tormund said, flashing a mischievous grin. "Can't afford to lose those precious horses, can we?" he added, emphasizing the need for caution.

Alliser Thorne paused briefly, acknowledging Tormund with a nod. The towering wildling grinned and ambled along the ledge, carefully inspecting its stability, all to divert the rangers' attention from the concealed ambush in the bushes. 

Once safely on the other side, he turned back to the rangers, signaling for them to proceed.

"Seems safe enough! Come forward!" Tormund boomed, his voice resonating assurance, and without hesitation, the rangers lined up to traverse the ledge, oblivious to the ambushers lurking in the bushes. 

Ser Thorne led the way confidently. 

As he neared the ledge's end, a snapping branch from the bushes caught his attention, signaling the impatience of a concealed wildling. Tormund, observing the disturbance, maintained his composure, knowing it was already too late to change the situation.

The die was cast. There was no turning back for these rangers. 

"The kneeler cunts are right where we want them! Bring down those men of the Night's Watch!" Tormund shouted. 

In an instant, numerous wildlings emerged from the thicket, wielding long, lethal spears. With swift and deadly precision, they impaled the rangers and dismounted them, sending them tumbling down the steep ledge.

Thorne's shock transformed swiftly into rage as the betrayal dawned on him. "What treachery is this?" he bellowed, his glare fixed on Tormund. "I'll have your head, you filthy savage!" he growled through clenched teeth, urging his steed to charge toward the towering wildling. 

His attempt was cut short when a wildling warrior thrust his spear into the horse's neck, forcing Thorne to leap off before the steed crumbled on the ground. Drawing his blade swiftly, he readied himself to strike at Tormund, only to find himself surrounded by wildling warriors.

Ser Thorne gritted his teeth as he witnessed an increasing number of wildlings emerging from the thickets on both sides of the ledge, encircling the remaining rangers who were already overwhelmed by the initial attack. Searching desperately for an escape route, he found himself completely surrounded by wildling warriors, with no way out. 

Even below, at the foot of the steep drop, the surviving rangers were being finished off by the wildlings, leaving no path of escape. Accepting the dire situation, he prepared himself to fight until the bitter end.

"For the Night's Watch!" Ser Thorne roared, wielding his sword and charging at the nearest wildling. The warrior, caught off guard by Thorne's sudden assault, failed to react in time and was swiftly dispatched. 

Without hesitation, Thorne swiftly shifted his focus, maneuvering with unexpected agility to evade an incoming axe before striking down his next adversary. Despite being vastly outnumbered, Ser Thorne valiantly fought on, taking down three more wildlings in rapid succession.

Observing the intense struggle, Tormund's excitement grew. He surged forward, snatching a two-handed axe from the nearest wildling warrior's grasp. "Leave him to me! Kill the others!" he commanded, forcefully clearing his path as he approached the senior ranger.

Tormund swiftly lunged at Ser Thorne, their blades meeting in a deadlock. Locked in this tense confrontation, Tormund gazed directly into the senior ranger's eyes and announced himself proudly. 

"Rejoice, Night's Watchman! Tormund Giantsbane, Mead King of Ruddy Hall, Speaker to Gods, and Breaker of Ice, stands before you!" he proclaimed. "You'll meet your gods with your head held high, knowing I sent you to their side!" He added as he pushed against Ser Thorne with force, aiming to create distance.

The senior ranger sneered in response. "Just another goat-fucking savage whose blood will soon wet my blade!" Ser Thorne retorted. "Spare me your boasts and fight!" Ser Thorne lunged forward, aiming his strike at Tormund. 

The towering wildling's grin grew wider as he raised his axe, meeting the senior ranger's charge head-on. The clash of their weapons echoed through the area, the sounds of battle the only remnants of the now fallen rangers. 

Only Ser Thorne remained, locked in this decisive confrontation.