Winter's (GOT) Nothing on Me #77

Sitting atop a hill that oversaw the frozen expanse west of the haunted forest, a grin crept across my face at the sight of three thousand wildlings approaching, led by Threya, Val, and Ryk at the forefront. 

With Benjen's arrival three days prior and the reinforcement from the main wildling camp finally here, it was time to arrive. 

Tormund had valuable intel on the whereabouts of the Weeper and the defectors under his command. The numbers of the cave dwellers had significantly diminished, thanks to my strategy of leaving several wights in the caves to thin their ranks, even if it hadn't yielded the full extent I had hoped for.

During my last visit to their caverns yesterday, I noticed a significant reduction in their gathering for their dark rituals. All the pieces had fallen into place, and now it was only a matter of setting each one's course. 

'I'll guide them to the camp in the haunted forest to discuss our plan of attack. Once these agitators are dealt with, maybe then, I can find a moment's peace,' I mused with a sigh, grasping my iceblade and descending the hill toward the gathering of wildlings.

I closed the distance between us, navigating the usual challenge of explaining my presence to a wary, random wildling until Threya intervened, recognizing me and signaling them to stand down. 

As I approached Threya and the group, she wasted no time in getting to the heart of the matter."What's transpired during our absence?" Threya inquired, her gaze fixed on me.

"A lot," I replied with a nonchalant shrug. "But the essence of it is that we're ready to make our move against the traitors once everyone's had a chance to rest and settle in... Meanwhile, we can discuss our strategy."

"About time. Mindless marching gets tiresome," Threya quipped, eager to get started. "Lead the way."

"Exactly the plan," I affirmed, beginning to lead them toward the camp. "And what of the cave dwellers within the main camp? I hope you haven't overlooked them," I added, raising an eyebrow in concern.

At my mention of the cave dwellers, Val chuckled. "Rayder wouldn't forget traitors under his nose even if a bear danced on his head," she remarked. "They'll be dealt with by day's end," she assured.

...

As the bonfire crackled and the night air chilled, Mance Rayder sighed deeply, watching wisps of his breath float into the frosty air. His gaze fixed on the vast wildling encampment sprawled before him, stretching into the distance until it blurred in the darkness. 

Torches flickered to life across the camp, casting dancing shadows as groups of wildlings maneuvered silently within the night's shroud, disappearing into the camp's depths. Soon, the sounds of chaos erupted—cries of alarm and the clashing of weapons echoed through the crisp air.

Rayder nodded absently, then shifted his focus to the warmth of the fire, his hands seeking solace in its comforting heat. His thoughts drifted to the irony of his life's path. 

Born of a wildling woman and a Night's Watch ranger, his childhood had been torn asunder by a group of rangers who slaughtered his mother's raiding band, taking him to the Shadow Tower. 

Raised among the black brothers, he'd learned to sing and play music, often singing songs of Bael the Bard upon returning from their Wall expeditions. He even journeyed to Winterfell once, accompanying the Lord Commander at that time, Lord Qorgyle, on a visit to Lord Eddard Stark.

Mance Rayder let his thoughts wander back to that memorable visit to Winterfell. He remembered encountering two boys, Robb Stark and Jon Snow, playing a mischievous prank on visitors. 

Their pleading eyes, begging for secrecy, and the evident relief when he promised not to disclose their antics—it always brought a chuckle whenever the memory resurfaced. Those were indeed simpler times, unburdened by the weight of so many lives. Fate, however, had its own designs, even if they weren't immediate.

Years later, while ranging beyond the Wall, Mance encountered a shadowcat attack, an encounter that left him wounded. A wildling woman, the daughter of a wise woman, nursed him back to health and mended his torn cloak with patches of red silk. 

However, upon his return to the Wall, Ser Denys Mallister ordered Mance to discard his repaired cloak for a uniform black one. Feeling his freedom impinged upon, Mance defied this command and deserted the Shadow Tower, opting to live among the free folk as he saw fit.

As the signs of the impending long winter became evident, Mance dedicated years to uniting various tribes, garnering support from clan mothers and magnars. 

He navigated the delicate negotiations, forging peace between the fiercest rivals and most bitter of enemies, such as Harma Dogshead and the Lord of Bones, the Hornfoots and the Nightrunners, and the men of the Frozen Shore alongside the ice-river clans.

 Amid opposition from five other contenders for the title of King-Beyond-the-Wall, Mance rallied the support of influential figures like Tormund of Ruddy Hall and Styr of Thenn. He vanquished three rivals who refused to acknowledge his leadership, solidifying his claim.

With Styr gone, only two of the six would-be kings remained, Tormund and the Great Mance Rayder, the revered King Beyond the Wall, yet there he was —ordering the slaughter of his own people. 

The crushing weight of these decisions bore heavily upon him, a burden only a leader could understand. Styr sealed his own fate with his actions, and Rayder understood the need to confront the cave dwellers and traitors within their ranks, but it left him bitter nonetheless.

The bitter taste of sacrifice lingered as Mance contemplated the dire path ahead. To secure an alliance with the Night's Watch, he had to allow this bloodshed among his own people. The weight of leadership demanded such sacrifices, the arduous task of choosing the greater good over personal sentiments.

"I only hope all slaughter is worth it in the end," Mance uttered with a heavy sigh, his voice muffled by the night's chilling air. The weight of his responsibilities pressed upon him as he stood there, grappling with the heavy toll of leadership.

...

Gale observed Tormund's composed entrance into the tent, his gaze shifting to the sprawling map dominating the table's center. The rough terrain sketched across its surface was a collective effort, Qhorin and Tormund's collaboration.

"Now that we're all here, let's dive into the specifics of our plan," Tormund began, his palms resting firmly on the edges of the map.

With an air of methodical explanation, Gale outlined their strategy. "We have approximately six thousand free folk warriors and a hundred rangers at our disposal," he elaborated, mapping out the roles. "Five thousand will take on the task of confronting the cave dwellers. Five hundred will station near each cave entrance, awaiting the signal to smoke out the trespassers."

Val interjected with a suggestion, her voice carrying certainty. "We'll position archers at every entrance, supported by infantry on the flanks," she proposed, anticipating the potential escape of the adversaries. "Anyone who manages to evade the arrows will find their path blocked by our ground forces," she added firmly.

Qhorin, contemplating the strategy, nodded in agreement. "A well-structured plan. And for any survivors, we've brought former knights who are now seasoned rangers," he mentioned, highlighting the capabilities of their forces. "Skilled and armed, they won't let anyone slip through their grasp."

Gale's gaze scanned the map laid out before them, a meticulous arrangement reflecting his plans for the imminent confrontations. His finger pointed out strategic spots across the map, outlining the necessary positioning of their forces.

"We'll need two hundred and fifty men stationed here, ready for reinforcement," Gale declared, indicating a central location within proximity to the cave entrances. "And an additional two-fifty to set an ambush for Ser Thorne and his dissenters from the Night's Watch," he continued, noting the discomfort in the expressions of Benjen, Qhorin, and Edd.

Without hesitation, Gale pressed on. "Tormund, you'll lead the troublemakers to the ambush," he instructed, turning to the red-haired wildling.

"Aye, I'll get it done," Tormund replied with composed assurance. "I'll take them to where they need to be and slip away when it's time," he confirmed, confident in his ability to execute the task.

"Perfect. The remaining five hundred will accompany me to confront the Weeper," Gale announced, nodding in agreement with his own plan. His gaze shifted to Val. "And you, Val, will be by my side. Your rapport with the wildling warriors will prove useful in case they're reluctant to listen to me...." he affirmed, acknowledging her leadership and influence among their people.

"I'll join as well," Threya interjected, her voice holding a simmering determination. "The weeping cunt killed one of my clansmen when he rallied the traitors at the main encampment and made his escape...."

"Fine by me," Gale replied nonchalantly. "The allocation of troops and details are yours to settle," he addressed the others, already starting to leave the tent. "I need a moment to clear my mind," he said, exiting the tent swiftly without waiting for a response.