A Song of Grace & Fury

I crouched and waved my hand in Jon's unamused face with an amused grin.

"How's it been, Jon Stark?" 

Roach had decided that hoisting him by his neck and running at 'breakneck' speeds to reach me was apparently the best idea. It did not help that he tossed him into snow once they reached the camp AFTER eating the man's collar.

I looked to Roach who was busy rearing to scare off the wildlings that dared approach him. "What do you have to say for yourself, boy?"

He had the audacity to snort and bare his teeth in some sort of grin.

"You're gonna get yours one day, cheeky fucker."

With a sigh, I held my hand to Jon but it seemed the Bastard of Winterfell took some sort of insult from my words and brushed it aside, pushing himself to his feet.

"Now why would you do that?" I cocked my head, curious.

"It's Jon Snow. Not Stark." He said. I saw hope in his steely eyes, and fear and guilt... but not for legitimacy. No, he was looking for something, rather, someone.

"Ah... youth," I chuckled, shrugging. "It's what your brother called you. Not Snow. Stark. I don't doubt Stannis would legitimise you in a heartbeat."

Robb had called Jon a Stark long before the war had ever really 'begun', back in Winterfell when his banners had just started gathering. I had learnt that clarifying these sorts of things was paramount to the mental peace of the short-lived species... even longer ones to be honest.

I put a hand to my chin, "Marika's damn brats ought to learn a thing or two from you lot."

Maybe they wouldn't be waging war if they learned to talk things out instead of... well, converting the other's territory into a literal hellscape with Scarlet Rot or something.

"You looking for Ygritte?" I asked, smiling when Jon jerked.

"Yes," He relented with a sigh. "I don't know if she will want to see me aga-... How did you know?"

"I have my ways."

"Because I told him." Val cut in, leaning against a fence post.

The Wildling Princess twirled a small bone knife between her fingers and before I could tell her how rude she was, she flicked it at Jon. He moved quicker than expected but in the end, it found itself stuck between my fingers before it could even graze him.

"He's my guide, and technically my responsibility."

Jon reminded me of Addam in a way with how quiet he was sometimes. Jon was just a lot more reserved than my squi-... former squire.

"It would have missed."

I looked to the startled Jon, "Somehow, I doubt that."

Val just shrugged.

The woman was as unreserved as she was seemingly calm and collected. I'd learnt all about that during our little sparring session. But, she held fast to her own ideals. That was more than I could say for most of the people till now.

"Right then. During the commotion your..." She squinted her eyes at Roach, "Whatever that creature is..." Val pursed her lips, searching for the words for a moment before giving up entirely. "Mance has returned. They were attacked but he's well enough to receive you. Jon can go to his lady love if he wants."

"Well, Jon?" I looked to my guide. The same guide who thought I was involved in some plot to get him killed.

The Stark took a single moment, as much as Eddard Stark did so long ago, to make his decision. He shook his head, "I'll go with you."

Val shrugged and waved a hand before striding away. Jon followed close behind. I looked back to the Wildling still trying to approach Roach. 

"Best be careful, he tends to-"

One of them got too close, a tall man with a scarred, bald scalp and Roach did as Roach does. He breathed flame onto the man's face and kicked him into the bushes before beating the snow-covered ground with his hooves in challenge.

"He tends to do that. Have fun." Waving my fingers, I followed Val and Jon.

I briefly considered what I would do to convince Mance that his idea of attacking the wall with the men he had was beyond idiocy but decided that I would give him the truth of things, as they were. This way, he alone would be fully responsible for whatever decision he made next.

A brisk walk later, past dozens of teepees and tents of fur and skin, we arrived at a large rounded tent, made from the pelts of white bears and accented with antler horns. Two fires burnt on either side of the entrance, propped up by bone and wood.

With the furs and bones I'd seen so far, I was beginning to question whether their resource shortage was actually real or not. Every single one of their homes was built with skins and leathers and furs and whatnot.

Val stopped by the tent's flap and pushed Jon inside before putting a hand on my shoulder. An odd sight to be sure, considering the difference in our height. "Careful with your words."

She wasn't warning me against Mance, I could tell.

"Mag is in there. Tormund and Rattleshirt too."

She spoke those names as if I knew even a single one of them.

"It's gonna be fine. Relax."

Val narrowed her eyes. "I am fine. Why should I even care if you die?"

"Fair," I nodded, moving past her. "But then why'd you think to warn me anyway?"

Before she could answer, I was inside. Jon had already been thrown near the fire by an aggravated Styr as some fat schmuck with the thickest arms I'd seen so far boomed, laughing like Greatjon, just his long beard was like snow and he wore mail where the Northern Giant wore plate.

He was fat too, fatter than three grown men put together.

And... he'd been cut deep from the looks of the cloth wrapped around his waist. He had the looks of a leader, but he was not their King. My eyes quickly moved to the slender man with long grey hair sitting by the fire, bandaging his forearm.

He dressed simply, oiled black leather and rough breeches but, I knew.

That was the one.

Mance Rayder.

Styr was waiting on him to hurt Jon more. And the fatass kept looking at him too.

Before I could speak however, the fat one noticed me. He looked me up and down, hands over his potbelly, then threw his head back and laughed again.

"And they call me Giantsbane. You're bloody tall, aren't you?!" he wiped a tear from his eye. "I'll be damned! Didn't know they made 'em like you down yonder!"

"Then you'll be pleased to know I wasn't made down yonder anyway." I chuckled, pulling Styr by his collarbone hard enough to send him stumbling back to Val... who just stepped aside so he went tumbling out of the tent, onto snow.

"Do I need to write guide on his forehead for you folks to understand?" I pulled Jon to his feet. "Now then, I'd wager we don't have much time left before you move out for your great attack so let's get down to it."

Mance finished tying the cloth around his forearm and lifted his chin to stare at me, a thin smile on his cracked lips, "I see they sent a smarter one than Lord Crow this time."

Suddenly, I felt the chill from the last day again. A subtle fall in temperature no one would really notice in this cold. Something was wrong.

Shaking my head off it, I looked to Mance again.

"Your guide there," he pointed a finger at Jon. "Now he thought it was... well, he's not with us now so I'll not sour the memory. What do you want?"

"You were off to see the Wall. You saw everything."

Not even a blind man would miss a host nearly fifty thousand strong. And with how loud the Stormlanders and Northmen were, it would be even harder to miss.

Mance nodded, "You speak true. 'King' Stannis is here. He has answered the call of the Night's Watch. Val tells me they've even sent a messenger but..." He held up a knife, pointing at me. "You're not one of them. I've seen enough to know by now. So who-... why are you here? You want slaves of my people?"

"Just a traveller with a flair for the dramatic," I waved my hand in dismissal. "What I wanted to say to you though... You're not winning. Bend the knee. Save your 'people'."

Mance chuckled, then eyed the fat man, "What do you think, Tormund?"

"I'm not bending no knees. We'd break first."

They wanted to live like lawless savages of their own volition... I could understand the sentiment, but, there was no real choice in the matter. Not here.

"You kneelers forget. We no forget. No respect for weak."

"That just makes you look stupid, Styr. The world of men isn't the type for might is right. You're not animals. It's not that hard to make the difference."

I cast a glance over my shoulder at the earless Magnar of Thenn. Snow stuck to his furs, and melted inside his clothes but it didn't seem to bother him.

"My people," Mance said plainly. "We do not respect chains or badges of office. The free folk follow the man. Not the title or coin in his pocket. It's a better life than licking feet for coin. Not the easy life."

"Yes, because the usual peasant has it going so good for him," I sighed. "They get everything handed to them."

"Aye. They got all that land." Tormund spoke up, crossing his arms over his fat breasts.

"Oh. And coin just flows like a river from empty land, yeah?"

From what I had noticed during my brief time among them, the Wildlings chose to live as a people dominated by violence and force over all else. They could migrate, make honest livings for themselves however it may be, it was a medieval time.

They could literally hunt and sell pelts for money.

But no, they would rather take what they wanted, when they wanted, and not answer at all for the cruelty imposed on some innocent for no reason other than having the misfortune of catching their eye.

Something like that... well, it was better off dying out.

"I'm wasting my time."

"Indeed," Mance nodded.

"Alright. Say you attack the wall. You have what? Some thirty thousand fighting men left?"

He did not. And by the subtle wince, I could tell he knew it.

My gaze flickered to the silent Jon. He was observing, mulling over things on his own rather than speaking out brashly. Wise for one his age.

"Stannis has over ten thousand cavalrymen. Jon tells me you were in the Night's Watch once, you know what that means. And let's not even talk about how you're fighting a siege with about half the number of the garrison. Do you see yourself winning in any situation?"

I had almost never tried to convince someone against their decisions for I knew that they would learn through consequence all the same, even when that consequence was death. Yet, here I was now.

"Then... we'll die," Mance sighed and I could see that it wasn't what he wanted.

Then-

"They'll listen to you. Bend the knee and you'll be pardoned. Your people will live. I know you understand what I'm saying."

Stannis didn't even have to do anything except close the gates and wait to win the war. The Others would wipe out the Wildlings for him.

"Or you'll just be zombies for the White Walkers or the Others or whatever you call them." I said.

It was his fate he was deciding, not mine. I had no need to get worked up for a blight. One that wanted to end itself all on its own.

"If that is the fate that awaits us for holding true to ou-..."

The chill had grown as we spoke, and before Mance could finish, it blew into the warmth of his tent. Snow burst in, and the fires guttered out like my attempts at convincing him against what essentially amounted to suicide.

The truth was that these folk would not accept such a thing until it was the only choice left to them. More often than not, that only happened when it was too late.

It was what happened then and there.

"They followed us." Tormund said grimly.

Shrill cries and deathly screams surrounded us in the blink of an eye. Mance's chieftains ran out to secure their people, clutching their axes and swords and spears.

I just looked to the so-called King-Beyond-The-Wall.

"So what now?"

"Now you take as many as you can. They'll listen with this. Val. You go with him."

"They'd have listened long ago."

"You don't know my people like I do. Now go. Escape."

...Then, he had engineered the situation. No, the panic and defeat he was trying to hide was very real. 

Hm... Perhaps he'd been trying to force his people into a situation that would force them to adapt to being humans and it had gotten out of hand or something? It was something I'd expect from his kind of folk.

If it was planned, he'd gotten a laughable number of things wrong along the way. But, nothing could have been more wrong than the mistake he was committing now.

To 'escape' would be to miss out on something very interesting.

How could he possibly expect me to do that?

So...

"Escape?" I cocked my head. "From what exactly?"

-

Hope you enjoyed.

You can find ten chapters ahead at patre0n.com/Bleap

Actually 8, but most of them are hella lengthy cause of how close to the end the story is with them.