AN: A look on the 'enemy'.
Also, I apologize if the numbers seem off... I've never been good with estimating army numbers, or numbers in general. I know that the Free Folk are far larger then Mance's host in the books, but apart from that...
I also thank all of my reviewers, either for being informative, encouraging, et cetera. Final thing, that I've forgotten to mention for nearly... Three chapters, I believe, is that this fanfic is now on AO3.
Options and Opportunities
Interlude IV
The Kneeler King, Jon III
The plan had been a catastrophic failure. Trying to gain a hostage from the Starks was a last bitter attempt, and now Mance had barely any plans left.
The Warg King was slowly approaching, and would decimate the North and the Watch. Nobody would be able to stop him. His army of scared wildlings, beasts and mythical creatures...
"Mance," Styr said, entering his tent, following him were the leaders that had joined Mance's host. Tormund, young Val and Dalla, and Styr were the only ones that had felt the need to flee the Warg King, and their host of fifteen to twenty thousand scattered warriors was pitiful when compared to the hordes of the King-Beyond-the-Wall.
Mance couldn't call himself that any more - they were already beyond the wall.
They were only not being remorselessly hunted due to a boy, Rankar, who was controlling the many beasts in order to stop the Warg King from attempting to assassinate them in their sleep. It was humiliating to the Free Folk's pride, to be saved by a mere child, but they also knew that there was no-one else that could help them.
"Styr? What is it?" Mance replied, after he strung a remorseful tune. "I know that we have failed."
"And the men are asking why we follow you, because all of your plans have failed." Styr continued, his voice low as usual.
"None of these kneelers know of the Warg King... Do they?" Val asked, continuing when no-one told her otherwise. "Why not tell them?"
"Because the Free Folk are seen as a blight by the North, and we have not done anything to counter-act the image." Mance answered, bluntly.
"Nothing else has worked. None of our raids, none of these plans of yours!" Tormund yelled, unwilling to contain it any longer. "I ain't willing to kneel to the fucking Starks, but what else can we do? The Warg King ain't exactly going to go away, and I'm not letting my sons be his any longer!"
Silence came after Tormund's outburst, and Mance had no other choice. Maybe the Starks would be merciful, maybe not. Mance would be called the Kneeler King, but he was also willing to give his life for his people. They were frightened of the hawks, the wolves, and the hordes, but maybe, the Starks would give them a chance.
"I'll present myself to the Starks." Mance said with finality, ignoring their stares. "I'll plead for the case of the Free Folk, inform them of the Warg King. I ask of you, to submit to any judgement that they bring. They'll ask us to stop raiding, submit ourselves... But, we'll be in their lands. We'll finally see the lands beyond the Wall, beyond all of our scattered host."
"All I ask of you, is to submit yourselves. I will not let any of you die, I swear." The man said, setting down his lute. "I will probably be executed for my crimes, but I ask of you to not anger yourselves at my plight. I ask a lot, but I will also give you a lot. A chance beyond the Lands of always Winter, which are harsher and colder then here."
"You do ask a lot," Tormund said, his voice eerily calm for the boisterous man. "But, I trust you, Mance. I'll convince my raiders, and fight any who disagree."
The Magnar merely nodded and young Val sung, a whispered tune of good luck.
"Gather all the Free Folk in this camp," Mance ordered, musing that his final command may be a death sentence, or it may be their salvation. "And prepare yourselves for either letters, or an army presenting the Starks' terms."
They all said their assents in various manners, but he could barely hear them, as he left the tent and prepared himself. He had thought himself Bael the Bard, yet Mance had made himself into somebody far less legendary.
After all, who would like to hear of the legend of the Kneeler King, who had submitted to the Starks in fear?
It had been a strange week for Jon, ever since the wildlings had been fought off and captured.
Theon had disappeared for three days, barely speaking to anyone, only speaking to the guards and his father before disappearing off again. He had come back looking exhausted yet satisfied, like he had done something incredible.
Sansa had been with her mother far more often, and Jon felt somewhat ashamed to admit that he felt somewhat afraid that Lady Stark was going to convince her that he wasn't her brother, and was just a bastard that should be shamed, and disrespected.
Yet, she always came to him, and had started ignoring her mother who had grown even more cold, and temperamental towards Jon, who admitted that he had felt incredibly happy about it, even if the trade-off was servants being more willing to ignore him, among other things.
Robb... Was another story, after the attempted murder of Maester Luwin and Theon.
He distracted himself from the thoughts as Theon nearly got in a hit, that would have staggered him otherwise. The Greyjoy was incredibly strong and flexible for his age, and Jon suspected that he knew how - having managed to convince him to share with the bastard.
"Jon," Theon said, raising a hand to stop his sword swing in its tracks. "You're distracted."
"I know, sorry." He replied apologetically. "It's just... I've been wondering why you've been so... Not here, recently?"
"It's those wildlings that we captured," the elder boy replied, seemingly ignoring Jon's scowl. "I had a suspicion on why they attacked, and I found out that reason."
"What was that reason?" Jon asked, curious despite his misgivings. Nobody should have attacked his family! "I mean, they are just wildlings..."
"Jon... They're still people, with fears and flaws like us." Theon said, looking at him cautiously. "We can't go around killing people just because they might have attacked us. We'd be no better otherwise."
He looked the floor, ashamed of his words, even if he slightly disagreed. "I still think that they should have done something apart from attack, but..."
"They should have," Theon interrupted, surprising the Snow with that answer. "Come on, Jon. I'm a sympathetic person, not completely brain-dead."
"So. Why did they attack then?" Jon asked.
"Firstly," the elder boy started, motioning him to follow him to the springs. "What do you know of wargs?"
"They could immerse their mind with animals, and become them. They also lost their minds, become more animal-like with each animal that they warged with, if they died with themselves inside the animal." Jon recited, as they neared the warm pool of Winterfell.
"So, basically, the wildlings that attacked us, are running from a self-named King-Beyond-the-Wall, called the Warg King, that apparently has a horde far larger then any other horde that attacked the Wall before, with giants and other mythical creatures under his command. They ran from him, under a man called Mance Rayder, who managed to convince a few chiefs to follow him through the Wall." Theon explained, with a slightly concerned tone to his voice.
"...How did they cross the Wall? I don't think that the Wall has been invaded." Jon continued, after a momentary silence.
"Apparently, and take this with a bit of salt, a boy called Rankar managed to warg into animals that brought them enough wood to craft proper ships, and not just the fishing boats. Mance Rayder was the one that ordered their construction after a skirmish with the Warg King, though they still lost a few hundred men to the harsh waters."
"It's..." Jon said, struggling to find a word to describe it. "A posse-abili... ty?"
"Yep. I doubt the story, even if there are nuggets of truth in it." Theon said, ignoring his mishap of pronunciation, which Jon quietly appreciated. "Let's get back before people ask on us."
"I doubt that," Jon replied, bitterly, as he thought on Robb being more distant and Lady Stark manipulating the servants. The only thing that stopped his bitterness from overcoming him was Sansa and Theon, who seemed his constant supporters. Father was also supportive, yet... It wasn't the same.
Theon said nothing in reply, since there was nothing to say - he knew of his situation already.
As they neared the courtyard, Jon knew that something was wrong as soon as Father came out of his solar in leather armour and a sword at his hip, and the guards mustered.
"There's a wildling at our gates, holding a white flag, milord!" One of the guards said. "Want us to shoot him?"
"No. Let him in." His father replied, and after a few more shouts, the guards opened the gates, and a figure rode through the gate.
"My name's Mance Rayder," the wildling said, his eyes boring into Lord Stark's own. "And I've come to offer the peace of the wildlings that are under my authority, and that I offer my life for the chiefs that have followed me."
AN: I was legitimately debating with myself, if I should make it the Others, the Weeper or some type of warg being the main antagonist of this section of the story.
The Others were out as soon as I thought the idea, and the Weeper could be put down rather easily, making him not much of an antagonist. However, a powerful warg?
That opens up quite a dilemma, especially considering that the South may not believe the North... And, considering that the South is probably the army that the North needs to help it win this war, which is shaping up to be far more dangerous then anyone could have predicted, even Theon, with his knowledge of canon.