Chapter 5:

BRAKING IN

Val's head was in chaos as she hurriedly marched through the camp towards her destination. It was decided earlier that splitting up to find the representatives they were fetching would be more practical, considering the size of the camp. She was to find Styr, the Magnar of Thenn. A proud and prissy bastard, but his personality was not what's gotten her so ruffled.

No, it was their guest, Kratos. He was not normal, she could feel it clear as the snow she walked on. Her instincts were screaming at her he was a predator, and she knows the feeling intimately after the countless times she was stalked by a wolf or bear while she was hunting.

Val was harder than most and had fought off many menfolk who thought they could steal her and had stood up to even more threats in her harsh life. So, the gait of a strong man could not intimidate her.

That's what she thought anyway.

Observing the pale man, She was beginning to wonder if she ever met a strong man before this day. Of course, she believed Mance to be strong. He had united the numerous warring clans, fragile as that unity was. She knew in her heart only a strong man was capable of such a feat.

However, standing in the same tent as that man made her feel smaller than she was ever willing to admit. There was an aura flowing off of him, so palpable you could almost touch. It was suffocating, bearing down on her body and spirit. The experience made Val certain there was some truth to what the Wood Witch was raving about. Kratos had to have a touch of divinity, he had to! There was no other explanation for the sheer presence he commanded just by standing still.

There was only one of him, certainly, but she did not envy the poor shits who had to fight someone like him. She was hopeful though, mayhaps he could beat some sense into them, unlikely as it was. If one or two of them were to die it wouldn't trouble her greatly. The world could do with fewer rapists and murderers, their hands were already full with the dead as it is.

She came upon the part of the camp the Thenn had claimed for themselves. It was the only section that had guards. Not surprising considering the Thenn believed themselves proper lords, with all their so-called laws and what not. She shook her head. They were brutes like the rest of 'em, no matter what they believed.

The guards gave her a hungry look as she passed. She was used to it, all men wanted to claim her, but none had, and she was proud of it. None of them were worth her time if they couldn't even steal her properly, so their lustful gazes didn't even cause her discomfort any longer. She forged her way through their camp and came upon the Magnar's tent. A ghastly looking thing, with mammoth tusks framing the entrance, as if pathetically trying to give the illusion of luxury.

The Giants' camp was not far to the side of the Thenn camp. They had somewhat of a friendship, the giants being of the old days and the Thenn believing they are the last of the First Men. They both still kept to the Old Tongue more than the Common, albeit with different dialects.

Pushing into the tent unannounced, Val was welcomed to the sight of Styr sitting with his son Sigorn, who was to be Magnar after him. They were both bald with blue paint over their faces and heads and had pale gray eyes. She did not dally in her objective.

"You are needed, Styr. Mance wishes for you to meet Kratos."

"Kra-tos?" He tested the name in his mouth before realization seemed to strike him, a condescending smirk appearing on his rough face. "The Stranger?"

"Aye." She answered simply, already guessing what he was thinking.

"Of course, he wants to meet the Magnar of Thenn, only sensible. Come Sig, we must welcome our guest."

Val resisted the urge to roll her eyes, silently turning around and exiting the tent when he had gotten up to follow her. The Magnar had no idea what he was brazenly walking into, and any warning wouldn't make him any wiser.

This should be interesting.

She was about to lead the way when she stopped suddenly, recalling an important detail.

"You should send for Mag as well, Styr. He will be needed too." He observed her face for a moment, then nodded and motioned for his son to do as she said. They waited for him to return with the chief of the giants, and return he did. Mag was a huge silverback giant, his figure imposing even compared to his kin. One of the last of his kind. It made him the strongest and a natural leader of his people. She nodded at him and went to continue their journey.

Of course, people had noticed this by-play and the fact they were heading to the center of camp and started to follow them. They no doubt thought something of importance was going to happen.

How right they were.

Arriving back at Mance's tent, Val noticed the lord of Bones and Varymyr already there, along with the Weeper and Harma Dogshead. 'So, Tormund and Karsi aren't back yet.' She observed, already noting the agitation among some of the chieftains. They were all standing in a rough semi-circle around where Mance and Kratos stood. Kratos had a stoic look on his face, betraying no emotion.

Styr, the self-important songbird he was, was the first to step forward as he walked towards the two.

"Stranger, how smart of you to seek to meet the Great Magnar. No doubt these… barbarians, have not shown you proper First Men hospitality."

Mance approached him, his face already falling back into a frown. "Styr, we are still waiting for others to arrive. You'll know then, what this is about."

The 'Great' Magnar's face scrunched up at that, affronted, but he held his tongue, as well as he could in any case. Kratos did not even spare him a glance, his indifferent disposition making Val wonder if the man held any emotion in him at all. They stood there for another five minutes before Tormund showed up with Black Morris on his heels, the sheepish man's eyes scanning the meeting with curiosity. His sons were behind him but so was a gathering crowd. In fact, it looked as if everyone arrived with a crowd in tow. Styr gained a suspicious look on his face as the atmosphere became quite tense.

This was it, all the most prominent leaders and prolific aggressors were gathered. Vicious, brutal sons of goats. They wouldn't like what was to be demanded of them, not one bit, but Val believed it was necessary. She surveyed the crowd and spotted Karsi looking straight at her with a nervous look on her face. She was standing beside the old Wood Witch, Mother Moles she said her name was?

She had become popular within the camp in a very short time and everywhere she went, she was singing Kratos's praises and naming him the Old Gods' Champion. Many a folk believed her, and most others weren't far behind given the elder's measured efforts. The Free Folk were desperate for some form of hope, especially those who had encountered the true threat. Now after hearing the stories and seeing Kratos's coloring, they were quick to believe the Old Gods had answered their prayers at last.

Hope. A dangerous weapon or just the right tool? She supposed she'd find out in just a minute if the irritated looks all around were anything to go by. She wondered who'd break first...and her answer came in the form of the lord of Bones, making her wonder why she bothered pondering in the first place. She should have seen it coming.

"Now that we're all here, care to repeat what it was you were saying in the tent!" He shouted across the cavity, numbers giving him the courage he lacked beforehand.

"About how you want to turn us into kneelers, with proper order!" He was pandering to the crowds, trying to win support. Would it work? Their reactions varied. She saw equal parts disgust and resignation on the faces in her vision, a chorus of murmurs and mumbles rising up as the seconds passed.

"He thinks himself some sort of Savior! But me thinks he be wanting to change the Free Folk. No longer wanting us to be free!" There were few shouts now, the people were getting riled up.

She looked to see Kratos's reaction, finding him staring at the lord of Bones passively, no obvious aggression in his gaze or posture, almost like how one would observe a pest throwing a tantrum. However, the lord of Bones' words had Styr whipping his head to stare at Kratos and Mance heatedly.

"What's this? Is this true, Stranger? You want to take Magnar's freedom? Want to take his place above others?" Kratos didn't answer him, his gaze and his stance completely unperturbed.

"No words 'Champion'? shat yourself have you!?" The lord of bones said in a burst of boisterous belly laughs, Varymyr, the Weeper, Harma and a portion of the crowd joining him. They all trailed off though when Kratos simply began to walk into the center of the space into the middle of the gathering. He looked at the folks that were all looking back at him in anticipation.

"Do you wish to live?"

"…"

"…"

"…"

"What kind of fucking question is that?" Harma vocalized.

Kratos paid her no heed and asked again. Louder.

"Do you wish to live?" When no one answered and just stared at him blankly, he proceeded to take off his weapons one by one before placing them on the ground at his feet. When he was finished, he was left bare of any of his tools. He stood there, menacingly in Val's opinion.

"…Come."

"What kind of game are you playing at? Ye think just cause you dropped your weapons we wont gut yuh like a fish?" Varymyr questioned, openly brandishing his weapon.

"Attack with your weapons." Apparently, the lord of bones didn't need to be told twice as he immediately ran in and swung his massive scythe at Kratos's unprotected neck. Well at least it was unprotected until kratos stopped the blade with his fucking forearm! Everyone was rightfully stunned. Honestly, how did one react to such a thing?

The lord of bones was not the strongest man by any account, but he was far from weak, and his blade was made with real steel, a rare thing here beyond the wall. It was sharp and firm, any man who put his arm in its way would see his arm removed in a swing. So, his momentary hesitation at seeing such an impossible feat was understandable. Kratos didn't allow him respite though.

He grabbed the shaft of the scythe to hold it in place and delivered a powerful kick to his opponent's chest, sending him flying across the partially snow-covered ground and rolling into the crowd to end as a pile at the feet of a few of the people, his chest completely caved in. There were wide eyes all around, the events happening too quickly for people to properly react. The crowd backed up a little and Woods Witch was cackling, her abundant amusement only further emphasized.

Kratos, who was not even winded from the event, turned to the other chieftains and growled. Tormund looked as if his heart was pounding against his chest, excitement and anticipation plastered all over his face as he let out loud laughter.

"Attack me together." Most didn't look as confident as they did a few moments ago, but the Weeper seemed to believe he was up to the challenge.

"Come on ye bunch a stale cunts. He can't mean to beat us all. We'll chop him up and feed him to his Witch." That seemed to put a bit of hair on their balls, and the Weeper, Varymyr and Harma started circling him.

Harma started her taunts, seeking to distract him. "Gonna carve ye up real nice, like one a ma dogs." She grinned, showing a mouth filled with rotten teeth and blackish gums.

Kratos did not move. They rushed in all at once and the spartan took a step back. Harma missed her mark and stabbed Varymyr in the shoulder while the weeper just barely missed her neck, the three making a mockery of themselves in front of the crowds.

"Aaaaaaaaahhhh! Ye fucking stabbed me ye mangy bitch." Varymyr screamed and held his shoulder. Harma didn't show much care, growling in irritation.

"Stay out ma way Then ye spineless lizard!" She withdrew her long knife from his shoulder and turned to Kratos who was dodging the Weeper's swings with ease.

"You are not warriors." Kratos's voice cut through their shouts as he planted his fist into the Weeper's gut while holding his shoulder to steady him. He violently rammed his head into his nose, breaking it like a twig, before doing so again and again. Once the man grew completely limp, he let him go to drop like a pile of shit to the ground. Mance doubted even the man's mother would recognize the pile of gore he had for a face now.

"You say you are free, but all I see are wild animals." He continued, his voice cold and monotone. He sidestepped Harma's knife, held her at the wrist and used his knee to break her arm at the elbow, the limb twisted as the bones poked out of the skin. She wailed and spewed curses, frantically trying to rush him with the other arm but Kratos grabbed her flailing appendage and pulled her to him, her back pressed to his midriff and wrapped his arms around her neck. She struggled as best she could, her broken arm loosely slammed against him to escape from his hold.

"You are weak, but prey on the weaker to feel strong. You are depraved, and to justify this depravity you call it freedom. You are rabid beasts with no discipline, no order. You think being in charge gives you the right to be monsters. But you had never met a true monster…now you have." Glaring at the rest of the chieftains, the spartan wrung her neck and with one strong tug, ripped her head roughly from her body.

It was deathly silent as he kicked the body away and tossed her head to the side, Harma's face locked in an expression of terror as it rolled to the others' feet. No one moved, many flinching and taking a step back at the sight. He just effortlessly disposed of some of their best fighters, and he wasn't even out of breath. What form of beast did they grant guest right to? Val was not sure what else could be done to further convince her this was no mere man at this point.

She noticed movement from the corner of her eye and shifted her gaze to see Styr slowly creeping his way towards the axe Kratos had dropped earlier. When he stood over it to pick it up, it seemed Kratos realized what was happening. Val was expecting him to run towards the Magnar or just stand there as he does and wait for him to attack him with his own weapon.

What she was not expecting was for him to put his hand out to the side as if reaching for something and for the FUCKING AXEto fly to him, cutting clean through Styr's leg in the process. 'By the Gods, By the fucking Old Gods, wait...He is a fucking Old God!' The spear wife felt like she was losing her mind trying to process what she's witnessing. She looked to see Tormund's eyes wide and unblinking, his sons and daughter in various states of shock and awe.

Mance's face was the vision of shock as well, but strangely enough not exactly surprised. 'So, he had suspected it then.' She came to realize, frowning in anger as her fists tightened. The bastard had suspected that they had a fucking god in the camp and didn't think to share this information?! She'd knee him in the balls when next she was close to him, Dalla be damned.

She looked back to Kratos and saw that he held the axe in his hand, the runes on it glowing ominously as ice slowly covered the blade until it was fully encased. Her mind was going to break trying to make sense of the pale man, she was sure of it. She could not handle another impossible feat on the same day.

It seemed as if Kratos was about to say something when a giant club sent him keeling, meters away to violently crash into a tent. Mag roared in the direction he sent him, clearly angry about Kratos hurting Styr, a friend of the giants.

Val was sure that Kratos was dead. She sighed in resignation and lamented their luck. There was their hope, and there he went. Turning to walk away, she heard an unusual commotion behind her. She hastily turned back, her heart pounding in her chest, hoping despite the odds. The crowd parted and there Kratos strolled towards Mag as if he did not just survive a deadly blow. There was anger on his face now, the only emotion he openly displayed during his visit thus far.

And it looked spectacular.

An unrelenting fury, visible for all to see, ran so deep it could swallow the world whole, if its master weren't so strong and didn't hold it back so arduously.

Halfway to the giant, he broke into a sudden run at a speed easily outmatching the fastest of men the chieftains knew. Kratos leapt, muscles bulging as his hands gripped Mag by the hair on the back of his head and pulled him forcefully to the ground. Before everyone's own eyes, the leader of the giants was brought to the ground by the hands of a single man.

"Yield giant!" Mag roared again and thrashed, his pride unwilling to submit so easily. Kratos elbowed him in his eye, the organ letting out a wet sickening squelch as it was crushed into a pulp. "Yield! Or I will take more than an eye." Mag roared in defiance still, but Styr pushed through his pain and shouted for him to surrender. At least the Magnar of Thenn was no fool, he knew when a battle was lost.

Kratos pushed his head to the side and stood with blood all over his person. He looked like Winter itself. Like the days when Men would make sacrifices to the Weirwood. Aye, he was definitely an Old God.

—-

Tormund found his blood burning with purpose, the blood of the first men coursing through his body roaring in support of the imposing figure in front of him. His heart, his instincts all told him what he wished to do, what he needed to do.

—-

Val shifted her gaze to Mother Moles, finding her nodding solemnly before turning around silently. She was unable to hear what words she spoke to the little girl holding her hand, the child looking at the blood-soaked man with reverence as she seemed to nod at the elder's words.