AN: The other king makes his appearance.
Options and Opportunities
Interlude V
The Warg King
Hunt, kill, eat - survive. The rules of animals were simple compared to his own kind, the Warg King mused. Names, customs, ways...
His people were a curious bunch, so diverse, yet they all had one desire, as much as they wanted to hide it - to be able to call the North or the Wanted Lands home - even if home was such a strange word to use.
The Free Folk were raiders, yet they also wanted a home beyond the harshness of Beyond-The-Wall. It was confusing, contradicting...
It also explained why this red-haired girl was left behind during Mance's betrayal. Part of Tormund's bunch, a free folk raider murmured under his breath. It was loud enough for his hound, however.
"What have you brought me today, Rorril?" He asked, with a wide smile, that showed sharp teeth. "A present?"
"...Tormund's brat." The boy said, hesitating for a few moments. It merely made the Warg King's smile grow wider.
"Are you hesitating, Rorril?" Was his simple question, tinged with a tiny bit of malice that had built up from over the years. His father was dead a long time ago, his warging capabilities whilst strong, nothing against his own. His blows were long forgotten, but he still held all the malice inside of him.
It hadn't gone out, even after his father's death - after all, six animals weren't enough against his small army.
"No, no! I'm not." Rorril pleaded, his fear becoming even more after the rather simple question.
The warg wondered why, and then he recognized that his ravens were looking quite... Intensely at him. The girl also looked frightened, despite the fact that she was kissed-by-fire.
His smile became a frown, and his animals started growling, snarling or cawing. All his animals made his voice heard. The whole camp turned quiet. Their king was angry, they thought, which wasn't quite the truth but close enough.
"What is her name then?" It was a simple tactic - you only knew the name of another if you were interested in them, for whatever reason. It had flaws, his tactic, but this boy was far too simple to lie.
"...Ygritte."
Silence reigned, as his army of frightened Free Folk knew that he was deciding judgement...
He commanded his crow to take a tiny bit of skin near the throat.
"Please!" The boy pleaded once more, knowing instinctively that he could have been killed whenever the Warg King wanted to.
His hound smashed into the boy's chest, sending him to the ground, and his crow settled on his chest, his beak near Rorril's throat.
The boy started sobbing, and the Warg King heard something break the silence - footsteps on the snow, nearing his tent -
"What are you doing to my boy!?" The man screamed, as he rushed towards him, his axe raised, nearing closer and closer...
Chaos, pandemonium, as the Warg King blocked with his sword, and kicked the man's knee in. He collapsed to the ground, and the warg kicked his weapon out of his hand.
"Take him away!" He commanded, and two Free Folk were quick to come to carry him out. "Give him to the hounds! They will feast for tonight!"
Rorril looked stunned, and the girl merely became even more and more frightened as he turned towards them. His crow pecked, and the boy died.
"Why... why did you do that..." She asked, tears slowly coming out of her eyes, as she realized how powerful he was, and how easily he could kill her.
"Because, he wasn't being honest with me..." The Warg King then slowly knelt down, and whispered into her ear. She didn't even fight, as frightened as she was. "I hope you are far more honest with me-"
"Or, worse awaits you - for you are a girl, as young as you are."
His father hadn't been very successful with other women, which wasn't by choice. After all, he had been a child of rape.
He, on the other hand, was far more successful, but it was by fear he knew. They knew that he could give them to his hounds, or other animals, so they tried to please him as much as possible.
Depravity, it seemed, ran in the family - and it was the only thing, beside his warging, that he would ever accept from his father - after all, he didn't even own up to his name.
The Warg King, or the warg, or even his future title, the Terror of the North, suited him much better, he thought as he approached the Wall, slowly but surely. If his animals were right, he might even see it soon...
AN: Should be the last of the interludes for at least, a few chapters.
I am sorry for my absence - I have been doing a quest on Questionable Questing, called A Quest of Witchers and Monsters - which is far more time consuming then I thought it'd be. You can even check it out, if you want.
This chapter is incredibly short, but I hope that you enjoyed it anyway.
A short bit of insight in how he managed to gain all (well, nearly all) of the wildlings under his banner: The Warg King, at the start, presented an opportunity that Mance wasn't, and for a short while, he was merely King in name.
Then, they got uppity, and he killed quite a lot of them - before presenting them an ultimatum - they either submitted to his authority, or become his enemy.
Mance took the second option, along with Tormund, and Styr and a few other minor chiefs. The rest, ironically enough for wildlings, bent the knee.
Now, I ask of you a question - how fucked do you reckon the North is, if they don't get their asses in gear, and ask for Robert to come help them?