Author's Notes - Welcome back, everybody! I hope everyone's holidays were wonderful! Thank you all for your kind words and continued support of this project. It is my goal to finish TDR this year (though it may not all be posted before the end of 2023). We're getting there and I couldn't have done it without you!

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Chapter Text

Chapter 126

Jaime XLIV

He shot awake and startled Robb next to him. Jaime looked at him with wild eyes and grabbed him by the collar of his vest. "What happened?" he asked.

"Easy there, er, Jaime," Robb said, his voice a soothing blue. He reached up to gently pry Jaime's fingers off and pulled back. "The battle ended. The wildlings swooped in at the end to give you the space you needed. You killed the white walker."

Jaime breathed a sigh of relief and let him go. His dreams had been fitful and he'd maintained a sense of urgency, of danger even as he lay unconscious. For so long he had flailed in the dark, unable to find his way out. There was no Brienne with a lighted sword this time, only darkness. Though he had finally fought himself awake, his senses were still trying to catch up with him. Everything was muted and beyond grabbing Robb, he felt slow and numb.

Robb crawled out of the tent and shouted, "He's awake!"

It was only then, looking around, that Jaime noticed his breastplate and leather jerkin had been removed, leaving him in his undershirt. He was quick to find the attire and Brightroar sitting against the tent wall and he reached for both.

Addam peered into the tent. "Oh good! I feared you'd be out for days."

"How long has it been?" Jaime asked sharply.

"It's the midday after the battle." He frowned as Jaime reached for the leather jerkin and started pulling things on. "There's no rush. We've spent the morning gathering the bodies and burning them. About a dozen men total fell to the Others. All of their dragonsteel daggers were reclaimed and given to other soldiers."

Jaime paid him no mind and continued steadfastly putting on his armor, muttering curses under his breath as he inartfully fumbled with the straps for his breastplate. When he'd had a fit in King's Landing, there was little else to do but sit at his desk after a seizure and, while it took some effort to get his mind working, he managed. Now, his head still felt woozy and there was the ghost of a headache lurking close enough that he could feel its threatening presence. Another consequence was a certain clumsiness brought on by still being frazzled from the seizure.

"What did you tell the wildlings?"

"About our mission?" Addam asked.

"About me, this!" Jaime waved his hand vaguely at the tent.

"Nothing. They seem to think the white walker cast a spell on you," Addam replied.

Jaime stared and said, "I suppose it could be worse."

"That Tormund's a boisterous fellow. He's been crowing that you went weak at the knees at seeing his large red beard."

Jaime rolled his eyes but inwardly groaned. Of course, Tormund would be in the outlying patrol who saved us. It seemed that Tormund didn't believe the spell excuse. Perhaps he would if Jaime could duel him into submission. He smirked at the thought, but in the next instant, he'd hardened his expression to one of stone. Wildlings responded to strength and power. Would it be enough for him to defeat them in single combat? Would they have preferred the king himself beat them into submission? It was certainly far too late for that. They would have to make do.

Jaime didn't have much experience with the wildlings as a culture because their numbers had been quite depleted by the time he'd reached Winterfell. Aemon was confident though, and he certainly trusted his king. It would have to work.

He threw back the tent flap and stepped out, wincing at the glare of the snow.

"Ah, there you are!" Tormund nearly shouted into his ear and gave him a hearty clap on the back. His voice was a powerful and gleeful green "Thought you died of fright."

"Most don't vomit before dying," Jaime scowled at him. His memory was fuzzy—as it always was with a seizure—but he distinctly remembered Tormund's voice tickling his memory and vomiting at his feet before everything had gone black. It was only when Addam had mentioned Tormund's name that Jaime remembered the wild grin and the bright red beard. "How did you find us last night?"

"We weren't camped all that far apart," Tormund said with a savage grin. "We heard the shouts and screams of dying men, grabbed our gear, and rushed over. I must admit, I thought you were a southron gone crazy rushin' a white walker, but then it exploded into dust and I realized you had the weapons you needed to make them as dead as that soggy cunt, Crastor."

Jaime scowled. The little he knew of Crastor and his keep made his skin crawl. He greatly pitied the poor women who'd been forced to make a living with him. When they'd found the abandoned keep, Jaime wondered if that fate was kinder than remaining under the thumb of that lech. He would rather die for a certainty.

"I'm Jaime Lannister, master of war to King Aemon Targaryen, first of his name, rightful ruler of the Seven Kingdoms, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men. He has sent me to negotiate the passage of wildings across the Wall," Jaime said.

Tormund blinked at him and then burst into raucous laughter. "You southron shits and your long-winded names. We got your message from ole' Benjen Stark. Now that you're up on your feet, we'll get movin'. Wouldn't want your lily asses to freeze to death."

Jaime ignored the comments. Tormund had always been one to needle and cajole. At least Brienne wasn't here for him to moon over, which Jaime thanked the Old and the New gods for. He felt a pang of loneliness at the thought of her thousands of miles away, heading into the warm southern waters. If all went well, he'd be on the same path in a matter of weeks.

"Where are Mance and the other wildings?"

"Free folk! We are the free folk," Tormund barked back, pulling himself up.

"The free folk then," Jaime snapped.

"They're two to three days north of here, possibly a little further. We don't stay in the same place for long to avoid the Others."

"Well, then, show us the way!" Jaime ordered. He blew a sharp whistle to get everyone's attention. "Pack up! We're moving out."

Addam looked skeptical, but he knew better than to question Jaime in front of the wildlings. He relayed the orders down the line, and soon, soldiers were scrambling to take down their tents, kick out their fires, and saddle up or march out depending on their station. Stannis looked disgruntled to be moving so quickly without being consulted, but he did as he was told.

Robb put his fingers in his mouth to do a sharp, shrill whistle that alerted the direwolves to their movement.

Once they were on their way, Jaime asked Robb, "Have you seen the wolves then?"

"Yes, they came through last night after the fighting. Ghost visited your tent," Robb said and smirked with amusement. "If I didn't know better, I'd say he was concerned about you."

"I suppose it's good you know better then," Jaime replied, though he watched Robb's face carefully for a moment before returning his attention to the march forward.

Tormund took the lead in the party, shouting, "We'll get you to the camp. You might even get there in one piece!" The other wildings took up positions on the outer edges of the party like an escort. Jaime eyed them dubiously. There had been no end of trouble for Aemon with the wildlings until they were nearly all dead. They were quick to pick fights and gut each other over something as small as the single leg bone of a rabbit. Tormund was oddly one of the better behaved wildlings. Though he was crude and savage at times, he was civilized by comparison.

On the second day of the march, Tormund regaled anyone within listening distance about how he earned the name of Giantsbane. Jaime had heard this tale countless times before and rolled his eyes. However, he noticed with growing amusement as Addam's expressions changed from curiosity, to disgust, to growing horror, and ultimately to distaste.

Jaime whispered to him then, "Do you even believe a word that he says?"

"The man is mad enough I would believe it," Addam mumbled.

"Don't give him that satisfaction," Jaime retorted.

Much to Jaime's irritation, it took several more days to find the rest of the wildlings. Mance was keen to move frequently and across dozens of miles at a time. Halfway through the second day of traveling with Tormund and his group, it began to snow and in under an hour they were scrambling to set up tents before they got buried. The snowstorm didn't let up for two days. Apart from setting a watch, Jaime allowed the men to hunker down in their tents. He himself was never so restless as when he was stuck in a snowstorm. Even in the time before, he'd done little more than pace as there was not much else to do. He ended up sharing a tent with Addam simply so he wouldn't claw the walls in boredom.

Once the storm had let up, it had taken an hour to dig out. The cold was relentless and he'd soon had a line of soldiers showing him blackened fingers and toes. They hadn't brought a maester, so Jaime made the determination to mount up and push forward until they found the wildlings. Though he didn't have much respect for wildlings' knowledge, they would know how to treat frostbite and amputate if necessary.

During the ride, Jaime did find himself wishing fervently that the healer was at his beck and call. He would have to keep David in mind for future sojourns. As a healer familiar with the viciousness of war, he was going to be immediately at hand when the fight for the Long Night began in earnest. Since the Lannister coffers were funding David's outfit, he was going to uproot him from King's Landing and place him in Lannisport. Up to the day Jaime left for the North, they had spent a number of intermittent conversations discussing it. The plan was for his protege, Julian Grey, to take over as healer in King's Landing.

On the fourth day, just after noon, Jaime thought he caught wisps of color zipping to and fro across his vision like flies. At the same time, Tormund bellowed in a raucous green ribbon that they had finally found the campsite, "I found the cunts from the southron king!"

Hundreds of wildlings looked up and dropped what they were doing, then a huge number of them swarmed. Jaime did his best to temper his expression but he was still fresh from a seizure, and his irritation at the attention grew quickly. The swirls from a cacophony of sounds and colors quickly overwhelmed him and he found himself pinching his eyes shut and narrowing his focus on Tormund. Some of the wildlings reached out to touch his horse, running their fingers over his leg and saddle. He slapped them away and snarled, "Enough of that!" They drew back with gasps, some of them looking sullen.

In his experience, it benefited to establish boundaries with wildlings quickly or they wouldn't offer any respect. He was mostly concerned about making sure none of his belongings were unceremoniously looted while he wasn't paying attention.

"Ay, Tormund, who is this?" A man wearing a skull for a helmet and bony decorations across his fur approached.

Tormund shoved him unceremoniously aside. "I don't answer to you! I ain't answering to no one but Mance."

"Found yourself a southron touched by gold, didja?" A young woman with her own mess of red hair grinned at Tormund.

Jaime's lip curled at being talked about like a curiosity, but he was there to speak to Mance. Little else mattered. They were led to another clearing on the outskirts. Jaime gave the orders to set up camp and keep a tight perimeter. He set Addam to keep a close eye on everyone and everything, and then he grabbed Robb, Benjen, and Stannis and followed Tormund to another tent. It was a great tent that was all white from the pelts of snow bears and topped with the rack of a giant elk.

At the entrance stood a burly figure draped in furs, carrying a stick with a rotting dog's head on the end of it. Jaime couldn't figure out if their face was fixed with a permanent scowl or if it was their presence, but their lips twisted as Tormund approached. It was only when she spoke that Jaime realized the figure was a woman, "Where do you think you're going, Tormund?"

"I have the southrons that we've been waiting for. They're here to see Mance."

She gave a condescending shake of her head. "You can't just go in whenever ye please."

"What are you? A glorified doorman?" Jaime sneered and walked straight past her, ducking into the tent. Tormund laughed, but Jaime's focus was now on the occupants of the tent. There were two women. One was busy tending to a fire where a brace of hares was cooking. The other was sharpening her knife. Both of them gave incurious glances in his direction. The last occupant of the tent was a man, strumming a lute and singing a song. His hair was shot with gray and fell to his shoulder in waves. He was of a similar build to Jaime, but his shoulders were broader and he was cloaked in his Night's Watch cloak with flashes of red silk sewn into it. He did not stutter or halt at Jaime's abrupt entrance but continued until the last strum of his lute faded away.

When the man did finally look his way, he cocked his head and stared at him. "Well, well, 'tis Jaime Lannister if I'm not mistaken." His voice was the deep blue of a still pond.

"You've heard of me," Jaime replied.

"Hasn't everyone south of the Wall heard of the vaunted Kingslayer?" the man replied, his voice a calm deep blue.

Jaime felt a flash of anger at the moniker, but he worked to contain it. The negotiations had only just begun and the last thing Mance needed to know was how to needle him.

"You're rather unmistakable yourself. How does it feel to go from momentary bard at Winterfell to King-Beyond-the-Wall?" Jaime asked, smirking.

Mance actually started in surprise. Robb and Benjen both peered at Jaime and Mance.

"You were at Winterfell?" Robb asked. "When?"

"When King Robert Baratheon rode North to offer your lord father the position of Hand," Jaime said.

"You recognize him from that? I was there and can't place such a face."

"I was kingsguard. I'm supposed to know the faces inside and outside where the king sleeps and feasts," Jaime replied. He, of course, had never met Mance and wouldn't have been able to recognize him from any other peasant, but in their conversations leading up to his departure, Aemon had imparted all that he knew of Mance, including his whereabouts at Winterfell. Mance being there was of little consequence but it shifted the knowledge balance.

"You must have a memory for faces, Lannister. I think I recall you wore your helmet," Mance said, his voice still blue but his eyes were calculating.

When Jaime had no answer for him, his eyes strayed to the other occupants in the room. "Young Robb Stark, I must say, I'm surprised to see you here. Is your father well?"

Robb became solemn. "Lord Bolton killed my father barely two months past."

Mance's face darkened. "I've long heard of the feuding between Bolton and Stark. I hadn't realized it had reached such a fevered pitch. My condolences."

Robb nodded back at him.

"Benjen, it's good to see you again. How are things at the Wall?" Mance asked.

Jaime turned to give Benjen a meaningful look.

Benjen shifted under his gaze and he said, "It goes well. The Watch has never been more supported by a king."

Jaime relaxed. So the Starks do know something of subtlety, he mused.

"And you are?"

A muscle worked in Stannis' jaw. "I am Lord Stannis Baratheon. The … king has sent me for a special undertaking here."

Mance's eyes widened fractionally in understanding and he nodded. "Brother to the former king then? Here to pay your penance?"

To Stannis' credit, he merely looked as disgruntled as he ever did.

"I am Mance, as I'm sure you've guessed. The young woman cooking is my queen, Dalla, and that is her sister, Val."

"My lady," Jaime said with a curt nod. He was not about to give her royal acknowledgment. Should the negotiations go well, she wouldn't be queen at all.

"It's a bit late in the day for negotiations, but it would be our honor if you would join us for the evening meal," Mance said, gesturing to a pile of furs close at hand.

Jaime took the invitation and seated himself right near Mance. Robb sat next to him, then Benjen, and Stannis sat near the entrance looking ready to leave. "Thank you for sharing your meal with us," Jaime said, though no real gratitude was visible on his face. "Will your people bother us in our tents?"

"No, they won't raid your tents, but be mindful of your belongings when you're out and about. Sticky fingers tend to wander," Mance said.

"You don't punish them?" Stannis growled, his voice orange with frustration. Jaime had a feeling there would be a multitude of fingerless wildlings wandering around once they officially fell under his purview.

"It's a way of life. It would not behoove me or them to limit their ability to survive here beyond the Wall. The other Thenns are aware of those who steal and are appropriately wary of each other," Mance said, his voice continuing to remain an even and calm blue.

"Make it known that we have two direwolves in our company. One is large and white with red eyes and the other is gray," Jaime said.

"They respond to the names Ghost and Grey Wind," Robb interjected in a jittery, pale yellow.

"I remember them from my time in Winterfell. The king's wolf is awfully far from his master."

"It's a direwolf, not a hound dog. They can manage," Jaime replied.

"Still seems passing strange that the direwolf would be so far from the king. Does he prefer the dragon half of his blood?" Mance asked.

"Awfully presumptive of you," Jaime said, a mild bite to his reply. "A direwolf is more comfortable in the cold. The king felt King's Landing was a trifle stifling for an animal of his nature."

Mance's eyes lingered on Jaime's but only Jaime could see the purple hint of a lie in his own voice. The King-Beyond-the-Wall finally nodded and let the topic drop.

"One of my scouts informed me that you were attacked by the Others in the night," Mance said. This drew the attention of the two ladies in the tent, who paused what they were doing.

"Yes, we were, but we managed," Jaime said coolly.

"Not if Tormund and his party hadn't found us when he did," Robb interjected, his voice orange with frustration.

"It was quite a large force. It would've eventually overwhelmed us had Tormund and the others not broken the line," Benjen said, his expression the picture of worry.

"Our king mentioned a Night King," Stannis growled, "leader of this undead force. He wouldn't happen to know of our purpose here, would he?"

Mance frowned. "We've heard of him but never seen him. We've only seen his white walkers commanding the wights under their control. They don't bother with prisoners when every corpse is a foot soldier. I can't even be sure they collect information at all."

Oh, they do, Jaime thought with some irritation as he thought back to the previous Long Night campaign. The Night King knew something about tactics. While much of his strategy depended on merely overwhelming forces with an innumerable amount of dead bodies, at one point, he had split his considerable force and walked across the frozen sea to get past Moat Cailin, so that the Twins were already empty and ravaged by the time their forces had fallen back.

Mance's queen, Dalla, served the hare meat on a crude wooden platter. Mance gestured to them and Jaime reached over for a leg bone. For the first time since he arrived, he felt his stomach twist uncomfortably from hunger. In order to make the distance, their rations had been scant with little in the way of cooked meat. It was only after everyone else had grabbed their portion that he ate until he was pulling the last bits of stringy meat off the bone. Jaime had paid little attention to those around him, but Robb and Stannis seemed almost offended at the lack of utensils.

Once dinner was finished, Mance watched them with a calculating look in his eyes. Jaime stared right back.

"Whatever happens in the negotiations, I hope you're aware that it will take more than a handshake to get the free folk to agree to its terms," Mance said.

Robb frowned. "Aren't you the King-Beyond-the-Wall? You could ord—"

"It's nothing more than a word. The free folk follow me because they think I will do right by them. That doesn't mean they're dogs who will do as they are bid. They will quarrel amongst themselves, test the boundaries, resist."

"But if it's in their best interests …."

"It's not that simple," Jaime cut off. "They don't know what we'll do to them. They may think they have a better chance striking out on their own."

"With the Others out there?" Robb whispered with wide eyes, shaking his head.

"They don't call themselves the free folk for nothing," Jaime replied.

"It seems you do have an idea then," Mance said with a sage nod. "You will have to prove you're worth following."

"How do we do that?" Robb asked.

"We fight 'em," Jaime said, with a growing smirk.

Mance's eyes fractionally widened upon seeing his expression, but then he said, "Ah, I should've known that's why you're here. Your King Aemon does seem to have an understanding of how the free folk work. You'll certainly find the fight you're looking for."

"All I want to know is, how fair can I expect it to be?"

"I'm sure you're familiar with the usual dirty tricks. There will be more of that. But it shouldn't be more than one opponent at a time; they want to test your mettle after all," Mance offered.

"If more than one person joins, I can't promise I won't kill them," Jaime growled.

"They know the risks."

I suppose I don't have to worry about generational revenge, Jaime mused. Their hierarchy was by might more than by blood. It wouldn't be like Oberyn's Sand Snakes after his gamble with death.

"Thank you for the meal. I think it's past time that we see to our camp."

Jaime was careful to leave the tent with his head held high, but his eyes looked around at the various faces. He saw suspicion more than curiosity and awe. A flickering of greed as well. He'd be sleeping with Brightroar under his blankets while he was amongst them.