The roar of the crowd around the fight grew louder. The fur-covered warrior's arm curled back, telegraphing the massive swing about to come flying forwards.
Waiting until the man was fully committed, Padraig side stepped and ducked slightly. The punch came flying wide, the force sending the warrior forward. Wide open.
Gotcha.
Padraig stood, swinging his left arm down and catching his opponent's one under his armpit, snaking his hand around the warrior's shoulder to hold him. The man shifted and turned, even tried punching the arm restraining him, but he was locked in place.
Padraig grinned at the trapped warrior, giving him pause. "Bet you're feeling real fuckin' scarlet right about now." Now enjoying himself, he drove his fist into the man's side just below the ribs.
Once, twice, three times the vicious blows connected, forcing breaths out of the target and then the contents of his stomach.
Padraig grimaced, wanting away from the man. One final blow to the head and the warrior fell, sprawled out onto the mud below. Still breathing, but defeated. The fight was over.
Elated with the victory, Padraig raised his eyes to the crowd and his arms to heaven. The Free Folk standing around in a semi-circle at the gate of the compound went wild.
"You'll never beat the Irish! No matter what yeh do!" he half-sang and half-laughed, shaking his fists. Cheers came in response, the tune taken well even if the words were foreign. The would-be bookies went to work exchanging the winnings at once, with all sorts of things handed over, from coins to farm animals.
As his opponent was dragged away by clan brothers, Padraig went back to the Gilly girl to retrieve his armour and weapons. As she handed them back, he glanced up at Zheng in the watch tower. The corporal looked on, her mouth a thin line of either disapproval or worry, cradling the GPMG in her arms now that the danger seemed to have passed by.
"It's a good thing the lieutenant isn't here, Sergeant," Zheng radioed down as soon as she saw the headset back on his head, "I don't think he would've approved of that response to someone trying to steal a girl."
Padraig's smile widened. "You've got to turn problems into opportunities," he replied, "And who says Duquesne has to know the nitty-gritty of it? He'll have enough on his plate with the political bollocks."
Zheng's right eyebrow raised itself. "What are you going to tell him?"
"That I de-escalated an attempt by an unarmed man to steal a girl without resorting to deadly force. He'll like that."
"Uh huh, and what about that?"
Zheng pointed behind, and Padraig turned to find the men and women he had bet with, all clad in fur and looking sour as a lemon's arse. The wager had been certain items against certain sweet food items they had in stock, all of them, and some flares.
The losers now handed over the items, glancing briefly at the rifle hanging off of his front, before buggering off. A pile of dead rabbits, two large bolts of red silk, and a live billy goat appeared, as promised.
The last man was reluctant in the extreme, after his bragging about his clan brother's prowess, but handed over what he had as promised; a small obsidian dagger. More of a knife really, but in a place where demons were killing people and the only weapons were fire and obsidian, it was an incredibly valuable thing to hand over.
After turning the capture of the first man to try stealing a woman under his watch into public spectacle, Padraig was finding that most of the Free Folk were remarkably honourable about their promises. Though he was sure they'd compete with the best ambulance chasing lawyer on the details, if it wasn't for the threat of firearms keeping everyone honest.
And there were exceptions to the rule where honour was concerned, he was sure of it.
"What about it?" Padraig finally answered Zheng, turning the dagger over in his hands.
"Gambling, sergeant?"
"These mission critical items have been tactically acquired, corporal."
"So the details about them are unimportant, I assume?"
"We needed food, both for now and for later, and according to the lieutenant, we could use red cloth for making a larger flag. He simply won't give a flying fuck how I got them as long as it hasn't created trouble. Now shut up and get off the tower."
"Yes, sir."
"And don't call me fucking sir."
After the corporal began descending the tower's ladder, Padraig turned to go back to the hall, and found Gilly had still been standing there, listening to him. Shit. "Sorry, you didn't have to hear that."
Gilly shook her head. "I don't know your language, but I can tell you're close."
Padraig paused, unsure if he had consciously stopped the magical translation at all. Guess it reads even subconscious intent. Or maybe it learned how to do that once we realised what it was doing? His head hurt at thinking about magic like that, not to mention the false perception of closeness between him and the Corporal. He stopped himself with a rapid shake of the head.
"Come on then, let's get inside and warm up."
They both collected the winnings, and joining up with Zheng, walked to the hall. The corporal banged on the new wooden door, one of the defensive upgrades they had made.
"It's us, Ygritte," Zheng said loudly, "Let us in."
The door slid away, and the Free Folk girl appeared from behind it.
"So you won," she said flatly to Padraig.
"Of course he did," Zheng replied with a sigh, pushing past her, "He's a hand-to-hand combat instructor. Big guy didn't know what the hell hit him."
Ygritte's little pug nose scrunched up, not having heard the term 'hand-to-hand instructor' before. Padraig snorted as he followed the corporal inside. "Pretty sure he knew it was my fist."
The smell of burning turf and the sight of thirty odd women and children warming themselves by it hit his nose and eyes. Familiar by now to an extent that made him uncomfortable. The more familiar it got, the more used to the people and smells he got, the more he wanted to go home. You have your own family, he'd remind himself, Even if they hate your guts.
Ygritte stepped aside fully, so Gilly could get in without thinking she'd be offended, before sliding the door closed again. "You should've killed him," she said, "Don't kill men who try to steal one of us, then the others will want to try."
"I saw an opportunity and I took it," Padraig replied, throwing the rabbits down, "D'you not see the baby goat Gilly has got over there?"
Ygritte rolled her eyes. "Aye, showing your clan to be soft is worth a goat and some dead rabbits."
It was Zheng's turn to snort. "No one out there is thinking he was weak, Ygritte. He beat that guy like it was a drum at a concert."
The Free Folk girl seemed unconvinced. Or confused about what a concert was. Either way, her attitude annoyed Padraig. Despite the oath, Ygritte rattled the chain of command regularly, asking why this or that command ought to be obeyed. If only she'd learn to do that privately, he thought, Then this could work.
Even then, it was startling to him how quickly she and Ryk had become part of 'the unit'. They bitched, but they followed orders. Only problem was they had to be given orders to do or not do things that would've been common sense to someone from Canada.
In order to shut her up, Padraig reached into his pocket and retrieved the obsidian dagger. "Pretty sure we can find a use for this," he said, holding it up.
Before he could react, Ygritte snatched it out of his grasp. "Dragonglass!" she cried, holding it against the firelight, "That's a prize!"
"Little small though," Zheng remarked coyly, before Padraig shot a glare that caused her to shut up and straighten up. He felt better immediately.
"Only need a small cut to kill a wight," Ygritte replied as if the comment had been serious, "They drop, like they're just a body again. That's what's told."
"Now we can test that theory," Padraig said, stretching a little. He was aching already from the moving around without stretching enough. I'm getting too old for this shite.
"I'll show Ryk," Ygritte declared, walking off to climb up to the loft area at the back, Craster's former sleeping quarters but now where the night shift slept during the day. Ryk was the night shift. Padraig watched her go, before turning to Gilly.
"Sorry you had to be out there while it happened," he said, "But you were the one he tried to steal, so…"
The large man had walked, unarmed if you please, over the palisade. Zheng warned him, but before she could shoot, he grabbed the new Lady of the Hall. Warning shots were fired, which stopped the kidnapping dead and drew the attention of the rest of camp.
By the time Padraig came out of the hall, God only knew how many warriors had heard and gathered. His first instinct told him to use more bullets to resolve the situation, but that would've screwed the pooch on the politics. The fistfight was the alternative, a bet that the Free Folk valued their 'strength and honour'.
Turned out they loved a good show too.
Gilly smiled, which warmed Padraig as much as the fire. "It's alright. You won. And Zheng would've shot them if you hadn't. They all saw. I just hope that has made us a little safer."
"Worse things out there than that gobshite. Maybe you're right, maybe not."
Gilly accepted that and left to bring the goat to the pen inside the hall for the baby animals, leaving Zheng and Padraig to wander up to the 'throne'.
Zheng took her place on it, by right of conquest as the person who brought Craster to justice. The locals bitching if anyone else sat there was funny until you were forced to sit on the benches, which was a literal pain in the arse. Padraig nonetheless sat on the end of the nearest one, set his rifle down beside himself, and warmed his hands. They sat in companionable silence for a long while, doing nothing.
The women and children of the hall, ordered to stay inside for the rest of the day for security reasons, continued their domestic chores and talk about nothing in particular, which Padraig found almost hypnotic.
He barely noticed Ygritte as she returned to her place on watch in the corner loft overlooking both the crawler and the gate.
Padraig's mind began to wander. He stared into the flames, as the turf buckled and burned, daydreaming. Vividly. He thought that strange, yet didn't move his eyes or think about something else.
He saw dark corridors made of red stone. The strobes of rifle fire, the tracers from the machinegun. Men in chainmail and steel helmets holding swords and shields falling to the bullets. A spiral staircase. A great hall. Lions and fire-breathing stags, fighting by a throne of made of swords, all wearing crowns.
Is this from a film? he thought idly to himself, Why am I thinking about it now?
At last, Padraig found the wherewithal to snap out of it. He rubbed his eyes with a thumb and forefinger, regretting his lack of sleep and feeling more tired from the effort of boxin' the head off a guy than ever before. It's the shock of the situation, he told himself, It has never gone away. Just festered.
"Christ, I need some coffee," he said, before looking to Zheng, "Corporal, shift change is coming up soon. When it does, grab some instant and bring it in here. We'll have a cup each. Our secret."
Zheng perked right up. "Yes, Sergeant! Can I have sugar?"
Padraig knew he shouldn't allow it, because the sugar was very efficient calorie storage… but he felt like some himself. "Fine, fine. It's in a bag that's already open like one of the coffee tubes, LT won't miss a few spoonfuls." I hope.
"What's coffee?" came a voice from the side.
Padraig twisted on the spot to see the source. A scruffy boy was standing there, with black hair to his chin half over his eyes, dressed in skins and fur boots tied up with string, maybe six or seven years old, rocking back on forth on the ball of his feet. "Coffee is a hot drink…" he began to answer, before his mind finally clicked.
Wait a minute.
"You're a boy?" he asked, gesturing at the kid.
Zheng's eyes widened. She hadn't noticed immediately either.
The kid cocked his head, like it was a strange question. "'course I'm a boy," he said, "Can I have some coffee?"
No, you bleedin' can't, Padraig wanted to say.
"Craster didn't have any boys," Zheng stated, like saying it would make the fact reality again. The kid didn't answer that, just giving her a look like he was wondering why that was important.
Padraig took his rifle back into his hands. Suspicion was building. "How'd you get in here?" he asked gently, "Anyone else come with you?"
"Walked in," the kid answered, like that ought to be obvious, "With my ma, her sister, and my brother and sister, and my cousin."
That sounded strange. No one should've been able to do that, though Padraig knew he didn't pay enough attention inside the hall to have caught it. He looked to the corporal and made sure he was about to speak in English.
"Looks like we have guests," he said, in a tone that didn't suggest any threat of violence, "You take that side. I'll take this one."
Zheng nodded, taking her carbine in hand and standing up. Padraig looked to the kid again and switched back to translated speech. "Can you bring me to your mother? Maybe she wants coffee too?"
The kid agreed, not sensing any danger, and skipped off. Both Canadians followed, casually walking along both sides of the firepits. Zheng had to step through the animal pen briefly to keep up, but the kid got distracted by some of Craster's girls a few times, so it was easy going.
Two thirds of the way down the hall, he finally stopped by a woman. She was tall, looked like she was in her late thirties. Opposite, on Zheng's side, was another woman, smaller and younger, though still in her thirties. Both had jet black hair, though the elder woman had streaks of grey too, and both wore the same sort of animal skin clothing as the boy. They didn't seem related beyond the hair colour.
Padraig manoeuvred in behind, where he could grab the mother if she tried to do something ill-advisedly. Zheng did the same with the woman on the other side. The boy didn't draw his mother's attention, just standing behind and pointing at her, expecting an offer of coffee.
"Hello there," he said loudly, mustering a little menace in his tone to display his displeasure, "I don't believe we've met."
All of Craster's former wives and daughters stopped what they were doing to stare. The women in question flinched, the younger sister turned around to find escape, only finding Zheng standing there, weapon ready but not aimed just yet. The boy looked between them all, mouth agape as two little girls came running through to see what was going on. The sister and the cousin, Padraig presumed.
"I am Sergeant Padraig Jack O'Neill. This is Corporal Leanne Zheng. You are?"
They recovered quickly. "I'm Taryne," the older woman said calmly and clearly, while the younger settled back down, "This is Karla."
Real descriptive. Padraig scowled. "You're not Craster's lot, are you?"
"Spotted that, did you?" Taryne replied, without mirth, "We came over last night. Word got around what that one did to the old raper." She pointed at Zheng.
More fallout from that mess, Padraig thought, sending another glare at the corporal. This time, Zheng did not wilt under its power. She had absolutely no shame about killing the ugly fuck, and he couldn't blame her for it. "Ygritte was on watch last night," he said, fiddling with his radio for a second. He called for her to get down to the pit again, and got a positive reply.
"Why'd you come over?" Padraig asked, as Ygritte descended the ladder behind him.
Taryne made the same face her son had made when he thought something was obvious. The apple didn't fall far from the tree there. "You killed Craster," she replied, "There's only six of you, but every man out in that camp's afraid of you. You've a strong clan that can protect us."
Padraig sighed and sat down on the bench beside her. "Protect you from what? Your own people?"
Taryne leaned forwards and jabbed his chest with two fingers. "They are not my people."
Ygritte arrived, standing behind both Padraig and Taryne. "I let her in. She's a free woman, O'Neill. She wants to join a strong clan, one that'll get stronger, one that will get her south of the Wall. That's us."
Padraig felt anger rise up in him a little. I'm not getting home if I have to try and save every-fucking-one, he wanted to shout at her, but restrained himself. "I'm sorry, but I fail to see how that is my fucking problem?"
Ygritte's lip curled back, her own anger at her actions not being immediately accepted bubbling over. "It's not," she said, "She's with me and Ryk. Joining our clan."
Padraig blinked. "With you and Ryk?" he parroted back, "Are you plastered right now? Do you not remember swearing a sacred oath to obey my commands?"
Ygritte was having none of it. "Nothing in that oath said I have no clan," she said, "Or that no one else can join. I'm still a free woman, and so are they. They're free to follow us. And we're free to follow you."
Here we fuckin' go, Padraig thought with a groan, The libertarian bullshit has arrived. "Sure they're free, just like I'm free to tell them to take a hike," he said, "And I'm the guy with the gun, so I'm a whole lot more free than they are."
Ygritte scoffed. "You won't hurt 'em," she said, "You just refused to kill a man trying to steal Gilly."
There were grumbles of disapproval from the women around the firepits. No doubt they wanted a repeat performance of Craster's execution. Irritated at the interference, Padraig sent a glare around the room, trying to get them all to keep out of the matter, with variable results.
"We'll also swear oaths," said the younger Karla, "We'd even kneel, if it meant getting away from who we were with before."
Another grumble of disapproval, Ygritte joining in this time.
Seeing that he walked himself into both points, Padraig cursed under his breath, a long string of the foulest words he could think of. "If Lieutenant Duquesne fails with the talks, we'll be fighting again soon. We can't bring mothers and kids into battle. We can't bring them anywhere, six is the capacity of the front cab of the crawler."
Zheng cleared her throat to get his attention. "Sergeant, there may be a political argument for it," she said, in English, "You know, hearts and minds? We're very alone out here, building a strong auxiliary unit might work out to our benefit."
That sounded more reasonable. It forced Padraig to start to consider the idea. They'd already crossed the line in having Ryk and Ygritte on board, though it was a compromise. And he had to admit their food problems had been greatly helped by Gilly and her people.
But Ygritte wasn't done yet when he didn't respond at once. "Michael Duquesne'll agree with me," she said, "Especially when he hears who this one really is."
Taryne stood up rapidly, looming over the much smaller spearwife. "Not here."
To Padraig's shock, Ygritte actually shut up. His attention firmly grabbed, he had thought only God himself could've achieved that result. So there's something about this woman that's valuable enough to cause a miracle.
"Fine then, not here," he decided aloud, "Zheng, wake Ryk up and tell him he's on watch for a little while, then you join us in the crawler. We're going to have a little chat."
Taryne had refused to go outside without Karla, and fearing what would happen, none of Craster's former wives would mind the kids. So the brats played outside and on top of the crawler, despite being warned not to, pretending to drive or kill the thing. In the meantime, Padraig sat down with Zheng, Ygritte, Taryne and Karla inside.
"Now that we're somewhere else," he said to the latter two, "You mind telling me what is so secret that you couldn't say it in the hall?"
Taryne frowned, not sure she should say it at all.
Sensing he had gone too far with the pressure, Padraig held up his hands.
"Look, we're not going to tell anyone else. If you want to stay, what you say might be important."
"And if we don't speak?" Karla asked, "You'll throw us out?"
Considering that question, Padraig saw an obvious compromise that maintained their readiness to fight while giving shelter to the newcomers. "Not exactly. This place belongs to the women in that hall," he said, "You want to stay here after we leave, it's up to them. But if you insist on keeping schtum, I won't permit you to stay while we are here. And we certainly won't bring you with us."
Zheng glanced at him, a tell that she wanted to say something. Padraig denied her with a small gesture from the hand on his leg, he wanted to hear the response first.
Taryne leaned back in her seat, as much as the space would allow, before conceding. "We're from south of the Wall."
That was the truth. The way they spoke was different, like they had a little more learning than the Free Folk. He knew there was only one way they could've been there, and that it meant a horrific story was coming. didn't quite get the significance. "Why is that important? Do you have information we might find useful?"
"You'll see," Karla replied, "But you need to hear the whole story first."
"We were taken as children," Taryne continued, "Raiding party from up here took two dozen women and girls. We were the youngest two."
Without meaning to, Padraig's mind raced to a scenario where his own children had been taken like that. Knowing the story was coming hadn't helped. His mood instantly went from annoyance at the women to anger towards those that had 'stolen' them.
A change that must have shown on his face, because Taryne, Karla and even Ygritte all seemed to back off. He softened his expression before continuing.
"What age were you?" he asked.
"Nine," Taryne replied.
"Five," Karla added.
Rubbing his face, Padraig suppressed the horror of that. "Jesus Christ," he said, "What sort of man would…"
"We were taken by boys, not men," Taryne added, "The one that dragged me off couldn't have seen fourteen years yet."
Padraig could believe that. It was a familiar story; making people do horrendous things was easier if they were taught it early. "It's the done thing" is a hard argument to beat, that way. All the more so when it reinforces lads getting free access to women for sex and labour. I'm in fuckin' Afghanistan again, he thought to himself, That's where we are, and the Taliban are our fuckin' allies.
"Is that a common thing?" Zheng asked, taking advantage of Padraig's inability to say anything, "Are there many Free Folk women who are taken from the south?"
Taryne's brow arched up, like something about the question was wrong. "Enough have been taken every year that there may not be a single man or woman north of the Wall without blood from south of it. Except among the Thenns."
The picture was getting clearer, both on why this would be important for them sticking around and why the women would want to keep a conversation like this quiet. Didn't want to seem like they were bitching about being kidnapped among people who saw that as a signal of strength and virtue in their men. Though that still left Ygritte's supportive attitude as an unsolved mystery.
Padraig needed more details. "How many recently?" he asked.
"If you include the children of the taken? Hundreds," Karla answered, "And we're from the forest tribes of the west. There may be hundreds or thousands more in other places."
This was not good news. "So this is your offer?" Padraig asked, "Numbers to our cause?"
"It's not the only thing, but…" Taryne began.
"We are going to have to fight your countrymen," Padraig interrupted, "And you're telling me there are hundreds, possibly thousands of people in two minds about the whole thing?"
"The Others have returned," Taryne retorted, "And the Crows will not let most of us south just by asking, regardless of our shared blood."
"More likely tell us to fuck off, if they're feeling generous," Karla agreed, "If not, arrows and blades would be our answer if we showed up at Castle Black claiming we were women of Last Hearth, born south of the Wall."
"And they'd be right to be suspicious," Padraig countered, "You've lived most of your lives up here. They have no way of knowing you're telling the truth. Most of the Crows we captured look at all the Free folk like you're animals. I think I understand that better now that I've heard your story."
Taryne shifted her weight awkwardly. "So you understand. We have no true place. We are hated by those we were taken from, seen as the same as the trespassers. We were trapped… before you arrived."
"We're not saviours," Padraig replied, "We have limited resources and our objective is to get home. Getting south of the Wall or stopping the Others, they're just stops along the trail towards that goal."
"You are six… truly only four against the whole of Westeros," Karla said, "You are friendly with Mance now, aye, but you are not Free Folk. And the lords past the Wall will hate you for going south without their permission."
Padraig made a dismissive gesture. "That's what the wights are for, convincing them they have bigger fish to fry for now. Well, that and our absolutely murderous weaponry. The Crows found out. Those south of the Wall will too if they get in our way."
Ygritte gave a snorting giggle at that, clearly looking forward to the day she would see just such a scenario. Taryne and Karla didn't know how to respond to that, and their faces went crestfallen, like they knew they were losing the argument.
Padraig felt like the asshole now, even though all he was doing was securing the way home. "Look… what exactly do you want? Be straight."
Taryne looked up. "We want to join the clan of Ygritte and Ryk, to return south, to have your protection. From both Free Folk and kneeler."
Guess she has as much contempt for lords as the raiders, Padraig thought to himself.
"And you're alright with this, Ygritte?" he asked, "You don't think that's some sort of betrayal of Mance or anything?"
The spearwife smiled. "Free men and free women can follow who they choose. They don't want to follow men who stole them, that's their choice. They'll be useful against the kneelers too. They know something that'll stop some fighting, if we can get the lordy lords to talk."
Now we're getting to the juicy part. "What's that?"
"The daughter of Mors Umber was taken the same day I was, by the same raiding party," Taryne said, "I was one of her servants. Umber is Lord of Last Hearth. He rules the lands closest to the Wall."
At last, something tangible. "Is she still alive?" Padraig asked.
Taryne nodded. "Last I heard."
The Corporal cleared her throat pointedly. "Sergeant… she could be a vital bargaining chip," Zheng commented in English, "We need her."
"Would've been better to know before the LT bollocksed off to the Wall to talk to the Crows, but we'll make do," Padraig agreed, "Where is she?"
Taryne crossed her arms. "May we join the clan? May anyone?"
Padraig thought about it. It still didn't seem like his problem, even with the intel as a sweetener.
The pros and cons didn't help matters, they all seemed like gambles. The trouble it might bring from the Crows, from Mance and from the men who didn't want their taken-women and their children defecting to another clan. The benefit to logistics and security from having a force at their command, or the drag on food supplies and the threat of spies. The lord's daughter that might make the 'kneelers' stop to think for a moment. The problem of moving all the newcomers around without real transport.
In the end, it all felt above his paygrade to rule on alone.
"Not my decision to make," Padraig said, "Need to wait for Lieutenant Duquesne to return. And I'm not sure I'll be recommending he allow it either."
Ygritte scoffed angrily. "What else do you want? They've got a lordy-lord's daughter. Raiders say Umber's right angry about her being taken too. Put her in front of our army with knife to her throat, or trade her back for peace. Either way, the kneelers lose."
Not surprised the spearwife saw it as a transaction, Padraig sighed. "Yeah, and in return, I get hundreds of people I might not be able feed," he said, "And the responsibility of defending them from the Free Folk they left, Crows, kneelers, wights and the fuckin' ice demons wanderin' around. With only six people to do it."
The women took the bait, and offered up more details.
"We can feed and defend ourselves," Taryne insisted, "There are men of the Free Folk we trust and love, who aren't like the others. Our children have been brought up as warriors, hunters, herders…"
"Then why do you need us?" Padraig asked, "Form your own clan, leave us out of it."
"The men who stole us would fight against it," Karla replied, "But they respect or fear you. If we join the clan that's with you, most will do nothing. Joining the stronger clan is the way of the Free Folk."
"Plenty of warriors and spearwives want to join us already," Ygritte agreed, "Only reason I said no to 'em was I knew Michael Duquesne would say no. But these ones? Mothers and babes? He'll say yes."
Padraig frowned at her and how little she knew of the lieutenant. "Duquesne isn't as soft as you seem to think he is. He won't just accept this sob story and let any 'aul gombeen join the party."
"He'll try to respect our ways," Ygritte shrugged, "He took me under the stars. And Ryk is still here, he respects strength."
"Ryk is still here because we like Ryk," Zheng replied, "And the LT wants to fuck you, even if he won't admit it."
Ygritte raised her head with pride. She thinks that was a compliment.
"Duquesne doesn't respect your ways," Padraig added, "He's polite. He's 'old stock' Canadian, they value that pretence. But he has a breaking point and he's very close to it already. I wouldn't push it."
Ygritte couldn't counter that argument, but wasn't budging on the general point. She just looked back defiantly, her opinion set in stone. Time to take a pickaxe to it then.
"Something you should know," Padraig continued, "That battle with Rattleshirt's warband? One we captured you after? That was the first battle for all of us except myself. So, Duquesne's first battle."
"Why's that matter?" Ygritte asked.
"It affects people differently, but it's easy to see if you've seen it before. Sayer, he went quiet. Zheng here became an even bigger bitch than she was before."
"Fuck you very much, Sergeant," Zheng threw in under her breath.
"Insulting a superior? That's insubordination, corporal," Padraig shot back, before letting his tone indicate he was joking, "I'll let that slide on account of me starting it." Zheng bit her cheek, stopping a response.
Padraig turned back to Ygritte.
"Duquesne on the other hand… Fresh faced fuckin' liberal college type lieutenant. He should've been shitting himself, and should've obsessed over it afterwards. But he didn't. He calmly ordered and participated in the killing. Kept in control when dead people and shot down a demon when it showed up to kill him too. Yeah, they were all trying to kill him, but that doesn't matter. First time is always the hardest."
The spearwife was unimpressed. "So? You saying you would've cried like a babe, O'Neill?" Ygritte asked, "Maybe he's tougher than you."
Laughter bubbled out of Padraig at the weak emasculation attempt. Not a chance. "Maybe so, but I doubt it. Maybe he was as scared as anyone else, and just hid it very well. Or maybe he's touched in the head. Or that wasn't the first time he'd killed someone. And where we're from, people aren't usually killers."
Ygritte said nothing to that, eyes turning up in thought. Padraig wondered if she believed that killing was unusual back in Canada, given how neatly they had all cut down her former warband. While she figured it out, he looked to Taryne.
"Either way, Duquesne isn't going to measure your idea with emotion. He'll measure it against our values and the benefit to us. Values-wise, you have a good argument. He's not without compassion. Umber's daughter is a good person to know about too. But he's not just going to take your word that you have warriors and that you can feed yourselves. Even if you're right, he'll have to weigh that against political consequences."
"Then we'll prove it," Karla said, "We'll gather those who are like us and come here. Announce our intention to join your clan. The hall isn't yours, you can't stop us."
She's not giving up, Padraig saw, I should put this to bed before the LT gets back. "You'll do no such thing, because I can stop you. Gilly and Zheng have an agreement. As long as we're here, we say who comes in. Security, you see. You only got around it because Ygritte here went beyond her authority, which she and I will be talking about very soon."
Ygritte's reddened cheeks paled at that, which was a feat in itself. Yeah, you should be fuckin' worried about it, Padraig thought, Your ears will ring when I'm through, you wagon.
Karla and Taryne glanced at each other, before the latter responded.
"We won't give up. We'll gather those who would join you and stay by the stream. The whole camp will know what we're doing. Maybe then we get your protection without you needing to do anything. Maybe not."
Padraig's jaw set. They weren't planning to just bluff the camp that he had given his permission. They were betting he wouldn't stand by and watch them get attacked. He wasn't sure that was a bad bet either. Besides not being happy with watching people get hurt, the mere suggestion that he had signed off on defections would cause trouble with the clans the defectors had left.
"That's dangerous," Padraig warned, "You could start a war. Dragging us into it wouldn't guarantee none of you get hurt."
"I could," Taryne said, "But I think if the men outside think believe you're protecting us, they won't do anything."
"You'd be outside the walls. They won't believe it."
"I don't believe you'll let us be killed. It would make you look weak. And even if your lieutenant doesn't flinch at killings, I think you do. Else you would've killed the man earlier today."
Shit, she has you there, Padraig thought, cursing under his breath. "You're wrong."
Taryne sensed his hesitancy. "I don't think I am. We'll wait for your Duquesne. If you don't want a fight to the death, you better start acting like you do."