DALLA
The gathering of the Free Folk had grown even larger than it had been at the Fist of the First Men. Yet more were on the way from the Fist, the Thenns taking up the rearguard by right and Mance's command. If they ever make it.
Dalla watched over the camp from the hill. It was a task she had felt drawn to since first seeing it. She had left Val to command the pitching of the tents at the lee of hill's summit above her, rather than arranging the joined-tribes of she and Mance herself as she usually did. The camp below needed more attention and thought.
Her gaze scanned the other hills and the small valleys between them, the tribes of the Free Folk clearly identifiable.
The giants, always the first to grab anyone's attention with their height and their great mammoths, keeping to the place where the forest was thickest nearby. Dalla had never seen so many before Mance stole her.
The crowkillers of the lands to either side of the Gorge, familiar to her since her earliest days as the chief enemy of her own tribe.
The forest tribes with their large herds of aurochs and sheep, the wealthiest and most important tribe for keeping the Free Folk fed.
The Nightrunners and Hornfoots of the far north, the former in thick furs and the latter with bare, blackened feet; all that remained of tribes from that region save for the Thenns themselves.
The cave-dwellers, squinting in the light and ill-prepared for their exile, digging downwards into the half-frozen ground to get out of the wind.
The unicorn-riders from the central plateau, with their great hairy mounts corralled at a wide open place, ever watchful against the envious gazes sent their way by others, for their beasts were beautiful and coveted.
The western tribes; the clans of the Frozen Shore, their sleds doubling as tents and surrounded by huge shaggy dogs, and the Ice River clans, the most vicious of all the Free Folk and cannibalistic. Under any other circumstance, Dalla would have urged alliance with the Frozen Shore and death to the Ice River, but there was no time for such wars.
So many people, all potentially dangerous to the plan she and Mance had devised.
Yet Dalla found her eyes drifting constantly to the strangest and newest tribe of them all. A group that had set many hearts ablaze with either anger or hope. The tribe that was not truly Free Folk, even more than the Thenns were not. The only tribe with flags.
The Canadians' own banner, a weirwood leaf against a white square between two red bars, flew atop the hall that formerly belonged to Craster. Alongside it, at the other end of the roof, was the flag of the new tribe that now followed them; a white-and-red weirwood tree against a black background. Its leaves, eyes and mouth were blood red… and the face was one of laughter, not the sorrow or anger that was usual. Why they chose such a thing, Dalla could not tell, nor if it was a good or bad thing to use a holy symbol.
All around the hall, now called 'See-Eff-Bee Gilly's Hall', the camp was … unlike anything Dalla had ever seen. Tents and animal pens in perfect rows, new rough buildings sometimes joining them. The space between them was wide enough for a cart in three directions, and the outskirts of this ordered area were guarded by men and spearwives.
Watch platform had sprung up atop trees left uncut for that purpose, the tallest that had stood there before. In a clearing by the gate of the hall's own palisade, men and spearwives stood in neat lines and received some strange instruction from a man in clothes the same colour as the southern forest in highest summer.
It all made Dalla worry. She recognised what was going on; the tribe was being taught a new way of war, one closer to that of the kneelers. A way Mance said made one man count for many.
Combined with the weapons of the Canadians, they would become very difficult to fight if they became an enemy. Which was a problem; the new tribe had not sworn to Mance, even if the people who were now a part of it had come from others that had. They had sworn to Canada, wherever that was. Rumours of it had swirled through the camp. Soon, the entire army would know.
Dalla physically stopped herself staring, and turned quickly around, intending off at a quick pace back to Val and the tents. Instead, she almost ran into someone. Her vision filled with red for a moment, before the grey of the sky and the deep green of the forest reasserted itself. They backed off a step just before contact, flinching.
The person was wearing a coat of finely woven cloth in a bright red, a hood of the same colour over his head. Below the waist, the clothes turned various greens and ended in high black boots. His weapon hung in front of him from straps of an unknown black material; a strange tube sticking out of a grey-red wood, with a Myrish spyglass attached to its top.
His dark hair and look would've marked him as one of the far-western clansmen of the Frozen Shore, but Dalla knew better. A Canadian, she though, The young one.
The man smiled at her awkwardly, a hooded warrior and a spearwife kissed-by-fire joining him. "Sorry," he said, "Was just coming to ask you something."
Dalla looked him over, before giving a disarming smile to show she was not offended. She didn't know what the custom was among the Canadians where women were concerned, though Giantsbane insisted the woman among them was the wife of the one called O'Neill. "I was not watching where I was going," she said, "It is my fault."
The red-haired spearwife muttered something behind, before the warrior with her smacked her on the shoulder with the outside of his gloved hair. Did she insult me or point out who I was? Dalla thought. She hadn't heard what was said.
"Ah, yeah," the young Canadian said, rubbing the back of his neck under his hood, "I should introduce myself. Private Louis Sayer, Canadian Rangers."
His awkwardness seemed to be that of inexperienced youth. Which was strange. Giantsbane had said the youngest Canadian was just as deadly as the others, and had cut down dozens of the Weeper's clansmen in mere minutes.
He's a Ranger but not a Crow? Is he sincere or an excellent liar? "Dalla, of Snows End," she replied reluctantly, not sure if she should talk or make excuses to leave.
Louis' jaw dropped open. "You're the queen!" he said, "Should've guessed."
That man and his mouth! Dalla thought."Mance is my love. I sit on his council. He sometimes listen to me. It does not make me a queen, though he is fond of saying so. Flattery for his wife."
The Canadian made a sort of gesture with his hand towards the hall. "By our standards you'd be queen," he said, "I think... Canada's Queen had a husband who wasn't a King though? Anyway, the Ell-Tee… Duquesne I mean, sent me up here to see if the King is here yet. He saw the antlers." The young man pointed at the huge set atop the central pole of her own tent, as the furs were wrapped on the frame around it.
We need our own banner, Dalla noted to herself. "Mance will join us around sunset," she said, "If you have a message for him, you can give it to me. I'm like as not to see him before you do."
"It's not for you to hear," the spearwife growled.
"Ygritte," Louis complained, "You're being rude. To the Queen."
Wasn't that the name of the woman the Canadian leader stole? Dalla regarded the red-haired spearwife again as she crossed her arms, glancing between she and Louis, before a small suggestive smile broke out. "Aye, 'suppose I am being rude."
Louis shook his head. "You can tell Mance that the Crows declared war on us. Offered both us and the Free Folk the option to kneel. Except for us, they demanded we make the decision on the spot or it would be war. Canada already has a Queen, like I said… so Duquesne chose war."
Dalla's brow raised and her eyes widened. Mance didn't expect even an offer to kneel. He expected the Crows to refuse all. And the Canadians chose war? "I shall pass that along."
"One more thing," Louis added, a strange seriousness in his tone all of a sudden, "Lieutenant Duquesne requests a meeting with the King, as well as you and your sister Val. No other chieftains."
A strange bolt of fear went through Dalla, wondering what they could possibly want such a meeting for. What could they say that they don't want the tribes to hear? her mind whispered, Do they want Val in return for alliance, like kneelers? Over my dead body.
Louis smiled again, friendly once more. Before she could ask what the meeting was about, he spoke. "Thanks for speaking to me, we will see you later!" With that, he moved off a dozen paces and began talking to himself… an act so bizarre that Dalla was rendered speechless, until she remembered that these Canadians could apparently talk to each other over distances.
Once he was done, the one called Ygritte began teasing him over something, and the young man turned as red as his hood. "Of course I was," he said, just loud enough to be heard, "She's very pretty!"
So, not a good liar. Turning away to rejoin Val, Dalla felt laughter bubble out of her. That she had thought ill of his intentions now felt silly. She was still laughing when she reached her sister, who looked on as if she is mad.
"What's so amusing?" Val asked asked.
"Sincerity is the best flattery," Dalla smiled, not helping her sister's confusion one bit.
The tent warmed up quickly, the wood from the forest burned faster and more smoky than the peat of the Fist had. But burning pinewood had a nice smell, and Dalla preferred it. The space was empty except for Val and Mance, which was unusual for the evening. Dalla had insisted on that, so no guards or chiefs could cause trouble, but she was glad for another reason.
The three of them were almost never alone now. It was what Dalla did not like about being 'Queen'. The last time it had been just the three of them, it had been a few days after their first meeting Mance. He had just come back from Winterfell to see the southern king and sheltered in her home, half a year earlier. They had talked about all that needed to happen, around a fire burning pinewood.
Mance had come for a reason other than to steal her, but that happened nonetheless. He was surprisingly quick, though her tribe had not put up much of a fight either. They knew Mance and his cause. She fought him with an axe, despite liking him, but lost. He had wisely chosen a time Val was not present in the village. Smart and strong. A good king for a doomed people.
He had taken news of the Crows' declaration of war against the Canadians with no outward emotion, but Dalla saw through it. He moved more quickly for no reason, he drank more deeply, he spoke more often. Only more that those close would notice, but she had watched him closely since the first time they met. Our King is excited. Excited and nervous.
"What do these Canadians want to talk to us about?" Val complained, poking at one of the braziers with a stick, "Are they going to try and convince us to kneel as the Crows ask? Was it not enough that they cause every clan from near the kneelers' lands to lose their minds?"
Dalla winced. "That the women taken from the South may not like who steals them was something the clans should have considered. You and I know that better than anyone, sister, though we are not among them."
Val did not reply, except by throwing the bronze rod she had been using on the fire down. She did not like to be reminded of their origins. Dalla never ceased to do so.
"It may become a problem," Mance agreed, "Raiders don't like their prize-wives running away from them. Rarely like them being stolen either, though tradition protects that if they're young enough. They'll do nothing. The story about the Weeper and Rattleshirt has spread. They all know what happened to raiders who went up against those weapons."
Hundreds dead was what happened, if the Giantsbane's word was good, and it usually was despite his exaggerations. And it had only been two of the Canadians present at the battle he saw. Including the young man who thought I was pretty, Dalla noted, Honest, but a killer. She promised to never let herself forget that.
Mance had known the two chiefs would join up and attempt to attack the Canadians, eventually. The Weeper had been the one to pick Rattleshirt off the ground after the meeting on top of the Fist, where he had been dumped on a snowdrift. They had both left the Fist with their warbands, claiming to be hunting Crows when they were really abandoning the common effort.
But it had been a surprise when Tormund had sent word that the pair had gotten south to the gate at Castle Black with most of their warriors without word getting back, and so swiftly. A last feat for which they all died.
Dalla did not weep for either of them. Oathbreakers and fools. Only Mance had the influence to bring numbers enough to defeat the newcomers. And that should have been obvious after the Canadians had repelled the dead at the Fist. Wights and Walkers had not been seen again in real numbers since.
Are the Others afraid? she wondered, Or is it strategy? One thing at a time.
"We must stop it being a matter of blades," Dalla pronounced, "The Canadians aren't blind to the threat. They might decide that sitting meekly by is more costly than attacking those clans that threaten them. And that would cause every clan to consider what monsters or gods-men camp among us, Val."
"I have given some thought to the matter myself, my Queen," Mance smiled, "We shall not be able to get the Canadians to swear an oath to serve. But they have already provided the answer. An alliance of equals may be possible, if we can agree a strategy."
"Even that will not be liked among the chiefs," Val said, "The Thenns even less so. Or worse, it could invite questions about why they should follow you instead of the Duquesne."
Dalla folded her arms. "They would not follow a leader from anywhere but the True North," she said, "Not unless the Canadians do something far greater than even Kings among us have done."
Mance nodded. "Even then, Duquesne's people think badly of our ways, and it is easily noticed. The way they look at us… it is not the superiority of kneelers you see in their eyes, no, but it is pity. Like they want to help us but cannot, as we are too different."
"Or maybe we just think you wouldn't listen," sounded a voice.
Accompanied by a short creep of cold wind, Duquesne entered the tent through the half open flap. He was soon followed by the large one celebrated for his fists, the strange woman with black eyes and hair from Yi Ti, and the young man from before. They carried their firearms without menace, and wore white-and-grey coats and trousers over the same green ones that the youngest wore before. All faces were subdued, and eyes searching for any sign of trouble.
Concerned, Dalla summoned the names from her memory and smiled as best she could.
"Welcome, Duquesne, Zheng, O'Neill and Sayer."
"Your Majesty," the O'Neill replied, with good humour, "Good to be out of the cold."
"Especially as we have a lot to talk about," Duquesne agreed, moving to the middle of the space and sitting down opposite Mance. Some of the guests took off the top layers of their clothing down to the waist, revealing dull green shirts of a very fine cloth. Dalla shifted her position to one beside Mance, and nudged Val to do the same.
"So it seems," Mance said, as the rest of the Canadians sat down, "Tormund has told me of what happened. With your refusal to kneel to the southrons, I think it obvious that we are now allies."
Duquesne looked back blankly. "Not quite," he said, "We're at war with the Crows, as are you. But you were right about one thing before. We are very different people to the Free Folk. More than I thought at first."
Given who had joined the tribe now allied to his group, Dalla knew exactly what Duquesne meant. "You have spoken to your new clanswomen," she said, "They told you of the raids."
"They're not our clanswomen," O'Neill stated, "They're women of an allied azantyr."
Valyrian, Dalla thought, Why do they use Valyrian words sometimes? She had never heard the language before the Canadians arrived, but Mance knew a few words, even a song he had never sung until after their first meeting. Still more mysteries.
"They told me of the raids," Duquesne replied in confirmation, "It's one thing for your people to steal each other's women. That in itself is not good from our perspective, and we're not afraid to tell you so. But to go steal the women of another society and culture, that's just asking for trouble. It's a major obstacle to any move south of the Wall, because it leaves you with a reputation for savagery."
Sometimes they use their own language, Dalla noted. "A reputation not so big that we cannot talk about it," she stated with certainty, "Else you would not be sitting here."
Duquesne scratched his chin, before deciding something. "I'll be absolutely honest with you," he said, "If I had known about the scale of raiding before going to to talk to the Crows, I might have instead offered to ally to the Seven Kingdoms and abandon you. To us, it looks like slavery."
"It would be," Val agreed, "If women did not possess blades."
The Zheng's lips curled back in an approving, vicious smile, revealing unnaturally white teeth. Both the expression and the canines reminded Dalla of a picture of a dragon's head.
"It is worse south of the Wall," Mance said, "Here, the stronger man, the faster man, the more cunning man gets the woman. In the South, women are sold like livestock. Either by their fathers for land or just to rid themselves of a mouth to feed, or sold a night at a time by men of wealth. Women cannot kill the men they are taken by without being proclaimed murderesses. They are robbed of choice."
"We know," the Zheng replied coldly, "Though when killing or fleeing is the only way to express your choice when a man takes you, that is often no choice at all."
"Our women accept it," Mance countered, directing his speaking towards Duquesne, "And you know this. I'm sure Ygritte has spoken the reasons why she wants to stay with you. You have not rejected her either."
The Canadian leader was not impressed. "For reasons that are our own," Duquesne said, "And not all your women accept your way, or else the numbers joining the Laughing Tree wouldn't be so large. But it's irrelevant. The southerners think you're savages who steal their daughters and wives. They'll fight you to the death, without a plan to stop them."
We have a plan for the southrons, Dalla thought but did not say, It's the reason Mance came to Snows End, to my family, once he learned that war had begun between the kneelers.
"First thing is first, Duquesne," Mance said, "We need a way to get south of the Wall."
"I'm pretty sure you already have a plan," Duquesne replied, "Because if I was a Free Folk chieftain and you asked me to join your army, my first question would be 'how do you plan to get south of the Wall?' So you must have an answer, because I can't be the only one who thought of that one."
Dalla recalled the question had been asked, even since she had been stolen. Not many times. At least Giantsbane keeps asking.
"But I can imagine the plans already," Duquesne continued, "You'll put people over or around the Wall, like the raiders do. And then you'll attack the Night's Watch from the rear, where they have little or no serious defences. You'll do so in numbers, and with some of the best troops you have. Thenns, Giantsbane's troops…"
Dalla was impressed. The Canadians must have questioned their new allies closely, about the Wall, about the south lands and the Crows.
Mance leaned back onto his palms, and sighed. "As thinking men and women, it must appear obvious to you. Going under the Wall takes too long. Going over it with everything is impossible. Taking one of the castles of the Night's Watch is the only thing that will let us bring every man, woman and child, along with every giant, every mammoth and every useful animal."
Duquesne shook his head and held up a finger. "Correction, it was the only thing. You may have an alternative. We can provide it, depending on how well you know the Wall."
Dalla and Mance glanced at each other, amused. They had heard of every crazy method of raiders and Kings of the past who tried to get by the Wall. Some had even succeeded, only to be crushed south of the Wall.
"Tell him," Dalla said, wanting to know what the Canadians had thought of after only a few weeks after seeing the Wall.
Mance answered. "I froze my arse off at the top of it. Sweated into my clothes walking below it and shovelling rock or ice to rebuild it. Walked its entire length. I know all three of the castles still used and some that were abandoned years ago, and every gate. I know the Wall, Lord Duquesne."
The Canadians exchanged glances, like Mance calling Duquesne a lord confirmed something for them
"Call me what you like," Duquesne said, "I've heard the Night's Watch seal the gates of their abandoned castles by packing stones into the tunnels and pouring water over it. Our Crow prisoners brag that by the time we dig through that, their brothers would be on top of us… But we think that way of sealing the tunnels leaves them vulnerable to … tools we have. Especially if the tunnel has stone arches or goes through rock rather than solid ice. We can dig through that sort of thing very quickly."
Dalla could not believe her ears. The Canadians meant to exit the Wall at a sealed tunnel. Unblocking one had been tried before, but it was always too slow, the Crows always found out and stopped it. If anyone else had suggested it, they would have been laughed out of the tent. It was lucky the chieftains were not present, they would have done so out of hand.
But she believed Duquesne, they must have had something that could do what he said. She took Mance's nearest hand in hers. He knew what it meant.
"That… changes things, if true," Mance said, "I do have the knowledge you require. But you say you are not allies despite our common enemy. So why should I not take your tools for myself? Such things would be worth the cost in blood to take them."
"Because you'll never figure out how to use them," Zheng said, her tone as cold as the wind outside, "Because we're useful for a whole lot more than just getting through the Wall."
The woman leaned forward towards Mance, her dark eyes wide open with what appeared to be anger. "Because if try to steal from us, we'll do our very best to annihilate you."
The O'Neill quickly put his hand on the woman's shoulder, which caused her to straighten up again and look away. Wife obeys husband, Dalla thought, Or trusts his judgment, at least.
"You'll have to forgive her," Duquesne said quickly, "Since hearing more about your wedding… practices, Corporal Zheng's opinion of your people has dropped."
"To zero," Zheng agreed, "I will repeat myself. Anyone who tries to steal me, I'll kill their whole fucking clan." She held up her firearm and stood it on the ground from its end, showing how she would carry out her threat.
Zero? What is Zero? Dalla wondered. The woman's threats were blood-curdling enough without invocations to some dark god. It was only when Zheng's own people acted that she was able to relax again.
"Enough of that," the O'Neill growled, "Come on." He pulled on Zheng's sleeve gently, and she relented. They put on their coats again and left the tent, no one talking until they had done so. Dalla could tell Zheng was truly upset, and hoped comfort in her husband's arms would give her some peace… if only because being her enemy seemed strangely terrifying. The woman's look was too alien.
"She has a tongue as sharp as dragonglass," Mance said, "Though we are not unfond of that here."
This seemed to offend Duquesne. "Her outburst is not excusable, but it is understandable. She has been through a lot. She believes that there is no chance of getting home, that she'll never be safe to live how she wants again, and that you're lying about the Isle of Faces."
"We are not lying about the Isle," Dalla said, defensively, "It is well known among us, and we showed you the drawing in the book."
"A legend that none of you have seen," Duquesne said, "Normally, I wouldn't believe it either, but legends have a habit of walking around and killing people here. I have a duty to my country to report everything I had seen here. Not to mention I want to go home too. I have to ignore my doubts about the Isle."
"The only path to know the truth is the one that takes you south to the Isle," Mance said, "Let us speak of that. You claim to have a way through the Wall, but you need information from us. You cannot fight the Stark banners without us. We must be allies. You want to set terms, speak them and we will see if it is possible."
The Canadian pulled at his chin, hair growing up out of the skin that had been bald when last Dalla saw it. "My first request would be no stealing or killing, but to be honest, I don't think even you could convince your people to obey, or enforce it against those who wouldn't."
"Well, it is good to know you are not a fool," Mance began.
"I will impose it as a condition nonetheless," Duquesne said, "So it's known that those that disobey will face my warband. I'm sure it'll be ignored, but it gives me permission to chastise those who do."
"What else?" Dalla asked.
The Canadian paused, considering his words for a moment. "Until the people in the Gift hear that we're all coming south, we limit who gets through the Wall. I want to give the locals time to flee. So all able bodied men stay north of the Wall or on top of it, defending the crossing points from the wights. Women, children and livestock go south."
Dalla exhaled, not believing the Canadians could be so unwise. "Who shall defend them? The southrons, despite their words against us, are not above taking women or animals either. And who shall defend the ways through the Wall from the the lords of the south? This 'Laughing Tree' tribe?"
Duquesne reached for a bottle of metal from his side, drinking from it before answering. Delaying. "I don't think the southerners will harm women and children, except perhaps to make them kneel. Certainly, most will not be killed. So any of them we get south is a victory over the Others. As for who defends them, we can use the Thenns, Giantsbane, Dogshead and whoever else you trust. And spearwives. All of them, regardless of clan or tribe."
Dalla's eyes widened. There were many spearwives among the Free Folk.
"Another condition that will not be heeded," Mance said, "Once the Wall is seized, every clan will want to pass through it." From his tone, Dalla knew he didn't believe his words. He was testing the Canadian. Always testing. The price of the kingship, he told her, was checking every man or woman who came to him.
Duquesne clicked his tongue. "Oh, I think this will be quite enforceable. Anyone who disobeys would be a coward unwilling to protect their own women, and should be treated as such. There will be only four ways through the Wall and we'll fortify the gates on both sides, so we control access."
"The men will not be pleased," Val said.
The O'Neill shrugged. "I'm sure some will try and climb the damn thing, or take boats around it, but we have more people than the Crows do. We can patrol the Wall and the shoreline in greater numbers, from top and bottom. We'll need to do that to watch for wights and the Others anyway. Who's to say dead men can't climb or swim?"
"Aye, true enough," Mance said, "We must put the giants and their mammoths south as well, this I insist upon. The lords of Westeros do not fear women in battle, nor do we have the steel to teach them the folly of that. Stiffen the spearwives with giants, and neither Free Folk nor kneeler will think it a simple matter to sweep them aside."
Duquesne scratched his chin again. "Agreed," he said, "But we'll need more precautions than that. No Free Folk south of the Gift. Our war is with the Night's Watch, and the Gift doesn't belong to the lords south of it. I'm told it is largely empty anyway, and easily enough to support your numbers once you get your hunters and your herds into it."
"Agreed," Mance repeated, "We appear to have an accord."
The Canadian shook his head. "Not quite," he said, "One more thing must be done. We need to talk to the lords of the Seven Kingdoms. We can't defend the Wall without better weapons, supplies… We can use wights as proof of the true threat, but we need something to make them talk to us at all."
"Attacking the Wall is unlikely to put them in a talking mood, yes," Mance said, "I can tell you already have a notion of what to use. So full of ideas, you are."
Louis Sayer smirked. "We've got to be," the young man said, "We're in a fantasy tale."
Neither Dalla herself nor Mance nor Val fully understood what he meant by that, but Duquesne pressed on. "We've been informed that the daughter of a prominent Stark vassal was kidnapped some years ago and still lives."
Dalla's hand threw itself to her mouth before she could stop it. They know.
"I take it from that response, you know who we're talking about, your Majesty," Duquesne said to her, "Rowan Umber of Last Hearth. Your mother?"
Val sighed loudly. "You found Taryne," she said, "You must have."
Duquesne nodded. "She did say she knew you. A lady who gets her way often, I think. She's the leading clan mother among the Laughing Tree now, unless you want to count Zheng or Ygritte." Louis Sayer snorted his amusement at the last part, for reasons Dalla could well understand.
"She is no lady," Val replied, "She's a meddlesome witch, who sticks her nose where it does not belong."
"Every woman is a lady where I come from," Duquesne shrugged, exasperating Val into silence.
"Not every woman," Louis muttered loudly, before receiving a glare from his chief that made him chuckle nervously.
"It's still polite to call them ladies," Duquesne clarified, "Regardless, Rowan is our way in. The Umbers are the closest noble family to the Wall. If we hold a daughter of that family out in return for a parley, we've got a chance. We take the Wall, then we make an immediate move to negotiate with them. Maybe use those ravens the old maester is supposed to have to send messages, if we can take the man alive."
Dalla turned to Mance. Their agreement, the understanding they had come to when he had come to her village was about to be tested. She didn't doubt he would follow it… but she was not so stupid as to believe he could not lie either.
"Speak to my Queen and her sister," Mance said, following his word, "Where matters of Rowan Umber are concerned, I hold no sway. I made a promise I intend to keep." Both remaining Canadians seemed surprised at that, but it didn't matter.
Filled with the warmth that her trust in him was rewarded, Dalla kissed Mance on the cheek, getting a brush of the palm from his fingers in return. A warning to be careful. I'll reward him later, she promised herself, But Mother would not want him to hear this.
"Come, Val," she said, "Let us speak to our guests outside. I feel this is a conversation best had elsewhere."
The guardfires blazed in every direction, the fear of wights ever present in every part of the camp below. Darkness had not truly fallen, even though the sky was hidden behind clouds. Wind blew softly but constantly from the north, bringing cold but no snows… yet.
The Canadians had reunited outside, with Louis Sayer and Zheng returning to the See-Eff-Bee hall, leaving the O'Neill and Duquesne behind.
Dalla brought them back to the place she could see most of the camp, away from the tents of the chieftains allied most closely with Mance. Val joined them at a run just in time. "You want our mother," she said.
Duquesne's lips shifted for a moment, and the O'Neill's eyes laughed, the only part of his face visible under the strange hood that covered everything else.
"Not quite how I'd put it, but yes," Duquesne said.
"Then you need to know about her first," Dalla said, "And us."
Duquesne looked to the O'Neill, who shrugged. "We'll take your word on that."
He wants this over with. Good. "First, we are not nobles," Dalla said, "Our father was no kneeler and not of noble blood."
"Though he was a better man than any kneeler," Val asserted.
"The kneeler lords won't recognise us as nobles," Dalla continued, "We have no proof that our mother married our father, and nobility follows fathers not mothers. We're bastards, at best. What they call smallfolk at worst."
"I think 'wildling' is probably what they think of you at worst," the O'Neill replied, "But we get your point. If we show up with you two, the lords aren't going to care."
"We're … aware of the problem those in the south have with bastards," Duquesne added, "Taryne filled in a lot of the details."
Dalla nodded. At least that woman is good for something other than pestering us. "What you need to understand is our mother doesn't consider herself a noble either," she said, "Not any more."
Duquesne's brow rose in surprise. "May I ask why?"
"She was abandoned," Val said, poisonous as the wrong mushroom, "By our grandfather."
"Mors Umber is a powerful noble," Dalla said, "Castellan of Last Hearth, brother to the lord. He has men sworn to him, he knows how to move in winter for he lives close to the Wall, he knows the Free Folk way of war. Yet he did not force his brother to march to retrieve our mother."
"We asked Mance to find out if tried at all," Val added bitterly, "He did not go to the other lords for assistance. He did not go to the Starks to 'raise the banners'. He and his brother sent a message to the Night's Watch that they would be rewarded if she was found. They sent out rangers, but found nothing. They stopped searching after just one moon's turn."
"So she abandoned her heritage?" the O'Neill asked, "Seems a bit extreme? This is not an easy land to find anyone in, I'd bet. Hell, we lost the White Walkers in this forest."
"It did not happen immediately," Dalla replied, "She only truly renounced her old life when Val was born. She has told us both that it was a long path to embracing the Free Folk ways, but she is glad for it. Here, no clan or village is so weak as to be off their guard against men stealing daughters. No woman expected to meekly be stolen."
"It helps that our father was among the best of us," Val said, "He took our mother from the man who had taken her, from the village where she had been held captive. The raiders didn't stand a chance. Very few were ever stolen from our village while he lived, save those he approved of."
Duquesne frowned. "Stockholm Syndrome?" he asked the O'Neill in their own strange language.
The larger man gave a nod and a longer reply in the same language, before returning to the Common tongue. "Your mother stayed with your father? Wouldn't she want to go home?"
"By the time our father took her, our mother had been away almost two years," Dalla said, "Winter had come. Our father knew the clan that had taken her raided others nearby during winter to survive, leaving their victims to starve. So his and two others banded together to attack first. She stabbed two of the clansmen herself using the fight as a distraction… Even if she wished to go home, it would be impossible through the blizzards."
"She never talks about those two years," Val said, "Only that our father's clan were kind and welcomed her at once, and our father did not touch her until she had fully recovered."
A dark look flashed over Duquesne's eyes for the briefest second, sending a stomach-turning bolt of fear through Dalla, but the Canadian restrained it quickly. "So she became Free Folk…" he said, "I'm not sure how that's a problem for us. Your grandfather will still recognise her, right?"
Dalla smiled. She could imagine swords drawn and harsh words flying already. "Our mother is… difficult," she said, "Especially on the subject of the lords under the Starks. If our grandfather is present when you go to speak with the southerners, she will be useful. To any other lord, even younger Umbers, she will provide nothing but harsh words and hard questions."
"As will I," Val sniffed, gathering her furs closer to her. Dalla's heart twitched, knowing Val had taken more of what their mother had said to heart than she herself did… but she knew Val did not believe as their mother did either.
"Words that could destroy the chances of peace?" Duquesne asked.
"It could happen," Dalla conceded, "But you misunderstand me. You have gathered as many of the women taken in raids from the south and their children as you can…"
"Taryne did that," the O'Neill interrupted, "We merely provided assistance to civilians in need."
"It matters not," Dalla continued, "The kneeler lords care nothing for the 'smallfolk' you have assembled, according to my mother. They care little more for the return of a noblewoman now beyond their childbearing years. You must get my mother and her alone to her father, or a battle is inevitable. If you want to force a peace, you must find our grandfather. And you must do it quickly."
The O'Neill blew out a breath, smoke from under his mask blowing away in the breeze. "Jaysus Cry-sst," he said.
Another invocation to a god? Dalla wondered Do they have names for every god?
"Is that your condition?" Duquesne asked, "We go straight to Last Hearth?"
There is another path, Dalla's mind told her.
"Or Winterfell, once Castle Black has fallen," she replied, "My mother spoke well of them, on occasion. The Starks may give a care for the smallfolk, which would be to your advantage. But know this; there is trouble in the south. The Starks are assembling an army to march. Winterfell may be full of warriors, too many for you to handle."
Duquesne looked back at her tent, before levelling a stare at Dalla. "Was that Mance's plan?" he asked, "Get everyone south of the Wall, and then try to talk to the lord of Last Hearth? Or even the Starks?"
Dalla considered lying, as not even the other chieftains knew the answer, but saw no good in it. The Canadians trusting her, trusting Mance, would determine success or death.
"Aye, it was our plan," she said, "A great leap in the dark. Now, less of one, as you are not of the Free Folk, and so are more trustworthy to the southerners."
"And it is less an insult to the clan-chiefs," Val added, "Though not by much."
"I'm sure," Duquesne said flatly, "Two chieftains tried to kill me for talking to the Crows and another abandoned me at the first real opportunity. I can only imagine what they'd do to a King Beyond the Wall who negotiated."
"It was only one plan," Val objected, "We are not greenseers, able to see the past or future. We must be ready to take one of many possible paths."
"Why do I get the feeling some of the chiefs would not understand?" Duquesne replied.
"They wouldn't," Dalla said, "But fighting is where their minds go to first, the short road. 'Kill the kneeler and we'll be free to move south.' But sometimes the short road is not the safest."
"You can say that again," the O'Neill said, "If the lords of the Seven Kingdoms have weapons and armour like the Crows, fighting is going to be an absolute bitch with the ones you lot have. Not sure I like you using us as your pawns to get around that problem though."
"Pawns?" Dalla asked.
Duquesne gave a dismissive wave. "He means he doesn't like you using us to do your talking to the kneelers. Which I am inclined to agree with. We are not Free Folk, we cannot stand for you. But that's easily solved, you can send someone with us when we go."
He's right, Dalla thought, staring at the ground, It is easily solved. Mance can't go himself. I can't go either. We can't send a chieftain, but we need someone close. Someone who can control our mother, who will be firm and loyal to our way… She looked to Val.
"What?" her sister asked. Dalla tilted her head, as if to say 'you know what'.
The Canadians laughed. "I think you just got volunteered," Duquesne said to Val.
Sorry, sister.