The north moves, and news spreads…
Val
More people arrived every day. The camp was already eight thousand strong and growing, so large that was spilling out of the village, flooding into the forest in a sea of huddling bodies and shifting furs against the cold.
Above her, the wind caused the weirwood leaves to ripple, casting flickering shade over the centre of the camp. The small village of Whitetree, with only three shacks and a handful of goat pens, had become their camp. It had started when survivors flocked to the heart tree to find shelter with the Old Gods, running south from the Milkwater, and then more survivors flocked towards the others.
Now, the camp was already flooding far, far beyond the limits of the small village. Many refugees from the Frostfangs scattered in small group, and eventually word spread across the forest that there was aid and protection to be found at Whitetree, all underneath the looming, haunting gaze of the face carved into the heart tree.
Any protection the camp offered was flimsy at best. They had too many people to easily maintain the perimeter, too many mouths to feed, too few to keep order. Sometimes, it seemed to Val that the face of the heart tree was sneering at them.
They hadn't had any attacks - only really scuffles between clans - but they would be easy prey when the attacks did come. Nobody was sure whether it would be the dead or the crows attacking them first. That uncertainty made a lot of people scared, and the anticipation could send men crazed.
We've got too many women, children, sick and elderly, Val thought with a flash of anger. Not enough fighting men or spearwives left.
Sometimes it seemed like the camp was trying to tear itself apart. For a lot of people, any hope they had of ever going south was destroyed at the Frostfangs, along with Mance's host.
The battle at the Frostfangs. It had been less a battle, and more an exercise in panic and chaos. The memory still sent a shiver down her spine. Even now, three months later and it felt like she was still trying to pick up the pieces.
Now, her sister was eight months pregnant, missing her husband, and starving and freezing in the woods.
Val thought about Dalla a lot. Dalla was the reason Val was still going. Val had to be strong for her little sister.
It was what kept her going through situations like this. The air was thick with the sound of cursing, and Val knew that one wrong move could see her killed. Another day, another petty squabble.
"You fucking bitch!" A man roared, gripping his maul as if to charge at her. "That meat is mine!"
"The meat belongs to the camp, not just to your fat ass," Val growled. "Everyone gets a share. We feed them all."
"I brought that elk down," the wildling snarled, motioning to the large buck elk lying dead in the snow. He was a broad rugged man from the northern river clans. Val never even knew his name. "Me. You telling me that I can't eat my own quarry?"
"Go out and kill another one then," she snapped. Men around them readied weapons. "I've got starving bodies that need to eat. We share the meat."
"Fuck them all," he said. "I look after me and my own, not some weak, fucking little—"
Val's dagger slipped out of her furs. A sharp bronze dirk that fit easily in her hand. "My camp. My rules."
"Fuck your rules and fuck you. I came to go to war with Mance, not to get bossed around by his little lay." His face twisted into a sneer. "I think I'll just take my meat and leave. I'll take my men, as well. In fact, I'll take you too - and then I'll see if you're still so bossy with my cock—"
Val snapped. The man hoisted his axe - a brutal weapon with a sharpened stone head that was almost a maul. It was so big Val doubted she would even been able to lift it. It was also totally useless.
By the time the man even raised his axe, Val's dirk was already embedded deep into his chest. The sharpened bronze blade cut straight through his furs. The blood oozed, steaming gently in the cold.
The fool. Only a fool brings a maul to a knife fight, she thought with a vicious grunt. She could have stabbed him twice by the time he managed to swing a weapon that size.
She kicked the man to the ground. He was still gargling weakly on the snowy ground. All around her, she saw furred men clutching weapons. His clansmen. They looked angry.
One of them was about to charge with a spear, but then an iron blade was at his throat. "I'd think twice about that," Garth warned in a low voice.
Val saw spearwives and fighters slip out of the treeline, surrounding the clansman without a word. Val had more allies to support her than the hunter did. Still, she thought furiously, examples must be made.
The hunter gurgled helplessly as Val twisted him over onto his back, and cut the hemline of his hide trousers. With a smooth motion, before anyone could object, she was pulling his pants down with one hand and hacking downwards with her dirk with the other.
The man spluttered something, spitting blood, that might have been some kind of plea, just as Val's blade cut into soft flesh. She grit her teeth at the side of his shrivelled hairy member, and then her dirk hacked in short, sharp motions. Blood splattered.
Within seconds, she was ripping his bloody member upwards. Just like skinning an elk, she thought, before clutching the man's beard, dragging his jaw open, and thrusting the severed organ down his throat.
He was probably dead by that point, but Val hoped he lingered just long enough to taste his own bloody cock in his mouth.
Her hands were bloody as she turned, marching towards the man that Garth held a sword point. "You One-Eyed Wulf?" Val demanded. "You're that man's chieftain?"
The chieftain stared in shock, and then his eye narrowed. "… That man was Marv," One-Eyed Wulf spat. "My cousin."
"I don't give a shit." Val grunted. "You keep your bloody men under control. Otherwise, next time it'll be you eating cock."
The blood on her hands stung. The thought of blood splattering flashed before her eyes. "And get that elk skinned and cut!" Val shouted at the clansmen. They all stared with anger, but she didn't care. She turned to look at the crowd gathered around the firepit.
"We share the food!" Val shouted at everyone watching. "We share the weapons, and we share the work! Only together can we survive!" Her eyes flashed, her blond hair blowing around her hood. "Anyone else have a problem with that?"
There were a lot of angry stares, but no outright challenges. One-Eyed Wulf backed down and glared at the snow. His clan would simmer and stew, but they wouldn't go against her. Still, Val knew it was only a matter of time. That hunter was the fifth she had had to kill in the last seven days. It would only get worse as it got colder.
Mance had been the one who held the host together, and Mance was gone. Now, even the warbands, the raiders and clans that survived were breaking apart and going their own ways. That left Val primarily with the non-fighters; the ones that were all relying on her for support because she was the only one who still offered it. The weak, the sickly and the old.
And the pregnant, Val thought with a scared flash towards her sister.
"You shouldn't have done that," Garth muttered to her quietly, as they walked away.
"That man had it coming," Val growled.
"And you shoved his own dick into his mouth."
"It shut him up, didn't it?"
"And One-Eyed Wulf has a dozen angry clansmen under him," Garth warned.
She didn't reply. Val knew she had lost her temper, but she was irritated enough that she didn't care. Four spearwives flanked her, meeting her glance. The women's eyes were all hard.
The free folk were all fighters. She had more women than men in her camp, they all could be trusted to hold a spear and fight with the best of them. Still, she was also lacking experienced warbands, clans and leaders, and Val couldn't afford to lose any more of them.
Every time somebody argued about the sharing policy, or the need to look after the non-fighters, or even just objected to taking orders from a woman, then it could fracture the whole camp. Val couldn't afford to let it stand.
All men are the same, Val thought with an angry glare. No man liked taking orders from a woman, especially not the dumb ones.
There was a figure waiting for her towards the camp, a squat woman that looked even thicker under the furs. She held a spear with the dry, rotting decapitating skull of hound on it like a totem.
"Harma," Garth said with a curt nod. "I'll need to borrow a few of your raiders. Watch Wulf's men a bit more closely."
She just nodded. Harma Dogshead was an ugly woman, no question about it. She had a squashed face, a thick jaw, and beady eyes like one of her dogs, but with a toughness that could only come from a lifetime of fighting. She was a heavyset woman, renowned as one of the fiercest raiders around - Val had always respected that much.
And Harma was also one of the very few raiders that stuck with Val after the battle. Val owed Harma more than she could possibly give for that. Even now, it still made Val breathe a breath of relief to see Harma by her side.
"We've got two hundred Marakks coming down through the pass," Harma reported. "Heading towards us."
Val swore. "Marakks." Garth frowned. "Are those them buggers that eat human flesh?"
Harma nodded. Everyone hated the Marakks - one of the ice river clans from the north of the Frozen Shore. Even Mance had been hesitant recruit the ice river clans to bring them into his army. They barely spoke even the Old Tongue. The Marakks had their own language, unique to that corner of the north. They were violent, savage with strange customs, and it was even said that they ate human flesh.
"Are they hostile?" Val asked.
"No, they're starving," Harma replied.
Starving for what? Val wondered. Val hesitated briefly. "Then bring them in. They get to join the camp, same as everyone."
"You sure?"
No. "Yes." Val nodded. "We bring in everyone in. Old grudges don't matter. We all stand together here, just like we did with Mance."
"Alright," Harma said. She was a woman of few words. They walked together through the mush of snow. Harma walked with a limp, one leg staggering so badly she walked lopsided, but it never seemed to slow her down. It was said that a hound had attacked Harma when she was a girl - chewing on her leg and dragging her away. Ever since then, Harma had murdered, skinned and beheaded every dog she'd encountered.
'Just like we did with Mance', Val thought with a mental grimace. It unnerved her how many times she had to use that phrase. Well, look at me - taking over Mance's place . Somewhere, the bastard was probably laughing.
Val would never forget on that moment in the mountains when Mance had walked away. The free folk had been scattered and exhausted when the crows the ambushed them, cutting them down from horseback and arrows. What little remained of Mance's host had been cornered by the Night's Watch, and Mance surrendered himself to the crows, on the condition that they would let the rest of his people walk freely. Dalla had screamed and begged Mance not to go, while Mance had only smiled softly and kissed her before slipping out of her grip. Mance hummed the 'The Dornishman's Wife' as he walked out of their ranks and towards the crows.
The crows walked away with an easy victory, Mance went with them to give the survivors a chance, and Dalla had wailed herself to sleep every night for weeks.
For such a large camp, the air seemed strangely hushed as they walked through it. "Food supplies are fading," Garth said, shaking his head. "I've got people foraging the forest clean, but it won't last. Too many people. We're going to starve soon."
Starve more, you mean. "I know," Val said with a grimace. "We'll have to move out soon."
"There are too many people to move quickly. We're over eight thousand now." Mance had stored food, livestock and supplies for months to prepare for his great host, but it still had barely been enough. And then they had had to abandon most of their food stores in the mountains.
"I know," Val paused, calling to Harma. "What about Craster? How much food does he have?"
The name caused Harma to scowl. Craster had always been a blight even among the free folk. Craster had only survived for years in his keep by making friends with Night's Watch, using them to protect him from any chieftain that might take issue with his presence. More recently, Craster had made a darker sort of deal - allying himself with more evil creatures.
Even the free folk gave Craster's Keep a wide berth. Still, Craster has hoarded food, livestock and supplies for years…
Harma met her gaze, asking clearly 'are you sure?' in her eyes. Val just nodded. "Take whatever men you need and clear Craster's keep out," Val ordered. "That monster has been asking to be short a head for a long time now."
"And Craster's daughters?" Harma asked, before adding. "And wives?"
"Every free folk has gets a place here. Bring them to camp if they want to join."
They were approaching Val's tent. Harma walked in first, staring at Dalla sleeping soundly wrapped up in furs. Garth hovered by the boundary. Val's sister was heavy with child, and sleeping and weakening more with every day. The healers said that it would be a difficult childbirth.
Dalla's pregnancy had worsened ever since they took Mance. The cold and the long walk certainly hadn't helped, either. Val knew that unless Dalla recovered soon, she wouldn't survive the childbirth.
I will not let my sister die, Val thought with cold determination. The whole reason Val had took command after Mance had been taken was to protect her sister.
Harma's eyes flickered with concern looking at Dalla, before back to Val. "So what's the next move?" Garth asked, lowering his voice as he stepped inside the tent. "We gather up the people, and we go where?
Val's face crinkled. "There's no next move," she admitted. "Mance was the one who promised to get everyone across the Wall, not me. I only ever promised to try and keep them alive, and I'm not even sure if I can keep that one."
"We stay here, we die," Harma said bluntly.
"Where else can we go?" Garth asked.
"South." Harma's eyes were hard. "We gather up however many fighters and climbers we can get, and we take the Wall. We take Castle Black. Just like Mance planned."
Val had been thinking the same thing, but she shook her head. "Mance had a hundred thousand men and we were still destroyed. I've got a tenth of that left. We won't survive an assault."
"Don't have a choice. Attack or die. We need to attack."
"Mance knew even with a hundred thousand it was folly. And since we couldn't even find the Horn of Joramun-"
"Fuck that bloody horn," Harma grumbled. "We wasted ourselves searching for the bloody fucking horn. We need to attack now, with what we've got left, before we give the Others another shot."
Val shook her head. "No. We need to rally to something. We need to gather up however many more we can get, enough to actually have a chance. We've got eight thousand, but how many of those could actually survive climbing the Wall? Or sieging the gate? We need to gather up what's left of the free folk."
There was a long moment of quiet consideration. Dalla shifted in her sleep.
"The Thenns are marching towards the Shadow Tower," Garth said after a pause. "Last seen at Kipler Pass. Five hundred men, I hear. Good warriors."
Val shook her head. The Bridge of Skulls at the Shadow Tower was a death-trap. Larger armies than five hundred men had failed to break it before. "They still won't stand a chance alone."
"I know. They've made Sigorn the new Magnar," said Harma. "Young boy. Fierce. He's going to try and avenge his father."
"He'll die young avenging him, it seems."
"Give him another reason to fight, then." There was an edge in Harma's voice. Val glanced at her, realising what she meant.
"Oh." Val sighed. "You mean fuck him."
Garth shifted uncomfortably. Harma shrugged. "If it gets us five hundred good men. The Thenns are always loyal to their Magnar, vicious buggers too."
"And he just decides to take me?"
"Bite his balls off," Harma suggested.
Despite herself, Val chuckled. She wondered briefly if any man had ever tried to steal Harma. She almost pitied them if they did. Harma was as hard as they came; as ugly and as fierce as a bulldog, while Val was tall, long legged and nubile with blonde hair. More men had tried to steal Val than she could even remember - it was one of the reasons Val had learned to be real good with a dagger.
Still, Val wondered what it would be like to be able to walk through a camp and have men bow their heads in fear and respect rather than lecherous stares.
Val was beautiful. She knew she was - everyone said so, ever since she was a child. She was a talented tracker, a better fighter, and beautiful enough to get attention. Even when her father had died when they were young, Val had grown up strong enough to take care of her little sister too. Many men tried to take her, and sometimes she even let them - until enough fought over her to gain a reputation for her little boy 'pets'. Eventually, she had enough of a fame that they would say she stole men, rather than other way round.
She thought of Jarl, the man that had died trying to protect her at the Frostfangs. Jarl had been sweet, young and passionate; a fierce young raider that had scaled the Wall eight times, and Val had been taken with him when they travelled together under Mance. They had never been in love, not really, but he had been good enough to her that she missed him. He hadn't deserved to die like that.
"You really think the Thenns will agree?" said Garth. "Mance had to defeat Styr three times before he agreed to support him."
Harma shook her head. "Sigorn is not his father. Val could treat with him."
"The Thenns respect warriors more than a… anything," he said, with a slightly uncomfortable glance to Val. Heh, is he worried about me? Val thought with a bemused stare. How sweet. And stupid. "… It should be Harma - or another raider - to reach out to the Thenns."
"Val leads, I fight." Harma shrugged, nodding at Val. "She needs to be the one to lead because she actually still cares. I stopped a giving a shit about the world years ago."
Val snorted. Harma's voice was so deadpan it made her laugh. "I care?" She teased. "If you don't care about anyone else, then why have you been sticking around?"
Harma shrugged. "Just because I don't give a damn doesn't mean I can't appreciate the trait in others."
"Sure," Val said with a smile. She suspected that Harma was a lot sweeter than she wanted anyone else to know. Words are wind, but actions spoke louder than anything. There had been a lot of people who wanted to leave the old and the sickly to die, and when Val had spoken out against it, Harma had been the very first to join Val's side.
Val took a deep breath, pacing around the tent. "… So this new Magnar of Thenn?" she said after a long pause. "You say he's young? Young enough to fall for a pretty face?"
Harma nodded. Garth hesitated, before asking, "You okay with that?"
"I would fuck every single man in this camp if it meant keeping my sister safe," Val said with a shrug, casting a loving glance towards Dalla. "I would kill every single man, too. Dalla is all that's important to me."
"Then I'll send some outriders towards the Thenns," Garth agreed, with some reluctance. "Let's see if they're interested in an alliance."
"Good." Val nodded. "Do you want to make a picture of my tits just to make sure Sigorn knows what I'm offering?"
Garth squirmed. Val just snorted in laughter. From what she heard, Val would be able to wrap this Magnar of Thenn around her little finger. Young warriors were always so easy. She already turned, pacing slightly. "Any others we might be able to rally?"
There was a flicker across Harma's face. "The Lord of Bones is to the southeast, near Deep Lake. He's been gathering up raiders too," she said distastefully. Harma Dogshead had spent a long time warring with the Lord of Bones even before Mance brought them both together for his army.
Val shuddered. Everyone hated Rattleshirt - he was almost as bad as the Weeper. "Well, him I can't fuck," Val muttered with a shiver. The Rattleshirt's disgusting fascination with corpses was well-known. "… Would he be interested in joining forces?"
Harma hesitated. Val raised an eyebrow. "Right now, working together is more important than old grudges."
"… I'll send Halleck over to treat him," said Harma, with just a touch of unwillingness. "I hear that Varamyr has joined with the Lord of Bones too. My guess is they'll have about a thousand men."
Val nodded, trying to think any who might have survived the Frostfangs. They needed all the strength they could get. It had taken Mance years to unite the clans, and now she had to do it again in a matter of months.
"What about Howd the Wanderer?" Val asked finally, sitting down cross legged around the firepit to think. "Or Morna White Mask?"
"Howd hasn't been seen after the Frostfangs," Garth said with a nod. "Morna is raising men by the East Coast, but I wouldn't trust that witch as far as I could throw her."
The free folk had no lords or kings, they would only follow the strong. Their 'leaders' were men of note; warriors strong enough to gain fame or raiders that had spilled enough blood that others would follow them. If Val could gather enough big names to ally with her, then eventually the free folk would flock to her, just like they did with Mance. It was the only hope of reforming Mance's army.
It took hours to scrape through any who might want to join forces, to gather as many as possible. Harma had been one of the most feared wildling raiders for years, she knew every clan leader and raider in the north, and had battled and spilled blood against most of them. There were grudges in the north as old as oak trees.
Garth left to summon outriders and hunters for information, to find out where people were last spotted. Harma sent her brother, Halleck, to scout out new arrivals, while Garth brought half a dozen seasoned raiders or travellers, one after another. Men and spearwives with names like Jax, Quort, Ryk and Willow. Val promised them all guaranteed rations if they could name names and locations.
Soren Shieldbreaker. The Great Walrus. Gavin the Trader. Gerrick Kingsblood. Ygon Oldfather. Devyn Sealskinner. Harle the Handsome and Harle the Huntsman. Kyleg of the Wooden Ear. Borroq the Boar. Brogg Big-Chin. Marrik One-Foot. The Bloodtooth. Erik and Ned Bearclaw. Big Agnes. Aki Twentysons. Asta the Swimmer. The Owl Lord. Some of the wildlings were so obscure that even Val had never heard of them, but Harma could name them all by heart.
Harma had spent her life fighting them, after all, Val mused.
"It might work," Garth admitted. "We could recruit as many as possible, and they might be eager to join. The Nightrunners and Cave Dwellers have been forced from their lands, they'll be eager to join. Some of the others… maybe, but they'll expect bribes or show of strength, yet it's possible…"
"I'm sense a 'but' coming," Val said.
Garth stared at her. "But the men won't follow a Queen-Beyond-the-Wall."
She snorted. "I don't give a fuck what they'll follow," Val said with a shrug. "I've got no interest in that title - it was that title that killed Mance."
"You don't know he's dead."
"He's as good as dead." Val stared miserably at Dalla. "There are plenty of fools that will fight for that bloody title, let them."
The 'King-Beyond-the-Wall', Val thought to herself, what an empty honour - a mockery of a title, really. Many previous Kings-Beyond-the-Wall had only been named that post-mortem. There were only really two requirements for the title; you had to unite the free folk, and you had to promise to bring them south of the Wall.
No King-Beyond-the-Wall has ever fulfilled that promise, Val thought. Stupid bloody title.
Still, would the free folk even listen to her? How many would dismiss her and laugh at the pretty little 'girl' trying to play queen? Mance's legacy would only take her so far.
Her hands twiddled, playing with her dagger. "Right now, I've got the biggest host left in the north." All that remains of Mance's army, she thought. "And they'll be desperate too. They'll need something to rally at, so they'll rally here."
Harma nodded, but paused. "Second biggest, actually."
Val frowned. Harma continued. "You heard of Mother Mole? That old woods witch that used to live under the weirwood tree?"
"The crazy one?" Val snorted. "She once promised Dalla that she'd be stolen by a giant badger, unless she ate an acorn every day."
There were plenty of woods witches in the north, but Mother Mole was one of the more queer ones - a short little dwarf that never left her cave. Nobody was quite sure how old she was. Apparently Mother Mole survived by eating weirwood roots, and sacrificing rodents. "Aye. She's given a prophecy that the free folk will find their salvation at Hardhome. They've been gathering there for a month."
"How many?" Val said sharply.
Harma shrugged. "Around ten thousand, I reckon. I heard from my brother that more and more people are moving east. Everyone who never marched with Mance is fleeing to Hardhome."
Val's face twisted. The entire north was being forced to migrate one way or another. "Hardhome is a cursed place," Val mused. "But it can be defended… the cliffs alone could stop an army…"
"That might work against us too," Harma's brother, Halleck, noted. "If the Others or the Night's Watch attack, then they're all going to be trapped on the cape."
"More of a reason for us stop that from happening, then."
"So what do you want to do about it?"
"I don't know," Val admitted. "Right now, we've got gather up those in the west, not the east. Everything that was left of Mance's arm-"
There was a stir from Dalla's bedside. She was waking. Val dropped everything to rush to her, holding her hand and wiping her brow. Harma watched stoically across the tent.
"… Val?" Dalla murmured. She was sweating even in the cold.
"Easy, Dal," Val whispered, wiping her brow. "Just build your strength."
Dalla had always been a sweet little thing. Dalla was calm and level-headed while Val was fiery and tempered, but Val had worked so hard to keep her safe. When Mance first stole Dalla, it had taken two weeks for him to convince Val not to geld him for it. Mance always had been a charmer, Val cursed.
Dalla loved Mance. Her sister loved Mance more than Val had ever loved anyone but her.
"The baby, Val," her sister muttered. "I can feel him kicking…"
Val's hand moved to her sister's swollen chest. She couldn't feel anything. "… I had a dream," Dalla said weakly. Her voice was dazed. "I dreamed I saw a great white bird, like a mountain taking flight…"
"Save your strength," Val said softly, kissing her sister on the cheek. "I'll bring you something to eat soon. We're having smoked elk. I'll fetch you water, and a wood witch to treat your fever…"
Dalla groaned softly, and Val's eyes flashed with worry. The pregnancy was draining her strength and the fever was burning through her quickly. Val sat by her sister's side, even after her eyes had flickered shut.
I'm doing this for her, Val thought quietly. Her and the babe.
I'll kill every crow on that Wall to give my sister a chance to get to safety. To find warmth again.
"Come," Val whispered to Harma and the others. "My sister needs her rest. Let's talk outside."
The walked out of the tent, and Val nodded to two spearwives, Rowan and Mo, who had offered to guard her sister's tent. The camp wasn't so safe that Val trusted to leave Dalla unprotected. The camp was always busy and crowded - with eight thousand wildlings cramped into an area so small that even livestock would be cramped. They all tried to huddle together for protection for the cold.
As far as the eye could see, there was a sea of furs with smoke rising over the camp. The sight of so many people cramped together still took Val's breath away.
They're relying on me, Val thought, and Dalla would want me to keep them all safe as well.
It should be Mance here, right now, uniting the free folk. Mance could have charmed a bear into joining their army. Instead, Val was left desperately trying to pick up the pieces, and look after her sister.
Val took a deep breath, taking in the thick scent of smoke and sweat in the air. "… Send Gerrick to treat with Sigorn," Val said after a long pause. "Offer him reinforcements to avenge Styr's death. Tell him that we wish to avenge Mance's too. The Thenns understand blood debts, they'll come. Meanwhile, I need you to deal with Craster. Kill the bugger and take everything he has."
"With pleasure," Harma said in a low growl.
"I'll send Maris, Jax, Lenn and Gragg to treat with the Lord of Bones and Varamyr. I can offer them a mammoth tusk bow, a white bearskin cloak, golden engraved bracelets and a sapphire amulet if they came to parley," Val said with a sigh. She still had some of the treasures that various clans had gifted to Mance in tribute - they were valuable enough to be used to bargain with the free folk leaders. "Rattleshirt and Varamyr are both proud men. If they think I'm begging them, then they'll come just to gloat over me."
"And when they come?"
"I'll offer them a chance to become the next King-Beyond-the-Wall," said Val. "I'll offer it to all of the raider leaders, actually. Every one of them. In private."
"Of course." There was a small smile on Harma's lips. Proud men could be easily manipulated.
By her other side, Garth blinked. "If they think they can take the title of King-Beyond-the-Wall, then they'll fight for it."
"Let them. So long as they wait until we're across the Wall, they can fight all they want about who gets bragging rights."
"And then are we moving east?"
"We'll have to." Both the Shadow Tower and Castle Black were too strong; Eastwatch might be the least defendable one out of the bunch. "If there are ten thousand free folk at Hardhome, we can't leave them there to die." Val scratched bit her lip, trying to imagine the numbers. How many people survived the Frostfangs? How many would still be able to rally to her? The longer she waited, the more that number would drop. She couldn't afford to linger any longer. "… If all goes well, if we could meet up with the forces at Hardhome, we might be able to gather… hmmm… thirty thousand free folk?"
Thirty thousand free folk. Even if only a third of those were fighting bodies, then that was still a force ten thousand strong. That could be enough to take the Wall. Possibly.
"Possibly," Harma nodded. She paused, frowning slightly. "Although if we are to head towards Hardhome…"
"What is it?"
"There's another raider leader that we haven't mentioned," said Harma. "The Weeper."
Val shuddered. "Fuck that creep."
There are a lot of nasty bastards among the free folk, Val admitted. Both Rattleshirt and Varamyr are cruel, evil men. Still, the Weeper is just a whole other level of bad.
"Last I heard, the Weeper took five hundred strong men east. He was planning on building boats to cross the Bay of Seals, to come around from the south to take Eastwatch."
Val nodded. "Good. That type of fighting and raiding is what the Weeper is best at. He can bleed the Night's Watch for us." I just don't want him in my camp, she added.
"Except it seems the Weeper's plans have changed. He's at Hardhome now."
"What?" Val blinked. "The Weeper is listening to prophecies now?"
"I was talking to two new arrivals this morning," Harma explained. Sometimes Val thought that Harma or her brother must talk to every single person in the camp. Few things happened in the north that she wasn't soon aware of. "They heard it from a hunter they met around Storrold's Point, who heard from a man fleeing Hardhome as fast as he could run. The story was… jumbled…"
Harma sounded cautious, like she wasn't quite sure about the rumours. "They say that the Weeper has joined forces - allying himself with a Jon Snow."
It took a while for the name to ring. Val frowned, before slowly remembering the young, solemn-faced boy that had been presented to Mance at the Frostfangs. The crow that killed the Halfhand, and walked around with a white direwolf. It had been quite a stir at Mance's camp.
Val blinked. The Jon Snow she remembered had been a quiet, broody man barely more than a boy, who had been desperately afraid yet trying to act like he wasn't. She tried to picture him with the Weeper, of all people, and the image just didn't seem to work.
"The crow?" Val exclaimed. Jon Snow hadn't been anywhere on her list of priorities, but she had thought he died at the Frostfangs. "Does he still have eyes or not?"
Harma grunted. "I hear strange things about that one. I met a man who spotted a white direwolf with red eyes weeks ago, but then when he tried to shoot it…" Harma paused. "The man said he heard a sound like giants marching, and he ran away. Other cave dwellers from the north have said they've heard sounds like thunder in clear skies too. I thought nothing of the tales, until they mentioned Jon Snow again, and I remembered his wolf…"
"Aye, a warg, I think," Val frowned. "But why would the Weeper ever work with him…?"
"Not with." Harma shook her head. "Work for. The men were quite clear. They say the Weeper is working for Jon Snow."
Now that was too far. The Weeper would never work for anyone but himself. "Then that tale has been jumbled into nonsense."
"Most likely," Harma agreed, but her eyes still flickered. "Yet even jumbled tales generally start somewhere. Like I said, I've been hearing strange things."
"Like?"
"I hear that the Alvin Whaletooth has joined with the Weeper too. As has Marthe of the Antler, Old Man Harwick and Bullden Horn. Even the Lord of Seals. Every clan or raider they meet seem to have flocked to him."
Val blinked, trying to link the names. Alvin Whaletooth was one of the few men who still fished around Storrold's Point, while Marthe of the Antler was a reaver from a river clan, and Old Man Harwick was the patriarch of his own clan. Bullden Horn's claim of fame was that he had ventured onto Skagos, fought the cannibals and killed a unicorn, while the Lord of Seals was a famed raider who had crossed the Bay of Seals more times than any other raider alive. All of them were respected raid leaders and clan chiefs around the peninsula and east coast.
And I know for a fact that the Lord of Seals hates the Weeper's guts. They would never, ever work together…
Harma shared her glance. "Like I said, strange things," Harma admitted. "The men said that this Jon Snow has unearthly powers, even that he has…"
Val frowned. "What?"
Harma shook her head. "… No. Like you said, the tale has been jumbled into nonsense."
"And yet you sound concerned."
"Concerning times," Harma said with a shrug. "But just something to bear in mind that Jon Snow may have ten thousand men surrounding him at Hardhome."
Val turned to stare at Harma, heads on her hip. "Wait," she said after a long pause. "You're saying that in this tale that the men told, Jon Snow is leading the free folk at Hardhome?"
"No." Harma shook her head. "In this tale, they're worshipping him."
Sam
The castle was panicked. It seemed that Sam couldn't even walk through the courtyard without getting in somebody's way. The Night's Watch became more and more panicked as more news kept on coming through.
Sam tried to his best to stay helpful. Ravens kept on coming and going through the rookery, and the officers never stopped marching through the tower, demanding news faster than Aemon or Clydas could provide it. Sam would bumble around fetching paper or trying to sort out the cages, but then Sam walked and crashed into Thorne, and the knight turned red as he screamed at Sam to leave.
Eddison grabbed Sam by the arm and slowly pulled him out of the way. "Let's leave the officers to their work and stay clear," Edd had soothed. "It's stressful work, I imagine, preparing for a king."
Nearby, Dareon had laughed at that, in his clear high voice - totally ignoring or perhaps not caring about the expression on Sam's face. "Which king, exactly?" Dareon laughed. "We've got a king coming from the south, a king coming from the north, and a king beneath us. It looks like kings are a dime a dozen these days!"
Thankfully, Grenn was there to shove Dareon to the ground, but Sam still felt hollow as the brothers pulled him away. The castle felt grim - had been ever since the news three days ago.
It started with a raven from Eastwatch, followed by several more. All of the letters were written in Maester Harmune's scribbled hand, but signed with Cotter Pyke's name. The letters were in quick succession; the first sent upon spotting ships on the horizon, the second upon ships approaching Eastwatch, then of recognising the banners on those ships, and then when the ships had docked at Eastwatch.
By the time the confirmation came through, the whispers were already going mad. It was official; Stannis Baratheon had arrived at the Wall. Lord Commander Mormont announced it in the meeting hall, but the news had already spread through gossip.
"King Stannis Baratheon docked at Eastwatch-by-the-Sea early this morning," Mormont had announced. "He brought with him four thousand men-at-arms and landed knights, along with his wife and court, claiming to be here to defend the Wall."
"Stannis Baratheon is no king!" Janos Slynt exclaimed in a loud voice. Next to him, Ser Glendon Hewett and Ser Alliser Thorne murmured in agreement. "The man is a traitor to the realm! We cannot have him here, the crown—!"
"The Night's Watch takes no affair of the realm," Donal Noye growled, darkly.
Janos had blustered at that. "Stannis Baratheon set siege to King's Landing! He fought against the rightful king! If we harbour him here, the crown will bring great ruin upon us!"
More murmurs of agreement. Bowen Marsh nodded. "Stannis brings men to defend us," Ser Mallador Locke objected. "We are massively undermanned, who are we to deny aid?"
"Stannis brings us no aid, only ruin!" Someone else shouted.
"We sent pleas to all five kings, and Stannis is the only one who answered," Thoren Smallwood protested. "Stannis comes ready to face off a wildling attack."
"What a shame we're not under attack, then," Thorne said with a grunt, to the sound of a few sniggers.
"And what of the wildlings amassing Beyond-the-Wall? We've seen them at Whitetree! At Hardhome?!" Thoren demanded, glaring at Thorne. "How long before they attack and we're left with only one man to defend every three miles of Wall?"
"I fear my sworn brothers may be overestimating Stannis' motivations," Othell Yarwyck spoke up, from his position at the table. The First Builder's voice was slow and lumbering. "Stannis comes under the pretence of aid, but he has no such intentions."
The room fell silent slightly at his voice. The Lord Commander still hadn't spoke, but instead watched the room with a hard face. "Stannis was defeated at the Blackwater," Othell continued. "He lost his army and his men, but he hasn't given up his rebellion. In fact, I wager that he has come here to start a new one."
"What are you talking about?" Jarmen Buckwell demanded.
"We have all heard about the events in the North. Robb Stark's defiance. The invasion of ironborn. The Sack of Winterfell. The Red Wedding." A quiet murmur went through the room. "Roose Bolton has been named Warden of the North now, but the North is still in much discontent. I expect that Stannis Baratheon has come here to take advantage of that."
There were dark whispers and mutters. Sam had stood at the back of the room, listening intently. "Stannis is here to try and incite the northern lords into rebellion against the crown. He has come to us to take advantage of our hospitality and our castles, to drag us into an affair that we should have no part in!" Othell said, slamming his hand against the table. "Mark my words, he will stay in our towers while he plots his rebellion, using us as his own shield, and then he will march south to wage war and leaving us his unwilling accomplices!"
"Stannis Baratheon threatens our neutrality," Bowen Marsh agreed. "Our future is at risk."
Septon Cellador slammed his hand on to the table too. "Stannis has declared for false gods! He consorts with witches and burns sacred objects!" Cellador preached. His voice sounded slurred by alcohol. "He will lead us all into damnation!"
"Stannis is just as much of an enemy as the wildlings!"
The conversation shifted in tone as more brothers took up the cry. Some looked unhappy, but the protesters slowly fell silent. Sam distinctly remembered how little the Lord Commander had spoken during that meeting.
After that, things started to change. Every day it was like the castle became a little bit more hectic. Mormont ordered a hundred men to go to Eastwatch, but discreetly. Around every corner there were hushed whispers and discussions. There were orders for all men, stewards and builders too, to triple archery practice.
The entire castle was preparing for a battle, and a battle on the wrong side of the Wall this time. Everyone was talking about how they were going to get rid of Stannis.
"Stannis holds Eastwatch," Jarmen Buckwell was heard saying one night. "Maybe not officially, but his troops outnumbers Cotter Pyke's men fifteen to one. If we demand that Stannis leaves, what's to stop him giving us the demand instead?"
Donal Noye shook his head. The one-armed blacksmith didn't look happy. "I knew Stannis before the Wall," said Donal. "He's a hard man, sure, but always just. I struggle to imagine that man going against the Night's Watch." His eyes flashed. "Not unless we provoke him."
"You knew Stannis," Jarmen argued. "This Stannis is a different man. The battle of Blackwater left him bloodied, and he's desperate enough to try anything. Half-mad too - I hear he brings with him a red witch that rants about flying storms and an evil monster of cold."
Sam was quiet as he overheard the conversation, before Thorne shouted at him to rush to archery practice. Things were moving quickly. Apparently there had been some sort of disagreement at Eastwatch, and then during the night Iron Emmett had ridden to Castle Black to gather forces. During archery practice, the air was cold, but it gave Sam a chance to talk with Edd, Pyp, Grenn, Toad, Owen and Haldur.
"Are we really going to fight against Stannis Baratheon?" Sam had hissed nervously. "Isn't that taking part in the affairs of the realm?"
"Well, yes," Dolorous Edd admitted. "But if we don't get rid of him and he stays here, then that would also be taking part in affairs of man. Harbouring a rebellion and whatnot. Damned if we do, damned if don't."
"But he's king!"
"Arguable, that one," Edd mused. "But then again, what kingship isn't? Kings seem to attract argument, I've found."
"Weren't you saying that the king died?" Owen the Oaf exclaimed, a confused expression on his face as he gathered up arrows. He didn't put the arrows back in the quiver, instead just cradled them.
"No, that was Robert Baratheon, the king, who died," Toad corrected. "Stannis is his brother."
"I was sure you said…"
"So what we do we do?" said Grenn, looking to Edd.
"The Lord Commander will ask him to leave," Pyp offered.
"And if he doesn't?"
"That's why we're practicing archery, isn't it?"
The thought made Sam shiver. Against wildlings, the men of the Night's Watch tended to have an advantage, but against knights? Stannis had four thousand battle-hardened men - they could cut through the sworn brothers if they chose to.
"I heard Smallwood ranting about that the other day," Toad admitted. "He's says there's ten thousand wildlings are massing at Whitetree, walking distance from the Wall. Turning away help right now is folly."
Edd nodded. "He may have a point."
"It'll be a lot more folly when the Warden of the North march up to kill us for working with Stannis," Pyp argued.
Edd nodded again. "Also a good point."
"I thought Starks were Wardens of the North," Owen questioned, still cradling his arrows.
"Nope, they're all dead too," Toad said with a sigh, while everyone else ignored Owen. "Boltons are the Wardens now."
"We handled the wildlings ourselves once," said Pyp.
Grenn shook his head, lowering his bow. "We got lucky against the wildlings once," he said. "… and they still bloody reformed ten days later."
Normally, when a wildling host was smashed, the clans and raiders would dissolve, maybe for decades, until the next king united them. Beyond the Wall was not a united place; one defeat and the old grudges and feuds would return and the wildlings would break - that had been the Night's Watch go-to method for centuries.
This time, though, it seemed that the wildlings were desperate enough to stay together even without their king. Either that or a new King-Beyond-the-Wall has already been crowned, Sam thought nervously. The rumours about a new King-Beyond-the-Wall had been going spreading quickly. Lots of whispers and speculations.
They had all seen the ranging reports. Even in the wake of Mance's host breaking, an army had regathered at Whitetree nearly ten thousand strong, and pulling in more wildlings every day.
"We'll never be able to ambush them this time," Grenn said. "They're too close to the Wall - they've got bloody scouts watching the gate from the treeline right now. If we open up to send any rangers out, they know about it."
It's a good plan, Sam admitted. They camped right outside on our doorstep to make sure we could never ambush them again.
"What about Hardhome?" Sam asked. He had heard the place being mentioned regularly.
Edd glanced at him. "Nobody's really sure," Edd admitted. "A second wildling host, maybe. All we've got are second-hand reports."
"Smallwood is protesting, Donal Noye is deadset against it," Edd mused. "But Bowen Marsh, Othel Yarwyck and Thorne are all calling to be rid off him. At this rate, the Lord Commander will have no choice."
"Jarmen Buckwell seems to be more in the middle," Sam said.
"Still not enough."
"What about Wythers?" Owen asked, with a goofy grin. "He's second in command, right?"
Toad frowned. "Wythers? Ottyn Wythers? He's dead, Owen - he died at the Frostfangs."
"Really?" Owen definitely seemed confused. "No - but he was knocking on the gate the other day."
Edd loosed the last arrow. "Well, that's enough for me, I think," he said. "The king will be getting hungry."
"Mance?" Grenn frowned. Edd was the steward placed in charge of taking care of Mance and the other prisoners. "How is Mance?"
"Alive, not so healthy, I'm afraid." Edd admitted. "I'm not allowed to touch him except to put food into his cell."
"We should have just killed him already," said Toad.
"Hm, Lord Commander wants him alive," said Edd. "Dead, he's useless. Alive, somebody might try something stupid like rescuing him."
"Deaths kinder than spending three months in those ice cells."
"I can't say about that; I've never met death to say how nice it is. Don't really care to find out, either."
"Come on, Owen," Grenn said with a sigh. "We've got patrol duty on the Wall."
"But what about the storm?" Owen protested.
"What storm? Last storm flew by a week ago."
Owen shook his head. "No no no; I heard the storm."
"So long, Killer." Toad waved to Sam, as the group started to leave.
Sam stayed out long after everyone else had left, continuing to fire arrows at the targets. His arm was healing, but it still hurt every time he pulled back on the bowstring. I'm still terrible at archery, he thought grimly.
The very next day, though, things became a bit more hectic. Cotter Pyke arrived from Eastwatch with fifty men, and then Denys Mallister arrived with another hundred men from the Shadow Tower. It put the total number at Castle Black to seven hundred, still including the men that had lingered after the Great Ranging.
The whispers went wild. They must have left Eastwatch and Shadow Tower with less than a hundred men each, Sam realised. Everyone was talking about how the Old Bear must be putting together a force to drive Stannis out of Eastwatch.
Later, towards dusk, Thorne came and grabbed Edd and Dywen from the quarters. He paused as he stared at Sam, though, with a soft smirk. "Come with me, Tarly," Thorne ordered, the smile playing on his lips. "You should hear this too."
Those words made Sam tremble with nerves, and somehow it didn't help that Thorne was totally quiet as he led them to the King's Tower.
Inside, there were over two dozen men, all cramped into the solar before the king's quarters. A great fireplace roared while the men huddled by the front. Old, moth-eaten tapestries hung down the stone walls. Mormont was at the front, along with Denys Mallister and Cotter Pyke. The mood was grim. Most of the senior officers and rangers are here, Sam realised as he shuffled along the very back.
At the far end of the room, and it was hard to see between all the bodies, there were two figures lying on the ground. They were men with shaggy faces, bruised and bloody skin, and chains on their wrists. Wildling prisoners, Sam realised, they must have come in with the new arrivals. A Shadow Tower man, Blane, stood guard.
"What's going on?" Othell Yarwyck demanded, glancing around the room.
"Brothers," Mormont said in a grim voice. "I thought you should all hear this now. Blane?"
The ranger nodded. "I found these men along Long Barrow. A small raiding party from the east. Six of them originally, the others died during capture." Blane glared at the wildlings. "Now then, tell us what you know. Exactly what you told me."
One of the wildlings stared at the ground firmly. The other one, younger, gulped. "… An army gathering at Hardhome," he mumbled, his voice raw. "… Fifteen thousand free folk…"
There were quiet murmurs in the room. They had only heard faint whispers of Hardhome before now, but fifteen thousand wildling? Sam thought, trying to stay hidden.
"… She told us we would find salvation…" The wildling murmured, his voice delirious. "She promised us salvation at Hardhome, and there was…"
"How many boats?" Blane demanded.
"Half a hundred." A flicker of smile across the wildling's face. "He's going to bring us all south…"
"Are you sure about this?" Mormont asked Blane.
"It fits with other things that we've heard," said Blane with a nod. "We've known there have been wildlings have been heading to Hardhome for some time now."
"There still are," Thoren Smallwood said darkly. "We've seen the fires moving across the forest. The wildling host at Whitetree is moving. They're heading east. Another ten thousand."
"You think they're planning on joining together?"
"Possibly." Smallwood nodded. "Might be a conjoined assault. The wildlings at Hardhome travel by sea, across the bay, and attack Eastwatch from the south. The remainder attacks Eastwatch from the north. They break the castle and open the gates."
There were dark glances around the room. "A mass raid across the Bay of Seals…" Mormont growled.
"May I remind everyone that Eastwatch only has three ships to patrol the entire bay?" said Cotter Pyke, his arms folded. "If the wildlings try to cross, we might not even see them coming."
"Fifteen thousand wildlings…" Mormont shook his head. "It would be a gamble how many make it across. And how many we could stop…"
"There's more," Blane glanced at the Lord Commander, before turning to prisoner. "Tell us who leads at Hardhome."
"… The Weeper… Alvin Whaletooth… The Lord of Seals…" The wildling hesitated, a small defiant smirk appearing on his lips. "… And Jon Snow."
The silence dropped over the room over the room like a stone.
Sam's mouth slowly fell open. It took a long time to for the words to work their way into his head. It seemed so outlandish, so unbelievable it barely made sense.
Sam turned, and saw Alliser Thorne grinning. Blane's eyes were dark, and so were a few others. They already knew, but Mormont and the others seemed stunned. They must have talked about this beforehand, Sam thought foggily. Before coming to the Lord Commander.
Sam saw Lord Commander's eyes widen in shock. "… You lie!" Mormont snarled, pressing his dagger against the prisoner's throat.
"… Jon Snow…" the wildling gasped. "… He said he's going to lead us south… the King-Beyond-the-Wall… Jon Snow… the woods witch promised us salvation, and there he was…"
The mutters were louder now, filling the room with frenzied whispers and murmurs. On Mormont's shoulder, his raven cawed, "Snow, snow, snow." The words echoed as the torchlight flickered.
"That's ridiculous!" Mormont snarled. "You expect us to believe…?!"
"I've heard the name Jon Snow before," Blane said, looking at Mormont. "From other wildlings. The name is spreading throughout the north. I never knew the significance of the name until I spoke with Ser Alliser here. I understand he was a ranger of yours?"
Mormont's face flinched. "A steward," he said after a pause. "My personal steward. He went missing during the ranging."
"He deserted," Thorne said coldly. "He deserted and joined Mance. Now it looks like he's trying to take Mance's place."
What are they talking about? Sam thought confusedly. Jon? King-Beyond-the-Wall?
"It's absurd," Mormont shook his head. "The boy is seventeen years old. It took Mance decades to unite the wildlings."
"Aye, I could see Jon as a traitor," Bowen Marsh said with a nod. "He was a young boy, easily led astray. But to be leading wildlings against the Wall? After being missing only four months? I have trouble accepting it."
Cotter Pyke spoke up in a gruff voice. "Aye," he agreed. "But this man is not the only one saying it. My rangers have found several with the same name on their lips. From Shadow Tower to Eastwatch, they are talking about him. One wildling was even screaming 'Jon Snow will come for you all', just before we shot three arrows into him."
Thorne laughed at that. "Let the boy come," he sneered. "Weak little thing wouldn't last a second in a real fight. I'll slice that bastard's head off."
"Perhaps you will, ser." Iron Emmett regarded Alliser coolly. "But he's a bastard with fifteen thousand wildlings gathered around him."
Mormont shook his head. "It's ridiculous," he said in a firm voice. "I cannot believe it possible. Could it be a different Jon Snow?"
"It might be," Blane admitted. "It is a fairly… common name in the north. But north of the Wall, though? Not so much."
"Everything we hear about him seems to corroborate three basic details," said Denys Mallister. The elderly commander of the Shadow Tower had a calm, lumbering voice. "One; that a man named Jon Snow is vying to be the new King-Beyond-the-Wall. Two; that Jon Snow is leading at Hardhome with fifteen thousand wildlings. And three…" He looked at Mormont. "… that this Jon Snow used to be a former crow. I believe it must be the same Jon Snow."
Mormont's face was pale, his mouth drawn. Sam just stared. What are they even talking about? He thought. It's madness . Any second now Sam expected someone to burst out laughing.
This is clearly some kind of strange, delirious joke, Sam thought.
The wildling on the floor was staring upwards at the scene with bloodshot eyes. There was a hoarse chuckle from him. "… Jon Snow will take us south…" he laughed. "… Jon Snow controls winter, he brings with him a great white beast that will destroy the Wall… I've seen it with my own eyes, larger than any ship, as big as a mountain… !"
Blane kicked him sharply in the chest. "What is that fool talking about?" Bowen asked confusedly.
"Bah! Foolish nonsense. The wildlings make up tall tales about their leaders," Thorne said with a grunt. "I've heard it before. Back when Mance was just getting started, there were wildlings that would swear on their lives that Mance could transform into a giant crow and fly over the Wall, and that he could charm any man, woman or beast with his magic lute. Like I said, nonsense."
The wildling was still laughing, coughing up blood at the same time. "Take them away," Blane ordered. "We've heard enough."
Mormont's stared at the fire for a low few seconds. "How dire is the threat beyond the Wall?" He asked finally.
"Getting more dire every day," Iron Emmett said. "We had hoped that Mance's defeat would scatter the wildlings, but… if we do nothing, we could have a horde of maybe twenty five thousand attacking any day now."
"Larger, I expect. Once the wildlings rally, more will flock to them. The whole north is desperate - every man, woman and child is stirring."
"Then we cannot allow the wildlings to organise," Thoren Smallwood said. "Let's take the fight to them. We did it once, we do it again. We break the wildlings separately before they have a chance to gather."
"We do not have any mountains to ambush them in this time, ser," Blane objected. "The force at Hardhome is fortified and secure."
"And what of the second host, the one currently moving through the Haunted Forest towards Hardhome?" Mormont demanded.
"Less secure," Blane admitted. "They're a large force and they're moving slowly. They're spread out wide."
"They're still ten thousand strong," Bowen said, his voice nervous.
"We fought similar numbers at the Frostfangs," Thoren Smallwood insisted, his chest sticking out in pride.
"We have hostages," Othell Yarwyck suggested. "Their king, Mance Rayder is still alive. We have many of their clan leaders. We could force the wildlings to disperse by ransoming them."
Iron Emmett just shook his head. "The wildlings won't care. I expect any position of power they might have held has already dissolved."
The bickering continued. Sam just stared from the back of the room, wondering quietly why nobody was freaking out over Jon. The wildlings seemed to think he is their king, for goodness sake!
Mormont never spoke. The Old Bear was silent for half a minute, staring at the wall. Sam had never see the old man look so worn and grim. "… Thoren is correct," the Lord Commander said, his low voice causing the room to fall silent. "We must break the wildlings before they have a chance to assemble. We landed a critical hit against the wildlings at the Frostfangs, and now we must finish the task."
He turned to face the room. All eyes stared warily. "We will attack both wildling hosts," Mormont announced. "We will bring a fighting force of four hundred men out from Castle Black. We will ambush the host in the forest, and we will break them again. They will be slow, vulnerable and tired, and we will cut through them."
At once, there were cries of objection coming from half a dozen men. "We can't - we just got back from one ranging - we can't risk another!" Bowen Marsh objected.
"Four hundred men, that's nearly half our strength… !"
"We don't have enough rangers, we would have to bring in the stewards and builders," Denys Mallister said.
"It's too risky!" Othel growled, shaking his head, his long beard swaying.
The Old Bear looked unmoved. "At the same time, we will strike at Hardhome by sea," Mormont continued. "We will attack Hardhome, destroy their boats, and we will kill this King-Beyond-the-Wall."
Cotter Pyke scoffed, folding his arms. "And what fleet do you want me to do that with?"
"Stannis Baratheon's."
There was a moment of quiet. "What?" Thorne demanded.
"Stannis claims to be here to aid the Wall," said Mormont. "We will give him a chance to prove it. Stannis has brought with him a fleet of twenty-nine ships, is that correct?"
"Aye, belonging to a Lyseni pirate in Stannis' service," Cotter said with a nod.
"Good, you will assist Stannis' forces as he takes his men to Hardhome," the Old Bear ordered. "You will attack the peninsula; the wildlings will not be expecting such an attack, and we let Stannis' forces lead the assault."
Cotter blinked. "That… could work. I imagine that Stannis' knights would make quick work of the wildlings." He frowned. "But why would Stannis commit to such attack - he risks losing many men either from storm or battle."
"He claims to be here to help us. We will see how true his cause is," Mormont said.
"And if he says no?"
"Then we will take action." There was an edge in the Old Bear's voice like iron. There's cunning in the plan, Sam realised slowly. If Stannis did prove an enemy, then they could weaken him against the wildlings. If Stannis refused to go, then he lost any justification for being here.
There was an uneasy murmur in the room. Mormont turned to the group. "If it goes well, then it will be a blow that the wildlings will not recover from. They will be unable to rally against us," he said firmly. "We will ambush the group in the Haunted Forest, and then, when Stannis assaults Hardhome, our men will be waiting around the peninsula to block survivors."
There were murmurs of objections, but they seemed to die under the iron in Mormont's voice. "Cotter Pyke, return to Eastwatch at once. I must write a letter to Stannis informing him of our decision," Mormont ordered. He paused. "Ser Alliser, make arrangements to assemble the men. We will let Stannis set sail at the turn of the moon, and our ranging shall leave shortly afterwards."
Sam couldn't stay quiet any longer. "What about Jon Snow?!" Sam shouted, his voice cracking. All eyes turned to stare at him. Why the hells is no one else freaking out about this?! They are saying that Jon is leading wildlings!
The smirk on Thorne's face was vicious. Mormont's eyes were hard. "… As far as I am concerned," Mormont said after a pause. "The brother of the Night's Watch that I knew as Jon Snow died at the Frostfangs. The man at Hardhome is either a traitor or an imposter, but he is no sworn brother."