Trials and Tribulations of the Oathkeeper

Chapter 98: Hardhome

―Beyond the Wall―

Hardhome...

Cold winds howl, deafening the sound of men grunting rowing their oars as they each felt the rowboats continuing to rock back and forth along with the shake of the waves. With the Storm Crow and dozens of ships off in the distance, a group of men representing both the Night's Watch and the Free Folk, leading from the front stood Jon Snow, Mance and Tormund. Although there were still some lingering tensions on both sides, they knew of the real threat that awaited them all: the threat of the White Walkers and their undead army. If the Free Folk were to ever survive, if the Night's Watch was to ever survive, if all of Westeros were to ever survive... Jon and Mance needed to negotiate an alliance.

"Turn us about!" one of the Night's Watch rangers shouted.

Jon gazed on the horizon, looking at the approaching settlement as they drew nearer. "This is..."

"Hardhome," Mance confirmed. "A fishing village along Storrold's Pont, the closest thing to a true town the Free Folk ever built... and our last refuge. When you crows routed us, most of my people fled here. What's left of us anyway. If we don't get south of the Wall, well... you know what fate will be in store."

The Lord Commander of the Night's Watch said nothing as the ships full of wildlings and Night's Watchmen slowly reach the docks at Hardhome. Disembarking, they see a large gathering of wildlings—a total estimation between around 50,000 to 100,000—already assembling near the shore, swords attached to their hips.

"Hardhome is an unholy place, it's said. Cursed," Grenn whispered.

"Cut the chatter back there!" hushed Cotter Pyke.

Tormund approached Jon. "Do you trust us, Jon Snow?" he asked.

"Does that make me a fool?" the Lord Commander replied back.

Mance stepped in front of him. "We are fools together. Might as well decide on how we go out."

Once they stepped off the rowboats, some of the wildlings immediately recognized who was walking towards them. They walk to meet the wildling men and women of Hardhome, led by one of Mance's lieutenants, Lord of Bones.

"Look, mama! Look!" one of the children exclaimed.

"The King-Beyond-the-Wall..."

"Mance Rayder!"

"We're saved!"

Mance noticed the attention he was getting, but paid no mind. "Been a long time, Lord of Bones. Thought you were among those who fell at the Wall."

The Lord of Bones remained indifferent. "It'll take much more than that to kill me," he retorted before noticing Jon. "When we heard the little crows took you and our brothers and sisters prisoner, most of us made our way here. What we were not expecting, however, I see that same crow who turned his back on us in your company. What happened?"

"War," answered Tormund.

"You call that a war? The greatest army in the North has ever seen was cut to pieces by some southern lord!"

"Perhaps we should find some place quieter to talk. Gather the elders."

"You don't give the orders here—"

Mance cut him off. "No, but I do. Get the elders. There's much to discuss, and not enough time to waste." Figuring out that he was not joking around nor was he in any mood for nonsensical bickering, the Lord of Bones begrudgingly turned his back and ventured deep into Hardhome to gather the local wildling elders. Believing that the initial problem was settled, Mance turned to Jon and Tormund. "We should be getting an audience now. Come. The more time we waste here, the faster they'll be coming."