Oops! This image does not follow our content guidelines. To continue publishing, please remove it or upload a different image.
DESPITE the argument raging in front of them, most of the Free Folk surrounding the Wildling camp went about their regular duties for the day. Jon decided that gathering the Free Folk for his army was his best bet, so their small group arrived there first. Both Jon and Sansa began pleading with the new Wildling leader for his uniting, while Maia stood with Ser Davos and Melisandre with the horses.
"Do you think he has a chance?" The blonde asked her friend on the right.
Davos blew out a heavy huff. "We can only hope."
"We said we'd fight with you, King Crow, when the time comes, and we meant it." The leader, named Dim Dalba, explained from afar, just loud enough for the rest of the group to hear. "But this isn't what we agreed to. These aren't White Walkers. This isn't an army of the dead. This isn't our fight."
Tormund stood from his spot on the side. "If it weren't for him, none of us would be here. All of you would be meat in the Night King's army. And I'd be a pile of charred bones, just like Mance."
Dim nodded. "Remember Mance's camp? It stretched all the way to the horizon, and look at us now. Look what's left of us. If we lose this, we're gone: dozens of tribes, hundreds of generations. Be like we were never there at all. We'll be the last of the Free Folk."
Maia's eyes traveled upward to see Wun Wun the Giant staring right at her as he sighed. Her mouth went agape at seeing the large creature. He was something out of her stories as a child; this only existed in kid's books. Was she the only one who was surprised?
"That's what'll happen to you if we lose," Jon replied, crossing his hands together. "The Boltons, the Karstarks, the Umbers – they know you're here. They know that more than half of you are women and children. After they finish with me, they'll come for you."
Dim's face seemed to soften as Jon continued, "You're right, this isn't your fight. You shouldn't have to come to Winterfell with me. I shouldn't be asking you. It's not the deal we made. But I need you with me if we're going to beat them, and we need to beat them if you're going to survive."
Tormund noticed the Wildlings start to look around at each other. "The Crows killed him," he said, gesturing to Jon, "because he spoke for the Free Folk when no other Southerners would. He died for us. If we are not willing to do the same for him, we're cowards. If that's what we are, we deserve to be the last of the Free Folk."
Maia smiled at Tormund's speech, realizing how loyal the man was to Jon now. Her lover had done so much for him, and he was definitely returning the favor in time of need.
Dim continued to ponder his options, but then Wun Wun stood from his area on a spare log. He stared down Jon, causing Maia to grip Ser Davos in fright, though all of her group seemed unmoved at his presence. "Snow," the giant growled, before ultimately walking away to another part of the camp. He passed by Maia in huge stomps, but did not come close to her. She looked over her shoulder at the giant in awe.
The Wildlings around Dim nodded in agreement. The leader sauntered towards Jon, extending his arm. The raven-haired man looked down at the gesture before grasping his bicep, sealing their deal.
Dim walked away, already preparing to pack up camp, and Jon turned to glance at Tormund. "You sure they'll come?"
"We're not clever like you Southerners." Tormund smiled. "When we say we'll do something, we do it."
•••
Ramsay slammed another piece of parchment onto his father's – or should he say, his – desk. Everything was new now. He had such new power. From being claimed legitimate to becoming the Lord of Winterfell, it almost seemed like things were finally going Ramsay's way. He might have lost Reek, and the only wife that he hadn't killed yet, but soon they'd all return. They'd all see.
The new Warden of the North let out a heavy sigh, looking to Harald Karstark on his left. "All this work just to cut off a bastard's head!" He seethed, setting his quill in a bottle of ink. "All I ask is for my wife back. What do I get? News thrown in my face that this bastard is trying to form an army against me. I thought my letter was quite nice, don't you?"
Harald cleared his throat. "You threatened to tear out his eye balls, my Lord."
"That's nice for me." Ramsay replied. He looked down at the book resting in front of him, which listed various houses within the North. If the bastard was smart, he would start small and build onto bigger houses. Lucky for Ramsay, he already had the biggest houses secured.
The Lord of Winterfell narrowed his eyes in Harald's direction. "Have you received word on the bastard's whereabouts?"
"Smalljon Umber sent a raven yesterday that he and your wife were seen gathering Wildling troops." The Karstark scoffed. "Out of all people: Wildlings. In his letter, he said he thinks they're headed in the direction of Bear Island next."
Ramsay widened his eyes. "Why didn't you think to tell me this before?"
"I thought I did."
"Hold onto your cock," Ramsay fumed, "because I'm this close to cutting it off."
The former bastard began rifling through his papers, finding the letter he received from the ruler of Bear Island, a girl by the age of ten named Lyanna Mormont. The paper she sent was rather vulgar for her age, and she also refused to pledge for anyone but the name Stark. Surely, Jon Snow was going to go to them for aid.
"Gather a few troops and head to Bear Island," Ramsay ordered. "Come back with my wife, or else."
