Chapter 22

Chapter 22

Mance Rayder, The King Beyond the Wall, was quite an interesting character. Born by the union of a Free Folk woman and a man of the Night's Watch, the man's origins were quite complex. After the Night's Watch killed a wildling village, they took the young boy with them and raised him at the wall where he would grow up and join the Watch, donning its Black Cloak.

Yet the nature of his duties and a personal incident with a wildling woman would leave him questioning his identity and his oaths, prompting his eventual escape from the Wall as he joined the Free Folk.

He would obtain considerable influence amongst their ranks and would go on to become a prominent leader amongst them. When King Aerys sent an entourage to the North of the Wall, they were said to have made contact with Mance Rayder and offered him a chance to trade with the capital.

What the wildlings gave in return is still a mystery, but it is documented that the King gave them food and weapons, especially those made out of dragon glass, and this helped Mance Rayder begin repairs at the broken castle of Hardhome.

Mance would receive support from various Free Fold tribes, who would stop trying to venture past the Wall and would join him in forming a settlement at Hardhome, giving Mance the title of the King Beyond the Wall. A title in name only for the man would hold no castles and wear no crown on his head.

The castle of Hardhome would provide respite to the free folk, yet the Free folk were more than a few tribes. They were a culture, and despite the repaired castle, many would continue to live out in their wandering ways.

The lands beyond the North were rife with magic, with the lands filled with creatures of myth and legends, like the dire wolves and the giants. Remnants of these creatures have been found, and their presence can be confirmed through various texts of histories and they would go on to play quite an important role in the war to come.

0000

MANCE RAYDER

What made a man a king? A crown. A sigil. A castle. His sword. Or a fine garb made of silk and cotton.

None of the above could be true for Mance had none of these things yet was called a King by many in the land. And so he decided that it was men and their dream of a better future that made someone a King.

And a King must have the cunning and the daring to do things that regular men would never dream of doing. And it had been this sentiment that had made Mance parley with the men who had come to the North all those years ago.

Men from the crown who accompanied the Lord Commander of the Crows and asked for a parley bringing with them a letter from the Crown itself. His people had thought it ploy, to kill the man who had united the free folks. They had advised him to ignore the call to parley, yet Mance had ignored their concerns and had trusted his gut, agreeing to the parley.

And that decision had changed his life. And the life of the free folks.

With the Northern winds eating up their lands the Free folk had been suffering greatly from a lack of food and other resources with the whites expanding uncontrollably, their shields and swords providing little assistance in the battle against the monsters of the legends.

The King's offer had been a blessing for them, a chance to obtain a steady supply of food and materials to make Hardhome liveable again, all at the cost of cessation of raids across the wall and the murder of one exiled and disgraced crow. The King had wanted more, offering gold and knighthoods to those among them blessed with gifts of warging, yet few trusted such an offer at first.

In the end, they had decided to wait, leaving the offer open for any who would wish to serve the King on the other side of the Wall. He had thought it all a hoax, much like most of his men.

Yet when a shipping vessel landed on the shores of their lands, loaded with grain and metals, he realized that the offer was made in good faith and that the King on the other side of the Wall was quite an enigmatic man.

The free folk had rejoiced, relishing the relative abundance of food as they began to repair the castle of Hardhome. And then the Kings men had met with him a second time, reiterating the offer of gold and glory to those blessed with the ability of warging, while they handed him a wooden chest.

"The King has sent this as a gift, to deal with your colder problems," the man had said as he had opened the chest, and right there lay weapons made out of obsidian. He had frowned at the gift, failing to understand the significance behind it, yet when he did everything began to make sense.

Those weapons were supposed to deal with the wights. Yet how did a king thousands of miles away came to know about these creatures was a mystery. It was at least until he recalled the legend of the dreamer herself, and realized that the King was perhaps blessed in the same manner as his storied ancestor.

KNOCK. KNOCK.

He was broken out of his thoughts by a knock on the door of his room, and he looked up to find a blonde woman entering her solar. Val, with her flowing blonde hair, entered his room, followed by a couple of gruff-looking men, with one of them still biting a chicken hungrily as juices dripped down his red beard.

The other man was bald, his figure towering over the other, his body littered with scars and wounds from his various battles. Three Mance had fought against the man before he had finally decided to support him as King Beyond the Wall. He was the Magnar of Thenns, Styr.

"You told me you wanted to see them as soon as they returned," said Val in her unimpressed tone and he saw Tormund's gaze linger on the blonde hungrily, though he was aware that the man had little chance of stealing her wife's sister given her skill with a blade.

"Yeah, she wouldn't even let us eat in peace," snarled Styr, and Val just shrugged and then left the room quickly, leaving him alone with his two most trusted men.

Tormund Grisbane and Styr of Thenn were two of his most trusted men, and he had given them a specific mission. The two men sat down gruffly, with Tormund still biting into his chicken hungrily, as Styr gave the man a look of disapproval.

"So, tell me, how much time do we have?" he questioned, getting to the crux of the matter quickly since he could see that both of them were quite exhausted and probably in need of a good rest, after their months of ranging into the perilous lands of the true North.

The two men stilled at his question. The whites had been becoming more and more dangerous with each passing day, killing and converting the hundreds of roaming free folks, adding them to their numbers.

"A year, two at most. But they are becoming more and more active Manse," began Styr, and Mance nodded, and felt a sense of dread at the shortage of time they had.

"They are coming for us, Mance," cut in Tormund in his grave tone, and while there was no fear in the man's eyes, there was a sense of worry. Something which he shared. For what man would wish for a fate of servitude even after his death?

"Will the King keep his promise? Will he give us safe passage when the time comes?" questioned Thenn and there wasn't a need to question which King he was talking about, given that none really called him King this side of the wall.

He sighed at the question, as he slowly answered his question.

"The King is dead!"

0000

EDDARD STARK

Eddard Stark rode his horse hard as he made his way through eh Riverlands. With the King gone, there was little purpose to him staying in the capital. Unlike his sister, who had chosen to stay behind, her betrothal to Prince Aemon was all but final now since Brandon had given his assent to the match.

And Eddard smiled as he thought of his sister, and how unlike she had behaved when he had broached the topic of the betrothal with her. It was hard to imagine that it was the same girl who had threatened to run off to Bravos when Brandon had approached the matter with her merely months ago about a probable match with Edumre Tully.

"Look at that my lord," spoke one of his guards, and Eddard looked up and frowned as he saw smoke rising from ahead.

"It seems like something is burning," he spoke out as he pulled on the reins of his horse making it slow down as he turned it towards the smoke, planning to see what exactly was going on.

"Let us see what is going on," he said and his half a dozen guards nodded and began to follow him, as they made their way toward the source of the smoke.

As they rode past the forest, they realized that it was a rather small village, with some patches of land under the farm and about a dozen or two wooden houses situated here and there.

They finally saw the source of the smoke as they came upon a small hoard of people centered around a massive tree with pitchforks and axes in their hands. Eddard saw his guards tense up at the scene as their hands went to their swords instinctively, as they neared the hoard.

At the center of the crowd stood a man clad in a full robe, holding a sword, with the symbol of the seven-pointed star cut into his forehead.

"They are heathens! And it is our duty as god-fearing men to bring lead them to light! And if they shall refuse to mend their ways, then we shall do what is necessary to keep our lands pure!" shouted the septon, as the crowd cheered, and Eddard finally saw a family lying on the ground with their arms and legs tied as the tree behind them burned.

"It's a wierwood tree," spoke one of his guards with a gasp as he pointed towards the carved face on the tree. And suddenly, it became clear what exactly was going on.

"But aren't these Blackwood lands? The Blackwoods hold to the Old Gods, unlike the rest of the Riverlands," cut in one of the other guards.

"Burn them! Burn their heathen gods!" shouted the crowd, and suddenly one of their horses sneezed making the crowd turn towards them.

"It's a lord! Run!"

"Look at that sigil! It's a direwolf!"

"It's another one of those heathens!"

Eddard saw the Septon turn towards them in panic as the crowd became unsettled by their appearance, and before he could cut in, his guards took out their swords.

"THEY ARE GOING TO KILL US!" "RUN"

And in that pandemonium, he saw the Septon point towards them and shout.

"THOSE HEATHENS WANT TO STOP US FROM DOING THE WORK OF THE SEVEN! YET WE CANNOT BACK DOWN!"

The crowd rallied at his call, and Eddard felt dread pool in his gut as he saw the crowd turn towards him.

"Let us show them that we have the seven at our back and fear no lord or their sword!" the Septon shouted as some of the zealots rushed towards him. His guards were quick to react and despite his shout.

"NO, Don't kill them!" They struck down the two men, removing their heads from their bodies, and spraying blood everywhere.

The head of the guards seemed to realize their predicament finally and shouted.

"You need to get out of here Lord Eddard!" shouted Duncan as the crowd rushed towards him and his men in their rage, as the septon egged them on from behind.

0000

SAERA BLACKFYRE

Saera Blackfyre stood on the deck of the massive war galley, observing the men below her. The Golden Company was the most famous mercenary company for a reason, and it showed. While most companies failed to arm their men with reasonable armor, the company's men were well-equipped. Each man wore simple armor with some strapped in full plate, polishing their swords as they neared the infamous island of Bloodstone.

She heard the sound of footsteps from behind herself, and she didn't need to look back, to know who had come to meet her.

"Do you really think that this is the only way?" she questioned, in a mix of rage and trepidation. They had underestimated Aerys and his sons.

They had acted quicker than they had realized and had cut off their escape route to Tyrosh with Randyll Tarly, the King's infamous general leading an army, sacking the city, and rooting out their supporters.

Had Daemon not recognized the sigil on those ships, the man would have caught them and would probably have been killed, bringing an end to their struggle.

"Yes, by now, Randall Tarly would have captured all our supporters in the City. We have no choice but to act now," replied her brother, and she nodded. Yet they were desperate.

She looked straight ahead at the massive island. The island of Bloodstone stood there, a stronghold for the Targaryens, under the command of their cousin and Lord of Storm's end, Robert Baratheon, a giant of a man said to wield a massive Warhammer.

"Do you think we will win?" she questioned as the wind blew past her face, and she felt a gentle hand on her shoulder as her brother nodded.

"Yes. Yes, we will," he replied as she felt the massive ship slow down as they neared the island. Even without a spyglass, she could see the assembled Royal army right there, four thousand or so armored men standing there to end this war.

She saw her brother walk to the front of their ship, clad in full black armor, with a sword strapped to his side. Prepared for battle as the men of the Golden Company rallied behind them.

"And now it finally begins!"

0000

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