Chapter 17: Seeds of Unity

Clark

The morning after the battle felt like the world held its breath. Clark stood on a ridge overlooking the wildling encampment, watching as they picked through the aftermath of the fight. Victory against the White Walker had brought them together, if only briefly. Yet the storm that truly threatened them—the one that loomed over the entire world—was still on the horizon.

Tormund joined him, leaning on his axe with a casualness that seemed forced. "That went better than expected," he said, scanning the camp. "But one fight won't be enough. We need more hands to hold spears, more voices to raise the war cry. We need the other clans."

Clark nodded, his gaze distant. "How many are out there?"

"Too many," Tormund grunted. "The Ice River lot, the Thenns, the Hornfoots… each of them with their own grudges and stubborn pride. They'll come around—if we can make them see the threat's bigger than their petty squabbles."

"They might not listen to someone like me," Clark said quietly.

Tormund barked a laugh. "They'll listen if I tell 'em you killed a Walker with your bare hands. Even the Thenns respect strength, and you've got that in spades."

Ygritte appeared at Tormund's side, her bow slung across her back. "Strength only goes so far," she said, her eyes fixed on Clark. "You're still not one of us. And the clans don't take kindly to outsiders, no matter how strong they are."

Clark met her gaze, unflinching. "I don't need them to accept me. I just need them to understand what's at stake."

"Then you'll have to show them," Ygritte replied, her voice softening just a fraction. "Words won't be enough."

---

Ygritte

They reached the Ice River Tribe at dusk. Their camp was hidden deep in a frozen valley, surrounded by jagged cliffs and snow-covered pines. The air was thick with smoke from their fires, the smell of meat and bone mingling with the sharp tang of frost.

Ygritte felt a twinge of unease as they approached. The Ice River folk were reclusive, more beast than man in the eyes of many wildlings. They were known for their mistrust of outsiders—and for their brutal way of dealing with those they didn't like.

"Keep your hands where they can see 'em," she muttered to Clark as the first of the tribespeople emerged from the shadows.

The Ice River folk moved like wolves, their fur-lined cloaks blending into the snow. They carried weapons of bone and stone, crude but deadly. Their leader, Skor, stepped forward, his green eyes gleaming in the firelight. He was lean and wiry, with hair that fell in matted tangles around his shoulders.

"Tormund Giantsbane," Skor said, his voice low and rough. "What brings you here? And who's this... thing?"

Clark didn't flinch at the insult, but Ygritte saw the flicker of tension in his jaw.

Tormund spread his arms wide, grinning. "Skor, you old bastard! I've come to share some news. And this here's Clark—he's the one who smashed a Walker to bits not two nights past."

The Ice River folk murmured among themselves, their suspicion plain. Skor studied Clark with an intensity that made even Ygritte uneasy. "A Walker, you say? And you lived?"

Clark stepped forward, his voice steady. "We all did. But not without loss. The Walkers are coming, and they won't stop. If we don't stand together, none of us will survive."

---

Tormund

Tormund watched the Ice River folk as Clark spoke. They didn't trust him—not yet—but they were listening. That was more than Tormund had expected.

Skor narrowed his eyes, his hand resting on the hilt of his bone dagger. "You want us to fight for you? What do we get in return?"

"Survival," Clark said simply.

Tormund suppressed a groan. The man was strong, but his words had all the finesse of a hammer. "What he means," Tormund interjected, "is that we're stronger together. You know what the Walkers do, Skor. They don't leave anything behind. If we don't fight now, there won't be anything left to fight for."

Skor looked unconvinced. He glanced at his people, then back at Clark. "Strength alone won't keep our fires burning. Or our bellies full."

Clark hesitated, clearly searching for the right response. Before he could speak, he knelt and pressed his hands to the snow.

---

Clark

The ground was frozen solid, but Clark dug quickly, his hands moving with inhuman speed. Within moments, he had unearthed a buried stream, its surface encased in ice. He activated his heat vision, melting the frost just enough to create a trickle of flowing water.

The Ice River folk murmured in amazement as the stream began to flow. Clark stood, brushing the frost from his hands. "This is just a start," he said, meeting Skor's gaze. "Let us prove to you that we're worth trusting."

Skor stepped forward, crouching by the stream. He dipped his hand into the icy water, his expression unreadable. When he stood, there was a hint of a smile on his face. "Not bad, stranger. But water won't be enough to win us over."

Clark nodded. "Then tell us what will."