Chapter 36: The Deal of the Wall

The cold wind of the far North howled across the frozen tundra as Clark Kent stood before Mance Rayder and the leaders of the Free Folk. He could feel their gaze, sharp and assessing, weighing every word he spoke. His message was clear: the time for hesitation had passed. The Wights were real, and their march south was imminent. The question now was whether the Free Folk, the people Mance had united, would stand with him against the greater threat.

Mance Rayder, tall and composed, stared at Clark with a piercing gaze. Behind him, Skor, Tormund, Rattleshirt, and other Free Folk leaders stood, their expressions unreadable. Clark had known from the start that convincing Mance to trust the Night's Watch—and to send the Wight south—would be no simple task. But it was a necessary one.

"Speak then, Clark Kent," Mance said, his voice deep and steady. "You've brought us a deal from the south. Tell us what it is."

Clark took a breath, feeling the weight of the moment. "Mormont has agreed to send a Wight south to Winterfell to prove the threat is real. But there are conditions."

The leaders of the Free Folk exchanged looks, suspicion and uncertainty in their eyes. Mance gestured for Clark to continue.

"The Night's Watch will not tolerate lawlessness. They've made it clear that no looting, pillaging, or raping can occur if the Free Folk are to be allied with them against the Others. But they're not asking you to bow to southern lords or kings. The alliance is about survival, not submission."

Mance listened carefully, his jaw set, but there was no immediate reaction. It was clear he was thinking deeply about the consequences.

"And what do you ask in return, Clark Kent?" Mance's eyes narrowed slightly. "What do you want from us?"

Clark paused before answering. "Nothing beyond your help. This is about surviving the coming storm. The White Walkers, the Wights—they won't care who we are. But if we stand together, we have a chance."

Tormund stepped forward, his voice gruff but thoughtful. "Aye, the Watch is a bunch of pricks, but Mormont's no fool. He's seen the truth of what's coming. It's the only reason he'd agree to such terms. And if it means fewer of us die, then we'll do what it takes."

Mance turned to Tormund, his expression still hard. "It's not just about surviving. We are Free Folk. We do not swear fealty to lords or kings. But we will not face the Wights alone. If we must fight with the Watch, we will. But we will not be their subjects."

Clark nodded in agreement. "You won't need to bow to anyone, Mance. This isn't about bending the knee to a king. It's about ensuring the survival of all of us. The Wight will be sent to Winterfell to prove the threat, but we'll all need to be ready. The Watch has agreed to fight with us, not to control us."

Rattleshirt grunted, his eyes glinting with suspicion. "And what of us? We're to just stand at the Wall, waiting for these Wights to come? We can't stay on the edge of the world forever."

Clark turned his gaze back to Mance. "The Free Folk aren't being asked to join the Night's Watch. This is an alliance. You'll have the opportunity to work with the Watch, and if we fight the Others together, we can survive. But the Watch can't do it alone. And neither can you."

Mance gave a single nod, as if weighing the cost of the alliance. Finally, he spoke again, his voice steady but resolute.

"This deal—this 'alliance'—is about survival. Nothing more. The Wight will go to Winterfell, as you say. But when the time comes, we will fight the Wights together. If the Watch betrays us, they will learn the price of that mistake."

Clark could feel the weight of the decision on Mance's shoulders. The Free Folk had lived for generations outside the laws of the South, and the idea of an alliance with the Night's Watch, even against such a monstrous threat, would never sit comfortably. But there was no turning back now.

"As long as we're clear on that," Clark said. "We stand together against the Wights. The rest doesn't matter."

The wind howled once more, a cold reminder of the unforgiving world they inhabited. Mance gave a final nod, signaling his acceptance. The Free Folk would fight alongside the Watch, but only as equals. There would be no bending the knee.

"They will send the Wight to Winterfell," Mance said, his voice ringing with finality. "And we will stand ready for what's to come."

As the leaders began to disperse, Tormund clapped Clark on the back with a grin. "Well, lad, it seems we've got ourselves a deal. Now let's make sure we survive what's coming."

Clark nodded, his mind already turning to the future. The Wight would be sent to Winterfell. The alliance with the Free Folk was made. But the real challenge was still ahead: facing the White Walkers and ensuring the survival of everyone. But for the first time in months, Clark felt that they might have a chance.

Benjen Stark

Benjen Stark, First Ranger of the Night's Watch, had spent the last few days making his way south from the Wall. The bitter cold of the far North had been his companion for many days, but now the scent of trees and earth, a sign of warmer lands, was in the air. He was only a day away from Winterfell, but his thoughts were far from the warm hearths of the great castle. Benjen had felt an unsettling weight on his heart during his journey south—a feeling that something was amiss at the Wall. The disappearance of the missing Rangers, the strange occurrences on his travels, and the persistent feeling of being watched by eyes that did not belong to men—these things had gnawed at him for some time.

As the miles between him and the Wall grew, Benjen found himself reflecting on the strange series of events that had unfolded. The last time he had seen Mance Rayder and the Free Folk, they were still scattered across the far reaches of the North, their threat more distant, something that would be dealt with in time. But in the wake of recent reports from the Wall, those same Free Folk were now becoming more pressing. And now, there was talk of something far worse than any Wildling horde—the return of the ancient enemies, the White Walkers.

He had heard whispers on the wind and seen signs in the snow, strange markings that made his blood run cold. Benjen had seen enough to know that something dark was stirring. The Wights, the walking dead—these were not just tales to frighten children or to keep men in line. No, they were real, and they were coming. It was no longer just a matter of the Night's Watch keeping watch over the Wall. It was a matter of survival for the living itself.

A sharp gust of wind snapped Benjen from his reverie. He pulled his cloak tighter around his shoulders, squinting into the grey light of the early morning. The towering walls of Winterfell were not far now, their jagged edges cutting through the horizon. But Benjen knew that no matter how close he was to his destination, there would be no comfort for him in the coming days. The situation at the Wall demanded his attention, and the news he carried would change everything.

He had to warn Lord Eddard Stark. He had to make sure the southern lords were prepared. Winterfell would need to be ready for what was coming, and the North would need every sword it could muster to face the growing darkness.

As Benjen's horse trudged through the snowy road, he could only pray that it wasn't too late.