Unwelcome Addition #59

Sitting near the crackling bone fire, Gale chewed on a piece of stale bread, his expression sullen as he observed Val seated beside Threya. The two wildling women huddled close and exchanged hushed words, their murmured exchanges emphasised by chuckles and strange glances they sent in Gale's direction, bearing a hint of amusement. 

Val had clearly arrived with a purpose, evidenced by how she maneuvered the situation. She had sent her people back to Frostfangs' wildling encampment, escorting Rattleshirt with them. His fate would be sealed there— to be executed and made into an example for those who might contemplate treason. 

Val then arbitrarily proclaimed her intent to accompany Gale and his group on their journey to Castle Black. Her explanation was that she aimed to represent the Free Folk's interests more adeptly, citing Tormund and Threya's lack of diplomatic finesse.

Gale, not particularly fond of this arrangement, reluctantly accepted Val's company. He recognized the need for a sensible representative to accompany the wildlings to Castle Black, even if 'sensible' might be a stretch when applied to a wildling.

He was already juggling the challenging dispositions of the overly antagonistic Threya and Tormund, whose pranks often teetered on the edge of danger, leading to situations Gale had no desire to find himself in. 

The addition of Val, a figure seemingly adept at scheming and impervious to his habitual grumbling—a tactic he employed to irk Threya whenever possible—was far from thrilling for the young man. 

Handling Threya's aggression was a simple matter of reminding her of her two defeats at his hands whenever she became too aggressive. As for Tormund, ignoring his antics yielded the desired effect of dousing his mischief. However, Val posed a different challenge altogether.

His attempts to provoke her by badmouthing the wildlings, throwing insults, or even issuing threats had proven futile. Val remained composed, impervious to his attempts at riling her up.

 Despite having not done anything to warrant his ire, the sour impressions left by Tormund and Threya tainted Gale's view of the wildlings. Consequently, he found himself preemptively defensive in his interactions with Val, unsure of how to navigate his dealings with her.

'Hopefully, Tormund's son-in-law would prove to be better company...' Gale's thoughts drifted away from Val, his attention shifting to the unconscious young man lying near Tormund. 

Ryk, referred to as Longspear, lay bruised and still from the injuries sustained during the confrontation at the ruins. The young man's condition sparked a mixture of amusement and curiosity within Gale.

The chaotic turn of events leading to Ryk's state amused Gale despite the underlying ridiculousness. Tormund, in his typical fashion, had instructed Ryk to join Rattleshirt's raiding band, likely in an attempt to provide the boy with practical experience. 

However, the red-headed wildling had somehow managed to forget this directive, resulting in a direct clash between the two.

The irony of Tormund chastising and beating Ryk to a pulp for something he had essentially orchestrated was not lost on Gale. The laughable and bemusing scenario painted an amusing yet troubling picture of the wildling's parenting methods. 

Yet, Gale wisely chose not to meddle in the familial affairs of the red-headed wildling. Who was he to dictate how a father-in-law should deal with his daughter's husbend, especially a towering wildling with a penchant for fiery tempers?

As Gale's thoughts drifted to the battle at the ruins, he recalled something Val had mentioned about Rattleshirt. It had been on his mind to inquire about it earlier, but it had slipped his memory until now. Clearing his throat, he directed his attention to the blonde, wildling woman.

"Val, you said that Rattleshirt had caused me more grief than I knew..." he began, prompting Val to turn her gaze toward him. "What did you mean by that?" Gale inquired, a furrow forming on his brow in curiosity.

Val's smile was enigmatic. "Oh, I was wondering when you'd ask..." she responded casually. "You might know this, but it was Styr, the Thenn Magnar, who organized the raidings bands to hunt you down..." she started, noticing Gale's nod of confirmation. 

His encounters with the Thenn had always been far from pleasant, typically ending with a dead Thenn, sometimes more. It seemed entirely plausible that Styr would seek his demise.

"Except that's not the full story. While Styr took charge of the scheme, it was Rattleshirt who whispered it into his ear and planted the idea in his head..." Val explained, her tone tinged with a hint of revelation. 

"Rattleshirt is as cunning as he is cruel. He hoped to shift the blame onto Styr and the Thenn once you were dead and even intended to rid himself of his old enemy, Harma, during the battle..." Her words held a hint of disbelief.

"Unfortunately for him, he wasn't as cunning as he fancied himself to be..." Val concluded, shaking her head in evident disappointment.

Sitting by the fire, Gale's distaste for the wildlings surfaced in his words. "A goat-fucker with a penchant for scheming... like that would ever end well..." he muttered under his breath, his tone rife with scorn. Val, close by, couldn't help but let out an amused chuckle at Gale's colorful description.

His curiosity then turned to the events of the ambush. "Which reminds me... what happened to the Thenn? And the strange man with the steel scythe...?" he inquired, recalling the odd figure that had accompanied Harma during the initial attack.

"None of the Thenn survived..." Val began to explain before Gale interrupted, a dismissive tone in his voice. 

"Good riddance... I take it the undead tore them to pieces?" he guessed, assuming the grim fate of his enemies.

Val shook her head in response. "They weren't so lucky... the Weeper got to them first..." Her words carried a weight of gloom and disgust. "Their deaths were far from pleasant..." she trailed off, the gruesome scene seared in her memory as she attempted to confront the Weeper after his massacre of the Thenn.

Gale's frown deepened as he probed further. "The Weeper? You mean the man with the scythe?" he sought clarification, to which Val nodded solemnly.

"Our mission, in part, was to capture and dispose of him..." Val admitted with a grimace, an air of solemnity hanging over her words. "No one hates southerners more than the Weeper, and if we are to work with the Night's Watch, he'd only get in the way..." Her explanation painted a grim picture of the challenges they faced.

Gale sighed heavily and reclined slightly. "Let me guess... he managed to escape?" he asked, half-expecting the dismal confirmation due to his streak of misfortune.

"That he did..." Val responded with a resigned sigh of her own. "You need to be cautious of the Weeper. I know you're capable, but he's hardly just a man..." she added, concern clouding her features as she spoke.

"Just a man isn't how I'd describe someone who can kill a dozen Thenns and make someone pity their fate," Gale muttered, frustration evident as he rubbed his forehead. "Something tells me this Weeper fellow will be a constant thorn in the side until he's dealt with..." he added, shaking his head in dismay.

Gale was a firm believer of Murphy's law—anything that could go wrong would indeed go wrong—and dealing with a wildling capable of such brutalities that even other wildlings pitied his victims was a prime example of that rule in action, a disaster waiting to happen. 

...

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