Confrontation at the Ruins #54

After fifteen tense minutes of waiting, Gale caught the subtle noise of rattling bones followed by a chorus of footsteps crunching through the snow. Curiosity piqued, he cautiously peered from behind the archway to inspect the source of the commotion. 

His expression twisted into a bitter smile as he looked at two distinct groups of wildlings gathered at the foot of the ruins. Each faction seemed to consist of at least thirty raiders.

The first group was under the lead of a man clad in boiled leather armor adorned with an array of bones. An oversized skull, seemingly belonging to a giant, rested atop his head, and his grin exposed brown, cracked teeth with a yellowed tint. Mounted on a horse shrouded in bone armor, the man radiated an air of viciousness. 

A woman with lustrous, long black hair and harsh features stood before the second group. She wielded a one-handed axe in one hand while the other clutched a peculiar totem. The wooden artifact held a distinct, ominous presence, covered in canine furs, fangs, and skulls. 

Gale stood his ground, facing Rattleshirt and the other wildlings with a hint of mockery in his tone. "Quite the lineup you've assembled just for me," he quipped, a wry smile on his face. "I might even be flattered if I didn't know you were out gut me," he added with a scoff.

The man in bone armor, Rattleshirt, couldn't help but grin in response to Gale's words. "You have quite the reputation, crow. They say you sleep with one eye open and can take down an entire horde of wights single-handedly," he retorted, his tone dripping with sarcasm. 

"They claim you're some kind of god incarnate, but from where I'm standing, you look like a cornered crow, ready to be slaughtered and fed to my hounds."

"Oh, really?" Gale countered with feigned curiosity. "You seem to know an awful lot about me, but here I am, drawing a blank about who you might be..." He provocatively baited Rattleshirt, hoping to get a reaction. 

Rattleshirt, however, grinned wider. "To crows, I be the Lord of Bones, the last thing they ever see before I strip their flesh and add their bones to my collection!" He proclaimed, his hand patting the bone armor, causing it to produce an eerie, rattling sound.

Gale couldn't help but chuckle at the grand title. "Lord of Bones, huh?" he quipped, his grin unwavering. "That's quite the fancy title... But I see no lord, just a little man covered in chicken bones whose shirt rattles when he rides. Rattleshirt is more fitting, don't you think?!"

Laughter rippled through the gathered wildlings, prompting Rattleshirt's face to twist into a storm of fury. "It's your bones that I'll be rattling soon, crow. I'll strip your flesh clean and make hauberk from your ribs!" 

Rattleshirt's voice boomed, his rage apparent as Gale's words seemed to cut deep. "I'll etch runes with your teeth and eat porridge from your skull!" he ranted, his fury escalating.

The intensity of Rattleshirt's fury didn't faze Gale, whose grin only grew wider. "How about you make your way up here and say those words to my face?" he challenged tauntingly. "Who knows, maybe a few of your men will live to see another day if you do." His sly smirk remained firmly in place.

Rattleshirt scoffed, clearly unimpressed. "Might be you fool these others with your glib tongue, crow, but you won't fool me," he snarled, his eyes locked onto Gale. "We've got you cornered, and I'll have your entrails hanging from a tree soon enough. I don't need to honor you with a duel."

Gale shook his head, his chuckle carrying a note of derision. "What you really mean is that you'd rather hide behind your underlings and send them to their deaths while you watch," he quipped, pointing at the wildlings standing behind Rattleshirt. "Some raider you are... you're just a coward! A coward in a rattling shirt!" he jeered, his taunts hitting their mark.

Rattleshirt's patience had worn thin. "Enough of this nonsense," he roared, his voice carrying across the frigid air. "Kill him and the traitors hiding behind him! Bring me those crow bones!" He pointed decisively, signaling his underlings to charge.

The wildling warriors assembled behind Rattleshirt initially hesitated, their expressions a mix of reluctance and resignation. They were fierce and unyielding fighters, unafraid of death. But Rattleshirt's reluctance to take on Gale left them disgruntled and restless. 

Some were already contemplating parting ways with Rattleshirt's band after the skirmish. Yet they were united in their distaste for Gale's provocative words—words that aimed to divide them. 

Ultimately, they could only comply as they charged the stairway. 

Harma Dogshead observed the discord in Rattleshirt's men with an entertained expression. The wildling woman's disdain for Rattleshirt and frequent clashes with him were well-known before Mance Rayder united them and many others in one army. 

However, even though she shared Rattleshirt's raiding band's disdain for the leader, she, like the others, refused to let Gale's provocation disrupt their unity.

"Go on! Take their heads!" Harma barked, signaling her followers, who begrudgingly fell in line, joining the charge behind Rattleshirt's warriors.

The tenuous unity of the wildlings remained— their collective resolve aimed at taking down Gale and his companions.

"Well, it was worth a shot," Gale mumbled with a sigh, his eyes fixed on the wildlings surging up the stairs, unmoved by his taunts. Still, facing disheartened opponents was better than confronting fervent raiders out to flay him alive, and he recognized that.

"I'll hold them on the stairs. If anyone gets past me, it'll be up to you to take them down," the young man stated, turning to Threya and Tormund. The two of them nodded in agreement and prepared their weapons.

"Got it," Threya replied, her gaze unwavering, her hand firm on her axe.

"Right," Tormund affirmed, his grip tightening around his sword.

"Alright then," Gale continued, taking a deep breath and drawing his iceblade. "Come and die, fuckers!" he exclaimed, casting a frigid look on the charging wildlings. 

As he spoke, a freezing gust of wind erupted around him, a manifestation of his power that momentarily threw the attackers off balance. A couple of them even stumbled and tumbled off the stairs, crashing onto the jagged rocks below. 

However, their resolve remained unbroken, and after the brief disruption, the others resumed their charge.

It only took seconds for the wildlings to close the distance. The first of them, a towering man wielding a rusty greatsword, wasted no time, lunging at Gale with a downward swing of his massive blade. 

Steady and collected, Gale met the sword swing with one of his own, his iceblade instantly freezing and shattering the raider's weapon. In a swift motion, Gale withdrew his iceblade, sending its frigid tip directly into the man's stomach, impaling him instantly. 

Displaying his formidable strength, Gale lifted the man by the blade before flicking the ice weapon, sending the fallen raider careening to the rocks at the side of the stairway.

The second wildling, a burly figure wielding a heavy mace, swiftly followed up with a forceful swing aiming at Gale's head, clearly hoping to crush with the attack. 

Gale sidestepped with nimble agility, dodging the lethal strike. Using the moment, Gale extended an open palm towards the wildling, releasing a powerful shockwave of freezing wind. The force sent the raider staggering backward, crashing into his companions.

Capitalizing on the momentary confusion, Gale lunged forward with a sidelong swing, cutting through two men with a precise, swift motion, including the mace-wielding wildling. 

Without hesitation, Gale released another powerful burst of wind. The blast lifted the assailants off their feet, sending their bodies hurtling into the rocks, their screams echoing as they crashed against the jagged terrain.

The wildlings paused in awe at Gale's display of strength, but their hesitation was quickly dispelled by the sudden emergence of a man within their ranks who rallied them with a commanding shout.

"Stop gawking and kill the crow, you sorry lot!" The man, small in stature but exuding determination, brandished two one-handed axes as he stepped forth to challenge Gale.

Without missing a beat, the other wildlings followed his lead, overcoming their initial hesitance.

Despite feeling annoyed by the intervention, Gale couldn't help but be privately impressed by the man's courage. If the roles were reversed, the young man knew he wouldn't be as eager to face a clearly and staggeringly more powerful enemy. 

Nevertheless, the man remained an adversary, and Gale was unwavering in his resolve to do what was necessary to survive and emerge victorious. 

As the wildling charged, axes poised to strike, Gale readied himself to retaliate and cut his audacious foe down. However, a shout from behind interrupted the imminent clash.

"Don't kill this one if you can... me autumn appole would kill me if he died here!" Tormund's voice urged, and Gale quickly realized he was facing one of Tormund's relatives. 

It made sense, in a way; audacious recklessness seemed to run in the family.

"For fuck's sake..." Gale grumbled, revealing his frustration but still abiding by Tormund's request. Stepping back, he narrowly dodged the incoming axes rather than following through on his initial intentions.

With lightning speed, Gale grasped the fur-covered shoulders of the charging man, throwing him off balance and sending him stumbling toward Tormund.

"Sort him out!" Gale instructed, addressing Tormund. "If he attacks me again, I won't hold back!" He cautioned, shifting his attention to the oncoming wildlings, fully prepared to continue the battle.

...

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