Camp
While they approach the foot of the Frostfangs, Jon and Ygritte find more marks on the trees. Signs of tribes from further North or far Eastwards.
“We must be close,” says Jon to Tormund and proceeds to almost slip in the snow in his excitement.
“Finally. Is that sword not too heavy for you?” Tormund watches Jon regain his footing in the snow.
“It was. But then I got stronger!” Jon grins at him, “Having any trouble with that axe?”
Ygritte runs ahead from them and not even Tormund’s glares could reel her in after they found the first tree markings.
“They’re here!” She shouts and Jon starts sprinting. He lied a little bit to Tormund, because the sword is still quite heavy. However, when Ghost runs next to him it is fine. The wolf has really grown since they left the Springhearts and is getting too big to carry. Ghost refuses to accept this fact and Ygritte teases him for spoiling the pup rotten.
—
Tormund asks Tygride to find a suitable spot in the camp to pitch their tents. He needs to talk to Mance Rayder alone first.
Tormund observes the other Free Folk as he walks between the tents. He sees some familiar faces, but he is a little awed at how many people are gathered. He did not even know this many people lived in the Freelands. He sees some Thenns and in the distance even a giant. He sighs. It is hard to be a leader when he is always second guessing himself. In the past two Moons, it is those instances in which he longed to speak to his father most.
He reaches Mance’s tent and prays that he made the right choice bringing his tribe here.
“Tormund of the Firebrand tribe!” Mance Rayder calls him and Tormund passes to stand in a circle of chieftains. He does not recognize most and he is by far the youngest, but refuses to be intimidated.
“We have come to join you, Mance Rayder. My tribe and I-” Suddenly a big figure behind him roars and Tormund jumps.
“You went to stand in front of Darg. He does not like that.” Mance explains.
“I did not mean any insult. I am unfamiliar with the customs of the giants,” Tormund admits.
Some of the chieftains laugh at that. “Typical Antler River arrogance!”
“A little Giantsbane!”
“You’re just like your father, young Firebrand!”
“Aye, he was an ass!”
Tormund feels his blood boil. “Don’t speak ill of my father! He died bravely and it is the reason I am here. It is the reason all of us are here. If even the giants are coming out of the high mountains, I know that the situation is grave. The majority of our journey was past empty settlements. Maybe those tribes are here, maybe they are dead and burnt, but I worry that they are out there with the Ice Ones.”
“Young Tormund speaks wiser than his arrogant father. We should attempt to find out how many tribes are still missing.” A chieftain to his left says. The majority of his face is scarred with angry scratches and Tormund wonders at the culprit.
“The Iced Ones are not the ones to fight. We will lose. Many of us have lost. We should attempt to come past the Wall, past the Crows,” Mance says.
“I have climbed the Wall, but it is dangerous. We have elders here. Children. They cannot climb the Wall.” Tormund speaks, trying to convey more wisdom than he feels.
“Aye, I agree with little Giantsbane. I will not see my daughters climb that ice.” This chieftain he knows. A nasty man called Njodd of the Snowhand tribe. His father always described him with many expletives and Tormund is starting to understand why.
“The Crows are small in numbers, but it will be hard to defeat them when they are in their Crow Castle.”
Mance nods. “We must try to hunt down the ranger groups.”
—
Jon walks through the Free Folk camp with Ghost at his heels. On the edge, he halts.
“Stag!” Ghost headbuds his knees. “Good boy!”
“Dead!” Ghost lies completely still on his back. “Attack!”
Ghost jumps on Jon, working them both down in the snow and giving wet kisses in his face.
“That is a beautiful direwolf, boy.” Jon quickly stands up and turns to face the woman.
She has blond hair and she reminds him of Tiffany. She is maybe slightly older than him and she has strangely shaped scars on her face. A Thenn.
As long as Jon can remember, Thenns have been the bad guys. If not the Crows or the monsters, it is the Thenns who figure in the stories as the villains.
He longs to run, but the woman is smiling and she does not look mean.
“Are you a warg, boy? To bond with a direwolf like that?”
“I don’t know. I have never seen a warg.” Jon has heard stories, but the Free Folk love their stories.
“My name is Njara. I can show you if you want.”
“Njara? My first mother had that name.”
“Oh? I was named after my grandmother, but I have never met another Njara before.” She sighs. “I never met her too, she was taken by the Crows. She was apparently a great sparrow warg.”
“Are you a bird warg too?”
She nods and places her hands in front of her mouth to call. A hawk’s call.
The young Njara holds out her arm and a winter hawk perches on her wrist. Her arm is covered in thick leather, painted to match the bird markings.
“This is Drogo.”
“Like a Dragon?”
“It is a Southern name, yes. Watch.” She breathes and lets her eyes roll white. She looks frightening, but then Drogo flies up and begins to circle them. Jon laughs, he has never seen a winter hawk up close like this.
After a couple of moments, Njara’s eyes roll back to their usual brown.
“Can I learn that too? How do you do that?” Jon has many questions.
Njara laughs. “I can teach you. There is not much to do here anyways, while they argue in that big tent.”
“So how do I?”
“Call your direwolf.”
“Ghost, here!” The direwolf stops chasing Drogo and bounds towards Jon.
“It is easier close to an old Weirwood, but we don’t have one here. Try to concentrate and breathe slowly. Look into his eyes and imagine that you join your souls together.”
Jon stares at Ghost and Ghost stares back. Join their souls together? Jon tries to breathe slowly. Ghost matches his breathing. Then his vision jumps and he sees himself for a second with white eyes, before he is looking at Ghost again.
“Woah!”
“Well done, Jon! You are certainly a warg. I will see you at this spot tomorrow at sunrise.” Njara pats his shoulder and walks away.
—
“I am surprised to see you this soon.”
“I told the Lord Commander it was important.” Benjen sighs, unsure where to start.
“I found the village, but-”
“You did! That’s great!”
“Let me speak, Ned.” Benjen hesitates. “I didn’t find the child. I spoke to a woman. She told me that her daughter, the baby and the old woman were snatched years ago.”
Ned Stark’s smile drops. “Are you sure?”
“She mentioned his name. Jon.” Benjen sighs. “I am sure she didn’t lie, she was too upset for that.”
“And you didn’t hear at the Watch?”
Benjen sighs. “The Watch gets smaller each year, Ned. Good men give their lives in the snow and the new recruits are fewer every time. The great families don’t send their sons to the Wall anymore. We are too few to even man all our castles.”
“So the baby is dead?” Ned tries to keep it together, but he can already feel the crushing weight of guilt creeping in.
“Most likely.” Benjen takes a sip of the wine, but it tastes like ashes. “Maybe Jon is running around like a wildling somewhere. Maybe.”
“Will you keep an eye out?” Ned asks.
“Ned, it will be like looking for a needle in a haystack. There are many fair wildlings.” Benjen pauses. “Besides, we have been finding more and more empty settlements. We don’t really know what is going on, but the wildlings are getting restless.”
“I will try to send you some good recruits soon, alright brother?”
—
“Think about your feet, little wolf! Don’t freeze, keep your elbows covered.” Tormund and Jon are practicing with the wooden swords they made a Moon back.
The sounds of wood on wood are driving Ygritte crazy. Every hour that Tormund is not talking to the other chieftains and every moment Jon is not staring at Ghost with the Thenn girl, they have been sword fighting.
They have almost been here a whole Moon and nothing much is happening. More Free Folk seem to join every day, but aside from talking and arguing, life is at a standstill.
Ygritte lazily shoots an arrow at the target she set up. The arrow whizzes to the center. She has been shooting since she was big enough to hold a bow. She never misses a still target. She longs to hunt, but their large numbers have made good prey scarce.
She ventures out of the camp. Technically it is not allowed, but Ygritte slips through the snow like water. In the last days, she has taken to exploring her surroundings and she prints every stone, every crevice in her mind.
Ygritte never gets lost. She remembers the wild lands through and through. Everywhere she has been is a memory in her mind. She stalks past the lower peaks, avoiding a Free Folk hunting party and turns southwards. She moves fast with the winds. Some days Ygritte feels like she is moments away from flying.
The sun is already dropping, but Ygritte knows the empty caves where to seek shelter. She knows them so well, she can even find them in the black darkness.
Then she sees movement. For a moment, she gets excited as it seems big. Maybe a bear she can kill.
When she gets closer, she can clearly see two Crows on their big horses.
Ygritte decides to follow them. They don’t see her. They never do.
—
“Where is Ygritte?” Tormund asks Jon.
“I don’t know. She’s always stalking around.”
Tormund hums. “It’s getting dark.”
“If anyone can take care of herself, it’s Ygritte.”
Tormund sighs. “Many people who could take care of themselves have died horrible deaths these past Moons. One of the giants told me that his son perished in a White Walker attack. And that’s giants, Jon!”
“I hear that they are calling you Giantsbane now.”
Tormund scoffs. “That is that old rival of my father. Njodd of the Snowhands. I hate him! He’s started up this Giantsbane joke.”
“It sounds good. Tormund Giantsbane.” Jon smiles at him. “I like it.”
—
As the sun has dropped below the mountains, the Crows set up camp. She can tell that they try to be careful not to be seen, but can also tell the many ways that they fail miserably.
Thankfully, they nestle themselves between big rocks, which gives Ygritte many blind spots to stalk closer and eavesdrop.
“You barely rest! Just back from Winterfell and the Lord Commander has you on another scouting mission.”
“Yes, he was not pleased with me going to see my brother,” the Crow lowers his voice to sound more gruff, “Do you remember your vows, Benjen Stark?”
The other Crow laughs softly. “That’s a good Mormont, Benjen! What did you say?”
“I didn’t say anything. He’s right. I was down South for nearly two months altogether, when I should have been up here, scouting.”
“Oh don’t worry, it’s not like we have seen many wildlings. The only one who we spoke to lately, was that nasty creep.”
“Ugh… I hate Craster.”
“He’s a nasty piece of work, alright. But it’s not like there’s anyone else who wants to speak to us, up here.”
“Was he able to explain the empty settlements?”
“You know how he is, first he needs to get properly sloshed on our good Doornish wine and then he rambles nonsense. He was talking about wights and Giants, you know?”
“Typical. Anything useful at all?”
“He mentioned Mance.”
“Mance Rayder? What did he say about that old deserter?”
“Apparently he has been gathering tribes up North somewhere, but that could just be birdshit that Craster is feeding us, that lying fuck.”
Ygritte stays as still as she can, pushed up against the rock. Say what you want about the Crows, their food smells great. Her stomach growls and she presses more against the rock to muffle any sound.
“What did your brother want, anyways?”
“Othor, you’re a good friend, but I am not sure if I should tell you.” The Crow called Benjen sighs. “It was a Southern politics thing and I should have refused, but what can I do? He’s my brother.”
He pauses. “Do you remember a woman coming to Castle Black, maybe fifteen years back? Complaining that her daughter had been taken by wildlings?”
The Crow named Othor hums. “It happens.” He laughs. “But with daughters, those sluts usually want to go! All good men close to the Wall are Nightwatch.” He burps.
“I remember a nasty piece of work shouting at the Lord Commander years ago. The mouth on that bitch! One would think she was a wildling herself. Something about a daughter, an old woman and a baby disappearing, that the one?”
“Yes.”
“We did go out to look, I think. It was one of the first times I went beyond the Wall, that’s why I remember. We searched the treeline near Nightfort and we found burnt bones. The animals had been at it of course, so it was a mess. We only found one skull. Old maester Aemon said it was probably the old woman’s.”
“And?”
“And nothing. We buried the bones and the Lord Commander spoke to that mother. I don’t know what he said precisely, but she was livid. Screaming, crying, cursing, they had to drag her out of Castle Black. It was a nasty sight. Why the interest?”
“Oh, no, nothing. Um… I’ll take first watch, sleep well.” The Crow called Benjen turns his face slightly and Ygritte holds back a gasp.
He looks like Jon.