Man Of Steel, Shield Of Ice

Mance Rayder's POV

Mance Rayder stood atop a low hill, his eyes scanning the sprawling camp below him. The wind howled through the cracks in the stone walls, but he paid it no mind. His thoughts were focused on the task ahead: the unification of the Free Folk. It was no easy feat, but he had come far, gathering the scattered clans under his banner. Now, the time had come to solidify his power and gather the last remaining tribes—those still outside his reach.

The giants had already pledged their allegiance, and the Hornfoots, the Blackwoods, and the other major clans had given their support. But Mance knew that the Thenns, Ice River Clan, and Tormund's group—led by the fierce Tormund Giantsbane and his companion Ygritte—were the key to ensuring the success of his campaign. Without their warriors, their experience, and their numbers, they would be vulnerable when the true threat came from beyond the Wall.

Mance hadn't contacted them directly yet. His strategy had been one of subtlety and patience, allowing the other clans to fall into place first. But now, there was no more time for waiting. His scouts had returned with news that Tormund and his people were still out there, wary and undecided. The Thenns, disciplined and dangerous, were similarly elusive, and the Ice River Clan, known for their resourcefulness, remained indifferent to his call.

The hour was growing late, and Mance could feel the weight of the decision pressing on him. It was time to send the scouts.

"Dalla," Mance called, his voice low but commanding.

Dalla, his wife, stepped from the shadows, her graceful form outlined by the flickering firelight. Her blue eyes, always calm and discerning, met his. She was the steady force behind his every decision, the voice of reason when the tension became too much to bear. Mance valued her more than she could know.

"You've been quiet," Mance said, his tone softened by affection. "What do you think of our next step?"

Dalla looked toward the horizon, her eyes distant for a moment. "You've gathered most of the clans, Mance. The others will follow in time. But it's the Thenns, Ice River Clan, and Tormund's people who will give us the strength we need. They won't be easy to win over."

Mance nodded, his gaze turning toward the fire where the scouts had gathered. "I know. I'm sending word to them. They'll have a choice: they can join us now, or they can be left behind."

Dalla stepped closer, her voice quieter now. "You must be careful, Mance. The free folk are stubborn, yes. But some may be too set in their ways to follow."

Mance met her gaze, his expression unwavering. "I can't afford to wait any longer. The Others are coming. They'll see that soon enough."

Dalla placed a hand on his arm. "I understand, Mance. But remember, even those who don't trust you now may find a way to join when they see how strong we are together."

Mance smiled faintly, appreciating her wisdom. "You're right. It will take time, but we don't have the luxury of time. The scouts will go out tomorrow."

---

Later that night...

As the fire crackled in the center of the camp, Mance gathered his most trusted commanders. Among them stood Weeper, a tall, silent figure with cold, calculating eyes, and the grizzled, scarred veterans who had fought in countless battles. His advisors had earned their place beside him, but Mance knew that even their loyalty could be tested by the harsh realities of the war to come.

"It's time," Mance said, his voice echoing through the quiet night air. "I'm sending scouts to Tormund's group, to the Thenns, and to the Ice River Clan. We need their warriors. We cannot afford to wait any longer."

Weeper grunted, his face unreadable. "You've not made contact with them before. What makes you think they'll come now?"

Mance met his gaze with certainty. "They will come, or they'll face the consequences of standing alone. The Others are out there. I'll give them a choice: join us now, or be left behind to fend for themselves when the end comes."

Weeper was silent for a moment, then nodded. "Very well. But if they turn their backs on us..."

"If they turn their backs on us," Mance said, cutting him off, "then we will make sure they regret it."

---

Mance's POV – Alone on the Hill

The camp fell silent as Mance stood alone on the hill, staring out at the darkening sky. The stars above were cold and distant, and he felt the weight of his task pressing down on him. He had been preparing for this moment for months, but now it was real. He had gathered the Free Folk. He had united them in spirit. But now it was time to see who would stand with him when the real war began.

He knew it wouldn't be easy. The Thenns were proud and disciplined, their warriors unmatched in battle. The Ice River Clan was fiercely independent, and their leader Skor would not bend the knee to anyone. Tormund and his people were wild and unpredictable, and Ygritte's loyalty to him was still uncertain. But they were all needed. He had no choice.

He turned and walked back toward his tent, where Dalla and Val were waiting. He had made his decision, and now there would be no turning back.

---

The Next Morning

At dawn, Mance summoned his scouts. He gave them their orders: make contact with the Thenns, the Ice River Clan, and Tormund's people. He couldn't afford to leave any of them behind.