Man Of Steel, Shield Of Ice

Clark Kent's POV

The cold northern wind howled through the trees, a biting reminder of the harsh reality they all faced. Clark stood with his arms crossed, observing the scene before him as the firelight flickered across the faces of the gathered leaders. Tormund, Skor, Magnar Styr, and a handful of other important figures from the various clans had come together to discuss the next step, and the air was thick with the weight of their decision.

Clark could feel it in the atmosphere—the quiet tension, the hushed voices that carried more significance than any words could express. The scouts had arrived earlier that day, sent by Mance Rayder. It was the moment Clark had been anticipating for weeks, ever since he'd helped bring together the disparate wildling clans. Mance had already united many, but Clark knew it would only be a matter of time before he'd seek to incorporate the rest.

Tormund, ever the outspoken leader, was the first to break the silence, his voice low but carrying. "Mance Rayder's scouts are here. They've made their reports. He's gathered many of the clans—those who would follow him, anyway. The question now is whether we will."

Skor, the ever-pragmatic leader of the Ice River Clan, was the next to speak. His pale eyes swept over the group, his lips tight in thought. "The free folk don't follow anyone lightly. We've seen what happens when one man tries to take control. But the Others are coming. The dead move in the north, and no one can stand against them alone."

Clark's gaze drifted to the fire, the flames dancing with an eerie light in the darkening sky. "I've seen what happens when we stand apart. We all know that. Fighting each other only weakens us. We need to be united if we are to have any chance of surviving what's ahead."

Magnar Styr, the towering leader of the Thenns, grunted in agreement. "The Thenns have always been strong, but this threat is beyond any one clan. Strength alone will not be enough. If Mance Rayder can unite us, we must join him."

Clark could see the hesitance in their eyes—the same doubts he had seen in their faces when he first arrived. The free folk were not quick to trust outsiders, and even less so when it came to their leadership. Yet, this was not about pride anymore. This was about survival. The shadow of the Others hung over them all, a dark threat that none of them could ignore.

"We can fight," Clark said, his voice firm, cutting through the tension. "But we will fall one by one. The Others will not wait for us to be ready. We need each other, not just for the fight but to survive the long winter ahead."

Tormund's face softened, though his usual brashness remained. "I've never trusted Mance. Not in all my days. But this is different. If we wait, we'll lose everything. Better to follow a man who can lead us against the dead than face them alone."

The decision was hanging in the air, heavy and inevitable. Clark watched as the other leaders exchanged glances, each weighing the cost of uniting with Mance against the alternative—splitting apart and falling prey to the darkness creeping down from the north.

Finally, Skor broke the silence, his voice low but filled with conviction. "I still don't trust him. Mance has gathered his followers, but we've never seen eye to eye. But the truth is, we don't have the luxury of fighting alone. I'll follow him—for now."

Clark met Skor's icy gaze, steady and unwavering. "This isn't about trust, not at this moment. It's about strength. We fight together, or we die alone."

Ygritte, who had been silent until now, stepped forward, her sharp green eyes scanning the group. "I've watched you, Clark. Seen how you've worked with us, how you've brought the clans together. I don't trust Mance, either. But I trust you." She paused, her gaze flicking to Tormund. "If we follow anyone, it should be someone who understands what we need to survive, not just lead us into battle."

Clark nodded, feeling the weight of her words. Ygritte had been skeptical from the start, but now she stood by him, and her loyalty meant more than any words could say. They had fought side by side, shared their burdens, and grown to understand each other in ways that transcended the usual boundaries of trust.

"I'm not asking anyone to follow blindly," Clark said. "I'm asking you to see that together, we stand a better chance. Mance may be the one who can unite us, but it's our strength that will determine whether we win or fall."

There was a moment of quiet after his words, the fire crackling in the background as each leader considered what had been said. Finally, Tormund stood, his face set in determination. "We've all seen what the dead are capable of. If Mance can bring us together, then I'll follow him. Let's make this work, for all our sakes."

Skor gave a reluctant nod. "Then it's settled. We join Mance, but not out of desperation. We join him because it's what we must do."

Magnar Styr, ever the stoic warrior, simply gave a single nod of agreement. "Let's see if he's truly capable of leading. If he is, we follow. If not, we'll be ready to make our own way."

Clark felt the resolve in the air. This wasn't a moment of doubt anymore. The decision had been made, and it was the right one. The clans would unite—Mance Rayder's coalition would grow, and they would stand together against the coming storm.

---

Later That Day

The camp settled into a tense quiet as the leaders dispersed to inform their people of the decision. Clark stood at the edge of the camp, staring into the darkening sky. He knew this wasn't the end of their trials. The wildlings were a proud, independent people, and Mance's leadership would be tested at every turn. But at least for now, they had made the right choice. They had come together when it mattered most.

He turned and walked back to the fire, his thoughts on the future. The Others were coming, and they were closer than any of them realized. The time for division was over. The time for unity—true unity—had begun.