Man Of Steel, Shield Of Ice

Clark

The chill of the night air outside the keep felt different now. It wasn't just cold—it was refreshing, like the first breath of a storm breaking after a long, suffocating heat. The battle was over. Craster had been defeated, and his reign of terror was no more. But Clark knew this was only the beginning of something far more complicated. The wildlings had taken the first step, but there were many more to come.

The wildlings, though free from Craster's oppression, were still a fractured people, united by their hate for the Night's Watch, but divided by their tribes, customs, and past traumas. They weren't simply going to follow Tormund or Ygritte because they had toppled Craster. No. If anything, the distrust among them would be stronger now, as the old power structures began to crumble.

Clark leaned against the stone wall of the keep, his arms crossed, his eyes scanning the surrounding land. The campfires from inside the keep flickered, casting long shadows against the walls. His thoughts were distant, drifting between this place and the Earth he had left behind. The world he knew was far removed from this one, but he knew there was a certain kind of struggle that transcended both.

He could help them. He could show them a way to be stronger together. But only if they were willing to follow. Only if they were willing to see that survival didn't just come from brute strength—it came from unity, from understanding, from working together.

"Clark." Tormund's voice broke through his reverie, pulling him from his thoughts.

Clark turned, seeing Tormund approach, his large form outlined by the light from the fire behind him. The wildling leader's expression was grim but resolute, his eyes flicking to the men and women gathered around the campfire.

"You did well tonight," Tormund said, his voice low but earnest. "Craster's dead. The keep is ours. But we've got more work to do."

Clark nodded, appreciating the acknowledgment, though he knew the road ahead would be no easier than the one they'd just traveled. "The hard part comes now. You have a chance to unite your people, Tormund. But it won't be easy. You've got factions that have hated each other for years."

Tormund didn't seem surprised by the comment. "I know. But we've had to put aside old grudges before. This is different, though. Craster's death... it's going to change everything. There are some who will see it as an opportunity to seize power. But I'll make sure they know it's not a time for war."

Clark met Tormund's eyes, his own gaze firm. "Then you need to make sure they understand the strength in unity. That's what will keep you strong—if you stand together."

Tormund grunted in agreement. "Aye. That's what we need. But you've already seen the cracks. The old ways run deep. It's going to take more than words."

Clark couldn't disagree. He had seen how deeply divided the wildlings were. Even those who fought beside each other had their own agendas, their own reasons for being here. The past couldn't be erased overnight.

"But it's a start," Clark said, more to himself than to Tormund. "It's a damn good start."

---

Ygritte

Ygritte stood by the fire, her bow still slung over her shoulder, her eyes scanning the camp. She hadn't been part of the final confrontation with Craster, but she had helped lead the others to this point—had been a part of the plan from the beginning. Now, as the wildlings began to regroup and gather their strength, Ygritte knew that there were many questions that still needed answers. Most importantly, how would they move forward from here?

She could see the uncertainty in the eyes of many of the wildlings as they sat around the fire, the flickering light casting dancing shadows on their faces. Some looked relieved, as if the fear that had gripped them for so long was finally beginning to lift. Others were wary, unsure of what the future would hold. And a few seemed lost, their minds caught in a whirlwind of conflicting thoughts.

Ygritte understood that feeling. For her, this wasn't just about Craster's death. It was about what came after. She had spent most of her life in the shadow of the Night's Watch, of Craster's power, of the fear that had kept her people in line. Now that Craster was gone, what was next?

She thought of the families, the women and children who had suffered at Craster's hands. They would need protection, guidance. And the wildlings would need something more than just a leader—they would need hope.

She turned to see Clark and Tormund walking toward the fire, their conversation low but earnest. As they approached, Ygritte couldn't help but feel the stirrings of something familiar in her chest—something she hadn't felt in a long time. It was a spark, a possibility.

"We'll need to be careful," Ygritte said, cutting through the silence. "Some won't take kindly to the changes. We can't just force them to follow us."

Clark looked over at her, his expression steady. "I'm not here to force anyone. I'm here to help you. But you need to help yourselves first."

Ygritte met his gaze, her lips curling into a smile, albeit a weary one. "It's not going to be easy."

"I know." Clark's voice was unwavering. "But I've seen this before. People fighting to survive, trying to rebuild what's been broken. It can be done."

Tormund stepped in between them, a slight grin breaking through his usual stoic expression. "We're not just fighting to survive anymore, Clark. We're fighting for a future."

Clark nodded. "And that's the hardest part. The real fight comes when you have to decide what kind of future you want."

Ygritte's smile grew, and she stepped forward, her eyes catching Clark's in a way that felt almost like an unspoken agreement. "Then let's get to work. The future won't wait."

---

The Next Day

The morning after the battle, the keep felt strangely empty. The chaos of the previous night had settled into a grim quiet, as the wildlings moved about, gathering their things and making plans for what came next. Craster's body was left where it had fallen, a reminder of the man's cruelty and the new order that had been established.

Clark found himself walking through the camp, his eyes catching the various groups of wildlings as they spoke in low tones, strategizing their next steps. There was a sense of unease among them, but also a spark of something new. Hope, perhaps, or the realization that they had a chance to break free from the past and build something different.

Tormund approached him as he stood near the edge of the camp, his arms crossed over his chest. The wildling leader's eyes were sharp as they scanned the area, but he looked back at Clark after a moment, his expression serious.

"You said you've seen this before," Tormund began, his voice low. "People rebuilding, trying to find a new way. But what happens when they don't know how to let go of the past? What happens when they don't trust each other enough to move forward?"

Clark considered this for a moment. It was a question he had asked himself many times. The answer wasn't simple.

"Sometimes it takes time," Clark said finally, his voice steady. "Sometimes, you have to give people a chance to see that there's something better. And sometimes, you have to show them that they're better than the things that have held them back."

Tormund's gaze softened, and he gave a slow nod. "You're right. It's going to take time. But for the first time in a long time, I think we've got a chance."

Clark turned his gaze back toward the wildlings, who were slowly beginning to regroup. They weren't united yet, but they were on the path. And that was enough—for now.

"Then we'll make it count," Clark said quietly. "For all of us."