Man Of Steel, Shield Of Ice

Clark Kent's boots crunched over the frost-covered ground as he approached the gathered wildlings. Their camp stretched out across the cold expanse, the smell of burning fires mixing with the sharp winter air. As he neared the heart of the camp, he could already sense the uneasy tension among the Free Folk. The alliance with the Night's Watch had yet to be fully accepted, and their eyes followed him with suspicion.

Mance Rayder stood in the middle of a group of his chiefs, his posture firm and defiant, as always. Despite the weight of the situation pressing down on him, Mance never appeared anything less than a man fully in control of his people. But Clark could see it in his eyes—hesitation, doubt.

Clark stepped forward, meeting the wildling king's gaze.

"We have to talk," Clark said, his voice steady, though his heart was far from calm. He had no idea how Mance would react to the terms he brought with him.

Mance studied him for a long moment, his eyes narrowed. "Speak, then. What do you bring from the Watch?"

Clark exhaled, the cold air clouding his breath. "Mormont's terms. The Free Folk are welcome to settle in the Gift, temporarily. But if you want a permanent settlement, you must bend the knee to the Lords of the North. Swear fealty. Obey southern laws."

Mance's face twisted in disgust. "Bend the knee? To southern lords? That's a path I will never walk."

Clark stood his ground. "I know it's hard to swallow, but the world's changing, Mance. The threat from the White Walkers—there's no ignoring it. We need every ally we can get. And right now, this is the only way. The Gift is the place you can rebuild, but only if you agree to follow their laws, just for a time. You'll still be free, but you must comply."

Mance's expression darkened, and for a moment, Clark thought he might strike him. Instead, Mance turned and began pacing, his voice rising in frustration.

"Submit. To southern laws. And for what? To be shackled by their rules, their kingdom's whims? What is this alliance but a slow death for the Free Folk? They will use us and throw us away. I'd rather fight and die on my feet than live on my knees!"

Clark's voice remained calm. "I understand your anger, Mance. I do. But you and I both know that the real fight is ahead of us. The White Walkers won't care whether you're a king or a beggar—they'll kill us all. For once, we need to work together. This isn't about submission, it's about survival."

Mance stopped pacing, his shoulders tense, his jaw clenched. He locked eyes with Clark again, measuring him. Finally, after a long silence, Mance spoke in a quieter tone, but with no less conviction.

"I will not bow to any man," he said, his voice hard. "But I will not let my people fall to the Walkers. If the Watch will offer shelter, and if my people can live without shackles for a time, then... I will consider it. For them."

Clark nodded, a weight lifting from his chest. "It's not perfect, but it's the best we have. We'll need to work together. The Watch is ready to support you, as long as you agree to work alongside them against the threat of the White Walkers. And we'll need to focus on building defenses, gathering strength."

Mance raised an eyebrow. "And after the threat is dealt with? What then? Will we be driven from our land? Will you ask us to kneel again, once the Walkers are gone?"

Clark hesitated. "I can't speak for the lords south of the Wall. But I do know they'll only see you as equals if you prove yourselves worthy, if you fight alongside them. This isn't forever, but it's a chance to survive."

Mance let out a long breath, his shoulders sagging slightly. "I don't trust them, Clark. I don't trust any of them. But... I have no other choice." His voice grew quieter, almost contemplative. "I'm not submitting to them. But I will agree to your terms. For now."

Clark's heart gave a small, reluctant beat of approval. He knew this was the best they could hope for. The Free Folk were a proud people, and forcing them to submit would have been impossible. But this temporary alliance—this fragile truce—might just be enough.

"I'll let Mormont know," Clark said, nodding at Mance. "And I'll stand by you, Mance. We're in this together."

Mance gave a curt nod but said nothing. His gaze shifted back to the horizon, where the winds blew cold and unforgiving, much like the world they had all chosen to live in.

For the first time in a long while, Clark felt a sense of hope—not much, but enough to keep moving forward. The Free Folk had a chance now. And with that, so did they all.

Clark walked away from Mance Rayder with a mixture of relief and apprehension. The king of the Free Folk had agreed to the terms, but Clark could feel the tension that still hung in the air. Mance had agreed to the temporary settlement in the Gift, but only because survival was the priority. There was no telling how long that fragile alliance would hold before the pride of the Free Folk led them to break it.

Clark knew the coming days would be difficult, and Mance's wariness would be a constant thorn in the side of any hope for peace. He had no illusions about the difficulties of uniting the wildlings and the Night's Watch, even temporarily. It would take effort, patience, and understanding—things that, in his experience, didn't always come easy.

But for now, it was enough that Mance had agreed to the deal. Clark's steps were quick as he made his way back toward the heart of the camp, where Tormund and Ygritte were likely waiting for him. The weight of the news he had just delivered pressed on him like an iron chain.

Tormund was the first to spot him, his sharp eyes cutting through the crowd as he waved Clark over. His fiery red hair blazed against the pale backdrop of snow, and his boisterous laughter rang out as Clark approached.

"Well, well, well!" Tormund boomed. "You look like a man who's had a conversation with a snake, but came out of it alive."

Clark chuckled, though it was more out of habit than amusement. "Not exactly a snake. But Mance is... he's stubborn."

Ygritte appeared at Tormund's side, her lips pressed together in a thin line. "He's a fool if he doesn't accept the alliance with the Watch. The Walkers will take us all if we don't stand together."

Clark met her gaze, and for a moment, he saw the fire in her eyes. But this time, the intensity of her gaze was tempered with something else: uncertainty.

"Mance doesn't like being told what to do," Clark said, his tone quiet. "But I think he understands. For now, anyway."

Tormund slapped Clark on the back, a booming laugh escaping him. "If you can get Mance to listen, there's hope for us all, eh? But I'd be careful. That man has the pride of a thousand wild boars."

Ygritte's sharp eyes softened slightly, though she still seemed wary. "Do you really think this alliance will hold, Clark? The Watch and the Free Folk... it doesn't seem like something that would last."

"I don't know," Clark admitted. "But it's the only way forward. We have to fight the Walkers together, or we all die. I'll keep my word, and I think Mance will too. For now."

Tormund gave a thoughtful nod, his eyes distant. "I hope so. Because if we can't fight the Walkers, then nothing else matters."

The conversation drifted as the night set in, the firelight casting long shadows across the camp. Clark could hear the distant chatter of the Free Folk, the occasional clink of metal as they prepared for the long journey ahead. The tension was palpable, the unease of new alliances settling like the cold wind against his skin.

As the evening wore on, Clark took a moment to stand apart from the group, looking out toward the Wall, now visible in the distance. The enormity of what lay ahead weighed heavily on him. He wasn't just an outsider here; he was the only one with the power to keep this fragile alliance from falling apart. The Free Folk and the Night's Watch had one thing in common: neither trusted the other. But together, they would have to face the growing threat of the White Walkers—and perhaps something even worse lurking in the shadows.

Suddenly, a shout echoed across the camp, and Clark turned to see a rider galloping toward them. The man pulled up to the campfire, his horse panting with exertion.

"Clark Kent!" the rider called. "There's a message—it's urgent!"

Clark's pulse quickened. The urgency in the man's voice wasn't lost on him. He rushed over, his heart pounding, as the rider handed him a sealed scroll.

Breaking the seal, Clark unfurled the message. It was from the Night's Watch—Mormont had sent a rider to confirm the terms of the deal and to ask Clark to bring the Free Folk to the Gift.

"There's no time to waste," Clark muttered to himself, reading the letter carefully. "The Watch is ready."

Turning back to Tormund and Ygritte, he looked them both in the eye. "The Free Folk need to move soon. Mormont's ready to let us settle in the Gift, but we have to leave before the storm hits."

Ygritte raised an eyebrow, a wry smile tugging at the corners of her lips. "Always rushing off somewhere, aren't you? First the Wall, now the Gift."

Clark didn't return the smile, his mind already racing. "We don't have a choice. Every day we wait, the Walkers get closer."

Tormund grinned, his usual boisterous demeanor returning. "Then let's not waste any more time."

---

Later that evening, the Free Folk began preparing to leave. The men and women who had been part of the camp packed their belongings and gathered their weapons, while the leaders convened to discuss the final details of the journey. The Watch had sent enough supplies to ensure a safe passage, and now the Free Folk would have a place to rebuild. But it wouldn't be easy. There was still much to prove on both sides, and Clark could feel the weight of the coming challenges.

As the night fell, Clark stood at the edge of the camp, watching as the Free Folk readied themselves for the long trek south. His mind drifted back to the Wall, to Mormont, and to the White Walkers—everything felt like it was moving faster than he could process.

He had no doubt that the journey would be hard, and he wasn't sure what awaited them in the Gift, but one thing was certain: the future of the North depended on the success of this fragile alliance. And for better or worse, Clark Kent was the linchpin holding it all together.