Jon and Alys trudged through the snow-covered forest, their breaths visible in the cold air. The wildling family they had met earlier had brought them to a larger encampment, where hundreds of Freefolk gathered around roaring fires. At the center of it all stood Mance Rayder, the King Beyond the Wall.
Mance was a striking figure, his dark eyes sharp and his demeanor calm but commanding. He wore a patchwork cloak made of black wool and red silk, a symbol of his defiance against the Night’s Watch. When Jon and Alys were brought before him, Mance studied them with a curious gaze.
“So,” Mance said, his voice smooth but laced with authority. “You’re the ones who survived the White Walkers.”
Jon nodded, his expression guarded. “We were lucky.”
The wildling family who had brought them stepped forward. “He’s telling the truth,” the man said. “We saw it. The White Walker came, and he fought it. He survived.”
Mance raised an eyebrow, his interest piqued. “Is that so? Most men don’t live to tell that tale.”
Jon hesitated, then shrugged. “I ran away. It’s not much of a story.”
Mance chuckled, but his eyes remained sharp. “Running from a White Walker and living to tell about it is a story in itself. What’s your name, boy?”
“Jon Snow,” Jon said, his voice steady.
Mance’s expression shifted, a flicker of recognition in his eyes. “Snow, eh? Ned Stark’s bastard?”
Jon nodded, his jaw tightening. “Aye.”
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Mance leaned back, his gaze thoughtful. “And what brings you so far north, Jon Snow?”
Jon took a deep breath, his mind racing. He had to be careful. “I came to see the Freefolk for myself,” he said. “To understand why you’re so desperate to cross the Wall.”
Mance’s lips curled into a faint smile. “And what have you learned?”
Jon glanced around the camp, taking in the faces of the wildlings—men, women, and children huddled together for warmth, their eyes filled with fear and determination. “I’ve learned that you’re not so different from us,” he said. “You’re just trying to survive. And now, with the White Walkers coming, we all share a common enemy.”
Mance’s smile widened. “A common enemy, you say? And what do you propose we do about it?”
Jon met Mance’s gaze, his voice firm. “I can help you. I can spy for you, bring you information about the Wall. And I can bring you something else—fertilizers. They’ll help your crops grow, give you more food to survive the winter.”
Mance’s eyes narrowed, but he didn’t interrupt.
Jon continued, his mind racing as he laid out his plan. “But in return, I want an alliance. The North and the Freefolk, working together to fight the White Walkers.”
Mance studied Jon for a long moment, his expression unreadable. Then he leaned forward, his voice low. “You’re bold, Jon Snow. I’ll give you that. But alliances are built on trust. And trust is hard to come by.”
Jon nodded. “I know. But I’m willing to prove myself.”
Mance smiled, a glint of approval in his eyes. “Very well. I’ll give you a chance. But know this—if you betray us, there’s no place in this world where you’ll be safe.”
Jon nodded, his resolve hardening. “Understood.”
<hr>
Before Jon and Alys left the camp, Mance pulled Jon aside. “There’s something you should know,” Mance said, his voice low. “The Wall isn’t just a barrier of ice and stone. There’s a way through it—a hidden passage called the Black Gate. If you’re serious about helping us, you’ll need to know about it.”
Jon’s eyes widened, but he kept his expression neutral. “I’ll keep that in mind.”
<hr>
As Jon and Alys made their way back toward the Wall, Jon’s mind raced. He had taken a dangerous gamble, but it was one he believed in. The Freefolk weren’t the enemy—not really. The true enemy was the White Walkers, and the North would need every ally it could get to face them.
But as they walked, Jon couldn’t shake the feeling of Shadow’s absence. For the first time in his life, he was truly on his own.