Chapter 53

The iron gate creaked as it rose and Tiresias squinted. Last time he went beyond the Wall, it was evening. The following day, his eyes could slowly adjust to the light that reflected off the snow. Here, it was nearly blinding.

Fortunately, he didn't really need to see. As soon as the gate was open, Jeor Mormont gave his horse a gentle kick and they proceeded into the true North. As he was near the back, his horse automatically followed. The spotted mare was in the stables. Though rested, it wasn't guaranteed that she could withstand the cold. His mount for this outing was a durable animal, not overly friendly but not mean either. Just a stoic beast of burden.

Riding in the back meant he was hobnobbing with guards of various allegiances; the Night's Watch, House Stark, House Umber and House Mormont. Lady Maege arrived late last night. Tiresias only met her a few moments prior.

She rode near the front next to her brother. Neither seemed particularly enthused to see the other. When one leads a house and the other an ancient order, a sibling attachment is hard to maintain. But still, he could sense their bond. And they did look similar. They rode silently, focused on the nearing Haunted Forest.

Lord Stark rode behind them with the Greatjon at his side. At breakfast, he walked into the dining hall and saw the massive lord stewing in his porridge. There were no fights last night. Not that he heard. But by the look on the Warden's face, he had had a late evening. And he wagered most of that came with persuading Lord Umber to attend the summit this morning. It must have taken all the pull Lord Stark had with the Greatjon.

It was here that he was of some assistance. Not completely of his own volition. Upon seeing him, Lord Umber yelled for him to step forward. Despite a little fright, Tiresias did so. And instantly was sat down before the Greatjon to recount his fight against the Mountain. As much as he hated doing so, he knew it could possibly calm the high emotions for the Umber lord.

So, feeling the Warden's eyes on the back of his head, he gave his accounting of the duel in Deep Den. And was hardly able to eat any breakfast because of it. By the time the meal was over and they were making their way to the tunnel, Lord Umber was in a far better mood. Although he gave increasingly confused looks as the librarian of Winterfell continuing to accompany them. He was flat out silent when Tiresias mounted his own steed in their party.

Lord Umber remained quiet. But he rode with his Warden still. And that was something. Tiresias just hoped he could keep his mouth shut…

Benjen Stark headed the contingent, leading the front guard into the tree line. Tiresias saw the dragonglass hilt on his belt. It hung easy on his side. The First Ranger said he had taken it with him every time he ventured north.

He glanced down at his own belt. He hadn't worn his since his last time beyond the Wall. It was still sharp. He withdrew it last night. But it was lighter in his hand than his steel dagger and he was not used to it.

Tiresias cursed himself silently. All his training all these years and he neglected to practice with the one weapon he had that could fell a White Walker. He eyed the surrounding forest as they rode deeper and deeper.

Whoever's listening…not this time. Not today. Please don't let them come today.

But he didn't see anything and he didn't hear anything either. At least not of that ilk. Benjen told them that the meeting point was two miles north of the Wall. Not the best distance. But certainly better than riding thirty miles out to the Free Folk encampment.

However he didn't have to wait that long to sense them. Tiresias refrained from bringing it to everyone's attention, but a scout was waiting for him after the first mile in. His eyes remained on the snowy trail but he followed the quiet footsteps off in the distance. With the minimal effort it took ride his horse, he focused and found their breath. Heard her calm inhale.

The smell though was harder. He caught her scent, but it took more effort than he was used to. Odors were carried a shorter distance in the cold. He discovered that the last time he came up here.

The scout took her leave after a quartermile, travelling ahead to alert Mance and the others. He trailed her progress. Lifting his head to the northwest.

One of the Night's Watchman noticed. "See anything yonder?"

Tiresias shook his head. "No." Which was the truth. He didn't see her. He never did.

The man spat. "Well, keep your eyes peeled. They're out there. I know it."

He turned to the Watchman to nod and froze. The man looked familiar. Wasn't much to distinguish him from the other black brothers with his cold face and patchy beard, but he was familiar.

The Watchman caught him staring. "Wot?"

Tiresias cursed himself. He was getting better at that. Appearing unaffected by a familiar face. But sometimes when it was unexpected, he just fell into bad habits.

"I feel I've seen you before," he finally said. "May I ask your name?"

"Name's Gared. What's yours?"

That didn't ring any bells. "Tiresias."

Gared's eyes shone with recognition, but he thankfully didn't inquire further.

"Well, I've never seen you before."

"Fair enough," Tiresias answered, turning back to the front. His face was still familiar. He'd remember it eventually.

Or not. They did have bigger things to worry about.

He felt Gared's eyes on his side, heard the question brewing.

"Is that all you have?" the ranger asked, gesturing to his jacket. "No more furs?"

"No. No more furs."

Gared gazed at his bare hands, holding the reins loosely. "Are you not cold?"

Tiresias reached for his waterskin. "No."

The man shook his head and turned to the front. "You will be soon, I promise you. Hope the fuckin' wildlings know enough to have a fire goin' when we arrive."

Tipping the skin up, Tiresias responded with a single draught. That was an idea. Though not the one Gared had in mind. He fell quiet again, sniffing the air covertly.

Moments later, he caught it; the scent of woodsmoke drifting through the trees. Shortly after, he saw it in the distance, rising lazily to the sky . Others saw it too. They didn't say anything, but the energy shifted and what light chatter there was vanished.

A halfmile farther and they came to a grove. Along both sides of the trail were Free Folk. Dozens of them. Not bothering to hide themselves. They stood in the open, hands on their weapons. A couple held leashes. Their dogs stood watching as well. But they all remained silent and the Northerners returned the favor. 

A large tent stood in the groove. Tiresias recognized it immediately. Not that this tent was anything to write home about. But the Free Folk only spared this kind of size and luxury for one man. At least from what he remembered.

Benjen Stark must have stopped in front. Their retinue came to a halt. But no one dismounted. Everyone remained still and silent in the snow. Tiresias heard several Northmen grip their weapons tighter. The leather squeezing was excruciating.

Hold, you idiots…just hold and don't do anything stupid…

A balding redheaded man came from the side. He walked up, halting a healthy distance before the First Ranger. They regarded each other for a moment.

"You came."

Benjen nodded. "I did. Brought those who can keep the promises they make. Is Mance Rayder here?"

The redhead casted an eye over the middle section, over the Lord Commander and the Northern lords before looking back. He nodded to the tent.

"In there."

After a brief glance there, Benjen turned back, meeting the eyes of his brother. He couldn't see Lord Stark's face, but the Warden gave a miniscule nod and dismounted. Once he did, the rest of them followed.

We'll be fools together.

Tiresias landed neatly on the snow, patting his mount on the side. Taking his eyes from the front, he saw a familiar face focused on him in particular.

Karsi didn't return his nod, but he saw the recognition in her eyes. A fresh scar was on her right cheek. She loosely held her small axe by her side. A spear was slung across her back, an obsidian head at the end. She had kept his gift.

Resisting the temptation to ask whether she had gotten any use out of it, he proceeded between the horses to the front. He heard Karsi follow, along with several other Free Folk. Benjen had just finished speaking to the emissary and turned to face them.

"The guards stay outside. Along with the weapons. They'll drop their arms as well."

Lord Umber scowled. "They can't fuckin' be serious…"

"They are. And I am too," Benjen said quickly. Lowering his voice to try and influence the Greatjon. "Leave your steel. Or we can't talk."

Lord Stark stepped forward, past the protests of Lord Umber. He looked to the balding redhead, who fixed him with a strong gaze.

"I'm Eddard Stark," he stated. "Warden of the North, Lord of Winterfell. What's your name?"

After a beat, the man responded. "Dim Dalba."

No titles followed. Lord Stark allowed a second of silence before continuing.

"In my land, Dim Dalba, if a man allows another to enter his home in peace, he is bound to provide for him and protect him. And when he departs, he must be seen safely from the man's home. Unlike my brother, I've never been beyond the Wall. Does that same rule hold here? When we put down our steel and enter this tent, are we under Mance's protection? Can we trust you?"

There was no accusation in the Warden's voice. But it was loud enough for everyone to hear. Tiresias looked to Dim Dalba. The man didn't seem offended. He regarded Lord Stark for a few seconds before speaking.

"Mance is here to speak and he carries no steel inside." He pointed to a rough sword, leaning against the tent, along with a pair of axes and a couple of dirks. "That's Mance's arm. He left it there when he heard your approach. We're not here for blood. Not today. Not unless your men do anything stupid."

Tiresias read that as a simple warning. Not a threat. Still, his heart skipped a few beats as he heard the guards behind him shift uncomfortably.

Fortunately Lord Stark didn't waste any time. He turned from Dim Dalba. Eyes on his men, he unbuckled his belt and laid his sword and dagger next to Mance's weapon.

"Stay calm." He addressed the Stark faction, but in actuality, spoke to all their guards. "Hands off your weapons. Don't say a damn word."

With that, he pushed aside the flap and entered the tent.

The Lord Commander followed him next, standing Longclaw on the tent's side. Tiresias didn't watch Jeor Mormont enter. His eyes went to the pommel. It was still a bear.

I'm sorry, Jon. I don't know how you're going to get Valyrian Steel. The opportunity to save the Lord Commander's life won't occur here. Not if everything goes smoothly…

That was a foolish hope, he supposed. Coming back to reality, he saw Lady Mormont follow her brother, dropping her spiked mace next to the family heirloom.

Lord Umber stood stock still for an uncomfortable amount of time. Tiresias watched him apprehensively. The large lord turned back to his soldiers, to the Free Folk that surrounded him. He saw him desperate to say something, to give a command to his men, a warning, different instructions…

But his bond with Lord Stark was not broken yet. With a reddened face and a huff, he unbuckled his belt and threw his greatsword onto the snow. The fur flap almost flew off as he tossed it aside, stamping into the tent after his Warden.

Benjen Stark, having watched all of this, finally looked to him. He didn't waste time trying to look dramatic. They couldn't spare it. These talks should have occurred years ago. He quickly took off his belt and placed his two sheaths on the ground. Along with the quiver and the yew bow. He heard the First Ranger do the same as he stood up.

He gave the clearing a quick look as he put his belt back on. No one looked happy. An absurd urge to give a thumbs-up rose within him. Thankfully, he suppressed it, making eye contact with Gared. The Night's Watchman was calm enough, but his eyes were incensed. He clearly didn't think this was a good idea.

Where the hell have I seen him before?

Leaving that question in the snow, he passed Benjen placing his sword down and entered the tent.

Smells of animal overwhelmed him and he wished this talk would take place outside. Unfortunately, not everyone had his immunity to the cold. So he bore it and took in the sight.

A fire burned off to the side. Aside from the lack of reading and writing material, it seemed like any other lord's tent. Just more rugged. Tiresias tried to remember if this was the same tent that he remembered from the show. He couldn't tell. More than likely though.

Lord Stark remained standing, his eyes forward. The others all stood behind him, staring at the man who sat before them, finishing a steaming piece of meat off the bone. Venison from the smell and look of it. Another man sat in the back, facing away from them. His hands weaving slowly through a loom.

The tent flap opened behind him. He turned to see Benjen enter, followed shortly by Dim Dalba, who had surrendered his spear. Karsi trailed him shortly, her weapons gone as well. The First Ranger halted by his brother. Dim Dalba stepped past him, stopping by the sitting man and turning. Karsi sat farther back, by the man who wove.

Upon Dim Dalba's appearance, the man took a final bite of his meal and stood, staring at them all in defiance. He tossed the bone into the fire, his blue eyes going to each one of them. Silence reigned in the tent. Tiresias met his eyes briefly before the man moved on. He also sensed Karsi's gaze on him.

What's going on here…?

Dim Dalba spoke. "This is Mance Rayder, King Beyond the Wall."

That prompted the Greatjon to step forward, before Lady Mormont grabbed his arm, muttering for him to calm himself. Once Lord Stark was certain his loyal vassal was sufficiently quiet, he stepped forward.

Tiresias' gaze drifted from the center to the back…

"Well met, Mance. I'm Eddard Stark. Warden of the North." He turned and gestured back. "This is Lord Umber and Lady Mormont. My brother, Benjen Stark, First Ranger of the Night's Watch. Tiresias."

The Old Bear stepped forward. "I'm Jeor Mormont, Lord Commander of the Night's Watch."

He heard suppressed anger as the man responded. "Mormont…I've heard of you."

"And I you."

It was another few seconds before the wildling responded. "Well…we're here to talk, aren't we? Crows and Free Folk alike. So sit. And let's talk."

Creaks sounded in the tent as the two parties found their seats. Tiresias heard the Greatjon grumble as he tried to find his balance. But he didn't move. He stood, still gazing to the back, where Karsi and the weaving man sat.

"You. What's your name? Tiris?"

He looked back to the wildling man. His blue eyes were right on him. Out of his periphery, he saw the others turn to him.

"Tiresias," he corrected quietly.

"Tiresias…" His name came out as a mockery. "Well, what's the matter, Tiresias? Too good to sit with us?"

There was some light in the tent. Not just from the fire. Some came from the ventilation. White and blue from the outside. It touched on the man's hair and full beard. Both kissed by fire.

"You're not Mance Rayder."

The mockery dropped from the man's eyes. He stood from his seat. As did the others, but he paid no attention to them. The man focused entirely on him.

"Say that again," he said softly.

Though the sensible part of him told him not to look away from the man's intense gaze, Tiresias turned to the back where Karsi and the weaving man sat. She was staring at him and the man had paused with his loom still aloft. A few seconds passed before the man spoke.

"Is this him, Karsi? The man you and your brother encountered in the woods outside of Whitetree years ago? Who gave you the dragonglass and vanished into the night?"

"Aye." Karsi nodded slowly. "Aye, it's him."

The man lowered the loom and turned, his dark eyes peering directly at him. Tiresias met them, well aware of the others turning to him.

"What's going on here?" Jeor Mormont asked, close to rising from his seat.

The man smiled humorlessly. "Do you know who I am, Tiresias? Have you seen me before? As you've seen Karsi here?"

"You're Mance Rayder," Tiresias stated. He didn't think there was much time for dramatic pauses, but the King Beyond the Wall seemed unhurried. Quite relaxed.

He couldn't say the same for the others in the tent. All adjusted to see the King Beyond the Wall, as Mance stood and walked to the group, pausing besides the redheaded man. Tiresias glanced to his side. Lord Stark's mask was firm and undisturbed. As was the Lord Commander's, though Tiresias was surprised to see the confusion in his eyes. He could have sworn Jeor knew Mance's face.

No…no, Mance must have left Castle Black before Jeor took the black.

The Greatjon didn't bother to hide his surprise. Or his annoyance at the deception. He stared back at Mance before returning to his redheaded stand-in.

"Well, who the fuck are you then?"

Tiresias glanced back to see Mance placing his hand on the redhead's shoulder, calming him. The King Beyond the Wall met his gaze.

"How about it, Tiresias? Who is this man? Do you know?"

All the eyes turned to him again. He concentrated on not sighing before answering quietly.

"Tormund Giantsbane."

He heard miniscule creaks from the chair. Tormund must have meant to stand but Mance kept his hand on the warrior's shoulder, bidding him to wait.

Silence reigned in the tent for a few seconds, with only the fire's crackle in the cold.

Finally, Mance removed his hand. He grabbed a small stool and sat, speaking as he did so. "Do you know the names of all us Free Folk?"

"Only the few I've seen," muttered Tiresias.

"Only the few you've seen…" The man matched his mutter. And he couldn't respond. He didn't know how. Fortunately, he was interrupted by the Lord Commander.

"What's the meaning of this, Mance?" Mormont stated sternly. "We rode north to talk. Not to be tricked."

"Apologies, Lord Commander," Mance replied lightly. "A man was curious, is all. But no more trickery, this I promise."

"I should hope so," Lord Stark said, his voice low. "Because I don't see any upside to wasting any more time. We're here to talk."

Mance's eyebrows raised. "All right then. Let's talk. The Free Folk need to pass south of the Wall. Lord Stark, will you open the North to us and let us pass?"

"Lord Stark…" growled Lord Umber. "Lord Stark, you can't bloody well be thinking of this…"

"Lord Umber." Lord Stark didn't elaborate. He didn't need to. Tiresias almost heard the entire conversation the two must have had the previous evening. They both knew better than to rehash the whole thing here. In front of the other side.

The Giantjon swallowed his protests for the time being and sat back. Tiresias released a breath he wasn't aware he had been holding. He wasn't the only one.

Lord Stark turned back to Mance. "It's not a simple matter of opening the gates and letting you all through. You know what awaits you if that happens. My vassal's reaction is a very tempered taste of it."

"Aye, I've heard of the Umber temperament. We're aware of some happenings on the other side of the Wall." He nodded to the halfgiant. "But what of him? Is he aware of the happenings over here? On this side? Of those that come at night and hunt us?"

Mance's eyes coated over each one of them. "Are any of you?"

His tone remained light, even in that challenging inquiry. It was probably necessary to survive in such an environment. Perhaps that light touch drew the Free Folk to name him King in the first place.

Tiresias' ears pricked and he turned to the tent's entrance. There was a band of three horses arriving from the east. Someone dismounted and was headed directly towards them…

"Everyone in this tent is aware of what bears down on you from the north," Lord Stark said. "As for the rest of the Northerners…"

The Warden ceased speaking as the tent flap opened. The others turned to see a wry man in black step between them and take a seat besides Lord Mormont. Tiresias glanced to the Free Folk who, with the exception of Mance, bristled at the sight of this man.

And Karsi…she had been looking at him. Probably when he turned to the tent flap before anyone else did.

"Lord Commander, Lord Stark, Benjen," the new arrival muttered in turn. "Apologies for the late arrival."

Exhaling, he turned to Mance and nodded. "Hello, Mance."

"Hello, Qhorin," Mance replied, still smiling. "It's good to see you."

"You as well," Qhorin sighed, his eyes flitting over the Free Folk. Their reception didn't seem to surprise him in the least. "Hope we can say the same when this is over."

"I hope so as well." Mance turned back to Lord Stark. "Apologies…as for the rest of the Northerners…"

"The rest of the Northerners have no idea what's occurring here," Lord Stark continued. "What we've been sending. What you've been facing. And what we're come to discuss today. So they need more than my command. They need guarantees."

"What sort of guarantees?"

The rest of the tent remained silent as Lord Stark and Lord Commander Mormont laid out the conditions for a Free Folk migration. Mance considered each one, offering critiques but he gave on most of them.

A child from each of the tribal leaders would be taken as ward to a major house. Marriages between the Free Folk and the second or third born of minor houses would be arranged. Mance agreed to advise them on these arrangements. The Free Folk tribes are diverse and most harbored their own grievances against another. They didn't need two sworn enemies under the same roof.

They agreed to specify the arrangements once the Free Folk were past the Wall. They didn't have time to decide them now.

Also, every Free Folk adult that passed through the Wall would need to register. State their name, tribe and number of offspring to be recorded. As well as surrender their weapons.

That caused the most uproar. Dim Dalba and Tormund stood up before Jeor Mormont had finished speaking. The Greatjon responded in kind. Karsi scowled and even Mance Rayder lost his wry smile. After Lord Stark stood and calmed everyone down, they took the time to detail that requirement. Short knives, bows and arrows in addition to all dragonglass items were permitted. Everything else, including battleaxes, swords and spears, would be confiscated and returned after two years if the wielder had demonstrated their ability to reside peacefully in the North. The weaponry would be sent along to the respective lord of the area they resided in and returned at their discretion.

Tiresias had to resist glancing at Lord Stark for that part of the negotiations. There were several lords he didn't trust to make that decision fairly. And he wasn't even thinking of Lord Bolton. He'd sooner trust a White Walker not to attack him than trust Roose with a young Free Folk ward. But there were others…a lord didn't have to resort to torture to make the smallfolk's life a living hell.

Still, speed was the aim here. Conditions needed to be decided today. So he remained quiet.

The Free Folk couldn't all remain in the Neck as one massive settlement. That was another condition and Mance agreed to it easily enough. He had enough trouble getting the various tribes to get along and forget their grievances so they could get south. Afterwards he had expected for them to disperse on their own. On this, Lord Stark objected. It was implied in the conversation over weapons, but here he stated it clearly. It couldn't be a free-for-all across the North. The Free Folk would need to live under a highborn and submit themselves to their authority.

Lady Mormont spoke out at this point, citing her own experience integrating the Free Folk with the Northerners.

"The women who came to Bear Island," she said. "It's been years since they've been beyond the Wall. It hasn't been perfect. But it's a small island and they've been able to live alongside us. A few work in the castle. Some on farms. They've also begun to marry into our people.

"We have a history with you lot. It's not hard for wildling raiders to sail down. We've defended ourselves against your kind. And we don't forget that. We sure remembered it when my brother sent those wenches our way. Still, they were able to adjust."

"And what about you?" Mance asked. "Were they the only ones who had to adjust? Did you Bear Islanders adjust as well?"

"If we were coming up beyond the Wall, escaping from the North, we would be adjusting to you. Adhering to your conditions," Lord Stark said. "But we're not, are we?"

"No, you're not…well, I suppose I'm happy to hear that Bear Island has been able to tolerate a few dozen wildling maidens," Mance said, the sardonic tone just a sliver. "Though it's not quite big enough for the rest of us. How many more could you welcome, Lady Mormont? A few hundred, perhaps?"

"And how many more people do you speak for, Mance?" Jeor Mormont asked. "How many Free Folk are gathered in the Haunted Forest?"

Mance considered it. "I'd say no less than ninety thousand."

The wood in the tent creaked as more than one Northerner shifted slightly in their seat. Everyone gazed quietly at Mance. At the Free Folk, who seemed to be enjoying their shock.

"Ninety thousand?" Tiresias asked, breaking the silence. He stared as well, but for another reason. "There should be a hundred thousand at least. Who's missing?"

He felt the consternated gaze of Lord Umber to his side, but he kept looking to Mance. The man nodded to himself.

"Missing…well…" He sighed, before meeting his eyes. "There are those who simply didn't wish to make peace with the Night's Watch. And enter the North toothless…"

"Can't fuckin' blame 'em…" Tormund muttered.

"So they would rather fight the monsters from the north than any monster south of the Wall," Mance continued blithely.

The Greatjon scoffed at that, but the command from Lord Stark held. Mormont shot him a look before speaking.

"Are these whole tribes that refused? Or just ten thousand outliers?"

Mance smiled. "Perhaps."

"The Thenns?" Tiresias asked. Rayder's eyes snapped back to him. He didn't lose that smile though. "Haven't seen one scarred, bald face since we rode up. Can't imagine they'd sit this out. Where are they?"

Though he doubted very much that the Thenns would even sit for this parley, he declined to say so. Mance hid his emotions well. But Tormund and Karsi were much more open in their disdain for that cannibal tribe.

Though that disdain could very well be for me. For my impudence.

"As I said," Mance replied softly. "Some preferred to stay and fight. The Thenns and a few other tribes, they took their dragonglass. They went back north…and we haven't heard from them since."

Tiresias didn't meet Lord Stark's eye. He didn't dare show the small amount of relief that worked its way through him. The Thenns falling under the puppetry of the Night King...that was horrible. The Thenns going south of the Wall, coming into contact with the Northerners…

His concern for trouble after the migration didn't encompass only Roose Bolton or any other abusive lords. Of all the Free Folk who would migrate south, the Thenns were the tribe he was the most concerned with. He had spent long anxious hours considering how to control them. How to best handle them. How to keep them from attacking small hamlets, cannibalizing the small folk and disappearing into the woods…

And they were gone. Taken care of. Under the threat of peace, they had gone to their own destinies up north. He wasn't the only one to feel relief. Both Benjen and Qhorin sighed at the news, though they had the good sense to be subtle about it.

Still…ninety thousand was a significant number. More than any of the Seven Kingdoms could muster up for their armies. True, they lacked the discipline. They were barely united and perhaps half of them were actually warriors. Still, even with the Thenns declining to come, there were enough of them to cause chaos.

The Greatjon certainly thought so. He turned to Lord Stark.

"Ninety thousand wildlings," he said, not bothering to lower his voice. "Ninety thousand…are you serious? Lord Stark, you can't trust a wildling. I fought them all me life. Give them an inch and they'll take the entire kingdom. Rapin' and pillagin's all they're good for…"

"Lord Umber, that's enough," Lord Stark commanded quietly, but Tormund was already on his feet.

"All we're good for, aye?" he growled. "Go out and get that sword of yours, Umber. I'll show what else I'll be good for…"

Lord Umber stood. Lord Stark stood as well and then everyone was on their feet.

Mance placed his hand on Tormund's shoulder. "Sit down, Tormund. Now."

"You think we want to come south?! Give you our children? Leave our home?!"

"It doesn't matter what we want, Tormund," Mance said softly. "We must go south. So we will."

Lord Umber rage turned to the King. "Is that so? You thinkin' on just prancin' on through? You just fuckin' try."

Both Benjen and Lady Mormont placed their hands on the Greatjon, but he didn't stop. His voice lowered as he spoke.

"But I promise you this, your Majesty; whatever Lord Stark and the Lord Commander decide here today, I swear…just look at my family and I'll chuck your mangled corpse back over the fuckin' Wall…"

"Lord Umber!" Lord Stark stepped in front of the Greatjon, presenting his back to the Free Folk. "Enough. Sit down."

The Greatjon spared the Warden a brief glance before returning his glare to Tormund. It took a few seconds. Still he complied, shaking off the restraining hands and sitting back down with a huff.

There was a quiet afterwards that neither side wanted to fill. Lord Stark stood, looking to each of the Northerners as they all sat down one by one. Tiresias was the last one standing. It took a reassuring nod from the Warden for him to sit.

Only when Lord Stark turned back around and sat himself, did the Free Folk begin to sit. Mance, like Ned, waited until they were all seated before he sat. Tiresias glanced to everyone. Rapid heartbeats echoed in this tent. His wasn't too calm either. He was more than happy to be seated near the ventilation. The coward in him wanted the option for a quick escape.

In between his deep breaths, Lord Umber turned to the Warden.

"Lord Stark," he spoke in a low voice. "As I said last night…I'll follow you, proud to do so…"

Lord Stark interjected. "Do you not trust me, Lord Umber?"

The Greatjon reined in his anger.

"I trust you, Lord Stark. You know I do." His eyes didn't lose their fire. "But this…they can't be let through…"

"Don't worry, Lord Umber," Lord Stark stated, before looking to Mance Rayder. "I'm not going to let them through."

That prompted a few furious glares from the other Free Folk, but Mance took the news as well as he could.

"You're not going to let us through?" he repeated softly.

"No. Not now."

"So all your conditions, all we've discussed today, all we've agreed to…and you still won't let us through?"

"If I let you through today, the North will be in disarray. My bannermen will not heed my orders and my guarantee for your safety will be worthless. It doesn't matter what conditions I set. You marching through will send us straight into a civil war that will span generations and leave the North in shambles, open to famine, anarchy and invasion. More Free Folk will die at the hands of those living than those dead. So no. I can't let you or any of the Free Folk through. Not yet."

No surprise colored Mance's eyes. His face remained impassive.

"Not yet, aye?" He nodded to himself. "Then when? How long must we wait on your kindness, Lord Stark?"

"Until we have something more than the Warden's kindness to prepare your passage," Benjen responded. "Lord Umber's reaction was honest enough. Even under our conditions, your passage and that of ninety thousand other Free Folk is too much for the Northern lords to accept."

"It's just not them either," Jeor Mormont interjected. "If you pass, it'll be under the eyes of nervous black brothers, hands placed over their bows, gripping their steel."

"We need more from you, Mance," Lord Stark said quietly. "More if you're going to pass into the North and live peacefully alongside us."

"What more do you need from us?"

"My brother and others…" Lord Stark glanced to Tiresias before returning to Mance. "They've told me what hunts you up north. I believe them. But the Northern lords, the people, the soldiers, the Night's Watch, they won't. Not on words alone. They need evidence. Something we can bring pass the Wall before you cross. To show others that the alternative to letting the Free Folk south is far worse."

"What kind of evidence?" Mance sounded like he knew the answer but he wanted to hear it from Lord Stark.

Instead Tiresias spoke. "We need a wight. A live one…well, not live. But you understand."

Mance was the only Free Folk who didn't move at the thought. The rest of them glanced at each other, glanced to him to see if he spoke in jest. But Mance didn't pull his eyes away from the Warden, his mouth tightening into that grim smile.

"Damn good piece of evidence, that."

"We can't cart around a wight slain with blue eyes shut." Tiresias leaned forward, wishing the man would meet his eyes. "It needs to be screaming. The bare bones must be thrashing. We need every lord and lady and their children to meet its bright blue eyes."

"And how was yeh plannin' on getting' one of 'em fuckers south of the Wall?" He turned to see Tormund's incredulous gaze. "Yeh aimin' to just trek north and fetch one?"

"Something like that, aye."

Consternated looks followed, but he didn't allow them to continue. He couldn't afford a dramatic silence.

"We send a hunting party. People experienced in the cold. We find a small swarm of walking dead. Finish all but one. Gag it. Bind it. And hurry the fuck back.

"Whatever's in that ice behind us, keeping the Night King and his White Walkers out…it won't affect the wights. They'll keep on thrashing through the ice tunnel, out of Castle Black all the way south to Winterfell…"

He pointed to Lord Stark. "Where this man rules. Where he can gather his friends and vassals and present your passage in the best possible light. As a necessary deterrent.

"Any other way and you all die anyway. You know this. It's why you're here."

It was a good thing he stopped speaking when he did. For a moment there, he spoke as if he had any sort of authority. As if his input was guaranteed to be heard. It was the tone he employed in the Winterfell solar, when he had the ear of Ned Stark.

Still, it wouldn't do to be embarrassed. He sat back calmly, meeting Tormund's eye who regarded him still with incredulity. But it wasn't Giantsbane who spoke first…

"Can't be done."

Mance exhaled through his nose, regarding the fire. His gaze remained there as he spoke.

"The North, the True North, is much bigger than you think, Tiresias. The farther you trek, the more lost you'll be. Sending a band out to seek and capture one of them…it's a waste of men. Even if we send forth dozens of bands, it's more likely that they'll be ambushed and killed before discovering any suitable corpse. They'd die trying and our enemy will have gained their strength. Even a single party is doomed."

It wasn't a Free Folk, but Qhorin who cut in.

"Mance is right." The Halfhand leaned forward in his seat, focusing his words to the Lord Commander. "This contingent would need to travel quickly. So it couldn't be overburdened with enough supplies for a proper trek across this frozen country as we try and find one. But they could find us whenever they want to. All they have to do to wait. 'Til we're half-starved, low on food, with dwindled numbers. Even if we find one and capture it, we'll need to race back and be clean about it. We can't abandon supplies along the way and leave a trail."

"Well, then it's lucky we have eyes that travel faster than our feet," Tiresias muttered, looking to Tormund.

The redhead met his gaze. "What're yeh sayin'?"

"You have Orell, right? And there are other wargs at the base camp?"

Mance ignored his surprise as he regarded Tiresias. He seemed to guess where he was going with this. "There are."

"Then we can significantly cut down our hunting ground. I'm not suggesting we prance all over the North like morons. Qhorin's right. Most likely, even with the best trackers, we'll end up alerting them to our position first. After several months of nothing, by then we'll be in no condition to fight them. Let alone capture one.

"So set the wargs to looking. Narrow down the True North until we have something. I suspect the Night King had a place in the far north, in the Land of Always Winter. Where he waits and gathers all the fallen. If he is gathering all the wights he could from a dwindling supply of Free Folk…that's where he'll be keeping them."

Tormund leaned forward. "Every fight we come away from, skinny man, it's been small. We can't stand against an army. And now yeh want us to march toward the main force and pick one off? In the Land of Always Winter? I'm no stranger to cold…but that's a cold no one can stand. We'd freeze before we're killed."

"I don't suggest going all the way to the army. But from a main force, he or any of his White Walkers could be sending out a scouting party to raid and scavenge corpses. If your warg locates such a party, they could follow them."

At least that was the hope. Tiresias thought back to the Three-Eyed Raven, where Bran went beyond the Wall from the Winterfell godswood. The Night King sensed him. Forced him out. The Three-Eyed Raven escaped with a small twinge. If a less powerful warg was discovered by that ice necromancer…

Well, the wights seem oblivious to the presence of a warg. I only hope if any White Walkers are leading them, that they are blind as well.

He elaborated. "I suspect that he's sending out factions to raid from there. I'm not suggesting the hunters march that far north. Just in the right direction. Spend a couple months up there searching as opposed to years."

Mance peered at him. "And who shall be the hunters?"

"We'll need volunteers."

"From which side of the Wall?" Mance's eyes brightened, but he still spoke softly. "This idea of yours…I shan't send my men to die and only my men. If we agree to this…then we share the risk and march north together."

"I agree," Tiresias said immediately. He cleared his throat. "Actually, I…"

The hounds outside started to bark and Tiresias froze. He wasn't the only one. Every Free Folk in the tent looked to the entrance, most reaching on instinct for the weapons they had left outside. Even Mance lost his wry smile as he grew still.

"Tormund," he ordered softly.

The burly redhead got up straight away, heading right past them to the tent's exit, where he picked up his twin axes. Tiresias heard him as he walked away, feet crunching in the snow.

The Greatjon, having tensed when he passed, turned to Lord Stark upon his exit.

"What's this?"

Lord Stark raised his hand and Lord Umber fell quiet. The dogs had ceased their barking and Tiresias pressed his ears, closing his eyes.

No distant screams, the wind moaned gently still, countless rapid heartbeats surrounded them…

But it was quiet. He heard Tormund coming back. He pinched the brim of his nose, exhaling as the man re-entered the tent.

"Nothing there," he stated, sitting back down by Mance. "Just some roughplay got outta hand."

Lord Umber looked back and forth between Ned and Tormund. "Wot? You lot scared of barkin' dogs?"

"'Course I am," Tiresias said softly. He saw the Greatjon turn to him for an explanation, but he addressed Mance.

"The dogs are useful here. But they shouldn't be brought on the trek north with us. As for myself, I'll be taking only a horse. Snow bred. Of even temperament."

No one missed the implication. Lord Stark gave a silent exhale. Mance regained his wry smile.

"That's not what I insinuated by sharing the risk, Tiresias. You're volunteering for the trek? Why? You're no Free Folk. You're no crow. You're not even of the North."

"It's my plan," he said quietly. "I'm not one to suggest something dangerous and stupid and leave others to do it. Especially if I can be of some use."

"And what use is that, might I ask?"

Tiresias could feel Karsi burning her eyes into his head. He focused on Mance, forcing his eyes to go soft.

"I'm a good hunter. Any other attributes of mine I think you've heard."

Benjen leaned forward. "I volunteer as well."

"Benjen…" Ned stated softly.

"I'm the First Ranger of the Night's Watch. Brother to the Warden whose lands you'll all be entering. If we have any faith in this, I should be on this mission and we should have your help."

He stared to the Free Folk, but before any of them could say anything, Qhorin spoke out.

"Before any of you lot volunteer, I'll be going too."

Mormont turned to Qhorin. "Are you sure?"

The old ranger scoffed. "No…but I'm done ranging anyway. If this happens, if the Free Folk get through and this all becomes naught but a land for the dead, then we'll be shut behind the Wall…might as well be some use for now. I'm no good with politics. I'd be useless at Castle Black."

Qhorin turned back to Mance. "What about it, old friend? Any of your lot still want to go? If it means riding with the Halfhand?"

Mance actually laughed at that. Quietly though.

"It'll take a special wildling for that, old friend. Most Free Folk would see you skinned before they ride with you against the dead."

"Well then, that cuts it down fine to a number we can work with," Benjen responded, looking to the lot. "What about it? Any of you all right riding with crows?"

Tiresias tried not to look directly. But it was no surprise when Tormund spoke.

"Mance…"

He didn't elaborate. He didn't need to. The King beyond the Wall shared a glance with the Giantsbane and that was all he required.

Tormund looked to them and chuckled. "Looks like I'll be riding with crows."

"Me too."

He looked to see Karsi looking directly at them. No…directly at him.

What do you want, Karsi?

Dim Dalba shook his head. "Boren's not gonna like this…"

"Boren can moan all he wants. I'm still going." Karsi stated, her eyes bright, her voice low. "Right now, it's two Free Folk, two crows and a waif."

Tiresias started to laugh. He couldn't help it. But he was the only one and so he stopped immediately.

"It's not enough," Mance said. He saw the man swallow his own protest at Karsi volunteering. She was Free Folk. She could join them. It wasn't his choice. "And it's not an even number. In the cold up there, on the nights you can't light fires, everyone will need to share skins to survive. You need more. And I don't think we'll find them here in this tent. In fact, I know we won't."

"I have a few rangers in mind," Benjen stated. "Men who could work with us. All of us."

"And from you," Tiresias continued. "We'll need your best tracker. And a warg. Someone who could peer from the sky."

Mance raised his eyebrows. "Anything else?"

"We do need a bigger group, but not much bigger. If five is too few and we need even numbers…" He looked to the others to confirm. "How about ten? Two more Watchmen. Three more Free Folk."

"So five Free Folk, four crows…and you?"

"Aye, that's right."

Arguments raced through his head about the imbalance. It was only one Free Folk more. They were marching through Free Folk territory, not Castle Black. The Night's Watch had far fewer people to sacrifice than they did…

However, Mance nodded, his tone quite casual.

"All right, then. I have your tracker. I'll call for one more volunteer tonight. And when we gather the wargs to search…we'll select one then."

He spoke as if he were commenting on a light snow, but he fell quiet, his eyes piercing Lord Stark. A silence ensued before Jeor Mormont spoke.

"Something else on your mind?"

Mance didn't even glance to Mormont, keeping his gaze on the Warden.

"Can you truly protect my people, Lord Stark?"

Lord Stark didn't blink. "If I can present evidence of the Army. If you and your people agree to the terms we discussed today, then you'll enter the North as my guests. You'll have that protection."

"And what does that protection mean? Truly, what does it mean? When we give you wards and our steel and we have no protection but yours, can we rely on it? Will our children will be safe or simply free to be ravaged by a disgruntled Northman? If a farmer bludgeons one of us to death, will the farmer's lord give us justice? Will we get enough food if we have no tools to hunt? Is there a place where we can farm and not be harassed?

"And forgive me, Lord Stark but it's not just the North, is it? You answer to another king. One even farther south. If he or another influence on the Crown doesn't care for wildlings and forbids you to help us…then we'll be stranded in a land that hates us, whose Warden has left us defenseless and whose lords already hold us captive."

Lord Stark exhaled through his nose. "It will be difficult, I promise you that. Peace between the Free Folk and the North will take all of my time, all my strength. But my promise of protection means everything to me. If I swear I'll protect someone, then I'll do everything in my power to do so."

Tiresias resisted the urge to glance sideways to the Warden. He was sure Jon Snow wasn't far from his mind either.

"As for the south, for King Robert…he and I are old friends. He trusts me. I won't hide this migration from him. And if he's so curious as to ask…he'll hear of the ten thousand Free Folk that have been allowed through Castle Black."

For the first time, Mance dropped his smile. "There's a far greater number that need to pass."

"And only ten thousand will. So the King will hear. As I said, he trusts me."

Silence reigned in the tent. Based on the looks from Mormont, Lord Umber and Benjen, that last part was not discussed the previous evening. Lord Stark didn't meet any of their eyes, keeping them focused on the King beyond the Wall. Mance peered to Ned Stark, gauging him. Tiresias kept silent, remembering the discussion with Stannis Baratheon. The information he volunteered made him the scapegoat if anything went wrong. If the true number of Free Folk were ever discovered...

Lord Stark cut short the contemplative silence. "As for you all, once the hunting party returns and I call a meeting of the lords, I'll have us moved as quickly as possible. You all should be prepared to migrate."

"Don't worry about that, Lord Stark," Mance said. "We're quite quick on our feet."

Exchanging glances, both the Warden and Lord Commander seemed to conclude that the meeting was over. They and Mance stood at the same time, followed by all others in the tent. Lord Stark extended his hand and Mance shook it briefly, before turning to Mormont. The Old Bear exhaled as he extended his own hand. Mance gripped it slowly.

"We'll be in touch," he said.

"As will we," Mormont echoed.

The historic handshake ended and the Northern faction turned to leave. But Tiresias didn't move. The meeting couldn't end. Not yet. Not before he voiced his last concern.

"Wait. There's one more thing."

Everyone halted and turned to him, but he kept his eyes on Mance who regarded him as calmly as he ever had.

"Aye?"

"When the migration begins," he said, ignoring the pointed huff from Lord Umber. "When the tunnel opens and the Free Folk start marching through…the giants go first."

Upon the turned heads and pointed stares around him, he realized his mistake at once. Not for voicing his suggestion, but for forgetting the Night's Watch and the Northerners were unaware of such creatures beyond the Wall. Unaware that they didn't all die out a thousand years ago.

Mance Rayder thankfully reacted with more grace.

"The giants first?" he repeated. "Not the women and children?"

"I'd sooner fight a small wight than a giant one," Tiresias responded evenly. "I'm sure we can all agree on that?"

He knew he was going to have a longer conversation about this when they returned to Castle Black. Mormont's gaze didn't escape him. Neither did Ned's. Still he looked to Mance until the man nodded.

"A fair request," he said before glancing to the Northern lords. "Though it certainly might be too much for the Night's Watch and the Northerners to handle. Seeing such monsters emerge from the ice tunnel…"

Tiresias exhaled. "Yeah, well, they all should have seen a moving and violent corpse by then. Perhaps it will have prepared them enough."

"Perhaps," Mance said quietly. "Is that all?"

"Aye, that's all."

He turned to the rest. "Then I wish you all a pleasant evening. My people will show you to the treeline."

Tiresias barely felt the weight of the daggers back on his waist as they rode back. Karsi was one of the Free Folk who escorted them. She actually positioned her horse right next to his.

But she didn't talk. Didn't say a single word. Just stared forward for the two miles back to Castle Black.

Not that anyone made any conversation either. It was a silent trip all around. No one daring to even make eye contact. The snow-laden forest was silent and he heard nothing else outside of their caravan.

The Wall remained in view two miles away. It only grew as they drew closer. When they reached the treeline, a whistle sounded from the back and their Free Folk escort immediately halted. Karsi left his periphery but he sensed her finally looking his way, at his back.

"See you soon," he said, just loud enough for her to hear.

She didn't respond. They exited the Haunted Forest, with Jeor Mormont and Lord Stark leading the caravan. By the time he exited himself, the horn sounded from the top. Just once.

"What was that about?"

He looked to see the Gared staring at him, riding alongside him. Tiresias shrugged as he faced forward.

"Whatever's happening with the wildlings, the North, the Night's Watch…just have a feeling that I'll run into her again."

The truth was not an option yet. He didn't know which other black brothers would be accompanying them on the trek. So instead, he turned to Gared with a shit-eating grin.

"Thinks she likes me though."

Gared rolled his eyes. "Oh I'm sure."

"What, you don't think so?"

"Wildling women sooner kill yeh than fuck yeh, dumb shite."

Tiresias shrugged. "Fair enough…"

He froze on that last part, staring at Gared against the backdrop of the Wall, expanding forever into the white void. He knew he looked familiar. His mind just hadn't made the connection until now.

Gared did a double-take when he saw Tiresias staring. "Wot?"

He closed his mouth. "It's…it's just I…"

A small laugh escaped him as he looked back to the Wall. "I remembered where I'd seen you before."

"Where?"

The first bit of Westeros I ever saw…you and two other rangers entered the Haunted Forest and found dead wildlings. A White Walker came and took your head. It seemed colder that day…

"You…when I came here last, you asked during dinner if I was here to take the black and I said no. You looked very unimpressed."

He turned to see Gared frowning. "That wasn't me."

"No? Hmm." Tiresias faced forward again. "Never mind, then."

They had reached the iron gate. It started to crank upward, echoing out across the field of deep cold.