Chapter 87 : Captured.

I woke up to absolute darkness. I couldn't see a thing, though I could hear many voices—none of them pleasant. I found myself unable to move. I was seated and completely tied up. A great start to the day, if there ever was one.

It didn't take long for me to realize there was a bag over my head. It stank. From all the spy movies I've watched, I figured letting them know I was awake wasn't the smart move. Better to pretend to be unconscious and listen in. So I did.

Eventually, my head started to ache—not from pain, but from sheer boredom. Now I remembered why I'd fallen asleep in the first place. Spy work is dreadfully dull.

A thick bag covered my face, and ropes bound my hands and feet. I had been dragged into a tent, probably deep in the Free Folk's camp. Judging by the sounds outside—shouting, heavy footsteps—it was bustling with people. I could feel the cold ground beneath me and smell snow, sweat, and smoke in the air.

This all happened when we first approached their camp. They ambushed us. I had planned to fight, but that would have escalated things. Better to be captured.

Good thing they didn't kill me or Osha outright. Seeing she wasn't here likely meant she spoke up for me. Otherwise, these barbarians wouldn't have hesitated to kill us.

As for why I fell asleep, well, these people were taking too long to bring Mance to me. Even an interrogator, whom I expected, hadn't shown up for half an hour. I dozed off.

A man's voice suddenly snapped at me.

"Who are you? Why are you here?" he shouted.

Then came a punch to my ribs.

I sighed. The hit felt like a child swatting a rock. I barely noticed it. Lvl 2 Godly Body might sound minor, but I could take a lot of punishment before I actually felt pain.

His punches stung but didn't truly hurt. Still, I didn't mind. I could learn more before making my offer.

I'd get even with him later.

Another punch followed—this time to the face, though the bag dulled the impact. I didn't flinch or grunt. I just sat there.

"I already told you," I said calmly. "I came with Osha. We weren't sneaking in. You attacked first."

The man growled in frustration. "We don't trust your kind."

"Yeah, I understand. Gods of this realm are assholes," I said with a slight chuckle.

He hit me again.

I leaned back, exhaling. "You're wasting time. Just ask the question you clearly have. No need to flex. I get it—you're big and strong. Now get to the point."

Finally, a new voice spoke—older, calmer, thoughtful. A man who carried weight in his words. Mance Rayder.

"Enough," Mance said. "Take the bag off him."

The bag was yanked off. The sudden light made me blink. The man before me didn't look like a king, but he carried himself like one. Sharp eyes. A face hardened by cold and time.

Another man stood nearby—bear-like, with a big beard.

"What's your name?" I ignored Mance for a moment and asked the man who had been hitting me.

"Huh?" He looked confused.

"Your name," I repeated.

"Tormund," he replied, still baffled.

"Well, fuck you, Tormund."

Smash...

A punch landed on my nose. That one actually hurt. I'd remember it.

"You're calm for someone tied up in an enemy camp," Mance observed.

"The King Beyond the Wall, huh? For a king, you're quick to choose enemies," I said, rolling my shoulders. "Your judgment leaves much to be desired."

"Up here in the true North, we don't do desires. We take what we want."

"You and my father would get along fabulously." I smirked, imagining Odin's reaction.

"He must be an important man. What would he do if I killed his son and fed him to the wolves?" Mance asked, casually.

"He'd laugh in your face for suggesting something so ridiculously impossible—then throw you off the Rainbow Bridge. Trust me, it's a long fall."

"You talk funny."

"Glad you like it. Took me hours to perfect my high-and-mighty speech and outwit lords in verbal sparring."

"I believe it. But tell me—if you trained to insult southern lords, how come you speak the tongue of the Free Folk?"

I paused. I was about to ask what he meant, then I realized it. Since I arrived here, I hadn't noticed anyone speaking a different language. It must be 'Allspeak'—a magical language of the Asgardians that translates speech so that all parties hear their native tongue.

Mance had spoken a different language, and I'd replied fluently. That explained Tormund's earlier confusion.

"It's magic," I said with a shrug.

"Sure it is," Mance replied quickly, like he hadn't expected an honest answer.

"You came with Osha?"

"Yes and no."

Mance frowned. "You think this is a joke? Do all southerners act like you? Spoiled brats with daddy's gold, handed everything on a silver platter?"

"First—no, this isn't a joke. Second, my name is Thor. Thor Odinson. I come from far beyond these lands. I'm not one of your southerners. And third—yes, it's divine to have a maid suck your cock every morning and another at night." I smiled.

"You don't say..." Mance was clearly getting irritated.

"Why are you here?"

"I came to speak with you."

"And walking into a Wildling war camp seemed smart?"

"Not really. Also, don't you call yourselves Free Folk? The way you said 'Wildling' reminded me of the Wall's men."

Mance leaned in. "What do you want?"

"To go north. Far north. Beyond your camps. Beyond the Wall. I'm looking for the White Walkers."

Silence fell. Some men muttered. Some laughed. Mance didn't.

"Why?" he asked. "Why look for death when you could die right here? We'd even burn your body. That won't happen up north. There's no peace there."

"Because death is already coming. And I don't intend to die. I intend to smile at him and say, 'Fuck off.'"

"You're mad," Mance said.

"Probably. Who wouldn't be after months in Westeros? A man, though... well, we'll find out."

I pulled. The ropes snapped like dried twine. I stood, shaking off the stiffness. Gasps filled the tent. Weapons were drawn.

"Capture him!"

I didn't plan to kill anyone. I blocked, dodged, and struck hard enough to disable. One by one, they fell, groaning.

I knocked one man out with a punch, then kicked another—he flew across the tent. Hopefully just broken bones.

An arrow whizzed past. Who uses arrows inside a tent? I grabbed something—turned out to be a shield—and hurled it. It hit the marksman squarely, knocking him out. Felt a bit like Captain America. Cool, though not as cool as Mjolnir.

After five, maybe ten men dropped, the rest hesitated. I stood tall, brushing off my tunic.

"Ready to listen now?" I asked.

Mance raised a hand. The wildlings backed off.

"You're not a normal man," he said, wary.

I smiled. "The White Walkers are real—as you know. I've spent moons convincing the northern lords. Castle Black is preparing for a siege by an undead army. I helped make sure the Wall stands. Now I'm here to help the Free Folk before Winter consumes you all. I don't want another mass of undead."

Mance crossed his arms, quiet for a while.

"And how do you plan to help us?"

"I'll take you all south of the Wall."

Silence again.

"Why? Why not let us die? Since when do southern lords care about the Free Folk?"

"They don't. And they probably never will. But I don't want a hundred thousand dead Free Folk joining the undead. So I'll do whatever it takes."

"What if we refuse?"

"Why would you? Isn't that your goal? Cross the Wall, find land for your people?"

He looked surprised that I knew, but recovered.

"We'll cross the Wall our way. We don't need your help."

"I won't let that happen. Your plan would cost the North too many lives—lives we need when Winter truly hits."

"And if we refuse?" Mance asked.

"Then I'll do what I must. I'll kill whoever stands in my way until more reasonable men take charge. And I'll burn the dead so they stay dead."

Mance sighed. "You're insane… A madman. But maybe that's what the world needs right now."

xxx

Please Consider Donating Power Stones if you like the Chapter.

"Thank you Very Much for All Your Support"

If you want to read up to 20+ Chapters in advance, check my Patre on

Patreon.com/Kamidemond