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Mance struggled desperately to hold his army together, but someone else was busy undermining him.
One night, the wildlings led by the man known as Rattleshirt quietly withdrew.
They took four-fifths of the warriors with them, along with most of the families.
Moving the ice blocks that had been sealing the gates between Eastwatch-by-the-Sea and Castle Black, they slipped through the Wall and entered the Gift.
At that moment, Rattleshirt and his followers were treated with enormous respect among the wildlings.
But their moment of triumph didn't last long.
Three days later, Mance's remaining forces were no longer capable of launching an attack. The survivors could only cling to life beneath the Wall.
Meanwhile, Rattleshirt and the others had barely enjoyed two days of relative peace when Stannis Baratheon's army landed.
Jimmy watched as Stannis's cavalry swept across the area, scattering the wildlings who had crossed the Wall. Those captured were dragged behind Castle Black and imprisoned.
At the same time, Mance still stood outside the Wall with the last of his people, facing the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch.
Jon Snow.
Wrapped in his black cloak, Jon stepped beyond the Wall.
"Mance, it's over. You have no chance of winning."
To save what remained of his people, Mance had no choice but to surrender.
He and the surviving wildlings laid down their weapons and walked through the long tunnel beneath Castle Black, emerging into the open ground behind the fortress.
---
"You are Jon Snow? The current Lord Commander of the Night's Watch?"
Stannis studied Jon carefully.
"Tell me something. How did tens of thousands of wildlings end up south of the Wall?"
"Your Grace," Jon replied calmly, "Castle Black has fewer than five hundred men in total, spread across three castles along the entire Wall."
"We simply don't have the manpower to defend the entire Wall."
"In the past, we could ask Winterfell for help. But now Winterfell belongs to Roose Bolton…"
Jon left the rest unsaid.
Stannis understood perfectly.
"Swear loyalty to me," Stannis said, "and I will help House Stark reclaim Winterfell."
In truth, Stannis had come north partly to find a foothold and partly to recruit allies.
He no longer had the strength to challenge the Lannisters directly.
He owed enormous debts, his own lands were poor, and he faced pressure from both the Reach and the Crownlands.
At this point, he barely had anything left.
Just four thousand soldiers and thirty-two ships.
If he had remained where he was, enemy forces would have already overwhelmed him.
The North was his last chance.
The Stark lords were gone. Only children remained.
Children, he assumed, would be easier to persuade.
"I'm sorry, Your Grace," Jon said firmly. "The Night's Watch does not involve itself in the affairs of the realm."
"I may be a bastard of Winterfell, but I swore my oath beneath the heart tree."
Jon was young, but he wasn't foolish.
Stannis was clearly trying to use Jon as a banner to unite the North.
And once the North was united, who would truly rule it?
Stannis, of course.
Jon, as a sworn brother of the Night's Watch, had no right to rule anything.
Even if he abandoned the black cloak, he was still only a bastard.
The children of Sansa or Arya would still have stronger claims than he did.
If those children ever came of age, that would take more than a decade.
And in ten years, Stannis would already be firmly established in power.
Jon hadn't thought through all of that in such detail.
He simply believed that as a bastard, he had no right to give away something that didn't belong to him.
However, Jon did consider another possibility.
"Your Grace, if you help House Stark reclaim Winterfell, then whoever rules House Stark will surely swear loyalty to you."
"The Starks have ruled the North for thousands of years. The northern lords and knights still remember them."
"If Winterfell is restored, they will gladly return to your rule."
Stannis fell silent.
He hadn't expected this young man to flip the situation back on him like that.
But it wasn't necessarily a bad outcome.
If he defeated Roose Bolton, the North would effectively fall under his control anyway.
The North was vast, nearly as large as the other six kingdoms combined.
If he secured it and spent ten years developing its strength, reclaiming the Iron Throne later would be entirely possible.
Roose Bolton didn't command that many troops.
If the wildlings outside the Wall were added to his forces and if the loyalists to House Stark joined him then Stannis might actually have the advantage.
Stannis rose from his seat.
"What do you plan to do with the wildlings outside? If you haven't decided, I can handle it my way."
"What way?" Jon asked.
"Execute those who refuse to submit. The rest can be drafted into the army."
"That won't work!" Jon said immediately. "Many of them are women and children. And beyond the Wall, the White Walkers have already—"
"White Walkers are nothing more than stories told to frighten children."
"No, Your Grace!" Jon insisted. "The White Walkers are real. I've seen them with my own eyes, and I've slain one myself. Winter is coming."
Stannis studied him for a moment.
"I'll give you three days. Convince the wildlings to kneel and submit."
"If they refuse… I will execute every last one of them."
With that, Stannis turned and left.
Jimmy, watching from afar, decided there was nothing more worth observing.
He mounted Horus and headed south.
---
A column of knights from the Vale rode along the road.
Sansa sat on her horse like a lifeless puppet.
A lie.
Everything had been a lie.
She had never expected that Littlefinger would sell her to House Bolton.
After everything she had experienced, she knew exactly what she represented.
The legitimate heir of House Stark.
With Arya missing, whoever controlled her could claim the title of King in the North with unquestionable legitimacy.
If she became the Lady of House Bolton, the Stark legacy would truly vanish.
The honor of her entire family now rested on her shoulders.
And Littlefinger had simply sold her to the Boltons.
Perhaps… when he pushed her aunt through the Moon Door, she should have dragged him down with her.
Too late.
It was far too late for regrets now.
---
Boom.
The feeling was familiar.
The same entrance as always.
Clad in deep blue armor, the knight blocked the road.
From the sky, nothing fell but a knight.
Jimmy stood there with his great blade resting on his shoulder, glancing at Petyr Baelish on horseback.
Petyr seemed unusually cheerful today.
Perhaps it was because he was about to gain control of the Vale.
Or perhaps because he believed he was about to sell Sansa for an excellent price.
"Wow," Petyr said with exaggerated curiosity. "What do we have here? A knight blocking the road?"
"Where did you come from?"
He casually tossed a gold dragon coin.
"I think you'd make a better entertainer than a knight. That little trick you just performed appearing out of nowhere gave me quite a fright."
"Why don't you introduce yourself?"
"Who are you? Where do you live? And what exactly are you doing here… you entertaining knight?"
Jimmy paused.
Why did Petyr suddenly seem to have none of the caution expected from the realm's greatest information broker?
Was he… asking him to perform?
If that was the case, refusing would almost feel rude.
"Your daddy here," Jimmy said casually, "lives deep in the mountains beside steep cliffs."
"I kill people but never bother burying them."
"And if anyone happens to pass this road…"
"Snip."
"Their heads roll right off."
Petyr's face immediately turned green.
What in the seven hells…
Had he run into a lunatic?
And worse was madness contagious?
Petyr quietly signaled with his hand while guiding his horse a few steps back.
Two knights of the Vale drew their swords and rode toward Jimmy.
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