Man Of Steel, Shield Of Ice

Clark

The fire crackled in the center of the cave, the warmth spreading out like a blanket over the tired bodies of the wildlings. The wind outside howled like a living thing, but the shelter Clark had created was holding strong. It wasn't perfect—nothing was in these wild lands—but it was enough for now. They had food, warmth, and rest. For the first time in days, the wildlings were able to let their guard down, even if just for a few hours.

Clark sat by the fire, his eyes scanning the group. Some were talking in hushed voices, others were eating or cleaning their weapons. Tormund and Ygritte were seated nearby, exchanging a few quiet words, but there was something in their eyes that told Clark they were still wary. They were starting to trust him, but trust didn't come easily to wildlings.

He understood. He had been an outsider all his life. Even with all his power, there were moments when Clark felt like an alien in a world that wasn't quite his own. But the wildlings were different. They were born in the harshest conditions, raised to survive when the world around them seemed intent on destroying them. They didn't trust easily, and for good reason. But Clark knew that to move forward, they had to trust each other. The stakes were too high for anything less.

The firelight danced in the shadows, and Clark's thoughts turned to the growing danger. The White Walkers were still out there, somewhere beyond the mountains, gathering strength. He could feel it, in his gut—a coldness that was more than just the weather. A presence that was darker than any enemy he had ever faced. Clark knew that if they didn't act soon, the wildlings would be fighting not just for survival, but for their very souls.

He couldn't let that happen. He wouldn't.

---

Tormund

Tormund watched Clark carefully. The man was stronger than any of them, that much was clear. He'd seen Clark lift boulders with ease, heard of the strange things he could do, but it wasn't just his strength that intrigued Tormund. It was his silence—the way Clark carried the weight of the journey without ever letting it show.

Tormund had seen men break under less pressure. They hadn't all made it this far, and he'd watched the wildlings' morale dip with each passing day. But Clark? He carried the burden of the group like it was nothing. Tormund had seen him work tirelessly to keep the fire going, help build the shelter, and scout ahead. He wasn't just some southerner with strange powers. He was a warrior—one who could stand alongside them.

But there was something else that nagged at Tormund. The man's reluctance to talk about where he came from, what he was, and why he was here. It wasn't like Clark to stay so guarded. Maybe it was because he didn't trust them fully yet, or maybe there was something else—something he wasn't saying.

Tormund had been through a lot of battles in his life, but he knew that this wasn't just about survival anymore. It was about more than the wildlings, more than the land, even more than the looming threat of the White Walkers. It was about loyalty, trust, and strength. If they were going to survive the coming storm, they needed to stand together. And that meant knowing who they were fighting with.

Tormund stood up, brushing the snow off his furs, and approached Clark. He wasn't sure how to start, but he knew it had to be done.

"You're a strange one, Clark Kent," Tormund said, his voice low but firm.

Clark glanced up at him, his expression unreadable. "I've heard worse."

Tormund let out a short laugh, but it was tinged with a hint of seriousness. "You don't talk much about your past. About where you're from. Hell, you don't even talk much about yourself."

Clark shifted uncomfortably but didn't respond right away. Tormund could see the internal struggle in his eyes. For a moment, he thought Clark might dismiss him, but instead, the man nodded slowly, as if making a decision.

"I've told you what I can," Clark said quietly. "I'm here to help. That's all that matters right now."

Tormund wasn't satisfied with the answer, but he understood. Clark wasn't ready to share everything—not yet. But they were in this together now. They had to be.

"The storm's coming, Clark," Tormund said, his voice a little more urgent. "I can feel it. We can't wait much longer. We need to move out before the White Walkers get closer. We need to hit them before they hit us."

Clark stood up, his posture stiff and commanding. "I agree. We can't stay here too long, but we need to make sure everyone is ready. We need a plan."

Tormund nodded. "I'm not worried about the wildlings. They're tough. But they need someone to lead them. And I don't think I can do this alone."

Clark met his gaze, his eyes burning with resolve. "You don't have to. We'll do it together. But we need everyone—every wildling—to be on board. If we're going to fight the White Walkers, we need unity."

Tormund didn't hesitate. "Then let's make sure they're ready."

---

Ygritte

Ygritte had been watching them, listening carefully to the exchange between Tormund and Clark. There was something about Clark that both intrigued and unsettled her. He wasn't like the others. He wasn't wild, he wasn't unhinged, but there was an intensity to him that made her uneasy. He was focused—too focused. He didn't laugh, didn't joke, didn't let down his guard the way the rest of them did.

But she couldn't deny that he had something that the wildlings needed. There was a strength to him that went beyond physical power. It was in the way he carried himself, in the way he spoke. It was in the way he acted, how he led without hesitation. If they were going to survive this, they would need him. They would need every ounce of power he had.

But there was something else. Something Ygritte didn't fully understand. Every time Clark looked at her, there was a question in his eyes—one that made her feel like she was under a microscope. He had this way of watching her, as if trying to decipher who she was, what she was really about. And it made her nervous.

Yet, deep down, she knew that Clark was their best chance. It wasn't just about survival anymore—it was about fighting back. She had seen the fear in the eyes of the others, the way they looked to Clark for answers, for guidance. She had seen Tormund's frustration with his leadership, and she knew that they would never win the war unless they worked together. That meant understanding Clark, understanding why he was here, and most importantly, understanding what kind of leader he could be.

As she walked toward him, she tried to shake off the unease that had been building inside her. She didn't have time for doubts. There was a war to fight, and if Clark was going to lead them, she would follow. For now.

---

Clark

The night grew colder as the fire flickered lower, the group settling into their makeshift camp. Clark's mind raced as he thought about what lay ahead. They had to move out at first light—there was no time to waste. The White Walkers were close, and he could feel the shift in the air, a coldness that seemed to creep deeper into his bones every passing minute. The wildlings were depending on him now, but he wasn't sure they fully understood the danger they were about to face.

Clark could handle a lot. He could fight, he could fly, he could endure the elements better than any of them. But there was one thing he couldn't do—and that was stop the relentless march of the White Walkers. He could only delay it. The future was uncertain, and with each passing hour, Clark felt the weight of it pressing down on him. He had to make sure the wildlings were ready. They had to fight back.

But first, he had to trust them. All of them.

And that was a test all on its own.