Man Of Steel, Shield Of Ice

Clark

The crackling of the fire in the cave filled the otherwise silent space as Clark sat still, his eyes locked on the flames. It had been days since they had found this shelter, and yet he couldn't shake the feeling that the time they had gained was fleeting. The wind howled outside like a warning, but inside, it was warm—at least physically. Mentally, however, the weight of the world hung heavy on Clark's shoulders. The wildlings might have food and warmth for the moment, but they were facing something far worse than cold or hunger. A creeping death that could not be outrun.

He could feel it.

Clark had been many places in his life—Gotham, Metropolis, Smallville—but none had felt so wrong as the lands beyond the Wall. The air itself seemed to hold a cold, oppressive stillness that settled deep in his bones. But it wasn't just the cold. It was the presence. Something unnatural. Something dark.

The White Walkers were close. And the wildlings didn't yet understand what was coming.

Tormund and Ygritte were right to push for action, but Clark knew they needed more than just a plan. They needed unity. They needed the wildlings to trust each other—not just him, but everyone. Without that, they'd be torn apart long before the Walkers arrived.

Clark stood up from his spot near the fire, stretching his arms and stepping into the cool air of the cave. The weight of his cape fluttered gently as he moved, a stark reminder that he was not like the others. And yet, in this moment, he wasn't certain where his place was. He had power—strength, speed, endurance—but none of that could protect them if the wildlings fractured before the battle even started.

"Clark?" Ygritte's voice cut through the quiet, drawing his attention.

He turned, meeting her gaze. She was standing near the entrance of the cave, her eyes narrowing against the wind that blew through the opening. She had a determined look on her face, and despite her usual sharpness, there was something softer now. Something vulnerable.

"Ygritte?" Clark responded, stepping closer.

"We need to talk," she said, her voice firm yet hesitant. "About the White Walkers. About what happens next."

Clark could see the unease in her eyes—he wasn't the only one who felt the weight of what was coming. She was strong, fierce, a leader in her own right, but even she couldn't deny the gravity of the situation. There was a war coming, and it was unlike anything they had faced before.

"I agree," Clark said quietly, his voice steady. "We can't just wait. We need to act. The wildlings… they need to be ready. But more than that, they need to trust one another."

Ygritte crossed her arms, staring at the ground for a moment before looking back up at him. "You know they don't trust you. Not fully."

"I know," Clark replied. "I've been an outsider before. I know what it's like to feel like you don't belong."

Ygritte's expression softened, a brief flash of understanding passing between them. "Then you know what it means to earn their trust. It's not easy. You can't just tell them to follow you. You need to show them."

Clark nodded. "I know. I've been trying."

"You've been doing more than trying," she said with a small, almost imperceptible smile. "But that's not the problem. The problem is what happens when the White Walkers are at our doorstep. Will they follow you then?"

Clark exhaled slowly. "I hope so."

"Then we'll have to make sure of it," Ygritte said with a renewed sense of resolve. She was right. If the wildlings weren't united when the Walkers came, it wouldn't matter how strong they were. They'd fall apart under the pressure.

---

Tormund

The next morning arrived with a brutal wind, the sky a pale, ominous gray. The sun barely made an appearance, shrouded by the heavy clouds that promised more snow. The group gathered, the crackling fire now reduced to little more than a handful of embers. Despite the cold, the wildlings were anxious to move. They had stayed too long in one place, and the tension in the air was palpable.

Tormund stood at the edge of the cave, staring out into the storm. He was tall, broad-shouldered, his red hair tangled and wild, matching the ferocity of his personality. But today, he wasn't just a warrior—he was a leader. And like Clark, he carried the weight of the group on his shoulders. The others looked to him for guidance, but Tormund had his own doubts. Would they be ready? Would they follow him and Clark when the time came?

The wind howled again, rattling the cave entrance. He turned back to the group, where Clark was speaking with Ygritte. The man wasn't from the North—he wasn't one of them. But Tormund had come to see him as a force to be reckoned with. Stronger than any man, sharper than any wildling, and relentless in his pursuit of survival.

"Clark," Tormund called, striding over to him.

Clark looked up, meeting Tormund's gaze. "What is it?"

"The storm's going to get worse," Tormund said, his voice rough. "If we wait too long, we won't be able to move at all. We need to decide. Do we wait for the snow to pass, or do we risk the storm and head north now?"

Clark paused, his brow furrowing as he considered the question. The decision wasn't easy. The wildlings were already on edge, and pushing them too far could break them. But waiting wasn't an option either.

"We move," Clark said finally, his voice calm but firm. "We don't have the luxury of waiting. If the White Walkers are as close as I think, we need to get ahead of them."

Tormund nodded, though he could see the uncertainty in Clark's eyes. He wasn't just leading the wildlings into the storm—he was leading them into an uncertain future. It was a burden neither of them could bear alone.

"We'll follow your lead," Tormund said quietly, his voice low. "But I'm warning you—this isn't going to be easy. The wildlings may follow you, but they won't like it. And if the White Walkers show up…"

"I know," Clark cut him off, his voice steady. "But we can't afford to wait. The longer we stay here, the more time they have to catch up."

Tormund let out a sharp breath. "Aye. Then let's make sure we're ready."

---

Ygritte

The journey north was grueling. The snow fell in sheets, blocking their vision and chilling them to the bone. Yet, despite the storm's fury, Ygritte couldn't help but feel a sense of purpose in the air. The wildlings were moving with purpose now. The hesitation that had marked their steps in the cave was gone. They were a force, a group united by necessity and, in some ways, by trust.

She watched Clark from the corner of her eye as they walked. His silhouette was a stark contrast against the swirling snow, but his presence was undeniable. The wildlings were starting to see what Ygritte had known all along—Clark was their best chance. He had the strength, the leadership, the determination. But more than that, he had something the wildlings didn't often show: hope.

For the first time in what felt like years, Ygritte felt something stir deep within her. A sense of belief that they might actually survive this. It wasn't just about fighting the White Walkers—it was about fighting for something bigger than themselves. It was about fighting for a future.

But that future depended on unity.

She glanced at Tormund, who was walking a little ahead, his expression hardened. He was their leader, but even he had his doubts. And if there was one thing the wildlings understood, it was the need for strong leadership in times of crisis.

Ygritte's thoughts were interrupted by a sudden noise—a crackling sound. She looked up sharply, her hand instinctively reaching for her bow. The others followed suit, their eyes scanning the swirling snow.

"What is it?" Tormund asked, his voice tight with tension.

"I don't know," Ygritte said, her voice low, "but we're not alone."

---

Clark

Clark's senses were on high alert. The winds had died down slightly, and the silence of the snowy landscape felt unnatural. He could feel it—something was out there. Something close.

A shadow moved in the distance, but it wasn't just a trick of the light. The hairs on the back of his neck stood on end. The White Walkers had found them.