Man Of Steel, Shield Of Ice

The cold stone walls of the council chamber echoed with the voices of the men of the Night's Watch, each one arguing fiercely over what had been brought before them. At the center of the debate stood the truth—the Wight, the proof of the Others, now within their grasp. But what did it mean? What should they do?

Lord Commander Mormont sat at the head of the table, his steely eyes fixed on the men gathered around him. His hands were clasped before him, his fingers tapping slowly, rhythmically, as if he was already weighing the gravity of the decision before him. The room was heavy with tension. Everyone knew the stakes were higher than ever before. The Wall itself might not be enough to stop what was coming.

Thorne's voice cut through the chatter. "This is madness," he said, his sharp tone filled with disdain. "We cannot trust these Wildlings. We've fought them for years. They are nothing but savages. Now you want us to ally with them?"

Mormont's gaze hardened. "We've heard their warnings, Thorne. We cannot ignore what's beyond the Wall any longer. The Wight you saw today is not an isolated incident. There is an army coming, and we are not prepared to face it alone. We may need the Wildlings... whether we like it or not."

"An army?" Thorne scoffed, shaking his head. "And you expect us to believe this boy's tale?" He sneered at Clark, sitting off to the side. "You're trusting this stranger more than the men who have served this Watch all their lives?"

Clark stood quietly, his arms crossed over his chest, his expression calm but distant. He knew this moment was inevitable—there would be suspicion, distrust. After all, his strength and his origins were still largely a mystery to the men of the Watch. He had brought the Wight, he had proven the threat was real. But what did it mean? Was he truly an ally, or would he one day become a threat himself?

"It's not just his tale, Thorne," Mormont said, his voice low but resolute. "It's the Wight standing in the courtyard right now. And what's more, the boy has done something none of us could. He caught that thing." Mormont's gaze shifted to Clark. "He knows more than we do about this enemy."

The room was silent for a moment, the reality of the situation settling in. They had all heard rumors of the dead beyond the Wall—whispers of the White Walkers, of things that could not be killed by steel or fire. But seeing the creature with their own eyes had changed everything. There was no more room for doubt.

Maester Aemon spoke then, his voice steady despite his advanced years. "The dead are coming. We have seen it with our own eyes. We can no longer afford to be enemies with those who may hold the key to our survival."

"An alliance with Wildlings?" Thorne spat, his face twisted in anger. "You would throw away everything we stand for? We are the Night's Watch. We protect the realms of men. Not... them."

"Aye, and who will help us against the Others?" Aemon countered. "You saw what Clark brought us. It's not a question of what we want, but what we need. The dead are coming, and we must face them together—whether we like it or not."

The room was divided. Some were nodding along with Aemon's words, others were still firmly in Thorne's camp. The Wildlings had always been the enemy, the raiders and savages who posed a constant threat to the Watch. How could they ally with them now, especially when they had such a long history of conflict?

"Lord Commander," Bowen Marsh said, his voice measured but concerned, "this may be the only choice we have. But we cannot let our guard down. If the Wildlings want to ally with us, they will have to meet our terms. We cannot let them believe this is an invitation to take the Wall."

"Of course," Mormont agreed, his voice grave. "We will meet with Mance Rayder, but they will not come into our midst unless they prove they are willing to fight the same enemy we are. We will not bend our knees to them."

The Lord Commander paused, his eyes lingering on the gathered men, trying to read their faces, to gauge how they would respond to such a proposition. Finally, he looked back to Thorne. "But we must prepare ourselves. We cannot afford to fight this war alone."

Thorne opened his mouth to protest, but Mormont held up a hand. "I've made my decision," Mormont said. "We'll send word to Mance Rayder. The Free Folk will come to the Wall. We will meet them, but we will not bow to them. They will fight with us, or they will leave. And if they wish to join us, they must swear fealty to the lords of the lands. No looting, no pillaging, no raping. They will abide by the laws of the realm. They will be held to the same standards as the rest of us."

There was a long silence as the room digested the decision. Some faces were reluctant, others resigned. But none could argue that they were facing an enemy unlike any they had ever encountered. The dead were coming for them all.

---

Clark had listened in silence, his gaze shifting from one face to the next, feeling the weight of the room pressing in on him. This was not his fight, not in the way they thought. But it was clear that he would be involved in whatever came next.

"Clark," Mormont's voice broke through his thoughts. "You're the one who brought this Wight to us. You've seen things we haven't. What can you tell us about the Others?"

Clark stood, stepping forward as he addressed the room. He wasn't a leader, and he didn't want to be, but right now, his knowledge was the only thing that might make a difference.

"They're unlike anything we've faced before," he said, his voice low. "They're ancient, predatory... and they're coming for everyone. The Wights are just the beginning. The White Walkers... they command them. They don't need food, they don't need water, they don't need sleep. They just keep coming. And every death they take adds to their army."

Mormont's expression hardened. "How many are there?"

"I don't know," Clark admitted, his gaze distant. "But it's more than any of us can stop. And they don't care about borders or kings. They don't care about anything but death."

The Lord Commander took a deep breath, clearly absorbing the gravity of Clark's words. The stakes were higher than ever before, and the Watch's role in the world was about to change.

---

Clark walked out into the cold night air, his breath misting in front of him. The decision had been made, but it wasn't one he was entirely comfortable with. He had never wanted to be involved in politics or war, but the White Walkers didn't care about his preferences.

He had already faced too many battles that weren't his own, but he couldn't walk away from this one. Not when the stakes were so high.

The Wight's body was being prepared to send south. It wasn't just about strength or power anymore. It was about unity. It was about survival.

The wind howled across the Wall, and for the first time since arriving, Clark felt the weight of what was to come pressing on him. The battle for survival wasn't just about what was north of the Wall. It was about everything—about the world itself, about the future of mankind.

And if he was going to be part of that future, he needed to understand the cost.