Game of Thrones: Bastard? I’m the Damn Heir!

Chapter 345

Inside the great tent made of white snow bear fur that belonged to Mance Rayder, all sat upright and solemn.

Only Kal behaved as though he were in his own hall, strolling leisurely about the tent. At that moment, he was studying with interest the massive antlers of a giant elk mounted atop the tent.

Just then, Mance entered from outside with his men.

Shock was written on every face; only Ygritte stood among the crowd with a look of triumph.

"Well? Do you like the gift?"

Kal turned and looked at Mance before him as he spoke.

"The god of cold walks only at night, like a pale shadow, ever at one's heels."

"Only when the ancient sun shines do they not show themselves."

Hearing Kal's words, Mance did not answer directly. Instead, with a grave expression, he spoke those words.

As he spoke, Mance Rayder—the King-Beyond-the-Wall, the man who had united all the tribes beyond the Wall—lifted his head to look at the man before him, far younger than he, yet far taller.

"There are many tales about them—many indeed. More than once, we have even seen them with our own eyes."

"They have always followed close behind, gnawing away at our ranks, costing us too many scouts, ensuring that those who fall behind or lose their way never return home."

"And this time is the first we have truly seen what these White Walkers look like."

"Kal El, you come here bearing such a gift—what is your purpose?"

Facing Mance's undisguised words, Kal merely smiled faintly.

He paced to the seat within this great tent of Mance, then turned and sat down without hesitation.

Resting his chin upon his hand, he said, "The White Walkers take the lives of the living, then profane their souls, commanding their corpses to rise again as blades meant to slay those they once loved most."

"Mance Rayder, there are at least hundreds of thousands of free folk beyond the Wall. I doubt you gathered them merely to have them swept away in a single stroke by the White Walkers."

Looking at Kal seated in his place, Mance's face showed no excess emotion.

To Kal's words, he replied coldly, "That is our own affair."

His voice was cold, and his expression did not change.

"But once you have all become corpses, it becomes our affair—and I do not wish for more burdens."

Kal yielded not an inch.

When he finished speaking, the great tent fell silent. All eyes moved back and forth between the two men. Yet even the free folk on Mance's side did not dare interrupt the exchange between the two kings.

The air grew heavy in their shared silence, neither blinking as they stared at one another.

Kal kept his smile, watching Mance with open amusement.

Mance, however, remained grave of countenance; the habitual smile he once wore was nowhere to be seen.

Moment by moment, time passed. And just as both sides within the tent began to feel the strain, it was Mance who, in the end, failed to endure this contest of wills.

"Perhaps you might guess what we are staying here to do?"

"To dig up your ancestors' graves?"

At Mance's question, Kal's lips curved faintly.

Yet, to the free folk, there seemed nothing amiss in those words.

Only after Kal's voice fell did Tormund and the others glance at Ygritte with narrowed eyes.

Ygritte looked aggrieved. "I never told him what we were doing here!"

Mance paid no heed to the dispute behind him. The moment Kal had spoken those words with such precision, it had ceased to matter who had let the secret slip.

"There has been a mutiny within the Night's Watch. For us, this is the best of times."

"My plan is to assault the Wall, and then to invade the Seven Kingdoms."

"And if we cannot pass the Wall, I will not hesitate to sound the Horn of Winter."

Having said thus much, Mance no longer concealed his design. He even spoke, without hesitation, of the detailed plan by which he meant to pass the Wall.

Yet the moment his words of threat left his mouth, several of the northern lords who had come with Kal could not help but laugh aloud.

Robb did not laugh. He keenly caught the confidence of this King-Beyond-the-Wall, and it surprised him.

"What is the Horn of Winter?"

He asked in puzzlement. With hundreds of thousands gathered against tens of thousands at the Wall, the free folk believed some horn could turn the tide?

And there was a dragon on their side.

So what could this thing be, to grant him such confidence?

At his words, Yohn Royce also turned his gaze toward Mance.

But this time, before Mance—or any free folk behind him—could answer, Kal took up the matter.

"The Horn of Winter, also called the Horn of Joramun, is a legendary magical relic."

"In the myths of a thousand years past, the King-Beyond-the-Wall Joramun once sounded the Horn of Winter, awakening the giants beneath the earth and bringing an end to the Night King's rule."

"It is also said that the Horn of Winter can bring down the Wall."

Kal explained with a faint smile what the Horn of Winter was, paying no mind to the shock upon the faces of Tormund and the others.

He drew back his gaze and looked once more at Mance.

"So, Mance Rayder, do you mean to threaten me with this thing that may not even exist?"

"What you may not yet know is that before I passed beyond the Wall and set foot in this land of endless winter, I led the finest troops of the Seven Kingdoms to the Wall—thirty thousand in all."

"And hereafter, I shall commit the full resources of the Seven Kingdoms to supply them, that this host may stand at the Wall in permanence, the first line of defense for mankind."

Thirty thousand…

At Kal's words, not only Tormund and the one called Rattleshirt stood stunned and despairing—even Mance's unchanging face paled.

For his threat had ever been but a threat. The Horn of Winter he had never found.

But if the words of the young king before him were true, then a force three times greater than the Night's Watch at its height would turn what little hope they had into utter despair.

Yet Kal had not finished. He understood well what it meant to press an advantage without mercy.

"So—have you truly found this so-called Horn of Winter?"

"Or if you still waste your strength seeking this legendary relic, and by some fortune you do find it, can you truly be certain it will accomplish what you believe it will?"

"In that time, how many of your people will the White Walkers devour?"

"And dare you wager how many of you will remain—how many will live?"

These words shattered what little resolve Mance had left.

His face darkened; his teeth clenched, yet he could not utter a single word in rebuttal.

After a long while, he closed his eyes and drew a deep breath. When he opened them again, they were calm.

He looked at Kal. "Kal El, what is it you truly want?"

"I do not believe a man of your station would come here with these lords and nobles merely to shame us."

Mance knew well that at this so-called table of parley, he possessed no stake with which to match the young man before him.

All he could do was lay his last card upon the board and declare that he would not resist further.

Seeing that the hollow pride of these so-called free folk had been struck down, Kal lightly tapped the armrest of Mance's seat with his fingers.

Then he let his smile fade, his gaze lowering.

"The White Walkers—I crossed blades with them on my way here. I slew one with my own hand. The lady beside me slew another. The last I brought as a gift for you."

"Though I have the strength and the confidence to withstand this calamity that could consume the whole world, I still require your aid."

"After the mutiny, fewer than fifty men remain in the Night's Watch. I shall return to my throne and formally ascend as king. Then, in my name as king, I will issue a decree to dissolve this order of honor that has endured for nearly ten thousand years."

At these words, it was not Mance and his people who were first struck with astonishment, but the noble lords who had come with Kal.

Benjen and the others looked at him in confusion.

Before this journey, the king had never spoken a word to them of such a matter, nor had he sought their counsel.

"Your Grace?!"

"Your Grace, is this not rash?"

"Your Grace, we—"

Amid the rising tide of objection, Kal lifted a hand lightly, halting their counsel.

His gaze never left Mance before him.

"I know full well the hatred between the free folk and the Night's Watch, but I do not think it is worth mentioning when set against the survival of mankind."

"I will grant you a stretch of land within my realm where you may recover and live, but you must also send your warbands to join this war."

"And I want your loyalty. I want you to truly submit to me."

Kal laid his terms bare.

Before Mance could respond to Kal's words, Tormund, Styr, Rattleshirt, and even Ygritte behind him all seemed as if they had suffered a great insult.

At once the free folk in the great tent stirred up another round of cursing.

All they meant to say, when boiled down, was one sentence—free folk never kneel.

Yet Kal paid them no mind. He kept his eyes on Mance.

Mance was also looking at him.

So it went: amid the silence of the two men, the two sides—noisy, trading curses, nearly coming to blows—slowly grew quiet again.

All eyes turned once more to the two kings within the tent.

Tormund and the others were not fools. Rattleshirt, Styr, and even "Harma Dogshead," these free folk leaders gathered in this great tent, all understood that if they wished to survive, and not merely fight for pride, it seemed they no longer had a choice.

The mishap within the Night's Watch had given their scant chance a spark of hope.

But after hearing of this host of thirty thousand coming to reinforce the Wall, what remained to them was only despair.

As for simply keeping these two hundred or so men here…

Heh. Before, perhaps they had thought of it; now, they could think of it again.

But if they truly did such a thing…

Every man standing here possessed the recklessness and courage to survive beyond the Wall, yet if they could lead their own clans, they also possessed the hard, crucial wisdom that mattered most.

In the great tent made of white snow bear fur, a pin could be heard dropping. There was only the crackle of burning firewood, and the faint smoke from damp logs lingering in the air.

"You want us to kneel to you?"

Mance looked at Kal.

But Kal shook his head.

"I said it before—I have no habit of making men kneel. What I seek is only peace and quiet. I want you to become part of us, not to remain mired in so-called prejudice and hostility."

With that, Kal swept his gaze around the tent, letting it linger upon each face in turn.

Then he said slowly, "The Wall has stood for a thousand years… and it has kept out far too much that should never have been kept out."

"You are the descendants of the First Men, and you hold to the faith of the First Men. And those you call southerners—these northmen are the same."

"The same blood runs in your veins, and you share the same faith. Then what has made you enemies of one another?"

"It is your way of thinking."

"And what I truly wish to do is no more than to change that."

"For me, this is not a matter of gain, Mance Rayder."

Kal's words, heavy with meaning, left those who had nearly come to blows moments before staring at one another.

Mance, too, fell into deep thought.

At last, he lifted his head and looked at the young man—once known to him as a king's bastard, now demanding that he kneel.

"If… if I kneel to you… can you truly do what you have said?"

Mance's throat seemed full of sand, dry and hoarse.

In that moment, the King-Beyond-the-Wall looked like a beggar pleading for alms—lowly, yet stubborn in some unspoken way.

At his words, Ygritte and the others widened their eyes and cried out.

"Mance!"

"No—you cannot do this!"

"You are the King-Beyond-the-Wall, the king of the free folk!"

Kal remained seated upon the King-Beyond-the-Wall's seat.

"There is no need for you to kneel. If you are willing, the Seven Kingdoms welcome your coming."

But it was as though Mance had not heard him.

Looking into Kal's calm, deep blue eyes, Mance stepped forward two paces and then knelt.

"I promise only to hold you to the promise you make to us, Kal El, Your Grace. I kneel to you, and I acknowledge you alone as king."

With steady eyes upon Kal, Mance bowed his head.

Seeing Mance truly kneel before this man, lowering the proud head of the free folk, the great tent fell utterly silent.

At that moment, a finely wrought dagger was tossed before Mance.

"If I break my promise to you, and to the free folk, you may draw this dagger and drive it into my chest."

"It was given to me by my father when he knighted me, in praise of my valor and courage. It was once one of the treasured heirlooms of House Targaryen. When burned in flame, words appear upon its blade—a prophecy of a song of ice and fire."

"I think it is worthy to bear my promise to the free folk beyond the Wall."

Looking at the finely shaped Valyrian steel dagger with its black bone hilt, Mance slowly picked it up.

The heaviness in his face eased, like snow melting beneath a spring wind.

Kal, too, smiled.

"It has no name. But perhaps, from this day forth, we may call it 'Dawn of Endless Summer.'"

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