Inside Castle Black's council chamber, the air was heavy with smoke and tension.
On one side of the table sat the black‑cloaked brothers of the Night's Watch. On the other, the fur‑wrapped chieftains of the Free Folk.
Mance Rayder spoke first, his voice deep, steady, commanding.
"I want to see the places you intend for my people."
Rodrik Cassel unfurled a rough map across the table, its edges weighed down by daggers. "These are the abandoned forts along the Gift," he explained. "The stone still holds; the timber, though weather‑worn, can be reforged."
Lord Commander Mormont cleared his throat. "But they'll need rebuilding. A great deal of it."
Mance studied the marks on the map—each tiny castle a promise or a trap. "How many can these ruins hold?"
"Fully restored," the steward replied, running numbers in his head, "perhaps five, maybe eight thousand."
Tormund's growl filled the room. "Only five to eight? Some of our clans alone number that many!"
"That's why the migration must happen in stages," Lynn Auger broke in. "Not all need live inside the forts. There's open land enough for new villages in the Gift—places to hunt, to herd, to plant."
"We're hunters, not farmers," Ygritte said, arms crossed. "We take from the land what it gives. We don't scratch at it."
"You can learn," Robb Stark said from across the table, the wolf sigil bright on his doublet. "Our farmers in the North will teach you—so long as your people obey the laws of the realm. No raids, no burning, no blood for sport."
The argument rolled on deep into the night, every sentence fought for like a hard‑won frontier.
First came the question of food. The Watch could spare only a fraction for aid—the rest would have to come from the northern bannermen. Mance demanded to see those shipments before sending even one family through the gate.
Then came weapons. The Free Folk would keep their arms but swear not to gather them in force without permission from the Watch or Winterfell.
Finally, the matter of rule—the hardest of them all.
"Autonomy," Mance said firmly. "We fight for the Wall, not to become its prisoners. My people govern themselves."
Rodrik's voice was iron. "If you live on northern soil, you submit to northern law. The Starks' banner still flies here."
The debate raged until dawn. In the end, only exhaustion yielded compromise.
"The first to cross," Mormont rasped, "will be the weak—the old, the sick, the children. We'll house them in the nearer forts. They'll be safe and watched over."
Mance's eyes narrowed. "You mean hostages."
"Proof," Robb Stark said calmly. "Proof of our intent. They'll receive food, medicine, blankets. No chains, no masters. If we meant to starve you, we'd have done it already."
"As for those who remain," Rodrik added, "you may camp north of the Wall, at the Haunted Forest's edge. So long as you do not cross without leave, you'll have our word the Watch will not strike first."
He leaned forward. "But hear this—any raid, any blood spilt in northern villages, and the pact dies where it stands."
Tormund's mouth opened, but Mance held up a hand. The terms weren't fair—but they were breathing room on a frozen battlefield.
"I'll speak with my chiefs," Mance said at last. "But for now… I agree. Let the weakest live first. Then we'll see what follows."
"I'll stay," Ygritte said suddenly. "As your messenger. If they betray us, I'll be the first to pay for it."
Tormund's voice thundered. "Ygritte, no—"
"She can stay," Lynn said quietly. "We need someone we can trust to tell both sides the truth."
Robb nodded. "By the honor of House Stark, she'll be safe under our roof."
And so the agreement was born.
---
Three days later, under a sky as pale as bone, the great gates of Castle Black creaked open.
The first to pass through were three hundred souls—mostly children and the elderly. Wrapped in rags and animal hides, they shuffled forward under wary eyes.
The brothers of the Watch stood guard with spears in hand, every muscle taut. Peace might have been declared, but trust had not.
The Free Folk stared back with equal unease, their steps stiff with habit. For centuries these walls had been a line of death. Crossing it alive felt wrong.
Robb Stark and Ser Rodrik watched from inside the gate.
Lynn and Ygritte walked at the head of the column—the bridge between two worlds.
Near the rear, an old woman carrying a bundled infant hesitated as she passed Robb. When the baby began to cry, she froze, terrified that the sound might draw a soldier's wrath.
Robb stepped forward instead, pulling a small leather pouch from his cloak. Inside was a balm of honey and rendered fat.
"Here," he said softly, spreading it across the child's reddened cheeks. "Keeps the cold from biting. There's more in your camp—food, medicine, blankets. Follow the rules, and the North won't let you starve."
The woman blinked back tears, bowed her head, and hurried on.
Rodrik Cassel placed a rough hand on Robb's shoulder. "Your father would be proud, my lord."
Robb exhaled, eyes on the long line disappearing into snow. "I prefer swords to politics. At least swords don't argue back."
At the makeshift camp south of the Wall, Ygritte was already barking orders, sorting hides and furs, assigning tents beside soldiers who only days ago had called her kind monsters.
"Not bad," she declared when the last child was settled.
"Better than I hoped," Lynn replied. "For tonight, at least, three hundred people can sleep without fear—or frost—or the dead."
When he returned to Castle Black, Mance was waiting at the ramparts.
Their eyes met—a silent exchange of respect. Mance lifted one hand in salute. Lynn answered in kind.
Below them, Ygritte worked alongside the Watch, her laughter bright against the wind. The nervous soldiers began to lower their spears.
Donal Noye appeared beside Lynn, his thick hands dark with soot from the forge. "I've seen this Wall stand since I was a lad," he said quietly. "I've seen wildlings charge and rangers fall. Never thought I'd live to see them build together."
Lynn smiled faintly. "Times change, master blacksmith."
"Maybe," Noye said, squinting northward into the storm. "Or maybe it's just the enemy that does."
Snow thickened, swirling over wood and stone.
Above the Wall, black‑clad men and fur‑clad wanderers watched each other from afar.
Below it, for the first time in living memory, they shared fire and bread. The line between their worlds, once sharp as a blade, was beginning to blur.
Far away in the distance, the cold gathered strength.
Winter was no longer coming.
It was here.