Man Of Steel, Shield Of Ice

Clark

The wind howled through the mountains, sweeping the snow across the barren landscape like a living creature. Clark's breath came out in steady plumes of fog, but it wasn't the cold that weighed on him—it was the burden of responsibility.

The wildlings had not stopped moving. The journey continued, day after day, through the harsh terrain, and the further they traveled, the more Clark realized that the wildlings were reaching their breaking point. The grueling conditions were beginning to take their toll. Frostbite had already claimed a few, and the persistent chill made it harder to sleep at night. Clark could see the exhaustion in their faces, hear it in their voices, and feel it in the weight of their steps.

For all his strength, there were moments when Clark found himself struggling to keep up with their pace, as his Kryptonian body, accustomed to comfort and ease, felt the strain of the relentless conditions. But while he might have been vulnerable in ways his human companions could not even comprehend, he could also do things that they couldn't—things that could mean the difference between life and death in these unforgiving mountains.

As the days dragged on, the wildlings' morale dipped lower, and Clark knew it was time to act. They needed hope—something to hold on to, something that would push them forward when all seemed lost. The worst part of survival wasn't the cold or the hunger—it was the despair that came with it. If the wildlings lost that hope, they would perish. And so would the world.

Clark knew he couldn't let that happen. He couldn't let them see the way he felt, though. He couldn't let them see that he was as much in the dark as they were about the growing threat of the White Walkers. They needed to see him as something more than just a stranger from the south. They needed to see him as a leader—a protector who would carry them through this storm.

---

Tormund

Tormund was barely holding it together. Every time he looked at the wildlings, he saw the same thing: exhaustion, fear, and doubt. His people had never been so tested. They were a proud race, born in the cold and raised in war, but nothing had prepared them for this—nothing had prepared them for Clark Kent.

The big man from the south wasn't like the others. Tormund had seen the strength in Clark, the quiet power that radiated from him, but he had also seen the distance in his eyes. Clark wasn't like the wildlings. He wasn't one of them. But that was the problem—he needed to be. If they were going to survive this journey, they needed to trust each other. They needed to become a family.

Tormund had tried to lead them the best he could, but even he wasn't sure if they would follow him. They were a fractured group, and every day the cracks seemed to widen. But Clark—Clark had a way of holding them together. There was something about him that commanded attention, something in the way he moved, the way he spoke. It was as if he carried the weight of the world on his shoulders, but still, he kept walking forward.

There was no question that Clark was stronger than any of them, but it was more than just physical strength. He had an air about him, a sense of quiet authority that made the wildlings listen. And that was something Tormund was beginning to realize—they needed Clark. But Clark needed them, too.

---

Ygritte

Ygritte had always been the one to push through the worst of things, but even she felt the weight of the journey beginning to crush her. The cold was more than just uncomfortable—it was suffocating. She had seen men die from the cold, seen them freeze in their sleep, and she knew that death wasn't far behind if they didn't do something soon.

But what could they do? The supplies were running low, and they were no closer to their destination than they had been days ago. The other wildlings were growing increasingly restless, and Ygritte could feel the tension rising in the camp each night.

She had her suspicions about Clark, about how he could go on without seeming to suffer the way the others did. She'd seen him lifting things no man should have been able to lift, seen him work without breaking a sweat. She had to admit that it was strange—too strange. But at the same time, it was what they needed. He was a symbol of survival, of endurance, something they could rally behind when all else seemed lost.

But Ygritte knew that if the wildlings were to survive this, it would have to come from within. They needed more than just Clark's strength. They needed each other.

---

Clark's Intervention

The group had reached a plateau, a place where the winds were fierce and the snow thick enough to make every step feel like a battle. Tormund called for a halt, his voice cutting through the wind. "Rest here for a while," he shouted. "But keep alert. We won't stay long."

Clark noticed the way the others looked at Tormund. Some were grateful for the rest, while others muttered complaints about the delay. There was a heaviness in the air, a sense of anticipation. No one knew what awaited them on the other side of the mountains. No one knew what the White Walkers had in store.

But Clark couldn't wait any longer. It wasn't just the exhaustion weighing on him—it was the realization that their survival depended on something more than just walking and waiting. They needed a way to survive the journey, and it couldn't just be about physical strength or sheer will. It was about working together, about using everything at their disposal.

"Gather around," Clark said, his voice carrying through the camp. "I need everyone's attention."

The wildlings looked up, some hesitant, others curious. Tormund shot him a questioning glance but said nothing. Clark stood taller, his chest rising with the cold air as he called on the group's collective strength.

"I know you're tired," Clark began. "I know you're cold and you don't know what comes next. But we can't keep going this way. You can't keep going this way." His words were firm, but not harsh. They were the words of someone who understood.

"I can help," Clark said, and for the first time, he allowed his gaze to sweep over the entire group. "I know what it takes to survive this. I'm not like you—I don't need to rest as you do, but I can help make sure you do."

Tormund stepped forward, his expression skeptical. "How?"

Clark smiled, a small, reassuring smile. "I have my ways."

He didn't wait for further questions. Clark turned toward the nearest rock formation and leaped into the air, soaring high above the wildlings, the snow swirling beneath him. He knew the others were watching, and he knew that this was the moment that would define him. The wildlings had to see that he was more than just a stranger—they had to see that he could be one of them.

He flew high above the mountains, his vision scanning the landscape for what he needed. Within moments, he spotted it: a small cave tucked into the side of a distant cliff. It wasn't much, but it was shelter, and it was closer than anything else they had seen in days.

With a sharp twist, Clark dove toward the cave, landing softly in the snow. He picked up large rocks and dragged them to the entrance, stacking them to create a makeshift barricade against the wind. He didn't stop there, however. Using his heat vision, he focused on the stone around the cave's opening, gradually warming it to create a more comfortable refuge for the wildlings.

When he returned to the group, his heart pounded with satisfaction. He had done it. He had given them something they hadn't had in days—shelter. The wildlings watched him as he landed, his feet leaving shallow indentations in the snow.

"That's the place," Clark said, gesturing toward the distant cave. "It'll keep us warm, and it'll protect us from the wind. We'll have enough time to rest, resupply, and keep moving."

Tormund was the first to speak, his eyes wide with a mixture of awe and disbelief. "You did that? Just like that?"

Clark nodded. "It's what I can do."

The wildlings were silent for a moment, then slowly, one by one, they began to move toward the cave. There was no question now. Clark had shown them what they needed to see. He wasn't just some southerner with strange powers—he was a force that could help them survive.