Man Of Steel, Shield Of Ice

Mance's POV

The Wall was closer than ever, an impossibly tall expanse of ice that stretched beyond the heavens. Mance Rayder had seen it before, of course. He had walked atop it as a brother of the Night's Watch, patrolled its battlements, and climbed its stairs. Yet now, as a free man, the sight of it filled him with unease.

Around him, the Free Folk leaders argued. The camp stretched out across the snowy plains, a sea of fires and makeshift shelters. Nearly one hundred thousand souls—men, women, and children—had gathered under his banner, desperate for a chance to escape the frozen grip of the North.

"We cannot just sit here," Rattleshirt growled, his voice sharp. "If we don't act soon, the crows'll strike first."

Weeper, seated nearby, nodded in agreement. "Rattleshirt's right. A show of strength is what's needed. We take the Wall. Numbers are on our side."

"And lose thousands in the attempt?" Mance countered, his voice calm but firm. "Even with our numbers, the Wall is no simple obstacle. It has stood for eight thousand years, held by a force trained to defend it. The crows have no love for us, but we cannot risk war unless there's no other way."

"Words won't melt ice," Weeper sneered. "They'll slit our throats the moment we show our faces."

"And what would you do?" Mance asked, his dark eyes fixed on the scarred man. "Send the children first? Let them test the arrows of the Night's Watch?"

The leaders fell into a tense silence. Even Weeper looked away, muttering under his breath.

Mance sighed, his gaze shifting to the Wall. "The crows may not believe in the Others, but that doesn't make them fools. They know something is wrong in the North, even if they don't name it. They may not open their gates willingly, but they will listen if they value their lives."

Val, standing with arms crossed, spoke up for the first time. "And if they don't listen?"

"Then we prepare for war," Mance said. "But we try peace first."

As the meeting broke apart, Mance lingered, his thoughts heavy. He could feel the weight of thousands of lives pressing down on him. They looked to him for answers, for salvation. But the Wall was a riddle he had yet to solve.

---

Jeor Mormont's POV

Jeor Mormont stood at the head of the council table in Castle Black, his broad shoulders hunched beneath the weight of the news. Around him, the officers of the Night's Watch gathered in tense silence. The reports from the scouts were dire—one hundred thousand Wildlings, less than a day's march from the Wall.

"One hundred thousand," Alliser Thorne muttered, his face pale but his voice sharp. "The Wall was built to defend against such numbers, but we're too few. Even with the Wall, we'll fall."

"That's defeatist talk," Benjen Stark said, his tone measured but firm. "The Wall has held for thousands of years. It'll hold now, if we stand united."

"The Wall may stand, but what about the people beyond it?" Maester Aemon asked, his blind eyes staring into the void. "The Wildlings do not march south without reason. Desperation drives them."

"They're not our people," Thorne snapped. "Let them freeze."

Mormont raised a hand, silencing the argument. His deep voice rumbled through the chamber. "We don't know their intentions yet. We assume the worst, but we prepare for the possibility that they come to parley."

"And if they don't?" Bowen Marsh asked, his tone trembling.

"Then we do what the Night's Watch was made for," Mormont said. "We defend the Wall."

Benjen leaned forward, his brow furrowed. "We need to send word to the lords of the North. If the Wildlings breach the Wall, the whole realm is at risk."

Mormont nodded. "You'll ride out, Stark. Take a small party. The North must know what we face."

"And the rest of us?" Thorne asked, his lips curling into a bitter smile.

"We prepare," Mormont said. "If the Wildlings march, we'll meet them with steel. If they come to talk, we'll listen—but cautiously."

As the officers filed out, Mormont stayed behind, his gaze fixed on the flickering fire. He had lived through many winters, seen the worst the cold could bring. But this felt different. The Wildlings weren't the enemy—they were running from something.

He just didn't know what.

---

Clark's POV

The Wall loomed in the distance, a cold, impassive monolith that seemed to mock the frailty of men. Clark Kent walked among the Free Folk, his presence unnoticed in the crowd of weary travelers. Each step closer to the Wall felt heavier, not from fatigue, but from the weight of his own thoughts.

He had seen what lay beyond the Wall—monsters of ice and death that haunted the darkest corners of his mind. He had fought them, saved lives with powers he still didn't fully understand. Yet even now, the memory of his heat vision cutting through the night made his stomach churn.

His powers were growing. Every day, he could hear more, see farther. His strength had become a thing of legend among the Wildlings, though most dismissed it as exaggeration. Only Tormund and Ygritte knew the truth—or at least part of it.

Clark's gaze shifted to the Wall. Could he destroy it if he needed to? The thought unsettled him. His powers were a gift and a curse, a constant reminder of what he had done back in Smallville. He clenched his fists, the memory of Lex Luthor's lifeless body flashing before his eyes.

"I didn't ask for this," he muttered under his breath.

Tormund's voice jolted him from his thoughts. "What's on your mind, Clark?"

Clark forced a smile. "Just thinking."

"Well, think quick," Tormund said, clapping him on the shoulder. "We've got a Wall to deal with."

Clark nodded, though his thoughts were far from the task at hand. The Wall was the least of his worries. What scared him was the growing realization that he might be the only thing standing between these people and utter annihilation.

As the camp moved closer to the Wall, Clark couldn't shake the feeling that the journey ahead would test him in ways he wasn't ready for. And deep down, he feared what he might become if he failed.