Note: Power tends to corrupt, and absolute power corrupts absolutely.
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(Erlend Mudd, Land's Beyond the Wall)
Predictably, just because the majority had shown a willingness to agree to the highly controversial demands of the Crown. That didn't mean everyone under them did, too.
Their plans had originally been to take advantage of the North and to seize the gradually developing lands of the Gift for themselves, bleeding their thousand-year-old enemies dry.
It was as vengeful as it was wise. Simultaneously taking control over the breadbasket of the North while leaving Benjen no choice. Had this been the canon timeline, then the divided Kingdom would have stood no chance.
The Gift was one of the richest territories resource-wise in the whole region, even before development. Therefore, many amongst the wildlings still supported such plans and decided to help push for its inception by making everyone's lives more difficult.
Several charismatic figures had risen amongst the 'dissatisfied' Wildlings, demanding that their newly found southern 'allies' be kicked out and that they should seize the lands and supplies left behind.
A punishment for the Crown's audacity, they said.
It had gotten so troublesome that the fanatics were willing to target his Uncle and slaughter his party. Some sort of message to him, proclaiming that they would not bow down to his whims.
Erlend hadn't cared much at the start, content to focus on his true enemy, the Night King being the only existence within the Continent that could realistically have a shot of damaging him. Yet, the Wildlings had gone a step too far when choosing to target his Uncle.
He was not a kind man to begin with. Targeting his kin was a surefire way to get his attention, and they certainly succeeded in that.
Two notable figures stood out amongst the rebellious savages. Rattleshirt, the self-proclaimed Lord of Bones, and the Weeper. Both were prominent leaders in their own right.
Not one to suffer fools, Erlend took a very direct and far-reaching method of getting rid of these pesky rats.
The two men gathered their followers and fellow dissidents, openly insulting the Southern Kneelers and mocking his family. Erlend had floated above the camp, his eyes as hard as stone.
Motioning with his hands, the clouds above converged visibly. The sky above darkened to the naked eye, with several scouts immediately spotting the singular figures floating above them.
Arrows struck at the King, none of which even managed to reach him.
The sounds of thunder and lightning could be heard, ominously silencing whatever discussion was going on below. Rattleshirt was the first of the two leaders to march out of the tent, ready to kill whoever the fool that was causing panic among his camp.
As soon as the man glimpsed the floating King, "Coward, you dare hide amongst the clouds. Ha! You are no Conqueror, just a whelp too big for his britches." His disdainful shout carried throughout the camp, emboldening his fellow wildlings, who jeered alongside him.
Erlend didn't react to their mockery, his focus never shifting from the task at hand, as he decided to play with nature.
Rain is often associated with life and growth. A symbol of spiritual birth, as life is formed when rain falls. What happens when it rains not water as is the norm, but something far more deadly? It appears that one did not need to wait too long to find out.
Before Rattleshirt could continue his insults, now mocking Erlend's mother. He found himself silenced by a drop.
That drop went right through his skin. Revealing a protruding bone underneath all that hideous flesh.
Everything went silent once more, this time out of shock and a faint beginning of horror and fear.
"AAAAAAAAAAAAGGGGGGGGHHHHHHHHHH!!!" The scream from the Wildling's leader was enough to reach three camps over.
His screams of terror and pain etch themselves into the minds of his followers. Unfortunately for them, before they could begin to comprehend what exactly was happening.
More rain began to fall.
Now, a chorus of terror and pain filled the camp as they all experienced the slow and painful death that their proud leader did.
As for the unaware Weeper, his fate might have been better or worse, depending on who you asked. After all, the molten lava had fallen directly onto his eyes as he stepped out of the tent to see what was happening.
Fate had a deeply sadistic streak, one Erlend often found amusing.
Shaking his head at the disintegrating camp and feeling that everything was done and dusted with, he decided to seek out Mance. Perhaps it was time the two met face to face.
As for whoever managed to survive this unnatural disaster. Well, it would be great if they could carry word of his actions to the rest of the Wildlings. Who knows? They might just decide to use their brains instead of their cocks when thinking.
…
(Mance Rayder)
Far from the dissident's camp, a somber Mance and his followers sat silently amongst themselves. The screams of terror and pain reached as far as his camp.
When scouts were sent to confirm what was happening to Rattleshirt and the Weeper's followers. They brought harrowing tales of strange clouds covering the rebellious leaders' camp.
Falling from them were rains of fire and flame. Burning men alive, melting their skins and revealing bones before that too turned into ash. The cause of all that? There was no need to ask, for who else than the Kneeler King could accomplish such a feat?
"Are we just going to sit here or are we going to do something about this?" Demanded Giantsbane, for once, the man lacked the jovial air that tended to surround him.
Mance glared at the chief. "What would you have me do? Challenge this… Sorcerer and put all our lives at risk!" He snapped right back.
"Those are our people. Even if they chose to rebel, they did not deserve such a fate. Fighting for our freedom is not a sin." Styr reasoned, the aloof chief looking disturbed by the scout's words.
His son, Sigorn, nodded his head in agreement. Feeling that the King Below the Wall had gone too far.
Val, his good-sister, begged to differ. "What did you all expect? Everyone knows how much that man cares for his family. Since they decided to target his blood, they should have accepted that something like this would happen." She stated.
It wasn't exactly a secret amongst those gathered of what Rattleshirt intended; in fact, many silently supported the man. Otherwise, he would not have managed to gather as many people as he had.
Her tone did not sit well with the gathered chief, but they all chose to hold their tongues as they understood her reasoning.
It made for quite the sight, usually a gathering between these proud chiefs would lead to a brawl at least. Seeing them being so… cowardly, was out of character.
Letting out a tired sigh. "We shall accept the deal. Those who wish to kneel may remain here once the Cold Ones are dealt with. The rest shall head to Skane and Skagos." Mance decided.
There was no point in throwing his people to their deaths. Erlend Mudd had made his point clear: Resistance was not an option. As soon as those words escaped his lips, dissatisfaction spread amongst the Chieftains. They did not like the deal at all, and they showed it.
Mance simply closed his eyes, turning deaf to their arguments.
He would hold no honor and respect amongst his people once this was all over. Many would curse his name and spit on his blood. This dishonor was far too large for time to wash away.
The former King Beyond the Wall felt the need to find a way out for Dalla and Val. He could not let them suffer with him.
More importantly, the King, no matter his power, was still a man. Eventually, he would perish as all men did, and when the time came, the Free Folk would have their revenge.
Unfortunately for everyone involved, no one had any choice in this matter. A floating figure calmly approached their camp. Easily bypassing the guards and scouts that littered its boundary.
…
A few hours had passed since the meeting between the Chiefs.
Tempers had flared, egos clashed, and fights had begun once the tension got to be too much. In the end, no one was willing to deny his decision.
Honestly, Mance was tired. This decision did not sit well with him, knowing full well of the difficulty of returning to their homeland if they were allowed to return. Knowing his people, the King Beyond the Wall was aware that most would rather die than bend.
Dalla hadn't said a word to him since his decision. She had not openly disagreed with him, but her silence was telling.
His good-sister, Val simply nodded towards him before leaving the two to their own.
Gazing at nowhere in particular, Mance tried to think of ways to come out this cleanly. Perhaps perishing while fighting the undead might be a good method of redeeming the dishonor.
As if sensing his thoughts, "Don't." were Dalla's first words to him since the meeting.
"Dalla…" He started.
Turning him so that he was now facing her, she said, "I know what you're thinking, Mance. Forget it." She demanded.
"I have spat on the ways of our ancestors. Of our people. I must find a way to bring back my honor!"
"And leave Aemon without his father? To teach him, to nurture him, to make a warrior that everyone can only envy. I didn't take you for a coward." Her words stung, leaving him momentarily speechless.
He had promised them all a way out. He wasn't sure they were willing to pay the price.
Looking at him deeply, "You're a fool, Mance. But you're my fool. Don't leave us." She pleaded before leaving him to his thoughts.
Sighing out loud, Mance readied himself.
This wasn't how things were supposed to happen. He had expected an honorable and straightforward wolf to negotiate with. Yes, there was hatred between the Free Folk and the North, but they shared common roots. The Old gods united them, their ways and attitudes too similar.
On the other hand, this foreign King had no connection, his ambition knew no bounds, and his sword was ready to strike towards his people. There was no mercy in the man, his actions today proved that for certain.
"I give you a bloodless option. Unfortunately, you seem all too pleased with undermining the decision that could save your people." An unrecognizable voice cut right through his tangent.
Immediately, the Free Folk leader reached for his blade, but his arms refused to follow his thoughts. Blood was freezing, and unable to make a single move under the amused eyes of this intruder.
Trapped within his body, Mance took in the features of this mysterious man. Messy brown hair, and sage green eyes that seemed to see right through him.
"Southern King." He rasped.
Clapping his hands playfully. "How perceptive of you. What gave it away? The circlet?" His mockery infuriated Mance, who could only helplessly glare at the cause of this dilemma.
"You wildlings are an interesting lot. Willing to settle the Gift, without swearing oaths to Benjen, taking his sincerity for granted and at minimal cost to your people. Knowing full well that behind you marches an army of the undead, and that if the Wolf Lord doesn't want more to join their ranks, then he can only accept you begrudgingly."
Those words, the very same words that had been used to insult his people for generations. He hated it to his core, as it undermined their way of life and insulted those who abide by it.
"You don't need to look too constipated, Rayder. It was painfully clear what you and the wildlings intended to do. That Rattleshirt and his butt-buddy the Weaper could have been useful tools to fulfill those goals. Unfortunately, you're facing me, not Benjen."
Mance's blood surged, his initial plan fully unveiled by the man he considered his enemy. 'This? Who told him?'
Suddenly and without warning, his body spasmed as if hot knives were piercing every inch of his skin, made worse by the fact that his head felt like it was ready to burst, the pain nearly sending him unconscious as he attempted to stave it off.
The Southern King sat on something, he could not tell what it was, as he put all his focus on remaining standing, refusing to drop to his knees to the man he so despised. The sudden turn of events had shaken him to his core.
"I can keep this up all day, Mance. You will kneel." His voice carried unshakable authority in it.
Roaring out in defiance, "AGGGGHHHHHHH!" The King Beyond the Wall glared hatefully at the man opposite of him.
He would not obey. He dared not.
…
"You must despise me." The King didn't need to look at his face to sense his emotions.
Unsure of what to do now and is recovering from the phantom pains of his suffering. The King Beyond the Wall was finally able to speak after nearly an hour of that... that sickening experience. Just the thought of it sent his body into a panic.
This wasn't normal, none of the tales about the sorcerers of the east he'd heard ever spoke about such abilities.
To torture a man without even lifting a finger… That wasn't normal.
Staring at his nonchalant tormentor and asking in a hoarse voice. "Why? The Free Folk have never troubled you before."
Letting out a soulless chuckle, the monster smiled at him. "It was never personal, Mance. Your lands simply hold enough resources to fuel the future of this Continent without upsetting the delicate balance I have created." Mudd's voice became serious, revealing the callousness he felt about the lives of the Free Folk. "It will make the North more loyal, and the Realm more stable, what more could I ask?"
He wanted to shout out at the unfairness of it all. Was this just a game to him? Are his people just ants in the presence of mammoths?
"You might as well accept the deal wholeheartedly because that's the best you'll get, short of outright extinction anyway." The monster added at the end, like wanton slaughter, was a mere afterthought.
Mance's body trembled, be it from anger or fear. This man's plans far exceeded what his nightmares could conjure. "You... You can't be human." He pointed his fingers accusingly at the apathetic demon-given flesh.
Erlend's eyes flickered at Mance's claims. "You aren't wrong to say I'm no longer a mere human. Ascending did take away much of the empathy I might have felt for those that aren't close to me." Musing his thoughts out loud.
Mance had no idea what the mad bastard was talking about, instead, his thought shifted to a more realistic approach. He needed to find a way to rid his people of this plague.
He had found someone far more dangerous than the Night King to contend with.
Their mistake was believing they could negotiate with the South. They should have fought the Cold Ones on their own; at least then, his people would remain free from this bastard's grasp.
Before he could spiral even further downwards, he felt pain in his scalp as his hair was gripped by the Sorcerer King.
"Now then! Time to get rid of those pesky rebellious thoughts in your mind."
His last thoughts were mind-numbing horror at the implications of his words.
Mance only saw darkness as he fell unconscious.
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Note: Make no mistake, Erlend never trusted the Wildlings. A conflict between the allies was always going to happen; he simply decided to deal with it before it could hurt his plans. As for the whole 'seize the gift' scheme, it felt appropriate given the enmity between them and the North and considering Mance's intelligence. It also avoids the naive and 'honest' portrayal often given by ff writers. Sure there are free folk that embody those traits, but you have to remember these are the same folk who have no qualms about raiding, kidnapping, and rape.