"There are still plenty of Free Folk who refuse to leave their ancestral sod huts or caves," Mance said. "May their gods watch over them and keep the Others from finding them in their sleep."
He made a mocking prayer gesture, then went on.
"Good news is the animals aren't stupid. Almost all of them are bolting south toward the Wall. We've already counted more than ten kinds of sheep and deer, plus plenty of bigger game. I put together dedicated hunting parties, so our food stores are holding steady for now."
"Can we hunt more and build up a real stockpile?" Lynn asked.
Mance shook his head.
"Animals aren't dumb. They know to run from danger. They're not going to march right up and volunteer to fill our bellies just because the Others are coming."
"More Free Folk are still trickling in. Right now we're barely staying even."
Lynn thought it over and had to agree.
"So when do you plan to hit the Wall?"
Mance answered without missing a beat.
"Soon as you Thenns pick a new Magnar, of course."
"I told you yesterday—if we don't have the Thenn warriors the whole plan gets ugly. Nobody else can take Black Castle fast enough. If even you fail, we'll have to try the dumb way, and I doubt the Others will give us that kind of time."
"Besides, we need scouts sweeping the whole length of the Wall to learn the crows' patrol patterns. They're starting to smell something. I've stepped up the raids to keep them distracted and buy us a little more time before this place gets exposed."
Lynn studied the man. Mance couldn't have been much past thirty, but his hair was already streaked with gray and faint lines creased the corners of his eyes.
A Night's Watch deserter who loved freedom more than his black cloak. He had welded every wildling tribe into one huge host and marched them south—not for conquest or a crown, but to save his people from the Others and find shelter south of the Wall.
And now he was ready to hand over the title of King-Beyond-the-Wall if it meant keeping his wife and unborn child alive.
The guy was a lot more complicated than just another raider.
The conversation was winding down. Lynn had already made up his mind.
He asked quietly, "Besides the Thenns, how many real fighters do the Free Folk actually have?"
Mance looked surprised. He clearly hadn't run the numbers before. He thought for a long moment.
"Every Free Folk is a warrior, and none of them are. Hard to say."
"By my own measure, Tormund's Red Hall clan can field about two thousand, including four or five hundred spearwives. They fight decently."
"The giants are down to fewer than three hundred—almost gone. They breed slow and never let their women fight. Maybe a hundred fighting males. I promised I won't bleed them unless it's life or death."
"Harma Dogshead, Alfyn Crowkiller, the Weeper, and the Bone Lord are all vicious raiders. They hate each other's guts and only listen to me because they have to. Harma gets every horseman we have—five hundred total. The other three each lead their own elite raider crews, usually ten to fifty men, numbers shift all the time."
"Each of those three also has a clan behind them that can scrape up another five to eight hundred able-bodied fighters."
Mance did some more mental math.
"The walrus-bone sledges from the Frozen Shore work on snow or ice but not much else. The Hardfoots are short, numerous, and not worth much in a real fight—maybe three thousand at best."
"The Nightrunners, Ice River clans, cave dwellers, and all the weird little tribes from deep in the Haunted Forest or hidden valleys in the Frostfangs… some of them barely speak anymore. I'm not even sure they're First Men. They're strange, they're savage, and keeping them from causing trouble is already a win. If we really need bodies they might cough up another thousand or two."
After he finished, Mance added, just to be clear, "Add the Thenns' thousand-plus warriors and it still sounds like a lot—until you line them up against lords in iron mail. Fur will never beat steel."
"I never planned on letting them fight men in iron," Lynn said.
He thought for a second, then laid it out.
"What if we put them on the Wall instead?"
Mance stared at him like he'd grown a second head.
"The Wall was built to hold back the Others, not to keep Free Folk out. Time it went back to doing what it was made for."
"Once we take it, I'll have the maesters send ravens to every lord in Westeros announcing that the Others have returned. Tell them Lynn Morningstar now holds the Wall and they need to send food and supplies."
Mance stayed silent, stunned.
Lynn kept going. "If they won't give it willingly, I'll go take it myself. In my homeland we call that 'having a just cause.' You get the idea?"
Mance nodded slowly. The meaning crossed languages just fine.
"Starting in the North, I'll raise my banner as Guardian of All Living Beings in Westeros and levy the Guardian's Tax on every noble across the continent."
"If humanity keeps slaughtering itself over thrones while the real enemy is at the door, then don't blame me for pacifying the interior first before I deal with the outside threat."
He quoted the old political line in the Common Tongue, voice calm but final.