"What do you mean?" Mance Rayder asked with a frown."You've heard of the War of the Four Kings, haven't you?""I have.""The Red Wedding, the Fall of Winterfell—you know of these?""I do. They've given us a once-in-a-lifetime opportunity. Without you, we'd already be warming ourselves by a southern lord's hearth, feasting on meat," Mance said.
"Heh!" Dany let out a scornful laugh and retorted, "The North has been plunged into constant warfare. They failed to complete their grain stores before winter and are about to be so poor they can't even afford porridge. Where exactly do you think you'll find meat to eat?"
Mance was momentarily stunned before replying, "Even in poverty, they're still wealthier than us."
The leader of a cannibal tribe from the Great Ice Shelf licked his lips with a look of relish and said, "When the four-legged beasts are gone, there's always the two-legged sheep. The old are chewy, the young melt in your mouth—tender as can be."
Dany cast a deep glance at the yellow-toothed man dressed in seal fur and nodded approvingly. "Maybe you're right. My two dragons are especially fond of eating people.
I kept telling them, 'You are dragons, beings of wisdom and divinity like humans, not mere beasts.'I even whipped them several times for it, but they stubbornly refuse to change.
Now it's perfect—here's a bunch of two-legged beasts with no shred of humanity. They can feast to their hearts' content."
The yellow-toothed man grinned foolishly, pride gleaming on his face as he turned to his companions and said, "See? Even the mighty dragons enjoy eating people. You walrus folk should learn from us."
Then he turned back to the King-Beyond-the-Wall, laughing as he said, "Mance, last time you said 'Cannibal Tribe' sounded bad and wanted to rename our tribe. I refused when you suggested 'Glacier Tribe' because it didn't sound fierce enough.
But thinking about it now, 'Cannibal Tribe' does lack grandeur. How about calling us the 'Dragon Tribe' instead?"
Mance pressed a hand to his forehead and groaned, "Fine, we'll call it the 'Dragon Tribe.'"
"Hahaha, wonderful!"
The three Night's Watch brothers watching him exchanged helpless glances and sighed.
Dany said directly, "Mance Rayder, since you want to lead your people past the Wall, why not surrender to me? I'll take you to the fertile and warm lands south of the Wall to farm."
"Surrender? You expect us to kneel to you? Dream on!" Mance sneered.
"Pah! Free folk will never kneel in surrender!" Tormund roared in fury.
"If we need something, we'll steal it or take it by force. Try to enslave us to till the land? No way!"
"Give me liberty or give me death!"
"Free folk, never slaves!"
It was like kicking a hornet's nest. All sixteen wildlings sprang to their feet, eyes wide with rage, shouting loudly. Some even drew their knives, banging them fiercely against their shields, glaring at Dany, ready to pounce at any moment.
Dany leaned back lazily in her chair, resting her chin on her right hand, tilting her head slightly, her expression as calm as if she were watching a dull stage play.
Barristan Selmy stood tense and ready, his muscles taut, prepared to step forward and shield the Queen at a moment's notice. Jon, Ser Melisandre, and Ser Glendon all looked grim, leaning forward unconsciously, their right hands drifting toward their sword hilts.
On the wall, the Night's Watch brothers saw the sudden wildling uproar and loudly asked Maester Aemon and Ser Mallister whether they should send men to bring the Queen and the knights back inside immediately.
"Skreee!"
Suddenly, Drogon let out a piercing roar that echoed across the empty snowfields.
The Night's Watchmen were the first to cover their ears and fall silent. The wildlings, seeing the dragon stretching its neck and flapping its wings atop the distant wall, also slowly stopped shouting.
As they grudgingly sheathed their weapons and sat back down, Jon, Barristan, and the others quietly let out a breath of relief, the tension easing from their bodies.
Dany's violet eyes swept lightly over each wildling as she said softly, "Since this is a negotiation, of course all conditions should be laid out on the table.
Just like earlier—you shouted about killing all the Night's Watch, crossing the Wall, burning, raiding, and seizing women—and I didn't draw my sword to cut you down, did I?"
"There's no room for negotiation. Free folk will never kneel to any lord or king!" the King-Beyond-the-Wall said solemnly.
Dany sneered, "Stop lying to yourselves. No society can exist without classes. You sixteen are the wildlings' lords, representing a privileged class.
Meanwhile, your followers live worse than the lowliest peasants of the Seven Kingdoms. What freedom do they actually have?"
Mance shook his head slowly, his expression serious. "You don't understand. We are not bound by any kingdom, lord, king, or law. We choose our leaders freely, following only those we respect."
"You poor fools," Dany sighed. "You've been deceived by an illusion for thousands of years."
"Woman, explain yourself! Who has deceived us?" Tormund roared, face red with anger.
Dany said slowly, "Given the barrenness of the lands beyond the Wall, and the level of wildling civilization, you haven't even achieved basic subsistence. You're in no position to talk about freedom.
An ordinary wildling, from birth to death, spends almost every moment struggling just to get a meal.
And no matter how hardworking or clever he is, he cannot survive the winter on his own.
It's not about whether he can store enough food.
Without laws or restraints, with only the law of the strong preying on the weak, the powerful will always rob the weak of whatever supplies they have.
He has no way to fend off the plundering of other wildlings."
At that time, he had only two choices left:
Freely choose to die — work hard for a few years, prepare food for the whole family, only for it to be taken cheaply by idle freeloaders, starve to death himself, and have his wife taken by others;
Freely choose whom to be enslaved by — alone, he could not defend his property and could only rely on the power of an organization, thus submitting to a local lord.
But this would naturally form the most primitive bureaucratic system, completely contrary to your ideal of absolute freedom. In fact, it would be less advanced than the feudal system of Westeros.
Tell me then, what kind of "freedom" do these two options represent?You simply lack morality and etiquette; it's nothing but the naked law of the jungle — the strong prey on the weak.What pride is there in living like beasts, calling it "freedom"?Or put it this way: wild boars and wolves in the forest are free too, but anyone who envies them must be a fool.
Hearing Dany's words, Jon suddenly felt a sense of clarity, as though a veil had been lifted from his eyes.He had never truly forgotten Ygritte's teaching — that he "knew nothing."
Bound by his status as a bastard and the harsh vows of the Night's Watch, deep down, Jon had often envied the wildlings' carefree lifestyle.
At one moment, in the hot springs beyond the Wall, when he knelt to kiss Ygritte, the joy and abandon he felt had even made him want to give up everything and stay with the wildling girl in that cave forever.
But after Her Majesty's analysis, he suddenly realized — the so-called "free folk" were living a lie.
Ser Mallister and Ser Glendon both nodded with proud smiles, saying, "Your Majesty is right. We are humans, not beasts. We understand courtesy, honor, and shame. We believe in morality and faith."
Mance Rayder's face darkened, but he couldn't find words to refute her. He sat there, brooding in silence.
"What's wrong with survival of the fittest? The strong deserve better women and food by right," Tormund said confidently.
(Note: Original novel first posted at 69 Book Bar!)
"Among civilizations, among nations, among races — survival of the fittest is natural.But within a civilization, benevolence and the common good must take precedence.Survival of the fittest may exist, but it must be controlled in moderation.After all, we are humans. Humans are born with compassion."
Jon nodded repeatedly, feeling that his mind had never been clearer. It was like a sudden enlightenment.
Barristan, Mallister, and Glendon were also deep in thought, their admiration for Her Majesty's wisdom growing stronger.
But across the wildling side, even the most "civilized" Mance Rayder could only sit there pondering, as though facing an unsolvable riddle.Others, like Tormund, simply looked bewildered.
"What are you talking about? Speak plainly!" the hard-skinned leader of the Thenns grumbled.
"Fine, let me give a simple example," Dany said, rubbing her face and sighing."Suppose that I and your king, Mance Rayder, had equal numbers of soldiers, with no Wall, no dragons, and no giants.
Winter comes. The wildlings cannot survive, and the Northmen are also short on food.He wants to move south and seize food, and I must defend the North's people. We meet on the battlefield.
But with equal numbers, neither side is confident of victory.
To win this war, we must find ways to improve our military strength.Tell me, Magnars, how would you increase your fighting power?"
(For context, wildling lords are called "Magnars," similar to how Dothraki leaders are called "Khals.")
"Free folk can take down five kneelers each! We're bound to win!" Tormund immediately said.
"Yeah, without the Wall and dragons, we would've crushed those crows long ago!"The wildlings nodded in agreement.
Ser Mallister frowned and said, "Never mind equal numbers — give me just two thousand heavy cavalry, and I could smash this whole wildling army, even without fear of the Others. I guarantee my armored troops can kill better than any White Walker!"
"What did you say?"
"Bragging crow!"
Dany kept her face expressionless and said, "Silence, everyone! I said — this is just a hypothetical.Assume that my soldiers and Mance's are exactly like your current wildling forces."
"This..." Tormund muttered, "Only the gods could tell who would win."
"Our forces are evenly matched. No one can be sure of victory.The best choice would be to avoid battle.But this war is too crucial — whoever wins will see their people survive the winter; whoever loses, their people will perish.
To win, I would decide to enhance my own strength:
Develop metallurgy, refining steel from ore;
Capture herds from the plains and train warhorses;
Harvest timber from forests to build warships — both to increase food supplies through fishing and to launch naval raids behind Mance's lines;
Dispatch maesters to map the land, establish fortified camps based on geography — the earliest form of castles and the Wall.
Now, after seeing all this, tell me, King-beyond-the-Wall, what would you do?"
"I..." Mance Rayder's face turned deathly pale. He muttered, "I would study your methods... and go even further — invent even more advanced technology, forge even better steel, breed more horses, and build bigger, sturdier ships."
"Why?" Tormund asked, confused.
Dany smiled lightly and said, "Because if our forces are identical in both number and quality, the only way to win is to improve weapon quality.It's a simple truth: a you with an iron sword will surely defeat a you armed only with a wooden club, right?"
"Right..." Tormund answered hoarsely.
His face also turned pale, just like Mance's. He, too, finally understood the deeper meaning.
(End of Chapter)
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