56 just desserts #56

Gale made a conscious choice to disregard Rattleshirt's words, instead directing his attention towards the wildlings scattered along the stairway. Their expressions bore a mix of apprehension and a silent plea, an unspoken expectation that hung heavy in their eyes.

'Shameless cunts...' Gale mused, almost taken aback by their audacity. The swift shift from assailants to expectant onlookers highlighted the unpredictable nature of these wildlings.

They seemed to hope for salvation, even though they could easily abstain from fighting, leaving Rattleshirt to his demise.

After spending so much time among the wildlings, Gale glimpsed into their nature. Unlike the structured societies south of the Wall, these people were unbound by allegiance and chose their leaders willingly.

They took pride in this freedom, preferring to follow their chosen leader to the bitter end, even if that leader proved incompetent or vicious. To them, loyalty was paramount, even if it meant following a misguided path.

Anything less would be a profound affront to their belief, making them inferior to the kneelers beyond the Wall.

Gale shook his head in resignation, deeply understanding the stubborn pride that gripped these individuals. "You bastards could return home to your families instead of dying for Rattleshirt If you would simply drop your weapons," Gale offered, taking a cautious step down the stairs before pausing. "Yet you refuse to do that and expect me to save your lives instead..."

He watched the expressions of several wildlings shift at his words, prompting him to sigh in exasperation. "Very well, let it not be said that Gale Winterborne isn't charitable enough to save you lot from your own foolish, goat-fucking selves," he continued, lifting his iceblade and pointing it towards Rattleshirt.

With a wry grin, Gale added a touch of mockery, "You'll have your duel, Bonehead, although you'll soon regret it..."

Val's smile broadened as Gale descended the stairs, the wildlings clearing a path for him, giving ample space. "Now, neither Dalla nor Mance will have any more complaints or doubts," she muttered to herself, her expression quietly triumphant.

Ygritte, catching Val's muttering, shot her a quizzical glance, but Val remained indifferent to it.

Atop the stairs within the ruins, Threya couldn't suppress a chuckle at the unfolding scene. She turned to Tormund, who had just finished beating his son senseless, rendering him unconscious. "Is it just me, or does the little bastard look genuinely angry?" Threya asked a hint of amusement in her voice.

Tormund grinned. "Oh, the lad's pissed, no doubt about it," he remarked, nodding knowingly. "Rattleshirt's dug himself his own grave... Luckily for him, he won't be around too long to regret his foolish choices," he added, shaking his head with amusement and dark humor.

As the murmurs and whispers echoed among the wildlings, their anticipation palpable, Gale approached the foot of the ruins, indifferent to the speculations swirling around him. Meanwhile, Rattleshirt recovered from the initial surprise of Gale's words, a sinister grin gradually stretching across his face upon seeing the young man's arrival.

"Talk is cheap, little crow... after all that killing, you must be exhausted," Rattleshirt jeered, his laughter laced with malice. "I'll send you sprawling and cut open your soft-boy belly for all to see... then, no one will dare whisper about consorting with the Night's Watch."

He spun his axe, the metal glinting ominously. "We'll march south and slaughter the lot of your kneeler brothers atop the wall...." He went on, his voice dripping with malice.

Gale exhaled heavily, weariness engraved on his face. "You talk too much... let's get this over with," he uttered, planting his iceblade firmly into the ground beside him.

Rattleshirt's eyes gleamed with opportunism at the chance to seize an advantage. Without a second thought, he nudged his mount forward, urging it into a charging gallop straight toward Gale.

Intent on seizing the upper hand and swiftly concluding the fight, he aimed to initiate the confrontation before negotiating the terms of the duel, exploiting his mounted advantage before it was gone.

As the onlookers comprehended Rattleshirt's intentions, their attempts to intervene proved futile, for the wildling leader was already hurtling forward on his mount, poised to strike Gale down with his axe. With the crowd holding its breath, Gale remained motionless, an unexpected stillness amidst the impending chaos, refraining even from reaching for his iceblade.

Rattleshirt's laughter resonated through the air. "Frozen in fear already?! All that boasting for nothing!" he jeered, his axe arcing in preparation to deliver the devastating blow to Gale. Yet, in a surprising turn of events, Gale sidestepped swiftly, eluding Rattleshirt's vicious swing, leaving the wildling leader's axe to slice through empty air.

Seizing the moment, Gale swiftly grasped Rattleshirt's wrist, expertly wrenching him off his mount. The wildling chief crashed to the ground, the impact forcibly expelling the air from his lungs, inducing a fit of coughing. In an instant, Gale's imposing silhouette cast a shadow over Rattleshirt, drawing his immediate focus.

Struggling to rise, Rattleshirt attempted to regain his footing, only to meet Gale's retaliatory kick to his face, sending him sprawling once again.

"What was it you said about slicing open my belly?" Gale's tone was chillingly calm as he peered down at Rattleshirt, his demeanor collected, yet his eyes ablaze with smoldering rage.

Rattleshirt's yellow-tinted widened in disbelief, and he opened his mouth as if to say something. However, he was only able to let out guttural grunts of agony as Gale forcibly stomped his face and started twisting his heel, rendering Rattleshirt's words incomprehensible.

He may have tried to yell at Gale or plead for compassion, but it was impossible for anyone to tell.

"What exactly is it? I can't seem to hear you..." Gale muttered as he lifted his foot and stomped again on Rattleshirt's face, this time breaking the massive skull that Rattleshirt wore as a helmet.

"Try saying that again..." He said this in a chilling tone as he kicked Rattlshirt in the liver, which caused him to give out a muffled cry. "Nothing more to say, huh...?" Gale spoke as he took a few steps back and took in the scene of Rattleshirt's body writhing in agony.

"That's fine... I was getting sick of listening to you chatter incessantly anyhow..." He said with a sigh before delivering a vicious kick to the side of Rattleshirt's skull, which caused him to lose consciousness almost immediately.

Having incapacitated Rattleshirt, Gale turned to Val, who approached him. "I've won the duel... now kindly take care of this and be on your way," Gale said, retrieving his iceblade and securing it to his back.

Val studied the unconscious Rattleshirt and then looked back at Gale, raising an eyebrow."That you have, and I will handle this shortly, however..." She paused, catching Gale's impatient expression.

"This one has caused you much grief... more than you know. Rattleshirt will meet his end regardless, but wouldn't you prefer to strike him down yourself?" Val asked, giving Gale a puzzled look.

"As a matter of fact, I do... and that's exactly why I'm not doing it," Gale replied calmly, shaking his head. Ever since he came to this world, Gale had taken lives when necessary, whether to defend himself or achieve a certain objective.

He never derived any pleasure or satisfaction from his grim actions, always maintaining a sense of purpose.

But Rattleshirt would be an exception to the rule. In the little time that they had known one other, he had managed to enrage Gale in such a manner that murdering him would give Gale enormous delight.

The young man had no intention of indulging in such a perverted pleasure because he feared that it would lead him down a darker path and change him in ways that he did not like.

Val's confusion only deepened at Gale's words. "I'm afraid I can't understand your reasoning," she said with a frown.

"I don't expect you to understand, nor do I have the energy to explain myself," Gale replied with a wry smile. "If you and Rayder want Rattleshirt dead, you'll to do it yourslef."

He shook his head as he turned around, preparing to leave. However, after taking a few steps, he paused, catching sight of Harma Dogshead. She stood motionless at the base of the ruins, watching him with an amused smirk.

Gale couldn't help but inwardly chuckle, realizing he'd been so focused on Rattleshirt that he had overlooked Harma's presence despite her accompanying Rattleshirt and sharing his malicous intentions.

"You've been awfully quiet," Gale remarked, casting a questioning look at Harma. "I assume you'll quietly yield, or maybe you need convincing, as Rattleshirt did?" He crossed his arms, awaiting her response.