Jon watched the tall, burly wildling duck into the tent.
Without giving it much thought, he followed him inside with several brothers of the Night's Watch.
As he lifted the flap, a wave of heat washed over him, carrying the mingled smells of smoke, leather, and sweat.
The tent was somewhat warmer than outside. A firepit had been dug in the center, its dancing flames making the shadows sway.
Jon straightened and swept his gaze around. Seven or eight people sat inside, dressed in different styles but all rough in bearing.
One wore a bronze helmet bristling with spikes. Another, a hulking man, leaned against a tent pole. Tormund flashed him a grin.
A gaunt figure sat in the corner, keeping a conspicuous distance from the other wildlings. High cheekbones and a string of bone ornaments at his waist were all Jon could make out in the firelight.
There was also a female chieftain with war paint on her face, who eyed him without the slightest restraint.
Every gaze settled on Jon, some curious, some hostile, some appraising, and others indifferent.
Jon ignored them and walked straight through the gathering toward the figure beside the central fire.
This was the wildlings' king, Mance Rayder, who called himself the King Beyond the Wall.
He sat directly opposite the fire, with a worn sheepskin map hanging behind him.
He did not rise. He merely looked up as Jon approached, then gestured toward an empty place beside the fire.
"Sit, Lord Commander of the Night's Watch."
Jon sat opposite him, with the dancing flames between them. Dispensing with pleasantries, he asked, "Why is it such a mess outside?"
Mance stirred the fire with a dagger. Sparks leaped up and fell again. "A tribe arrived this morning. More than two hundred people, fleeing the