My keep is situated in a haunted forest on a low hill, surrounded by an earthen dike. There is at least one gate located on the southwest side of the compound, and a stream flows around the northern edge of the hill. The gate is adorned with the skulls of a bear and a ram. Within the dike, there is also a midden heap, a pigsty, and a sheepfold.

The keep itself is a long, low daub-and-wattle hall constructed from logs and topped with sod, capable of accommodating thirty to fifty men at most. The entrance to the hall consists of two flaps made from deer hide.

This windowless hall is a single room, featuring a sleeping loft above that can be accessed by a pair of splintery ladders. I am the only one with a chair inside, while everyone else sits on benches. In the center of the dirt floor, there is a firepit, where I sat on a log in front of the crackling fire, inspecting a hole in my cloak. I raise my gaze as my thumb absentmindedly traces the edges of the hole, contemplating its size and what might have caused it.

Despite the cloak having belonged my father—a Night's Watch deserter who abandoned me, I do not regard it with reverence or sentimentality. The wildling world is one of scarcity, and any high-quality, castle-forged item is an asset. The cloak is valuable for its furs, its steel clasps, or simply its warmth.

I glance around at my wives and daughters who are preoccupied with their chores. Some were gathering supplies, while others were preparing food and tidying up. Muttering under my breath, I run a frustrated hand down my bearded muzzle releasing a exasperated sigh.

“Gilly!” I bellowed, summoning one of my wives. "Take this,” I throw my cloak into her face on her approach. “and see it mended. Before the week is out, or you'll get no scraps from the pig's slop."

The tattered cloak is simple chore for one of my women, as it is their duty to serve me. And they know the consequences if they disobeyed. A severe and brutal punishment, including mental torment, a beating, and the potential of abandonment.

I’ve learned to manipulate the fear of those around me for survival, and to maintain control. I’ve been doing it strategically for decades to control the two most powerful forces north of the Wall: the White Walkers and the Night's Watch.

Making a deal with the White Walkers, by sacrificing my infant sons in exchange for being left alone, has become the foundation of my power. By appeasing the great terror beyond the Wall, I claimed a divine protection that no other Wildling possessed. And when anyone questioned my practices, I presented myself as a pious man favored by the "real gods”. This made the other Wildlings, who were deeply superstitious of the Others, too afraid to interfere with me.

I’ve also exploited the desperation, moral compromises of the Night's Watch, who fear losing their only sanctuary beyond the Wall. Because while they’re disgusted by me, they have no choice but to begrudgingly accept my twisted hospitality. Especially, if they want information about Mance Rayder's forces. So they have to tolerate my brutality, and they have been doing so for years.