Chapter 38 – Forgotten?
"In your possession?" Val's blue eyes narrowed with suspicion, though her tone dripped with disdain.
"Unless you can produce it right now."
Saelen chuckled softly. "You don't honestly think I would carry something that important on me, do you?"
"Even if the tales about it destroying the Wall are exaggerated… I'm not foolish enough to gamble on them being false."
Val studied him carefully. "Then why are you telling me this? What's your purpose?"
"Negotiation," Saelen answered plainly. "We didn't travel this far north for nothing. We came to speak with your king, Mance Rayder."
"Negotiation?" Val scoffed. "What do we have to negotiate about? Even if we never find the Horn of Winter, Mance will not abandon his march south. And he certainly won't kneel or swear fealty to you."
"Why not negotiate?" Robb Stark stepped forward, his voice firm and composed.
"Your intentions are already clear to us. The moment your host attacks the Wall, my father—Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North—will call his banners and march north. When that happens, your free folk will face more than twenty thousand well-armed Northmen… in addition to a Wall hundreds of feet high. Your people would bleed for every step."
Saelen added calmly, "And the Iron Throne won't sit idle. King Robert is not a man who avoids war. He would summon knights from across the Seven Kingdoms to join the fight. Against that, even your hundred thousand strong would lose their advantage."
Val was a warrior—a spearwife with iron in her spine—but she was not a politician hardened to cold calculation. She had no desire to see the free folk slaughtered needlessly. Hearing their analysis, doubt began to creep into her thoughts.
"So," she asked quietly, "what kind of negotiation are you proposing?"
"What else?" Saelen circled her slowly. "Cooperation."
"We should stand together—for the living."
"Cooperation?" Val echoed.
"We will persuade the Night's Watch to open the gates and allow your people through," Saelen continued. "Land within the Gift will be set aside so the free folk may settle and live."
"In return, Mance Rayder must promise that once south of the Wall, your people will no longer raid or kill. And he must send men to aid in defending the Wall—fighting the Others alongside us."
Saelen outlined the terms succinctly.
"And you," he finished, looking directly at her, "will act as our envoy. Carry our proposal to Mance Rayder. If he is willing, he can come here and negotiate in person."
Val lowered her gaze, thinking in silence.
After a moment, she nodded.
"Very well. I will deliver your words to Mance exactly as you've spoken them. Whether he agrees to meet you… that is not for me to decide."
Saelen stepped forward and untied the ropes binding Val's wrists.
"You're free to go. I look forward to hearing good news from you."
Val stared at him in astonishment. "You're really letting me walk away? Aren't you afraid I won't come back?"
"You're a smart woman," Saelen said, meeting her gaze steadily. "You know how to choose what benefits your people."
He paused, then added calmly, "And no matter what decision you make, see that Jon is returned to us unharmed."
Val nodded solemnly. "Among the free folk, a promise is a promise. We keep our word."
With that, she turned and strode off. The jagged mountain paths seemed effortless beneath her feet; she moved lightly and gracefully, like some woodland spirit vanishing into the wild.
Robb stepped beside Saelen, watching her retreating figure. "Wasn't that too risky? If they break their word, Jon could be in grave danger."
Saelen clapped him lightly on the shoulder. "Relax. Mance Rayder is no fool. Even if he refuses cooperation, he won't harm Jon."
Benjen spoke up from the side. "Saelen… is the Horn of Winter really in your possession?"
Saelen shook his head. "No. I lied to her. As for the real horn—who knows where it truly lies?"
The others stared at him in disbelief. So after all that confident talk… he didn't actually know?
Saelen stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Though… I do have a lead. Whether it's true or not is another matter."
"Where?" Qhorin asked urgently.
"At the base of the Fist of the First Men—within a ring of ancient stones. It might be an old tomb or a forgotten fortress. The place is older than memory. Who can say for certain?"
"Then why didn't you tell us when we were at the Fist?" Theon challenged, voicing what many were thinking.
Saelen answered without hesitation.
"I forgot."
"…?"
An awkward silence followed. No one quite knew how to respond.
Benjen did not rebuke him. After a moment's thought, he said, "This is too important to ignore. I'll go investigate."
"Don't go alone," Saelen added. "Searching by yourself will take too long. Take a few men—strength in numbers."
"And I'll join you," Qhorin said abruptly. "The free folk hate me. My presence here might provoke them."
Benjen agreed. After a brief rest, he gathered a small party and set out toward the Fist of the First Men.
---
King's Landing – The Small Council
Grand Maester Pycelle's hands trembled slightly as he read aloud:
"Lord Commander Jeor Mormont reports that Benjen Stark has gone missing while ranging beyond the Wall. Qhorin Halfhand's search party has likewise disappeared. Among them were Robb Stark, heir to Lord Eddard Stark; his ward, Saelen Stark; and his bastard son, Jon Snow. Only one soldier returned."
Stannis Baratheon's voice was cold and sharp. "Did the survivor say who attacked them?"
"Beyond the Wall, who else could it be but wildlings?" Petyr Baelish replied with his familiar, easy smile. "Unless, of course, it was the creatures of children's tales."
Pycelle cleared his throat. "The soldier appears to have lost his wits. He repeats only one phrase."
Stannis frowned impatiently. "And that is?"
The old maester swallowed.
"'Run. The Others are coming.'"
A brief silence fell over the chamber.
"Northerners and their superstitions," Baelish said lightly, breaking the quiet. "When I last visited Winterfell, they were already whispering about wildlings marching south and Others roaming beyond the Wall."
"Absurd," Stannis snapped.
Pycelle continued, "Lord Commander Mormont reports that another ranging party has vanished without a trace. The Wall faces an unknown threat. He has ordered the Watch to fortify its defenses and requests reinforcements from the Iron Throne."
Jon Arryn, Hand of the King, looked weary as he spoke. "Has Winterfell responded?"
"Yes. Lord Eddard Stark has mustered over a thousand men and is marching north to reinforce the Wall."
"Are there any prisoners left in the dungeons?" Jon Arryn asked.
Renly Baratheon shrugged. "Aside from rats? None."
Jon Arryn sighed. "The crown is deep in debt. We can scarcely afford further aid. Let the North handle this for now."
Baelish leaned forward thoughtfully. "My lord Hand, we could write to the lords of the Seven Kingdoms. Have them send their prisoners to the Wall. Better they serve in black than rot in cells."
Jon Arryn nodded. "Very well. Grand Maester, dispatch ravens at once."
The fate of the Wall—and perhaps the realm—now rested on distant winds none of them yet understood.