Chapter 45: The Encounter
Saelen looked at the Wildlings who had halted their advance. He knew this standoff could not last. No one could predict when the White Walkers might catch up.
He stepped forward.
"Who's your leader? Would you mind stepping out so we can talk?"
The Wildlings glanced at one another. A murmur rippled through their ranks. Several men argued in low voices—it seemed this group had more than one would-be chief. After some heated whispering, a man finally emerged.
He had golden hair, blue eyes, and a thick, powerful build. His gaze was wary as he approached.
"I lead this band," he said gruffly. "You can call me Owen. What do you want?"
"My name is Saelen." He offered a faint, non-threatening smile. "I can see you don't want to fight. Neither do we. So why don't we each go our own way? You take your path, we take ours. No blood spilled."
Owen's expression darkened.
"You bloody crows think this is some kind of game?" he snarled. "Wasn't it your kind who drove us from our homes? Slaughtered our people? And now you want to shake hands and walk away?"
Saelen's smile faded. A flicker of killing intent surfaced in his eyes. He had hoped to avoid combat simply to conserve strength for the march ahead—but the hatred in the Wildlings' faces made it clear words might not suffice.
His right hand slowly settled on the hilt of his sword.
Then—
"Boom… boom…"
A dull, rumbling thunder echoed from behind the Wildlings, growing louder by the second.
The Wildlings panicked instantly. Children began wailing. Curses filled the air.
"Damn it! The crows' cavalry caught up to us!"
"Fight them!"
"Kill the bloody crows!"
Owen's face twisted with rage. He bellowed at Saelen:
"If we're going to die, we die together! Kill these crows!"
He charged, swinging his war axe down at Saelen.
Saelen barely had time to register the sound of galloping hooves behind the Wildlings—cavalry? Here?
There was no time to think.
He pivoted lightly, letting the axe cleave empty air. In one smooth motion he drew Ice, the massive Valyrian steel greatsword, and thrust toward Owen's abdomen.
Owen stumbled back, narrowly evading the deadly blade as the clash erupted into chaos.
Owen recovered from his brief shock and swung his broken axe haft forward again in a desperate charge.
Saelen had no intention of wasting any more time.
Raising Ice with both hands, he brought the Valyrian steel greatsword down in a brutal arc.
Slash.
The axe split cleanly in two.
Owen stared at the severed weapon in disbelief—but Saelen did not hesitate. He drove the blade straight through the man's chest.
Owen's eyes bulged. Blood frothed from his lips as his hand clawed weakly at Saelen's shoulder.
"You… bloody… crows…"
Saelen pulled the blade free without expression. Owen convulsed once, then collapsed lifeless into the snow.
Saelen stepped forward to meet the next attacker.
A Wildling rushed him, screaming, longsword raised. Saelen shifted slightly to the right, the blade missing him by inches. Then he swung.
The Valyrian steel flashed.
Half the man's skull flew into the air. Blood and bone sprayed across the snow.
Around them, Robb, Benjen, and Qhorin Halfhand were already locked in combat. The difference in arms and armor was overwhelming. The Wildlings' crude weapons shattered against steel; their hides and rags offered no defense.
Within moments, bodies littered the ground.
Blood soaked into the snow, carving red channels through white.
Saelen, adrenaline surging, charged into the thick of them. Ice rose and fell in merciless arcs. No weapon could withstand its edge. Limbs were severed. Heads rolled. The Wildlings recoiled from him as if from a demon of slaughter.
Then—
From the rear of the Wildling formation came the thunder of hooves.
A rider bearing the gray direwolf banner plunged forward at the head of several hundred cavalrymen.
Chaos exploded.
Warhorses slammed into fleeing bodies. Bones cracked. Steel rang. Screams pierced the fog. The poorly equipped Wildlings, already losing ground, broke entirely under the cavalry charge.
Those swift enough fled into the mist-shrouded forest. The old, the wounded, and the desperate threw down their weapons and surrendered.
Some cavalry split off in pursuit. The rest formed a ring around Saelen and his companions—but, seeing they were not Wildlings, did not attack.
Saelen glanced at the direwolf banner and relaxed slightly. These were no enemies.
"I am Saelen Stark, Lord of Castle Edd," he called out. "You bear the direwolf—Stark men. Who commands you?"
Silence.
The riders remained cautious.
Robb stepped forward.
"Answer him. I am Robb Stark, heir to Winterfell. You serve House Stark—do none of you recognize me?"
The cavalry stirred uneasily.
"Are… are you truly Lord Stark's son?" one rider asked hesitantly.
"Yes," Robb replied sharply. "Do you not know me?"
"Forgive me, my lord—I've never been to Winterfell," the man stammered. "Captain Jory Cassel leads us. He rode ahead pursuing the fleeing Wildlings. I'll fetch him at once."
The rider wheeled his horse and galloped off.
After some time, the thunder of hooves returned.
Jory Cassel rode back with a detachment of men. The moment he recognized them, his face broke into relief.
"Lord Robb! Ser Saelen! You're alive—thank the gods!"
He immediately ordered a rider: "Ride back to Lord Stark—tell him Lord Robb and Ser Saelen have been found!"
The man spurred away at once.
Jory turned back to Robb, smiling broadly.
"When Lady Stark learned you were missing, she blamed herself terribly. She's wept every day. She'll be overjoyed to know you're safe."
Robb's brow furrowed.
"Jory, why are you here? I heard you mention my father—has he come as well?"
Jory nodded.
"Yes. The moment word reached Winterfell that you'd vanished, Lord Stark mustered over a thousand riders and rode north at once."
He briefly explained what had transpired at the Wall.
When Saelen, Robb, and Benjen heard that Lord Eddard Stark and Lord Commander Mormont had intended to ride toward Craster's Keep with more than a thousand men, they exchanged tense glances.
They had narrowly avoided disaster.
Had Eddard and Mormont marched blindly to Craster's, they would have ridden straight into the White Walkers' path. And these cavalrymen carried no dragonglass weapons. Against an army of wights, they would have been meat before wolves—lost without hope of return.
Saelen stepped forward, his voice firm.
"Captain Jory, this place is not safe. The cold winds are rising—and the White Walkers walk the world once more."
"Take us to Lord Eddard. At once."
…
(Special thanks to Hush19)