Chapter 43: Slaying Another White Walker
Saelen, Benjen, and Robb stood tense and silent, staring into the shifting darkness ahead.
They knew this scene all too well. Every time a White Walker appeared, the world itself seemed to change—wind howling, frost spreading, the air turning deathly cold.
From the shadows stepped a figure.
Ice-blue eyes.
A pale, withered face.
Armor of translucent ice.
A sword of crystal slung across its back.
It stood amid the rising snowstorm like winter incarnate.
The White Walker lowered its gaze to Craster's headless corpse, then slowly lifted its icy eyes toward the three men. It raised one skeletal hand—and pointed at the infant.
Saelen stepped forward at once, raising Ice into a defensive stance.
"You two fall back," he said calmly to Robb and Benjen. "I'll handle this one."
Neither argued. Robb cradled the crying baby as he and Benjen retreated into the swirling snow.
The White Walker let out a furious, inhuman roar.
It drew its crystal blade and strode toward Saelen.
Saelen's blood surged. Excitement flashed across his face. He met the charge head-on.
Steel met ice.
Clang!
The sound rang like struck crystal.
Saelen's arms shuddered as immense force traveled through the blade. He planted his feet firmly, gritted his teeth, and pushed back.
Metal shrieked against frozen crystal. The clash became a contest of raw strength.
Veins stood out along Saelen's neck as he forced more power into the blade. The White Walker's desiccated face, however, remained expressionless.
This couldn't continue.
With a sharp breath, Saelen exploded with force, shoving the White Walker back several steps. He withdrew instantly, creating distance.
The creature recovered and advanced again.
Saelen rolled his aching shoulders and attacked.
Clang—clang—clang!
Blades rang again and again as they exchanged dozens of strikes in rapid succession. Snow swirled around them as steel and ice flashed in the dark.
Seizing an opening, Saelen drove a powerful kick into the White Walker's torso, forcing it to stagger back four or five steps.
He pressed forward immediately, launching a flurry of attacks.
Every strike was calmly deflected.
Realizing there was no clean opening, Saelen disengaged swiftly, retreating to widen the gap once more.
He drew a short breath. Several plates of his armor were already cracked and split.
The White Walker seemed to lose patience. It threw back its head and let out a long, piercing howl.
From behind it, hundreds of wights emerged from the darkness—faces twisted, eyes vacant, charging at Saelen in a frenzy.
Unlike the White Walker, these creatures were simple and relentless. They did not feint or evade. They only rushed forward.
Saelen's greatsword Ice carved silver arcs through the blizzard. Up, down, left, right—afterimages streaked through the snow.
Within moments, dozens of wights lay shattered on the frozen ground.
They could not truly wound him—but they drained his strength.
Not far away, Robb and Benjen were also surrounded. Wights clawed and lunged at them from every direction. Their situation was deteriorating fast. Robb still held the infant in his arms, making every swing slower, every step more dangerous.
Saelen understood at once.
The White Walker had to die.
If this dragged on, exhaustion would claim him first.
He cut a path through the swarm, wights falling in pieces behind him, and charged straight at the White Walker.
He thrust at its abdomen—
Blocked effortlessly.
He pivoted and slashed from the right—
Blocked again.
Then, suddenly—
He let go of Ice.
In the same motion, he dropped low and closed the distance. His right hand flashed to his belt and drew the dragonglass dagger.
He stabbed downward into the White Walker's left thigh.
The creature's blade halted mid-parry.
A shriek of pain tore from its throat.
Saelen did not hesitate.
He wrenched the obsidian dagger free and drove it into the Walker's abdomen—once, twice, three, four times.
The crystalline armor that had resisted steel shattered before dragonglass like brittle ice before a hammer. The dagger sank in as though piercing soft clay.
Cracking sounds spread across the Walker's body.
Then—
CRACK!
Fractures webbed across it like ice breaking on a lake's surface.
With a violent burst, it exploded into shards, scattering across the snow.
The moment the White Walker fell, the wights lost whatever magic animated them.
One by one, they collapsed, lifeless, into the drifts.
Silence returned—broken only by the wind.
Saelen stood still for a moment, catching his breath. Then he retrieved his sword and walked toward Robb and Benjen.
Both bore fresh wounds. The snow around them was carpeted with broken corpses.
"You all right?" Saelen asked.
They nodded.
"It's nothing serious."
"This place isn't safe anymore," Saelen said. "We leave. Now."
---
They returned quickly to Craster's hall. Robb handed the infant back to Maeve. The child had cried so fiercely his face was flushed red and raw.
The noise roused the others.
Men stumbled awake, startled at the sight of Saelen, Robb, and Benjen bloodied and battered. Questions erupted at once.
Saelen explained everything—the ambush, the White Walker, the wights.
He declared openly:
Craster had been colluding with the White Walkers. The evidence was undeniable. Craster was dead.
He added that they had slain one White Walker and hundreds of wights—but they could not be certain whether more lurked nearby. With Craster gone, the keep was no longer secure.
They had to evacuate immediately.
No one protested.
Each person gathered what food they could carry. Craster's wives—dozens of them—were assembled and told what had happened.
When they learned Craster was dead, their reactions varied.
Some showed relief.
Some grief.
Others only numb emptiness.
Saelen did not press them. He made it clear:
Those who wished to leave could follow them to Castle Black.
Those who wished to remain could stay.
Most of the younger women chose to go.
A few of the older ones, too frail for the journey, stayed behind. Saelen left them ample provisions.
Then, without delay, they departed into the storm.
---
They traveled through the night, wind and snow slashing across their faces.
Visibility was near zero. Saelen could only approximate the direction of Castle Black, leading them forward through instinct and memory.
By dawn, the storm had passed.
Only then did they realize how far off course they had drifted.
With guidance from Benjen and Qhorin Halfhand, they corrected their path and marched on for half a day more before exhaustion forced them to halt.
Taking advantage of the rest, Saelen slipped his consciousness into a hawk and scouted the surrounding area.
No White Walkers in pursuit.
He exhaled in relief.
Then, orienting himself, he guided the hawk back toward Craster's Keep. He needed to confirm what remained there.
After some time in flight, the crude structure came into view.
He lowered altitude, circling overhead, sharp eyes scanning the ground.
He saw none of the women who had stayed behind.
Instead—
A sense of danger tightened in his chest.
From the forest beside the keep, a streak of white light shot upward.
Only when it drew close did he recognize it—
A blade of ice.
Saelen instinctively banked hard. The crystalline sword sliced past the hawk's wingtip, shearing away feathers and drawing blood.
The hawk shrieked and spiraled downward.
Saelen forced himself to focus, regaining control before impact. At the last moment, he beat his wings and climbed skyward again.
Another ice blade shot up from below.
He evaded it narrowly.
This time he did not linger.
He turned and fled.
As he gained altitude, he saw them clearly.
Craster's Keep was surrounded by countless wights.
And at their center stood several White Walkers—
Watching the departing hawk in silence.