Chapter 18: Benjen's Disappearance?
Saelen awoke to the sharp clash of steel.
He rose and dressed quickly—first a black wool tunic, then a leather jerkin, chainmail over that, and finally a thick fur cloak. He left the lamellar armor behind; it was far too cumbersome. The cold of the Wall was vicious, seeping through flesh and bone alike, as if it wished to freeze a man from the inside out.
The night before, they had reached Castle Black just before darkness fell. Lord Commander Jeor Mormont himself had come to receive them, accompanied by several senior officers of the Night's Watch. Yet among them, Saelen had not seen Benjen Stark.
The long journey had left everyone exhausted—men and horses alike—so there had been little conversation. After supper, they were shown to the barracks and allowed to rest.
Saelen stepped out of the camp and into the training yard.
There, he saw Jon Snow sparring with a newly recruited brother of the Watch. Jon pressed forward relentlessly with a blunted sword, while the recruit stumbled backward, barely managing to raise his weapon in defense. Jon struck hard—clang!—the blow dented the man's helmet, and the recruit collapsed onto the ground, dazed.
Jon immediately stepped back, sword lowered, waiting.
Nearby, Ser Alliser Thorne erupted in fury.
"Get up, you stupid pig!" he shouted. "What are you—made of jelly? Have you got no backbone at all?"
"You're not Nick anymore," Thorne sneered. "From now on you're Pig—or Limp-Leg Nick."
As if that weren't enough, he continued to heap mockery upon the fallen man.
So this is the Night's Watch's master-at-arms, Saelen thought grimly. The man's reputation was clearly well-earned.
The recruit—Nick—finally struggled to his feet and staggered toward Jon, swinging his practice sword wildly. Jon easily knocked the blade aside and drove his elbow hard into the man's stomach.
Nick let out a muffled groan, folding over like a shrimp before collapsing to his knees, retching.
"Get up," Thorne snapped coldly, his voice like ice. "Fight."
"Yield," Jon said quietly. "You've only just learned how to hold a sword. You can't beat me. There's no shame in surrender."
"Oh?" Thorne sneered. "The bastard's grown compassionate now?"
Jon cut him off sharply.
"My name is Jon Snow."
"Snow?" Thorne's lips curled. "So—a bastard after all."
"Very well, Lord Snow," he said cruelly. "The fight isn't over. Continue."
The cold wind swept through the yard, carrying with it the harsh laughter of steel and the deeper chill of old grudges—unforgiving as the Wall itself.
Jon heard the nickname for the first time—and knew instantly that he hated it.
A surge of anger rose in his chest. He took a deep breath and said, firmly,
"Ser, I am not one of your recruits. You have no authority over me. And bullying a new brother brings you no honor."
Ser Alliser Thorne's face flushed red.
Around them, several recruits of the Night's Watch—men who had long suffered under his insults—burst into laughter, no longer bothering to spare his dignity.
Enraged, Thorne spun on them.
"Who's laughing?" he roared, stalking toward one of the recruits. "You think it's funny? Fine. You're next—go fight that bastard."
"I'm sorry, ser," Jon said calmly. "I'm tired. I refuse the bout."
With that, he turned and walked toward Robb at the edge of the yard.
"You—you—!" Thorne sputtered, finally forcing out, "Do bastards have honor now?"
Jon did not even look back.
Thorne, left with nowhere to vent his fury, turned on the recruits again.
"What are you staring at? Get back to training! Or do you plan to offer your asses to the wildlings when the time comes?"
Watching this, Saelen could only feel sympathy for the recruits. A master-at-arms like that was a curse.
He joined Robb and Jon and asked quietly what had happened. Jon was still seething, but Robb explained.
Jon had always admired the Night's Watch. To him, they were men of honor. He had long intended to join them himself. Excited by the chance, he had risen early and dragged Robb along to watch the recruits train. The man called Nick—already humiliated beyond endurance—had mistaken Jon's smile for mockery and lashed out with sarcasm, eventually challenging him to a duel.
Saelen nodded in understanding.
Jon's passion had been met with a bucket of icy reality. Anyone would be shaken by that. It was clear Jon would not be in a good mood for some time.
At that moment, Saelen's squire Gendry approached.
"My lord, Lord Commander Mormont wishes to see you. He says it's urgent. Maester Aemon is with him in the hall."
Saelen nodded.
"Let's go. We'll hear what Mormont has to say."
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The Great Hall, Castle Black
Lord Commander Jeor Mormont and Maester Aemon were already seated when they arrived.
After taking their places, Mormont asked,
"Did you rest well last night? Conditions here are harsh—I hope you were not too uncomfortable."
"We slept well," Saelen replied politely. "A hard bed is still better than snow."
"Lord Commander," Robb added, "what matter required our presence?"
Mormont glanced at Maester Aemon, then turned to Robb.
"Lord Stark, I'm afraid I must bring grim news. Benjen Stark has gone missing."
"Missing?" Jon blurted out. "That's impossible! Uncle Benjen is the First Ranger—how could he simply vanish?"
Robb remained composed, though the news clearly shook him.
"Lord Commander, please tell us what happened."
Saelen, meanwhile, was not surprised—only troubled. This had happened earlier than he remembered.
Mormont sighed and began,
"A month ago, a patrol of rangers discovered something… unnatural, deep in the Haunted Forest. A wildling village where the cold was unnatural—everything frozen solid. No bodies. Nothing made sense."
"They reported back at once."
"Around the same time, we received word from Winterfell—wildlings gathering, and rumors of Others beyond the Wall."
"When Benjen heard of the frozen village, he took twenty experienced rangers to investigate. They never returned."
"Two days ago, his horse came back alone."
Silence filled the hall.
Saelen spoke after a moment.
"If you received word from Winterfell, then you knew Lord Eddard had dispatched us north. Why did Benjen not wait for us?"
Mormont shook his head.
"Castle Black is far from Winterfell. Waiting would have cost another month. Whatever was out there would not have waited for us."
On Mormont's shoulder, his raven flapped its wings and croaked,
"Corn! Corn!"
Mormont fed it a few kernels before continuing.
Saelen nodded slowly.
A month was far too long. If the Others were truly moving, they would have vanished into the snow long before reinforcements arrived—leaving behind nothing but silence and frozen ground.
And somewhere beyond the Wall, Benjen Stark was already lost.