Chapter 21 – The First Appearance of the Others (2)
"Don't thank me," Saelen said lightly. "We're brothers on the same line now."
As he spoke, he lifted Ice and brought it down in a slanting cut. The wight lunging toward him was cleaved apart, collapsing like a torn sack of rags onto the frozen ground.
Qhorin Halfhand stared at the blade in shock.
"A Valyrian steel sword?"
Saelen nodded.
"Yes. Valyrian steel. The Stark ancestral greatsword—Ice. I borrowed it specially from Lord Eddard for this journey."
He flicked the blood from the blade and added, almost casually,
"I didn't expect it to prove useful so soon—but here we are."
Qhorin looked again at the wights slain by the sword and asked uncertainly,
"Can Valyrian steel truly kill… White Walkers?"
"Yes," Saelen replied calmly.
"According to old lore, Valyrian steel was forged with the aid of dark magic. And what we're facing now—there's no need to think twice—these wights are clearly the product of magic. Otherwise, how could the dead rise and walk?"
"Against creatures like this, ordinary methods are useless," Saelen continued.
"In the end, magic can only be countered by magic."
Qhorin let out a low breath.
"You have a sharp mind. I doubt I would ever have connected those things on my own."
Then he sighed.
"It's a pity there are so few Valyrian steel blades. Those highborn lords would never lend their family swords to men like us. The Old Bear has one—but even so, a single blade isn't enough to hold back monsters like these."
By now, Saelen had cut down most of the wights, leaving only three. The remaining four or five were hacked apart by Robb, Jon, and the others working together, reduced to scattered limbs and shattered torsos—no whole bodies left behind.
Suddenly, the sound of galloping hooves echoed through the trees.
Gendry arrived at full speed with the cavalry behind him. Seeing the aftermath, he froze in surprise.
"My lord… it's already over?"
"Over?" Saelen shook his head slowly.
"My young squire, what are you thinking? This is far from over."
"Our real trouble," he said quietly, "is still ahead."
Around them, the late-arriving soldiers stared in horror at the battlefield.
"Gods above… what are these things?"
"Seven save us… Seven save us…"
"By the gods—these really are White Walkers!"
"No… this has to be a nightmare… it has to be…"
Their voices trembled with disbelief and fear, echoing through the frozen forest.
The cavalry that arrived from the rear froze in horror at the sight before them. Cries of shock rang out—some men even pinched or slapped one another, desperate to confirm they weren't trapped in a nightmare. Severed limbs littered the ground, still twitching and writhing. The stench of death hung heavy in the air.
The horses, frightened by the scene, grew restless and skittish, backing away in panic. In moments, the cavalry formation dissolved into chaos.
Saelen frowned sharply.
"Tarly—where the hell did you go?" he barked. "Take the cavalry and withdraw a short distance. Leave the horses there. Everyone dismount. Grab shields and ropes and bind those three wights. Tie them tight—very tight."
"Yes… yes, Lord Saelen," Tarly replied, his voice trembling with fear.
Tarly obeyed at once. The cavalry pulled back, dismounted, and replaced Robb and Jon's men in the encirclement. With shields raised, they pressed inward together, forcing the three wights to the ground. Ropes were thrown and cinched again and again until the creatures were bound like oversized rice dumplings.
Even so, the wights thrashed and shrieked, their piercing cries like metal scraping stone—enough to chill the blood of every man present.
Suppressing the unease in his chest, Saelen gave another order.
"Tarly, find some filthy rags and stuff their mouths. Seal them shut."
After a while, the shrieking finally faded.
"Now take ten reliable men," Saelen continued. "They're to guard these wights at all times. No mistakes."
"Yes, my lord," Tarly answered grimly, forcing himself to comply.
Robb stepped closer, unease written across his face.
"Saelen… you truly intend to bring these monsters back to the North? To show them to my father? If even one escapes and spreads, it could throw all the northern lords into chaos."
Once, Robb had dismissed tales of White Walkers as superstition. But today's battle had burned that arrogance away. He could no longer deny how terrifying the threat truly was—and someday, the burden of facing it might fall on him alone.
"Don't worry," Saelen said calmly. "Only White Walkers can create more. Ordinary wights can't spread the curse."
He continued, voice steady:
"Besides, this was one of our objectives from the start. If we don't bring proof back south—real proof—no one will believe us. Before today, how many of us truly believed the White Walkers existed?"
Robb frowned.
"And after we convince the southern lords—then what?"
"Then we demand King Robert summon the armies of the Seven Kingdoms to aid the North," Saelen replied bluntly. "You wouldn't seriously expect the North to face this alone, would you?"
"We can handle it ourselves," Smalljon Umber scoffed. "If Lord Eddard calls the banners, House Umber will answer without hesitation. Let the southerners come or not—we don't need them."
Saelen snorted, then spoke patiently.
"Think carefully. While the North marches to the Wall to fight the dead, what happens if certain… less honorable people seize the chance to raid our lands? If they sack our keeps, take our families hostage—what then? Do we stay at the Wall, or abandon it to reclaim our homes?"
As he spoke, Saelen's gaze lingered meaningfully on Theon.
Theon's face darkened with anger. The implication was obvious—too obvious.
"So now you're accusing the Ironborn?" he snapped. "King Robert would never allow anyone to attack the North."
"As long as King Robert is alive," Saelen replied evenly. "But what if he isn't?"
Theon laughed harshly.
"Robert die? Now you're just talking nonsense. Have the wights scared you out of your wits?"
Saelen didn't bother responding.
"Watch your tongue, you damned pirate," Tarly growled, drawing his sword. The cavalry behind him followed suit, blades flashing from their scabbards.
Several northern lords watched with thin smiles, clearly enjoying the tension. To them, it mattered little whether the lucky bastard or the pirate's son fell—better still if both were bloodied.
Saelen raised a hand, halting the riders before things spiraled further.
Then he said to Robb, quietly but firmly:
"For honorable enemies, we respond with honor. For enemies without honor—then we abandon honor."
Robb fell silent, deep in thought.
"Let's return to the matter at hand," Saelen said.
"Enough of this honor nonsense," Eddard Karstark boomed. "Just tell us what we do next."
Jon spoke up as well.
"We still need to find Uncle Benjen. Traveling with these three wights will slow us down."
Saelen nodded.
"We'll split up. Tarly—you and ten riders will escort these wights back to Winterfell. Deliver them personally to Lord Eddard. At Castle Black, borrow some brothers of the Night's Watch to help guard them. I don't have spare men to give you."
"Yes, my lord," Tarly answered.
Saelen turned to the others.
"The rest of us continue north—to find Benjen Stark."
And with that, their paths were set.