Chapter 35 – Ygritte, "Kissed by Fire"
"Skree—!"
A hawk circled high in the vast blue sky. Beneath it, valleys and jagged mountains shrank into scattered fragments of stone and snow. After circling at altitude for a long while, the bird slowly descended, gliding above a flat stretch of mountain summit as if searching for prey.
On that plateau sat four wildlings around a small fire, eating. Among them was a red-haired woman—round-faced, flat-nosed, slight of build. Her hair burned like flame in the sunlight. She seemed to sense something. Rising to her feet, she shaded her eyes and looked upward into the glare.
"There shouldn't be a hawk this high," she muttered. "Nell, why would there be a hawk here?"
The man beside her, Nell, answered impatiently, "Who knows? Maybe it thinks there's something worth hunting."
Still uneasy, the red-haired woman drew her bow and loosed an arrow into the sky. The shaft lost strength halfway and dropped harmlessly. She lowered her bow, dissatisfied.
---
Halfway down the mountainside, Saelen and his party had already moved silently into position.
Seeing the anticipation on the faces around him, Saelen gave quiet orders.
"Robb—you take Theon and Dacey, circle from the right."
"Benjen—you take Jon and Ser Rodrik and flank from the left."
"Qhorin—you bring Othell and the others around the rear."
"The rest stay with me. When you hear the hawk's cry, we move together. Remember—capture only. No killing."
He paused, then added more firmly:
"We're here to negotiate, not slaughter. Minimize bloodshed."
The men nodded and dispersed silently into the rocks and snow.
Saelen remained behind with the final group. Closing his eyes briefly, he slipped his consciousness into the hawk once more, observing from above.
He waited.
One by one, he confirmed each team had reached their assigned positions.
Then—
"Skree!"
The piercing cry split the mountain air.
Saelen's awareness snapped back into his body.
"Move!"
He surged up the slope, the others charging with him. From every side, his forces closed in.
---
By the time Saelen reached the summit, the wildlings finally realized they were surrounded.
The four sprang up in panic, grabbing their weapons and forming a tight back-to-back circle.
Saelen advanced, shouting loudly:
"Surrender and you won't be harmed!"
"Surrender and you won't be harmed!"
The cry was taken up by the others.
But the wildlings understood there was no escape.
Desperation overtook them.
They attacked.
The red-haired woman drew and loosed in one smooth motion. The arrow flew straight for Saelen's chest—
Clang!
He knocked it aside mid-flight with a sweep of his blade.
Closing the distance in a flash, he met the first wildling's weapon head-on, steel striking steel. In the same motion, he drove his foot into the man's stomach with brutal force.
The wildling doubled over and collapsed face-first into the snow, gasping and unable to rise.
Saelen pivoted toward another. One slash sent the weapon spinning away. He stepped inside the man's guard—
Thud. Thud.
Two crushing punches dropped him to the ground.
Elsewhere, the third wildling had already been overwhelmed by several men and beaten into submission.
Only the red-haired woman remained standing.
Bow drawn.
Arrow nocked.
Eyes blazing.
She faced them alone.
Saelen stepped forward, brushing past his men until he stood directly before the red-haired wildling.
"Surrender," he said calmly. "You have nowhere left to run."
He lifted a hand, signaling the others to lower their weapons.
"Surrender?" the wildling woman shot back defiantly. "We're dead either way. Might as well drag a few of you down with us."
"We're here to negotiate with Mance Rayder," Saelen continued evenly. "I give you my word—your life won't be harmed."
Jon couldn't bear to see her cut down. He stepped forward as well.
"Please," he said earnestly. "We really are here to speak with Mance Rayder. We didn't kill your companions—why would we kill you?"
"Really?"
She glanced at her still-living companions. After a brief hesitation, she lowered her bow and let it fall into the snow.
Jon approached cautiously and bound her wrists.
Saelen studied her flame-red hair, so distinctive against the white mountains.
"What's your name?"
"Ygritte."
She answered without resistance, as if accepting her fate.
Saelen nodded—so it was her.
"Where is your camp? How far from here?"
"You haven't told me your name yet," she replied stubbornly.
"I'm Saelen."
He then pointed toward Jon with faint amusement.
"And that's Jon Snow."
Ygritte showed little reaction. Saelen couldn't help feeling slightly disappointed—he had secretly hoped to hear that famous line firsthand.
---
"I may have surrendered," Ygritte said coolly, casting a glance at Jon Snow, "but that doesn't mean I'll betray the Free Folk. If you think you'll get anything useful out of me, you can forget it."
Theon smirked from the side.
"If she won't cooperate, we could always pull down her trousers and see if it's red down there too."
Several of the men laughed crudely. Months in the wild had left them restless and rough-edged. If opportunity presented itself, some clearly wouldn't object to taking liberties.
"You animal," Jon snapped angrily.
Smalljon Umber burst out laughing. "I say brown!"
"Green," Eddard Karstark declared loudly, eyeing Ygritte in an uncomfortably deliberate way.
Laughter erupted.
Ygritte, however, remained composed—almost amused. She tilted her head, lips curling mischievously as she looked at Jon.
"Well then, little brown-haired boy," she teased, rocking slightly on her heels. "Won't you guess?"
Jon's face turned scarlet in an instant. He stared at her, flustered, then turned and strode off awkwardly, drawing another round of laughter.
Saelen chuckled lightly. "Seems your threats aren't very effective."
"Give them to me," Qhorin said, stepping forward from the rear. "I know ways to make wildlings talk."
He stopped before one of the captives and fixed him with a steady gaze, raising his severed right arm.
"Do you know who I am?"
The wildling's face twisted with fury.
"Qhorin Halfhand! You bastard! You and your crow scum!"
Ygritte's expression darkened as well. Among the Free Folk, Qhorin's name was infamous—many hated him enough to chew his bones.
Qhorin's face remained unreadable as he glanced at Saelen.
Saelen considered it briefly, then shook his head.
"No. We came to negotiate, not escalate. Take the four prisoners away. Guard them closely."
Othell led men forward to escort the captives off.
"In these lands," Benjen said quietly, "mercy doesn't win you much with wildlings."
Saelen met his gaze calmly.
"This isn't misplaced mercy," he said. "I've just thought of a better approach."
He leaned in and whispered something to the others.
They exchanged glances—then looked toward Jon in the distance.
After a moment, they nodded.
Saelen raised his voice.
"Jon! The red-haired wildling is under your watch. Keep a close eye on her. Don't let her slip away."
The wind swept across the mountain ridge once more, carrying with it the first threads of a story that neither of them yet understood.