Chapter 80: I Want to Go South Too
Saelen's paper mill and sugar refinery would require a large labor force in the future, so he had long since instructed Lawrence to send any surrendered wildlings to Castle Edd to work.
These people were given food, but no wages. However, if they performed well over time, they could become full workers—earning pay and even settling near the castle.
The Gift alone wasn't fertile enough, and with the harsh climate, farming could never sustain so many people. Once winter arrived, many free folk would inevitably face hunger and freezing cold.
At that point, Saelen planned to extend the same offer to them.
On one side: warmth, food, and eventually wages.
On the other: starvation, cold, and constant danger.
He had no doubt most would choose the former.
Of course, there would always be those who refused to give up their raiding ways—people who would rather loot and kill than settle down. For them, Saelen had no patience.
If they refused the carrot, they would taste the stick.
In simple terms—those willing to cooperate would be given work, food, and shelter. Those who resisted and caused trouble would be crushed without hesitation.
Between a stable life and risking death as bandits, the choice was obvious. And once the troublemakers were eliminated, the rest would naturally fall in line.
Saelen had already thought through all of this, so he didn't dwell on it further.
"Good," he said, turning to Lawrence. "There are another two thousand free folk coming for training. You'll take charge of that."
Lawrence hesitated. "…Yes, my lord."
Under Saelen's steady gaze, he had no choice but to accept, though inwardly he knew how difficult it would be. Wildlings were not easy to discipline—it was uncertain whether they would even follow orders.
"You don't need to worry," Saelen said calmly. "Focus on the training. I'll handle the rest with their leaders."
He understood Lawrence's concern. Ideally, Saelen himself would train them—after all, the free folk trusted him deeply. But he had other priorities now. He needed to return to Castle Edd and begin construction of the sugar refinery. He didn't have the luxury of staying on the training grounds.
At that moment, Maester Emil stepped forward and handed him a wooden box.
"What's this?" Saelen asked, opening it.
"Paper produced by Maester Rosmund," Emil replied. "It only arrived a few days ago."
Saelen's interest was piqued. He took out a sheet and examined it carefully.
Then his expression fell.
The paper was thin, slightly yellowed, and extremely rough to the touch. This was the result of months of work?
It was barely better than the crude paper burned for the dead in his previous life. Forget writing—it would be difficult even to use it for anything practical.
Still, he quickly steadied himself. Every beginning was difficult. As long as the first step had been taken, improvements would follow.
The others looked on curiously. Saelen didn't hide it and passed the sheet to Jon.
"So this is what Maester Rosmund produced?" Jon asked, examining it with interest.
"Yes," Saelen replied, rubbing his temple.
"Saelen, even Maester Maester Luwin couldn't achieve this. And Rosmund managed it."
Jon didn't understand the technical side of things. To him, Luwin was the most learned man he knew.
"Who's Luwin? How impressive is he?" Ygritte asked, taking the paper briefly before handing it back with little interest.
She had seen Saelen's strength firsthand and already considered him the strongest warrior alive. Hearing Jon speak as if this "Luwin" was even more impressive, she couldn't help but question it.
"You misunderstood," Jon explained. "I mean his knowledge, not his combat ability."
"Oh? And what good is knowledge? Can it beat a sword?" Ygritte challenged.
"If used properly, knowledge is worth an army," Jon said, trying to frame it in terms she might understand.
Ygritte snorted. "The free folk don't have that, and we still have armies."
Jon shook his head. "The free folk are brave, yes. But their weapons are poor, they lack discipline, and they have no tactics. Two or three thousand trained Northern soldiers could defeat tens of thousands of them."
"You know nothing, Jon Snow."
Unable to argue further, Ygritte fell back on her usual retort. Jon pressed his lips together and said nothing more.
Saelen watched the two of them with amusement.
He couldn't quite understand it—how two people with such completely different worldviews could end up so inseparable.
Val picked up a sheet of paper and examined it curiously.
"You southerners really do come up with all sorts of strange things."
"Thanks for the compliment," Saelen replied calmly. "But we're Northerners."
"To us, everything south of the Wall is the South."
Saelen could suddenly understand Jon's earlier frustration. Rather than argue further, he changed the subject.
"Emil, go and have the smiths focus fully on forging dragonglass weapons."
"Lawrence, make your preparations as well."
The two men acknowledged the orders and withdrew.
Jon stepped forward. "Saelen, when are we returning to Winterfell?"
He still couldn't stop thinking about Bran. Though he was a bastard and Lady Catelyn never liked him, Jon had never been mistreated in daily life or education. In all practical ways, he had been raised like a trueborn son—though he never received the same lordly training as Robb.
Because of that, he had grown close to Robb, Bran, Rickon, and Arya. Only Sansa had always kept her distance.
"Not yet," Saelen said. "We have to wait until the free folk's training is on track before we leave."
Although both sides had agreed to unite against the White Walkers, the hatred between them ran deep. The divide was still significant.
Jon and Ygritte were proof of that—two people who cared for each other deeply, yet constantly clashed because of their different beliefs.
If even they struggled, what about two groups with no shared foundation at all?
Saelen needed to establish clear rules—boundaries that could not be crossed, and consequences for those who did. Only after both sides reached a firm understanding could he safely leave.
Otherwise, if conflict broke out in his absence, both sides would act on their own judgment, and by the time he returned, it might already be too late.
Jon nodded. "Then I'll leave it to you. If you need my help, just say the word."
"You're going back to Winterfell?" Ygritte asked in surprise.
Jon nodded. "We want to visit my brother Bran. He's not doing well."
"I'm coming too," she said without hesitation. "I want to see this castle you can't stop talking about."
"That's my father's castle, not mine," Jon corrected. "A bastard has no inheritance rights. It will belong to my brother Robb, not me."
"In the free folk, there's no such thing as bastards," Ygritte said dismissively. "Your child is your child. And if you can take something by strength, then it's yours."
"I would never take my father's or Robb's castle. Never," Jon replied firmly.
Even bastards have honor, he reminded himself, cutting off any stray thoughts.
Ygritte saw his expression harden and chose not to press further.
"I want to go south too."
Val spoke suddenly, her icy blue eyes burning with quiet intensity.
Saelen, Jon, and Ygritte all looked at her in surprise, unsure where that had come from.
"Why? Is that not allowed?" she said lightly. "If you won't take me, I'll go myself. Free folk go where they please."
"That's right," Ygritte chimed in, nodding in agreement. She didn't quite understand Val's interest either, but she supported the sentiment.
Jon hesitated, then looked to Saelen, leaving the decision to him.
Saelen shrugged. "Fine. As long as you don't go around slitting southern men's throats in the middle of the night, you can come."
Val met his gaze calmly. "If they can keep their eyes to themselves, I can promise that."
The meaning behind her words was clear.
Saelen coughed lightly and looked away, his expression turning slightly awkward.
At that moment, Gendry entered the tent.
"My lord, Tormund and Chief Mag have arrived—with the free folk."