Chapter 86: Bandits on the Road
Early the next morning, Saelen rose at dawn, packed his belongings onto his horse, and mounted up. With Gendry at his side, he rode toward the camp gate.
Val, Jon, and Ygritte were already waiting there, along with a dozen mounted riders.
Saelen and Val exchanged a glance and a faint smile, then quickly looked away as if nothing had happened.
Truth be told, before that night, Saelen had never imagined anything would happen between him and the so-called "wildling princess" Val. Now that the barrier between them had been crossed, he found himself unsure how to act around her. In his previous life, he had barely any experience with relationships. Even with a second chance at life, he still didn't know how to handle something like this. For now, he could only take things one step at a time.
He glanced at Val again. She sat calmly on her horse, her expression perfectly composed. When she caught him looking, her bright smile carried a teasing glint.
"What's wrong? Do I look strange today?"
"No," Saelen replied evenly, though his heart skipped a beat. "You look even more beautiful than usual."
Without waiting for a response, he spurred his horse forward and led the group out of camp.
Val let out a soft laugh and followed after him.
Jon, completely baffled, looked between the two of them and asked, "What's going on with those two?"
Ygritte had already noticed something unusual. Her eyes darted between Saelen and Val, curiosity burning bright within her. Then, as if realizing something, she smirked.
"You really don't understand anything, Jon Snow."
With that, she rode off after them, leaving Jon standing there, confused. He turned to Gendry, who simply shrugged, equally clueless.
...
Ten days later, Saelen and his group arrived at the northeastern edge where the Wolfswood met the lands near Long Lake, just off the Kingsroad. They paused there to rest.
Saelen slipped into the body of his hawk and took to the skies, scanning the surrounding area. He needed to find a nearby village to obtain concentrated feed.
Their horses had been traveling hard every day, burning through enormous amounts of energy. If they relied on grass alone, the animals would quickly lose weight, grow weak, and eventually collapse. They needed proper feed—oats, beans, or grain.
Earlier along the journey, they had managed to resupply at a village, which allowed them to maintain their pace. But now their provisions were running dangerously low. The riders themselves could endure rough meals, but the horses could not.
Soon, Saelen spotted something.
A makeshift camp.
There were around a dozen people—men, women, and children. They were filthy, some injured, all looking exhausted. They looked like refugees fleeing disaster.
Saelen's consciousness returned.
"There's something ahead. Let's go take a look," he said, already turning his horse toward the camp.
The others mounted up and followed.
"Ghost, come on!" Jon called out to the white direwolf roaming in the distance. Ghost raised its head, ears twitching, then trailed behind the group at a distance.
Jon didn't wait and rode up beside Saelen.
"What is it?" he asked. "What did you see?"
"A group of people. They look like refugees."
"Refugees?" Jon frowned in surprise. "Out here?"
...
It didn't take long for them to reach the camp.
At first, the people panicked when they saw armed riders approaching. Some broke down in despair, crying openly. Others grabbed stones and sticks, faces filled with anger and desperation as they moved to confront them.
But when they saw the banner—
Everything changed.
"It's the direwolf banner!"
"Thank the gods—we're saved!"
"They must be Lord Stark's men from Winterfell!"
An older man narrowed his eyes as he studied the approaching riders. Around him stood five or six young men clutching sticks and stones, their expressions tense.
Saelen soon arrived with his group.
The old man stepped forward and bowed. "My lord, are you men of Winterfell?"
"I am Saelen Stark, lord of Castle Edd. Who are you?"
The man froze for a moment. Saelen Stark—the adopted son of Lord Eddard, a rising figure in the North—there were few who hadn't heard his name. He quickly straightened and answered with greater respect.
"My lord, I am the headman of a small village along Long Lake. You may call me Kordo."
"Oh? Kordo," Saelen said calmly. "Then why have you left your homes and come here?"
Kordo's face twisted with grief and anger.
"My lord, you must help us! Our village has served Winterfell loyally for generations, but last night we were attacked by bandits. They were ruthless—burning our granaries, violating our women, slaughtering our people, and taking our grain and livestock."
Behind him, the villagers began to weep softly, their faces filled with sorrow.
"We are the only ones who escaped. We beg you, my lord, grant us justice."
"Bandits…" Jon's face darkened, fury rising in his eyes. "Those damned beasts."
He leaned closer to Saelen and said in a low voice, "Could it have been wildlings?"
Ygritte immediately rolled her eyes. "Why whisper? If you think it was us free folk, just say it outright."
"Wildlings sneak south of the Wall all the time to raid and kill," Jon shot back, though his tone wavered slightly. "I didn't mean you specifically."
"The free folk respect strength," Ygritte retorted coldly. "If they couldn't protect their homes, that's their weakness."
Saelen raised a hand, cutting off the pointless argument. There was no value in debating what had already happened.
He turned back to Kordo, his expression hard.
"How many bandits were there? What kind of weapons did they carry? Any mounted men?"
Kordo thought for a moment before answering.
"It was dark, my lord—we couldn't see clearly. But there were at least twenty of them. All were mounted, and some carried bows. Most wore leather armor, a few had chainmail. They used swords, axes, and blunt weapons."
Saelen frowned slightly. Bandits with horses, armor, and proper weapons… this was no ordinary rabble.
Kordo hesitated, then added, "My lord… I don't think they were wildlings."
"Oh? Why not?"
"Wildlings wouldn't have such equipment. Nor would they have cavalry."
Saelen nodded, casting a brief, approving glance at the man. He had a sharp mind.
Jon spoke again, his voice cold with anger. "Saelen, they are subjects of House Stark—and so are we. We can't ignore this. We should find these animals and execute them under the king's law, just as my father taught."
"You're right," Saelen said with a nod. "We won't ignore it."
He turned to Kordo. "Lead the way. Take us to your village."
The attack had happened the previous night—by now, the bandits were likely long gone with their loot. Still, the scene might offer clues.
Yet a faint unease lingered in Saelen's mind. The North was supposed to be a harsh and impoverished land—so why were these bandits so well-equipped, rivaling even a lord's retinue? There was something more behind this.
"Thank you, my lord. May the gods bless House Stark and the North," Kordo said, visibly relieved.
He quickly gathered the villagers and began leading the way back toward their ruined home, with Saelen and his riders close behind.