Chapter 19: Departure
"Robb, we have to go find Uncle Benjen," Jon said urgently. "He might still be alive—trapped somewhere, waiting for us to rescue him."
He paused, then shook his head as if trying to banish a darker thought.
"Uncle Benjen will be fine," he said again, though the words sounded more like reassurance than certainty.
Robb considered this for a moment, then nodded.
"You're right, Jon. Uncle Benjen is our kin. As members of House Stark, we have a duty to bring him home—especially now that his fate is unknown."
He turned to Saelen.
"When Father sent me north, he told me to follow Uncle Benjen's judgment—and yours. Now that Uncle Benjen is missing… what should we do next?"
Saelen already knew the likely truth. Benjen Stark was almost certainly dead—perhaps already claimed by the children of the forest or reshaped by darker forces beyond the Wall. But such knowledge could never be spoken aloud.
"Robb," Saelen said calmly, "Benjen is family to me as well. We'll start by going to the place where he vanished. That doesn't conflict with our mission—it aligns with it."
He turned to Lord Commander Mormont.
"Lord Commander, where exactly did Benjen disappear? And if possible, we'll need a guide."
"That won't be necessary," Mormont replied. "You'll travel with Qhorin Halfhand. He's the second-in-command at the Shadow Tower and leads rangings beyond the Wall regularly. There's no one more experienced."
Saelen nodded in agreement.
"To avoid further misfortune," Mormont continued, "I'll ask Maester Aemon to send word to the Shadow Tower. Have Qhorin come to Castle Black. You can rest here a few days—once he arrives, you'll set out together."
"It's no trouble at all," Maester Aemon said gently. "It is my duty."
Age had bent his frame. His back was stooped, his body thin and frail, and his blind eyes were pale and clouded—but his voice remained steady and clear.
The three men left the hall and made their way back toward the barracks.
After a few steps, Jon suddenly spoke, his voice low.
"I dreamed of him last night… Uncle Benjen."
Seeing Saelen and Robb staring at him in surprise, Jon hastily explained,
"I saw him lying on the ground, covered in blood. Then I dreamed I had returned to Winterfell… I went down into the crypts and saw Uncle Benjen's stone statue. And today—we receive this news."
Jon's face was pale with pain. He wished he had never had that dream. He was afraid to think about what it might mean.
Saelen thought for a moment, then said calmly,
"That was a wolf dream—an expression of a skinchanger's gift. It's no different from how I can sometimes see through the eyes of a hawk. Among the wildlings, there are people with similar talents. It's a rare gift, but if used well, it can be incredibly powerful."
Jon hesitated, then asked,
"Have you ever had wolf dreams too?"
"I have," Saelen replied. "When we were attacked by wildlings before, I received a warning through a dream. But dreams are always fragmented. Most of the time, what we see is incomplete—and that can easily mislead us."
He paused, then added quietly,
"So let's be prepared for the worst."
---
They rested at Castle Black for two more days. Then Qhorin Halfhand arrived with more than a dozen rangers, and after brief introductions, the combined group wasted no time. They departed Castle Black and headed toward the nearest settlement—Whitetree Village.
Towering, thick-trunked trees loomed all around them, their gnarled roots twisting across the ground. Mist clung between the trunks, and from a distance the forest seemed filled with shifting shadows, like wandering spirits—silent, ancient, and unsettling.
As Saelen rode deeper into the Haunted Forest, his sense of unease only grew stronger. They had been traveling for an entire day, yet the scenery never changed. Perhaps he was being overly cautious, but he couldn't shake the feeling that something was watching them.
"Half a day more and we'll reach Whitetree Village," Qhorin Halfhand said from the front of the column. "We can rest there for the night. In this cursed land, it's best not to camp in the open."
Saelen nodded in agreement. After only half a day's travel, snowflakes began to fall. Thick fog rolled in at intervals, forcing the group to slow their pace so no one strayed off and disappeared.
"You patrol beyond the Wall often," Saelen said curiously. "Have you ever encountered anything… unusual?"
Qhorin glanced at him.
"You mean the Others," he said bluntly. "I know why you're here."
He thought for a moment before continuing.
"Strange rumors surface every so often, but I've never seen them myself. At least—not within the areas I patrol. I've heard the stories from wildlings, but I believe they're part of Mance Rayder's scheme."
Then he asked,
"Do you know much about Mance Rayder, ser?"
"Not much," Saelen replied. "Only that he leads the wildlings."
"Mance Rayder was once a man of the Night's Watch," Qhorin said evenly, as though recounting an old, unremarkable fact. "He broke his vows—for a wildling woman."
Jon stared in shock.
"By the gods… the King-Beyond-the-Wall was once a brother of the Watch?"
Since arriving at the Wall, Jon's idealized vision of the Night's Watch had been steadily eroding—now dissolving like snowflakes carried away by the wind.
Robb frowned.
"He abandoned his vows and his honor… for a woman?"
"Who knows," Saelen said lightly. "Only Mance himself could answer that."
Inwardly, Saelen couldn't help but mock them both. Coming from the two of you, that's rich.
Qhorin studied Saelen closely, unsure whether the remark was casual—or hinted at deeper knowledge.
Just then, Eddison, one of the scouts, rode back at a gallop.
"Qhorin," he said grimly, "we found something ahead. You need to see it yourself."
Qhorin's expression hardened.
"Let's go," he said. "All of you."
Saelen felt a chill creep up his spine.
"Fine," he said, then turned to Tarly. "Keep them in line. No wandering."
He spurred his horse forward, Robb and Jon close behind.
---
They followed the scout to a small, temporary camp. Another ranger was calming a group of restless horses. The fire pit nearby had only just gone cold, wisps of smoke still curling upward.
Scattered around the camp were severed limbs and mangled remains.
Not a single body was whole.
"Gods…" Jon and Robb whispered in unison. The sheer brutality of the scene struck them hard. Theon's expression remained unreadable—whether from experience or stubborn composure, it was hard to tell.
Saelen dismounted and asked grimly,
"Wildlings?"
"Yes," Eddison replied. "Most likely a feud between tribes. Otherwise, it wouldn't be this savage."
Saelen used his sword to lift one of the severed limbs. It was covered in deep cuts from blades, axes, and spears. The torsos nearby were even worse.
What kind of hatred drives someone to desecrate the dead like this?
"Gods—come here!" Jon suddenly shouted from the far side of the camp. "You need to see this!"