Chapter 62 – Delivering the Weapons
"Open the gate!"
A heavy groan of iron and timber echoed through the cold air.
With a grinding creak… creak…, the massive gate of the Wall slowly rose.
Saelen led the column forward through the icy tunnel. Twenty riders in all, each man leading three horses, their mounts burdened with dried rations, fodder, and crates of dragonglass weapons. Once beyond the gate, they vanished into the depths of the Haunted Forest.
On the Wall above, Robb stood watching in silence.
He had wanted to join the expedition—but both Eddard and Saelen had refused him. The reason was simple: he was the heir to Winterfell. His place, they argued, was not beyond the Wall courting death.
Catelyn had sent several ravens as well, urging Robb to return home. After his previous disappearance, she no longer cared about politics or maneuvering—she wanted only her son safely back in Winterfell.
But the trials beyond the Wall had changed Robb. He refused to return.
The sons and heirs of many Northern houses stood at the Wall to fight the White Walkers. How could he, the heir to Winterfell, shrink away? To do so would invite scorn and diminish his name. More importantly—the Wall needed every sword.
In the end, Eddard reluctantly agreed to let him remain. Ser Rodrik was appointed castellan in Robb's stead and sent back to Winterfell to assist Catelyn in governing.
---
Fifteen days later, Saelen and his riders approached the ruins near Craster's Keep.
Before revealing themselves, Saelen warged into a falcon and scouted the surrounding leagues. After confirming no White Walkers lurked nearby, he led his men to the abandoned stronghold.
Though long deserted, the main hall still stood intact—shelter enough for rest.
Saelen decided they would remain there two days.
They would hunt, salt the meat, and smoke it for preservation. With limited time, they could only cure it lightly—enough to prevent spoilage in the short term.
To travel light, they had brought minimal rations, relying mostly on hunting. But hunting depended on luck. For reasons unknown, the deeper they ventured beyond the Wall, the scarcer game became.
It had been five or six days since they had seen proper prey.
Their remaining provisions were nearly gone. If they failed to hunt soon, they would be riding hungry.
Fortunately, while scouting earlier, Saelen had spotted a herd of wild cattle near a stream—several dozen strong.
A few well-placed hunts would secure their food for the remainder of the journey.
After ordering the men to carry their supplies into the hall, Saelen turned to Ode.
"Ode, take a few men and lead the horses out to graze nearby. Keep watch and don't stray too far."
They had brought only limited grain feed. Each horse received a small portion daily; the rest had to come from grazing. So beyond traveling, they had to set aside time each day for pasture.
Fortunately, the weather had held—clear skies, no blizzards, no White Walkers.
---
Saelen took four or five riders and moved toward the herd of wild cattle he had spotted earlier. With the falcon's aerial vision guiding them, they quickly approached within range.
The cattle were drinking from a stream, lazily cropping grass. Only a few lifted their heads now and then, scanning for danger.
After estimating their shooting distance, the men raised their bows.
Saelen lifted a heavy longbow and nocked three arrows at once, aiming at a bull with its head lowered.
Twng! Twng! Twng!
One arrow struck clean through the beast's eye. The other two thudded into its skull. The animal bellowed, staggered a few steps, then collapsed heavily.
Another bull, pierced by several arrows to the head and flank, struggled before falling.
The rest of the herd scattered in panic.
Saelen did not pursue. He waited until the two fallen beasts stopped thrashing, then retrieved the arrows. They gutted the carcasses, buried the entrails, washed the meat in the stream, and hauled their prize back to the keep.
By the time they returned, several large fires had been lit. Makeshift racks had been built above the flames. The men set to work butchering, salting, and hanging strips of meat to smoke.
---
The next day, while scouting again through the falcon's eyes, Saelen spotted over a hundred wildlings resting near yesterday's hunting grounds.
He ordered his men into armor and had them ready their weapons before moving out.
Soon, Saelen and a dozen riders approached the wildling camp. After a brief observation, he noted that most were elderly or children. There were perhaps seventy or eighty able-bodied adults among them.
"My lord—do we attack?" Ode asked.
Saelen shook his head.
Fully armored cavalry against poorly equipped wildlings? The odds favored them. But he did not know whether these people were sworn to Mance Rayder.
After a moment's thought, Saelen rode forward openly.
---
Their arrival shattered the camp's fragile calm.
"Crows!"
"Damn it—it's crows!"
Curses flew. Children cried. Wildlings grabbed their weapons and formed a defensive line.
Saelen raised a hand for his men to halt. He rode forward alone, hands empty to show peaceful intent.
"Don't be nervous," he called. "I come in good faith. Send your leader."
A burly man stepped forward—broad-shouldered, red-haired, thick beard, eyes wary.
"I'm the leader. What do you want, crow? Fight or not?"
"We're not crows," Saelen replied evenly. "We serve Lord Stark of the North. My name is Saelen. And yours?"
"Rait."
"Mance Rayder has agreed to cooperate with us against the White Walkers. Why haven't you joined him?"
"Fuck Mance!"
"Fuck the North!"
"We won't be anyone's dogs!" Rait shouted.
Saelen's expression darkened slightly.
"Why not? We'll allow you through the Wall. We'll provide food. All we ask is that you send fighters to help us against the White Walkers. They are the enemy of all the living."
The wildlings exchanged uneasy glances. Some faces flickered with hesitation. Rait himself seemed to consider it—then shook his head.
"No. Who knows if you crows would keep your word?"
"The Wall is now garrisoned by Northern troops," Saelen replied calmly. "If you intend to climb it, abandon the thought. And even if it were unguarded—your elders and children couldn't make the crossing."
Rait followed Saelen's gesture toward the old and the young. His anger faded somewhat.
"We're not climbing the Wall," he said at last. "We're heading to Hardhome. There are ships there. We'll sail south."
Saelen knew of this. Cotter Pyke had reported seeing slavers' and pirate ships sailing toward Hardhome. When they returned, they were packed with wildlings.
"They're slavers," Saelen warned. "Board their ships and you become their cargo."
Rait's expression hardened with defiant confidence.
"Once we're aboard, we'll see who enslaves who."
Saelen suppressed a sigh. He doubted these straightforward, brawny wildlings would outwit seasoned pirates and slavers. Most likely, they were marching willingly into chains.
He had said enough.
"Then I wish you good fortune."
Rait seemed faintly embarrassed by Saelen's restraint. After a pause, he offered a warning of his own.
"Be careful. The farther north you go, the more likely you'll meet White Walkers. We started with six or seven hundred. Now…" He gestured at the diminished camp. "This is all that's left."
Saelen nodded.
He turned and rode away with his men.
They remained at Craster's Keep one more day to rest—then continued their journey toward the Frostfangs.