Chapter 2: Are the Others Coming?
Saelen's gaze drifted toward the sentinel tree where Osha was hiding. A faint trace of mockery lifted the corner of his mouth.
He swung down from his horse and walked to the base of the tree, looking up through the branches.
"You can come down on your own," he said calmly, "or I can invite you down."
Behind him, the cavalry dismounted one after another, steel ringing softly as they drew their longswords and slowly surrounded the tree.
Despair surged through Osha's chest. Even so, a tiny sliver of hope remained—perhaps they hadn't truly discovered her, perhaps this was nothing more than a bluff.
She pressed herself tightly against the trunk, not daring to move.
"Fetch my bow."
When no one came down, Saelen lost patience and ordered a rider to bring it. He took the bow, nocked an arrow, and drew.
Thunk.
The arrow buried itself in the trunk just beneath where Osha was hiding. Without pause, he nocked a second arrow and raised it, aiming higher.
Osha knew she could hide no longer.
"I surrender! I surrender!" she shouted in panic. "My lord, don't shoot—I'm coming down right now!"
She scrambled down the tree and stood before Saelen, breath ragged.
Saelen lowered the bow and regarded the wildling woman coolly.
"If you want to live," he said flatly, "then behave yourself. I ask, you answer."
"My lord…" Osha forced a smile, her heart pounding. "If I answer your questions, will you spare my life?"
"Whether you live or die," Saelen replied, "depends on the value of your answers."
"Don't try anything clever. The moment a single lie slips from your mouth, I'll take your head back to collect the bounty."
He planted the tip of his longsword into the ground before him and rested both hands on the pommel, meeting Osha's eyes as he spoke each word clearly.
"Believe me—I have more than enough ways to verify the truth of every word you say."
Osha swallowed hard and nodded, forcing herself to remain calm.
"How many of you crossed the Wall in total?" Saelen asked. "And where are the others now?"
"My lord," Osha answered carefully, "we came from several villages beyond the Wall. There were hundreds of us at first."
"By the time we crossed the Wall, only a few dozen remained. Then, traveling south, we were hunted again and again… until only this handful was left."
"There may have been others who fell behind," she added quickly. "But I don't know how many, or whether they're still alive. Truly, my lord."
She watched Saelen's expression anxiously as she spoke, terrified that a single misstep would cost her head.
Saelen frowned slightly and asked, puzzled,
"In the past, when your people crossed the Wall, you only raided the Gift, House Umber's lands, Karhold, and the mountain clans."
"So why did your group come all the way near Winterfell?"
"South… farther south," Osha replied urgently. "The farther south, the better, my lord."
As if recalling something deeply terrifying, her entire body began to tremble.
"My lord—it's the White Walkers. North of the Wall, they're everywhere. They hunt the living, slaughter anyone they encounter, and then raise the dead to swell their army of corpses."
"The elderly, the children, the women, the sick and weak who traveled with us—all of them became part of that army. Only the strong and able-bodied managed to flee across the Wall."
"The Others?" Saelen asked gravely. "Those creatures with blue eyes, pale skin, ice-crystal armor, and crystal longswords?"
"Yes, my lord. We Free Folk call them White Ghosts. Your southern steel swords—pride of your knights—can neither pierce nor cleave their ice armor. And your steel plate cannot stop their crystal blades."
"Someone fighting beside you one moment will turn against you the next. In the end, you'll realize the living grow fewer and fewer… while the dead only multiply."
"They can't be stopped," Osha said, her voice shaking. "They truly can't."
A man named Odd snorted and cut her off with a laugh.
"White Walkers? Aren't those just stories wet nurses tell to scare children?"
"I say this wildling's lying to save her own skin. My lord, hand her over to me. I'll show her that I'm a hundred times more terrifying than any 'White Ghost.'"
He declared it loudly, drawing raucous laughter from the surrounding guards, many of whom voiced their agreement.
Saelen watched Odd and the others laugh off the notion of the Others and sighed inwardly.
He raised his left hand, silencing the crowd, then turned back to Osha.
"What about Mance Rayder?" he asked. "Wasn't it said that your King-Beyond-the-Wall gathered an army of a hundred thousand Free Folk?"
"Where are they now? Don't tell me they've all been turned into part of this army of the dead."
Osha's heart jolted. She looked at Saelen in disbelief, unsure how he knew such closely guarded information.
"My lord… I'm afraid I don't know much about that. I've only heard that Mance Rayder gathered many Free Folk and plans to attack the Wall."
Seeing that Saelen didn't react angrily, she continued cautiously.
"My lord, from what I know, the few hundred black-cloaked crows on the Wall won't be enough to stop Mance Rayder's host—let alone the countless White Ghosts behind them, who cannot be killed."
Saelen stroked his chin thoughtfully.
He already knew that Mance Rayder's host was gathering somewhere beyond the Wall, waiting for a chance to strike at Castle Black. He also knew that the Others were active in the far north.
He had asked deliberately—hoping that through the mouths of wildlings, he might warn the North that the Others had returned, and that all living beings must unite against the dead.
Judging from the reaction just now, however, he held little hope.
It seems I'll need to capture a few wights and parade them before the knights of the Seven Kingdoms someday, he thought. Only then will they understand what kind of enemy awaits them.
Saelen looked at the wildling woman before him and decided to bring her before Lord Eddard himself. Let Ned Stark hear, with his own ears, what was happening beyond the Wall.
Perhaps—just perhaps—it would stop that honorable fool from riding south.
"And this Free Folk lady," Saelen asked with a faint smile, "what should we call you?"
"My lord, you may call me Osha."
"Osha?" Saelen repeated, staring at her, visibly surprised.
Seeing his reaction, Osha misunderstood. She assumed this northern lord had developed an unsavory interest.
Men are all the same, she thought disdainfully.
She tugged her collar lower, revealing a flash of pale skin, and gave Saelen a sultry smile.
"I can do anything you wish, my lord."
"My lord," Odd laughed, "she's not much to look at, but a bit of wild game might still be worth tasting."
Saelen looked at Odd in silence. The air grew cold.
Odd laughed awkwardly, suddenly remembering Saelen's usual way of handling things.
"My apologies, my lord."
Only then did Saelen turn his gaze back to Osha and examine her carefully.
She looked to be in her late twenties or early thirties—thin, unkempt hair, ragged clothes. Saelen remembered her.
In the original timeline, she would be captured by Robb Stark, later help Bran and Rickon escape Winterfell, and eventually escort Rickon to the Last Hearth—only to be betrayed by House Umber and delivered to Ramsay Snow, where she died after her attempt at seduction failed.
If his memory served him correctly, Osha shouldn't have been captured until after Lord Eddard went south. And there was still nearly a year before Ned Stark departed for King's Landing.
Jon Arryn was still alive, patching up the Seven Kingdoms in the capital. King Robert was probably "training" in bed somewhere.
Coincidence?
Or did my presence already disturb the flow of time?
Saelen exhaled softly and ordered Odd to bind her.
He knew this wildling woman was sharp—leave her unrestrained for even a moment, and she might escape.
"My lord!" Osha struggled. "You promised! I've told you everything I know!"
"I promised to spare your life," Saelen replied calmly. "I never promised to let you go."
"As long as you behave and perform well, freedom isn't off the table."
"Tarly," he said, turning to one of his personal guards. "She's yours."
He paused, locking eyes with him.
"Watch her carefully. And if she tries to seduce you—twist her head off."
Tarly, a typical Northman with a vicious scar across his face, grinned darkly.
"As you command, my lord."
"Come along, wildling girl," he said, tugging the rope. "I look forward to your attempt."
Not long after, Jon and Kesso returned with the pursuing cavalry. Several horses bore bloody heads tied to their saddles, the stench of blood filling the air.
Jon reined in his horse before Saelen and bowed.
"My lord, the wildlings have been completely eliminated. Their heads have been brought back, as ordered."
He lifted one of the heads for display—mouth agape, eyes lifeless, blood dripping from tangled hair onto the snow.
Saelen studied it briefly, then nodded.
Riding forward, he raised his voice.
"My warriors—you have done well. Let the raiding wildlings remember this day."
"Winter is coming. The North does not forget."
"Those with heads will find silver stags and golden dragons waiting at the castle. Those without—do not despair. I've ordered the maester to prepare fine wine. Tonight, we drink until none can stand."
"Move out. We're going home."
"The North does not forget!"
"Drink till dawn!"
"Long live Lord Saelen!"
The riders roared in unison and followed him back toward the castle.
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