Chapter 60 — A Call for Reinforcements
Saelen took the letter and read it at once.
It was from Eddard Stark.
The contents were brief. Benjen had sent a plea for aid. Saelen was to come to Castle Black immediately to discuss countermeasures.
If the message came from Benjen, then something must have gone wrong beyond the Wall—likely among the free folk.
Saelen summoned Lawrence at once.
"There's trouble at Castle Black. I've been called to council. All matters in Queenscrown are yours to manage. Emil will assist you. If anything urgent arises, send a raven to Castle Black immediately."
"Yes, my lord," Lawrence and Emil replied together, bowing.
Saelen gave a curt nod. No further words were needed.
He mounted up with Gendry and more than twenty cavalrymen. Each rider brought a second horse for speed. They set off at once toward Castle Black.
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A long, echoing horn sounded from atop the Wall.
"Friendly riders! Open the gate!"
Saelen watched as the massive gate creaked open. He and his men rode through.
They had traveled at breakneck pace, riding hard for most of the day, and arrived just before nightfall.
Robb, having been notified of their approach, hurried out to greet them.
"Saelen! It's been too long."
They clasped forearms and embraced briefly.
After a few exchanged words, Robb gestured toward the keep.
"Come. Father and the Old Bear are already waiting in the council hall."
Saelen nodded and instructed Gendry to settle the cavalry before following Robb inside.
In the council chamber sat Jeor Mormont and Maester Aemon Targaryen, alongside Eddard.
Saelen stepped forward and offered his respects one by one.
"Lord Eddard. Lord Commander. Maester Aemon."
He then took a seat, his expression already sharpening with anticipation of bad news.
Eddard waited until nearly everyone had arrived before speaking, his voice low and grave.
"Benjen has sent an urgent raven. The letter says the White Walkers have appeared near the free folk camp in the Frostfangs. Many of their patrols and sentries have been attacked—none survived. No bodies were left behind.
"They now request a large shipment of dragonglass weapons from us."
A snort sounded from across the hall.
"These damned wildling raiders certainly know how to ask big," said Maege Mormont bluntly. "Our own men don't even have a single dragonglass weapon each, and they dare demand a whole batch."
The people of Bear Island had long suffered from wildling raids. Though loyal to House Stark and willing to set aside past grievances for the greater good, Maege had not forgiven those crimes.
Jeor Mormont glanced at his fiery-tempered sister with faint helplessness. He understood her bitterness all too well and wondered whether he should speak with her privately at some point.
"The wildlings now stand face-to-face with the White Walkers," Eddard continued evenly. "Our forces still have the Wall to rely upon. The enemy cannot breach it easily—for now, we remain relatively safe. After discussing it with Lord Commander Mormont, I intend to send them all the dragonglass weapons we currently have."
"If you've already decided, Lord Stark," came a cool voice from the corner, "why summon us here to freeze?"
Lady Barbrey Dustin sat with stately composure, dressed as always in widow's black. Though no longer young, traces of former beauty lingered in her features. Beneath her calm tone lay unmistakable resentment.
Her words seemed to lower the temperature of the already frigid hall.
Eddard's jaw tightened, but he did not immediately reply.
"You woman, what nonsense are you spouting now?" Rickard Karstark barked. "If you're cold, crawl back to your crypt. War is men's business. What are you meddling for?"
Behind Lady Dustin, Roger Ryswell flushed red with fury and reached for his sword—but she stopped him in time. She had brought barely a hundred men, most from House Ryswell. Starting a clash here would be unwise.
Eddard Karstark, Rickard's son, sneered. "You coward hiding behind a widow's skirts dares draw steel at my father?"
"Bah! Your Ryswells either rot in brothels or serve as muscle for whores!"
"And you Karstarks are brainless oxen!" Roger shot back, face crimson.
"Run along and count your stars, boy," Rickard retorted viciously. "When winter comes, your pitiful grain stores won't feed even rats. Don't come crawling to Barrowton begging for rotten turnips."
Maege Mormont stepped forward as well, bristling. "What's wrong with women fighting? I've killed dozens of men—if not a hundred. Care to test me?"
Rickard blinked, taken aback that another woman had joined the fray, then answered her with more coarse insults.
Spittle flew as the three factions traded barbs. The chamber descended into chaos.
Eddard rose.
"My lords—"
No one listened.
He raised his voice.
"My lords, hear me—"
Still the shouting continued.
At last, his stern face darkened fully. He slammed both hands upon the table.
"Bang! Bang!"
"I speak as Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North. I command you to cease!"
Jory Cassel stepped forward with guards at his back, swords half-drawn.
Saelen and Robb also rose, hands resting upon their hilts. The other northern lords who had not joined the quarrel looked on grimly. Only Roose Bolton remained seated, pale and unreadable, betraying not a flicker of emotion.
The hall fell silent.
The nobles, faced with Eddard's fury, quickly regained their composure and resumed their seats. Jory and the guards withdrew.
Eddard spoke again, his tone steady but cold.
"My lords, the White Walkers are the mortal enemies of all living men. Cooperation with the wildlings is, at this stage, our most advantageous course.
"If we stand aside and watch the free folk fall, the next target will be the North. And when faced with an army of hundreds of thousands of wights, you had better pray the Wall holds.
"Otherwise, every house in the North—great and small—will face annihilation."
His gaze swept the chamber.
"From this moment on, whether Stark or wildling, we fight for the living. Any man who dares question this policy again—or undermines it in secret—will be deemed an enemy of all the North.
"I will march under the banner of Winterfell and crush him and his house without hesitation."
A chill passed through the gathered lords—not from the cold, but from the iron in his voice.
One by one, they voiced their support.