Chapter 11: Plan
"Among the brothers of the Night's Watch today," Saelen said calmly, "only a handful—men like Jeor Mormont and Uncle Benjen—joined out of duty and conviction."
"The rest?" He shook his head. "Thieves. Bandits. Murderers. Rapists. Men sent to the Wall against their will."
"To expect such men to guard the realm with unwavering loyalty is… optimistic at best."
"And with the Watch already dangerously undermanned, they can barely hold the Wall itself. They simply don't have the strength to spare for deep ranging beyond it."
Jon could no longer stay silent.
"Uncle Benjen is First Ranger," he said firmly. "The rangers under his command are the finest men in the Watch. They patrol beyond the Wall regularly. Uncle Benjen is a man of duty and honor."
Saelen walked over and rested a hand on Jon's shoulder.
"Jon, I've never doubted Benjen Stark or the honor of the rangers," he said gently. "But how many rangers are there, truly?"
"At best, they can patrol the lands immediately beyond the Wall. Anything farther—and they're stretched too thin."
"Honor alone can't conjure manpower out of thin air."
"And the wildlings aren't fools. If they truly intend to strike, they wouldn't gather their forces anywhere near the Wall where they could be spotted."
Jon had no answer. The truth was undeniable.
After allowing the room a moment to absorb his words, Saelen finally delivered his conclusion.
"Lord Eddard, the first thing we must do is verify whether these reports of the wildlings—and the Others—are true."
He stepped forward.
"I ask your permission to lead a cavalry detachment beyond the Wall to gather intelligence."
Unrolling a map across the table, Saelen traced a route with his finger.
"From Castle Black, through Whitetree, Craster's Keep, the Fist of the First Men, and then deeper—toward the Milkwater and the Gorge of Whispers."
"We'll observe the area for some time. Whether it's wildlings or Others, we'll find signs—tracks, camps, corpses, something."
"Once we have confirmed intelligence, we'll have real options."
"Only then can we decide whether to strike first… or prepare our defenses properly."
Lord Eddard studied the map, his expression grave.
"Even setting aside the threat of the wildlings," he said slowly, "the lands beyond the Wall are deadly in their own right. The climate alone has claimed countless lives. Are you certain you wish to go there personally?"
"I could write to Benjen," he continued. "Have him lead a ranging party to investigate these regions. This falls squarely within the Night's Watch's duties—they would not refuse."
Saelen knew all too well that, in the original course of events, Benjen Stark would vanish during a ranging north of the Wall, never to return, leaving behind no answers at all.
If he wanted proof—real proof—he would have to go himself. Even if he couldn't capture an Other, at the very least he had to uncover the true movements of the wildlings. Empty warnings alone would convince no one.
"Rest assured, Lord Eddard," Saelen replied calmly. "The wildlings can survive there—surely we Northmen can do no worse. And with my strength, there are very few who could defeat me."
Eddard fell silent for a moment. He could not deny the logic in Saelen's words. Without reliable intelligence, any further decisions would be blind guesses at best.
"Very well," he said at last. "You've convinced me. What assistance do you require?"
"There is one thing," Saelen said. "I would like Jon to accompany us. He's nearly grown now, and his swordsmanship has improved greatly. And to be frank—Winterfell has no place for him. One day, he'll have to make his own way in the world."
Eddard looked surprised and turned his gaze toward Ser Rodrik.
Ser Rodrik rose and bowed slightly. "My lord, I must admit—Robb and Jon have already surpassed me in skill. What they lack is not ability, but experience on the field."
Eddard exhaled softly. "Very well. Jon may join this expedition."
Jon's eyes lit up instantly. Unable to contain himself, he blurted out, "Thank you, Lord Stark!"
Eddard merely nodded, saying nothing more.
"Saelen," Ser Rodrik added, "you'll need guides—men familiar with the terrain, climate, and routes beyond the Wall. Without them, you risk losing your way."
At once, all eyes turned to Osha.
She understood immediately—and recoiled in fear.
"No," she said shakily. "My lord, you promised that if I cooperated, you would let me go."
"I'm only asking you to guide us," Saelen replied evenly. "Not to sacrifice your life."
"I refuse!" Osha cried, trembling. "You Southerners are mad—completely mad! You don't understand what's out there. Those monsters will slaughter you all. I'd rather die than return north!"
She was already doomed, she knew. Even if the Others didn't kill her, Mance Rayder certainly would, should he learn of her betrayal.
"Woman," Theon sneered, drawing his sword, "this isn't your choice."
"Then kill me," Osha sobbed, lifting her chin and squeezing her eyes shut. "I'd rather die by your blade."
Theon's pride stung, he raised his sword—
"Enough."
Eddard's voice was cold and commanding.
"This is my hall. Sheathe your blade."
He turned to Osha. "Saelen bears the Stark name. His word is Winterfell's word. If you will not guide them, then you will remain here. When they return safely, you will be released."
Then, to Saelen, he added, "I will write to Benjen. He'll assign reliable guides for your journey."
"Maester Luwin," Eddard said, "see that this woman is kept safely."
"Yes, my lord."
At that moment, Robb spoke up, unable to contain himself any longer.
"Father… may I join them as well?"
Saelen nearly laughed. He'd noticed Robb struggling to speak several times already—he was impressed the boy had held out this long.
"You?" Eddard frowned. "You wish to go too?"
"No," he said firmly. "You will stay in Winterfell."
Robb clenched his fists. "But I'm your eldest son—the future Lord of Winterfell! Others ride out and bleed for the North, while I stay behind poking straw dummies with wooden swords?"
He looked to Saelen and Jon, silently begging for support.
Saelen, however, suddenly found the floor extremely interesting.
Not a chance. This was Robb Stark he was talking about—one wrong word and Lady Catelyn would erupt all over again.
Jon met Robb's gaze with helpless regret. As a bastard, being allowed to join the expedition was already more than he had ever hoped for. He had no standing to argue further.
Eddard added quietly, "Even if I allowed it, your mother would not."
That was enough.
Robb fell silent at last.