A Game of Thrones Chapter Twenty-six

JonJon was showing D areon how best to deliver a sidestroke when the in the altogether evoke entered the practice yard. Your feet should be farther apart, he urged. You dont wishing to bear your balance. Thats undecomposed. Now pivot as you deliver the stroke, get all your burden behind the blade.Dareon broke out and lifted his visor. s sluice upinger gods, he murmured. Would you aim at this, Jon.Jon turned. Through the eye slit of his point, he beheld the fattest male child he had of all season captivaten standing in the door of the armory. By the look of him, he must confirm weighed twenty st whiz. The pelt collar of his embroidered surcoat was lost to a lower place his chins. Pale look move nervously in a large flesh out moon of a eccentric, and plump sw eradicatey fingers wiped themselves on the velvet of his doublet. They . . . they told me I was to go up hither for . . . for training, he verbalise to no one in particular.A entitleling, Pyp observed to Jon. Southron, most homogeneous go on Highgarden. Pyp had traveled the S heretofore Kingdoms with a mummers troupe, and bragged that he could tell what you were and where youd been born(p) just from the sound of your section.A striding hunts gentlemans gentleman had been imprinted in scarlet th hold upon the breast of the fat sons fur-trimmed surcoat. Jon did non recognize the sigil. Ser Alliser Thorne looked over his new charge and verbalise, It would seem they have overhaul short of poachers and thieves imbibe south. Now they send us pigs to man the Wall. Is fur and velvet your notion of armor, my schoolmaster of Ham?It was soon revealed that the new recruit had brought his own armor with him padded doublet, boiled leather, mail and plate and helm, even a great wood-and-leather shield blazoned with the same striding huntsman he wore on his surcoat. As none of it was discolour, however, Ser Alliser insisted that he reequip himself from the armory. That similarlyk ha lf the morning. His girth required Donal Noye to conduct apart a mail hauberk and refit it with leather panels at the sides. To get a helm over his head the armorer had to distinguish the visor. His leathers bound so tightly a elaborate his legs and under his arms that he could scarcely move. Dressed for appoint manpowert, the new boy looked identical an overcooked sausage around to burst its skin. Let us hope you are not as inept as you look, Ser Alliser give tongue to. Halder, see what Ser Piggy can do.Jon Snow winced. Halder had been born in a quarry and apprenticed as a stonemason. He was sixteen, tall and muscular, and his blows were as hard as any Jon had ever felt. This allow be uglier than a whores ass, Pyp muttered, and it was.The fight dwelled less than a minute in the beginning the fat boy was on the fuze, his whole physical structure sha faggot as blood leaked through his shattered helm and between his pudgy fingers. I yield, he shrilled. No more, I yield, don t hit me. Rast and some of the other boys were laughing. however then, Ser Alliser would not call an end. On your feet, Ser Piggy, he called. Pick up your firebrand. When the boy continued to cling to the ground, Thorne gestured to Halder. Hit him with the flat of your blade until he predominates his feet. Halder delivered a tentative smack to his foes upraised cheeks. You can hit harder than that, Thorne taunted. Halder took hold of his long firebrand with both(prenominal) flips and brought it de touch so hard the blow split leather, even on the flat. The new boy screeched in pain.Jon Snow took a tint forward. Pyp set(p) a mailed hand on his arm. Jon, no, the small boy whispered with an anxious glance at Ser Alliser Thorne.On your feet, Thorne repeated. The fat boy struggled to rise, slipped, and expend firmly again. Ser Piggy is starting to grasp the notion, Ser Alliser observed. Again.Halder lifted the sword for another blow. Cut us off a ham Rast urged, laughing.Jon ag itate off Pyps hand. Halder, enough.Halder looked to Ser Alliser.The Bastard speaks and the peasants tremble, the master-at-arms said in that sharp, frigid illustration of his. I remind you that I am the master-at-arms here, shaper Snow.Look at him, Halder, Jon urged, ignoring Thorne as best he could. in that respects no honor in beating a fallen foe. He yielded. He knelt beside the fat boy.Halder lowered his sword. He yielded, he echoed.Ser Allisers onyx eyeball were fixed on Jon Snow. It would seem our Bastard is in love, he said as Jon helped the fat boy to his feet. Show me your steel, noble Snow.Jon move his longsword. He dared defy Ser Alliser only to a point, and he feared he was tumesce beyond it now.Thorne smiled. The Bastard wishes to defend his lady love, so we shall make an movement of it. Rat, Pimple, help our Stone Head here. Rast and Albett moved to total Halder. trine of you ought to be sufficient to make Lady Piggy squeal. All you need do is get past the Bastard.Stay behind me, Jon said to the fat boy. Ser Alliser had oft sent cardinal foes against him, neertheless never trey. He knew he would possible go to sleep bruised and bloody tonight. He braced himself for the assault.Suddenly Pyp was beside him. Three to two entrust make for better sport, the small boy said cheerfully. He dropped his visor and slid out his sword. Before Jon could even destine to protest, Grenn had stepped up to make a third.The yard had grown deathly quiet. Jon could feel Ser Allisers eyes. why are you waiting? he asked Rast and the others in a voice deceased deceptively balmy, still it was Jon who moved first. Halder barely got his sword up in time.Jon drove him ventureward, attacking with every blow, keeping the older boy on the heels. Know your foe, Ser Rodrik had taught him once Jon knew Halder, brutally strong alone short of patience, with no taste for defense. Frustrate him, and he would leave himself open, as certain as sunset.The clang o f steel echoed through the yard as the others joined battle around him. Jon blocked a savage cut at his head, the wallop of impact running up his arm as the s course crashed together. He slammed a sidestroke into Halders ribs, and was rewarded with a muffled grunt of pain. The counterstroke caught Jon on the fix up. Chainmail crunched, and pain flared up his neck, but for an instant Halder was unbalanced. Jon cut his left(a) leg from under him, and he fell with a curse and a crash.Grenn was standing his ground as Jon had taught him, openhanded Albett more than he cared for, but Pyp was hard-pressed. Rast had two years and forty pounds on him. Jon stepped up behind him and rang the rapers helm analogous a bell. As Rast went reeling, Pyp slid in under his guard, knocked him down, and leveled a blade at his throat. By then Jon had moved on. Facing two swords, Albett rearwardsed away. I yield, he shouted.Ser Alliser Thorne surveyed the scene with disgust. The mummers lug has fo regone on long enough for to twenty-four hour period. He walked away. The session was at an end.Dareon helped Halder to his feet. The quarrymans son wrenched off his helm and threw it across the yard. For an instant, I thought I finally had you, Snow.For an instant, you did, Jon replied. Under his mail and leather, his shoulder was throbbing. He sheathed his sword and assay to remove his helm, but when he raised his arm, the pain do him grit his teeth.Let me, a voice said. Thick-fingered hands unfastened helm from gorget and lifted it off gently. Did he hurt you?Ive been bruised in advance. He touched his shoulder and winced. The yard was releaseing around them.Blood matted the fat boys copper where Halder had split his helm asunder. My severalise is surface-to-air missilewell Tarly, of Horn . . . He stopped and beat out his lips. I mean, I was of Horn heap, until I . . . left. Ive come to take the black. My fuss is nobleman Randyll, a bannerman to the Tyrells of Highgard en. I used to be his heir, only . . . His voice trailed off.Im Jon Snow, Ned unadulterateds bastard, of Winterfell.surface-to-air missilewell Tarly nodded. I . . . if you want, you can call me surface-to-air missile. My mother calls me surface-to-air missile.You can call him Lord Snow, Pyp said as he came up to join them. You dont want to be what his mother calls him.These two are Grenn and Pypar, Jon said.Grenns the ugly one, Pyp said.Grenn scowled. Youre uglier than me. At least I dont have ears equal a bat.My thanks to all of you, the fat boy said vanquishy.Why didnt you get up and fight? Grenn demanded.I appreciateed to, real. I just . . . I couldnt. I didnt want him to hit me anymore. He looked at the ground. I . . . I fear Im a coward. My lord aim invariably said so.Grenn looked thunderstruck. Even Pyp had no words to say to that, and Pyp had words for everything. What sort of man would pro claim himself a coward?Samwell Tarly must have read their thoughts on their f aces. His eyes met Jons and darted away, quick as frightened animals. I . . . Im sorry, he said. I dont mean to . . . to be wish well I am. He walked heavily toward the armory.Jon called after him. You were hurt, he said. Tomorrow youll do better.Sam looked mournfully back over one shoulder. No I wont, he said, blinking back tear. I never do better.When he was gone, Grenn frowned. Nobody likes cravens, he said uncomfortably. I wish we hadnt helped him. What if they think were craven too?Youre too unreasonable to be craven, Pyp told him.I am not, Grenn said.Yes you are. If a bear attacked you in the woods, youd be too stupid to run away.I would not, Grenn insisted. Id run away alacritous than you. He stopped suddenly, scowling when he maxim Pyps grin and cognise what hed just said. His thick neck flushed a sulky red. Jon left them there arguing as he returned to the armory, hung up his sword, and stripped off his battered armor.Life at Castle Black followed certain patterns th e mornings were for swordplay, the afternoons for work. The black pals set new recruits to many different tasks, to learn where their skills lay. Jon cherished the old afternoons when he was sent out with refinement ranging at his side to bring back game for the Lord Commanders table, but for every day worn out(p) hunting, he gave a dozen to Donal Noye in the armory, spinning the whetstone tour the one-armed smith sharpened axes grown dull from use, or pumping the bellows as Noye hammered out a new sword. Other times he ran messages, stood at guard, mucked out stables, fletched arrows, assisted Maester Aemon with his birds or Bowen Marsh with his counts and inventories.That afternoon, the watch commanding officer sent him to the winch cage with four barrels of fresh-crushed stone, to scatter gravel over the icy footpaths atop the Wall. It was lonely and boring work, even with tactile sen sit downion along for company, but Jon found he did not mind. On a clear day you could se e half the demesne from the top of the Wall, and the phone line was perpetually cold and bracing. He could think here, and he found himself thinking of Samwell Tarly . . . and, oddly, of Tyrion Lannister. He wondered what Tyrion would have made of the fat boy. Most men would or else deny a hard truth than face it, the dwarf had told him, grinning. The world was full of cravens who pretended to be heroes it took a queer sort of resolution to admit to cowardice as Samwell Tarly had.His sore shoulder made the work go slowly. It was late afternoon before Jon finished graveling the paths. He lingered on superior to watch the sun go down, turning the western tack the color of blood. Finally, as dusk was settling over the north, Jon rolled the empty barrels back into the cage and signaled the winch men to lower him.The evening meal was intimately done by the time he and tactile sensition reached the common hall. A group of the black brothers were dicing over mulled wine go on t he fire. His friends were at the judicature nearest the west wall, laughing. Pyp was in the middle of a story. The mummers boy with the big ears was a born liar with a nose candy different voices, and he did not tell his tales so much as live them, playing all the parts as needed, a king one moment and a swineherd the next. When he turned into an alehouse fille or a virgin princess, he used a high falsetto voice that reduced them all to tears of helpless laughter, and his eunuchs were always eerily accurate caricatures of Ser Alliser. Jon took as much pleasure from Pyps antics as anyone . . . even that night he turned away and went instead to the end of the bench, where Samwell Tarly sat alone, as far from the others as he could get.He was finishing the last of the pork pie the cooks had served up for supper when Jon sat down across from him. The fat boys eyes widened at the sight of contact. Is that a wolf?A direwolf, Jon said. His name is Ghost. The direwolf is the sigil of m y fathers House.Ours is a striding huntsman, Samwell Tarly said.Do you like to hunt?The fat boy shuddered. I scorn it. He looked as though he was dismissal to cry again.Whats ruin now? Jon asked him. Why are you always so frightened?Sam stared at the last of his pork pie and gave a feeble shake of his head, too scared even to talk. A burst of laughter filled the hall. Jon hear Pyp squeaking in a high voice. He stood. Lets go outside.The round fat face looked up at him, suspicious. Why? What will we do outside?Talk, Jon said. Have you seen the Wall?Im fat, not blind, Samwell Tarly said. Of course I saw it, its seven hundred feet high. Yet he stood up all the same, imprisoned a fur-lined cloak over his shoulders, and followed Jon from the common hall, still wary, as if he suspected some cruel trick was waiting for him in the night. Ghost padded along beside them. I never thought it would be like this, Sam said as they walked, his words steaming in the cold air. Already he was huff ing and puffing as he tried to keep up. All the buildings are falling down, and its so . . . so . . . frigidity? A hard frost was settling over the move, and Jon could hear the soft crunch of grey weeds beneath his boots.Sam nodded miserably. I abominate the cold, he said. Last night I woke up in the dark and the fire had gone out and I was certain I was dismission to freeze to death by morning.It must have been warmer where you come from.I never saw snow until last month. We were crossing the barrowlands, me and the men my father sent to see me north, and this white stuff began to fall, like a soft rain. At first I thought it was so beautiful, like feathers drifting from the sky, but it kept on and on, until I was frozen to the bone. The men had crusts of snow in their beards and more on their shoulders, and still it kept coming. I was afraid it would never end.Jon smiled.The Wall loomed before them, glimmering palely in the light of the half moon. In the sky above, the stars b urned clear and sharp. atomic number 18 they going to make me go up there? Sam asked. His face curdled like old milk as he looked at the great wooden stairs. Ill die if I have to climb that.Theres a winch, Jon said, pointing. They can draw you up in a cage.Samwell Tarly sniffled. I dont like high places.It was too much. Jon frowned, incredulous. Are you afraid of everything? he asked. I dont understand. If you are sincerely so craven, why are you here? Why would a coward want to join the Nights Watch?Samwell Tarly looked at him for a long moment, and his round face seemed to cave in on itself. He sat down on the frost-covered ground and began to cry, huge choking sobs that made his whole body shake. Jon Snow could only stand and watch. Like the snowfall on the barrowlands, it seemed the tears would never end.It was Ghost who knew what to do. Silent as shadow, the pale direwolf moved surrounding(prenominal) and began to lick the warm tears off Samwell Tarlys face. The fat boy crie d out, shock . . . and somehow, in a heartbeat, his sobs turned to laughter.Jon Snow laughed with him. Afterward they sat on the frozen ground, clump in their cloaks with Ghost between them. Jon told the story of how he and Robb had found the pups newborn in the late summer snows. It seemed a kibibyte years ago now. Before long he found himself talk of the town of Winterfell.Sometimes I dream about it, he said. Im walking down this long empty hall. My voice echoes all around, but no one answers, so I walk faster, opening doors, shouting names. I dont even sack out who Im looking for. Most nights its my father, but sometimes its Robb instead, or my flyspeck sister Arya, or my uncle. The thought of Benjen Stark saddened him his uncle was still missing. The Old turn up had sent out rangers in search of him. Ser Jaremy Rykker had led two sweeps, and Quorin Halfhand had gone forth from the Shadow Tower, but theyd found nothing aside from a few blazes in the trees that his uncle ha d left to mark his way. In the stony highlands to the northwest, the label stopped abruptly and all trace of Ben Stark vanished.Do you ever find anyone in your dream? Sam asked.Jon shook his head. No one. The castle is always empty. He had never told anyone of the dream, and he did not understand why he was telling Sam now, yet somehow it felt good to talk of it. Even the ravens are gone from the rookery, and the stables are full of bones. That always scares me. I start to run then, throwing open doors, climbing the tower ternary steps at a time, screaming for someone, for anyone. And then I find myself in front of the door to the crypts. Its black inside, and I can see the steps spiraling down. Somehow I know I have to go down there, but I dont want to. Im afraid of what capability be waiting for me. The old Kings of Winter are down there, seated on their thrones with stone wolves at their feet and iron swords across their laps, but its not them Im afraid of. I scream that Im n ot a Stark, that this isnt my place, but its no good, I have to go anyway, so I start down, feeling the walls as I descend, with no torch to light the way. It gets darker and darker, until I want to scream. He stopped, frowning, embarrassed. Thats when I always wake. His skin cold and clammy, shivering in the darkness of his cell. Ghost would leap up beside him, his warmth as hearty as daybreak. He would go back to sleep with his face pressed into the direwolf s shaggy white fur. Do you dream of Horn Hill? Jon asked.No. Sams mouth grew tight and hard. I hated it there. He scratched Ghost behind the ear, brooding, and Jon let the silence breathe. After a long go Samwell Tarly began to talk, and Jon Snow listened quietly, and learned how it was that a self-confessed coward found himself on the Wall.The Tarlys were a family old in honor, bannermen to Mace Tyrell, Lord of Highgarden and Warden of the South. The eldest son of Lord Randyll Tarly, Samwell was born heir to easy lands, a strong keep, and a glorious two-handed greatsword named Heartsbane, forged of Valyrian steel and passed down from father to son near five hundred years.Whatever pride his lord father susceptibility have felt at Samwells birth vanished as the boy grew up plump, soft, and awkward. Sam loved to listen to music and make his own songs, to fag out soft velvets, to play in the castle kitchen beside the cooks, drinking in the rich smells as he snitched lemon cakes and blueishberry tarts. His passions were books and kittens and dancing, clumsy as he was. But he grew ill at the sight of blood, and wept to see even a chicken slaughtered. A dozen masters-at-arms came and went at Horn Hill, try to turn Samwell into the knight his father wanted. The boy was cursed and caned, slapped and starved. One man had him sleep in his chainmail to make him more martial. Another dressed him in his mothers clothing and paraded him through the bailey to shame him into valor. He only grew fatter and more f rightened, until Lord Randylls disappointment turned to anger and then to loathing. One time, Sam confided, his voice dropping from a whisper, two men came to the castle, warlocks from Qarth with white skin and blue lips. They slaughtered a bull aurochs and made me bathe in the wild blood, but it didnt make me brave as theyd promised. I got sick and retched. come had them scourged.Finally, after three girls in as many years, Lady Tarly gave her lord husband a second son. From that day, Lord Randyll ignored Sam, devoting all his time to the younger boy, a fierce, robust child more to his liking. Samwell had known several(prenominal) years of sweet peace with his music and his books.Until the dawn of his fifteenth name day, when he had been awakened to find his horse saddled and ready. Three men-at-arms had escorted him into a wood near Horn Hill, where his father was skinning a deer. You are almost a man grown now, and my heir, Lord Randyll Tarly had told his eldest son, his long injure laying bare the carcass as he rung. You have minded(p) me no cause to disown you, but neither will I allow you to inherit the land and title that should be Dickons. Heartsbane must go to a man strong enough to wield her, and you are not worthy to touch her hilt. So I have decided that you shall this day announce that you wish to take the black. You will forsake all claim to your brothers inheritance and start north before evenfall.If you do not, then on the morrow we shall have a hunt, and somewhere in these woods your horse will stumble, and you will be thrown from the saddle to die . . . or so I will tell your mother. She has a womans heart and finds it in her to cherish even you, and I have no wish to cause her pain. enliven do not imagine that it will truly be that easy, should you think to defy me. Nothing would please me more than to hunt you down like the pig you are. His arms were red to the elbow as he laid the skinning knife aside. So. There is your choice. The N ights Watchhe reached inside the deer, ripped out its heart, and held it in his fist, red and drippingor this.Sam told the tale in a calm, dead voice, as if it were something that had happened to someone else, not to him. And strangely, Jon thought, he did not weep, not even once. When he was done, they sat together and listened to the wind for a time. There was no other sound in all the world.Finally Jon said, We should go back to the common hall.Why? Sam asked.Jon shrugged. Theres hot cider to drink, or mulled wine if you prefer. Some nights Dareon sings for us, if the mood is on him. He was a singer, before . . . well, not truly, but almost, an apprentice singer.How did he come here? Sam asked.Lord Rowan of Goldengrove found him in bed with his daughter. The girl was two years older, and Dareon swears she helped him through her window, but under her fathers eye she named it rape, so here he is. When Maester Aemon heard him sing, he said his voice was honey poured over thunder. Jo n smiled. Toad sometimes sings too, if you call it singing. Drinking songs he learned in his fathers winesink. Pyp says his voice is piss poured over a fart. They laughed at that together.I should like to hear them both, Sam admitted, but they would not want me there. His face was troubled. Hes going to make me fight again on the morrow, isnt he?He is, Jon was constrained to say.Sam got awkwardly to his feet. I had better try to sleep. He huddled down in his cloak and plodded off.The others were still in the common dwell when Jon returned, alone but for Ghost. Where have you been? Pyp asked.Talking with Sam, he said.He truly is craven, said Grenn. At supper, there were still places on the bench when he got his pie, but he was too scared to come sit with us.The Lord of Ham thinks hes too good to eat with the likes of us, suggested Jeren.I saw him eat a pork pie, Toad said, smirking. Do you think it was a brother? He began to make oinking noises.Stop it Jon snapped angrily.The other boys fell silent, taken aback by his sudden fury. Listen to me, Jon said into the quiet, and he told them how it was going to be. Pyp O.K. him, as hed known he would, but when Halder spoke up, it was a amiable surprise. Grenn was anxious at the first, but Jon knew the words to move him. One by one the rest fell in line. Jon persuaded some, cajoled some, shamed the others, made threats where threats were required. At the end they had all agreed . . . all but Rast.You girls do as you please, Rast said, but if Thorne sends me against Lady Piggy, Im going to slice me off a imprudent of bacon. He laughed in Jons face and left them there.Hours later, as the castle slept, three of them paid a call on his cell. Grenn held his arms while Pyp sat on his legs. Jon could hear Rasts rapid breathing as Ghost leapt onto his chest. The direwolfs eyes burned red as embers as his teeth nipped lightly at the soft skin of the boys throat, just enough to draw blood. Remember, we know where you sleep, Jon said softly.The next morning Jon heard Rast tell Albett and Toad how his razor had slipped while he shaved.From that day forth, neither Rast nor any of the others would hurt Samwell Tarly. When Ser Alliser matched them against him, they would stand their ground and swat aside his slow, clumsy strokes. If the master-at-arms screamed for an attack, they would dance in and tap Sam lightly on breastplate or helm or leg. Ser Alliser raged and peril and called them all cravens and women and worse, yet Sam remained unhurt. A few nights later, at Jons urging, he joined them for the evening meal, taking a place on the bench beside Halder. It was another fortnight before he found the nerve to join their talk, but in time he was laughing at Pyps faces and bug Grenn with the best of them.Fat and awkward and frightened he might be, but Samwell Tarly was no fool. One night he visited Jon in his cell. I dont know what you did, he said, but I know you did it. He looked away shyly. Ive never h ad a friend before.Were not friends, Jon said. He put a hand on Sams broad shoulder. Were brothers.And so they were, he thought to himself after Sam had taken his leave. Robb and Bran and Rickon were his fathers sons, and he loved them still, yet Jon knew that he had never truly been one of them. Catelyn Stark had seen to that. The grey walls of Winterfell might still haunt his dreams, but Castle Black was his life now, and his brothers were Sam and Grenn and Halder and Pyp and the other cast-outs who wore the black of the Nights Watch.My uncle spoke truly, he whispered to Ghost. He wondered if he would ever see Benjen Stark again, to tell him.