The frost grew thinner around the shrubs as he galloped south. He'd been riding for two days on a swift-footed garron as fast as the wind could carry him, his black cloak flapping in the wind as he did. The familiar smell of the wolfswood filled his nostrils. He'd been a brother of the Watch for more than a year now, but yet, when the cool summer breeze of the North hit his face he couldn't help but think, home.
The day was closing fast as the sun sank into the tall frost laden pines and the Kingsroad grew wider. He remembered the last time he had been on this road. He had been going the other way. Though it had been less than two years, it seemed like a lifetime ago. He had left his home a boy, grieving the death of his family, bidding goodbye to a brother who marched south to war, angry and afraid. He now returned a man grown, having lived at the end of the world, having seen things men trembled to imagine and having trained to do the hardest task in the realm, a man of the Night's Watch. Slowly, as the sky turned an inky blue, there it emerged on the horizon, standing wide and strong. Winterfell. Benjen Stark was, indeed, home.
He had almost forgotten the welcome warmth of the castle having lived in the numbing cold for more than a year. Natural hot springs ran through the walls of Winterfell creating a permanent insulation. The castle buzzed with activity. The men had returned from almost two years of war in the south, and not in their complete numbers. The courtyard swarmed with people, as did the halls, soldiers, household and common folk alike. But he was looking for a single man.
When the Lord Commander had charged him with bringing news of the war from the new Lord of Winterfell, he had agreed without thinking twice. It was not only an opportunity to escape the cold, but one to see his brother again after almost two years. It was also an opportunity to walk Winterfell's homely corridors again.
He walked the halls towards the Great Hall expecting that would be where he found his brother. Ned was now lord of Winterfell, and needless to say, there would be administrative matters he would have to attend to. Benjen felt a chill run down his spine. He remembered the days of his boyhood, when his father Lord Rickard would hold court, as his brother Brandon, heir to Winterfell stood on the sidelines and observed. Lord Rickard had been a lord well loved by his people and a fierce and gallant warrior in his prime. He held the loyalty of the North and the love of the common folk. He was true lord and Brandon his true heir. Brandon had always been a leader- the prodigal son, the blood of wolves. Benjen and Ned would idolize him in everything he did. He was their hero. Father was to live longer and Brandon was to be Lord. And now they are both gone, he thought, and Lyanna… It hurt to think of them. Now it was only him and his brother that remained. Only Ned and I.
As he turned a corner he heard the wailing of a child coming from Maester Luwin's chambers. My nephew, he thought happily as he raced towards the door. Ned had married Lady Catelyn Tully of Riverrun shortly before the war. She had been with child when he had left for the south. Benjen had received a raven at Castle Black informing him of his nephew's birth. Robb, they had called him. The wailing grew louder as he hurried past the door into the room.
The old maester jerked around in surprise as he cradled a bundle wrapped in fur-lined blankets in his arms. He looked the same. He was a small man, and he looked even smaller in his heavy grey maester's robe. Wisps of grey hair circled his bald head and wrinkles marked his forehead. His beady eyes looked kind and wise as always.
"My lord Benjen?" he said in surprise.
"Maester Luwin!" Benjen exclaimed, smiling. He looked around. The room was small and dim, but warm nonetheless. Shelves lined two of the walls laden heavily with books, jars, bottles, scales and various other documents. A small desk stood in a corner covered with papers, an inkbottle and several quills. Benjen always found that there was a lingering earthy scent in the maester's chambers that made him feel relaxed. "You look well," he said.
"As do you, my lord," the maester said with a faint smile. There was a certain sadness in his eyes Benjen couldn't read. The child in the maester's arms continued to cry as he tried to calm him down. "How was your journey south, my lord? No troubles, I trust?" the old man inquired, but his voice was drowned by the shrill cries of the babe. "Forgive him, my lord. He hasn't had much sleep."
"He's a loud one," Benjen smiled, "Quite unlike my brother. May I see him?"
"Uh-," The maester hesitated as Benjen held out his arms to hold the babe. Benjen detected a hint of panic in his expression. This puzzled him. "H-have you met with Lord Eddard yet, my lord?"
"No," said Benjen curiously, "No I just arrived. I was on my way to the Great Hall when I heard little Robb wail away," he smiled but yet again, it was not returned. Benjen saw the old man turn a shade of red at the mention of Robb's name. "What is it, Maester? Is something the matter with the child?"
"Forgive me, my lord," the old man said grimly, "I think it'd be best if you spoke with His Lordship. You will find him in his chambers." And with that the maester carried the crying child out into the balcony.
Benjen stood there for a moment, baffled. Something had happened, something drastic enough to worry Maester Luwin, who otherwise, was a calm and collected man. Without a second thought Benjen raced to the lord's chambers where he knew he would find his brother. As he approached the tower, the wail of another infant echoed against the walls. He stopped for a moment, confused, before he sprinted up the stairs towards the chambers. Announcing himself to the guard he stood outside the door as he waited to be showed in. From inside the room he heard voices, raised and heated. One was a woman's who appeared to be crying, while the other belonged to a man. And it was one he recognized. The door muffled their voices, but he could partly discern what was being said.
"-will not share my son's chambers! And he will most certainly not share his milk!"
"Catelyn please-"
"NO! He is not my son and I will not treat him like my son!"
"He is only a child! It is I who has broken your trust, and I who deserve your disdain-"
"…I will not allow you to remind me of that broken trust by shoving that boy in my face!"
"He has no other family, Catelyn. Please-!"
The shouting stopped abruptly as the guard knocked on the door. There was a harsh silence before the male voice responded, "Yes?"
"Your brother Benjen calls, my lord. He wishes to meet you. Does he have Your Lordship's leave to enter?"
A moment later the door swung open. The room was dimly lit with a few candles, the hearth cold and silent. A woman stood near the window cradling a child in her arms. Her back was to Benjen, but he recognized her by her flowing red hair as his sister by law, Lady Catelyn. She was still crying. At the door stood a man who looked very much like his brother but seemed only to be his ghost.
The war was written on Ned's face. He looked like he had aged ten years in the past two. His face looked tired and worn. He had grown thin, causing his doublet to hang off his shoulders. His cheeks were sunken in and looked gaunt. His eyes carried purple bags under them indicating lack of sleep. A shaggy beard grew past his chin and his messy brown hair had streaks of grey in it. His eyes looked up in surprise as he saw Benjen.
"Benjen…" Ned mustered a smile. His voice was coarse and weak.
"Its good to see you, brother." Benjen smiled as he held Ned in an embrace.
Ned broke off awkwardly and glanced at his wife. Benjen felt the tension in the room mount. He had not caught them at a good time. There was something that had happened that seemed to bother everyone in the castle and he couldn't discern what it was. He gulped and faced the lady, expecting a greeting but he received none. Understandably, she was upset and in no mood for pleasantries. The child in her arms continued to cry.
Ned sensed Benjen's confusion and quickly said, "Come. We'll talk in the solar."
The solar, unlike Ned's chambers, was well lit. The hearth crackled with dancing flames throwing shadows around the dark room. Benjen had loved this room as a boy. It had a certain grandeur that the rest of the castle lacked. On each of the large walls, was a painting, one of a ferocious direwolf, sigil of House Stark and the other of Brandon the Builder, the Stark who built the Wall. Towards the end of the long room stood a large ornate desk Benjen remembered as his father's.
Ned poured himself a glass of wine and offered one to his brother as he stood at the window and glanced out into the night. Benjen watched as he gulped it down as opposed to sipping it as he usually did. His brother was not usually much of a drinker.
"You looked tired, Ned" he said breaking the silence.
Ned drew a deep breath and closed his eyes, "I am."
The war had certainly changed him. Grief over Brandon and Lord Rickard's deaths had driven him angry beyond measure. Benjen had never seen him like that. He had always been the quiet one. Brandon had been the fierce charismatic commander, while Ned the wise and loyal soldier. But when he received the dark news from King's Landing, he had wasted no time in gathering his men, marching south and taking the Trident by storm. Lord Rickard and Brandon were dead along with twenty of their men and Lyanna had been taken captive. Ned had been mad with rage. And that rage had changed him.
"Tell me of the war," Benjen said, pouring more wine.
For the next hour Ned spoke of the war. He spoke of the men they had lost and those they had killed. The victories and the defeats- Ned spoke of them in a grim tone alike. The stormlords under Robert Baratheon's stag, the riverlords under Hoster Tully's leaping trout, the men of the Vale under Lord Arryn's hawk and crescent, and the northmen under the white direwolf of Stark had crushed the King's army and taken King's Landing overthrowing the Targaryen rule. The realm seemed to have been painted in blood all the way from the Neck to Dorne in the south. It had been a gruesome war.
After Ned had stopped narrating he gazed out of the window into the open wood. His voice lowered into barely a whisper.
"I brought back her bones, Benjen," Ned said staring aimlessly at the forest. "She asked to be buried here… She asked me to promise her…"he drifted off.
Benjen remembered his sister. Her flowing brown hair, her joyful smile. She had never been ladylike as was expected of her. She would train at arms with her brothers rather than embroider a gown and ride a horse than learn to dance. Her laugh was robust and infectious, and echoed through the halls of the castle. She had had eyes that would light up a room. Laughing eyes, he thought. With her free spirit, she had been the life of Winterfell. Closest to his age, she had been his favourite of his siblings. The day his father and brother had set out for King's Landing to seek an audience with the king and demand the return of Lyanna, Brandon had been confident he would bring her back, but Benjen, even in the young, broken heart of a boy of four and ten, knew that he would never see his sister again.
"Did she…" Benjen started, not knowing what words to say, "suffer?"
Ned turned to look at him with a deep sorrow in his eyes. There was also fear. "The… fever took her," he seemed uncertain as to what to say, "She died in peace."
Benjen watched as a quiet tear rolled down his brother's battle scarred cheek. In and attempt to lift his spirits, Benjen said, "But you have much to celebrate, Ned. A fine victory in the south- the Mad King is dead and Robert sits in his place. The realm is at peace again and you have returned home. You can now rest and be with your wife and son."
Ned suddenly flushed almost spilling his wine. Benjen's curiousity peaked. His thoughts went back to the argument he had overheard in Ned's chambers. His lady wife had spoken about another child- a boy, whom she didn't want near her son. Maester Luwin had been holding a boy child in his chambers when Benjen met him. 'It is I who have broken your trust…' his brother's words echoed in his mind. Thoughts weaved in and out of his head, trying to make sense of it. There's something about that child. "Ned, what is happening?"
His brother sighed deeply pinching his nose. "Benjen, there is something you must know…"
A chill went down Benjen's spine. He was anxious to hear the next part. Ned, what have you done…?
"When I returned from the south," Ned continued, "I came back with a child… my… son."
"Your-?"
"My natural son."
Benjen needed no more than that to understand, but he didn't want to. His jaw dropped, as he stood aghast. Images flashed before his eyes- Maester Luwin's anxious face as he held a crying child bundled in nobles' furs in his arms, Lady Catelyn's back to him as she hid her tears in shame, the looks on the faces of the Stark household as they tended to the affairs of the castle on the return of their lord… and the dense brown hair of that boy- his brother's son. Ned's bastard son.
"Ned…" He couldn't find the words to ask the question that itched up his throat. Ned leaned against the windowsill, his head bent low. "How…?"
"We were at war, Benjen!" came Ned's desperate response causing Benjen to jump. "Men I had known my whole life, dropped dead like flies and their corpses crumbled under the hooves of the horses of the Mad King's men! Villages burnt to dust, women and children screamed as they lost everything, and the sky went from blue to grey from all the smoke and dust! All I could smell for almost a year was smoke and blood! If there's a hell, I was in it! Father and Brandon were dead! And Lyanna…!" he stopped abruptly, fighting back tears. Panting, he rubbed his palm down his face and sighed. "I didn't know if I would return home. I didn't know if I would ever see Catelyn again. I didn't know if I would ever get to see my son. I was… afraid…" Ned stood breathless, apparently unable to further justify his act.
Benjen stood in shock, not knowing what to say. His brother panted before him, as his weary eyes turned red. Ned had turned a sickly pale. His hands shook as he held on to the windowsill. Sweat glistened on his brow. Benjen gulped at the sight. The man who stood before him was but a shadow of the brother he had once known.
"Who was she?" Benjen asked quietly. The wind rustled through the wolfswood causing the tall pines to sway slightly.
"It… it doesn't matter, Benjen" Ned sighed, "Jon is my responsibility. His place is here."
Jon, Benjen thought, named for Lord Arryn, perhaps. Suddenly, the brown haired child had an identity. He imagined him at different stages of his life, as a child, as a teenager, as a man. Jon…Snow. The boy was a bastard, fathered by a northerner. He would never be a Stark. But he would be raised in Winterfell, alongside Ned's trueborn boy. They would grow up side-by-side, brothers by blood, but true brothers they would never be. One was the lord's son, heir to the North, high born of noble blood, treated with the greatest luxuries. The other would be an outcast, looked down upon, and discriminated against, with nowhere to go. Ned had brought his son to Winterfell, true, but the boy would never have a place there.
Benjen twisted and turned in his bed as he attempted to sleep. Thoughts of his conversation with his brother still lingered in his mind. Most of them were of his sister Lyanna. He could only imagine what she had gone through for the past year. Ned had said he had found her in the highest room of the Tower of Joy, lying weak and dying in a pool of blood. Tears he had tried to suppress would well up in his eyes as Benjen felt his face flush with anger when he thought of Rhaegar Targaryen, the monster who had brought his sister's death upon her. He liked to think that he would have killed the bastard himself if Robert Baratheon hadn't beaten him to it. Laughing eyes, he thought regrettably, Lyanna had had laughing eyes.
His thoughts also went to that child, Jon Snow- Ned's bastard son. The thought felt strange to him. Ned had always been the quiet, sincere son to his father, loyal to his very bones and wore his honour as a cloak. He had returned from the Eyrie at the age of six and ten, a seasoned and honourable man and had been the same man till the day he marched off to war. If Benjen were to guess which of his brothers would ever indulge in acts of infidelity, his pick would've been Brandon, but never Ned. Ned had always held his honour above anything else. Benjen found it very difficult to fathom that, even under such harsh circumstances like war, his brother would abandon that indestructible honour for one night of comfort.
When morning came, Benjen dressed and strolled through the castle he had once called home. The hustle and bustle of Winterfell was a welcome sight and sound compared to Castle Black. As he roamed the halls, he looked out into the yard. Men trained at the sword and shield, as Winterfell's master-at-arms looked on. Ser Rodrik had grown thin as well, and his whiskers had turned grey and bushy. The familiar clinking of steel reminded him of his brothers at Castle Black. He walked on.
Winterfell had a certain charm in the summer. Winter made it a cold hard fortress, but in the summer the cool breeze and the soothing smell of the pines made the castle livelier. The best thing about summer had been riding, though. The wolfswood would be covered in a canopy of trees, allowing only a few rays of sun through. The light summer snows would make the ground just damp enough for the perfect ride. Benjen's best memories of riding in the forest had been with his sister.
He had often thought of the months before it had all started, before the tourney of Harrenhal, before his father and brother went south, before the war. All the talk had been of Brandon and Lyanna's betrothals. Brandon was to marry the daughter of the river lord Hoster Tully of Riverrun and Lyanna had been promised to the young lord of Storm's End, Robert Baratheon. The castle had been full of life and excitement. Lord Rickard had begun to plan the two weddings. Ned had returned from the Eyrie. It had been the first time Benjen had felt like his family had been complete since the passing of his mother when he was a boy. But then Lord Whent of Harrenhal had invited Lord Rickard to attend a tourney in honour of King Aerys, and Benjen's lord father had insisted they all attend. Ned and Brandon were to take part, while Lyanna had to accompany Lord Robert. He had been so excited, he was to see the greatest knights in the entire realm compete and this was the first time he would see the king and the legendary Targaryens. But the tourney was not the joyous occasion he thought it would be. One unfortunate event led to another, and the next thing he knew his family had been torn apart. His father and brother were dead, and Lyanna… Benjen sighed as he leaned against a windowsill and looked upon the godswood.
Suddenly he heard laughter, like the giggle of a child. He followed the sound and turned a corner to find Maester Luwin holding the brown haired babe. The boy was smiling and his arms were stretched out in an attempt to fiddle with the wooden toy the old maester held in his other hand. "What is it, sweetling? Is it a horse?" Maester Luwin asked the child playfully, "You'll ride one one day, won't you? Won't you, love?"
"He seems well rested today," Benjen said.
The old maester looked up in surprise, as he had the night before- only this time he was less anxious. He had sensed that Benjen, by now, knew the truth of the boy's identity. He smiled at him, but it was a small, relieved smile rather than a cheerful one. And Benjen knew why. "He is, my lord. I-" the maester looked at him uncertainly, "Have you had a chance to speak with your lord brother?"
"I have, maester," Benjen sighed, "He… he told me."
The old man looked back at the babe with a hint of pity in his eyes. "He's quite a vibrant boy, you know?" he looked back at Benjen, but his words were hesitant. As if he was unsure as to how he might word his feelings. "It is truly a shame- the circumstances- Lady Catelyn-"
"Might I hold him, Maester?" Benjen interrupted. The boy was, by one way or another, his brother's son and his nephew. Maester Luwin looked taken aback.
"Of-of course, my lord,"
The maester handed him the child with uncertainty. Benjen struggled, as he awkwardly fumbled with furs, trying to rest the child right. Finally he settled the boy against his left forearm and brushed his hair with his right hand. He looked peaceful, unlike how he had been during their first meeting. He had a tuft of thick brown hair, characteristic to Starks. The babe smiled in curiousity as he stretched his small arms in an effort to grab Benjen's hair. He dangled it forward to humour him, causing Jon to chuckle happily as he tugged at it. He felt a surge of pity for the boy. He would grow up in an environment of hostility for no fault of his own. Lady Catelyn would never acknowledge him, leading the rest of the household to treat him the same. Benjen saw the shame in that as he felt the innocent warmth that seemed to emanate from the boy's eyes. They were a deep grey. There was pure joy in them. Even when he didn't laugh, his eyes did. Laughing eyes, Benjen thought.
His breath suddenly seemed to catch in his throat. His mouth went dry as it dropped in shock. It hit him like a pail of cold water in the face. He looked down at the boy and saw him as if he were looking through a new set of eyes. It all began to fall into place, like broken pieces of a puzzle. But the picture they formed was one that frightened Benjen. He turned to look at the maester, anxiety plastered all over his face. "Maester, where is Ned?"
The maester looked concerned with Benjen's sudden reaction. "Lord Eddard is praying in the godswood, my lo-"
Benjen hurriedly handed him the child and rushed down the castle staircase. He darted through the yard and past the gates inviting confused gazes. The godswood was calm and peaceful as always, but Benjen felt neither as his mind was clouded with doubt. He rushed past the quietly rustling leaves until he found it. The weirwood that stood at the heart of the godswood stood out amongst the mass of green as a vision of red. The carved face in the white bark wept tears of red sap that was believed in the north to be blood. The weirwood had a certain presence that could not be explained as anything else but the voices of gods. Before the tree knelt a man with his face buried in his hands as he pleaded the gods to forgive his sins.
"Ned!" Benjen demanded of his brother, disregarding the fact that he had caught him in the middle of prayer. Ned looked up at him startled.
"Benjen," he said, "What-?"
"Who was his mother?" Benjen asked blatantly, forgetting all courtesies one would address a lord with or the rude nature of the question. To Benjen, he was not Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, and Warden of the North. To Benjen, he was Ned, his brother, who owed him an explanation.
Ned looked confused and flustered all at once. "Why-?"
"Answer the question," Benjen interrupted impatiently.
Ned rose, his expression turning from confusion to exasperation, "I told you, it is unimportant. Jon is my-"
"Your son?" Benjen questioned, blood rushing to his face, "It is sin to lie in the godswood, brother. You know that."
Ned flushed as anger crept into his face. His fists clenched as he inched towards Benjen. For a moment it seemed as if he was about to hit him, causing Benjen to take a step back. But he only leaned in closer and whispered through gritted teeth, "He is my blood. That is all that matters." And with that he turned to walk away.
Benjen felt his face heat up as colour flooded his face. Everything his brother was saying was slowly confirming his fears. "Ned… Yours is the same blood that flows through my veins, as it did through Father's and Brandon's. And it is the same blood that flowed through Lyanna..." Ned stopped in his path. "Do me this kindness, brother, and tell me what I believe is not true."
The lord of Winterfell turned to face him, his face as pale as the bark of the weirwood. Just the look on his face told Benjen he was not ready to do what his brother had asked of him.
The weirwood was the one place in Winterfell that didn't share the warmth enjoyed by the rest of the castle. There seemed to be a mysterious chill in the trees, unlike the usual bitter cold experienced by the North. Yet Benjen was sure the hair on his arms were not standing because of the cold.
It seemed like hours as Benjen's brother stood still with glassy eyes, as if trying to decide which words to say. Ned chose a large root of the weirwood to sit down as he sighed. Cold grief reflected in his eyes as he stared at nothing in particular. "I watched her die…" he whispered, barely audible. If Benjen weren't listening he would've mistaken it for the wind. "She was so… so weak. Her bed was soaked in blood. She looked pale and broken, like a corpse…" Ned's bottom lip quivered, not of sorrow, but of fear. Benjen held his breath as his brother spoke. He felt like he knew the truth, but just needed to hear it.
"Robert would have killed him, Benjen," Ned continued. "Just as the other children had been killed, he would have slaughtered the child out of spite alone. The boy was an insult twice done…" Benjen watched, clinging to every word Ned spoke, "A child born to the woman he loved…a child with dragon blood…"
Benjen felt like his stomach had been knotted a thousand times. His mind went back to the child he had held in his arms not a few moments past. He felt foreign now. Rhaegar Targaryen's face appeared in his mind- the proud, tall, gallant Dragonprince, who had won the tourney of Harrenhal and named his sister Queen of Love and Beauty. It had seemed like such an innocent gesture at the time, controversial though it was. A favour- that's all it had seemed like, just a favour. Benjen's teeth clenched with anger as they had when he had heard of Lyanna's death. Not only had the prince dishonoured her and led her to her grave, but he had also left her with a burden she could not bear, even in her death.
"Lord Reed and I stood at the Tower of Joy, unmanned and weak, but I had to find her. It is still a clear scene in my mind. The white knights… They were guarding her. She lay upon a bed, sweaty, weak, broken… and beside her lay the babe, pink faced and wailing- the dragonprince's son.
"Catelyn may never forgive me for this dishonour I have brought upon her by doing what I did." Ned sighed, "People will resent me. I will have brought dishonour to the House. But I had a responsibility towards Lyanna…
"She asked me to take him," he continued, rubbing his swollen, red eyes, "to protect him from Robert. She knew he would be hunted down and killed if word spread of his true parentage. So she gave him to me… She pleaded me to treat him as I would my own son… She made me promise…" his voice trailed off into silence. The only sound they could hear were the leaves rustling in the wind.
"He asked me to speak to you," Benjen said to his brother, hoping not to be overheard. The feast was busy. Robert drank robustly with the lords of the north and the ladies giggled and gossiped as the singers sang and musicians played. Food and drink flowed without dearth. Lady Catelyn kept the queen company on the dais. Ned's children were seated with the royal children- all but one. Jon sat amongst the common folk, gulping down cup after cup of what looked like summerwine.
"I know what he wants," Ned said sipping his own wine. "I don't think it is wise."
"I don't see why," Benjen protested, "What does he have here that he will lose? Lands? Titles? He will all but wield a sword and your shield. There isn't even a knight's honour that awaits him in the future."
"Are you trying to make me feel a sort of guilt?" Ned snapped, "Is this some sort of punishment for him not being my trueborn child? I have given him every single courtesy I would give-" he was suddenly aware of what he was saying and his voice lowered, "-my- trueborn son. I-"
"Aye, you have, brother," Benjen interrupted, "He has never felt foreign to your family. Yet, unknowingly he is. That is why he will always feel belittled for not being given the same honour as is given to your trueborn children. He is at an age with Robb, yet he shall ride not by his side but as a nameless face in his garrison." The younger Stark brother paused as he drew a breath. In a quiet voice he continued, "The circumstance of his birth are unfortunate, brother. He is Lyanna's son, yet he will never have her love as he deserves. He is the blood of the dragon kings of old and yet he will never be awarded that respect. He is oblivious as to his true origin, as he believes his place is here. You have had him believe so. You have fulfilled your promise to his mother. But whatever you do, however well you treat him, he will feel excluded in the only place he knows as his home. It is true you have given him every courtesy, brother. But it is not your courtesy he desires. He desires to carry your name, as a proud son would. This, again, he can never have. Save him this disappointment."
Ned stared at his brother with a bewildered look. He opened his mouth slightly in an effort to respond, but found himself having absolutely nothing to say.
"The Night's Watch is an honourable brotherhood, despite what they say, Ned," Benjen argued, "I would die for any one of my brothers as they would for me. We serve the realm. Once you don the black cloak, you are a Black Brother for life. At the Watch, a man has a place in the world. Give him a place, brother."