"The Crone is very wise and old, and sees our fates as they unfold…"
Sam paused. Little Sam's eyes that had been slowly falling shut popped open when he stopped singing.
"I know you're tired," Sam told him sternly. Little Sam stared back, chewing on his sleeve.
"... She lifts her lamp of shining gold," Sam continued gently. "To lead the little children."
Little Sam's eyelids drooped.
"The Seven Gods who made us all, are listening if we should call. So close your eyes, you shall not fall, they see you little children," Sam finished.
"Gods bless the little children," whispered Gilly sleepily. She reached out and stroked little Sam's cheek with her finger.
"Don't wake him," Sam chided. "I'll have to run through all seven verses again if he opens his eyes."
Gilly grinned, her eyes soft in the firelight. "I like to hear you sing."
Sam's hand curled in the empty sheets as he awoke. He laid still for a moment, clinging to the last bit of warmth from the dream.
He sat up from the narrow bunk and hurried to dress. Maester Aemon would be waiting. Before leaving his room, he stuck a hand into his pocket to feel for his mother's thimble. He was satisfied when his fingers found the cool metal.
Dawn was just breaking as Sam reached the top of the rookery, wheezing slightly. He hushed the birds as he untied their scrolls. They squawked angrily until he threw fistfuls of bloody meat into their cages.
Then it was down to the kitchens to fetch Maester Aemon's breakfast, and he balanced the tray and the scrolls as he climbed down into the Maester's keep. The old man was still sleeping soundly, his pale hands fluttering as if he was dreaming. Sam bent to stoke the fire which had been allowed to burn too low in the night.
Maester Aemon mumbled in his sleep, and Sam crossed to wake him gently with a hand on his shoulder.
"It's Sam, Maester," said Sam, when Aemon's eyes opened. "I've come to wake you."
"Ah, thank you Sam," said Aemon, leaning heavily on Sam as he stood. Sam stood still for a moment, letting the old maester find his balance. He then helped him dress, and Aemon made his way to the writing desk.
Sam placed the bread and cheese before the maester, before attending to the ravens' scrolls.
"Cotter Pyke requests that we send more builders to Eastwatch-by-the-Sea," said Sam. "One of the tunnels is caving in, and needs to be repaired."
Maester Aemon nodded. "Lord Commander Mormont shall send men. Yarwyck will have to spare some of the new brothers"
"Lord Penrose is sending several boys to take the black," Sam continued, setting that letter to the side. His hand hesitated over the next, stamped with the golden seal of the Crown
"What is it boy?"
Sam unfurled the scroll, and flattened it to the desk. "Word from King's Landing." He ran a thumb across the letters, smearing the ink slightly as if to wipe the news away. "The King is... dead."
Where are the others?
They've gone to stall the war. To keep Robert alive as long as possible.
"King Robert is dead," Sam said again, the words thick on his tongue. "Killed in a boar hunt. His son Joffrey now sits on the throne." He reached for the remaining letters, and ripped them open, but they offered nothing of interest.
"I heard King Robert was an avid hunter," mused Aemon. "May the gods grant him peace."
Sam couldn't help the nervous laughter that tittered from his throat. "May the gods grant us peace if Joffrey now sits upon the throne."
Maester Aemon turned his cloudy eyes on Sam. "Do you know the boy?"
Sam thought of Jon taking flight in the night when they heard of Eddard Stark's head rolling down the steps of Baelor. "Move aside Sam or I'll ride you down."
"Lord Stark's eldest daughter is betrothed to marry him," Sam said, wiping at the cold sweat on his brow. "Jon says he is a cruel sort, vicious and heartless. I'd sooner not see him sit on the Iron Throne. Excuse me, maester, I must go to Jon at once at tell him."
Maester Aemon touched the chain hanging around his thin neck. "And what shall Jon Snow do with these words?"
Sam fell silent. "Naught, for Jon means to ride beside us on the ranging," he said finally.
"Jon Snow will learn of the King's fate in time," said Maester Aemon. "You have duties to attend to. Bring this letter to Lord Commander Mormont, and then return here. We must send an acknowledgement to Maester Pycelle."
And though Sam ran, it seemed that Maester Aemon meant to keep him busy until nightfall. It was only when Maester Aemon finished his supper, that he started to edge with the dishes in the direction of the door. He was interrupted by a sharp knock, and opened the door to find Pyp.
"Maester Aemon," Pyp said respectfully, before sticking his tongue out at Sam. "Lord Commander Mormont has called a meeting for the ranging. He's asked that you and Samwell attend."
"I was just about to run down to the kitchens," Sam trailed off thinking he might catch Jon.
"I'll take it," said Pyp gamely, grabbing the tray. "If you'll promise to tell me how many times Dywen brings up his fear of giant bears. Grenn says he keeps insisting that they're the real threat beyond the Wall."
Sam shoved away Pyp as he laughed, and closed the door. He draped Maester Aemon's thick cloak around his frail shoulders, and together they made their way up the steep stairs to Mormont's Keep.
Mormont was there, his raven perched atop his shoulder. Benjen sat to his one side, and Sam helped Maester Aemon to the seat on the other side. The other brothers sat scattered about the table. Sam took the seat between Jon and Grenn. When Jon looked at him questioningly, Sam gave a slight shake of his head.
Mormont cast his eyes over the table. "Before we begin, there has been news from King's Landing."
Sam heard Jon's sharp intake of breath.
"Grievous news," continued Mormont. "The King has been killed in a hunting accident"
"Killed, killed," squawked the raven.
Jon was stiff beside him. Sam could see the tendons standing out in his hands.
"I never thought to see another king at my age," Mormont continued, "with Robert half my years and strong as a bull. His son has taken the Iron Throne, and will be coronated in the coming weeks."
"Has there been any news of my brother?" asked Benjen. "Will he stay on as Hand of the King?"
"It would be foolhardy of the boy to send away his father's advisors," grunted Mormont. He sighed. "Winter at our gates, and a boy now sits upon the Iron Throne. If ever the realm needed a strong king… there will be dark days and cold nights ahead of us."
"There is no time to be wasted then," said Benjen. "The ranging must leave on the morrow. We cannot afford be vulnerable on both sides of the Wall."
Matt and Toad paled slightly at the words, although they stayed put.
"Ranger Stark will lead the ranging party," said Lord Mormont. "He will be accompanied by our finest. Brother Othor, Brother Jafer, Brother Dywen, Brother Bedwyck." He nodded to each as he said their name. "And our new brothers. "Brother Grenn, Brother Todder, Brother Matthar, and Brother Samwell." He paused for a moment. "Jon Snow will also be joining the ranging as a envoy of the Northern Lords."
The men turned to fix their eyes on Jon. Sam searched Jon's strained features, but finally Jon nodded sharply. "Aye, I will accompany the ranging. I am grateful for this. I know I am not a brother of the Night's Watch, I have sworn no vows."
"We are all brothers beyond the Wall," said Mormont grimly. "Will you swear a vow, now before us, Jon Snow, that you hold the lives of the brothers and the safety of the Watch above all else? That you will journey North not as the son of a Lord, but just as man of the Watch?"
Jon unbuckled the longsword at his hip, and laid it across the table. "I swear it by all the gods. I swear to hold the lives of the brothers, and the safety of the Watch above all else. From here, I act a man of the Watch."
"I accept your pledge," said Lord Mormont. He looked around. "Brothers, do you accept this man's pledge?"
"I accept his pledge," said Benjen. Sam echoed him, followed by Grenn, Toad, and Matt.
"Aye, the boy may come," said Bedwyck. "Gods know we could use the ears and eyes of the Northern Lords."
"If it comes between him and a brother, I know my choice," said Othor, looking at Benjen. He turned back to Jon. "Do you understand this, boy?"
"I do," said Jon, flexing his hand. Sam wondered if he was thinking of he was thinking of the burns that had scarred him. Of Othor's eyes dark eyes turned blue in a face of death.
"Could always use another bastard boy," grunted Jafer. "No use in leaving a strong swordhand behind."
"That's a fine sword you bring too, boy" said Dywen. "I've heard you carry the twin to Benjen's Valyrian steel."
"Aye," said Jon, buckling the sword at his hip. "An unnatural weapon for unnatural enemies."
There was a space of a breath as Dywen assessed Jon with narrowed eyes. "What exactly have you been sent to seek beyond the Wall?"
"The truth." Jon was unrepentant.
"Wildings are flesh and bone, boy" sneered Othor. "No matter what your nursemaid might have told you. They'll fall beneath caste-forged steel just as well."
"Of that I have not doubt," said Jon grimly.
"The Wildings have been running from something other than themselves," said Benjen. "I won't say it's the Others at our doorstep, but I intend to find out."
"Sightings from the fisherfolk," muttered Bedwyck, "I won't believe it until I've seen the beasts with mine own two eyes."
"The Others?" asked Toad, his voice rising in pitch. "I thought we were going to track wildlings!"
"You are being sent to find out the reason for the wildling's erratic movements," said Mormont. "Of what you will find I cannot say, but the lands beyond the Wall are strange places. They are no longer the realms of men."
"Mother have mercy." Matt's face had gone white.
"No southern gods where we're going," said Jafer bitterly. "Just bloody faces glaring at you from every tree."
"Only the old gods still linger beyond the Wall," said Mormont. "They will only watch, their words are the signs of the winds and the rustle of the leaves." He paused. "But I will give you more than words." He bent the chest placed beside the fire, and withdrew daggers of dragonglass. They gleamed in the light of the flames. "You will carry these daggers on your person. May they only be used to pierce living flesh."
"What madness is this?" growled Othor, turning the dagger over in his hands.
Maester Aemon picked up one of the daggers, and ran his thumb along the handle. "I can see it now. It gleams black in the darkness even when there is no light. Frozen fire the Valyrians called it. The children of the forest were said to hunt with blades of obsidian in the place of metal."
"And now the children are all dead," Mormont reminded him.
"Yes," said Maester Aemon. "And we are naught but the children of men." Though he spoke softly, every man around the table leaned to catch his words. "But we may use their knowledge, and knowledge s a weapon. We must arm ourselves well if we are to ride towards the unknown."
And though their faces were split between skepticism and fear, every man sheathed the dagger at his hip. Sam did the same. He could feel it's cool touch through his tunic, burning like a promise.
In the cold hour before dawn, they dressed and readied the horses. The ravens screeched as Sam tied down their cage, trying futilely to quiet them.
Septon Cellador greeted them promising to light a candle for their safe return, and to keep the seven close on their journey. Sam thought privately that the Septon's solemn manner was indicative of the man's apparent understanding that they would all soon be dead.
Jon looked weary as he mounted his horse. Sam knew he had spent half the night scanning the skies for ravens, hoping that perhaps one might carry words from King's Landing.
He kept craning his head back South as if there was a tether attached to his neck tugging him back. Even as his brother turned South, Sam was looking North to Gilly. He wondered if she had realized she was with child yet, if the fear and dread had already clouded her mind.
Sam wouldn't just give her a promise this time. This time he'd tell her yes, not maybe or later like the craven boy he had been.
And he'd sing. Every time she asked.
Jon had thought a thousand things since hearing of the king's death, each more wild than the last. But the truth ground him down, there was no way forward but to stay.
"The King is dead."
The letter said nothing of treason, nothing of conspiracy. Sam had filched the scroll while helping Maester Aemon to bed, and Jon read it over and over.
"His son Joffrey has taken the throne."
His father would take Sansa and Arya at once and leave for Winterfell , Jon told 's shield would guard their backs, and the wolves would run beside them. He looked down at Ghost who paced silently beside the nervous horses. The wolf offered him no insight, just gazed back, his red eyes bright in the dusky morning light.
"It hurts, boy," Maester Aemon had said to him all those years ago. When Mormont had promised that Ned Stark would be sent to the Wall, that Sansa and Arya would be treated gently.
"Oh yes," the old maester had sighed. "Choosing, it has always hurt. And it always will. I know."
"You don't know," Jon had raged at him. "No one knows."
He could only imagine the pity that had swamped the old man as he bent to address Jon's childish claims, the benevolence as he told Jon of his own trials.
"Three times the gods saw fit to test my vows. Once when I was a boy, once in the fullness of my manhood, and once when I had grown old. By then my strength was fled, my eyes grown dim, yet that last choice was as cruel as the first. My ravens would bring the news from the south, words darker than their wings, the ruin of my House, the death of my kin, disgrace and desolation. What could I have done, old, blind, frail? I was helpless as a suckling babe, yet still it grieved me to sit forgotten as they cut down my brother's poor grandson, and his son, and even the little children… "
Maester Aemon's grief was the same grief he saw mirrored in Ned Stark's eyes when he told Jon how he had taken him from Lyanna's arms.
"Robert would have cut you down with the same fury that killed Rhaegar," Ned had told him. "And you were but a babe, and I could not bear to see you wear the bloody shrouds that swaddled Elia's children."
The grinding of the chains to raise the gates, spurred the men to begin to cheering. The dark tunnel loomed before them, black and still.
Jon turned to look at the rangers. The young ones were drenched in fear, and Jon thought they might bolt. But then Grenn set his jaw and kicked his horse to spur the animal forward. And they followed him, one by one.
"Sometimes I think everyone is just pretending to be brave, and none of us really are," Grenn had confessed once.
"Ghost, to me," called Jon.
Everyone is pretending. Jon wished he had told him. Every brave man who ever was, was pretending.
The final gate grumbled open, the weight of the door straining the screaming hinges. The blast of wind and snow washed over them with a finality. There was no turning back.
