At Winterfell, Stewie was talking with Maester Hartman. "I had an odd dream last night," he said. "I dreamt that the sea flooded Winterfell, and I saw you drowning."
Maester Hartman laughed. "Well, I don't think you need to worry about that. The sea's hundreds of miles from here, and I'm a good swimmer anyway!"
But Stewie was still worried.
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Brian knew Qhorin Halfhand the instant he saw him, though they had never met. The big ranger was half a legend in the Watch; a man of slow words and swift action, tall and straight as a spear, long limbed and solemn. His hair fell in a heavy braid touched with hoarfrost, and the black clothes he wore were so faded they might have been grey. Only thumb and forefinger remained on his right hand; the other fingers had been sheared off catching a wildling's axe that would otherwise have split his skull. It was told that he had thrust his maimed fist into the face of the axe-man so the blood spurted into his eyes, and slew him while he was blind. Since that day, the wildlings beyond the Wall had known no foe more implacable.
Brian hailed him. "Lord Commander Mormont would see you at once. I'll show you to his tent."
Qhorin looked him over curiously. "You're a direwolf. I never met one that could talk before."
"My name's Brian Griffin."
"Griffin," Qhorin repeated. "You didn't belong to Peter Griffin, did you?"
"Yeah, do you know him, my lord?"
"I am no lordling. Only a brother of the Night's Watch. I knew Lord Peter, yes. And his brother Thaddeus who no one's heard from for months. Is it true that direwolves are strong and fierce?"
"Kore janai," said Toshi. ("Not this one.")
Brian beamed. "Yes, Toshi, I am very strong and fierce," he said proudly. "Thank you for pointing that out." Toshi smacked his own forehead in frustration.
Brian brought the Halfhand into Mormont's tent. Mormont sat in his wood and leather camp chair. "I had begun to fear for you. Did you meet with trouble?"
"We met with Alfin Crowkiller. Mance had sent him to scout along the Wall, and we chanced on him returning," said Qhorin. "Alfin will trouble the realm no longer, but some of his company escaped us. We hunted down as many as we could, but it may be that a few will win back to the mountains."
"And the cost?"
"Four brothers dead. A dozen wounded. A third as many as the foe. And we took captives. One died quickly from his wounds, but the other lived long enough to be questioned."
"Brian, fetch the Halfhand a horn of ale," said Mormont. "Or would you prefer hot spiced wine?"
"Boiled water will suffice," said Qhorin. "With an egg and a bite of bacon."
"As you wish."
Brian went out to get the bacon and eggs, which Snot was cooking over a fire outside. On his way back to the tent, he passed five or six guys talking. One of them was Eric Cartman. "It's past time we turned back," he was saying. "Otherwise we'll end up getting frozen and not wake up for 500 years."
"I heard there's giants in the Frostfangs, and multi-bears, and worse things," said Barry.
"I'm not going up there, I promise you," said Cartman.
"The Old Bear's not likely to give you a choice," Barry said, referring to Mormont.
"Maybe we won't give him one," said Cartman.
"I hope we turn back soon, cause I'm running out of my pills," said Barry.
Was Cartman plotting against the Lord Commander? Brian considered taking the tale back to Mormont, but he could not bring himself to inform on his brothers, even a brother such as Cartman. "It was just empty talk," he told himself. "Cartman's cold and afraid, we all are."
He went back into the tent and served Qhorin his food.
"…Rattleshirt, the Weeping Man, and every other chief great and small," Qhorin was saying. "They have wargs as well, and mammoths, and Manotaurs, and more strength than we would have dreamed. Or so he claimed. I will not swear as to the truth of it."
"True or false, the Wall must be warned," Mormont said. "And the king."
"The best hope is Winterfell," said Qhorin. "The Griffins must rally the north."
"Yes. To be sure." Mormont unrolled a map, frowned at it, tossed it aside, opened another. He was pondering where the hammer would fall, Brian could see it. "The Watch once manned nineteen castles along the hundred leagues of the Wall, but they've been abandoned one by one as the brotherhood dwindled, and only three are now garrisoned. And Mance Radar the wildling king knows that, because he used to be a man of the Night's Watch himself, before he betrayed us."
"Right," said Qhorin, "which means he will have instilled more discipline in them than ever before. If we wanna beat the wildlings, we've gotta think like them."
"What do you have in mind?" Mormont asked.
"We should sneak into the wildling camp and kill Mance to scatter his army before it can march on the Wall."
"Mance will have lookouts," Mormont warned.
"Yeah, it's not a job for four hundred people. It's a task for a small group. I could take a couple of guys and be in and out before you know it."
Lord Commander Mormont sighed deep in his chest. "I see no other choice," he conceded, "but if you do not return…"
"Then our lives will have been coin well spent."
The Old Bear sat slumped and silent, as if the burden of speech had grown too heavy for him to bear. But at last he said, "May the gods forgive me. Choose your men."
"I'll take Harker, Stonesnake, Borba…" Qhorin pointed at Brian. "And him."
Mormont blinked. "Are you sure? He's a brand-new recruit."
"I'm positive. I've always wanted to go into battle with a direwolf at my side."
Mormont looked at Brian. "What is your will in this?"
"To go," Brian said at once.
The old man smiled sadly. "I thought it might be."
"We'll leave at noon tomorrow," Qhorin told Brian.
Brian pumped his fist in the air. "Finally, a chance to be a hero!"
