In the lord's chamber at Winterfell, Theon threw another log on the fire. His nerves were frayed by the constant sounding of a horn outside the castle walls. Ramsay Snow and his army had surrounded the castle.
"I will kill that man!" Theon said. "I don't care how many arrows they feather me with, how many spears they run through me, I will kill that horn blowing cunt before I fall!"
"They want us to know we're surrounded," said Dagmar.
"Yeah, I know we're surrounded," Theon said angrily. "I know that because I stood on the battlements and saw I was surrounded."
"We should have gone with your sister."
"Thank you! Thank you, Captain Obvious!"
"We need to run," Dagmar advised. "There's five hundred of them and twenty of us."
"I thought there were thirty of us, with the guys Asha left behind."
"They all deserted at the first hornblow. And Cadwyl went with them."
Theon started to curse, but was interrupted by the horn blowing again. "I will kill that man, whoever he is!" Theon screamed. "I swear to the Drowned God, the old gods, the new gods, TO EVERY FUCKING GOD IN EVERY FUCKING HEAVEN, I WILL KILL THAT MAN!"
He took some deep breaths and calmed down a bit. "Gather everyone down in the courtyard."
A few minutes later, he was standing before all his ironmen in the courtyard. The horn sounded yet again.
"You hear that?" Theon said. "That's the mating call of the Northmen. They want to fuck us! Well, I haven't had a good fuck in weeks, I'm ready for one! They say every Ironborn man is worth a dozen from the mainland. You think they're right?"
"Aye," Loren agreed.
"We die today, brothers. We die bleeding from a hundred wounds, with arrows in our necks and spears in our guts… but our war cries will echo throughout eternity! They will sing about the Battle of Winterfell until the Iron Islands have slipped beneath the waves! Every man, woman and child will know who we were and how long we stood! Aggar and Gelmar, Wex and Urzen, Stygg and Black Loren, Gevin and Dick! Ironborn warriors will cry out our names as they leap onto the shores of Seaguard and Faircastle. Mothers will name their sons for us! Girls will think of us with their lovers inside them! AND WHOEVER KILLS THAT FUCKING HORNBLOWER WILL STAND ON BRONZE ABOVE THE SHORES OF PYKE! WHAT IS DEAD MAY NEVER DIE!"
Then Dagmar hit Theon over the head with a spear, knocking him out. "Thought he'd never shut up," said Loren.
Dagmar shrugged. "It was a good speech. Didn't want to interrupt."
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Meanwhile, Brian and his companions were also surrounded by enemies. The wildlings were closing in on them.
Qhorin Halfhand addressed Harker and Borba. "I want you two to try and make a run for it. Head back east, to Mormont. Tell him what happened. Brian and I will stay here and draw off the pursuit."
"Send Brian instead," Harker urged. "He's got more years ahead of him than either of us. If anyone deserves to survive, it's him."
"No," said Qhorin. "Brian has a different part to play."
Reluctantly Harker and Borba set off.
Qhorin turned back to Brian. "We can light a fire if you want."
"But won't the wildlings see it?"
"It doesn't matter. They already know where we are."
Brian began gathering wood.
"They won't sing about this battle back in Westeros," Qhorin said. "No one will know who we were or how long we stood. But we're doing this anyway, because it's the right thing to do."
"I'm not afraid to die," Brian said as he lit the fire.
"It may not be so easy as that, Brian."
Brian did not understand. "What do you mean?"
"If we are taken, you must yield."
"Yield?" Brian blinked in disbelief. "But you said wildlings didn't take prisoners. You said they killed any black brothers they captured."
"Yes, they kill everyone… except those who join them, like Mance Radar."
"You want me to betray the Night's Watch?" Brian shook his head. "Never. I won't."
"You won't really be betraying us," Qhorin assured him. "I want you to be a spy. Make the wildlings think you're going over to their side. Do whatever they ask you to do, but in the meantime, find out everything you can about what they're up to. When the time is right, you can return to Castle Black and tell them all you've learned."
"Okay," said Brian. "But you'll tell the commander I'm not really a traitor, right?"
"Don't forget, I may not be around to do that." A hunting horn echoed through the mountains. "They will be with us soon," Qhorin announced. "Remember what I said. Do whatever is asked of you."
When the wildlings came, Brian counted thirteen of them, plus a Manotaur, a creature who was half man, half bull. Their large round shields were made of skins stretched over woven wicker and painted with skulls. On either wing, archers notched shafts to strings, but did not fire. The rest seemed to be armed with spears and mauls. One had a chipped stone axe. There wasn't much armor among them. Wildlings had no way of making armor, so the only way they could get it was by taking it from rangers they killed.
The leader of the party was wearing armor made from bones. Cow bones, sheep bones, goat bones, elk bones, the great bones of the hairy mammoths… and human bones as well.
"Rattleshirt," Qhorin called to him.
"To crows I be the Lord o' Bones," the wildling leader said.
Qhorin snorted. "I see no lord. Only a dog dressed in chicken bones, who rattles when he rides."
The wildling hissed in anger. His bones clacked together, and it really did sound like a rattle. "It's your bones I'll be rattlin' soon, Halfhand. I'll boil the flesh off you and make a byrnie from your ribs. And maybe I'll take your friend's bones too. I don't have any direwolf bones yet."
"No!" Brian exclaimed. He stepped forward. "I hate being part of the Night's Watch, and I hate Qhorin Halfhand most of all. I want to be a wildling like you!"
"They warned me you were craven," Qhorin said coldly. "I see it is so. Run to your new masters, coward."
Rattleshirt stared at Brian. "The free folk have no need of cravens."
"He is no craven." One of the archers pulled off her helmet. She was Ygritte! "This is Brian Griffin, who spared me. Let him live."
Brian met Ygritte's eyes, and had no words.
"Let him die," insisted the Manotaur. "I don't trust this guy."
Rattleshirt said, "If you really want to join the free folk, Brian, you've got to prove your loyalty to us."
"I'll do whatever you ask." The words were hard, but Brian said them.
Rattleshirt's bone armor clattered loudly as he laughed. "Okay. Then kill the Halfhand."
"As if he could," said Qhorin. "Turn, Griffin, and die."
And then Qhorin's sword was coming at him and Brian had to bring his own sword up to block it. He remembered what the Halfhand had told him: "Do whatever is asked of you." And it seemed that meant killing Qhorin.
Back and forth they went, black cloaks swirling, Brain's quickness against the savage strength of Qhorin's left hand cuts. The Halfhand's longsword seemed to be everywhere at once, raining down from one side and then the other, driving him where he would, keeping him off balance. Brian felt his arms grow numb.
But finally, he managed to stab Qhorin in the throat. The Halfhand fell, gushing blood all over Brian's fur.
"That was the lamest fight ever," said the Manotaur. "You're a wolf. Why didn't you just tear his throat out with your teeth?"
"Doesn't matter," said Rattleshirt. "He did what we asked. Congratulations, Brian. You're now one of the free folk."
