Battles fought, and those left behind.
Samwell
It was a glum grey day spent staring from the top of the Wall. The wind was nothing to speak of, compared to the usual for being at the top of the world, yet it still felt bitingly cold as Sam stared down from the ledge in anticipation.
From so high up, the morn after a snowfall, the land, the forests, the lake, all of it looked like an almost unbroken blanket of white. The men were black dots like a swarm of ants skittering over the snow. There were a lot of men. Almost more than Sam had expected to return, he thought with a gulp. The weeks of fearful panicking had made him half-convinced that they were all doomed.
Sam watched intently, listening as the single long horn blew triumphantly. The rangers returning. A single blast that sounded more like a victory call than anything - they had seen them coming for miles. Two hundred and fifty men of the Night's Watch heading back to the Wall.
They had been three hundred when they left, and yet the Night's Watch had still lost more to desertion than they had to battle.
"Oi," Pyp called cheerfully. "Looks like the Old Bear is finally back."
"Do you think they won?" Sam asked, his voice nervous.
"I doubt there'd be so many of them left if they didn't," Pyp noted. The young man looked ready to skip for joy. "I was half-fearing I'd never see any of them again."
I was the same. But everything's alright now, isn't it? They're all coming back?
The few ravens they had received had been vague. They only mentioned a battle, that the ranging would be returning soon. "Do you think Jon's alright?" Sam asked nervously.
"Let's go and find out. Come on, now, we can leave the patrol for a moment. It'll be an half an hour before they get to the gate."
Sam shook his head. Technically, Sam should still be excused from the rotas due to his injury, but Thorne had still assigned him patrol duty. Short numbers, Sam remembered the knight insisting. More likely, Thorne simply enjoyed sending Sam up here to freeze. "We can't," Sam muttered. "Ser Alliser will scream at us if we leave our posts."
"It's a bright day, there are two hundred men down there and clearly no wildlings around." Pyp grinned. "Come on, Killer, let Thorne scream for once."
Sam grimaced. Every man in black received a nickname eventually, and Sam supposed that 'Killer' was better than 'Lady Piggy', but it still made him squirm with embarrassment. His feet shuffled, glancing down at bandages covering his chest up to his shoulder. His left arm was still in a sling over his chest.
Killer. They had started calling Sam 'Killer' ever since he had killed a man.
It was at the Fist of the First Men that the deserters struck. It had been a cold night when fourteen men of the black murdered the men on watch, tried to kill the Lord Commander, and tried to burn down the camp before running off. Sam had also been one of the traitor's targets.
Sam still didn't understand it. All of the others targets made some sense, at least. The deserters killed the men standing watch, they tried to kill the officers too, they released the dogs and set fire to the tents. They did whatever they could to ensure they would be able to run away, and that the rangers would be too disorganized to give chase.
But then they also tried to kill him. Sam had just been minding his own business with the ravens when an ugly man with boils named Chett came out of nowhere and tried to gut him with a knife. The only reason Sam could think of was maybe the man just hated him that much.
The memory sent shivers down. He could still feel the knife as it sliced downward, cutting across his arm as he tried to block and then into his chest. He felt his skin split open. It was so sudden there hadn't even been much pain, just… shock. The pain came later.
And then Chett had stopped, pausing with the knife. He could have killed Sam quickly, but he didn't. Sam still remembered the way Chett had grinned, savouring the moment.
Honestly, Sam had been as surprised as anyone when he threw a birdcage at Chett's head. It hadn't been a deliberate move, his hand had just flinched, and then suddenly there was squawking, frantic raven flying into Chett's face.
They scrambled. Sam screamed. Chett pushed him to the ground, bloody knife in hand, and Sam's arms had just thrashed. Sam vaguely remembered grabbing the closest object he could find in desperation.
And then there was a knife sticking out of Chett's eye. Sam wasn't sure how it happened. The same knife Sam used for sharpening quills. The man gagged, blood pouring down his face and over his boils. Chett had hovered upright for a good ten heartbeats before he finally dropped. Chett died with a look of absolute amazement on his face.
I still hear it sometimes. I still hear how his eyeball splattered…
That was how Sam earned his 'Killer' moniker. The sworn brothers had found Sam, bloodied, standing over a corpse with a knife in his eye, repeating over and over to himself 'I killed him, I killed him'.
The deserters died quickly that night. There was confusion and panic, and twelve good men had died when the fighting broke out, but the uprising had failed. Lord Commander Mormont overpowered the three men sent to assassinate him. Four of the deserters managed to run, but they were chased down and killed.
After that, Sam had been left bloody and injured from Chett's knife. Some thought he would lose the use of his arm altogether. Mormont sent Sam back to the Wall along with Grenn and a few other wounded. Sam had been unconscious for most of the journey. It took Maester Aemon's skill to stitch him up, but he was still in bandages.
Now, the rest of the Great Ranging had returned too. Sam, along with Pyp, Grenn and Toad, watched with bated breath as the men finally returned and the gate was hoisted up.
When they came through the gate, Sam saw weary, rugged men, but there were also grins in the crowd.
"We killed them!" Thoren Smallwood announced proudly, riding through the gate. "Savages never knew what hit them. They ran straight into our trap."
Sam's heart leapt. He looked for familiar faces in the crowd. He recognised Dolorous Edd's grey hair among those funnelling through the gate.
"There was a battle?" Sam asked eagerly. Edd looked even wearier than most, walking alongside Dywen.
"Oh aye, several in fact." Edd paused. "Although I'm not sure if you can technically call it a battle it the other side didn't have a chance to fight back. The wildlings barely had any fight left in them."
The story came out quickly. After the desertion, the Old Bear proceeded with their plan to ambush the wildlings. The rangers had split into multiple commands, and headed deeper into the mountains to wait for their opportunity. The man mass of their forces under the Lord Commander had went ahead to break the wildlings ranks, all the while smaller groups stationed themselves across the valley and lay in wait. The ambush had turned out to be more successful than anybody had ever imagined.
They had expected to face a horde - a massive, yet disorganized and brittle tide of wildlings. Instead, they had encountered nothing but scattered groups already fleeing from battle, weakened and panicked.
Most of the wildlings had been running, fleeing. Infighting, Edd had called it. Most likely there had been some schism or disagreement in their camp - some challenge to Mance Rayder's rule, perhaps - and mass fighting must have broken out. The wildlings had scattered, and those fleeing down the Milkwater had been met by well-prepared, fortified, and well-hidden men of the Night's Watch.
It had been a slaughter. "Well, several slaughters, in fact," Edd explained dourly. "One after another, in very short procession, actually."
The Night's Watch had ambushed the wildlings. Then they had chased them through the mountains, circled around the pass, and ambushed them again. The wildlings had been so disorganised that they hadn't stood a chance.
There had even been giants riding mammoths scattered in the battle, as Sam listened with bated breath. He could barely believe the tales of giants, but there were too many brothers telling them to lie. Soon, there was a group formed of rangers reciting the tale eagerly. The rangers killed the giants with arrows fired from the cliffs, and then fired burning arrows at the mammoths, sending the beasts wild and stampeding through the wildlings' own men.
There were some casualties, but far, far fewer than expected considering the numbers faced. Ottyn Wythers and ten other men were torn apart by a giant with white fur, but that was the only one of the raid groups that had been totally lost.
"What about Jon?" Sam asked, eager. "How did he fare?"
The mood went quiet. Edd's expression darkened grimly. "We never saw him. Qhorin Halfhand's scouting party didn't make it back." He grimaced. "Nobody has seen him since he left."
Sam blinked, mouth dropping open. There was a long moment of dead silence. Jon, the first and best friend who had really looked after him. Sam hadn't truly believed that Jon would die. Couldn't die. Jon had always seemed so strong, so sure, so in control…
He can't be dead, Sam thought, ignoring the sinking feeling in his gut. Jon's with the Halfhand, he can't be dead .
The mood went dark. There were brothers glancing at him, but Sam didn't say a word. "Why are you back then?" Pyp demanded. "Why not wait for the rangers to return? What about Benjen Stark, or Royce's group? The Old Bear said he was going to find them-"
"We couldn't wait. Buckwell's group barely arrived back in time, but there was no word from the Halfhand," Dywen protested, his wooden teeth clattering as he spoke. "We could have killed three thousand wildlings, but there were still plenty more. We caught them unprepared at the Milkwater, but let's not push our luck."
Sam's hand trembled. The wound over his chest ached. "… We did it though?" Grenn said after a long pause. "We won. We broke the wildling army."
It sounded a lot like the wildling army had already been broken and the Night's Watch just swept up the pieces, but Sam stayed quiet. The face of Jon lingered in his mind.
"Oh aye, we won," Edd glanced behind him. "And we brought prisoners."
Sam turned. Everyone in Castle Black was watching as the last of the rangers filtered through the gate. They walked double file through the tunnel, but then there were men wearing chains. There were ragged men wearing bloody furs, with haunted expressions and their hands bound.
A mutterer spread through the crowd. Everyone was watching, like it was a procession. Behind Sam, Donal Noye grunted as he watched.
"Well, I'll be damned," the one-armed armourer announced. "Now that's Mance Rayder. The King-Beyond-the-Wall himself has... graced us."
Sam heard the ripples go through the crowd. The men's chains rattled in the cold air as they walked.
There were two dozen captured wildlings in total. The men pointed as Mance Rayder walked at the front of the prisoner's line like some prize. He was a broad-shouldered, but lean man, middle-aged with a worn face. His face was bruised and bloody, but his features were otherwise unremarkable and plain. He looked beaten and weak, but Sam noticed his sharp eyes.
Mance Rayder might have once called himself a king, but now he was nothing but a beaten and injured prisoner.
Still, the oathbreaker and wildling king glared at all them with a sharpness that made Sam pause. The other wildlings looked beaten, or resigned, or loudly and defiantly angry. Mance Rayder was different; he was silent and observant, there was something in his eyes that put Sam on edge.
Sam looked past the former King-Beyond-the-Wall, eyes flickering over all the other wildlings. "Who are the rest?" Sam asked, lowering his voice.
"Raiders. Wildling leaders. Clan chiefs. Chieftain's sons." There were three women in chains too - spearwives who looked every bit as tough as the men. "And a couple of daughters of clan chiefs."
Dywen pointed to a broad man with scruffy white hair. He was snarling as a sworn brother stabbed at him to walk. "And that's Tormund Giantsbane. We lost three men trying to take him down. We got his daughter, too."
Most of the wildlings were injured in some way or the other. One of the men looked so bloody he could barely walk. He was a tall, earless man, with a thick bandage around his eye. He limped so badly that the brother escorting him had half-drag him. His face was deathly pale.
"And that's Styr, Magnar of Thenn," Dywen explained. "I tracked that bastard myself. He took four arrows, one of them in his eye. We thought he was a corpse, but he still jumped up and tore Garth's ear off."
The group was still muttering, but Sam barely heard it. It was still Mance Rayder who Sam stared at. The King-Beyond-the-Wall was infamous to the black brothers. Sam hadn't expected the dreaded leader of the wildlings to let himself be taken alive. "… How did you even catch the King-Beyond-the-Wall?"
"We didn't," Dywen admitted. "Mance surrendered himself. He made the Lord Commander promise to let his pregnant wife walk free in return for his surrender."
"Pregnant wife?" Sam's face paled. "There were women and children there too?"
"We let most of the women and children walk." That word 'most' hung in the air. It made Sam's skin crawl. "If we had tried to take them all, there would have been more prisoners than we had chains. We only brought back the ones of value."
"Why not just kill them?" asked Grenn, still staring entranced at the wildlings. The one called Tormund struggled like a chained bear, as if he could snap his restraints.
Dywen shook his head. "Most likely will do, eventually." The ranger paused, then glanced at Mance Rayder. Sam knew that the King-Beyond-the-Wall was a Night's Watch deserter, and that meant certain death. "But first the Old Bear wants to question them. He wants to know the wildling's numbers, the biggest clans, their leaders. He wants to know what Rayder did with our missing scouts."
"You think he was the one that took them?"
"He does seem the likely suspect, doesn't he?" Edd sniffed. "We'll ask the other wildlings the same questions too, I expect. Some we could use as hostages against their clans, but I imagine most of them will end up hanging beside Mance."
Sam squirmed as the sworn brothers talked amongst themselves. By the tell of it, the Watch would hang the wildling chieftains over the edge of the Wall - just like the old glory days of the Night's Watch. Sam expected that the Lord Commander would be pleased. Not so long ago, some had said the Great Ranging was folly, and yet now the Old Bear had returned triumphant.
The rest of the day was hectic. It was like every man had a story to tell and a wound to patch up. Sam had never known Castle Black to be such a bustle. Thorne was so busy tending to the arrivals that he didn't even have time to berate Sam.
The steward watched as a few of the younger recruits threw stones at Mance and the other wildlings as they were dragged into the ice cells.
This is a victory, Sam told himself. They defeated the wildling army and came back victorious. The King-Beyond-the-Wall is beaten, we have won. They protected the realm.
If that army had hit the Wall, then they all might have been in trouble. The Watch didn't have the men to defend against a coordinated force like that, and the wildlings had a whole culture based around raping and murdering. The Old Bear did the right thing - hit them by surprise and break them before they had a chance to hit the Wall.
So why am I still so scared?
And why isn't Jon here?
Sam tried to distract himself by returning to his duties. There were letters to write and ravens to send. Clydas helped Sam with most of them while Maester Aemon tended to the wounded. Sam caught glimpses of information from the ravens that came in and out.
Ser Denys Mallister reported extremely fierce storms north of the Frozen Shore, and put out a warning in case the storms were to move south. Jarmen Buckwell and Blane were still out Beyond-the-Wall, tracking the movements of stragglers from the wilding host. There had been raiders that had attacked and hounded the rangers as they retreated, so Ser Mallador Locke and some men lingered behind as a rearguard.
The most interesting ones were the ravens from the south. News came in patchily to the Wall, but Sam still clung to every mention from the War of the Five Kings. A raven from White Harbour reported Stannis Baratheon's defeat at the Blackwater, and that King Joffrey ruled in King's Landing. Those letters went straight to the Lord Commander. It was a hectic day.
It was nearly dusk by the time the ravens started to clear. Clydas retreated to his quarters, but Sam was still too worried to rest. Instead, Sam returned to the rookery, to Maester Aemon's quarters and the pile of unsorted books resting on a desk.
There were old tomes that Sam had brought from the library that needed cataloguing and sorting. The books were his solace, his refuge. He tried to distract himself into his task, but he couldn't help feel a nagging sensation in the back of his mind that something was wrong. That they had made a mistake.
Sam remembered the look in Mance Rayder's eyes as they marched him through the courtyard. It hadn't been angry, or vengeful, more… pitying.
Sam heard footsteps marching into the tower. He jumped up quickly, causing his wounds to sting. Sam's heart skipped as he saw Ser Alliser Thorne stomp into the rookery. The knight's face was dark as he looked at Sam.
"Maester Aemon is asleep," Sam said, his voice almost a squeal. "Hold on, ser, I'll go wake him-"
"Don't bother, piggy." The others might call him Killer now, but to Thorne he would always be piggy. "I'm here for you."
Sam's eyes were nervous. "Me, ser? I don't… I haven't…"
Thorne stepped closer, a vicious sneer on his face. He stared at Sam's bandages.
"I guess the piggy had some meat cut out of him," he grunted. "Did that hurt, boy?"
Sam gulped, nodding. He was always scared around Thorne. The knight reminded him of Sam's father too much.
"You got one taste of real battle and you came back squealing to the Wall," Thorne spat. "Even the Lord Commander is too soft on your wimpy behind. Make no mistake, they might laugh and call you 'Killer' now, but they're not laughing with you."
Sam quivered and shrunk into himself. Thorne turned and walked away. "Now come on," he ordered. "With me, now. The Lord Commander wants to see you. Bring quills, ink and parchment."
Hesitantly, Sam followed. It was already dusk. Thorne didn't even glance back at him. Sam thought he would take him to the King's Tower, but instead he headed straight towards the tunnels, down into the wormwalks that led under the castle, and towards the ice cells. Sam was shivering, and not just from the cold.
For a fearful moment, he thought Thorne was planning on ambushing him in the tunnels or worse, but then Sam saw figures standing ahead. Mormont was ahead, waiting with four brothers standing outside of the ice cells.
Along with the Lord Commander, there was another new arrival. Janos Slynt, formerly of the City Watch - Janos had been close to Thorne ever since his arrival at Castle Black a week ago, helping to fill in the vacuum left by Mormont's absence. Gone from the gold cloak to the black, he had heard the man jape.
Before the Great Ranging had returned, there had been whispers floating about that the Lord Commander might have fallen. It had seemed ludicrous at first, but Janos Slynt had even been pushing to be the next Lord Commander. Janos had been totting around telling everyone that the king himself recommended him for the position.
But now that the Lord Commander Mormont was back, both Janos and Thorne looked unhappy. A stopper had been put on Janos' ambitions, and Thorne lost the power he had been wielding in Mormont's absence. What Sam knew for a certainty was that he was glad that Lord Commander Mormont had returned; Janos looked at Sam with nearly just as much disdain as Thorne did.
"Tarly." Lord Mormont just nodded at Sam distractedly. "Good. Come."
On his shoulder, Mormont's raven cawed, "Come, come."
Sam blinked, confusedly, glancing between Thorne and Mormont. Thorne's face was bitter. "Um… why am I here, my lord?"
"We're questioning Mance Rayder. I think he's finally ready to talk," he said curtly. "You are to act as our scribe. Write down everything that Mance says - take note of any numbers and names he gives us - but sit in the corner and be quiet."
An interrogation. Sam felt his heart pound, but he managed a nervous nod, clutching at his parchment. Even with a wounded arm, Sam could still read and write better than most; he was Maester Aemon's steward and the maester was old. Of course they would ask for him to scribe.
Fortunately, Mormont and the other men went in first. The door opened with a large crunch. Sam hesitated at the boundary, but Thorne was behind him, shoving him forward.
The ice cell was freezing, even under Sam's furs. Mance Rayder wasn't wearing any furs. He wore only his smallclothes, which did little against the cold of the tunnels. The King-Beyond-the-Wall was shivering badly. Rayder looked frail, pale and gaunt, with painful welts and bruises across his body. His arms were chained to the ice walls. He stared upwards with dark, bitter eyes.
His fingers, Sam noticed with a gulp. Mance's fingers were all twisted and mangled. They must have broken his fingers one by one. Sam wondered briefly what they had broken when he ran out of fingers.
He's ready to talk, the Lord Commander had said.
Sam's hands were trembling so much he struggled to hold the quill. Mormont watched him fumble with the paper with a heavy, disapproving frown, before turning back to Mance.
"Understand this, Mance," Mormont said firmly. "You are a dead man. We will kill you for forsaking your vows. The only question is the manner of your passing. You can either face an executioner's axe with dignity." He paused, stepping closer. "… Or we can hang you off the Wall, alive, and let the cold do its job."
There was a long pause. The oathbreaker's voice was quiet. A broken man. "I'll talk…" he wheezed, body shivering.
"Good. You will tell us everything we want to know, and we will give you a clean death." Mormont glanced at Thorne. "Firstly, troops. How many clans united under you? How many leaders remain—"
"You are a fool, Mormont," he said quietly. There was a gasping sound. Mance Rayder was laughing, chuckling - or trying to, at least. "An old fool."
Sam was left suddenly unsure whether he should write that down. Mormont only frowned. "Fool," cried his raven. "Fool, fool."
"You haven't won." Mance muttered, glaring. "You haven't won a goddamn thing. That 'battle' was just crows picking up after the dead."
"Enough. Tell me about your troops."
"Gone. Dead. Worse. I don't know." Mance's eyes were vicious. "You killed a lot of men, women and children, Old Bear."
Thorne scoffed. "We killed murderers, rapists and savages."
"I let your women and children walk free," Mormont said curtly, ignoring Thorne.
Mance's chuckle was bitter. "Oh aye. You left them to die, alone, hungry on a deserted mountainside. How noble."
"Would you have preferred I had put them to death along with your warriors?"
"At the very least, I would have preferred you had burnt the bodies." Mance Rayder spat blood. "The only thing you've done is made our true enemy even stronger."
No one replied. Sam blinked. "Do you know why they attacked us?" the wildling king challenged. "For them, that was a recruitment drive. Forty thousand dead free folk - forty thousand more corpses for their army. When you killed us, you just did their work for them - made their army a little bit bigger. That's your victory right there, Mormont."
"Enough of this," Mormont growled in warning.
Mance stared at him critically. "You know, don't you?" There was a pause. "I think you know. I think you've seen the dead walk too." Mance's grinned, causing Sam to shiver. "You are a fool, Mormont. I almost pity you when you have to face all of the dead you killed, walking again."
There was a moment of silence. Mormont and Thorne shared an uneasy glance. The memory of the undead corpses with blue eyes that they brought over the Wall lingered in the room. Sam remembered with a gulp the bodies of Othor and Jafer, who had started moving again when they were brought across the Wall, and tried to murder living men. Janos Slynt just scoffed. "Savage superstition!" Janos proclaimed. "The man is a fool and a craven."
"And you are a tw—"
"Enough!" Mormont bellowed. He glared at Mance Rayder. "There are things that I need from you, turncoat. What did you do to our rangers?"
"I have no idea what you're talking about, Mormont."
"Willem Royce led a party of four six moons ago. They vanished. What happened to them?"
Mance shook his head. "Never even heard of them."
"Benjen Stark and a party of six three moons ago. Where are they?"
"Now Benjen I did hear about." Mance nodded. "Last I heard was from the free folk in the forest, Benjen was heading out past the Antler. He was asking about some nearby heart tree, I believe."
Mormont frowned. Sam nervously made notes.
"What did you do to him?" Thorne demanded.
"I never touched him. We both know Benjen was far too good to fall to wildlings."
Thorne looked ready to keep on questioning. Mormont cut him off. "Qhorin Halfhand," Mormont said firmly. "Led a party of four one moon ago. What happened?"
This time, Mance smiled. "Oh, I know about Qhorin. He was caught up the Skirling Pass."
Mormont's gaze turned dark. "You killed him."
"Well, not me." Mance's face twisted. "It was Rattleshirt's band that caught him. Mind, even the Lord of Bones would have brought Qhorin in alive - Qhorin was an old friend of mine, I would have rather traded or ransomed him than killed him." Mance paused, glancing at the Lord Commander. "It was actually one of his own men that turned on him. Jon Snow killed the Halfhand."
Sam dropped his quill. Mormont's eyes flashed. "You lie."
"I do no such thing. Rattleshirt trapped Qhorin in a cave, and then Jon Snow turned on the man. That wolf of his tore Qhorin's leg open, while Jon took the Halfhand's head. I met Jon afterwards - the boy dropped his black coat. He was with us at the Milkwater."
Mormont's face was stone. Thorne's eyes gleamed. Sam stared in horror. "No," Sam exclaimed. He knew he was supposed to stay quiet, but he couldn't. "He's lying. He's lying. Jon would never betray the Night's Watch, he wouldn't."
"Tarly, be quiet," Mormont snapped. From over the Lord Commander's shoulder, Thorne just looked at Sam, smirking sickly-sweet.
"But he's lying!" Sam shouted. "Jon isn't a turncoat, he's lying!"
"Lying," Mormont's raven echoed from the Lord's Commander's shoulder. "Lying, lying."
"Like hell I am," Mance scoffed. "Last I saw, Jon stole a spearwife for himself and he was getting real comfortable - cute girl, red hair, hell of a fire in her too." Mance stared at Mormont with a smirk. It was a little victory for him that one of the crows had deserted the Watch. "What's the matter, Old Bear? Maybe your rangers just aren't as dedicated as you would like to believe."
"Where is Jon now?" Mormont growled. Sam could barely believe his ears. They were actually listening to the oathbreaker.
Mance Rayder shrugged. "Dead, most like. I don't think he escaped the Frostfangs."
Sam gaped at the former king, dropping his paper onto the ice. "He's lying," Sam shouted. "Jon would never betray the Watch, he's not dead - it's not - he can't be—!"
"Alliser, get rid of the boy," Mormont ordered.
Thorne grunted, grabbing Sam by the collar and dragging him out. For once, Thorne didn't say a word, but his eyes, gleaming with triumph, spoke volumes. Sam struggled weakly, even as Thorne pushed him roughly out of the cell.
"Get rid of the piggy," Thorne ordered to the guards, slamming the cell door shut behind him. The two guards grabbed Sam roughly, manhandling him as he shambled away.
Sam's head was in a daze. He wanted to go back and protest, he even squirmed against their grip. Why is the Lord Commander even listening to that man?
He was pushed out into the courtyard, stumbling over the stairs. One of the guards said something, but Sam didn't hear it.
Jon isn't dead. Jon couldn't be dead. He couldn't be a traitor and he couldn't be dead.
Sam didn't even know what he would do with himself without Jon. The thought of Jon lying in a ditch somewhere made his knees weak.
Mance Rayder is lying, Sam thought firmly. He is a liar and he is lying. That oathbreaker is just trying to spread discord in the Night's Watch with a petty little lie.
… Still, another part of Sam whispered treacherously. It is an awfully specific lie to tell…
Sam spent four hours standing in that courtyard, waiting for the Lord Commander to come out of the wormwalks. It was pitch black by the time he did, but Sam knew he wouldn't be able to sleep.
"My lord!" Sam called, as soon as the door opened again. Jeor Mormont's face was grim. Thorne was next to him, his eyes widening as soon as he saw Sam. "I'm sorry, my lord, I'm sorry for how I acted, but Jon is my friend and I couldn't let…"
His voice trailed off. Thorne had that look in his eye when he was ready to explode. Mormont raised a hand.
"Tarly," Mormont ordered. "Enough."
Sam gulped, and nodded.
Mormont's eyes flickered. "We spoke to the other prisoners, Tarly," he said after a brief pause. "They all said exactly the same thing. That Jon Snow came to the camp as Qhorin Halfhand's killer, looking to defect."
Sam blinked. "Then they're lying! They–"
"What, all of them?" Thorne sneered. "You think they all got together beforehand and fabricated the exact same lie to tell, in case they were captured? Why would they even bother?"
Sam couldn't answer that. They had questioned each prisoner separately. Even if Mance Rayder had made up the story for some reason, then how could the others know the same story?
Sam looked up at Mormont pleadingly. The Old Bear's face was hard, but he still looked disturbed. Mormont had been grooming Jon for command one day.
"Face it, piggy," Thorne continued. "Lord Snow was a weak, spoilt, little bastard. The first time things got difficult, he took the coward's way out and killed a good ranger just so he could turn tail and defect." Thorne smirked triumphantly. "I knew it from the first time I saw him. He was an arrogant puffed up little snot from the beginning."
"Bastards are treacherous by nature," Janos agreed. "And treason runs in his blood. Even his lord father was a traitor and liar of the highest order, and clearly his bastard child was no better."
Mormont looked fuming. Mormont entrusted Jon with his family's sword, Sam pleaded quietly. Mormont couldn't give up on Jon now…
"If he should return, he will be given a fair trial. We will listen to his side of events and we will make judgement accordingly," Mormont said in a growl. Thorne scoffed, not quite under his breath. The Lord Commander stared at Sam, his voice hard. "But send a raven to Eastwatch and the Shadow Tower. From now on, the Night's Watch has no choice but to consider Jon Snow a traitor and a deserter."
"… But…" Sam stammered. "… But… you can't…"
"Tarly," Mormont said, his voice firm as steel. "Enough."
"Enough," the raven crowed. "Enough, enough."