JON III

"'Are you well, Snow?" Lord Mormont asked, scowling.

"Well!" his raven squawked. "Well!"

"I am, my lord", Jon lied, loudly, as if that could make it true. "And you?"

Mormont frowned. "A dead man tried to kill me. How well could I be? These are hard times now, and it is still only at the end of summer."

He scratched under his chin. His shaggy grey-white beard had been singed in the fire and he'd hacked it off. The pale stubble of his new whiskers made him look old, disreputable and grumpy.

"You do not look well", he noted. "Are you nervous infor seeing your lord father and brother again so soon?"

Jon looked down at his boots, hoping that they might give the answer that the Lord Commander wanted out of him, so that he did not need to open his mouth and think out one for himself.

"I... I don't... I don't know, my lord."

"You don't know...?" Mormont scrutinized him harshly, bringing his gaze soon down to the Valyrian bastard blade which still hung to Jon's scabbard. Unearnt, he knew. He said I had earned it, by saving his life, but anyone could have done it. I was only the one who was closest. He felt ashamed.

"Speak up, if you have anything to say about it. It is not out of the ordinary for high-standing lords such as your father to come and visit from time to time, though I would not have thought it to come so soon."

He grumled again, looking as mispleased as a man who had just found a fly in his porridge. Jon innerly hoped he would not be the one still serving him as his squire when that day would undoubtedly come. The Old Bear could be almost scary when he was in his bad moods. It would have to be, though, he realized then. It would have to be me, if that were to happen. Before all the flies are dead, and winter comes...

The wights had shown him and most everyone else around Castle Black that there were worse things than flies or the Old Bear's anger to worry his mind about.

"I understand your lord father is bringing his ward as well. The Greyjoy lad. True?"

"...Yes", Jon confirmed.

"Hm." The Old Bear nodded. "Does he know his way around a ship, like his father and uncles? I would guess not, having grown up around Winterfell. Still, Cotter Pyke might have use of him, if he should be wanting to take the black some day, same as you. We would be well served to have a man like him on Eastwatch. Autumn storms will be coming up soon, and the ironborns often seem to make the best captains for hard storms, spit on them or love them for it."

When it came to Cotter Pyke, Jon thought that the Old Bear would rather kiss the man than spit on him, though few things were certain when it came to the lord commander's judgements of people. Still, whatever he had heard of praise from the gruff old man, he had aimed reluctantly as always at the First Ranger, Ser Jaime, as well as Qhorin Halfhand, Stonesnake, Giant and the other old veterans of the Watch, and both of his colleagues Ser Denys Mallister at the Shadowtower and Cotter Pyke at Eastwatch-by-the-Sea.

"I... do not think he has the same skills in ship-faring as the rest of his house, no", Jon confessed.

Mormont scowled.

"Well... He can't be any worse than the lot from the Lonely Hills that old Pyke had to instruct. The fools had lived their whole lives up in the mountains, never as much as seen a fish before. They would have gone here instead, or off to the Shadowtower, where they'd be more useful, if I'd had any say in it."

"Useful! Useful!" The giant raven squawked, eerily human-like as ever in its tone of voice.

Useful... Jon looked down at his gloved hands when he heard the word.

He was still sore, as he flexed his sword hand, and he had scars after the fire, but he was slowly gaining back the strenght in his hand. The Lord Commander had said as much when they'd spoken of it some days past. Jon had felt confused that day. Proud, perhaps, from the praise from his friends and the other men in the watch, yes, but confused still. He still could not understand that the Old Bear had given him his own family heirloom, the sword Longclaw.

Mormont's grumbling awoke him to the present, however. It was as if he could read his thoughts.

"How are you liking your new blade?" He asked, suddenly.

I have no right to it, Jon thought.

"My lord, you have honoured me greatly, but...-"

"Spare me your 'but's, boy", Lord Mormont interrupted. "I would not be sitting here were it not for you and that beast of yours. You fought bravely, and more to the point, you fought quickly. Fire... Yes, damn it. We ought to have known. We ought to have remembered. The Long Night has come before. Oh, eight thousand years is a long while, to be sure... Yet if the Night's Watch does not remember, who will?"

"Who will?" Chimed the talkative raven. "Who will?"

Jon thought of Willam then, remembering that not even his trueborn brother had a right to a Valyrian steel sword. Nor did his father. The only Valyrian blade of House Stark was the legendary old greatsword Ice, which belonged to his uncle the king, to good and just King Eddard, all the way down in King's Landing. Jon felt as though he needed to speak up, before his sense of unworthiness was like to smother him in his sleep.

"My lord, I am grateful, truly. But I am not worthy of such a blade. This is a treasure for your entire house. You should give it to your son, or if not to him then to your sister at Longbow Hall, to keep safe for you until a new boy is born to their line to wield it."

"Oh, is that so, boy? … Do you presume to know better than me how to handle my own house?"

Jon felt a surge of shame then, as he looked down hurriedly towards his boots, and the grey floor underneath. He had spoken foolishly, he knew, at that moment. He should never have said anything.

"No, of course not, my lord. I only meant...- Forgive me, my lord. I have spoken wrongly."

"Enough with that", Mormont said, waving away the matter. "It is a sword meant to be wielded by a fighter, as quick and nimble in his mind as the blade is light. You are one such, and I have seen the proof of it with mine own eyes. Now, I will ask you again. … How are you liking the blade?"

"It's the finest gift I have ever received", Jon answered truthfully. "I shall try my best to honour it."

"Indeed you will. A sword like that requires a man to wield it. You will need to keep practicing your two-handed strikes with Ser Endrew. He'll show you some moves when your burns have healed."

"Ser Endrew?" Jon did not know the name.

"Ser Endrew Tarth. A good man. He's on his way from the Shadowtower to assume the duties of Master-at-arms. Ser Alliser Thorne will be leaving on the morrow for Eastwatch-by-the-Sea."

Jon lowered the sword.

"To Eastwatch? Why?" He said, stupidly.

Mormont snorted.

"Because I commanded him so, why do you think? He's bringing the hand your Ghost tore off Jafer Flowers' wrist. I've commanded him to take ship to King's Landing and show it to the King. "

"King! King!" The raven cawed. Jon thought it sounded excited.

"And besides", Lord Commander continued, "it puts a thousand legs betwixt him and you without it seeming like a rebuke. And don't think I approve of that nonsense in the Common Hall. Valor makes up for a fair amount of folly, but you're not a boy anymore, however many years you've seen. That's a man's sword there, and it will take a man to wield it, as I've said. I will expect you to act the part from now on."

"Yes, my lord." Jon slid the sword back into the silver-handed scabbard.

Mormont looked thoughtfully on him, before asking the next question in his interrogation.

"Have you heard word of anyone coming up the Kingsroad as of yet?"

"I don't think so."

"Well, in the case that they'll be coming soon, I won't keep you from them. Just make sure that my bed is made, my supper is hot and I will not ask much more of you for the day. You will want to speak to your lord father now that he's come all the way up here."

"Yes, Lord Commander", Jon nodded and bowed. "Thankyou."

Mormont merely shrugged and grunted something as a reply, going into his chamber to continue with his consultation of the old maps he'd been going over before the Great Ranging that was soon to come.

His father came riding up to the small gatehouse not long after, around mid-day, bringing with him Ser Rodrik and a small force of guards, along with Willam and Theon Greyjoy. Jon watched them all dismount, feeling awfully nervous for some reason, more than he had anticipated. Perhaps it was the sword. He only wished that they would not ask about the sword.

"Jon!" His father called out, and came forth to embrace him.

"Father", he replied, returning the hug as warmly as he could while still seeming a man grown in front of his newfound brothers among the watch.

"You look well in black", Willam commented, as he hopped quickly off his horse.

"Thanks", Jon said with a smile.

"And you won't have to worry about getting some tavern wench with child up here", Theon sniggered. "No women north of here but wildlings. Though I've heard they are a taste to have as well..."

Jon was about to say something witty back, but before he could think of something, Lord Benjen spoke up, to try and quench the beginning of the quarrel.

"So... " His father said, quick to gather up the conversation before it ran away from him. "Maester Aemon wrote us saying that you had an encounter in the Lord Commander's tower. Is it true?"

Jon looked up to his father, to his brother Willam, and to Theon.

"It is, my lord", he confirmed. "I saw those... things. Frozen, they were. All blue and grey and black. They came up and moved, came up in the night to try and kill us, even though they were dead."

A cold chill swept over the courtyard as he spoke the words, looking to his foster brothers, to see how they would react upon hearing the words.

He had expected some laughter from Theon perhaps, some mockery as was wont to come from the older, egregious boy, but instead he found severity.

He was certain that Theon would have some clever jape about his friend Sam, when he laid eyes upon him and his size. Thankfully though, before he could say anything about it, Samwell Tarly came forth himself and bowed before Lord Benjen.

"Lord Stark", he said, for once being able to seem less nervous than he usually was. "It is an honour to meet you."

"This is Samwell Tarly of Horn Hill", Jon told his father, extending his hand towards Sam. "He's come all the way from the Reach to join the Watch."

"Oh?" Lord Benjen said. "An honourable journey. The Night's Watch is always in need of men, from all the kingdoms. Was it by your own accord, then?"

"Well… Actually… It was my father's idea, my lord."

"Good man, your father." Benjen gave a nod.

"And this is Pypar and Grenn", Jon continued, introducing his friends to the visitors from Winterfell.

"M'lord", Pyp said. "It's true what Maester Aemon wrote. Jon fought them off himself. He's a hero!"

"Not on my own", Jon was quick to say. "Lord Commander Mormont was with me. And Ghost."

He watched Willam and Ser Rodrik to see how they would react. Ser Rodrik tugged at his long white whiskers thoughtfully, as he got a concerned look into his face. He seemed to believe it.

...

"Come", his father said, laying a hand over Jon's shoulder. "We will go inside and speak of this. Not everyone needs to hear it like this, I am sure."

But everyone does, though, Jon thought. They have all heard it as well. Everyone up here has heard. Everyone up here knows. And everyone south of here need to hear of it most of all.

Lord Commander Mormont and the other old men of the Watch came to greet them as soon as they got word. Mormont's raven squawked loudly as it saw the Lord of Winterfell, and flapped wildly about Ser Rodrik's whiskers.

"Stark! Stark!" It cawed.

"Leave me be, I'm a Cassel!" Ser Rodrik roared back, swatting at the bird as Mormont grumbled.

The raven then perched on a wooden post close to Lord Benjen, staring into his eyes.

"The damned creature speaks, but it has no semblance of wits about it", Mormont explained with a scowl.

"Damned!" The raven croaked with its shrill voice. "Damned!"

Jon shuddered.

"Pay no notice to it, if you can help it", the Lord Commander said. "It is good to see that you have come to visit us, Lord Stark. You are always a welcome presence here on the Wall."

"Of course", Lord Benjen nodded with severity. "I came as soon as we got the letter. Thankfully, we had a good ride up. Not too many snows or storms on our way."

"That is good to hear", Mormont confirmed. "It will be the last time a man can say such things before long. Your words ring true, as always."

"Winter is coming", Benjen said grimly.

"Winter is coming", Willam echoed his father's words, bowing his head down.

"Stark! Stark! Stark!" The raven went on, and "Come! Come!", as it looked into the eyes of the Lord of Winterfell with its own beady black ones, filling Jon with an ominous feeling of dread.

They got escorted by Gernthor and Small Paul up to the King's Tower where Lord Commander Mormont sat, among with First Builder Othell Yarwyck, First Steward Bowen Marsh, Ser Alliser, First Ranger Ser Jaime and Maester Aemon who were all waiting for them.

Jon went to pour ale to them, but Mormont stopped him.

"You won't be acting a steward today, if we're to speak properly about this. Tell your friend Sam to come along and serve us instead."

"I thought Sam was in the rookery", Jon said.

"Samwell is waiting downstairs", Maester Aemon said, in his wise, old wavering voice.

Jon nodded and went down to fetch the Tarly boy.

...

"Wights", Mormont said when they came up again, as Sam went to find a pitcher large enough for the great party. "Your boy got them with fire, true enough. We will need our torches more than ever."

Lord Benjen looked deep of thoughts, as he considered long and hard.

"I would send more men", he began, "though perhaps it would be better to wait and see what comes of this. We would not want to waste our boys and men so much before winter is truly here. There will always come more when the autumn grinds to a halt, and the wintertown floods with folk. You know it will."

"It would be better to train them soon", Mormont said. "Truly, we are decently enough equipped to handle the wildlings, but... This... Accursed thing..." He coughed a little, waiting for the ale to wet his dry throat.

Sam came soon enough, filling the Lord Commander's drinking horn with ale and a pinch of lemon, the way Jon had told him.

"It will take more than we have ever given before", the Old Bear said staunchly. "We currently man four castles. We will need at least another three before winter."

"We have enough builders", Othell Yarwyck said. "Materials are no problem. There are many old stones to reuse, from towers and beams old and broken, that can be built up again."

"Yarwyck speaks truly", Ser Jaime cut in. "What we need is more fighting men. Or boys, it seems..." His sharp green eyes lingered on Jon as he spoke the words.

"We will send more", Benjen promised. "Though there are still those among us who doubt the truths before us. One such is my own lady wife."

A slight brixture of laughter fluttered for a moment on some of the assembled's lips, before it went down again. The only one whose smile seemed to stay on was the Lion-clad-in-black.

"My sister is... Well... Particular in her ways", Ser Jaime contemplated. "I remember in our childhood days we would go and watch the lions that were caged in the bowels of Casterly Rock. They were old and tired, and yet they still had some spark in them, if one knew where to tickle them. I suppose that having been caged up at Winterfell has not had the same effect on her. Instead, it's only made her more fierce. Can the northern wolf no longer tame the temperament of the western lion?"

Bowen Marsh and some of the others broke into laughter at the comment,

"At any rate, it will not matter much. You are the lord of your own castle, are you not, Stark?"

"I am", Benjen confirmed, a sudden tension in the air between the two men.

"Good then", Jaime said. "But just in case, I will be sure to tell her about it next time I see her. Though that may be a long while yet. We are to go north again soon. I trust the Lord Commander has told you?"

"We're going north to investigate, on a Great Ranging", Mormont confirmed. "I will take at least two hundred good men with me. Rangers, mostly, but some builders and stewards as well. We must strike against Mance Rayder, and against these horrors as well, if indeed they are up there..."

"I will send up more men as well", Benjen said. "They are on their way from the wintertown as we speak. Fifty, at the least. But more will come. That I promise."

"Good", Ser Jaime was quick to agree. "We will sorely need it, no matter if we find what we are looking for or no."

"And what do you think you will find?" Benjen asked, as Jon did his best to listen without seeming scared. After all, he and the Lord Commander were the only ones who had seen it with their own eyes. Still, the thought of there being more things like those out there terrified him more than he could say. Two had been bad enough. Just the thought of ten, or a dozen, or even twenty... He loped.

"An ancient enemy. The one who we have always been here to defend against."

"Forgotten by many", Maester Aemon echoed. "But not by all, yet, thanks to our books and memory. There is something we will need to teach these new boys from the wintertown, if they are to come to us soon, and to make them not forget, Lord Stark. The men of the Night's Watch will signal their horns as in times of old again, and a long time ago it was."

"Signal their horns as of old?" Lord Stark did not fully understand. Neither did Jon. Sam, however, looked as if he knew what the old wrinkled maester was getting at. He had been reading in his books already, learning everything he could about the Watch so that at least in his mind, if not in his body, he could do his best to try and become a brother worth his blacks woolens.

He echoed the old maester's words silently now, from where he stood to the side, preparing himself to bring Three-Finger Hob's warm crab stew up to the high officers at the table. Jon spied him from the side of his eye as he did his best to stay in the conversation with the officers and his lord father.

"One blast for rangers returning", Maester Aemon said, as Sam read his lips, seemingly knowing already what was to come. "Two blasts for wildlings."

"Two blasts for enemies, aye. We all know that much already, surely", the ever sharp-tongued and impatient Ser Jaime Lannister interrupted. "If anyone gets that part wrong I'll shove the horn up to somewhere where they're not like to forget."

"Two blasts for wildlings," Lord Commander Mormont corrected the First Ranger, in an annoyed grumbling tone.

Old Maester Aemon paid no heed to the First Ranger's words as he spoke his own last ones.

"And three blasts... ", Maester Aemon said, the final few fated words lingering on his near one-hundred year-old tongue, "...For the Others."

...