A Game Of Thrones [ASOIAF #1]

Chapter 48: JON [VI]

Jon was breaking his fast on applecakes and blood sausage when Samwell Tarly
plopped himself down on the bench. “I’ve been summoned to the sept,” Sam
said in an excited whisper. “They’re passing me out of training. I’m to be made a
brother with the rest of you. Can you believe it?”
“No, truly?”
“Truly. I’m to assist Maester Aemon with the library and the birds. He needs
someone who can read and write letters.”
“You’ll do well at that,” Jon said, smiling.
Sam glanced about anxiously. “Is it time to go? I shouldn’t be late, they might
change their minds.” He was fairly bouncing as they crossed the weed-strewn
courtyard. The day was warm and sunny. Rivulets of water trickled down the
sides of the Wall, so the ice seemed to sparkle and shine.
Inside the sept, the great crystal caught the morning light as it streamed
through the south-facing window and spread it in a rainbow on the altar. Pyp’s
mouth dropped open when he caught sight of Sam, and Toad poked Grenn in the
ribs, but no one dared say a word. Septon Celladar was swinging a censer, filling
the air with fragrant incense that reminded Jon of Lady Stark’s little sept in
Winterfell. For once the septon seemed sober.
The high officers arrived in a body; Maester Aemon leaning on Clydas, Ser
Alliser cold-eyed and grim, Lord Commander Mormont resplendent in a black
wool doublet with silvered bearclaw fastenings. Behind them came the senior
members of the three orders: red-faced Bowen Marsh the Lord Steward, First
Builder Othell Yarwyck, and Ser Jaremy Rykker, who commanded the rangers
in the absence of Benjen Stark.
Mormont stood before the altar, the rainbow shining on his broad bald head.
“You came to us outlaws,” he began, “poachers, rapers, debtors, killers, and
thieves. You came to us children. You came to us alone, in chains, with neither
friends nor honor. You came to us rich, and you came to us poor. Some of you
bear the names of proud houses. Others have only bastards’ names, or no names
at all. It makes no matter. All that is past now. On the Wall, we are all one
house.
“At evenfall, as the sun sets and we face the gathering night, you shall take
your vows. From that moment, you will be a Sworn Brother of the Night’s
Watch. Your crimes will be washed away, your debts forgiven. So too you must
wash away your former loyalties, put aside your grudges, forget old wrongs and
old loves alike. Here you begin anew.
“A man of the Night’s Watch lives his life for the realm. Not for a king, nor a
lord, nor the honor of this house or that house, neither for gold nor glory nor a
woman’s love, but for the realm, and all the people in it. A man of the Night’s
Watch takes no wife and fathers no sons. Our wife is duty. Our mistress is honor.
And you are the only sons we shall ever know.
“You have learned the words of the vow. Think carefully before you say
them, for once you have taken the black, there is no turning back. The penalty
for desertion is death.” The Old Bear paused for a moment before he said, “Are
there any among you who wish to leave our company? If so, go now, and no one
shall think the less of you.”
No one moved.
“Well and good,” said Mormont. “You may take your vows here at evenfall,
before Septon Celladar and the first of your order. Do any of you keep to the old
gods?”
Jon stood. “I do, my lord.”
“I expect you will want to say your words before a heart tree, as your uncle
did,” Mormont said.
“Yes, my lord,” Jon said. The gods of the sept had nothing to do with him; the
blood of the First Men flowed in the veins of the Starks.
He heard Grenn whispering behind him. “There’s no godswood here. Is there?
I never saw a godswood.”
“You wouldn’t see a herd of aurochs until they trampled you into the snow,”
Pyp whispered back.
“I would so,” Grenn insisted. “I’d see them a long way off.”
Mormont himself confirmed Grenn’s doubts. “Castle Black has no need of a
godswood. Beyond the Wall the haunted forest stands as it stood in the Dawn
Age, long before the Andals brought the Seven across the narrow sea. You will
find a grove of weirwoods half a league from this spot, and mayhap your gods as
well.”
“My lord.” The voice made Jon glance back in surprise. Samwell Tarly was
on his feet. The fat boy wiped his sweaty palms against his tunic. “Might
I … might I go as well? To say my words at this heart tree?”
“Does House Tarly keep the old gods too?” Mormont asked.
“No, my lord,” Sam replied in a thin, nervous voice. The high officers
frightened him, Jon knew, the Old Bear most of all. “I was named in the light of
the Seven at the sept on Horn Hill, as my father was, and his father, and all the
Tarlys for a thousand years.”
“Why would you forsake the gods of your father and your House?” wondered
Ser Jaremy Rykker.
“The Night’s Watch is my House now,” Sam said. “The Seven have never
answered my prayers. Perhaps the old gods will.”
“As you wish, boy,” Mormont said. Sam took his seat again, as did Jon. “We
have placed each of you in an order, as befits our need and your own strengths
and skills.” Bowen Marsh stepped forward and handed him a paper. The Lord
Commander unrolled it and began to read. “Halder, to the builders,” he began.
Halder gave a stiff nod of approval. “Grenn, to the rangers. Albett, to the
builders. Pypar, to the rangers,” Pyp looked over at Jon and wiggled his ears.
“Samwell, to the stewards,” Sam sagged with relief, mopping at his brow with a
scrap of silk. “Matthar, to the rangers. Dareon, to the stewards. Todder, to the
rangers. Jon, to the stewards.”
The stewards! For a moment Jon could not believe what he had heard.
Mormont must have read it wrong. He started to rise, to open his mouth, to tell
them there had been a mistake … and then he saw Ser Alliser studying him, eyes
shiny as two flakes of obsidian, and he knew.
The Old Bear rolled up the paper. “Your firsts will instruct you in your duties.
May all the gods preserve you, brothers.” The Lord Commander favored them
with a half bow, and took his leave. Ser Alliser went with him, a thin smile on
his face. Jon had never seen the master-at-arms look quite so happy.
“Rangers with me,” Ser Jaremy Rykker called when they were gone. Pyp was
staring at Jon as he got slowly to his feet. His ears were red. Grenn, grinning
broadly, did not seem to realize that anything was amiss. Matt and Toad fell in
beside them, and they followed Ser Jaremy from the sept.
“Builders,” announced lantern-jawed Othell Yarwyck. Halder and Albett
trailed out after him.
Jon looked around him in sick disbelief. Maester Aemon’s blind eyes were
raised toward the light he could not see. The septon was arranging crystals on
the altar. Only Sam and Dareon remained on the benches; a fat boy, a
singer … and him.
Lord Steward Bowen Marsh rubbed his plump hands together. “Samwell, you
will assist Maester Aemon in the rookery and library. Chett is going to the
kennels, to help with the hounds. You shall have his cell, so as to be close to the
maester night and day. I trust you will take good care of him. He is very old and
very precious to us.
“Dareon, I am told that you sang at many a high lord’s table and shared their
meat and mead. We are sending you to Eastwatch. It may be your palate will be
some help to Cotter Pyke when merchant galleys come trading. We are paying
too dear for salt beef and pickled fish, and the quality of the olive oil we’re
getting has been frightful. Present yourself to Borcas when you arrive, he will
keep you busy between ships.”
Marsh turned his smile on Jon. “Lord Commander Mormont has requested
you for his personal steward, Jon. You’ll sleep in a cell beneath his chambers, in
the Lord Commander’s tower.”
“And what will my duties be?” Jon asked sharply. “Will I serve the Lord
Commander’s meals, help him fasten his clothes, fetch hot water for his bath?”
“Certainly.” Marsh frowned at Jon’s tone. “And you will run his messages,
keep a fire burning in his chambers, change his sheets and blankets daily, and do
all else that the Lord Commander might require of you.”
“Do you take me for a servant?”
“No,” Maester Aemon said, from the back of the sept. Clydas helped him
stand. “We took you for a man of Night’s Watch … but perhaps we were wrong
in that.”
It was all Jon could do to stop himself from walking out. Was he supposed to
churn butter and sew doublets like a girl for the rest of his days? “May I go?” he
asked stiffly.
“As you wish,” Bowen Marsh responded.
Dareon and Sam left with him. They descended to the yard in silence. Outside,
Jon looked up at the Wall shining in the sun, the melting ice creeping down its
side in a hundred thin fingers. Jon’s rage was such that he would have smashed it
all in an instant, and the world be damned.
“Jon,” Samwell Tarly said excitedly. “Wait. Don’t you see what they’re
doing?”
Jon turned on him in a fury. “I see Ser Alliser’s bloody hand, that’s all I see.
He wanted to shame me, and he has.”
Dareon gave him a look. “The stewards are fine for the likes of you and me,
Sam, but not for Lord Snow.”
“I’m a better swordsman and a better rider than any of you,” Jon blazed back.
“It’s not fair.”
“Fair?” Dareon sneered. “The girl was waiting for me, naked as the day she
was born. She pulled me through the window, and you talk to me of fair?” He
walked off.
“There is no shame in being a steward,” Sam said.
“Do you think I want to spend the rest of my life washing an old man’s
smallclothes?”
“The old man is Lord Commander of the Night’s Watch,” Sam reminded him.
“You’ll be with him day and night. Yes, you’ll pour his wine and see that his bed
linen is fresh, but you’ll also take his letters, attend him at meetings, squire for
him in battle. You’ll be as close to him as his shadow. You’ll know everything,
be a part of everything … and the Lord Steward said Mormont asked for you
himself!
“When I was little, my father used to insist that I attend him in the audience
chamber whenever he held court. When he rode to Highgarden to bend his knee
to Lord Tyrell, he made me come. Later, though, he started to take Dickon and
leave me at home, and he no longer cared whether I sat through his audiences, so
long as Dickon was there. He wanted his heir at his side, don’t you see? To
watch and listen and learn from all he did. I’ll wager that’s why Lord Mormont
requested you, Jon. What else could it be? He wants to groom you for
command!”
Jon was taken aback. It was true, Lord Eddard had often made Robb part of
his councils back at Winterfell. Could Sam be right? Even a bastard could rise
high in the Night’s Watch, they said. “I never asked for this,” he said stubbornly.
“None of us are here for asking,” Sam reminded him.
And suddenly Jon Snow was ashamed.
Craven or not, Samwell Tarly had found the courage to accept his fate like a
man. On the Wall, a man gets only what he earns, Benjen Stark had said the last
night Jon had seen him alive. You’re no ranger, Jon, only a green boy with the
smell of summer still on you. He’d heard it said that bastards grow up faster than
other children; on the Wall, you grew up or you died.
Jon let out a deep sigh. “You have the right of it. I was acting the boy.”
“Then you’ll stay and say your words with me?”
“The old gods will be expecting us.” He made himself smile.
They set out late that afternoon. The Wall had no gates as such, neither here at
Castle Black nor anywhere along its three hundred miles. They led their horses
down a narrow tunnel cut through the ice, cold dark walls pressing in around
them as the passage twisted and turned. Three times their way was blocked by
iron bars, and they had to stop while Bowen Marsh drew out his keys and
unlocked the massive chains that secured them. Jon could sense the vast weight
pressing down on him as he waited behind the Lord Steward. The air was colder
than a tomb, and more still. He felt a strange relief when they reemerged into the
afternoon light on the north side of the Wall.
Sam blinked at the sudden glare and looked around apprehensively. “The
Wildlings … they wouldn’t … they’d never dare come this close to the Wall.
Would they?”
“They never have.” Jon climbed into his saddle. When Bowen Marsh and their
ranger escort had mounted, Jon put two fingers in his mouth and whistled. Ghost
came loping out of the tunnel.
The Lord Steward’s garron whickered and backed away from the direwolf.
“Do you mean to take that beast?”
“Yes, my lord,” Jon said. Ghost’s head lifted. He seemed to taste the air. In
the blink of an eye he was off, racing across the broad, weed-choked field to
vanish in the trees.
Once they had entered the forest, they were in a different world. Jon had often
hunted with his father and Jory and his brother Robb. He knew the wolfswood
around Winterfell as well as any man. The haunted forest was much the same,
and yet the feel of it was very different.
Perhaps it was all in the knowing. They had ridden past the end of the world;
somehow that changed everything. Every shadow seemed darker, every sound
more ominous. The trees pressed close and shut out the light of the setting sun.
A thin crust of snow cracked beneath the hooves of their horses, with a sound
like breaking bones. When the wind set the leaves to rustling, it was like a chilly
finger tracing a path up Jon’s spine. The Wall was at their backs, and only the
gods knew what lay ahead.
The sun was sinking below the trees when they reached their destination, a
small clearing in the deep of the wood where nine weirwoods grew in a rough
circle. Jon drew in a breath, and he saw Sam Tarly staring. Even in the
wolfswood, you never found more than two or three of the white trees growing
together; a grove of nine was unheard of. The forest floor was carpeted with
fallen leaves, bloodred on top, black rot beneath. The wide smooth trunks were
bone pale, and nine faces stared inward. The dried sap that crusted in the eyes
was red and hard as ruby. Bowen Marsh commanded them to leave their horses
outside the circle. “This is a sacred place, we will not defile it.”
When they entered the grove, Samwell Tarly turned slowly looking at each
face in turn. No two were quite alike. “They’re watching us,” he whispered.
“The old gods.”
“Yes.” Jon knelt, and Sam knelt beside him.
They said the words together, as the last light faded in the west and grey day
became black night.
“Hear my words, and bear witness to my vow,” they recited, their voices
filling the twilit grove. “Night gathers, and now my watch begins. It shall not
end until my death. I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children. I shall
wear no crowns and win no glory. I shall live and die at my post. I am the sword
in the darkness. I am the watcher on the walls. I am the fire that burns against the
cold, the light that brings the dawn, the horn that wakes the sleepers, the shield
that guards the realms of men. I pledge my life and honor to the Night’s Watch,
for this night and all the nights to come.”
The woods fell silent. “You knelt as boys,” Bowen Marsh intoned solemnly.
“Rise now as men of the Night’s Watch.”
Jon held out a hand to pull Sam back to his feet. The rangers gathered round
to offer smiles and congratulations, all but the gnarled old forester Dywen. “Best
we be starting back, m’lord,” he said to Bowen Marsh. “Dark’s falling, and
there’s something in the smell o’ the night that I mislike.”
And suddenly Ghost was back, stalking softly between two weirwoods. White
fur and red eyes, Jon realized, disquieted. Like the trees …
The wolf had something in his jaws. Something black. “What’s he got there?”
asked Bowen Marsh, frowning.
“To me, Ghost.” Jon knelt. “Bring it here.”
The direwolf trotted to him. Jon heard Samwell Tarly’s sharp intake of breath.
“Gods be good,” Dywen muttered. “That’s a hand.”