The King of Winters

Chapter 74

Jaehaerys

"Are you well, boy?" Lord Mormont asked, scowling.

"Well," his raven squawked. "Well."

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

Mormont frowned. "A dead man tried to kill me. How well could I be?" He scratched under his chin. His shaggy grey beard and the tiredness on his face made him look old and grumpy. "You do not look well. Are you hurt?"

"Not as much as I had thought it to." Jaehaerys pushed his long silver hair singed off in the fire as his clothes took the flames. He had not burned himself as badly as he had thought caught up in the flames. His once long hair had been burned off in the fire and his clothes had burned off beyond repair. But somehow he was unhurt. "The maester says my ribs are bruised, but otherwise I'm as good as I ever was."

"Bruised ribs are nothing. Maester Aemon will patch you up in no time."

"As you say, my lord." It was not the ribs that troubled Jaehaerys; it was the rest of it. The corpse, the cold and dark and bright blue eyes, shining in the night like the sword Andrew Stark had wielded. Jaehaerys thanked the gods that no one saw him writhing on his bed, unable to even close his eyes. And when at last he did sleep, he dreamt, and that was even worse. No amount of Milk of the Poppy Maester Aemon provided saved him from the dreams of blue eyes and black hands.

"Dywen and Hake returned last night," the Old Bear said. "They found no sign of Benjen Stark, no more than the others did."

"I know." Jaehaerys had dragged himself to the common hall to sup with his friends, and the failure of the rangers' search had been all the men had been talking of.

"You know," Mormont grumbled. "How is it that everyone knows everything around here?" He did not seem to expect an answer. "It would seem there were only the two of . . . of those creatures, whatever they were, I will not call them men. And thank the gods for that. Any more and . . . well, that doesn't bear thinking of. There will be more, though. I can feel it in these old bones of mine, and Maester Aemon agrees. The cold winds are rising. Summer is at an end, and a winter is coming such as this world has never seen."

Winter is coming. The Stark words had never been heard for decades now, yet now with the return of his cousin his words sounded so grim or ominous. Needless to say the two dead had proved more than enough to the Night's Watch. As soon as the truth about Othor was reached, the black brothers cut the cold dead body of Jafer Flowers but not before it slew a couple of men.

"Corn," the raven was crying. "Corn, corn."

"Oh, be quiet," the Old Bear told it. He looked down at Jae and eyed his belt and the absence of his sword. "I see that the fire ruined your sword."

It had. Jaehaerys had taken the ruined blade back to the armourer to fix it only to learn that it had gotten bad beyond any repair. "Aye," he replied the Lord Commander.

"Here." Lord Mormont laid a large sword in a black metal scabbard banded with silver on the table between them.

Jaehaerys hesitated. He had no idea what Lord Mormont meant. "My lord?"

"The fire you caused melted the silver off the pommel and burnt the crossguard and grip. Well, dry leather and old wood, what could you expect? The blade, now . . . you'd need a fire a hundred times as hot to harm the blade." Mormont shoved the scabbard across the rough oak planks towards him. "I had the rest made anew. Take it."

"Take it," echoed his raven, preening. "Take it, take it."

Hesitantly, Jaehaerys took the sword in hand. He pulled the sword from its scabbard carefully and raised it level with his eyes.