Jon wondered if his father had known what the Wall would be like. The dwarf had given him the truth on the road north, but by then it had been too late. No one had told him the Night's Watch would be like this no one except Tyrion Lannister. He was First Ranger, and he spent his days and nights with Lord Commander Mormont and Maester Aemon and the other high officers, while Jon was given over to the less than tender charge of Ser Alliser Thorne. Up here, the genial Benjen Stark he had known became a different person. There was scant warmth to be found in Castle Black the walls were cold here, and the people colder.Įven his uncle had abandoned him in this cold place at the end of the world. So cold, he thought, remembering the warm halls of Winterfell, where the hot waters ran through the walls like blood through a man's body. He sat on a bench, his fingers fumbling with the fastenings on his cloak. The weariness came on him suddenly, as he donned the roughspunblacks that were their everyday wear. "He broke my wrist," Grenn said again, holding it out to Noye for inspection. "Keep your quarrels out of my armory, or I'll make them my quarrels. "The yard is for fighting," the armorer said. "How often must I tell you no, Jon? We'll speak when I return." Ben Stark smiled at that, but he had no smile for his nephew. One of his rangers, a big ugly man, sang a bawdy song as he saddled his garron, his breath steaming in the cold morning air. Jon rose at dawn the next day to watch his uncle leave.
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