Operation Stumpy Re-Read
ADWD: Jon VIII (Chapter 39)
Val waited by the gate in the predawn cold, wrapped up in a bearskin cloak so large it might well have fit Sam. Beside her was a garron, saddled and bridled, a shaggy grey with one white eye. Mully and Dolorous Edd stood with her, a pair of unlikely guards. Their breath frosted in the cold black air.
"You gave her a blind horse?" Jon said, incredulous.
"He's only half-blind, m'lord," offered Mully. "Elsewise he's sound enough." He patted the garron on the neck.
Look, it's Jon the horse.
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"The horse may be half-blind, but I am not," said Val. "I know where I must go."
"My lady, you do not have to do this. The risk—"
"—is mine, Lord Snow. And I am no southron lady but a woman of the free folk. I know the forest better than all your black-cloaked rangers. It holds no ghosts for me."
Okay She-Ra, Princess of Power. Save the day, like only you can.
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Do not fail me, he thought, or Stannis will have my head. "Do I have your word that you will keep our princess closely?" the king had said, and Jon had promised that he would. Val is no princess, though. I told him that half a hundred times.
I wish Satin would remind you every once in a while.
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It was a feeble sort of evasion, a sad rag wrapped around his wounded word. His father would never have approved. I am the sword that guards the realm of men, Jon reminded himself, and in the end, that must be worth more than one man's honor.
Something tells me Ned Stark would approve.
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The road beneath the Wall was as dark and cold as the belly of an ice dragon and as twisty as a serpent.
Love when the Wall gets the dragon treatment.
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When they emerged north of the Wall, through a thick door made of freshly hewn green wood, the wildling princess paused for a moment to gaze out across the snow-covered field where King Stannis had won his battle.
Lol.
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The light of the half-moon turned Val's honey-blond hair a pale silver and left her cheeks as white as snow. She took a deep breath. "The air tastes sweet."
"My tongue is too numb to tell. All I can taste is cold."
The Joneri'i pretending this is positive foreshadowing will forever be the funniest thing in the world.
"Your head's as wooden as your teeth," Hake told him. "There's no smell to cold."
There is, thought Jon, remembering the night in the Lord Commander's chambers. It smells like death. - Jon IV, ACOK
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"You have my thanks, Lord Snow. For the half-blind horse, the salt cod, the free air. For hope."
Their breath mingled, a white mist in the air. Jon Snow drew back and said, "The only thanks I want is—"
"—Tormund Giantsbane. Aye." Val pulled up the hood of her bearskin. The brown pelt was well salted with grey. "Before I go, one question. Did you kill Jarl, my lord?"
"The Wall killed Jarl."
"So I'd heard. But I had to be sure."
"You have my word. I did not kill him." Though I might have if things had gone otherwise.
"The only thing I want from you is—"
"Tormund. I know. Did you steal me?"
"No."
❤️❤️❤️
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"This is farewell, then," she said, almost playfully.
Jon Snow was in no mood for it. It is too cold and dark to play, and the hour is too late.
❤️❤️❤️
No really, how many times must Jon Snow shut down this second rate blank canvas of a character before the fandom gets it? Fifty? One hundred?
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"I have heard you singing to him."
"I was singing to myself. Am I to blame if he listens?" A faint smile brushed her lips. "It makes him laugh. Oh, very well. He is a sweet little monster."
"Monster?"
"His milk name. I had to call him something. See that he stays safe and warm. For his mother's sake, and mine. And keep him away from the red woman. She knows who he is. She sees things in her fires."
Ohhh, he heard the singing! To a baby! His kryptonite.
Shoot, too bad she wants to kill a child.
She knows who he is. She sees things in her fires.
I believe this. Melisandre knows that baby is not Mance's child. We're safe.
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She sees things in her fires."
Arya, he thought, hoping it was so. "Ashes and cinders."
"Kings and dragons."
And Jon Snow. She saw lots of Jon Snow.
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Dragons again. For a moment Jon could almost see them too, coiling in the night, their dark wings outlined against a sea of flame.
What does he mean by again? Is it the Stannis thing? Has he been having nightmares?
Two kings to wake the dragon. The father first and then the son, so both die kings. The words had been murmured by one of the queen's men as Maester Aemon had cleaned his wounds. - Jon I, ADWD
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"If she knew, she would have taken the boy away from us. Dalla's boy, not your monster. A word in the king's ear would have been the end of it." And of me. Stannis would have taken it for treason. "Why let it happen if she knew?"
"Because it suited her. Fire is a fickle thing. No one knows which way a flame will go."
Because Shireen.
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Val put a foot into a stirrup, swung her leg over her horse's back, and looked down from the saddle. "Do you remember what my sister told you?"
"Yes." A sword without a hilt, with no safe way to hold it. But Melisandre had the right of it. Even a sword without a hilt is better than an empty hand when foes are all around you.
I'll give Cool Girl credit for one thing, she knows not to play with magic.
Silly little Jon needs to be properly convinced.
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Under the lid Jon discovered three duck's eggs fried in drippings, a strip of bacon, two sausages, a blood pudding, and half a loaf of bread still warm from the oven. He ate the bread and half an egg. He would have eaten the bacon too, but the raven made off with it before he had the chance. "Thief," Jon said, as the bird flapped up to the lintel above the door to devour its prize.
"Thief," the raven agreed.
The raven is prompted to say thief.
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Septon Cellador appeared confused and groggy and in dire need of some scales from the dragon that had flamed him, whilst First Builder Othell Yarwyck looked as if he had swallowed something he could not quite digest. Bowen Marsh was angry. Jon could see it in his eyes, the tightness around his mouth, the flush to those round cheeks. That red is not from cold. "Please sit," he said. "May I offer you food or drink?"
What?
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"The men have concerns, my lord."
And who is it who appointed you to speak for them?
Does it matter? If you know he's speaking for some of the men, then you have to make sure he buys into the vision.
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"As do I. Othell, how goes the work at the Nightfort? I have had a letter from Ser Axell Florent, who styles himself the Queen's Hand. He tells me that Queen Selyse is not pleased with her quarters at Eastwatch-by-the-Sea and wishes to move into her husband's new seat at once. Will that be possible?"
Yarwyck shrugged. "We've got most of the keep restored and put a roof back on the kitchens. She'd need food and furnishings and firewood, mind you, but it might serve. Not so many comforts as Eastwatch, to be sure. And a long way from the ships, should Her Grace wish to leave us, but … aye, she could live there, though it will be years before the place looks a proper castle. Sooner if I had more builders."
Apparently I've been sleep walking through these chapters. I'm only now registering men of the Night's Watch have been repairing the Nightfort so Stannis can make it his seat. Is Jon insane?
Is Shireen going to die at that creepy castle? Was there any hints in that Bran ASOS chapter? I'm too lazy to go back and check.
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Jon Snow was unsurprised. "As you wish. We will keep the giant here." Truth be told, he would have been loath to part with Wun Wun. You know nothing, Jon Snow, Ygritte might say, but Jon spoke with the giant whenever he could, through Leathers or one of the free folk they had brought back from the grove, and was learning much and more about his people and their history. He only wished that Sam were here to write the stories down.
Add it to the list of things Sam has to write.
If only Yarwyck took Wun Wun. Jon might have survived one more chapter.
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"We need good men at Long Barrow."
"Whore's Hole, the men have started calling it," said Marsh, "but be that as it may. Is it true that you mean to replace Emmett with this savage Leathers as our master-at-arms? That is an office most oft reserved for knights, or rangers at the least."
"Leathers is savage," Jon agreed mildly. "I can attest to that. I've tried him in the practice yard. He's as dangerous with a stone axe as most knights are with castle-forged steel. I grant you, he is not as patient as I'd like, and some of the boys are terrified of him … but that's not all for the bad. One day they'll find themselves in a real fight, and a certain familiarity with terror will serve them well."
Update: pomegranate still unhappy.
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"He's a wildling."
"He was, until he said the words. Now he is our brother. One who can teach the boys more than swordcraft. It would not hurt them to learn a few words of the Old Tongue and something of the ways of the free folk."
"Free," the raven muttered. "Corn. King."
Nobody prompted the raven to say king. This is Bran.
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Septon Cellador spoke up. "This boy Satin. It's said you mean to make him your steward and squire, in Tollett's place. My lord, the boy's a whore … a … dare I say … a painted catamite from the brothels of Oldtown."
[...]
"Most like," said Bowen Marsh, stony-faced, "but the men do not like it. Traditionally the lord commander's squires are lads of good birth being groomed for command. Does my lord believe the men of the Night's Watch would ever follow a whore into battle?"
Jon's temper flashed. "They have followed worse. The Old Bear left a few cautionary notes about certain of the men, for his successor. We have a cook at the Shadow Tower who was fond of raping septas. He burned a seven-pointed star into his flesh for every one he claimed. His left arm is stars from wrist to elbow, and stars mark his calves as well. At Eastwatch we have a man who set his father's house afire and barred the door. His entire family burned to death, all nine. Whatever Satin may have done in Oldtown, he is our brother now, and he will be my squire."
Update: pomegranate is angry.
I don't think Jon needs to justify this decision, but it's plainly obvious someone who is more politically savvy could spin it better.
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Septon Cellador drank some wine. Othell Yarwyck stabbed a sausage with his dagger. Bower Marsh sat red-faced. The raven flapped its wings and said, "Corn, corn, kill."
Nobody prompted the raven to say kill. This is SO Bran.
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Might I ask about these corpses in the ice cells? They make the men uneasy. And to keep them under guard? Surely that is a waste of two good men, unless you fear that they …"
"… will rise? I pray they do."
[...]
"Can they talk?" asked Jon Snow. "I think not, but I cannot claim to know. Monsters they may be, but they were men before they died. How much remains? The one I slew was intent on killing Lord Commander Mormont. Plainly it remembered who he was and where to find him." Maester Aemon would have grasped his purpose, Jon did not doubt; Sam Tarly would have been terrified, but he would have understood as well. "My lord father used to tell me that a man must know his enemies. We understand little of the wights and less about the Others. We need to learn."
Plus they'll come in handy when you need to convince every lord in the north and Vale there's an issue beyond the Wall.
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Septon Cellador sucked in his breath. "The king's prize. His Grace will be most wroth to find her gone."
[...]
"I sent her to find Tormund Giantsbane and bring him my offer."
"If we may know, what offer is this?"
"The same offer I made at Mole's Town. Food and shelter and peace, if he will join his strength to ours, fight our common enemy, help us hold the Wall."
Bowen Marsh did not appear surprised. "You mean to let him pass." His voice suggested he had known all along. "To open the gates for him and his followers. Hundreds, thousands."
"If he has that many left."
Septon Cellador made the sign of the star. Othell Yarwyck grunted. Bowen Marsh said, "Some might call this treason. These are wildlings. Savages, raiders, rapers, more beast than man."
Update: pomegranate is furious.
Tell them you sent Val because you didn't want to endanger another man from the Night's Watch. Tell them you'd rather risk wildlings. Play the game!
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"Tormund is none of those things," said Jon, "no more than Mance Rayder. But even if every word you said was true, they are still men, Bowen. Living men, human as you and me. Winter is coming, my lords, and when it does, we living men will need to stand together against the dead."
"Snow," screamed Lord Mormont's raven. "Snow, Snow."
Nobody prompted the raven to say snow. This is not Bloodraven!
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"Mother Mole?" said Bowen Marsh. "An unlikely name."
"Supposedly she made her home in a burrow beneath a hollow tree. Whatever the truth of that, she had a vision of a fleet of ships arriving to carry the free folk to safety across the narrow sea. Thousands of those who fled the battle were desperate enough to believe her. Mother Mole has led them all to Hardhome, there to pray and await salvation from across the sea."
See what happens when you trust the visions of a witch?
Ships will go to Hardhome because the wildlings went to Hardhome. They made the prophecy come true!
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He did. Hardhome had been halfway toward becoming a town, the only true town north of the Wall, until the night six hundred years ago when hell had swallowed it. Its people had been carried off into slavery or slaughtered for meat, depending on which version of the tale you believed, their homes and halls consumed in a conflagration that burned so hot that watchers on the Wall far to the south had thought the sun was rising in the north. Afterward ashes rained down on haunted forest and Shivering Sea alike for almost half a year. Traders reported finding only nightmarish devastation where Hardhome had stood, a landscape of charred trees and burned bones, waters choked with swollen corpses, blood-chilling shrieks echoing from the cave mouths that pocked the great cliff that loomed above the settlement.
Six centuries had come and gone since that night, but Hardhome was still shunned. The wild had reclaimed the site, Jon had been told, but rangers claimed that the overgrown ruins were haunted by ghouls and demons and burning ghosts with an unhealthy taste for blood.
Every single opinion I've read believes it was volcanic activity. The hot pools at Winterfell are used to support this idea.
Here's my question. If a volcano erupted, why did the land not change?
Six hundred years ago. . . people carried off into slavery. . . a town consumed by fire. . . ashes rained down. . . nightmarish devastation. . . haunted by ghouls and demons and burning ghosts with an unhealthy taste for blood.
To me that sounds like dragonriders from Valyria came for a visit.
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Septon Cellador pursed his lips. "Salvation can be found only through the Seven. This witch has doomed them all."
"And saved the Wall, mayhaps," said Bowen Marsh. "These are enemies we speak of. Let them pray amongst the ruins, and if their gods send ships to carry them off to a better world, well and good. In this world I have no food to feed them."
Jon flexed the fingers of his sword hand. "Cotter Pyke's galleys sail past Hardhome from time to time. He tells me there is no shelter there but the caves. The screaming caves, his men call them. Mother Mole and those who followed her will perish there, of cold and starvation. Hundreds of them. Thousands."
"Thousands of enemies. Thousands of wildlings."
Thousands of people, Jon thought. Men, women, children. Anger rose inside him, but when he spoke his voice was quiet and cold. "Are you so blind, or is it that you do not wish to see? What do you think will happen when all these enemies are dead?"
Above the door the raven muttered, "Dead, dead, dead."
Back to regular raven things.
King -> Kill -> Snow
Those were the words it spoke unprompted.
I don't agree with anything Bowen Marsh says, but I think it's fair to point out he's operating from a place of fear.
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"Let me tell you what will happen," Jon said. "The dead will rise again, in their hundreds and their thousands. They will rise as wights, with black hands and pale blue eyes, and they will come for us." He pushed himself to his feet, the fingers of his sword hand opening and closing. "You have my leave to go."
Septon Cellador rose grey-faced and sweating, Othell Yarwyck stiffly, Bowen Marsh tight-lipped and pale. "Thank you for your time, Lord Snow." They left without another word.
Update: pomegranate is enraged.
Final thoughts:
Can we hire this boy a public relations team.
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