A Feast for Dragons

painted
catamite
from the brothels of Oldtown.”
    And you are a drunk
. “What he was in Oldtown
is none of our concern. He’s quick to learn and very clever. The other recruits
started out despising him, but he won them over and made friends of them all.
He’s fearless in a fight and can even read and write after a fashion. He should
be capable of fetching me my meals and saddling my horse, don’t you think?”
    “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.”
    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.”
Finally the Lord Steward cleared
his throat. “Your lordship knows best, I am sure. 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.”
    Septon Cellador paled. “Seven save us.” Wine dribbled down
his chin in a red line. “Lord Commander, wights are monstrous, unnatural
creatures. Abominations before the eyes of the gods. You … you cannot
mean to try to
talk
with them?”
    “
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.”
    That answer did not please them. Septon Cellador fingered
the crystal that hung about his neck and said, “I think this most unwise, Lord
Snow. I shall pray to the Crone to lift her shining lamp and lead you down the
path of wisdom.”
    Jon Snow’s patience was exhausted. “We could all do with a
bit more wisdom, I am sure.”
You know nothing, Jon Snow
. “Now,
shall we speak of Val?”
    “It is true, then?” said Marsh. “You have released her.”
    “Beyond the Wall.”
    Septon Cellador sucked in his breath. “The king’s prize. His
Grace will be most wroth to find her gone.”
    “Val will return.”
Before Stannis, if the gods are
good
.
    “How can you know that?” demanded Bowen Marsh.
    “She said she would.”
    “And if she lied? If she meets with misadventure?”
    “Why, then, you may have a chance to choose a lord commander
more to your liking. Until such time, I fear you’ll still need to suffer me.”
Jon took a swallow of ale. “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.”
    “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