A Game of Thrones 4-Book Bundle

all this. The question is, how do we fight them?”
    â€œThe armor of the Others is proof against most ordinary blades, if the tales can be believed,” said Sam, “and their own swords are so cold they shatter steel. Fire will dismay them, though, and they are vulnerable to obsidian.” He remembered the one he had faced in the haunted forest, and how it had seemed to melt away when he stabbed it with the dragonglass dagger Jon had made for him. “I found one account of the Long Night that spoke of the last hero slaying Others with a blade of dragonsteel. Supposedly they could not stand against it.”
    â€œDragonsteel?” Jon frowned. “
Valyrian
steel?”
    â€œThat was my first thought as well.”
    â€œSo if I can just convince the lords of the Seven Kingdoms to give us their Valyrian blades, all is saved? That won’t be hard.” His laugh had no mirth in it. “Did you find who the Others are, where they come from, what they want?”
    â€œNot yet, my lord, but it may be that I’ve just been reading the wrong books. There are hundreds I have not looked at yet. Give me more time and I will find whatever there is to be found.”
    â€œThere is no more time.” Jon sounded sad. “You need to get your things together, Sam. You’re going with Gilly.”
    â€œGoing?” For a moment Sam did not understand. “I’m going? To Eastwatch, my lord? Or . . . where am I . . .”
    â€œOldtown.”
    â€œOldtown?”
It came out in a squeak. Horn Hill was close to Oldtown.
Home.
The notion made him light-headed.
My father.
    â€œAemon as well.”
    â€œAemon?
Maester
Aemon? But . . . he’s one hundred and two years old, my lord, he can’t . . . you’re sending him
and
me? Who will tend the ravens? If they’re sick or wounded, who . . .”
    â€œClydas. He’s been with Aemon for years.”
    â€œClydas is only a steward, and his eyes are going bad. You need a
maester.
Maester Aemon is so frail, a sea voyage . . .” He thought of the Arbor and the
Arbor Queen,
and almost choked on his tongue. “It might . . . he’s old, and . . .”
    â€œHis life will be at risk. I am aware of that, Sam, but the risk is greater here. Stannis knows who Aemon is. If the red woman requires king’s blood for her spells . . .”
    â€œOh.” Sam paled.
    â€œDareon will join you at Eastwatch. My hope is that his songs will win some men for us in the south. The
Blackbird
will deliver you to Braavos. From there you’ll arrange your own passage to Oldtown. If you still mean to claim Gilly’s babe as your bastard, send her and the child on to Horn Hill. Elsewise, Aemon will find a servant’s place for her at the Citadel.”
    â€œMy b-b-bastard.” He had said that, yes, but . . .
All that water. I could drown. Ships sink all the time, and autumn is a stormy season.
Gilly would be with him, though, and the babe would grow up safe. “Yes, I . . . my mother and my sisters will help Gilly with the child.”
I can send a letter, I won’t need to go to Horn Hill myself.
“Dareon could see her to Oldtown just as well as me. I’m . . . I’ve been working at my archery every afternoon with Ulmer, as you commanded . . . well, except when I’m in the vaults, but you told me to find out about the Others. The longbow makes my shoulders ache and raises blisters on my fingers.” He showed Jon where one had burst. “I still do it, though. I can hit the target more often than not now, but I’m still the worst archer who ever bent a bow. I like Ulmer’s stories, though. Someone needs to write them down and put them in a book.”
    â€œYou do it. They have parchment and ink at the Citadel, as well as longbows. I will expect you to continue with your practice. Sam, the Night’s Watch has hundreds of men who can loose an arrow, but only a handful who can read or write. I need you to become my new maester.”
    The word made him flinch.
No, Father, please, I won’t speak of it again, I swear it by the Seven. Let me out, please let me out.
“My lord, I . . . my work is here, the books . . .”
    â€œ. . . will be here when you return to us.”
    Sam put a hand to his throat. He could almost feel the chain there, choking him. “My lord, the Citadel . . . they make you cut up corpses there.”
They make you wear a chain about your