𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐁𝐎𝐘

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛᴡᴏ

𝟚

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The steep stone steps had Samwell puffing like a blacksmith's bellows by the time they reached the surface. They emerged into a brisk wind that made Torsten's cloak swirl and snap. Ghost was stretched out asleep beneath the wattle and daub wall of the granary, but he woke when Jon appeared across the yard from the boys. Bushy white tail held stiffly upright as he trotted to him. "You found the maps?" Jon asked when he met the boys half way.

"Aye." Torsten answered and Samwell nodded.
Torsten squinted up at the Wall. It loomed above them, an icy cliff seven hundred feet high. Sometimes it seemed to Torsten almost a living thing, with moods of its own. The color of the ice was to change with every shift of the light. Now it was a deep blue of frozen rivers, the dirty white of old snow, and when a cloud passed before the sun it darkened to the pale grey of pitted stone.
The morning sky was streaked by thin grey clouds, but the pale red line was there behind them. The black brothers had dubbed the wanderer Mormont's Touch saying, only half in jest, that the gods must have sent it to light the old man's way through the haunted forest.

"The comet's so bright you can see it by day now." Samwell said, shading his eyes with a fistful of books.

"Never mind about comets, it's maps the Old Bear wants." When they entered the solar, the raven spied them at once. The bird had shrieked the two bastard boy's names while Mormont broke off his conversation.

"Took you long enough with those maps." He pushed the remains of breakfast out of the way to make room on the table. "Put them here, I'll have a look at them later." Thoren Smallwood, a sinewy ranger with a weak chin and a weaker mouth hidden under a thin scraggle of beard, gave Torsten a cold look. He had been one of Alliser Thorne's henchmen, and had no love for him.

"The Lord Commander's place is at Castle Black, lordling and commanding." He told Mormont, ignoring the newcomers. "It seems to me." The raven flapped big black wings.

"If you are ever Lord Commander, you may do as you please." Mormont told the ranger. "But it seems to me that I have not died yet, nor have the brothers put you in my place."

"I'm First Ranger now, with Ben Stark lost and Ser Jaremy killed." Smallwood said stubbornly. "The command should be mine." Mormont would have none of it.

"I sent out Ben Stark, and Ser Waymar before him. I do not mean to send you after them and sit wondering how long I must wait before I give you up for lost as well." He pointed. "And Stark remains First Ranger until we know for a certainty that he is dead. Should that day come, it will be me who names his successor, not you. Now stop wasting my time. We ride at first light, or have you forgotten?" Smallwood pushed to his feet.

"As my Lord Commands." On the way out, he frowned towards the bastard boy, as if it were somehow his fault.

"First Ranger!" The Old Bear's eyes lighted on Samwell. "I'd sooner name you First Ranger. He has the effrontery to tell me to my face that I'm too old to ride with him. Do I look old to you, boy?" His shaggy grey beard covered much of his chest. He thumped it hard. "Do I look frail?" Samwell opened his mouth, gave a little squeak. The Old Bear terrified him.

"No, my Lord." Torsten offered quickly. "You look as strong as... as..." Torsten began, he felt Jon's elbow deep in his ribcage as his mind searched for the right word.

"Don't cozen me, boy, you know I won't have it. Let me have a look at these maps." Mormont pawed through them briskly, giving each no more than a glance and a grunt. "Was this all you could find?"

"I... my Lord." Samwell stammered. "There... there are more, but the disorder." He began.

"These are old." Mormont complained, and his raven echoed him with a sharp cry.

"The villages may come and go, but the hills and rivers will be in the same places." Torsten pointed out as his eyes searched the map from behind Mormont's shoulder.

"True enough. Have you chosen your ravens yet, Tarly?" Mormont asked not sparing the fat boy a glance.

"Maester Aemon means to pick them come evenfall, after the feeding." Samwell barely made out the words as he spoke.

"I'll have his best. Smart birds, and strong." Mormont informed. "If it happens that we're all butchered out there, I mean for my successor to know where and how we died." Talk of butchery reduced Samwell Tarly to speechlessness. Mormont leaned forward. "Tarly, when I was a lad half your age, my lady mother told me that if I stood about with my mouth open, a weasel was likely to mistake it for his lair and run down my throat. If you have something to say, say it. Otherwise, beware weasels." He waved a brisk dismissal. "Off with you, I'm too busy for folly. No doubt the Maester has some work you can do." Samwell swallowed, stepped back, and scurried out so quickly he almost tripped over the rushes.

"Is that boy a fool as he seems?" The Lord Commander asked when he'd gone. Mormont didn't wait for either bastard's to reply. Mormont gave a whistle, and the bird flew to him and settled on his arm. He offered the raven a handful of corn from his pocket.

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