𝐒𝐈𝐋𝐄𝐍𝐓 𝐁𝐎𝐘

ᴄʜᴀᴘᴛᴇʀ ᴛᴇɴ

𝟚

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Torsten woke to the sight of his own breath misting in the cold morning air. When he moved, his bones ached. Ghost was gone, the fire burnt out. Jon had awoken and was working at getting the crust of ice off his cloak. Torsten reached to pull aside the cloak he'd hung over the rock, and found it stiff and frozen. He crept beneath it and stood up in a forest turned to crystal.
The pale pink light of dawn sparkled on branch and leaf and stone. Every blade of grass was carved from emerald, every drip of water turned to diamond. Flowers and mushrooms alike wore coats of glass. Even the mud puddles had a bright brown sheen. Through the shimmering greenery, the black tents of his brothers were encased in a fine glaze of ice. Other men were crawling from their shelters, yawning and stretching. The magic was already faded, icy brightness turning back to common dew in the light of the rising sun. Someone had gotten a fire started, Torsten could smell wood smoke drifting through the trees, and the smoky scent of bacon. He took down his cloak and snapped it against the rock, shattering the thin crust of ice that had formed in the night, then gathered up his belongings. Jon was gathering up Longclaw and shrugged his arm through a shoulder strap.
A few yards away Torsten made water into a frozen bush, his piss steaming in the cold air and melting the ice wherever it fell. Afterward he laced up his black wool breeches and followed the smells.
Grenn and Dywen were among the brothers who gathered round the fire. Jon handed him a hollow heel of bread filled with burnt bacon and chunks of salt fish warmed in bacon grease. He wolfed it down while listening to Dywen boast of having three of Craster's women during the night. "You did not." Grenn argued. "I would have seen." Dywen whapped him up alongside his ear with the back of his hand.

"You? Seen? You're blind as Maester Aemon. You never even saw the bear." Said Dywen.

"What bear? Was there a bear?" Grenn gawked.

"There's always a bear." Declared Edd in his usual tone of gloomy resignation. "One killed my brother when I was young. Afterward it wore his teeth around its neck on a leather thong. And they were good teeth, too, better than mine. I've had nothing but trouble with my teeth."

"Did Sam sleep in the hall last night?" Jon asked him.

"I'd not call it sleeping. The ground was hard, the rushes ill smelling, and my brothers snore frightfully. Speak of bears if you will, none ever growled so fierce as Brown Bernarr. I was warm, though. Some dog crawled atop me during the night. My cloak was almost dry when one of them pissed in it. Or perhaps it was Brown Bernarr. Have you noticed that the rain stopped the instant I had a roof above me? It will start again now that I'm back out. Gods and dogs alike delight to piss on me." Edd grumbled.

"We'd best go see Mormont." Torsten said, pulling Jon to his feet. The rain might have stopped, but the compound was still a morass of shallow lakes and slippery mud. Black brothers were folding their tents, feeding their horses, and chewing on strips of salt beef. Jarman Buckwell's scouts were tightening the girths on their saddles before setting out.

"Torsten, Jon." Buckwell greeted them from horseback. "Keep a good edge on that bastard sword of yours, Snow. We'll be needing it soon enough."
Craster's hall was dim after daylight. Inside, the night's torches had burnt low, and it was hard to know that the sun had risen. Lord Mormont's raven was the first to spy the bastard boys enter. Three lazy flaps of its great black wings, and it perched atop Torsten's shoulder. It nipped at a strand of his hair while corning in his ear.

"Ignore that wretched beggar bird, Torsten, it's just had half my bacon." The Old Bear sat at Craster's board, breaking his fast with the other officers on fried bread, bacon, and sheepgut sausages. Craster's new axe was on the table, its gold inlay gleaming faintly in the torchlight. Its owner was sprawled unconscious in the sleeping loft above, but the women were all up, moving about and serving. "What sort of day do we have?" Mormont asked.

"Cold, but the rain has stopped." Torsten answered.

"Very good. See that my horse is saddled and ready. I mean for us to ride within the hour. Have you eaten? Craster serves plain fare, but filling." Torsten and Jon had decided long ago that they would not dare eat Craster's food. The two bastards shared a look before answering the Old Bear with a shake of their heads.

"Yes, my lord. We broke fast with the men." Torsten shooed the raven off his shoulder. The bird hopped back to Mormont's shoulder instead, where it promptly shat.

"You might have done that on Torsten instead of saving it for me." The Old Bear grumbled. The raven only quorked.

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