Jon

           "Sam?"Joncalledsoftly.

           Theairsmelledofpaperanddustandyears.Beforehim,tallwoodenshelvesroseupintodimness,crammedwithleather-boundbooksandbinsofancientscrolls.Afaintyellowglowfilteredthroughthestacksfromsomehiddenlamp.Jonblewoutthetaperhecarried,preferringnottoriskanopenflameamidstsomucholddrypaper.Insteadhefollowedthelight,wendinghiswaydownthenarrowaislesbeneathbarrel-vaultedceilings.Allinblack,hewasashadowamongshadows,darkofhair,longofface,greyofeye.Blackmoleskinglovescoveredhishands;therightbecauseitwasburned,theleftbecauseamanfelthalfafoolwearingonlyoneglove.

           SamwellTarlysathunchedoveratableinanichecarvedintothestoneofthewall.Theglowcamefromthelamphungoverhishead.HelookedupatthesoundofJon’ssteps.

           "Haveyoubeenhereallnight?"

           "HaveI?"Samlookedstartled.

           "Youdidn’tbreakyourfastwithus,andyourbedhadn’tbeensleptin."RastsuggestedthatmaybeSamhaddeserted,butJonneverbelievedit.Desertionrequireditsownsortofcourage,andSamhadlittleenoughofthat.

           "Isitmorning?Downherethere’snowaytoknow."

           "Sam,you’reasweetfool,"Jonsaid."You’llmissthatbedwhenwe’resleepingonthecoldhardground,Ipromiseyou."

           Samyawned."MaesterAemonsentmetofindmapsfortheLordCommander.

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