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"
Waits
,
"
the
raven
cried
.
"
Waits
.
"
Lord
Commander
Mormont
sighed
deep
in
his
chest
.
"
I
see
no
other
choice
,
"
he
conceded
,
"
but
if
you
do
not
return
.
.
.
"
"
Someone
will
come
down
out
of
the
Frostfangs
,
my
lord
,
"
the
ranger
said
.
"
If
us
,
all
well
and
good
.
If
not
,
it
will
be
Mance
Rayder
,
and
you
sit
square
in
his
path
.
He
cannot
march
south
and
leave
you
behind
,
to
follow
and
harry
his
rear
.
He
must
attack
.
This
is
a
strong
place
.
"
"
Not
that
strong
,
"
said
Mormont
.
"
Belike
we
shall
all
die
,
then
.
Our
dying
will
buy
time
for
our
brothers
on
the
Wall
.
Time
to
garrison
the
empty
castles
and
freeze
shut
the
gates
,
time
to
summon
lords
and
kings
to
their
aid
,
time
to
hone
their
axes
and
repair
their
catapults
.
Our
lives
will
be
coin
well
spent
.
"
"
Die
,
"
the
raven
muttered
,
pacing
along
Mormont
’
s
shoulders
.
"
Die
,
die
,
die
,
die
.
"
The
old
Bear
sat
slumped
and
silent
,
as
if
the
burden
of
speech
had
grown
too
heavy
for
him
to
bear
.
But
at
last
he
said
,
"
May
the
gods
forgive
me
.
Choose
your
men
.
"
Qhorin
Halfhand
turned
his
head
.
His
eyes
met
Jon
’
s
,
and
held
them
for
a
long
moment
.
"
Very
well
.
I
choose
Jon
Snow
.
"
Mormont
blinked
.
"
He
is
hardly
more
than
a
boy
.
And
my
steward
besides
.
Not
even
a
ranger
.
"
"
Tollett
can
care
for
you
as
well
,
my
lord
"
Qhorin
lifted
his
maimed
,
two
-
fingered
hand
.
"
The
old
gods
are
still
strong
beyond
the
Wall
.
The
gods
of
the
First
Men
.
.
.
and
the
Starks
.
"
