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"
You
have
a
chill
?
"
Royce
asked
.
"
Some
,
"
Will
muttered
.
"
The
wind
,
m
'
lord
.
"
The
young
knight
turned
back
to
his
grizzled
man-at-arms
.
Frostfallen
leaves
whispered
past
them
,
and
Royce
's
destrier
moved
restlessly
.
"
What
do
you
think
might
have
killed
these
men
,
Gared
?
"
Ser
Waymar
asked
casually
.
He
adjusted
the
drape
of
his
long
sable
cloak
.
"
It
was
the
cold
,
"
Gared
said
with
iron
certainty
.
"
I
saw
men
freeze
last
winter
,
and
the
one
before
,
when
I
was
half
a
boy
.
Everyone
talks
about
snows
forty
foot
deep
,
and
how
the
ice
wind
comes
howling
out
of
the
north
,
but
the
real
enemy
is
the
cold
.
It
steals
up
on
you
quieter
than
Will
,
and
at
first
you
shiver
and
your
teeth
chatter
and
you
stamp
your
feet
and
dream
of
mulled
wine
and
nice
hot
fires
.
It
burns
,
it
does
.
Nothing
burns
like
the
cold
.
But
only
for
a
while
.
Then
it
gets
inside
you
and
starts
to
fill
you
up
,
and
after
a
while
you
do
n't
have
the
strength
to
fight
it
.
It
's
easier
just
to
sit
down
or
go
to
sleep
.
They
say
you
do
n't
feel
any
pain
toward
the
end
.
First
you
go
weak
and
drowsy
,
and
everything
starts
to
fade
,
and
then
it
's
like
sinking
into
a
sea
of
warm
milk
.
Peaceful
,
like
.
"
"
Such
eloquence
,
Gared
,
"
Ser
Waymar
observed
.
"
I
never
suspected
you
had
it
in
you
.
"
"
I
've
had
the
cold
in
me
too
,
lordling
.
"
Gared
pulled
back
his
hood
,
giving
Ser
Waymar
a
good
long
look
at
the
stumps
where
his
ears
had
been
.
"
Two
ears
,
three
toes
,
and
the
little
finger
off
my
left
hand
.
I
got
off
light
.
We
found
my
brother
frozen
at
his
watch
,
with
a
smile
on
his
face
.
"
Ser
Waymar
shrugged
.
"
You
ought
dress
more
warmly
,
Gared
.
"
Gared
glared
at
the
lordling
,
the
scars
around
his
ear
holes
flushed
red
with
anger
where
Maester
Aemon
had
cut
the
ears
away
.
"
We
'll
see
how
warm
you
can
dress
when
the
winter
comes
.
"
He
pulled
up
his
hood
and
hunched
over
his
garron
,
silent
and
sullen
.
"
If
Gared
said
it
was
the
cold
...
"
Will
began
.
