SPOILERI iz Plesa sa zmajevima

[Smell of Death]

Al' si ti aktivan,juce procitao knjigu i vec se bacio u raspravu o sledecoj .
Meni spojleri,uopsteno ne smetaju,ali kada ne znam kad ce knjiga,ne volim da citam spojlere,jer onda ne mogu da prestanem da se nerviram,ovako mogu da se pretvaram da knjiga ne postoji,niti ce postojati(kao da ce to da mi uspe ).

[sever]

ja kazem da sam je procitao 2005 ili 20006 ja bi se naj verovatnije ubio do sad od cekanja,ovako se nadam da ce knjiga uskoro.

[Smell of Death]

[Celegorm the Fair]

This morning at Technicon George read a Jon chapter. It was totally awesome. It covers the discussion between Sam and Jon from Jon's point of view. Here's what happens.

Jon is in his office/solar thing. He's reading a letter that Aemon wrote up and he is not very happy about it. It's for the Lannisters in Kings Landing, asking them to help the Watch. Jon thinks about how much he hates Lannisters. He sends for Gilley. She comes in and he tells her that she is going to have to switch the babies and leave. She obviously doesn't want to do this because she thinks that Melisandre will burn her baby instead. Jon explains that once they find out that the baby is not Mance's, Stannis won't let her burn an innocent. Giley is upset and cries, saying something along the lines that she and Sam saved the baby from the cold, how can she leave it? Jon is pretty much a hard ass and says 'you saved one baby from ice, now save another from fire.' He makes her stick her hand in the candle flame to sink in how much worse it would be to die by fire. She has no choice about it so she runs from the room.

Also, Jon keeps thinking "kill the boy' but we don't really know wtf he is talking about.

Then Sam comes in, and the scene plays out from Jon's point of view. Not that different from Feast but you can tell what he's thinking. He tells Sam that he's going to send Giant and Janos Slynt to different forts to fix them up and watch for wildings trying to climb the wall, since he has to seperate Janos from Aliser Thorne to keep trouble from happening. Sam reveals, incidentally, that Janos Slynth was originially given the command of the Gold Cloaks by Jon Arryn. Sam doesn't want to become a Maester because he's afraid of blood, etc etc. Jon tells him he has to go and thinks 'kill the boy, kill the boy for us both.' He also makes some angry comments about the Lannisters, about how Tommen and Bran fought together in the yard at Winterfell, how Bran won, but Bran is now dead and Tommen wears a crown nestled in his stupid yellow Lannister curls. Eventually Sam leaves, upset.

Jon also thinks about the letter of Aemon's that he had to sign and his conversations with the old man. Aemon had told him 'I'm going to tell you something that I told Egg when he was declared king. He was 33, a man grown, with kids of his own. But I told him in order to rule, he had to kill the boy inside him. Kill the boy and let the man be borne.' So now we know why Jon was thinking 'kill the boy' every time he had to be a hard ass.

He goes to bed and doesn't have any wolf dreams, but has a nightmare. Nothing really special, prophetic, or such like. The next morning he sees Sam, Aemon and Gilley off.

Jon goes out and walks the wall, talking to the Watchmen in person, visiting, hearing things face to face; he even chats with the King's men. (It's very Ned-like.) He hears from one Watchman that Stannis sent some knights south but no one knows why, and Jon thinks 'Stannis has his secrets, and i have mine.'

Then he meets with Giant, and gives him the command of one of the forts with 20 Watchmen and 10 King's men. He tells him about all the things he needs to do to repair the fort, that he will be getting a Maester and two ravens for emergencies. Giant rolls out.

Next Janos Slynt comes in. Jon tells him that he is getting the command of a fort, with 20 Watchmen and 10 King's men. Janos flips and is totally impertinant, calls Jon a boy, and says that he is not going. Jon says 'yes you are. be ready at first light.' Janos leaves, scoffing at Jon.

Next morning, Janos isn't in the yard ready to leave. Instead he is in the hall eating breakfast with Aliser Thorne and their cornies, laughing about the whole thing. The hall is full of men, Grenn, Pip, Donal, King's men, Thorne's supporters, etc.

Jon walks in with like 7 guys behind him. He says 'Lord Slynt, you are supposed to be preparing to leave.' Slynt's all 'whatever.' He and Thorne laugh. Jon says 'I'll give you one more chance.' Janos says some stupid ass shit about how he doesn't have to listen to a boy, that he has friends in King's Landing.

Jon gives the signal, but he knows he is making a gamble because so many watchmen supported Slynt and Thorne in the election. Two guys grab Slynt and pull him out of his chair. Everybody in the hall is like 'oh shit.' Thorne grasps his sword hilt, looks at Jon, and then removes his hand, slinking away from Slynt. Janos now realizes that he is in serious trouble. He is dragged from the hall into the yard. Slynt makes a big scene, yelling about his friends in Kings Landing. 'I was the Lord in Harrenhal' he cries. Stannis and his men come out to watch and so does pretty much everyone else at Castle Black.

Jon says, 'Take him to the wall.' He thinks, 'I could send him away somewhere else, but if I send him to east watch, he'll come back to cause trouble.'

'Take him to the wall,' Jon says, 'and hang him.'

Slynt freaks, yelling, struggling, kicking as they throw him into the cage and start lifting. 'I have friends, if Tywin Lannister were alive you would never...' His voice fades away as he is lifted to the top. The rope they found was a hundred feet long but the wall is seven hundred feet tall. They hear his neck crack as he hits the end of the rope.

Jon glances back at Stannis. Stannis nods, then turns and goes back inside.-Dzon 2

[Celegorm the Fair]

Asha is at Deepwood Motte with a force of about 200 men. At the beginning of the chapter, Asha receives a letter, sealed in pink, which includes a scrap of Theon’s flayed skin, which gets referred to as “a piece of Prince.”

As the chapter progresses, we gradually learn that Asha is newly wed. Apparently, after Asha fled the Kingsmoot, Nuncle Crowseye decided to marry her off to old Erik Anvilbreaker (who Asha had embarrassed at the moot). Word has it that there was an actual wedding performed, in which a seal stood in as proxy for the missing bride. wink.gif So now Asha has yet another reason to avoid the Iron Islands.

In the meantime, Asha is involved with Qarl the Maid, in what can only be described as a rather intense relationship. There is a vivid sex scene, which initially sounds like rape, but turns out to be consensual.

Tris Botley is also about, still mooning over Asha, and refusing the advances of other women. Tris asks Asha to consider going away somewhere with him. Apparently the Iron Men do not have a very secure position in the North at all. I believe they have lost Torrhen’s Square, MOAT CAILLIN among other problems. Asha obviously can’t go home, but also can’t hold the North forever. She could become a pirate or even a trader, but doesn’t seem to seriously consider either option.

During this conversation about her options, Asha comes to a revelation. According to the laws of the Iron Islands, since she failed at the Kingsmoot, Asha is apparently not allowed to try to dethrone Euron. It seems that you get one shot, and one shot only. However, there is precedence that if someone is not told about an impending Kingsmoot, and is therefore unable to make a claim, they can come back and potentially win the Seastone Chair.

We are told a story in which a King’s son is away raiding, misses the Kingsmoot, and loses his father’s throne to a relative. However, he comes back later and eventually ends up on the Seastone Chair, ruling successfully for 40 years. While she doesn’t say so in so many words, Asha obviously realizes that she needs Theon so he can make a claim, which he can do as he was not informed of the moot in which Euron won the crown.

Just as she comes to this realization, a force of five Northmen attempts to raid the castle to rescue Lady Glover. It soon becomes clear that a large force of Northmen is about to attack the castle. Lady Glover and the maester of the castle offer her surrender as an option. Asha could be traded for the Glover children currently being held for her by the Reader. She refuses, as she expects most of her men to be killed in the end, excepting the very few with high enough birth to be ransomed. Also, if she lets herself be traded back to the Iron Islands, she will end up facing her new husband and Euron.

The choice is therefore between trying to hold the castle (which she knows can be taken, as it has already fallen once to her own men) and running. Asha decides to run, to try to reach her four ships on the coast, hoping the Northmen haven’t already dealt with them.

As they flee, Asha hears trumpets. She thinks this is odd, as Northmen don’t usually use trumpets, but obviously has no chance to investigate. Her forces go out a back gate, into the night, with no torches to guide them in the woods, as torches would lead the attackers right to them. Eventually they have to stop, however, as they still don’t dare light torches, but can’t see to continue.

The northerners are able to find them and sneak up on them. They also had no torches, but they have the advantage of knowing the area. A long fight scene follows, which includes fighting by a naked Iron Island woman (who had been off having some fun in the woods when the attack happened).

On a more serious note, Asha is eventually backed against a tree by a large opponent. She takes a blow to the head just as the chapter ends. But she has heard the trumpets sounding again, and “dreams” of flames and stags. The implication is that a third force, belonging to Stannis, has arrived. part of the force(s) attacking are men belonging to Stannis. -Asa 1,mada je spoiler prilicno nejasan...Da li su gvozdeni izgubili Torenov Trg ili Kejlinov sanac,kome pripadaju severnjaci koji su zapoceli napad,da li su Remzijeve snage ucestvovale u napadu...

[Celegorm the Fair]

The rat squealed as he bit into it, squirming wildly in his hands. The belly was the softest part. He tore at the sweet meat, the warm blood running over his lips. It was so good that it brought tears to his eyes. His belly rumbled and he swallowed. By the third bite the rat had ceased to struggle, and he was feeling almost content.

Then he heard the sounds of voices outside the dungeon door.

At once he stilled, fearing even to chew. His mouth was full of blood and flesh and hair, but he dared not spit or swallow. He listened in terror to the scuff of boots and the clanking of iron keys. No, he thought, please gods, not now. It had taken him so long to catch the rat. If they catch me with it they will take it away, and then Lord Ramsay will hurt me.

He knew he ought to hide the rat, but he was so hungry. It had been two days since he had eaten, or maybe three. Down here in the dark it was hard to tell. Though his arms and legs were thin as reeds, his belly was swollen and hollow, and ached so much that he found himself remembering Lady Hornwood. After their wedding, Lord Ramsay had locked her away in a tower and starved her to death. In the end she had eaten her own fingers.

He crouched down in a corner of his cell, clutching his prize. Blood ran from the corners of his mouth as he tore at the rat with his teeth, trying to bolt down as much of the warm flesh as he could. The meat was stringy, but so rich he thought he might be sick. He chewed and swallowed, feeling the small bones crunch between his teeth.

The sounds were growing louder. Please gods, he isn’t coming for me. There were other cells, other prisoners. Sometimes he heard them screaming, even through the thick stone walls. The women always scream the loudest. He sucked at the raw meat and tried to spit out the leg bone, but it only dribbled over his lower lip and tangled in his beard. Go away, he prayed, go away, pass me by, please, please.

But the footsteps stopped just when they were loudest, and the keys clattered right outside the door. The rat fell from his fingers. His heels scrabbled at the straw as he tried to push himself into the corner.

The sound of the lock turning was the most terrible of all. When the light hit him full in the face, he let out a shriek.

“That’s not him,” said a boy’s voice. “Look at him. We’ve got the wrong cell.”

“Last cell on the left,” another boy replied. “This is the last cell on the left, isn’t it?”

“Aye.” A pause. “What’s he saying?”

“I don’t think he likes the light.”

“Would you, if you looked like that?” The boy hawked and spat. “And the stench of him. I’m like to choke.”

“He’s been eating rats,” said the second boy. “Look.”

The first boy laughed. “He has. That’s funny.”

I had to, he thought. The rats bit him when he slept, gnawing at his fingers and his toes, even at his face, so when he got his hands on one he did not hesitate. Eat or be eaten, those were the only choices. “I did it,” he mumbled, “I did, I did, I ate him, they do the same to me, please...”

The boys moved closer, the straw crunching softly under their feet. “Talk to me,” said one of them. He was the smaller of the two, a thin boy, but clever. “Tell me your name.”

My name. A scream caught in his throat. They had taught him his name, they had, but it had been so long that he’d forgotten. If I say it was wrong he’ll take another finger, or worse, he’ll... “Please,” he squeaked, his voice thin and weak. He sounded a hundred years old. Perhaps he was. How long have I been in here?

“Reek,” said the larger of the boys. “Your name is Reek. Remember?” He was the one with the torch. The smaller boy had the ring of iron keys.

Reek? Tears ran down his cheeks. “I remember. I do.” His mouth opened and closed. “My name is Reek. It rhymes with bleak.” In the dark he did not need a name, so it was easy to forget. Reek, Reek, my name is Reek. He had not been born with that name. In another life he had been someone else, but here and now, his name was Reek. He remembered.

He remembered the boys as well. They were clad in matching lambswool doublets, silver-grey with dark blue trim. Both were squires, both were eight, and both were Walder Frey. Big Walder and Little Walder, yes. Only the big one was Little, and the little one was Big, which amused the boys and confused the rest of the world. “I know you,” he whispered, through cracked lips. “I know your names.”

“You’re to come with us,” said Little Walder.

“His lordship has need of you,” said Big Walder.

Fear went through him like a knife. They are only children, he thought. Two boys of eight. He could overcome two boys of eight, surely. Even as weak as he was, he could take the torch, take the keys, take the dagger sheathed on Little Walder’s hip, escape. No, it is too easy. It is a trap. If I run, he will take another finger from me, he will take more of my teeth.

Serve and obey and remember who you are, and no more harm will come to you. He promised, his lordship promised. Even if he had wanted to resist, he did not have the strength. It had been scourged from him, starved from him, flayed from him. When Big Walder pulled him up and Little Walder waved the torch at him to herd him from the cell, he went along as docile as a dog. If he had a tail, he would have tucked it down between his legs.

Out in the yard, night was settling over the Dreadfort and a full moon was rising over the castle’s eastern walls. Its pale light cast the shadows of the tall triangular merlons across the frozen ground, a line of sharp black teeth. The air was cold and damp and full of half-forgotten smells. The world, Reek told himself, this is what the world smells like. He did not know how long he had been down there in the dungeons, but it had to have been half a year at least. What if it had been five years, or ten, or twenty? Would I even know? What if I went mad down there, and half my life is gone? But no, that was folly. The boys were still boys. If it had been ten years, they would have grown into men. He had to remember that. I must not let him drive me mad. He can take my fingers and my toes, he can put out my eyes and slice my ears off, but he cannot take my wits unless I let him.

Little Walder led the way with torch in hand. Reek followed meekly, with Big Walder just behind him. The dogs in the kennels barked as they went by. Wind swirled through the yard, cutting through the thin cloth of the filthy rags he wore and raising gooseprickles on his skin. The night air was cold and damp, but he saw no sign of snow, though surely winter was close at hand. Reek wondered if he would be alive to see the snows come. How many fingers will I have? How many toes? When he raised a hand, he was shocked to see how white it was, how fleshless. I have an old man’s hands. Could he have been wrong about the boys? What if they were not Little Walder and Big Walder after all, but the sons of the boys he’d known?

The great hall was dim and smoky. Rows of torches burned to the left and right, grasped by skeletal human hands jutting from the walls. High overhead were wooden rafters black from smoke, and a vaulted ceiling lost in shadow. The air was heavy with the smells of wine and ale and roasted meat. Reek’s stomach rumbled noisily at the scents, and his mouth began to water.

Little Walder pushed him stumbling past the long tables where the men of the garrison were eating. He could feel their eyes upon him. The best places, up near the dais, were occupied by Ramsay’s favorites. But there were strangers too, faces he did not know. Some wrinkled their noses as he passed, whilst others laughed at the sight of him.

At the high table the Bastard of Bolton sat in his lord father’s seat, drinking from his father’s cup. Two old men shared the high table with him, and Reek knew at a glance that both were lords. One was gaunt, with flinty eyes, a long white beard, and a face as hard as a winter frost. His jerkin was a ragged bearskin, worn and greasy. Underneath he wore a ringmail byrnie, even here at table. The second lord was thin as well, but twisted where the first was straight. One of his shoulders was much higher than the other, and he stooped over his trencher like a vulture over carrion. His eyes were grey and greedy, his teeth yellow, his forked beard a tangle of snow and silver. Only a few wisps of white hair still clung to his spotted skull, but the cloak he wore was soft and fine, grey wool trimmed with clack sable and fastened at the shoulder with a starburst wrought in beaten silver.

Ramsay was clad in black and pink; black boots, black belt and scabbard, black leather jerkin over a pink velvet doublet slashed with dark red satin. In his right ear gleamed a garnet cut in the shape of a drop of blood. Yet for all the splendor of his garb, he remained an ugly man, big-boned and slope-shouldered, with a fleshiness to him that suggested that in later life he would run to fat. His skin was pink and blotchy, his nose broad, his mouth small, his hair long and dark and dry. His lips were wide and meaty, but the thing men noticed first about him were his eyes. He had his lord father’s eyes; small, close-set, queerly pale. Ghost grey, some men called the shade, but in truth his eyes were all but colorless, like two chips of dirty ice.

At the sight of Reek, he smiled. “There he is. My sour old friend.” To the men beside him he said, “Reek has been with me since I was a boy. My lord father gave him to me, as a token of his love.”

The two lords exchanged a look. “I had heard your serving man was dead,” said the one with the stooped shoulder. “Slain by the Starks, they said.”

Lord Ramsay chuckled. “The ironmen will tell you that what is dead may never die, but rises again, harder and stronger. Like Reek. He smells of the grave, though, I grant you that.”

“He smells of nightsoil and stale vomit.” The stoop-shouldered old lord tossed aside the bone that he’d been gnawing on and wiped his fingers on the tablecloth. “Is there some reason you must needs inflict him upon us whilst we’re eating?”

The straight-backed old man in the mail byrnie studied Reek with flinty eyes. “Look again,” he urged the other lord. “His hair’s gone white and he is three stone thinner, but this is no serving man. Have you forgotten?”

The crookback lord looked again and gave a sudden snort. “Him? Can it be? Stark’s ward. Smiling, always smiling.”

“He smiles less often now,” Lord Ramsay confessed. “I may have broken some of his pretty white teeth.”

“You would have done better to slit his throat,” said the lord in mail. “A dog who turns against his master is fit for naught but skinning.”

“Oh, he’s been skinned, here and there,” said Ramsay.

“Yes, my lord. I was bad, my lord. Insolent and...” He licked his lip, trying to think of what else he had done. Serve and obey, he told himself, and he’ll let you live, and keep the parts that you still have. Serve and obey and remember your name. Reek, Reek, it rhymes with meek.

“There’s blood on your mouth,” Ramsay observed. “Have you been chewing on your fingers again, Reek?”

“No. No, my lord, I swear.” Reek had tried to bite his own ring finger off once, to stop it hurting after they had stripped the skin from it. Lord Ramsay would never simply cut off a man’s finger. He preferred to flay it, and let the exposed flesh dry and crack and fester. Reek had been whipped and racked and cut, but there was no pain half so excruciating as the pain that followed flaying. It was the sort of pain that drove men mad, and it could not be endured for long. Sooner or later the victim would scream, “Please, no more, stop it hurting, cut it off,” and Lord Ramsay would oblige. It was a game they played. Reek had learned the rules well, but the one time he had forgotten and tried to end the pain himself with his teeth, Ramsay had not been pleased, and the offense had cost Reek another toe. “I ate a rat,” he mumbled.

“A rat?” Ramsay’s pale eyes glittered in the torchlight. “All the rats in the Dreadfort belong to my lord father. How dare you make a meal of one without my leave?”

Reek did not know what to say, so he said nothing. One wrong word could cost him another toe, even a finger. Thus far he had lost two fingers off his left hand and the pinky off his right, but only the little toe off his right foot against three from his left. Sometimes Ramsay would make japes about balancing him out. He does not want to hurt me, he told me so, he only does it when I give him cause. His lord was merciful and kind. He might have flayed his face off for some of the things Reek had said, before he learned his true name and proper place.

Lord Ramsay filled his cup with ale. “Reek, I have glad tidings for you. I am to be wed. My lord father is bringing me a Stark girl. Lord Eddard’s daughter, Arya. You remember little Arya, don’t you?”

Arya Underfoot, he almost said. Arya Horseface. Robb’s younger sister, brown-haired, long-faced, skinny as a stick, always dirty. Sansa was the pretty one. He remembered a time when he had thought that Lord Eddard Stark might marry him to Sansa and claim him for a son, but that had only been a child’s fancy. Arya, though... “I remember her. Arya.”

“She shall be the Lady of Winterfell, and me her lord.”

She is only a girl. “Yes, my lord. Congratulations.”

“Will you attend me at my wedding, Reek?”

He hesitated. “If you wish it, my lord.”

“Oh, I do.”

He hesitated again, wondering if this was some cruel trap. “Yes, my lord. If it please you. I would be honored.”

“We must take you out of that vile dungeon, then. Scrub you pink again, get you some clean clothes, some food to eat. I have a little task for you, and you’ll need your strength back if you are to serve me. You do want to serve me, I know.”

“Yes, my lord. More than anything.” A shiver went through him. “I’m your Reek. Please let me serve you. Please.”

“Since you ask so nicely, how can I deny you?” Ramsay Bolton smiled. “I ride to war, Reek. And you will be coming with me, to help me fetch home my virgin bride.” Teon 1

[igoraki]

BRAN I

Are we there yet? Bran thinks, but dares not say. The group passes under more and more trees: oaks, pine, evergreens. Bran continues to sit in his basket atop Hodor, nearly hitting his head on the overhanging branches. How much further? Where is the three-eyed crow?

Hodor walks with one eye frozen shut. He holds the rusty old sword from Winterfell, slashing at tree branches that get in his way. He has snow up to his knees, and his beard is covered in ice.

Bran notices that it is different in the Haunted Forest. The group is not telling stories like they were south of the Wall. It is stillness here.

The elk is ahead of Bran, its antlers covered in ice. The ranger, pale, black and hands as hard as iron, sits atop the elk. The ranger wears ringmail, a black cloak, with a black woolen scarf hiding his face. Behind him, Meera holds Jojen, who is smaller and weaker, to keep him warm. Summer is at the back of the group, limping from the arrow wound he received at Queenscrown still. The wolf feels the bite of cold through his fur.

Bran has been slipping into Summer a lot, and Hodor too. Hodor is getting used to it because Hodor knows it is Bran. However, Bran is never comfortable in Hodor like he is in Summer. Bran feels Summer wondering if he could bring down the elk, he smells the warm blood of it, and salivates.

Ravens quork around them. By day, six stay with them, while the rest of the murder fly ahead and behind. They all come back at night. The ravens are the ranger's eyes and ears. The elk stops suddenly, and the ranger jumps off. "Behind us" he says.

"Wolves?" Bran knows that a pack of wolves are following them. They have been smelling how weak and hungry they are. Bran could hear them every night, getting closer; they were hunted.

"No," says the ranger. Men are following them. "I'll deal with them."

Meera wants to come with him, but no she must stay with Bran. "The boy must be protected," says the ranger, 'Coldhands.' He tells them to turn north at the lake, and go to a fishing village alongside it. Once there, they will wait for him.

Bran notices that Jojen is as lost and dependent as they are, he is not the little grandfather he was when they were south of the Wall.

The ranger leaves on foot. Meera asks, "Men? What men? Wildlings?" Coldhands does not respond.

The rest of the group continues on. They cross a river. Meera complains that it is the same river they've crossed four times already. Bran explains that rivers can snake around, so that it is possible. She continues to complain about the ranger: "He has too many secrets. Who is he? Anyone or anything can put on a black cloak. He doesn't eat. He doesn't sleep. He does not need heat." Bran remembers the group huddling together to get warm at night, but not the ranger.

Bran looks to see if the ravens are around, they are not, so he gains some courage to speak his mind. He makes the observation that the ranger's scarf does not get covered in ice, that he has no breath. Bran looks at the others and can see steam escaping from their mouths.

He then remembers Old Nan telling him stories of monsters North of the Wall, as she tucked him into bed at Winterfell. Bran notes that the ranger wears black like a man of the Night's Watch, but what if he was just a monster taking them to other monsters?

Meera continues: "Why must we go to the three-eyed crow? Why can't the three-eyed crow come to us? Can't he fly?" They walk over and along the frozen shore of a lake. The elk went where he would, keeping close to the trees. The elk shoulders through snowdrifts as tall as Bran. The wind cuts through their clothes, and blows snow into their eyes.

The sun begins to set. Dark comes early. Each day is shorter than the last, something Bran was getting used to. Meera worries: "We should have gotten to the village by now. We need to get there by dark." Hodor's strength is failing. Bran worries that someone as strong as Hodor is tiring. Bran suggests that Summer can find the village. He quickly slips inside his direwolf, and his senses immediately become more acute. He listens to the sounds of the forest, and smells the elk. Bran tells Summer that the elk is not prey, and to run. Summer runs ahead.

He goes past trees, up and down hills, sniffing and then howls. Eventually, he smells men smells. Ashes. A dead fire. "That way," says Bran. "Follow Summer."

The moon appears. Soon after, they find the fishing village. They almost walk right through it, because it is buried under snow. The other day, Jojen had mistaken a dead fall under the snow for a house. They had dug down, and found nothing.

A dozen huts are beneath the snow, and one long hall. The fishing village is similar to previous empty wildling villages. Bran thinks that maybe the wildlings left some food. It is wishful thinking, since all the villages are empty. Bran is optimistic that at least they have a roof. They all enter the long hall, and take shelter.

The elk breaks through a frozen stream to drink. Summer doesn't come into the hall, and goes off hunting. "Leave the elk alone," Bran warns.

They are all hungry and exhausted from travel. Jojen is getting weaker and weaker. Meera says "Jojen, you have to eat."
"Later, I am tired. Today is not the day I die. Crushed acorns? That will make me worse. Leave me." All the food they had brought from the south had been eaten ten days ago. Raw fish and acorns were all that was left to eat. It had been 3 days since Meera had caught a fish. She was usually numb with cold after hunting.

After their dinner of crushed acorns, Meera sharpens her dagger, while Hodor sits and mutters 'Hodor' by the door. "We dare not light a fire," Coldhands had warned. "The woods are not empty. We don't know what the fire will invite from the dark."

Out in the woods, Summer smells a kill. Bran slips inside. There is the smell of blood, but not elk, not deer. Something else. Summer goes searching for the scent. He loses it, finds it, and tracks it down eventually.

There is the sound of wolves, and the smell of piss and dead skins. He will need to fight for the meat. There are three wolves eating. There is a female chewing on a leg of boot with half a leg still in it. An old one-eyed male wolf and a young male are eating the entrails coming from an open belly. There are less than five dead men. Some have no heads. The wolves had torn them apart. Their eyes are also gone: pecked out.

Those who still had faces had thick beards with frozen ice in them. They all wore black. The black of the Night's Watch, Bran realizes. One of the men has an old stump instead of a hand.

The young male backs away from Summer; he is the tail. The old wolf challenges; he's the head. Their eyes meet. Warg. They fight. Slashing, rolling, fresh blood on both sides. The other 2 wolves circle. It is a long fight. The old wolf will not give up easily. Eventually, the old one-eyed wolf submits. Summer lifts his leg on him. The others submit. The pack was his. No, we have a pack elsewhere. Bran remembers his other pack: the Stark wolves.

Summer begins to eat the Night's Watch men. A guilty thought passes through his head, but he still eats their throats because he is hungry. Suddenly, he feels warmth on his skin... brightness. Bran wakes up. Meera has started a fire.

The ranger has returned, and he had found a sow. Meera is roasting it over a fire. Hodor is eating it happily, with juice running through his fingers. Jojen eats too, but with small nibbles. The ranger stands in the doorway, with a raven on his shoulder, watching. He fears the flames, Bran thinks.

"I thought we said no fire?" asks Bran. "The walls block it, and dawn is near," replies Coldhands.

"Who did you kill? Wildlings?" asks Bran. "Foes," says the ranger. "They were of the Night's Watch!" shouts Bran. "They were foes," responds Coldhands.

"They were your brothers. Your ravens pecked out their eyes." Bran lets loose his suspicions. "Why are your hands black?"

The ranger replies: "Once the heart stops, the blood congeals."

"Show us your face," Meera demands.

Bran: "He's dead, Meera. Monsters cannot pass the Wall! He had the fat boy Sam get us! He could not pass through the Wall!"

Meera demands: "Who sent you? Who is this three-eyed crow?"

"A wizard, the last green seer, whatever you want to call it."

The trees are full of ravens screaming outside. "He's a monster," says Bran.

Meera asks her brother, "Jojen, did you dream this? What do we do?"

Jojen replies, "Go with him. We've come too far to go back now. We cannot return to the Wall. We either go with a monster or we die."

[Daemon Blackfyre]

matoro

[Aducabar]

Evo nešto novo:
http://asoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/to ... -for-adwd/

[Maidros Visoki]

Kventin deluje kao fino vaspitan momcic. Mislim da ce biti skro zanimljiv lik. Mada su me oni suvoparni opisi Volantisa odusevili! Imaju kolica koje vuku mini slonovi. Kako je to dobro. I onaj detalj sa dva kpeca na kraju deluje jako intrigantno.

[Margiloth]

Užasno je dobro... i ovako prepričano pa je dobro, toliko dobro da me je navelo da se setim koliko mi nedostaje ovaj serijal. Maltene svaki drugi fantasy koji uzmem da čitam mi je glup i dosadan.

[Daemon Blackfyre]

meni je dosadno, jedino mi volantis deluje interesantno. verovatno jer su dosta skrto prepricali, jako malo detalja

[Margiloth]

Možda i jeste dosadno ako se uporedi sa e.g. Tirionovim, Džejmijevim i Džonovim poglavljima iz prve tri knjige, ali bre i ovo je bolje od svega ostalog u ponudi...

[Maidros Visoki]

Ovaj sto je prepricavao je neka budala. Ocekujem poglavlje puno dobrih opisa, Kventinovih razmisljanja, pa samim tim upozanavanja sa njim i jos sigurno nekih intrigantnih detalja koje je ova budala izostavila. Ono sa kepecima npr.

[Daemon Blackfyre]

kepeci su uvek in

kventin deluje kao debil iz ovog "sinopisa"