【读你所爱，呵护你的心灵；掌握英语，打开你的第三只眼】
【“我本来想让他留在我身边的，”Stark夫人轻轻地说道。
......
“我于是为此去做祷告，”她声音麻木地继续说，“他是我最特别的一个孩子。我于是就去到了庙里，向七面之神祈祷了七次；我希望Ned会改变主意，把他留在我的身边的。有时候，祷告会灵验的。”
Jon不知道该说什么好。在一阵尴尬的沉默后，他终于说道，“这不是你的错”。
她的眼睛终于与Jon的目光相对，那是一双充满了恶毒的眼睛，“我不需要你来饶恕我，杂种。”
……
“摔下去的人应该是你才对。”Stark夫人对Jon说。然后她转向Bran开始痛哭起来，她的整个身体都随着她的抽泣而颤抖着。Jon以前从没有见她哭泣过。
走回庭院的道路是如此漫长。】
【“I wanted him to stay here with me,” Lady Stark said softly.
……
“I prayed for it,” she said dully. “He was my special boy. I went to the sept and prayed seven times to the seven faces of god that Ned would change his mind and leave him here with me. Sometimes prayers are answered.”
Jon did not know what to say. “It wasn’t your fault,” he managed after an awkward silence.
Her eyes found him. They were full of poison. “I need none of your absolution, bastard.”
……
“It should have been you,” she told him. Then she turned back to Bran and began to weep, her whole body shaking with the sobs. Jon had never seen her cry before.
It was a long walk down to the yard. 】
【我为什么不翻译英语中的人名和地名】
有朋友问我，为什么你在中文翻译里不翻译人名和地名呢。这是一个好问题。首先，我的译文是为了辅助读者阅读英语原文的，学习英语原文是你阅读的重点。其次，学习英语的人多数都知道，在英语听力练习中，一个难以克服的听力挑战就是听清人名与地名。大家知道为什么吗？
这个挑战其实代表的是我们在外语学习中的一个固有模式，那就是我们试图将听到的表音的英语单词翻译成我们已知的中文含义，或是找到对应的中文词汇。一旦我们听到的是没有具体含义（或是没有对应中文词组，或是不熟悉）的人名和地名的发音时，我们的反应就是听不懂。 虽说中文里已经把许多的英语人名和地名翻译成了中文，但是英语里有太多的不属于英美国家的人名和地名。这些词汇加起来，足以让我们以为我们英语不好。
用中文对英语的人名与地名进行翻译的一个缺陷在于，中文文字不是对声音的记录（比如，中文不记录地方话的发音），因此只能以现有的中文文字去近似配比英语发音。如果这种近似性与原始发音差距很大的话，你就很可能是知道中文翻译也听不懂英文。比如，我喜欢古希腊罗马历史，所以我曾有一段时间听古希腊罗马历史的英语音频节目。我最大的障碍就是听到的大多数古代名人的英语名字和我所知道的中文翻译对不上，更不要说地名了。直到读了原文，才知道，原来Socrates 应该念【ˈsɔkrəti:z】,而不是念苏格拉底，Plato 应该念【ˈpleɪtəʊ】，而不是柏拉图；Octavia 应该念【ɔk'teiviə】,而不念屋大维。我听说目前许多国内专家都在呼吁规范外国名称的中文译法，其实真正的规范是：应该在所有的中文译名后必须附上名称的原文（至少是英文）才对。比如，我曾在英文中看见一个叫Von Karl Marx的名字，这个名字与我所知道的卡尔-马克思很相似，但前面多了一个Von。我于是遍查中文资料，想知道这个人是不是我们的卡尔马克思，结果发现连我们的百科全书上的马克思都只有中文名。（注，后来查英文资料才知道，这个叫Von的人不是我们的马克思。）
还有一种对英语人名或地名的中文译法是意译法。这种意译法看起来很美，只不过对英语听力伤害极大，因为你一旦开始翻译一个地名，你是一定会晕菜的。也许一些英语名称的组成部分有其含义，但当它们成为人名或地名时，它们已经失去了原有意义而只是一个声音名字了。比如，英语里从来没有叫“牛津”或是“剑桥”的地方，只有叫“Oxford”和“Cambridge”的地方。有人也许不赞同我的观点，我反过来说一下，当你用英语表达中文地名时，要知道，中文里从来没有叫“Western Peace”（西安）的城市，只有一个叫“Xi’An”的城市。
我会在下一节介绍如何识别并拼读英语中的人名和地名。
【本节导读】
美剧《权力的游戏》和许多著名美剧一样，它们主要是一场视觉的盛宴。这种视觉盛宴能够带给许多观看者全新的感官体验，但是对于喜欢思考的人来说，其中总有一些看不懂的地方。只有很少一部分美剧，他们的原著文学作品（有些美剧甚至是没有文学原著的，可能只是漫画）同时也是一场心灵的盛宴。冰与火之歌即是如此。这也是为什么如果你读了冰与火之歌以后，才会发现，其实视觉盛宴对你的触动，远不如心灵盛宴对你的触动大。
比如，作者George Martin在这一章的细腻笔触是很难用视觉展现出来的，因为它是一节触动你心灵的描写。
这一节里以告别为背景，分别叙述了Jon与Bran/Stark夫人的告别，与哥哥Robb的告别，以及与妹妹Arya的告别，每一种告别都会唤醒我们不一样的情感。
我们还能在Stark夫人（Catelyn）身上看到两种截然不同的情感的完美结合，一种是母亲对孩子那种舍身呵护的爱，一种是她对Jon那种完全是“充满了毒药”一般的仇恨。
有谁知道Stark夫人的这种仇恨来自于何处？如果你能找到仇恨的根源，你也许会发现，它的源头其实和“爱”也有千丝万缕的关系。
有谁知道这个仇恨的源头来自何处？请告诉我。
【刘博士中文译文】
冰与火之歌系列
第一部：权力的游戏——Jon
Jon慢腾腾地走上台阶，他努力不去想，这也许是他和Bran的最后一次见面了。他的狼崽子Ghost一声不吭地跟在他的身边。城堡的外面，雪花飞舞着从门口飘进来；城堡外的院子里是一片嘈杂声，但在城堡那厚厚的石墙里面，依旧是一片温暖而宁静。也许是过于安静了，反倒让Jon觉得害怕。
他走上了楼梯口，又在门外站了许久，他的心中忐忑不安。Ghost用鼻子蹭着他的手。这让他终于鼓起了勇气。他挺直了身子，走进屋子。
Stark夫人依旧坐在Bran的床边。她不分昼夜地守在Bran躺着的屋里，已经有近两个星期了。她一刻也没有离开过Bran的身边。她让人把她的每顿饭都送进来，还在屋里放了一张简易硬床，以及一个夜壶。不过听人说，她几乎就没有合过眼。她亲自喂Bran吃的，那是掺了水的蜂蜜和草药，这样Bran才得以维持他的生命。她一次也没有离开过房间。所以，Jon在这段时间里也一直躲得远远的。
但是现在已经没有时间了。
Jon在门口又站了一会儿，他不敢说话，也不敢再靠近。屋子的窗户是开着的。窗户下面，一只狼在嚎叫。Ghost听到了叫声，它抬起了头。
Stark夫人转过头来。有那么一阵子她似乎已经不认识Jon了。终于，她的眼睛眨动了一下。 “你来这里干什么？” 她的问话单调而不带一丝情感，听起来怪怪的。
“我是来看望Bran的，”Jon说，“给他道别。”
Stark夫人的表情依旧没有变化。她那长长的红褐色头发凌乱而暗淡无光。她看上去好像突然老了二十多岁。“你已经说完了，现在出去。”
Jon的心中有那么一丝想要逃走的成分，但他知道，如果他离开，他也许再也见不到Bran了。他紧张地又往房间里走了一步。“求你了，”他说道。
Stark夫人的眼中闪过一丝冷意。“我给你说过了，出去。”她说，“我们不希望你留在这里。”
要是换做往常，这话早就让Jon跑得远远的了；在往常，他甚至还可能为此大哭一场。而现在，这话只是让他感到更加愤怒。过不了多久，他就会成为黑夜守护营的盟誓兄弟了，他会面临比Catelyn Tully Stark还要可怕的危险。“他是我的弟弟，”Jon说。
“你想让我叫卫兵吗？”
“那你就叫吧，”Jon说，他这次没有胆怯。“你阻止不了我看我弟弟。”他径自走进房间，走到了床的另外一边，低头看着躺在床上的Bran。
Stark夫人正握着Bran的一只手，那只手看起来像一只爪子一般。现在的Bran已经不再是Jon记得的模样了。他身上瘦得已经没有一点肉了，他的皮肤就像是紧绷在一堆棍子上一般。在毯子底下，Bran的双腿那弯曲的形状让Jon感到一阵恶心。他那双眼睛现在深陷在他的黑眼窝里，眼睛是睁着的，却什么也看不见。这次Bran跌下来，似乎把他给缩小了一般。他现在看起来就像是一片只剩了一半的树叶，仿佛只要一阵寒风吹来，就会立刻把他带进坟墓。
然而，就在他那破碎的肋骨下那脆弱的胸腔里，他的胸膛依旧随着他每次浅浅的呼吸而起伏着。
“Bran，”Jon说道，“对不起，我没能早点来看你，我很害怕。”Jon可以感到自己的眼泪正顺着双颊流下来，可他已经不在乎了。“不要死，Bran。求你了。我们都等着你醒过来呢。我、Robb还有妹妹们，大家都……”
Stark夫人就这样看着Jon。她并没有大声叫卫兵。Jon觉得这代表着她已经接受了自己。窗外，那只巨狼又一次嚎叫起来。Bran甚至还没来得及给他的狼起名字。
“现在我得走了，”Jon又说道，“Benjen叔叔还在等我呢。我就要去北方的长墙了。我们今天就走，我们得赶在下雪以前出发。”Jon还记得，Bran曾对这场即将到来的旅行是多么期盼。一想到自己在Bran这种情况下却要离开他，Jon的心情沉重无比。他擦去自己的眼泪，弯下身，轻轻地在他弟弟的嘴唇上亲了一下。
“我本来想让他留在我身边的，”Stark夫人轻轻地说道。
Jon看着夫人，不知所措。Stark夫人的眼睛并没有看着他，但她的确是在跟Jon说话，只是在她的内心深处，就好像Jon根本没有在房间里一样。
“我于是为此去做祷告，”她声音麻木地继续说，“他是我最特别的一个孩子。我于是就去到了庙里，向七面之神祈祷了七次；我希望Ned会改变主意，把他留在我的身边的。有时候，祷告会灵验的。”
Jon不知道该说什么好。在一阵尴尬的沉默后，他终于说道，“这不是你的错”。
她的眼睛终于与Jon的目光相对，那是一双充满了恶毒的眼睛，“我不需要你来饶恕我，杂种。”
Jon垂下了眼睛。Stark夫人的双手正握着Bran的一只手。Jon于是拿起了Bran的另一只手。他握了一下。Bran的手指纤细地像鸟骨头一般。“再见，”Jon最后说道。
Jon 刚刚走到门口， Stark夫人叫住了他。“Jon，”她叫道。Jon本想继续走出屋子的，可是Stark夫人以前从未叫过他的名字。Jon转过身，Stark夫人看着Jon的脸，仿佛这是她头一次看见Jon一样。
“什么事？”Jon问道。
“摔下去的人应该是你才对。”Stark夫人对Jon说。然后她转向Bran开始痛哭起来，她的整个身体都随着她的抽泣而颤抖着。Jon以前从没有见她哭泣过。
走回庭院的道路是如此漫长。
城门外一片嘈杂混乱。人们在给货运马车装载货物，有人在大声叫嚷着，马夫在给马套上马鞍和马具，把马从马厩里牵出来。天空中开始飘起了小雪，人们急不可耐地想要出发了。
Robb正站在人群中间，大声叫喊着给一些人下着命令。这一段时间，他似乎长大了许多，仿佛Bran的不幸遭遇以及他母亲的崩溃一下子使他强壮了起来。他的狼崽子灰风（Grey Wind）跟在他身边。
“Benjen叔叔正在找你呢，”他对Jon说道，“他可是一小时前就想出发了。”
“我知道，”Jon说。“我很快就去。”他环顾着纷乱嘈杂的四周，“我没想到告别会这么难。”
“我也一样，”Robb回答。雪落在他的头发上，又很快被他身体的热量融化。“你见到他了？”
Jon点了点头，却不知道该说什么。
“他不会死的，”Robb说，“我知道的。”
“你们Stark家里的人命是很倔的，”Jon附和道。他的声音单调而略显疲惫。这场告别使他筋疲力尽。
Robb看出来他有点不对劲，“是我妈妈…”
“她……她对我很好，”Jon回答道。
Robb松了一口气,“那就好。”他又笑了起来，“下次我见到你的时候，你就已经是一身黑衣的黑夜守护营的人啦。”
Jon强迫自己露出笑容。“黑色一直是我最喜欢的颜色。你觉得要过多久我们才会再见面？”
“很快的，”Robb向他保证道。他把Jon拉到自己的跟前，紧紧地拥抱了他一下，“再见，Snow。”
Jon也还了他一个拥抱。“再见，Stark。照顾好Bran。”
“我会的。”他们彼此分开来，略带尴尬地相互看着。最后，Robb说道，“Benjen叔叔说，要是我见到你的话，就让你去马厩里找他。”
“我还有一个人要去告别，”Jon对他说。
“那我就当没见到你。”Robb回答到。Jon离开了Robb，Robb继续站在雪地里发号施令，他周围到处是马车、狼、还有战马。从这里到军械库只有一小段路。Jon在军械库取了他的包裹，然后穿过廊桥走到了大城堡。
Arya还在她的房间里，她正在往一个比她还要高大的油亮的铁木箱子里装她的行李。她的狼崽子Nymeria也在帮忙。Arya只需用手一指，狼崽子就会蹦蹦跳跳地跑过去，用嘴巴叼起她的某一件丝绸衣物，把它递给Arya。但是当Nymeria闻到了Ghost的气味时，她坐了下来，朝着Ghost和Jon叫了几声。
Arya瞥了一眼Nymeria的身后，当她看见Jon的时候，她一下子就跳了起来。她用她那细细的胳膊紧紧地搂着Jon的脖子。“我好担心你已经走了，”她说，她的喉咙里像是被什么卡住了一样喘不过气来。“他们不让我出去给你告别。”
“你又做什么坏事啦？”Jon被Arya给逗笑了。
Arya从拥抱中挣脱出来，做了个鬼脸。“我什么坏事也没做。我本来都已经装好箱子了，所有东西都装好了。”她指了指那只巨大的箱子，里面现在只装了不到三分之一的行李，她又指了指屋子里散落一地的衣服。“可Mordane老师说，我得重新收拾行李。她说我的东西都没有好好地叠起来。说什么南方的大家闺秀才不会把衣服像破布一样随便扔进箱子里的。”
“你就是这么干的，对吗，我亲爱的妹妹？”
“额，反正它们迟早还会被弄乱的，”她说。“谁会在意它们是怎么叠的呀？”
“Mordane老师会在意的，”Jon说到，“而且我猜呀，她肯定也不喜欢你让Nymeria来帮忙的。”那只母狼崽子用她那黑金色的眼睛默默地看了Jon一眼。“随你的便吧。我带了一件东西给你；因为你路上得带着它，所以你得把它小心地包起来，别让人看见。”
Arya的脸上露出了灿烂的笑容，“一件礼物？”
“你可以这么说，把门关上。”
Arya既好奇又兴奋，她先查看了一遍外面的大厅。“Nymeria，到这里来，站岗。”她让狼崽子留在门外，一有人来就警告他们，然后她关上了门。这时候，Jon已经解开了包裹外面的缠布。他把东西递给Arya。
Arya的眼睛睁得老大。那是一双黑色的眼睛，和Jon的眼睛颜色一样。“一把剑。”Arya屏住呼吸，轻声说道。
剑鞘是用柔软的灰色皮革做的，轻巧无比。Jon慢慢地抽出刀刃，Arya可以看见那精钢上的深蓝色光晕。“这可不是玩具，”Jon对Arya说。“你要小心，千万别伤着你自己。这剑刃可锋利了，都可以用来刮胡子。”
“女孩子是不刮胡子的，”Arya说。
“也许她们应该刮一下的。你有没有看见过Mordane老师的小腿？”
Arya咯咯地笑了起来，“她的腿可瘦了。”
“你也很瘦的，”Jon告诉她，“我是让Mikken专门打造的这把剑。在Pentos城、Myr城和其他的自由城里，剑客们都用的是像这样的剑。它并不能把人头给砍下来，不过如果你的剑法足够快的话，你可以把那人身上捅得满是窟窿。”
“我可以做到很快的，”Arya说。
“你得要天天练习才行。”Jon把剑放到Arya的手中，教她如何握住剑，然后Jon往后退了一步，“你握着它感觉怎么样？你觉得轻重适合你吗？”
“我觉得合适，”Arya说。
“先上第一堂课，”Jon说, “要用剑尖来制敌。”
Arya用剑从一面在Jon的手臂上猛拍了一下。这一击还是很疼的，可是Jon的脸上却笑得像个傻瓜一样。“我当然知道要用剑的哪一头啦，”Arya说。可是，她的脸上又掠过一丝迟疑的神色。
“Mordane老师会把我的剑给收走的。”
Jon说：“如果她不知道你有这把剑的话，她就不会了。”
“可我又能跟谁练剑呢？”
“你会找到人的，”Jon向她保证。“王城是一座真正的大城市，它可比Winterfell城要大一千倍呢。在你找到一个练剑对手之前，先在院子里观察其他人都是怎么用剑的。你还要练跑步，骑马，把身体练得棒棒的。而且不管你做什么……”
Arya知道他下面要说什么了。他们异口同声地说道：
“不要——告诉——Sansa！”
Jon又把Arya的头发弄乱，“我会想你的，妹妹。”
突然间，Arya看上去似乎就要哭了，“我好希望你能和我们一起去南方。”
“条条大路通城堡，谁知道以后会怎样呢？”Jon现在的情绪已经好多了。他再也不会再让自己伤心难过。“我得走了。我要是再让Benjen叔叔等下去的话，我估计我在长墙上的第一年里，就得天天给人倒尿壶啦。”
Arya跑上前去，给他最后一个拥抱。“你先把剑放下，”Jon笑着警告她。Arya略带羞愧地把剑放在一边，然后在他的脸上亲吻告别。
当Jon走到门口的时候，他又转过身来，看见Arya又拿起了那把剑，在试她的手感。“我差点就忘了，”Jon对Arya说。“所有的好剑都是有名字的。”
“就像寒冰剑一样，”Arya说。她看着自己手中的剑。“这把剑有名字吗？oh，告诉我嘛。”
“你猜猜看，”Jon逗她说，“是你最喜欢的东西。”
Arya一开始迷惑不解。接着她就想起来了。她的反应就是那么快。他们又异口同声地说道：
“针！”
Arya的笑声留在了Jon的记忆中，在他骑马去往北方的漫长旅途中，这笑声一路温暖着他。
【英语原文】
A Song of Ice and Fire
Book One: Game of Thrones
Jon
Jon climbed the steps slowly, trying not to think that this might be the last time ever. Ghost padded silently beside him. Outside, snow swirled through the castle gates, and the yard was all noise and chaos, but inside the thick stone walls it was still warm and quiet. Too quiet for Jon’s liking.
He reached the landing and stood for a long moment, afraid. Ghost nuzzled at his hand. He took courage from that. He straightened, and entered the room.
Lady Stark was there beside his bed. She had been there, day and night, for close on a fortnight. Not for a moment had she left Bran’s side. She had her meals brought to her there, and chamber pots as well, and a small hard bed to sleep on, though it was said she had scarcely slept at all. She fed him herself, the honey and water and herb mixture that sustained life. Not once did she leave the room. So Jon had stayed away.
But now there was no more time.
He stood in the door for a moment, afraid to speak, afraid to come closer. The window was open. Below, a wolf howled. Ghost heard and lifted his head.
Lady Stark looked over. For a moment she did not seem to recognize him. Finally she blinked. “What are you doing here?” she asked in a voice strangely flat and emotionless.
“I came to see Bran,” Jon said. “To say good-bye.”
Her face did not change. Her long auburn hair was dull and tangled. She looked as though she had aged twenty years. “You’ve said it. Now go away.”
Part of him wanted only to flee, but he knew that if he did he might never see Bran again. He took a nervous step into the room. “Please,” he said.
Something cold moved in her eyes. “I told you to leave,” she said. “We don’t want you here.”
Once that would have sent him running. Once that might even have made him cry. Now it only made him angry. He would be a Sworn Brother of the Night’s Watch soon, and face worse dangers than Catelyn Tully Stark. “He’s my brother,” he said.
“Shall I call the guards?”
“Call them,” Jon said, defiant. “You can’t stop me from seeing him.” He crossed the room, keeping the bed between them, and looked down on Bran where he lay.
She was holding one of his hands. It looked like a claw. This was not the Bran he remembered. The flesh had all gone from him. His skin stretched tight over bones like sticks. Under the blanket, his legs bent in ways that made Jon sick. His eyes were sunken deep into black pits; open, but they saw nothing. The fall had shrunken him somehow. He looked half a leaf, as if the first strong wind would carry him off to his grave.
Yet under the frail cage of those shattered ribs, his chest rose and fell with each shallow breath.
“Bran,” he said, “I’m sorry I didn’t come before. I was afraid.” He could feel the tears rolling down his cheeks. Jon no longer cared. “Don’t die, Bran. Please. We’re all waiting for you to wake up. Me and Robb and the girls, everyone . . .”
Lady Stark was watching. She had not raised a cry. Jon took that for acceptance. Outside the window, the direwolf howled again. The wolf that Bran had not had time to name.
“I have to go now,” Jon said. “Uncle Benjen is waiting. I’m to go north to the Wall. We have to leave today, before the snows come.” He remembered how excited Bran had been at the prospect of the journey. It was more than he could bear, the thought of leaving him behind like this. Jon brushed away his tears, leaned over, and kissed his brother lightly on the lips.
“I wanted him to stay here with me,” Lady Stark said softly.
Jon watched her, wary. She was not even looking at him. She was talking to him, but for a part of her, it was as though he were not even in the room.
“I prayed for it,” she said dully. “He was my special boy. I went to the sept and prayed seven times to the seven faces of god that Ned would change his mind and leave him here with me. Sometimes prayers are answered.”
Jon did not know what to say. “It wasn’t your fault,” he managed after an awkward silence. Her eyes found him. They were full of poison. “I need none of your absolution, bastard.”
Jon lowered his eyes. She was cradling one of Bran’s hands. He took the other, squeezed it. Fingers like the bones of birds. “Good-bye,” he said.
He was at the door when she called out to him. “Jon,” she said. He should have kept going, but she had never called him by his name before. He turned to find her looking at his face, as if she were seeing it for the first time.
“Yes?” he said.
“It should have been you,” she told him. Then she turned back to Bran and began to weep, her whole body shaking with the sobs. Jon had never seen her cry before.
It was a long walk down to the yard.
Outside, everything was noise and confusion. Wagons were being loaded, men were shouting, horses were being harnessed and saddled and led from the stables. A light snow had begun to fall, and everyone was in an uproar to be off.
Robb was in the middle of it, shouting commands with the best of them. He seemed to have grown of late, as if Bran’s fall and his mother’s collapse had somehow made him stronger. Grey Wind was at his side.
“Uncle Benjen is looking for you,” he told Jon. “He wanted to be gone an hour ago.”
“I know,” Jon said. “Soon.” He looked around at all the noise and confusion. “Leaving is harder than I thought.”
“For me too,” Robb said. He had snow in his hair, melting from the heat of his body. “Did you see him?”
Jon nodded, not trusting himself to speak. “He’s not going to die,” Robb said. “I know it.”
“You Starks are hard to kill,” Jon agreed. His voice was flat and tired. The visit had taken all the strength from him.
Robb knew something was wrong. “My mother
“She was . . . very kind,” Jon told him.
Robb looked relieved. “Good.” He smiled. “The next time I see you, you’ll be all in black.” Jon forced himself to smile back. “It was always my color. How long do you think it will be?”
“Soon enough,” Robb promised. He pulled Jon to him and embraced him fiercely. “Farewell, Snow.”
Jon hugged him back. “And you, Stark. Take care of Bran.”
“I will.” They broke apart and looked at each other awkwardly. “Uncle Benjen said to send you to the stables if I saw you,” Robb finally said.
“I have one more farewell to make,” Jon told him.
“Then I haven’t seen you,” Robb replied. Jon left him standing there in the snow, surrounded by wagons and wolves and horses. It was a short walk to the armory. He picked up his package and took the covered bridge across to the Keep.
Arya was in her room, packing a polished ironwood chest that was bigger than she was. Nymeria was helping. Arya would only have to point, and the wolf would bound across the room, snatch up some wisp of silk in her jaws, and fetch it back. But when she smelled Ghost, she sat down on her haunches and yelped at them.
Arya glanced behind her, saw Jon, and jumped to her feet. She threw her skinny arms tight around his neck. “I was afraid you were gone,” she said, her breath catching in her throat. “They wouldn’t let me out to say good-bye.”
“What did you do now?” Jon was amused.
Arya disentangled herself from him and made a face. “Nothing. I was all packed and everything.” She gestured at the huge chest, no more than a third full, and at the clothes that were scattered all over the room. “Septa Mordane says I have to do it all over. My things weren’t properly folded, she says. A proper southron lady doesn’t just throw her clothes inside her chest like old rags, she says.”
“Is that what you did, little sister?”
“Well, they’re going to get all messed up anyway,” she said. “Who cares how they’re folded?”
“Septa Mordane,” Jon told her. “I don’t think she’d like Nymeria helping, either.” The she-wolf regarded him silently with her dark golden eyes. “It’s just as well. I have something for you to take with you, and it has to be packed very carefully.”
Her face lit up. “A present?”
“You could call it that. Close the door.”
Wary but excited, Arya checked the hall. “Nymeria, here. Guard.” She left the wolf out there to warn of intruders and closed the door. By then Jon had pulled off the rags he’d wrapped it in. He held it out to her.
Arya’s eyes went wide. Dark eyes, like his. “A sword,” she said in a small, hushed breath.
The scabbard was soft grey leather, supple as sin. Jon drew out the blade slowly, so she could see the deep blue sheen of the steel. “This is no toy,” he told her. “Be careful you don’t cut yourself. The edges are sharp enough to shave with.”
“Girls don’t shave,” Arya said.
“Maybe they should. Have you ever seen the septa’s legs?” She giggled at him. “It’s so skinny.”
“So are you,” Jon told her. “I had Mikken make this special. The bravos use swords like this in Pentos and Myr and the other Free Cities. It won’t hack a man’s head off, but it can poke him full of holes if you’re fast enough.”
“I can be fast,” Arya said.
“You’ll have to work at it every day.” He put the sword in her hands, showed her how to hold it, and stepped back. “How does it feel? Do you like the balance?”
“I think so,” Arya said.
“First lesson,” Jon said. “Stick them with the pointy end.”
Arya gave him a whap on the arm with the flat of her blade. The blow stung, but Jon found himself grinning like an idiot. “I know which end to use,” Arya said. A doubtful look crossed her face. “Septa Mordane will take it away from me.”
“Not if she doesn’t know you have it,” Jon said. “Who will I practice with?”
“You’ll find someone,” Jon promised her. “King’s Landing is a true city, a thousand times the size of Winterfell. Until you find a partner, watch how they fight in the yard. Run, and ride, make yourself strong. And whatever you do . . .”
Arya knew what was coming next. They said it together.
“don’t . . . tell . . . Sansa!”
Jon messed up her hair. “I will miss you, little sister.”
Suddenly she looked like she was going to cry. “I wish you were coming with us.”
“Different roads sometimes lead to the same castle. Who knows?” He was feeling better now. He was not going to let himself be sad. “I better go. I’ll spend my first year on the Wall emptying chamber pots if I keep Uncle Ben waiting any longer.”
Arya ran to him for a last hug. “Put down the sword first,” Jon warned her, laughing. She set it aside almost shyly and showered him with kisses.
When he turned back at the door, she was holding it again, trying it for balance. “I almost forgot,” he told her. “All the best swords have names.”
“Like Ice,” she said. She looked at the blade in her hand. “Does this have a name? Oh, tell me.”
“Can’t you guess?” Jon teased. “Your very favorite thing.”
Arya seemed puzzled at first. Then it came to her. She was that quick. They said it together:
“Needle!”
The memory of her laughter warmed him on the long ride north.