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when jon closed his eyes he saw the heart tree, with its pale limbs, red leaves, and solemn face. the weirwood was the heart of winterfell, lord eddard always said...
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the red woman walked beside jon down the steps. "his grace is growing fond of you."
"i can tell. he only threatened to behead me twice."
melisandre laughed. "it is his silences you should fear, not his words."
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donal chose you, and qhorin halfhand before him. lord commander mormont made you his steward. you are a son of winterfell, a nephew of benjen stark. it must be you or no one. the wall is yours, jon snow.
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the gift of a sword, even a sword as fine as longclaw, did not make him a mormont. nor was he aemon targaryen.
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-Ned saw Jon's face in front of him so like a younger version of his own.
- You are Jon Snow. You have your father’s look.
- Jon was never out of sight, and as he grew, he looked more like Ned.
[art-https://t.co/BwUrugdwcz]
— he might as well wish for another thousand men, and maybe a dragon or three.
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— he had the stark face if not the name: long, solemn, guarded, a face that gave nothing away.
— she even looked like jon, with the long face and brown hair of the starks, and nothing of their lady mother in her face or her coloring.
[https://t.co/1fgMzzCuyK]
the wall is mine, jon reminded himself whenever he felt his strength flagging, [...] his fingers felt crabbed and stiff, half-frozen. his fever was back as well, and his leg would tremble uncontrollably, sending a white-hot knife of pain right through him.
art by jenny dolfen
— "it's cold." satin stood with his hands tucked into his armpits under his cloak. his cheeks were bright red.
jon made himself smile. "the frostfangs are cold. this is a brisk autumn day."
[https://t.co/7cKj9dsK9a]
— all in black, he was a shadow among shadows, dark of hair, long of face, grey of eye.
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