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Episode 149: A CLASH OF KINGS, JON VIII: "Keep Your Sword Sharp" SHOW NOTES!

Added 2021-04-12 14:00:05 +0000 UTC

Hello and welcome to the Not A Cast … podcast: the one true chapter-by-chapter podcast going through A Song of Ice and Fire one chapter a week. I’m one of your hosts Jeff better known as BryndenBFish.

And I’m your other host Emmett, better known as PoorQuentyn.

Welcome to the one hundred and forty-ninth episode of the Not A Cast, titled: “Keep Your Sword Sharp: An Analysis of ACOK, Jon VIII,” in which Qhorin Halfhand makes his last stand, but not before laying a heavy task on our boy Jonny Snow.

This episode is brought to you by our NotASmallCouncil:

Spoiler warning: All published books, 5 novels, 3 Dunk and Egg novellas, histories, interviews, TWOW sample chapters, as well as Game of Thrones the TV show. Anything and everything!

Question

Red Rahloo himself, a high lord patron, asks:

Who is the “anyway, here’s wonderwall” of the asoiaf world?

So, thank you Red Rahloo for the question. If you’d like to ask us questions we’ll answer here on the NotACast pod-cast, you are welcome to become a Sworn Sword or higher level patron over at patreon.com/NotACastASOIAF where you can get show notes, free merch, access to the NotASlack at our two highest tiers and bonus episodes!

Absolutely! Our next patreon bonus episode coming in a few weeks is going to be a wrap-up of A Clash of Kings in which we attempt to talk about ACOK, theories, stuff in ACOK that tells us more about the endgame of ASOIAF and then talk about what we’re excited to cover in A Storm of Swords!

But enough about patreon. When we last checked in with Jon, he and Qhorin Halfhand were running for their lives as the wildlings blew hunting horns as they pursued them. Let’s see if maybe one of them can make it out alive in this synopsis of ACOK, Jon VIII!

Synopsis

When Qhorin Halfhand told him to find some brush for a fire, Jon knew their end was near.
It will be good to feel warm again, if only for a little while, he told himself while he hacked bare branches from the trunk of a dead tree. Ghost sat on his haunches watching, silent as ever. Will he howl for me when I'm dead, as Bran's wolf howled when he fell? Jon wondered. Will Shaggydog howl, far off in Winterfell, and Grey Wind and Nymeria, wherever they might be?

I don’t know. Sometimes I have to stop myself and think that Jon is sixteen years old, and getting his mind around the fact that he’s about to die. I, for one, did not realize I was mortal until I was twenty-six.

The moon rises as the sun sinks as Jon gets a fire going. Qhorin stands over Jon and comments about how a fire can be as beautiful as a maid on her wedding day. This surprises Jon who thinks Qhorin wouldn’t talk of maids and wedding nights. Did Qhorin love a maid once or get married? Jon couldn’t ask that now. So, instead, he spreads his hands over the fire and lets the fire warm his fingers as Qhorin sits cross-legged near the fire. There were only two of them left in the Frostfangs.

In flashback, Jon had hoped that Dalbridge would hold the wildlings at the pass, but then they heard the horn, and they knew Dalbridge was dead. And then the eagle showed up overhead. Stonesnake had aimed his bow, but the bird had flown off as Ebben muttered about wargs and skinchangers as Jon stood right there.

They glimpsed the eagle twice more the day after, and heard the hunting horn behind them echoing against the mountains. Each time it seemed a little louder, a little closer. When night fell, the Halfhand told Ebben to take the squire's garron as well as his own, and ride east for Mormont with all haste, back the way they had come. The rest of them would draw off the pursuit. "Send Jon," Ebben had urged. "He can ride as fast as me."

"Jon has a different part to play."
"He is half a boy still."
"No," said Qhorin, "he is a man of the Night's Watch."

Ebben leaves as the moon rises, and Stonesnake went east before doubling back southwest to hide the trail. The days and nights then begin to blur as the watchmen sleep in their saddle and only stop to feed and water their horses before riding again. The three rangers move through the woods, ridges, traverse rivers and attempt to cover their tracks. But the eagle keeps watch over them. So, it was useless.

A shadowcat had shown up when they were scaling a ridge, and Stonesnake’s mare went into a panic and ran before breaking its leg. They ate the horse, and Ghost ate really well too. Qhorin made a porridge with the horse’s blood which tasted awful, but Jon ate it anyway.

There was no question of riding double. Stonesnake offered to lay in wait for the pursuit and surprise them when they came. Perhaps he could take a few of them with him down to hell. Qhorin refused. "If any man in the Night's Watch can make it through the Frostfangs alone and afoot, it is you, brother. You can go over mountains that a horse must go around. Make for the Fist. Tell Mormont what Jon saw, and how. Tell him that the old powers are waking, that he faces giants and wargs and worse. Tell him that the trees have eyes again."
He has no chance, Jon thought when he watched Stonesnake vanish over a snow-covered ridge, a tiny black bug crawling across a rippling expanse of white.

Each successive night grew colder, but Ghost stayed nearby. Jon could sense that. And Ghost provided company that Qhorin didn’t. Even dreams don’t keep Jon company up here. He has none.

Back to the present, Qhorin asks if Jon’s sword is sharp. Indeed it is. It’s Valyrian steel. Qhorin then asks if Jon remembers his vows. He does. So, Qhorin asks that they say the words together, and Jon agrees.

Their voices blended as one beneath the rising moon, while Ghost listened and the mountains themselves bore witness. "Night gathers, and now my watch begins. It shall not end until my death. I shall take no wife, hold no lands, father no children. I shall wear no crowns and win no glory. I shall live and die at my post. I am the sword in the darkness. I am the watcher on the walls. I am the fire that burns against the cold, the light that brings the dawn, the horn that wakes the sleepers, the shield that guards the realms of men. I pledge my life and honor to the Night's Watch, for this night and all the nights to come."

But then there were no more words after that. Jon opens and closes his burnt fingers, praying that the old gods would give him strength when he dies bravely. He figures that he would be dead in a day or two at most.

The flames were burning low by then, the warmth fading. "The fire will soon go out," Qhorin said, "but if the Wall should ever fall, all the fires will go out."

There was nothing Jon could say to that. He nodded.
"We may escape them yet," the ranger said. "Or not."
"I'm not afraid to die." It was only half a lie.
"It may not be so easy as that, Jon."
He did not understand. "What do you mean?"
"If we are taken, you must yield."

Aghast, Jon says that Mance only spares oathbreakers, like Mance Rayder. Qhorin says they’ll spare Jon, but Jon absolutely does not want to do this. Fuck that. Qhorin is commanding Jon to yield. Still upset, Jon tries to protest, but Qhorin cuts him off.

"Our honor means no more than our lives, so long as the realm is safe. Are you a man of the Night's Watch?"
"Yes, but-"
"There is no but, Jon Snow. You are, or you are not."
Jon sat up straight. "I am."
"Then hear me. If we are taken, you will go over to them, as the wildling girl you captured once urged you. They may demand that you cut your cloak to ribbons, that you swear them an oath on your father's grave, that you curse your brothers and your Lord Commander. You must not balk, whatever is asked of you. Do as they bid you . . . but in your heart, remember who and what you are. Ride with them, eat with them, fight with them, for as long as it takes. And watch."

What’s Jon supposed to watch for? Qhorin doesn’t know. Ghost saw the wildlings digging in the valley by the Milkwater. Jon needs to find out what the wildlings were after. That’s Jon Snow’s new duty. Reluctantly, Jon agrees, but Jon begs Qhorin to tell Jeor Mormont that Jon never truly broke his vow.

Qhorin Halfhand gazed at him across the fire, his eyes lost in pools of shadow. "When I see him next. I swear it." He gestured at the fire. "More wood. I want it bright and hot."

Jon goes to cut some more branches, somehow unaware that Qhorin is trying to tell Jon that he’s going to die. The fire sparks hot again, but then Qhorin tells him that it’s time to ride or die. Or ride and die. And where are they going? They’re doubling back. Qhorin is hoping the fire draws their eyes past them. Jon’s grateful for Qhorin’s idea as he very definitely does not want to turncloak.

They move cautiously, retracing their steps, moving up to a stream. They skirt around it, hugging the cliff sides. They pick their way past fallen rock, up towards a waterfall as the air fills with mist. They enter into the waterfall, but Jon realizes that there’s no way out. They get behind the waterfall, drenching themself in the process, and Jon realizes that Qhorin knew this place was here. Qhorin confirms as much, having learned about the natural hideout when he was Jon’s age from an older ranger. Qhorin seats himself and draws his sword as Jon takes off his wet cloak and lays down by the fire.

Sleep came at last, and with it nightmares. He dreamed of burning castles and dead men rising unquiet from their graves. It was still dark when Qhorin woke him. While the Halfhand slept, Jon sat with his back to the cave wall, listening to the water and waiting for the dawn.

The next day, Qhorin and Jon eat some horsemeat and saddle up. They emerge from the cave, hopeful that they won’t be spotted, but immediately they see the eagle perched up on a tree. Ghost gives chase, but the bird flaps away. Qhorin’s mouth hardens, and he turns to Jon.

"Here is as good a place as any to make a stand," he declared. "The mouth of the cave shelters us from above, and they cannot get behind us without passing through the mountain. Is your sword sharp, Jon Snow?"
"Yes," he said.
"We'll feed the horses. They've served us bravely, poor beasts."

Jon gives his horse some oats and pulls his gloves tight to his hands, reminding himself that he is the shield that guards the realms of men. A hunting horn echoes around them, and Qhorin says the wildlings are going to be here soon and to keep Ghost close.

Jon sees the wildlings coming over a ridge a half mile away as Ghost does his silent snarl bit while Jon reassures him.

The hunters approached warily, perhaps fearing arrows. Jon counted fourteen, with eight dogs. Their large round shields were made of skins stretched over woven wicker and painted with skulls. About half of them hid their faces behind crude helms of wood and boiled leather. On either wing, archers notched shafts to the strings of small wood-and-horn bows, but did not loose. The rest seemed to be armed with spears and mauls. One had a chipped stone axe. They wore only what bits of armor they had looted from dead rangers or stolen during raids. Wildlings did not mine or smelt, and there were few smiths and fewer forges north of the Wall.

Qhorin drew his longsword. The tale of how he had taught himself to fight with his left hand after losing half of his right was part of his legend; it was said that he handled a blade better now than he ever had before. Jon stood shoulder to shoulder with the big ranger and pulled Longclaw from its sheath. Despite the chill in the air, sweat stung his eyes.

The wildlings stop ten yards below the cave mouth, and a dude dressed in all sorts of animal and human bones approaches. Qhorin addresses him

"Rattleshirt," Qhorin called down, icy-polite.
"To crows I be the Lord o' Bones." The rider's helm was made from the broken skull of a giant, and all up and down his arms bearclaws had been sewn to his boiled leather.
Qhorin snorted. "I see no lord. Only a dog dressed in chickenbones, who rattles when he rides."

Lol, #owned. Rattleshirt hisses and his horse rears up, rattling the dude. Rattleshirt declares he’s going to add Qhorin’s bones to his armor after he boils off his flesh and uses his skull as an oatmeal bowl. Qhorin challenges Rattleshirt to attack then, but he’s not taking the bait. Sure, the wildlings have them outnumbered 14 to 2, and the wildlings have 8 dogs. Jon and Qhorin can fight or run, but they’re toast either way.

"Show them," commanded Rattleshirt.
The woman reached into a bloodstained sack and drew out a trophy. Ebben had been bald as an egg, so she dangled the head by an ear. "He died brave," she said.
"But he died," said Rattleshirt, "same like you." He freed his battleaxe, brandishing it above his head. Good steel it was, with a wicked gleam to both blades; Ebben was never a man to neglect his weapons. The other wildlings crowded forward beside him, yelling taunts. A few chose Jon for their mockery. "Is that your wolf, boy?" a skinny youth called, unlimbering a stone flail. "He'll be my cloak before the sun is down." On the other side of the line, another spearwife opened her ragged furs to show Jon a heavy white breast. "Does the baby want his momma? Come, have a suck o' this, boy." The dogs were barking too.
"They would shame us into folly." Qhorin gave Jon a long look. "Remember your orders."

Rattleshirt orders archers forward, but then Jon tells them to stop. He’s yielding.

"They warned me bastard blood was craven," he heard Qhorin Halfhand say coldly behind him. "I see it is so. Run to your new masters, coward."

Jon’s face goes red as he descends to join Rattleshirt who says they don’t want cravens. But then an archer pulls off her sheepskin helmet, revealing herself to be Ygritte. She says he’s not craven. He’s the bastard of Winterfell. But Rattleshirt just wants Jon to die, and he doesn’t trust him.

On a rock above them, the eagle flapped its wings and split the air with a scream of fury.
"The bird hates you, Jon Snow," said Ygritte. "And well he might. He was a man, before you killed him."
"I did not know," said Jon truthfully, trying to remember the face of the man he had slain in the pass. "You told me Mance would take me."
"And he will," Ygritte said.

But Rattleshirt still wants Jon dead. He orders Ragwyle to kill him, but the spearwife tells Rattleshirt that Jon should prove his new allegiance.

"I'll do whatever you ask." The words came hard, but Jon said them.
Rattleshirt's bone armor clattered loudly as he laughed. "Then kill the Halfhand, bastard."
"As if he could," said Qhorin. "Turn, Snow, and die."

Qhorin’s sword comes for Jon, and Longclaw is suddenly in Jon’s hand. The swords meet as Jon fights back against Qhorin, but Jon is easily outmatched by Qhorin as he slows and starts weakening under the force of sword cuts. But then Ghost bites Qhorin’s calf, and Jon plants his foot and swings his sword.

The ranger was leaning away, and for an instant it seemed that Jon's slash had not touched him. Then a string of red tears appeared across the big man's throat, bright as a ruby necklace, and the blood gushed out of him, and Qhorin Halfhand fell.
Ghost's muzzle was dripping red, but only the point of the bastard blade was stained, the last half inch. Jon pulled the direwolf away and knelt with one arm around him. The light was already fading in Qhorin's eyes. " . . . sharp," he said, lifting his maimed fingers. Then his hand fell, and he was gone.
He knew, he thought numbly. He knew what they would ask of me. He thought of Samwell Tarly then, of Grenn and Dolorous Edd, of Pyp and Toad back at Castle Black. Had he lost them all, as he had lost Bran and Rickon and Robb? Who was he now? What was he?

Jon is dragged to his feet by the wildlings. They ask who he is, but Ygritte answers. He’s Jon Snow of Winterfell, Ned Stark’s blood. None of that matters to Rattleshirt who still wants Jon dead, but Ygritte says that Jon yielded. Another wildling says Jon killed Qhorin Halfhand too. Nope, that was Ghost’s work according to Rattleshirt, and Rattleshirt is very definitely upset that Jon killed Qhorin when Qhorin was Rattleshirt’s kill.

Ragwyle mocks Rattleshirt for not seeming all that eager to kill Qhorin, but Rattleshirt changes topics and says he doesn’t like Jon, because he’s a warg and a crow. But Ygritte says they’re not scared of wargs. Everyone else besides Rattleshirt agrees, and Rattleshirt reluctantly yields.

They burned Qhorin Halfhand where he'd fallen, on a pyre made of pine needles, brush, and broken branches. Some of the wood was still green, and it burned slow and smoky, sending a black plume up into the bright hard blue of the sky. Afterward Rattleshirt claimed some charred bones, while the others threw dice for the ranger's gear. Ygritte won his cloak.
"Will we return by the Skirling Pass?" Jon asked her. He did not know if he could face those heights again, or if his garron could survive a second crossing.
"No," she said. "There's nothing behind us." The look she gave him was sad. "By now Mance is well down the Milkwater, marching on your Wall."

And that is the synopsis for ACOK, Jon VIII! Kind-of a moody chapter which is another way of saying it’s a Jon Snow chapter. What did you think, ser?

Depth

The other climactic chapters of ACOK are about bloody battles, political transformations, narrow escapes from castles and cities. Not so with Jon VIII: a chapter about two men wandering the wilderness, knowing only that they are hunted. The sudden switch to minimalism is appropriate. It reflects how Jon and Qhorin are out of options. Their backs are against the wall (so to speak). It’s a bleak chapter, but also bracing and galvanizing in its focus. Everything is boiled down to their decisions, their will. What do their oaths mean, here at the end of the world and the end of their lives?

There’s a kind of pattern with the conclusion of Jon’s arcs in each book in the series. There’s a question of loyalty and vows, the Bryonic deep currents of emotion Jon feels about the decision he is facing, but he still is just to go through with the decision until he’s pulled back by people from carrying out what he wants. ACOK follows this pattern, but unlike Jon’s other arc conclusions, this one has our sad boy ordered to fake-turncloak on his vows and pretend to be someone else. The oft-quoted line that George likes to quote is Faulkner’s The human heart in conflict with itself is the only thing worth writing about, and this chapter is perhaps not the true starting point for Jon Snow for his conflict (you can trace that back to AGOT), but it’s the point where his identity conflict is shaped to bound forward to ASOS, ADWD and beyond.

"But once the Wall is fallen," Dalla said, "what will stop the Others?"

He was not a man you'd expect to speak of maids and wedding nights. So far as Jon knew, Qhorin had spent his whole life in the Watch. Did he ever love a maid or have a wedding?

Foreshadowing/Groundwork

Qhorin tells Jon that he’ll inform Jeor Mormont that Jon never broke his vows the next time he sees them? Yeah. That’s definitely foreshadowing that Jeor is going to die, and they’ll talk in Night’s Watch heaven … or hell .

The using a skull as a drinking bowl/oatmeal bowl is repeated in ADWD when Mors Umber declares he’ll take Stannis as king if he provides Mance Rayder’s skull to him.

Theory/Discussion

Will Stonesnake return to the story?

Conclusion


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