The senior officers explained that Commander Mormont had been killed by his own men in a mutiny, right after being attacked by Wights. Those rebels had already been dealt with, but no one really knew much about the monsters.
Cotter Pyke chuckled grimly. "Maybe our 'White Walker Killer' knows more than we do!"
They were talking about Samwell Tarly.
The men mocked him with that nickname because he claimed he and a Wildling girl, Gilly, had killed a White Walker on their way back to the Wall. No one believed the coward they called "Ser Piggy."
Sam was quickly brought to the main table. He was trembling, his large body shaking as he looked at all the lords. He kept his head down.
Jason looked at him curiously. The man was huge, almost twice the size of anyone else. 'Ser Piggy' was a cruel but fitting name.
"Samwell Tarly?" Jason asked, keeping his voice gentle. "Are you from the Tarly family?"
Sam nodded quickly. "My... my lord. Randyll Tarly is my father..."
Jason leaned back and tapped his fingers on the table. "The men here say you killed a White Walker. Is that true? Can you tell me what happened?"
Sam swallowed, glancing nervously at the faces around the table. In a low voice, he told them everything. He talked about the mutiny at Craster's Keep, the terrifying attack by the Wights, and how he had used a dragonglass dagger he found to kill a White Walker.
The only thing he left out was the mysterious man who had saved him and Gilly. He had promised to keep that secret.
When he finished, the Northern lords erupted. They couldn't sit still, whispering to each other in panic. They started arguing about whether the fat night's watchman was lying.
Sam just stood there, lost in the middle of the hall, not knowing what to do.
Jason nodded at Sam, said a few comforting words, and let him go.
He let the lords argue. They started grilling the other Night's Watch survivors, the ones who had been north of the Wall with Mormont. But it only made their panic worse.
No matter how many times they were questioned, every survivor insisted the story was true. They had seen the White Walkers. They had seen the undead monsters with their own eyes.
This sent a fresh wave of fear through the lords, and the arguing grew more intense.
Jason finally stood up.
"Quiet!"
The hall fell silent. Everyone looked at Jason. He put his hand on the hilt of his sword and scanned the room.
"We'll deal with the White Walkers later," he said, his voice cutting through the tension. "I've made a decision. We're attacking the Wildlings tomorrow at dawn."
He looked at the stunned faces. "This banquet is over. Go back to your camps. Settle your soldiers. Prepare for battle."
Jason turned and left the hall, his personal guard following him out.
The Northern lords scrambled from their seats and hurried back to the army camp outside Castle Black. The Night's Watch officers remained, silent. They had no power here, no right to speak. They could only follow Lord Jason's orders.
Maester Aemon called for Sam, asking the young man to help him back to the maester's tower. Sam was one of the few brothers who could read and write, and Aemon had already made him his new assistant.
Jason didn't stay in the drafty towers of Castle Black. He returned to his own large tent in the middle of the barracks.
"Jon, McCann, Bud, Chris," Jason said to his commanders. "Get the soldiers a good rest tonight. We fight tomorrow."
"Yes, my lord!" they replied, heading out to give the orders.
Jason knew he was pushing them. The men were tired from the 20-day march and should have rested for two more days. But he couldn't wait.
He thought about the hundreds of thousands of Wights wandering in the forest beyond the Wall. If he didn't deal with the Wildlings now, the White Walkers would. And he couldn't let tens of thousands of Wildlings be killed and added to the army of the dead.
In the Wildling camp, Mance Rayder had no idea.
Protected by the massive Wall, he was still meeting with his tribe leaders, planning another way to cross and launch a surprise attack on the Night's Watch.
The next day, when Jason's 50,000-strong army appeared, the Wildlings were stunned.
Most of the soldiers wore uniform camouflage, a sight never before seen in the North.
"Form up! Form up!" Mance Rayder roared, sending his chieftains to rally their warriors.
"Weapons!"
"The southron kneelers are here! Grab your arms!"
"Don't run! Stand and fight with Mance!"
Rattleshirt, Tormund, Harma Dogshead, and Varamyr were all shouting, waving their crude weapons, trying to get their people into a line.
The Wildling warriors—men and women alike—grabbed whatever weapons they could find. They formed a chaotic line, while the old, the weak, and the children were hurried to the back of the cluttered camp, hidden among the hide tents.
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