“There are ghosts here,” Bran said. Hodor had heard all the stories before, but Jojen might not have. “Old ghosts, from before the Old King, even before Aegon the Dragon, Old King, even before Aegon the Dragon, seventy-nine deserters who went south to be outlaws. One was Lord Ryswell’s youngest son, so when they reached the barrowlands they sought shelter at his castle, but Lord Ryswell took them captive and returned them to the Nightfort. The Lord Commander had holes hewn in the top of the Wall and he put the deserters in them and sealed them up alive in the ice. They have spears and horns and they all face north. The seventy-nine sentinels, they’re called. They left their posts in life, so in death their watch goes on forever. Years later, when Lord Ryswell was old and dying, he had himself carried to the Nightfort so he could take the black and stand beside his son. He’d sent him back to the Wall for honor’s sake, but he loved him still, so he came to share his watch.”
Vanmorgen zocht ik naar een plekje in de bus om te zitten en vroeg aan een mevrouw die haar tas op een stoel had liggen; "Mag ik alsjeblieft naast u zitten?" Dat mocht. Achter me zat een jochie van een jaar of acht die tegen zijn moeder zei; "De meest aardige en beleefde mensen zijn dikke oude oma's en stoere jongens." Score.