“I will not eat Craster’s food, he decided suddenly. “I broke my fast with the men, my lord.” Jon shooed the raven off Longclaw. The bird hopped back to Mormont’s shoulder, where it promptly shat. “You might have done that on Snow instead of saving it for me,” the Old Bear grumbled. The raven quorked.”

“Ravens are the birds I'll miss most when I die. If only the darkness into which we must look were composed of the black light of their limber intelligence. If only we did not have to die at all. Instead, become ravens.”

“Another snowball, this time it impacted on my shoulder. I dusted the snow off my coat with my free hand and gave him the biggest stinkeye I could muster.“How old are you again? Twelve?”He grinned, teeth white as the snow he gathered. “Old enough to make you come, young enough to make you hate me for it.”“Oh jeez,” I muttered, shaking my head, and turned around.Bam.Snowball to the back of my head.”

“Then this ebony bird beguiling my sad fancy into smiling,By the grave and stern decorum of the countenance it wore.Though thy crest be shorn and shaven, thou," I said, "art sure no craven,Ghastly grim and ancient raven wandering from the Nightly shore —Tell me what thy lordly name is on the Night's Plutonian shore!"Quoth the Raven, "Nevermore.”

“Why a raven?""To honor my father.""The writing under it, is that Cyrillic?""Yes.""What does it say?""Dar Vorona. Gift of the Raven. I am my father's gift.""The raven is holding a bloody sword.""I never said it was a nice gift.”

“Your brother Robb has been crowned King in the North. You and Aemon have that in common. A king for a brother.” said Mormont.“And this too,” said Jon. “A vow.”The Old Bear gave a loud snort, and the raven took flight, flapping in a circle about the room. “Give me a man for every vow I’ve seen broken and the Wall will never lack for defenders.”“I’ve always known that Rob will be Lord of Winterfell.”Mormont gave a whistle, and the bird flew to him again and settled on his arm. “A lord’s one thing, a king’s another. They will garb your brother Robb in silks, satins, and velvets of a hundred different colors, while you live and die in black ringmail. He will wed some beautiful princess and father sons on her. You’ll have no wife, nor will you ever hold a child of your own blood in your arms. Robb will rule, you will serve. Men will call you a crow. Him they’ll call `Your Grace’. Singers will praise every little thing he does, while your greatest deeds all go unsung. Tell me that none of this troubles you, Jon… and I’ll name you a liar, and know I have the truth of it.”Jon drew himself up, taut as a bowstring “And if it did trouble me, what might I do, bastard as I am?”“What will you do?” Mormont asked. “Bastard as you are.”“Be troubled,” said Jon, “and keep my vows.”