Doubtless they thought his brother's war was none of his concern. It troubled him more than he could say. Robb was marching and he was not. No matter how often Jon told himself that his place was here now, with his new brothers on the Wall, he still felt craven.
可想而知，他们一定是认为他兄弟的战争与他无关。然而这却比其他所有事更教他烦心。罗柏正驰骋沙场，他却坐困愁城。无论琼恩如何宽慰自己：如今他的职责所在是与新弟兄们共同防守长城，他依旧觉得自己像个懦夫。
Corn, the raven was crying. "Corn, corn."
“玉米！”乌鸦又叫起来，“玉米！玉米！”
Oh, be quiet, the Old Bear told it. "Snow, how soon does Maester Aemon say you'll have use of that hand back?"
“噢，给我闭嘴。”熊老告诉它。“雪诺，伊蒙师傅估计你的手多久可以复原？”
Soon, Jon replied.
“快了。”琼恩回答。
Good. On the table between them, Lord Mormont laid a large sword in a black metal scabbard banded with silver. "Here. You'll be ready for this, then."
“那敢情好，”莫尔蒙司令拿出一把剑，放在两人之间的桌上，那剑有着黑色金属镶银边的鞘。“喏，到时候你就用这个。”
The raven flapped down and landed on the table, strutting toward the sword, head cocked curiously. Jon hesitated. He had no inkling what this meant. "My lord?"
乌鸦振翅而下，停在桌上，昂首阔步地朝剑走去，一边好奇地歪着头。琼恩犹豫了一下。这究竟是什么意思，他一点头绪都没有。“大人，这是？”
The fire melted the silver off the pommel and burnt the crossguard and grip. Well, dry leather and old wood, what could you expect? The blade, now... you'd need a fire a hundred times as hot to harm the blade. Mormont shoved the scabbard across the rough oak planks. "I had the rest made anew. Take it."
“之前那场火把剑柄圆头的银给熔掉了，护手和剑柄也被烧毁，唉，干皮革和木头，不烧才有鬼。至于剑本身嘛……你得用热一百倍的火才能伤到剑身。”莫尔蒙把手一挥，连剑带鞘推过粗糙的橡木桌面。“我把其余的部分重新打过了。拿去吧。”
Take it, echoed his raven, preening. "Take it, take it."
“拿去吧！”乌鸦得意洋洋地附和，“拿去吧！拿去吧！”
