Jon Snow: You can't fight. You can't see. You're afraid of heights and almost everything else, probably. What are you doing here, Sam?Samwell Tarly: On the morning of my eighteenth nameday, my father came to me. You're almost a man now, he said, but you're not worthy of my land and title. Tomorrow you're going to take the black, forsake all claims to your inheritance and start north. If you do not, he said, then we will have a hunt, and somewhere in these woods, your horse will stumble and you'll be thrown from your saddle to die. Or so I will tell your mother. Nothing would please me more.
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