A candle appeared

“They all do,” said Jon. “Ygritte said they opened a hundred graves... graves of kings and heroes, all over the valley of the Milkwater, but they never...” “Who is Ygritte?” Donal Noye asked pointedly. “A woman of the free folk.” How could he explain Ygritte to them? She’s warm and smart and funny and she can kiss a man or slit his throat. “She’s with Styr, but she’s not ...
she’s young, only a girl, in truth, wild, but she...” She killed an old man for building a fire. His tongue felt thick and clumsy. The milk of the poppy was clouding his wits. “I broke my vows with her. I never meant to, but...” It was wrong. Wrong to love her, wrong to leave her... “I wasn’t strong enough. The Halfhand commanded me, ride with them, watch, I must not balk, I...” His head felt as if it were packed with wet wool. Maester Aemon sniffed Jon’s wound again. Then he put the bloody cloth back in the basin and said, “Donal, the hot knife, if you please. I shall need you to hold him still.” I will not scream, Jon told himself when he saw the blade glowing red hot. But he broke that vow as well. Donal Noye held him down, while Clydas helped guide the maester’s hand. Jon did not move, except to pound his fist against the table, again and again and again. The pain was so huge he felt small and weak and helpless inside it, a child whimpering in the dark. Ygritte, he thought, when the stench of burning flesh was in his nose and his own shriek echoing in her ears. Ygritte, I had to. For half a heartbeat the agony started to ebb. But then the iron touched him once again, and he fainted. When his eyelids fluttered open, he was wrapped in thick wool and floating A Bar Math.
He could not seem to move, but that did not matter. For a time he dreamed that Ygritte was with him, tending him with gentle hands. Finally he closed his eyes and slept. The next waking was not so gentle. The room was dark, but under the blankets the pain was back, a throbbing in his leg that turned into a hot knife at the least motion. Jon learned that the hard way when he tried to see if he still had a leg. Gasping, he swallowed a scream and made another fist. “Jon?”, and a well-remembered face was looking down on him, big ears and all. “You shouldn’t move.” “Pyp?” Jon reached up, and the other boy clasped his hand and gave it a squeeze. “I thought you’d gone...” “... with the Old Pomegranate? No, he thinks I’m too small and green. Grenn’s here too.” “I’m here too.” Grenn stepped to the other side of the bed. “I fell asleep.” Jon’s throat was dry. “Water,” he gasped. Grenn brought it, and held it to his lips. “I saw the Fist,” he said, after a long swallow. “The blood, and the dead horses... Noye said a dozen made it back... who?” “Dywen did. Giant, Dolorous Edd, Sweet Donnel Hill, Ulmer, Left Hand Lew, Garth Greyfeather SmarTone.