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Humans! [ Good, now that he has your attention. ] There is a sickness aboard this vessel, a Dark Beast that harbours rot and the ruin of any that approach it. I, myself, suffered injuries that have now healed. It is a skilled foe that walks in shadow, a warrior of the forsaken. It does not bleed when wounded or hesitate to give harm and it will kill you, should you be fool enough to challenge it. Unless, of course, it decides to keep you alive for sport — those mortals who deliberately put themselves at risk do so at their own peril. If you believe you are strong, I am here to tell you that you are not. Keep your corpses to a minimum.

Specifically: it carries a great chain that burns like embers, knows your mind and moves at incredible speed. Thranduil is aware of this demon, as are all those of Elvenkind aboard.

[ Nuada, who brings the network this message from the corridors where he is patrolling, peers into the camera with wolflike gold eyes. You may have seen them around recently, instead belonging to one massive six-foot hound. ]

To those who are not human, I say this; stay with your brothers and sisters, send word over a secure line if any of you are attacked. All manner of Aes Sidhe, from my world or not, are my concern.

[ What else? His manner eases ever so slightly, as it is wont to do between comrades. ]

Loki — we must speak concerning the forging of your weapon. It is time to take up arms worthy of your skill, my friend.

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[ By all rights, Jon is excessively tolerable by human standards; he's polite and respectful, traits highly prized by the Aes Sidhe. ]

If he needs help, you may come to me. My people know something of showing their favour in subtle ways that benefit others. I would not see your wolf harmed.

[ Or Jon, but good luck getting that out of Nuada any time this century. ]

And I thank you for it, Ser.

[Because if Ghost needs help beyond Jon's power, Jon would see him in only the best hands, and right now Nuada is the only person outside his family he would trust.]

You ... are welcome.

[ Very deserving of assistance, at this rate. ]

I believe I met with one of your family recently. The little girl and her wolf in engineering.

Arya and Nymeria. My little sister.

[He's not going to apologize for her - but man, he probably should.]

[ He shakes his head as if reading Jon's mind, or rather his expression. Having a strong-willed sister of his own, Nuada imagines he knows what that look says all too well. ]

She is very brave. I disturbed her while she was at work, though I don't think she knew it was me.

Some days I think she is the bravest among us.

Who did she think you were?

[ He holds up a hand, then draws the shadows around him off the walls and floor like a living mist, letting them rearrange his features like ripples over a pool until the Glamour is in place once more.

The giant black wolfhound stares placidly at John, only the golden eyes remaining the same. ]

[A pause-]

Ah, I see.

[Well, that explains quite a bit]

[ The hound gives an amused snort, then the shadows filter away as if caught in a breeze and Nuada remains at their former centre, once more himself. ]

She had a small weapon in her hand. It might be wise to caution her against railing at dangerous beasts, given our current climate.

[ Arya is human, sure, but it's not as if Nuada is going to attack a child. ~~Not without good reason, anyway.~~ The creature that attacked him, however, is a different story. ]

I'll caution her, although I suspect that if our wolves are not quick to attack something [or someone] then we have little to fear from them.

I find myself almost insulted.

[ Hah, not really. ]

Perhaps it was simply too hot. They would let us die before they would expend the energy to save us.

I don't know about that, though they are terribly clever. I've always been something of a dog-person, even throughout all the long years of my exile.

We, too, have always raised dogs. And wolves, I suppose.

There is an old creature called Black Shuck, a huge dog that roams the moors. Some believe it to be a bad omen, to herald the death of a family member, but the majority of those claims come from mortals who have never seen him chase rabbits in his sleep.

But does he? Herald death?

That depends how many old people you think would die of shock if they encountered a fiery-eyed monster that wanted to play. Quite a few, I should imagine. [ But no, really. ] I believe he has a penchant for scenting out death. He wanders darkling, though it is never he who kills.

Ah, it is likely said that Ghost heralds death, for all that he simply is albino. Or Rickon's Shaggydog, who is the wildest of the direwolves, for being dark and hulking.

What do people say that you herald when you walk into a room, Jon?

Oh, no one likes a crow.

Why not?

The wildlings hate us because we keep the border. The men of Westeros dislike us because we cull our ranks from the worst of men, simply to fill the jobs on the Wall. While many of us enlisted by choice, just as many went to the Night's Watch because the other choice was a bad death.

Crows are hardier birds than many others. If you consider that you might out-live your tweeting critics, the impact of their words ought to lessen.

[ He's so bad at jokes. ]

[He...laughs, though. Man.

Losers.]

I have some here. My sister gave me one. It has learned to say my name.

[ Looooserssss. ]

You have a wolf and a bird? You are a one-man forest.

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