[She brought salads, with fruits and vegetables. That’s a fine dish, in its way, in their world; it can be simple to prepare, but it graces many a lordly table.

He looks at it with vague appreciation, although there is nothing lately that will satisfy his craving for any kind of meat: chicken or beef or venison or fish, fresh or salted, mutton in a stew, anything. Crickets seem like a cruel jest. He’s relieved that there are none amongst the leaves and the bits of carrot and apple.

All this way, he’s been trying not to anticipate the conversation they’ll be having, so that he won’t have it with himself in his head. What’s the use? They’ve both been given false expectations; they’ll both be in a political situation that is awkward at best, hostile at worst, as a result.]

They did, for centuries. But it’s hard to live north of the Wall — impossible, now. No one ever sat and broke bread with the Free Folk and asked them what they wanted.

Did I ever tell you that I was made to live among them as a spy, when I’d only been in the Night’s Watch for a year or so? Learned a great many things, learned why they would attack the Wall. They wanted to be south of it, for protection.

When my brothers made me Lord Commander, I led an expedition to Hardhome — old Wildling town up on the coast north of Eastwatch. What I saw there....

[He stops, looks into the distance.]

I can’t look at a person and say they deserve to die because of where they were born. Worse, that they deserve to become a slave to the Night King.