A Feast for Dragons

over … though it had
looked that way for years. Behind them rose the Wall: immense, forbidding,
frigid, acrawl with builders pushing up a new switchback stair to join the
remnants of the old. They worked from dawn to dusk. Without the stair, there
was no way to reach the top of the Wall save by winch. That would not serve if
the wildlings should attack again.
    Above the King’s Tower the great golden battle standard of
House Baratheon cracked like a whip from the roof where Jon Snow had prowled
with bow in hand not long ago, slaying Thenns and free folk beside Satin and Deaf
Dick Follard. Two queen’s men stood shivering on the steps, their hands tucked
up into their armpits and their spears leaning against the door. “Those cloth
gloves will never serve,” Jon told them. “See Bowen Marsh on the morrow, and
he’ll give you each a pair of leather gloves lined with fur.”
    “We will, m’lord, and thank you,” said the older guard.
    “That’s if our bloody hands aren’t froze off,” the younger
added, his breath a pale mist. “I used to think that it got cold up in the
Dornish Marches. What did I know?”
    Nothing
, thought Jon Snow,
the same
as me
.
    Halfway up the winding steps, he came upon Samwell Tarly,
headed down. “Are you coming from the king?” Jon asked him.
    “Maester Aemon sent me with a letter.”
    “I see.” Some lords trusted their maesters to read their
letters and convey the contents, but Stannis insisted on breaking the seals
himself. “How did Stannis take it?”
    “Not happily, by his face.” Sam dropped his voice to a
whisper. “I am not supposed to speak of it.”
    “Then don’t.” Jon wondered which of his father’s bannermen
had refused King Stannis homage this time.
He was quick enough to spread
the word when Karhold declared for him
. “How are you and your longbow
getting on?”
    “I found a good book about archery.” Sam frowned. “Doing it
is harder than reading about it, though. I get blisters.”
    “Keep at it. We may need your bow on the Wall if the Others
turn up some dark night.”
    “Oh, I hope not.”
    More guards stood outside the king’s solar. “No arms are allowed
in His Grace’s presence, my lord,” their serjeant said. “I’ll need that sword.
Your knives as well.” It would do no good to protest, Jon knew. He handed them
his weaponry.
    Within the solar the air was warm. Lady Melisandre was
seated near the fire, her ruby glimmering against the pale skin of her throat.
Ygritte had been kissed by fire; the red priestess
was
fire,
and her hair was blood and flame. Stannis stood behind the rough-hewn table
where the Old Bear had once been wont to sit and take his meals. Covering the
table was a large map of the north, painted on a ragged piece of hide. A tallow
candle weighed down one end of it, a steel gauntlet the other.
    The king wore lambswool breeches and a quilted doublet, yet
somehow he looked as stiff and uncomfortable as if he had been clad in plate
and mail. His skin was pale leather, his beard cropped so short that it might
have been painted on. A fringe about his temples was all that remained of his
black hair. In his hand was a parchment with a broken seal of dark green wax.
    Jon took a knee. The king frowned at him, and rattled the
parchment angrily. “Rise. Tell me, who is
Lyanna Mormont?
”
    “One of Lady Maege’s daughters, Sire. The youngest. She was
named for my lord father’s sister.”
    “To curry your lord father’s favor, I don’t doubt. I know
how that game is played. How old is this wretched girl child?”
    Jon had to think a moment. “Ten. Or near enough to make no
matter. Might I know how she has offended Your Grace?”
    Stannis read from the letter. “
Bear Island knows no
king but the King in the North, whose name is STARK
. A girl of ten,
you say, and she presumes to scold her lawful king.” His close-cropped beard
lay like a shadow over his hollow cheeks. “See that you keep these tidings to
yourself, Lord Snow. Karhold is with me, that is all the men need know. I will
not have your brothers trading tales of how this child spat on me.”
    “As you command, Sire.” Maege Mormont had ridden south with
Robb, Jon knew. Her eldest daughter had joined the Young Wolf’s host as well.
Even if both of them had died, however, Lady Maege had other daughters, some
with children of their own. Had they gone with Robb as well? Surely Lady Maege
would have left at least one of the older girls behind as