A Feast for Dragons

the worst was past.
    The Graces brought forth an ivory chair and a golden bowl.
Holding her
tokar
daintily so as not to tread upon its fringes,
Daenerys Targaryen eased herself onto the chair’s plush velvet seat, and
Hizdahr zo Loraq went to his knees, unlaced her sandals, and washed her feet
whilst fifty eunuchs sang and ten thousand eyes looked on.
He has gentle
hands
, she mused, as warm fragrant oils ran between her toes.
If
he has a gentle heart as well, I may grow fond of him in time
.
    When her feet were clean, Hizdahr dried them with a soft
towel, laced her sandals on again, and helped her stand. Hand in hand, they
followed the Green Grace inside the temple, where the air was thick with
incense and the gods of Ghis stood cloaked in shadows in their alcoves.
    Four hours later, they emerged again as man and wife, bound
together wrist and ankle with chains of yellow gold.
    ----

    JON
    Queen Selyse descended upon Castle Black with her daughter
and her daughter’s fool, her serving girls and lady companions, and a retinue
of knights, sworn swords, and men-at-arms fifty strong.
Queen’s men all
,
Jon Snow knew.
They may attend Selyse, but it is Melisandre they serve
.
The red priestess had warned him of their coming almost a day before the raven
arrived from Eastwatch with the same message.
    He met the queen’s party by the stables, accompanied by
Satin, Bowen Marsh, and half a dozen guards in long black cloaks. It would
never do to come before this queen without a retinue of his own, if half of
what they said of her was true. She might mistake him for a stableboy and hand
him the reins of her horse.
    The snows had finally moved off to the south and given them
a respite. There was even a hint of warmth in the air as Jon Snow took a knee
before this southron queen. “Your Grace. Castle Black welcomes you and yours.”
    Queen Selyse looked down at him. “My thanks. Please escort
me to your lord commander.”
    “My brothers chose me for that honor. I am Jon Snow.”
    “You? They said you were young, but …” Queen Selyse’s
face was pinched and pale. She wore a crown of red gold with points in the
shape of flames, a twin to that worn by Stannis. “… you may rise, Lord
Snow. This is my daughter, Shireen.”
    “Princess.” Jon inclined his head. Shireen was a homely
child, made even uglier by the greyscale that had left her neck and part of her
cheek stiff and grey and cracked. “My brothers and I are at your service,” he
told the girl.
    Shireen reddened. “Thank you, my lord.”
    “I believe you are acquainted with my kinsman, Ser Axell
Florent?” the queen went on.
    “Only by raven.”
And report
. The letters
he’d received from Eastwatch-by-the-Sea had a deal to say of Axell Florent,
very little of it good. “Ser Axell.”
    “Lord Snow.” A stout man, Florent had short legs and a thick
chest. Coarse hair covered his cheeks and jowls and poked from his ears and
nostrils.
    “My loyal knights,” Queen Selyse went on. “Ser Narbert, Ser Benethon,
Ser Brus, Ser Patrek, Ser Dorden, Ser Malegorn, Ser Lambert, Ser Perkin.” Each
worthy bowed in turn. She did not trouble to name her fool, but the cowbells on
his antlered hat and the motley tattooed across his puffy cheeks made him hard
to overlook.
Patchface
. Cotter Pyke’s letters had made mention
of him as well. Pyke claimed he was a simpleton.
    Then the queen beckoned to another curious member of her
entourage: a tall gaunt stick of a man, his height accentuated by an outlandish
three-tiered hat of purple felt. “And here we have the honorable Tycho
Nestoris, an emissary of the Iron Bank of Braavos, come to treat with His Grace
King Stannis.”
    The banker doffed his hat and made a sweeping bow. “Lord
Commander. I thank you and your brothers for your hospitality.” He spoke the
Common Tongue flawlessly, with only the slightest hint of accent. Half a foot
taller than Jon, the Braavosi sported a beard as thin as a rope sprouting from
his chin and reaching almost to his waist. His robes were a somber purple,
trimmed with ermine. A high stiff collar framed his narrow face. “I hope we
shall not inconvenience you too greatly.”
    “Not at all, my lord. You are most welcome.”
More
welcome than this queen, if truth be told
. Cotter Pyke had sent a
raven ahead to advise them of the banker’s coming. Jon Snow had thought of
little since.
    Jon turned back to the queen. “The royal chambers in the
King’s Tower have been prepared for