A Feast for Dragons

being carved. It smelled better than Jon had any
reason to expect. He dispatched a portion to Leathers out at Hardin’s Tower,
along with three big platters of roast vegetables for Wun Wun, then ate a
healthy slice himself.
Three-Finger Hobb’s acquitted himself well
.
That had been a concern. Hobb had come to him two nights ago complaining that
he’d joined the Night’s Watch to kill wildlings, not to cook for them.
“Besides, I never done no wedding feast, m’lord. Black brothers don’t never
take no wifes. It’s in the bloody vows, I swear ’tis.”
    Jon was washing the roast down with a sip of mulled wine
when Clydas appeared at his elbow. “A bird,” he announced, and slipped a
parchment into Jon’s hand. The note was sealed with a dot of hard black wax.
Eastwatch
,
Jon knew, even before he broke the seal. The letter had been written by Maester
Harmune; Cotter Pyke could neither read nor write. But the words were Pyke’s,
set down as he had spoken them, blunt and to the point.

Calm seas today. Eleven
ships set sail for Hardhome on the morning tide. Three Braavosi, four Lyseni,
four of ours. Two of the Lyseni barely seaworthy. We may drown more wildlings
than we save. Your command. Twenty ravens aboard, and Maester Harmune. Will
send reports. I command from
Talon,
Tattersalt second on
Blackbird,
Ser Glendon holds
Eastwatch
.
    “Dark wings, dark words?” asked Alys Karstark.
    “No, my lady. This news was long awaited.”
Though the
last part troubles me
. Glendon Hewett was a seasoned man and a strong
one, a sensible choice to command in Cotter Pyke’s absence. But he was also as
much a friend as Alliser Thorne could boast, and a crony of sorts with Janos
Slynt, however briefly. Jon could still recall how Hewett had dragged him from
his bed, and the feel of his boot slamming into his ribs.
Not the man I
would have chosen
. He rolled the parchment up and slipped it into his
belt.
    The fish course was next, but as the pike was being boned
Lady Alys dragged the Magnar up onto the floor. From the way he moved it was
plain that Sigorn had never danced before, but he had drunk enough mulled wine
so that it did not seem to matter.
    “A northern maid and a wildling warrior, bound together by
the Lord of Light.” Ser Axell Florent slipped into Lady Alys’s vacant seat.
“Her Grace approves. I am close to her, my lord, so I know her mind. King
Stannis will approve as well.”
    Unless Roose Bolton has stuck his head on a spear
.
    “Not all agree, alas.” Ser Axell’s beard was a ragged brush
beneath his sagging chin; coarse hair sprouted from his ears and nostrils. “Ser
Patrek feels he would have made a better match for Lady Alys. His lands were
lost to him when he came north.”
    “There are many in this hall who have lost far more than
that,” said Jon, “and more who have given up their lives in service to the
realm. Ser Patrek should count himself fortunate.”
    Axell Florent smiled. “The king might say the same if he were
here. Yet some provision must be made for His Grace’s leal knights, surely?
They have followed him so far and at such cost. And we must needs bind these
wildlings to king and realm. This marriage is a good first step, but I know
that it would please the queen to see the wildling princess wed as well.”
    Jon sighed. He was weary of explaining that Val was no true
princess. No matter how often he told them, they never seemed to hear. “You are
persistent, Ser Axell, I grant you that.”
    “Do you blame me, my lord? Such a prize is not easily won. A
nubile girl, I hear, and not hard to look upon. Good hips, good breasts, well
made for whelping children.”
    “Who would father these children? Ser Patrek? You?”
    “Who better? We Florents have the blood of the old Gardener
kings in our veins. Lady Melisandre could perform the rites, as she did for
Lady Alys and the Magnar.”
    “All you are lacking is a bride.”
    “Easily remedied.” Florent’s smile was so false that it
looked painful. “Where is she, Lord Snow? Have you moved her to one of your
other castles? Greyguard or the Shadow Tower? Whore’s Burrow, with t’other
wenches?” He leaned close. “Some say you have her tucked away for your own
pleasure. It makes no matter to me, so long as she is not with child. I’ll get
my own sons on her. If you’ve broken her to saddle, well … we are
both men of the world, are we not?”
    Jon had heard enough. “Ser Axell, if you are truly the
Queen’s Hand,