A Feast for Dragons

black
as coal. In snowstorms it seemed carved of snow. But on days like this, there
was no mistaking it for anything but ice. On days like this the Wall shimmered
bright as a septon’s crystal, every crack and crevasse limned by sunlight, as
frozen rainbows danced and died behind translucent ripples. On days like this
the Wall was beautiful.
    Tormund’s eldest son stood near the horses, talking with
Leathers. Tall Toregg, he was called amongst the free folk. Though he barely
had an inch on Leathers, he overtopped his father by a foot. Hareth, the
strapping Mole’s Town boy called Horse, huddled near the fire, his back to the
other two. He and Leathers were the only men Jon had brought with him to the
parley; any more might have been seen as a sign of fear, and twenty men would
have been of no more use than two if Tormund had been intent on blood. Ghost
was the only protection Jon needed; the direwolf could sniff out foes, even
those who hid their enmity behind smiles.
    Ghost was gone, though. Jon peeled off one black glove, put
two fingers in his mouth, and whistled. “
Ghost!
To me.”
    From above came the sudden sound of wings. Mormont’s raven
flapped from a limb of an old oak to perch upon Jon’s saddle.
“Corn,”
it cried.
“Corn, corn, corn.”
    “Did you follow me as well?” Jon reached to shoo the bird
away but ended up stroking its feathers. The raven cocked its eye at him.
“Snow,”
it muttered, bobbing its head knowingly. Then Ghost emerged from between two
trees, with Val beside him.
    They look as though they belong together
.
Val was clad all in white; white woolen breeches tucked into high boots of
bleached white leather, white bearskin cloak pinned at the shoulder with a
carved weirwood face, white tunic with bone fastenings. Her breath was white as
well … but her eyes were blue, her long braid the color of dark
honey, her cheeks flushed red from the cold. It had been a long while since Jon
Snow had seen a sight so lovely.
    “Have you been trying to steal my wolf?” he asked her.
    “Why not? If every woman had a direwolf, men would be much
sweeter. Even crows.”
    “Har!” laughed Tormund Giantsbane. “Don’t bandy words with
this one, Lord Snow, she’s too clever for the likes o’ you and me. Best steal
her quick, before Toregg wakes up and takes her first.”
    What had that oaf Axell Florent said of Val?
“A
nubile girl, not hard to look upon. Good hips, good breasts, well made for
whelping children.”
All true enough, but the wildling woman was so
much more. She had proved that by finding Tormund where seasoned rangers of the
Watch had failed.
She may not be a princess, but she would make a worthy
wife for any lord
.
    But that bridge had been burned a long time ago, and Jon
himself had thrown the torch. “Toregg is welcome to her,” he announced. “I took
a vow.”
    “She won’t mind. Will you, girl?”
    Val patted the long bone knife on her hip. “Lord Crow is
welcome to steal into my bed any night he dares. Once he’s been gelded, keeping
those vows will come much easier for him.”
    “Har!”
Tormund snorted again. “You hear
that, Toregg? Stay away from this one. I have one daughter, don’t need
another.” Shaking his head, the wildling chief ducked back inside his tent.
    As Jon scratched Ghost behind the ear, Toregg brought up
Val’s horse for her. She still rode the grey garron that Mully had given her
the day she left the Wall, a shaggy, stunted thing blind in one eye. As she
turned it toward the Wall, she asked, “How fares the little monster?”
    “Twice as big as when you left us, and thrice as loud. When
he wants the teat, you can hear him wail in Eastwatch.” Jon mounted his own
horse.
    Val fell in beside him. “So … I brought you
Tormund, as I said I would. What now? Am I to be returned to my old cell?”
    “Your old cell is occupied. Queen Selyse has claimed the
King’s Tower, for her own. Do you remember Hardin’s Tower?”
    “The one that looks about to collapse?”
    “It’s looked that way for a hundred years. I’ve had the top
floor made ready for you, my lady. You will have more room than in the King’s Tower,
though you may not be as comfortable. No one has ever called it Hardin’s
Palace.”
    “I would choose freedom over comfort every time.”
    “Freedom of the castle you shall have, but I regret to say
you must remain a captive. I can promise that you will not be troubled by
unwanted visitors, however. My own men guard