A Feast for Dragons

along
fresh-shoveled pathways between mounds of dirty snow. “I have heard it said
that your queen has a great dark beard.”
    Jon knew he should not smile, but he did. “Only a mustache.
Very wispy. You can count the hairs.”
    “How disappointing.”
    For all her talk about wanting to be mistress of her seat,
Selyse Baratheon seemed in no great haste to abandon the comforts of Castle
Black for the shadows of the Nightfort. She kept guards, of course—four men
posted at the door, two outside on the steps, two inside by the brazier.
Commanding them was Ser Patrek of King’s Mountain, clad in his knightly raiment
of white and blue and silver, his cloak a spatter of five-pointed stars. When
presented to Val, the knight sank to one knee to kiss her glove. “You are even
lovelier than I was told, princess,” he declared. “The queen has told me much
and more of your beauty.”
    “How odd, when she has never seen me.” Val patted Ser Patrek
on the head. “Up with you now, ser kneeler. Up, up.” She sounded as if she were
talking to a dog.
    It was all that Jon could do not to laugh. Stone-faced, he
told the knight that they required audience with the queen. Ser Patrek sent one
of the men-at-arms scrambling up the steps to inquire as to whether Her Grace
would receive them. “The wolf stays here, though,” Ser Patrek insisted.
    Jon had expected that. The direwolf made Queen Selyse
anxious, almost as much as Wun Weg Wun Dar Wun. “Ghost, stay.”
    They found Her Grace sewing by the fire, whilst her fool
danced about to music only he could hear, the cowbells on his antlers
clang
ing.
“The crow, the crow,” Patchface cried when he saw Jon. “Under the sea the crows
are white as snow, I know, I know, oh, oh, oh.” Princess Shireen was curled up
in a window seat, her hood drawn up to hide the worst of the greyscale that had
disfigured her face.
    There was no sign of Lady Melisandre. For that much Jon was
grateful. Soon or late he would need to face the red priestess, but he would
sooner it was not in the queen’s presence. “Your Grace.” He took a knee. Val
did likewise.
    Queen Selyse set aside her sewing. “You may rise.”
    “If it please Your Grace, may I present the Lady Val? Her
sister Dalla was—”
    “—mother to that squalling babe who keeps us awake at night.
I know who she is, Lord Snow.” The queen sniffed. “You are fortunate that she
returned to us before the king my husband, else it might have gone badly for
you. Very badly indeed.”
    “Are you the wildling princess?” Shireen asked Val.
    “Some call me that,” said Val. “My sister was wife to Mance
Rayder, the King-Beyond-the-Wall. She died giving him a son.”
    “I’m a princess too,” Shireen announced, “but I never had a
sister. I used to have a cousin once, before he sailed away. He was just a
bastard, but I liked him.”
    “Honestly, Shireen,” her mother said. “I am sure the lord
commander did not come to hear about Robert’s by-blows. Patchface, be a good
fool and take the princess to her room.”
    The bells on his hat rang. “Away, away,” the fool sang.
“Come with me beneath the sea, away, away, away.” He took the little princess
by one hand and drew her from the room, skipping.
    Jon said, “Your Grace, the leader of the free folk has
agreed to my terms.”
    Queen Selyse gave the tiniest of nods. “It was ever my lord
husband’s wish to grant sanctuary to these savage peoples. So long as they keep
the king’s peace and the king’s laws, they are welcome in our realm.” She
pursed her lips. “I am told they have more giants with them.”
    Val answered. “Almost two hundred of them, Your Grace. And
more than eighty mammoths.”
    The queen shuddered. “Dreadful creatures.” Jon could not
tell if she was speaking of the mammoths or the giants. “Though such beasts
might be useful to my lord husband in his battles.”
    “That may be, Your Grace,” Jon said, “but the mammoths are
too big to pass through our gate.”
    “Cannot the gate be widened?”
    “That … that would be unwise, I think.”
    Selyse sniffed. “If you say so. No doubt you know about such
things. Where do you mean to settle these wildlings? Surely Mole’s Town is not
large enough to contain … how many are they?”
    “Four thousand, Your Grace. They will help us garrison our
abandoned castles, the better to defend the Wall.”
    “I had been given to understand that those castles were
ruins. Dismal places, bleak and