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e smiled a tired smile。 〃Do not make me die regretful。 Your uncle was a great man。 Your lord father and his father as well。 I shall expect full as much of you。〃
〃Aye；〃 said Cotter Pyke。 〃And you can start by telling those king's men that it's done； and we want our bloody supper。〃
〃Supper；〃 screamed the raven。 〃Supper； supper。〃
The king's men cleared the door when they told them of the choosing； and Three…Finger Hobb and half a dozen helpers went trotting off to the kitchen to fetch the food。 Jon did not wait to eat。 He walked across the castle； wondering if he were dreaming； with the raven on his shoulder and Ghost at his heels。 Pyp； Grenn； and Sam trailed after him； chattering； but he hardly heard a word until Grenn whispered； 〃Sam did it；〃 and Pyp said； 〃Sam did it！〃 Pyp had brought a wineskin with him； and he took a long drink and chanted； 〃Sam； Sam； Sam the wizard； Sam the wonder； Sam Sam the marvel man； he did it。 But when did you hide the raven in the kettle； Sam； and how in seven hells could you be certain it would fly to Jon？ It would have mucked up everything if the bird had decided to perch on Janos Slynt's fat head。〃
〃I had nothing to do with the bird；〃 Sam insisted。 〃When it flew out of the kettle I almost wet myself。〃
Jon laughed； half amazed that he still remembered how。 〃You're all a bunch of mad fools； do you know that？〃
〃Us？〃 said Pyp。 〃You call us fools？ We're not the ones who got chosen as the nine…hundredth…and…ninety…eighth Lord mander of the Night's Watch。 You best have some wine； Lord Jon。 I think you're going to need a lot of wine。〃
So Jon Snow took the wineskin from his hand and had a swallow。 But only one。 The Wall was his； the night was dark； and he had a king to face。
CHAPTER 80
SANSA
She awoke all at once； every nerve atingle。 For a moment she did not remember where she was。 She had dreamt that she was little； still sharing a bedchamber with her sister Arya。 But it was her maid she heard tossing in sleep； not her sister； and this was not Winterfell； but the Eyrie。 And I am Alayne Stone； a bastard girl。 The room was cold and black； though she was warm beneath the blankets。 Dawn had not yet e。 Sometimes she dreamed of Ser Ilyn Payne and woke with her heart thumping； but this dream had not been like that。 Home。 It was a dream of home。
The Eyrie was no home。 It was no bigger than Maegor's Holdfast； and outside its sheer white walls was only the mountain and the long treacherous descent past Sky and Snow and Stone to the Gates of the Moon on the valley floor。 There was no place to go and little to do。 The older servants said these halls rang with laughter when her father and Robert Baratheon had been Jon Arryn's wards； but those days were many years gone。 Her aunt kept a small household； and seldom permitted any guests to ascend past the Gates of the Moon。 Aside from her aged maid； Sansa's only panion was the Lord Robert； eight going on three。
And Marillion。 There is always Marillion。 When he played for them at supper； the young singer often seemed to be singing directly at her。 Her aunt was far from pleased。 Lady Lysa doted on Marillion； and had banished two serving girls and even a page for telling lies about him。
Lysa was as lonely as she was。 Her new husband seemed to spend more time at the foot of the mountain than he did atop it。 He was gone now； had been gone the past four days； meeting with the Corbrays。 From bits and pieces of overheard conversations Sansa knew that Jon Arryn's bannermen resented Lysa's marriage and begrudged Petyr his authority as Lord Protector of the Vale。 The senior branch of House Royce was close to open revolt over her aunt's failure to aid Robb in his war； and the Waynwoods； Redforts； Belmores； and Templetons were giving them every support。 The mountain clans were being troublesome as well； and old Lord Hunter had died so suddenly that his two younger sons were accusing their elder brother of having murdered him。 The Vale of Arryn might have been spared the worst of the war； but it was hardly the idyllic place that Lady Lysa had made it out to be。
I am not going back to sleep； Sansa realized。 My head is all a tumult。 She pushed her pillow away reluctantly； threw back the blankets； went to her window； and opened the shutters。
Snow was falling on the Eyrie。
Outside the flakes drifted down as soft and silent as memory。 Was this what woke me？ Already the snowfall lay thick upon the garden below； blanketing the grass； dusting the shrubs and statues with white and weighing down the branches of the trees。 The sight took Sansa back to cold nights long ago； in the long summer of her childhood。
She had last seen snow the day she'd left Winterfell。 That was a lighter fall than this； she remembered。 Robb had melting flakes in his hair when he hugged me； and the snowball Arya tried to make kept ing apart in her hands。 It hurt to remember how happy she had been that morning。 Hullen had helped her mount； and she'd ridden out with the snowflakes swirling around her； off to see the great wide world。 I thought my song was beginning that day； but it was almost done。
Sansa left the shutters open as she dressed。 It would be cold； she knew； though the Eyrie's towers encircled the garden and protected it from the worst of the mountain winds。 She donned silken smallclothes and a linen shift； and over that a warm dress of blue lambswool。 Two pairs of hose for her legs； boots that laced up to her knees； heavy leather gloves； and finally a hooded cloak of soft white fox fur。
Her maid rolled herself more tightly in her blanket as the snow began to drift in the window。 Sansa eased open the door； and made her way down the winding stair。 When she opened the door to the garden； it was so lovely that she held her breath； unwilling to disturb such perfect beauty。 The snow drifted down and down； all in ghostly silence； and lay thick and unbroken on the ground。 All color had fled the world outside。 It was a place of whites and blacks and greys。 White towers and white snow and white statues； black shadows and black trees； the dark grey sky above。 A pure world； Sansa thought。 I do not belong here。
Yet she stepped out all the same。 Her boots tore ankle…deep holes into the smooth white surface of the snow； yet made no sound。 Sansa drifted past frosted shrubs and thin dark trees； and wondered if she were still dreaming。 Drifting snowflakes brushed her face as light as lover's kisses； and melted on her cheeks。 At the center of the garden； beside the statue of the weeping woman that lay broken and half…buried on the ground； she turned her face up to the sky and closed her eyes。 She could feel the snow on her lashes； taste it on her lips。 It was the taste of Winterfell。 The taste of innocence。 The taste of dreams。
When Sansa opened her eyes again； she was on her knees。 She did not remember falling。 it seemed to her that the sky was a lighter shade of grey。 Dawn； she thought。 Another day。 Another new day。 It was the old days she hungered for。 Prayed for。 But who could she pray to？ The garden had been meant for a godswood once； she knew； but the soil was too thin and stony for a weirwood to take root。 A godswood without gods； as empty as me。
She s