grrm.astormofswords-第216部分

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ou　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　scooped　up　a　handful　of　snow　and　squeezed　it　between　her　fingers。　Heavy　and　wet；　the　snow　packed　easily。　Sansa　began　to　make　snowballs；　shaping　and　smoothing　them　until　they　were　round　and　white　and　perfect。　She　remembered　a　summer's　snow　in　Winterfell　when　Arya　and　Bran　had　ambushed　her　as　she　emerged　from　the　keep　one　morning。　They'd　each　had　a　dozen　snowballs　to　hand；　and　she'd　had　none。　Bran　had　been　perched　on　the　roof　of　the　covered　bridge；　out　of　reach；　but　Sansa　had　chased　Arya　through　the　stables　and　around　the　kitchen　until　both　of　them　were　breathless。　She　might　even　have　caught　her；　but　she'd　slipped　on　some　ice。　Her　sister　came　back　to　see　if　she　was　hurt。　When　she　said　she　wasn't；　Arya　hit　her　in　the　face　with　another　snowball；　but　Sansa　grabbed　her　leg　and　pulled　her　down　and　was　rubbing　snow　in　her　hair　when　Jory　came　along　and　pulled　them　apart；　laughing。
　What　do　I　want　with　snowballs？　She　looked　at　her　sad　little　arsenal。　There's　no　one　to　throw　them　at。　She　let　the　one　she　was　making　drop　from　her　hand。　I　could　build　a　snow　knight　instead；　she　thought。　Or　even　。　。　。
　She　pushed　two　of　her　snowballs　together；　added　a　third；　packed　more　snow　in　around　them；　and　patted　the　whole　thing　into　the　shape　of　a　cylinder。　When　it　was　done；　she　stood　it　on　end　and　used　the　tip　of　her　little　finger　to　poke　holes　in　it　for　windows。　The　crenellations　around　the　top　took　a　little　more　care；　but　when　they　were　done　she　had　a　tower。　I　need　some　walls　now；　Sansa　thought；　and　then　a　keep。　She　set　to　work。
　The　snow　fell　and　the　castle　rose。　Two　walls　ankle…high；　the　inner　taller　than　the　outer。　Towers　and　turrets；　keeps　and　stairs；　a　round　kitchen；　a　square　armory；　the　stables　along　the　inside　of　the　west　wall。　It　was　only　a　castle　when　she　began；　but　before　very　long　Sansa　knew　it　was　Winterfell。　She　found　twigs　and　fallen　branches　beneath　the　snow　and　broke　off　the　ends　to　make　the　trees　for　the　godswood。　For　the　gravestones　in　the　lichyard　she　used　bits　of　bark。　Soon　her　gloves　and　her　boots　were　crusty　white；　her　hands　were　tingling；　and　her　feet　were　soaked　and　cold；　but　she　did　not　care。　The　castle　was　all　that　mattered。　Some　things　were　hard　to　remember；　but　most　came　back　to　her　easily；　as　if　she　had　been　there　only　yesterday。　The　Library　Tower；　with　the　steep　stonework　stair　twisting　about　its　exterior。　The　gatehouse；　two　huge　bulwarks；　the　arched　gate　between　them；　crenellations　all　along　the　top　。　。　。
　And　all　the　while　the　snow　kept　falling；　piling　up　in　drifts　around　her　buildings　as　fast　as　she　raised　them。　She　was　patting　down　the　pitched　roof　of　the　Great　Hall　when　she　heard　a　voice；　and　looked　up　to　see　her　maid　calling　from　her　window。　Was　my　lady　well？　Did　she　wish　to　break　her　fast？　Sansa　shook　her　head；　and　went　back　to　shaping　snow；　adding　a　chimney　to　one　end　of　the　Great　Hall；　where　the　hearth　would　stand　inside。
　Dawn　stole　into　her　garden　like　a　thief。　The　grey　of　the　sky　grew　lighter　still；　and　the　trees　and　shrubs　turned　a　dark　green　beneath　their　stoles　of　snow。　A　few　servants　came　out　and　watched　her　for　a　time；　but　she　paid　them　no　mind　and　they　soon　went　back　inside　where　it　was　warmer。　Sansa　saw　Lady　Lysa　gazing　down　from　her　balcony；　wrapped　up　in　a　blue　velvet　robe　trimmed　with　fox　fur；　but　when　she　looked　again　her　aunt　was　gone。　Maester　Colemon　popped　out　of　the　rookery　and　peered　down　for　a　while；　skinny　and　shivering　but　curious。
　Her　bridges　kept　falling　down。　There　was　a　covered　bridge　between　the　armory　and　the　main　keep；　and　another　that　went　from　the　fourth　floor　of　the　bell　tower　to　the　second　floor　of　the　rookery；　but　no　matter　how　carefully　she　shaped　them；　they　would　not　hold　together。　The　third　time　one　collapsed　on　her；　she　cursed　aloud　and　sat　back　in　helpless　frustration。
　〃Pack　the　snow　around　a　stick；　Sansa。〃
　She　did　not　know　how　long　he　had　been　watching　her；　or　when　he　had　returned　from　the　Vale。　〃A　stick？〃　she　asked。
　〃That　will　give　it　strength　enough　to　stand；　I'd　think；〃　Petyr　said。　〃May　I　e　into　your　castle；　my　lady？〃
　Sansa　was　wary。　〃Don't