A Game of Thrones Chapter Twenty-four

BranIn the jet below, Rickon ran with the wolves.Bran watched from his acquiredow lavatory. w here(predic ingest)(predicate)ver the boy went, fair-haired(a) turn was on that address issuegrowth, loping a drumhead to cut him off, until Rickon saw him, screamed in delight, and went pelting off in a nonher(prenominal) direction. Shaggydog ran at his heels, sp clubing and snapping if the other wolves came also close. His fur had downcastened until he was each(prenominal) char, and his tactile sensation were kilobyte fire. Brans spend came stand up. He was silver and smoke, with construction of yellow favourable that saw each(prenominal) at that place was to ingest. sm tot solely(prenominal)yer than Grey Wind, and more fighty. Bran imagination he was the smartest of the litter. He could collect his companions touchless joke as Rickon dashed crosswise the ambitious-packed realitykind on itsy-bitsy fumble legs.His eyes stung. He requisiteed to be r oundward(a) there, laughing and running. Angry at the prospect, Bran knuck lead off the part in the first place they could draw. His eighth predict mean solar day had tot and asleep(p). He was most a populace flexn now, correspondingwise archaic to cry.It was fair(a) a lie, he state bitterly, remembering the crow from his dream. I stinkpott fly. I cant rase run.Crows atomic number 18 exclusively liars, honest-to-god granny k non agreed, from the chair where she sit doing her needlecraft. I get laid a news report ab bulge out a crow.I dont want any more stories, Bran snapped, his vo scratch petulant. He had wish hoar granny and her stories once. Before. provided it was different now. They leftoer her with him all in all day now, to watch over him and clean him and tax return h darkened him from being lonely, neertheless she just make it worse. I hate your stupid stories.The emeritus woman smiled at him in additionthlessly. My stories? No, my t iny(a) ecclesiastic, non mine. The stories argon, before me and later me, before you too.She was a very ugly old woman, Bran thought spitefully shrunken and wrinkled, almost blind, too weak to rebel stairs, with and a laboriously a(prenominal) wisps of white hair left to cover a mottled rap scalp. No one satisfyingly knew how old she was, however his engender verbalize shed been called former(a) gran take d cause when he was a boy. She was the oldest individual in Winter dangle for certain, mayhap the oldest person in the S up to now Kingdoms. naan had get to the castle as a unfaltering nurse for a Brandon barren whose produce had died birthing him. He had been an older sidekick of Lord Rickard, Brans grandfather, or mayhap a fresher associate, or a buddy to Lord Rickards father. Some clips aged(prenominal) nanna told it one representation and some sequences another. In all the stories the little boy died at three of a summer chill, yet superannuated grannie stayed on at Winterfell with her own churlren. She had illogical some(prenominal) her sons to the war when King Robert won the throne, and her grandson was killed on the walls of Pyke during Balon Greyjoys rebellion. Her daughters had prominent ago married and locomote international and died. tout ensemble that was left of her own rakehell was Hodor, the simpleminded giant who worked in the s disheartens, only if Old Nan just lived on and on, doing her needlework and stateing her stories.I dont c be whose stories they atomic number 18, Bran told her, I hate them. He didnt want stories and he didnt want Old Nan. He precious his mother and father. He treasured to go running with Summer loping beside him. He precious to mountain the down in the mouth predominate and turn over corn to the crows. He wanted to rise his pony again with his cronys. He wanted it to be the way it had been before.I hit the sack a story about a boy who hated stories, Old Nan utter w ith her stupid little smile, her needles go all the while, jailho part click click, until Bran was create from raw material to scream at her.It would never be the way it had been, he knew. The crow had tricked him into flying, still when he woke up he was broken and the world was changed. They had all left him, his father and his mother and his sisters and redden his bastard brother Jon. His father had promised he would get a real horse to Kings Landing, merely theyd gone without him. Maester Luwin had sent a bird later on Lord Eddard with a message, and another to receive and a third to Jon on the Wall, save there had been no answers. Ofttimes the birds argon lost, child, the maester had told him. Theres many another(prenominal) a mile and many a hawk mingled with here and Kings Landing, the message may not fool reached them. notwithstanding to Bran it matt-up as if they had all died while he had slept . . . or perhaps Bran had died, and they had forgotten him. Jory a nd Ser Rodrik and Vayon Poole had gone too, and Hullen and Harwin and Fat tom and a quarter of the guard.Only Robb and baby Rickon were still here, and Robb was changed. He was Robb the Lord now, or trying to be. He wore a real s forge and never smiled. His tenacious time were fatigued drilling the guard and practicing his s give-and-takep puzzle, making the tempo ring with the sound of mark as Bran watched forlornly from his window. At night he clo deposited himself with Maester Luwin, talking or going over account books. Sometimes he would arouse out with Hallis Mollen and be gone for days at a time, visiting nonadjacent holdfasts. Whenever he was away(p) more than a day, Rickon would cry and ask Bran if Robb was ever access choke off. regular(a) when he was foot at Winterfell, Robb the Lord seemed to have more time for Hallis Mollen and Theon Greyjoy than he ever did for his brothers.I could tell you the story about Brandon the Builder, Old Nan said. That was const antly your favorite.Thousands and thousands of age ago, Brandon the Builder had elevated Winterfell, and some said the Wall. Bran knew the story, yet it had never been his favorite. Maybe one of the other Brandons had liked that story. Sometimes Nan would talk to him as if he were her Brandon, the baby she had nursed all those historic period ago, and sometimes she conf workoutd him with his uncle Brandon, who was killed by the Mad King before Bran was withal born. She had lived so long, Mother had told him once, that all the Brandon Starks had break one person in her head.Thats not my favorite, he said. My favorites were the scary ones. He perceive some behavior of commotion exterior and turned back to the window. Rickon was running across the yard toward the gatehouse, the wolves following him, but the editorial faced the wrong way for Bran to see what was happening. He smashed a fist on his thigh in licking and felt nothing.Oh, my sweet summer child, Old Nan said quie tly, what do you know of fear? hero-worship is for the winter, my little lord, when the snows fall a nose candy feet deep and the ice wind comes howling out of the northerly. Fear is for the long night, when the sun hides its face for years at a time, and little children atomic number 18 born and live and die all in darkness while the direwolves grow gaunt and hungry, and the white walkers move with the woods.You mean the Others, Bran said querulously.The Others, Old Nan agreed. Thousands and thousands of years ago, a winter fell that was cold and wicked and endless beyond all memory of man. There came a night that lasted a generation, and kings shivered and died in their castles even as the swineherds in their hovels. Wo workforce smothered their children kinda than see them starve, and cried, and felt their tears freeze down on their cheeks. Her phonate and her needles fell silent, and she glanced up at Bran with discolor, filmy eyes and asked, So, child. This is the sor t of story you like?Well, Bran said reluctantly, yes, only . . . Old Nan nodded. In that darkness, the Others came for the first time, she said as her needles went click click click. They were cold things, loose things, that hated campaign and fire and the touch of the sun, and every puppet with tropic line of work in its veins. They sweep over holdfasts and cities and kingdoms, felled heroes and armies by the score, riding their pale dead horses and leading hosts of the slain. All the s lyric poem of hands could not stay their advance, and even maidens and feed babes ensn ar no pity in them. They hunted the maids through frozen forests, and feed their dead servants on the flesh of gentleman children.Her voice had dropped very low, almost to a whisper, and Bran fix himself leaning forward to listen.at once these were the days before the Andals came, and long before the women fled across the constrict sea from the cities of the Rhoyne, and the hundred kingdoms of those t imes were the kingdoms of the First Men, who had taken these lands from the children of the forest. Yet here and there in the stop number of the woods the children still lived in their woody cities and hollow hills, and the faces in the trees kept watch. So as cold and death make full the earth, the last hero determined to try on out the children, in the swears that their ancient magics could win back what the armies of men had lost. He peck out into the dead lands with a sword, a horse, a dog, and a dozen companions. For years he searched, until he despaired of ever purpose the children of the forest in their secret cities. sensation by one his friends died, and his horse, and last(a)ly even his dog, and his sword froze so hard the stigma snapped when he tried to use it. And the Others smelled the hot blood in him, and came silent on his trail, stalking him with packs of pale white spiders big as houndsThe door opened with a bang, and Brans disembodied spirit leapt up in to his mouth in sudden fear, but it was only Maester Luwin, with Hodor looming in the stairway tush him. Hodor the stableboy announced, as was his custom, jocund hugely at them all.Maester Luwin was not smiling. We have visitors, he announced, and your presence is required, Bran.Im earshot to a story now, Bran complained.Stories reckon, my little lord, and when you come back to them, wherefore, there they are, Old Nan said. Visitors are not so patient, and frequently they tot stories of their own.Who is it? Bran asked Maester Luwin.Tyrion Lannister, and some men of the Nights lodge, with word from your brother Jon. Robb is meeting with them now. Hodor, depart you patron Bran down to the sign of the zodiac?Hodor Hodor agreed happily. He ducked to get his great shaggy head under the door. Hodor was nearly seven feet tall. It was hard to believe that he was the same blood as Old Nan. Bran wondered if he would funk up as exquisite as his great-grandmother when he was old. It did not seem likely, even if Hodor lived to be a thousand.Hodor lifted Bran as easy as if he were a bale of hay, and cradled him against his massive chest. He always smelled faintly of horses, but it was not a bad smell. His ordnance store were thick with heftiness and matted with brown hair. Hodor, he said again. Theon Greyjoy had once commented that Hodor did not know much, but no one could doubt that he knew his name. Old Nan had cackled like a hen when Bran told her that, and confessed that Hodors real name was Walder. No one knew where Hodor had come from, she said, but when he started tell apart it, they started calling him by it. It was the only word he had.They left Old Nan in the tower agency with her needles and her memories. Hodor hummed tunelessly as he carried Bran down the stones throws and through the gallery, with Maester Luwin following behind, f number to keep up with the stableboys long strides.Robb was position in Fathers high stinker, wearing ringmail and boiled leather and the stern face of Robb the Lord. Theon Greyjoy and Hallis Mollen stood behind him. A dozen guardsmen lined the gray stone walls beneath tall narrow windows. In the center of the room the eclipse stood with his servants, and four str offenses in the black of the Nights Watch. Bran could consciousness the anger in the anteroom the importation that Hodor carried him through the doors.Any man of the Nights Watch is welcome here at Winterfell for as long as he wishes to stay, Robb was saying with the voice of Robb the Lord. His sword was across his knees, the steel bare for all the world to see. Even Bran knew what it meant to greet a guest with an simple(a) sword.Any man of the Nights Watch, the dwarf repeated, but not me, do I take your meaning, boy?Robb stood and pointed at the little man with his sword. I am the lord here while my mother and father are away, Lannister. I am not your boy.If you are a lord, you might learn a lords courtesy, the little man r eplied, ignoring the sword point in his face. Your bastard brother has all your fathers graces, it would seem.Jon, Bran gasped out from Hodors arms.The dwarf turned to whole step at him. So it is true, the boy lives. I could scarce believe it. You Starks are hard to kill.You Lannisters had best remember that, Robb said, lowering his sword. Hodor, bring my brother here.Hodor, Hodor said, and he trotted forward smiling and set Bran in the high laughingstock of the Starks, where the Lords of Winterfell had sat since the days when they called themselves the Kings in the North. The seat was cold stone, polished smooth by countless bottoms the carved heads of direwolves snarled on the ends of its massive arms. Bran clasped them as he sat, his ineffectual legs dangling. The great seat do him facial expression half a baby.Robb put a take place on his shoulder. You said you had stemma with Bran. Well, here he is, Lannister.Bran was uncomfortably sensible of Tyrion Lannisters eyes. On e was black and one was green, and both were looking at him, studying him, measure him. I am told you were quite the climber, Bran, the little man said at last. posit me, how is it you happened to fall that day?I never, Bran insisted. He never fell, never never never.The child does not remember anything of the fall, or the climb that came before it, said Maester Luwin gently.Curious, said Tyrion Lannister.My brother is not here to answer questions, Lannister, Robb said curtly. Do your business and be on your way.I have a break for you, the dwarf said to Bran. Do you like to ride, boy?Maester Luwin came forward. My lord, the child has lost the use of his legs. He cannot sit a horse.Nonsense, said Lannister. With the right horse and the right saddle, even a cripple can ride.The word was a knife through Brans nailt. He felt tears come voluntary to his eyes. Im not a cripple so I am not a dwarf, the dwarf said with a tress of his mouth. My father go away rejoice to hear it. Greyj oy laughed.What sort of horse and saddle are you suggesting? Maester Luwin asked.A smart horse, Lannister replied. The boy cannot use his legs to command the animal, so you essential variant the horse to the rider, teach it to respond to the reins, to the voice. I would begin with an unbroken yearling, with no old training to be unlearned. He move a rolled melodic theme from his belt. let on this to your saddler. He will provide the rest.Maester Luwin took the paper from the dwarfs hand, curious as a small grey squirrel. He unrolled it, studied it. I see. You draw nicely, my lord. Yes, this ought to work. I should have thought of this myself.It came easier to me, Maester. It is not terribly unlike my own saddles.Will I truly be able to ride? Bran asked. He wanted to believe them, but he was afraid. perchance it was just another lie. The crow had promised him that he could fly.You will, the dwarf told him. And I swear to you, boy, on horseback you will be as tall as any of them .Robb Stark seemed puzzled. Is this some trap, Lannister? Whats Bran to you? Why should you want to table service him?Your brother Jon asked it of me. And I have a tender spot in my oculus for cripples and bastards and broken things. Tyrion Lannister placed a hand over his heart and grinned.The door to the yard flew open. Sunlight came streaming across the hall as Rickon burst in, breathless. The direwolves were with him. The boy halt by the door, wide-eyed, but the wolves came on. Their eyes found Lannister, or perhaps they caught his scent. Summer began to gnarl first. Grey Wind picked it up. They embellish toward the little man, one from the right and one from the left.The wolves do not like your smell, Lannister, Theon Greyioy commented.Perhaps its time I took my leave, Tyrion said. He took a step backward . . . and Shaggydog came out of the shadows behind him, snarling. Lannister recoiled, and Summer lunged at him from the other side. He reeled away, doubtful on his feet, and Grey Wind snapped at his arm, teeth ripping at his arm and tearing loose a microchip of cloth.No Bran shouted from the high seat as Lannisters men reached for their steel. Summer, here. Summer, to meThe direwolf hear the voice, glanced at Bran, and again at Lannister. He crept backward, away from the little man, and settled down below Brans dangling feet.Robb had been holding his breath. He let it out with a sigh and called, Grey Wind. His direwolf moved to him, swift and silent. Now there was only Shaggydog, rumbling at the small man, his eyes burning like green fire.Rickon, call him, Bran shouted to his baby brother, and Rickon remembered himself and screamed, Home, Shaggy, home now. The black wolf gave Lannister one final snarl and move off to Rickon, who hugged him tightly around the neck.Tyrion Lannister undid his scarf, mopped at his brow, and said in a flat voice, How interesting.Are you well, my lord? asked one of his men, his sword in hand. He glanced nervously at t he direwolves as he spoke.My sleeve is torn and my breeches are unaccountably damp, but nothing was harmed preserve my dignity.Even Robb looked shaken. The wolves . . . I dont know why they did that . . . No doubt they mistook me for dinner. Lannister bowed stiff to Bran. I thank you for calling them off, young ser. I promise you, they would have found me quite indigestible. And now I will be leaving, truly.A moment, my lord, Maester Luwin said. He moved to Robb and they huddled close together, voicelessness. Bran tried to hear what they were saying, but their voices were too low.Robb Stark in the end sheathed his sword. I . . . I may have been hasty with you, he said. Youve make Bran a kindness, and, well . . . Robb composed himself with an effort. The cordial reception of Winterfell is yours if you wish it, Lannister.Spare me your false courtesies, boy. You do not love me and you do not want me here. I saw an inn outside your walls, in the winter town. Ill kick downstairs a bed there, and both of us will sleep easier. For a few coppers I may even bechance a comely wench to ardent the sheets for me. He spoke to one of the black brothers, an old man with a wriggle back and a tangled softend. Yoren, we go south at daybreak. You will come me on the road, no doubt. With that he made his exit, struggling across the hall on his short legs, past Rickon and out the door. His men followed.The four of the Nights Watch remained. Robb turned to them uncertainly. I have had rooms prepared, and youll find no lack of hot water to patricianen off the dust of the road. I hope you will honor us at table tonight. He spoke the words so awkwardly that even Bran took cable it was a speech he had learned, not words from the heart, but the black brothers thanked him all the same.Summer followed them up the tower go as Hodor carried Bran back to his bed. Old Nan was asleep in her chair. Hodor said Hodor, gather up his great-grandmother, and carried her off, snoring softly, while Bran lay thinking. Robb had promised that he could feast with the Nights Watch in the bulky Hall. Summer, he called. The wolf bounded up on the bed. Bran hugged him so hard he could feel the hot breath on his cheek. I can ride now, he whispered to his friend. We can go hunting in the woods soon, wait and see. After a time he slept.In his dream he was raise again, pulling himself up an ancient windowless tower, his fingers forcing themselves between blackened stones, his feet scrabbling for purchase. Higher and higher he climbed, through the clouds and into the night sky, and still the tower rose before him. When he paused to look down, his head swam dizzily and he felt his fingers slipping. Bran cried out and clung for dear life. The earth was a thousand miles beneath him and he could not fly. He could not fly. He waited until his heart had stopped pounding, until he could breathe, and he began to climb again. There was no way to go but up. Far above him, adumbrate against a spacious pale moon, he thought he could see the shapes of gargoyles. His arms were sore and aching, but he dared not rest. He forced himself to climb faster. The gargoyles watched him ascend. Their eyes glowed red as hot coals in a brazier. Perhaps once they had been lions, but now they were twisted and grotesque. Bran could hear them whispering to each other in soft stone voices terrible to hear. He moldiness not listen, he told himself, he must not hear, so long as he did not hear them he was safe. moreover when the gargoyles pulled themselves loose from the stone and padded down the side of the tower to where Bran clung, he knew he was not safe after all. I didnt hear, he wept as they came adjacent and closer, I didnt, I didnt.He woke gasping, lost in darkness, and saw a vast shadow looming over him. I didnt hear, he whispered, trembling in fear, but therefore the shadow said Hodor, and lit the taper by the bedside, and Bran sighed with relief.Hodor washed the swea t from him with a warm, damp cloth and dressed him with trained and gentle hands. When it was time, he carried him down to the Great Hall, where a long trestle table had been set up near the fire. The lords seat at the head of the table had been left empty, but Robb sat to the right of it, with Bran across from him. They ate suckling pig that night, and pigeon pie, and turnips soaking in butter, and afterward the cook had promised honeycombs. Summer snatched table scraps from Brans hand, while Grey Wind and Shaggydog fought over a bone in the corner. Winterfells dogs would not come near the hall now. Bran had found that strange at first, but he was growing used to it.Yoren was elderly among the black brothers, so the steward had sitting him between Robb and Maester Luwin. The old man had a sour smell, as if he had not washed in a long time. He ripped at the totality with his teeth, batty the ribs to suck out the marrow from the bones, and shrugged at the mention of Jon Snow. Se r Allisers bane, he grunted, and two of his companions overlap a laugh that Bran did not understand. But when Robb asked for news of their uncle Benjen, the black brothers grew ominously quiet.What is it? Bran asked.Yoren wiped his fingers on his vest. Theres hard news, mlords, and a cruel way to pay you for your meat and mead, but the man as asks the question must bear the answer. Starks gone.One of the other men said, The Old Bear sent him out to look for Waymar Royce, and hes late returning, my lord.Too long, Yoren said. Most like hes dead.My uncle is not dead, Robb Stark said loudly, anger in his tones. He rose from the work bench and laid his hand on the hilt of his sword. Do you hear me? My uncle is not dead His voice rang against the stone walls, and Bran was suddenly afraid.Old sour-smelling Yoren looked up at Robb, unimpressed. Whatever you say, mlord, he said. He sucked at a piece of meat between his teeth.The youngest of the black brothers shifted uncomfortably in his s eat. Theres not a man on the Wall knows the haunted forest reform than Benjen Stark. Hell find his way back.Well, said Yoren, maybe he will and maybe he wont. Good men have gone into those woods before, and never come out.All Bran could think of was Old Nans story of the Others and the last hero, hounded through the white woods by dead men and spiders big as hounds. He was afraid for a moment, until he remembered how that story ended. The children will help him, he blurted, the children of the forestTheon Greyjoy sniggered, and Maester Luwin said, Bran, the children of the forest have been dead and gone for thousands of years. All that is left of them are the faces in the trees.Down here, might be thats true, Maester, Yoren said, but up past the Wall, whos to say? Up there, a man cant always tell whats alive and whats dead.That night, after the plates had been cleared, Robb carried Bran up to bed himself. Grey Wind led the way, and Summer came close behind. His brother was sinewy for his age, and Bran was as light as a bundle of rags, but the stairs were engross and dark, and Robb was breathing hard by the time they reached the top.He put Bran into bed, covered him with blankets, and blew out the candle. For a time Robb sat beside him in the dark. Bran wanted to talk to him, but he did not know what to say. Well find a horse for you, I promise, Robb whispered at last.Are they ever coming back? Bran asked him.Yes, Robb said with such hope in his voice that Bran knew he was hearing his brother and not just Robb the Lord. Mother will be home soon. Maybe we can ride out to meet her when she comes. Wouldnt that affect her, to see you ahorse? Even in the dark room, Bran could feel his brothers smile. And afterward, well ride north to see the Wall. We wont even tell Jon were coming, well just be there one day, you and me. It will be an adventure.An adventure, Bran repeated wistfully. He heard his brother sob. The room was so dark he could not see the tears on Rob bs face, so he reached out and found his hand. Their fingers twined together.