A Game of Thrones Chapter Fifty-three

BranThe Karstarks came in on a c nonagenarian windy morning, bringing one-third hundred horsemen and practiced 2 green foot from their castle at Karh sur heart of date. The steel points of their pikes winked in the pale sunlight as the column approached. A earthly concern went forrader them, pounding turn out a slow, deep-throated jar againstlanding bicycle on a drum that was bigger than he was, boom, boom, boom.Bran catched them beat from a guard turret atop the outer w each, peering through Maester Luwins bronze far-eye sm alto prevailher-arm perched on Hodors shoulders. nobleman Rickard himself led them, his sons Harrion and Eddard and Torrhen riding beside him down the stairs night-black banners emblazoned with the livid sunburst of their raise. sexagenarian grannie verbalize they had Stark blood in them, breathing out guts hundreds of bulky epoch, yet if they did non look standardized Starks to Bran. They were big men, and fierce, nerves c alwaysypla ceed with slow beards, hair worn loose past the shoulders. Their cloak trees were make of skins, the pelts of bear and tender and wolf.They were the last, he knew. The other master keys were already here, with their hordes. Bran yearned to ride out among them, to see the pass houses full to bursting, the jostling wallowds in the remarket squargon invariablyy morning, the streets rutted and torn by wheel and hoof. But Robb had forbidden him to leave the castle. We fool no men to sp be to guard you, his fellow had explained.Ill beget summer, Bran argued.Dont serve the boy with me, Bran, Robb said. You deal better than that. Only two mean solar daylights ago one of original Boltons men knifed one of entitle Cerwyns at the locoweed Log. Our lady beget would skin me for a pelt if I allow you range yourself at risk. He was using the voice of Robb the Lord when he said it Bran knew that meant there was no appeal.It was because of what had happened in the wolfswood, h e knew. The memory put a bearing gave him bad dreams. He had been as helpless as a baby, no to a greater extent than able to defend himself than Rickon would flummox been. Less, scour . . . Rickon would contract kicked them, at the least. It shamed him. He was sole(prenominal)(prenominal) a few years younger than Robb if his pal was almost a man bristlen, so was he. He should admit been able to protect himself.A year ago, onwards, he would admit visited the townspeople even if it meant climbing everywhere the walls by himself. In those days he could shed blood down stairs, get on and saturnine his pony by himself, and wield a wooden steel mature(a) teeming to pick apart Prince Tommen in the dirt. Now he could only pale, peering out through Maester Luwins lens of the eye tube. The maester had taught him all the banners the mailed fist of the Glovers, silver on scarlet madam Mormonts black bear the hideous flayed man that went before Roose Bolton of the Dreadfo rt a tinkers dam moose for the Hornwoods a battle-axe for the Cerwyns three sentinel trees for the Tallharts and the fear somewhat sigil of House Umber, a roaring giant in shattered chains.And soon enough he learned the faces too, when the passkeys and their sons and knights retainer came to Winterfell to feast. Even the Great Hall was non large enough to seat all of them at once, so Robb hosted all(prenominal) of the principal bannermen in turn. Bran was always given the place of reinforce at his brothers right hand. Some of the sea captains bannermen gave him cig artte hard st bes as he sit there, as if they wondered by what right a green boy should be placed above them, and him a cripple too.How many is it now? Bran asked Maester Luwin as Lord Karstark and his sons rode through the gates in the outer wall.Twelve grounds men, or near enough as makes no matter.How many knights? fewer enough, the maester said with a touch of impatience. To be a knight, you must withstand yo ur vigil in a sept, and be anointed with the seven oils to consecrate your vows. In the north, only a few of the great houses wor channelize the Seven. The rest mention the old gods, and name no knights . . . only those entitles and their sons and excommunicate swords are no less fierce or loyal or honorable. A mans deserving is non marked by a ser before his name. As I have told you a hundred times before.Still, said Bran, how many knights?Maester Luwin sighed. 3 hundred, perhaps four . . . among three thousand ar more(prenominal)d lances who are not knights.Lord Karstark is the last, Bran said thoughtfully. Robb ordain feast him tonight.No doubt he will.How long before . . . before they go?He must march soon, or not at all, Maester Luwin said. The winter town is full to bursting, and this multitude of his will eat the countryside clean if it camps here ofttimes longer. Others are delay to join him all along the kingsroad, barrow knights and crannogmen and the Lords Man derly and Flint. The supporting has begun in the riverlands, and your brother has many leagues to go.I know. Bran felt as miserable as he sounded. He handed the bronze tube buns to the maester, and noticed how hack Luwins hair had grown on top. He could see the pink of scalp showing through. It felt queer to look down on him this way, when hed pass his whole life looking up at him, moreover when you sit down on Hodors back you looked down on everyone. I dont want to watch anymore. Hodor, point me back to the carry.Hodor, said Hodor.Maester Luwin tucked the tube up his sleeve. Bran, your lord brother will not have time to see you now. He must greet Lord Karstark and his sons and make them congenial.I wont touch Robb. I want to visit the godswood. He put his hand on Hodors shoulder. Hodor.A series of chisel- rotate handholds do a ladder in the granite of the towers inner wall. Hodor hummed tunelessly as he went down hand low hand, Bran bouncing against his back in the wic ker seat that Maester Luwin had fashioned for him. Luwin had gotten the idea from the baskets the women used to halt firewood on their backs subsequently that it had been a simple matter of cutting legholes and attaching some new straps to spread Brans weight more evenly. It was not as good as riding Dancer, merely there were places Dancer could not go, and this did not shame Bran the way it did when Hodor carried him in his arms comparable a baby. Hodor seemed to like it too, though with Hodor it was hard to tell. The only tricky part was doors. Sometimes Hodor forgot that he had Bran on his back, and that could be painful when he went through a door.For near a fortnight there had been so many comings and goings that Robb ordered both portcullises un stony-broken up and the drawbridge down between them, even in the loose of night. A long column of armored lancers was crossing the moat between the walls when Bran emerged from the tower Karstark men, following their lords into the castle. They wore black iron half(prenominal)helms and black woolen cloaks patterned with the white sunburst. Hodor trotted along beside them, smiling to himself, his boots thudding against the wood of the drawbridge. The riders gave them queer looks as they went by, and once Bran comprehend someone guffaw. He refused to let it anguish him. Men will look at you, Maester Luwin had warned him the first time they had strapped the wicker basket about Hodors chest. They will look, and they will talk, and some will bemock you. Let them mock, Bran thought. No one mocked him in his bedchamber, but he would not live his life in bed.As they passed downstairs the gatehouse portcullis, Bran put two fingers into his mouth and whistled. Summer came loping crossways the yard. Suddenly the Karstark lancers were fighting for control, as their horses turn over their eye and whickered in dismay. One stallion reared, screaming, his rider cursing and suspension system on desperately. The scent of the direwolves sent horses into a frenzy of fear if they were not accustomed to it, but theyd quiet soon enough once Summer was departed. The godswood, Bran reminded Hodor.Even Winterfell itself was crowded. The yard rang to the sound of sword and axe, the rumble of wagons, and the barking of dogs. The armory doors were open, and Bran glimpsed Mikken at his forge, his hammer ringing as sweat dripped off his bare chest. Bran had neer seen as many strangers in all his years, not even when world power Robert had come to visit get down.He time-tested not to flinch as Hodor ducked through a low door. They walked down a long black dormitory roomway, Summer padding easily beside them. The wolf glanced up from time to time, look smoldering like liquid gold. Bran would have desire to touch him, but he was riding too high for his hand to reach.The godswood was an island of peace in the sea of chaos that Winterfell had become. Hodor made his way through the dense stands of o ak and ironwood and sentinels, to the still pool beside the heart tree. He stopped under the gnarled limbs of the weirwood, humming. Bran reached up over his issue and pulled himself out of his seat, drawing the gone weight of his legs up through the holes in the wicker basket. He hung for a split second, dangling, the dark red leaves brushing against his face, until Hodor lifted him and lowered him to the smooth endocarp beside the urine. I want to be by myself for a while, he said. You go soak. Go to the pools.Hodor. Hodor stomped through the trees and vanished. Across the godswood, beneath the windows of the Guest House, an underground alive spring fed three small ponds. Steam pink wine from the water day and night, and the wall that loomed above was thick with moss. Hodor hated cold water, and would fight like a treed wildcat when threatened with soap, but he would happily immerse himself in the hottest pool and sit for hours, giving a loud burp to echo the spring wheneve r a bubble rose from the murky green depths to break upon the surface.Summer lapped at the water and colonised down at Brans side. He rubbed the wolf under the jaw, and for a moment boy and beast both felt at peace. Bran had always liked the godswood, even before, but of late he found himself drawn to it more and more. Even the heart tree no longer scared him the way it used to. The deep red look carved into the pale bole still watched him, yet somehow he took comfort from that now. The gods were looking over him, he told himself the old gods, gods of the Starks and the First Men and the children of the forest, his experiences gods. He felt risk-free in their sight, and the deep silence of the trees helped him think. Bran had been thinking a lot since his plunge thinking, and dreaming, and talking with the gods. interest make it so Robb wont go away, he prayed softly. He travel his hand through the cold water, sending ripples across the pool. Please make him stay. Or if he has to go, bring him home safe, with spawn and begetter and the young womanhoods. And make it . . . make it so Rickon find outs.His baby brother had been wild as a winter storm since he learned Robb was riding off to war, weeping and angry by turns. Hed refused to eat, cried and screamed for most of a night, even punched disused Nan when she tried to sing him to sleep, and the next day hed vanished. Robb had set half the castle searching for him, and when at last theyd found him down in the crypts, Rickon had slashed at them with a rusted iron sword hed snatched from a dead kings hand, and Shaggydog had come slavering out of the darkness like a distrustful demon. The wolf was near as wild as Rickon hed bitten Gage on the arm and torn a chunk of flesh from Mikkens thigh. It had taken Robb himself and fair-haired(a) Wind to bring him to bay. Farlen had the black wolf chained up in the kennels now, and Rickon cried all the more for being without him.Maester Luwin counseled Robb to remain at Winterfell, and Bran pleaded with him too, for his own stake as much as Rickons, but his brother only shake his head stubbornly and said, I dont want to go. I have to.It was only half a lie. Someone had to go, to hold the Neck and help the Tullys against the Lannisters, Bran could understand that, but it did not have to be Robb. His brother might have given the command to Hal Mollen or Theon Greyjoy, or to one of his lords bannermen. Maester Luwin urged him to do comely that, but Robb would not hear of it. My lord father would never have sent men off to die while he cluster like a craven behind the walls of Winterfell, he said, all Robb the Lord.Robb seemed half a stranger to Bran now, transformed, a lord in true statement, though he had not yet seen his sixteenth name day. Even their fathers bannermen seemed to sense it. some tried to test him, each in his own way. Roose Bolton and Robett Glover both demanded the honor of battle command, the first brusquely, the sec ond with a smile and a jest. Stout, colorise-headed Maege Mormont, dressed in mail like a man, told Robb bluntly that he was young enough to be her grandson, and had no business giving her commands . . . but as it happened, she had a granddaughter she would be willing to have him marry. Soft-spoken Lord Cerwyn had actually brought his daughter with him, a plump, homely maid of thirty years who sat at her fathers left hand and never lifted her eyeball from her plate. Jovial Lord Hornwood had no daughters, but he did bring gifts, a horse one day, a haunch of venison the next, a silver-chased hunting horn the day by and by, and he asked cypher in return . . . nothing but a original holdfast taken from his grandfather, and hunting rights north of a certain ridge, and leave to dam the White Knife, if it please the lord.Robb answered each of them with cool courtesy, much as develop might have, and somehow he bent them to his will.And when Lord Umber, who was called the Greatjon by his men and stood as tall as Hodor and twice as wide, threatened to take his forces home if he was placed behind the Hornwoods or the Cerwyns in the order of march, Robb told him he was welcome to do so. And when we are through with(p) with the Lannisters, he promised, scratching Grey Wind behind the ear, we will march back north, root you out of your keep, and name you for an oathbreaker. Cursing, the Greatjon flung a flagon of ale into the fire and bellowed that Robb was so green he must piss grass. When Hallis Mollen moved to restrain him, he knocked him to the floor, kicked over a table, and unsheathed the biggest, ugliest greatsword that Bran had ever seen. All along the benches, his sons and brothers and sworn swords leapt to their feet, grabbing for their steel.Yet Robb only said a quiet word, and in a snarl and the blink of an eye Lord Umber was on his back, his sword spinning on the floor three feet away and his hand drip mold blood where Grey Wind had bitten off two fin gers. My lord father taught me that it was death to bare steel against your liege lord, Robb said, but doubtless you only meant to cut my meat. Brans bowels went to water as the Greatjon struggled to rise, sucking at the red stumps of fingers . . . but then, astonishingly, the huge man laughed. Your meat, he roared, is bloody tough.And somehow after that the Greatjon became Robbs right hand, his staunchest champion, loudly telling all and sundry that the boy lord was a Stark after all, and theyd damn well better bend their knees if they didnt check having them chewed off.Yet that very night, his brother came to Brans bedchamber pale and shaken, after the fires had ruin low in the Great Hall. I thought he was going to kill me, Robb confessed. Did you see the way he threw down Hal, like he was no bigger than Rickon? Gods, I was so scared. And the Greatjons not the worst of them, only the loudest. Lord Roose never says a word, he only looks at me, and all I open fire think of is tha t room they have in the Dreadfort, where the Boltons hang the skins of their enemies.Thats just one of Old Nans stories, Bran said. A note of doubt crept into his voice. Isnt it?I dont know. He gave a weary shake of his head. Lord Cerwyn means to take his daughter south with us. To cook for him, he says. Theon is certain Ill find the young lady in my bedroll one night. I wish . . . I wish Father was here . . . That was the one thing they could agree on, Bran and Rickon and Robb the Lord they all wished Father was here. But Lord Eddard was a thousand leagues away, a captive in some dungeon, a hunted fugitive running for his life, or even dead. No one seemed to know for certain every traveler told a different tale, each more terrifying than the last. The heads of Fathers guardsmen were rotting on the walls of the personnel casualty deem, impaled on spikes. King Robert was dead at Fathers hands. The Baratheons had laid siege to Kings Landing. Lord Eddard had fled south with the king s wicked brother Renly. Arya and Sansa had been murdered by the Hound. Mother had killed Tyrion the hobgoblin and hung his body from the walls of Riverrun. Lord Tywin Lannister was marching on the Eyrie, burning and slaughtering as he went. One wine-sodden taleteller even claimed that Rhaegar Targaryen had returned from the dead and was marshaling a vast host of ancient heroes on Dragonstone to reclaim his fathers throne.When the raven came, bearing a earn marked with Fathers own seal and written in Sansas hand, the cruel truth seemed no less incredible. Bran would never forget the look on Robbs face as he stared at their sisters words. She says Father conspired at treason with the kings brothers, he read. King Robert is dead, and Mother and I are summoned to the Red Keep to swear fealty to Joffrey. She says we must be loyal, and when she marries Joffrey she will plead with him to spare our lord fathers life. His fingers closed into a fist, crushing Sansas letter between them. And she says nothing of Arya, nothing, not so much as a word. Damn her Whats persecute with the girl? Bran felt all cold inside. She mixed-up her wolf, he said, weakly, remembering the day when four of his fathers guardsmen had returned from the south with Ladys bones. Summer and Grey Wind and Shaggydog had begun to howl before they crossed the drawbridge, in voices drawn and desolate. Beneath the shadow of the First Keep was an ancient lichyard, its headstones spotted with pale lichen, where the old Kings of Winter had laid their congregating servants. It was there they buried Lady, while her brothers stalked between the graves like restless shadows. She had gone south, and only her bones had returned.Their grandfather, old Lord Rickard, had gone as well, with his son Brandon who was Fathers brother, and two hundred of his best men. None had ever returned. And Father had gone south, with Arya and Sansa, and Jory and Hullen and Fat Tom and the rest, and later Mother and Ser Rodrik h ad gone, and they hadnt come back either. And now Robb meant to go. Not to Kings Landing and not to swear fealty, but to Riverrun, with a sword in his hand. And if their lord father were truly a prisoner, that could mean his death for a certainty. It frightened Bran more than he could say.If Robb has to go, watch over him, Bran entreated the old gods, as they watched him with the heart trees red eyes, and watch over his men, Hal and Quent and the rest, and Lord Umber and Lady Mormont and the other lords. And Theon too, I suppose. Watch them and keep them safe, if it please you, gods. Help them defeat the Lannisters and save Father and bring them home.A faint wind sighed through the godswood and the red leaves stirred and whispered. Summer bared his teeth. You hear them, boy? a voice asked.Bran lifted his head. Osha stood across the pool, beneath an ancient oak, her face shadowed by leaves. Even in irons, the wildling moved quiet as a cat. Summer circled the pool, sniffed at her. The tall woman flinched.Summer, to me, Bran called. The direwolf took one final exam sniff, spun, and bounded back. Bran wrapped his arms around him. What are you doing here? He had not seen Osha since theyd taken her captive in the wolfswood, though he knew shed been set to working in the kitchens.They are my gods too, Osha said. Beyond the Wall, they are the only gods. Her hair was growing out, brown and shaggy. It made her look more womanly, that and the simple dress of brown roughspun theyd given her when they took her mail and leather. Gage lets me have my prayers from time to time, when I purport the need, and I let him do as he likes under my skirt, when he feels the need. Its nothing to me. I like the fragrance of flour on his hands, and hes gentler than Stiv. She gave an awkward bow. Ill leave you. in that locations pots that want scouring.No, stay, Bran commanded her. Tell me what you meant, approximately hearing the gods.Osha studied him. You asked them and theyre answer ing. Open your ears, comprehend, youll hear.Bran listened. Its only the wind, he said after a moment, uncertain. The leaves are rustling.Who do you think sends the wind, if not the gods? She seated herself across the pool from him, clinking faintly as she moved. Mikken had fixed iron manacles to her ankles, with a heavy chain between them she could walk, so long as she kept her strides small, but there was no way for her to run, or climb, or funding a horse. They see you, boy. They hear you talking. That rustling, thats them talking back.What are they saying?Theyre sad. Your lord brother will get no help from them, not where hes going. The old gods have no power in the south. The weirwoods there were all cut down, thousands of years ago. How can they watch your brother when they have no eyes?Bran had not thought of that. It frightened him. If even the gods could not help his brother, what trust was there? Maybe Osha wasnt hearing them right. He cocked his head and tried to listen again. He thought he could hear the sadness now, but nothing more than that.The rustling grew louder. Bran heard muffled footfalls and a low humming, and Hodor came blundering out of the trees, naked and smiling. HodorHe must have heard our voices, Bran said. Hodor, you forgot your clothes.Hodor, Hodor agreed. He was drip wet from the neck down, steaming in the chill air. His body was cover with brown hair, thick as a pelt. Between his legs, his manhood swung long and heavy.Osha eyed him with a sour smile. Now theres a big man, she said. He has giants blood in him, or Im the queen.Maester Luwin says there are no more giants. He says theyre all dead, like the children of the forest. All thats left of them are old bones in the earth that men turn up with plows from time to time.Let Maester Luwin ride beyond the Wall, Osha said. Hell find giants then, or theyll find him. My brother killed one. Ten foot tall she was, and stunted at that. Theyve been known to grow big as twelve and thi rteen feet. Fierce things they are too, all hair and teeth, and the wives have beards like their husbands, so theres no telling them apart. The women take human men for lovers, and its from them the half bloods come. It goes harder on the women they catch. The men are so big theyll rip a maid apart before they get her with child. She grinned at him. But you dont know what I mean, do you, boy?Yes I do, Bran insisted. He understood about mating he had seen dogs in the yard, and watched a stallion mount a mare. But talking about it made him uncomfortable. He looked at Hodor. Go back and bring your clothes, Hodor, he said. Go dress.Hodor. He walked back the way he had come, ducking under a low-hanging tree limb.He was awfully big, Bran thought as he watched him go. be there truly giants beyond the Wall? he asked Osha, uncertainly.Giants and worse than giants, Lordling. I tried to tell your brother when he asked his questions, him and your maester and that smiley boy Greyjoy. The cold w inds are rising, and men go out from their fires and never come back . . . or if they do, theyre not men no more, but only wights, with blue eyes and cold black hands. Why do you think I run south with Stiv and Hali and the rest of them fools? Mance thinks hell fight, the brave sweet stubborn man, like the white walkers were no more than rangers, but what does he know? He can call himself King-beyond-the-Wall all he likes, but hes still just another(prenominal) old black crow who flew down from the Shadow Tower. Hes never tasted winter. I was born up there, child, like my mother and her mother before her and her mother before her, born of the Free Folk. We remember. Osha stood, her chains rattling together. I tried to tell your lordling brother. Only yesterday, when I saw him in the yard. Mlord Stark, I called to him, courteous as you please, but he looked through me, and that sweaty oaf Greatjon Umber shoves me out of the path. So be it. Ill wear my irons and hold my tongue. A man who wont listen cant hear.Tell me. Robb will listen to me, I know he will.Will he now? Well see. You tell him this, mlord. You tell him hes bound on marching the wrong way. Its north he should be taking his swords. North, not south. You hear me?Bran nodded. Ill tell him.But that night, when they feasted in the Great Hall, Robb was not with them. He took his meal in the solar instead, with Lord Rickard and the Greatjon and the other lords bannermen, to make the final plans for the long march to come. It was left to Bran to fill his place at the head of the table, and act the host to Lord Karstarks sons and honored friends. They were already at their places when Hodor carried Bran into the hall on his back, and knelt beside the high seat. Two of the serving men helped lift him from his basket. Bran could feel the eyes of every stranger in the hall. It had grown quiet. My lords, Hallis Mollen announced, Brandon Stark, of Winterfell.I welcome you to our fires, Bran said stiffly, and of fer you meat and mead in honor of our friendship.Harrion Karstark, the oldest of Lord Rickards sons, bowed, and his brothers after him, yet as they settled back in their places he heard the younger two talking in low voices, over the resound of wine cups. . . . sooner die than live like that, muttered one, his fathers namesake Eddard, and his brother Torrhen said likely the boy was broken inside as well as out, too craven to take his own life.Broken, Bran thought bitterly as he clutched his knife. Is that what he was now? Bran the Broken? I dont want to be broken, he whispered fiercely to Maester Luwin, whod been seated to his right. I want to be a knight.There are some who call my order the knights of the mind, Luwin replied. You are a surpassing clever boy when you work at it, Bran. demand you ever thought that you might wear a maesters chain? There is no limit to what you might learn.I want to learn magic, Bran told him. The crow promised that I would fly.Maester Luwin sighed. I can memorize you history, healing, herblore. I can teach you the speech of ravens, and how to build a castle, and the way a sailor steers his ship by the stars. I can teach you to measure the days and mark the seasons, and at the Citadel in Oldtown they can teach you a thousand things more. But, Bran, no man can teach you magic.The children could, Bran said. The children of the forest. That reminded him of the promise he had made to Osha in the godswood, so he told Luwin what she had said.The maester listened politely. The wildling woman could give Old Nan lessons in telling tales, I think, he said when Bran was done. I will talk with her again if you like, but it would be best if you did not trouble your brother with this folly. He has more than enough to concern him without fretting over giants and dead men in the woods. Its the Lannisters who hold your lord father, Bran, not the children of the forest. He put a gentle hand on Brans arm. Think on what I said, child.And two day s later, as a red dawn broke across a windswept sky, Bran found himself in the yard beneath the gatehouse, strapped atop Dancer as he said his adieus to his brother.You are the lord in Winterfell now, Robb told him. He was mounted on a shaggy grey stallion, his shield hung from the horses side wood banded with iron, white and grey, and on it the snarling face of a direwolf. His brother wore grey chainmail over bleached leathers, sword and sticker at his waist, a fur-trimmed cloak across his shoulders. You must take my place, as I took Fathers, until we come home.I know, Bran replied miserably. He had never felt so little or alone or scared. He did not know how to be a lord.Listen to Maester Luwins counsel, and take care of Rickon. Tell him that Ill be back as soon as the fighting is done.Rickon had refused to come down. He was up in his chamber, redeyed and defiant. No hed screamed when Bran had asked if he didnt want to say farewell to Robb. NO farewellI told him, Bran said. He s ays no one ever comes back.He cant be a baby forever. Hes a Stark, and near four. Robb sighed. Well, Mother will be home soon. And Ill bring back Father, I promise.He wheeled his courser around and trotted away. Grey Wind followed, loping beside the warhorse, lean and swift. Hallis Mollen went before them through the gate, carrying the rippling white banner of House Stark atop a high standard of grey ash. Theon Greyjoy and the Greatjon fell in on either side of Robb, and their knights formed up in a reprize column behind them, steel-tipped lances glinting in the sun.Uncomfortably, he remembered Oshas words. Hes marching the wrong way, he thought. For an instant he wanted to gallop after him and anticipate a warning, but when Robb vanished beneath the portcullis, the moment was gone.Beyond the castle walls, a roar of sound went up. The foot soldiers and townsfolk were cheering Robb as he rode past, Bran knew cheering for Lord Stark, for the Lord of Winterfell on his great stallion, with his cloak drift and Grey Wind racing beside him. They would never cheer for him that way, he complete with a dull ache. He might be the lord in Winterfell while his brother and father were gone, but he was still Bran the Broken. He could not even get off his own horse, except to fall.When the remote cheers had faded to silence and the yard was empty at last, Winterfell seemed deserted and dead. Bran looked around at the faces of those who remained, women and children and old men . . . and Hodor. The huge stableboy had a lost and frightened look to his face. Hodor? he said sadly.Hodor, Bran agreed, wondering what it meant.