Chapter 3 Chapter 2 Bran

The morning is cold, with a hint of loneliness, implicitly suggesting that summer is coming to an end.Bran rode in the procession of twenty men at the crack of dawn, anxious and excited.This time he was finally old enough to go to the execution ground with his father and brother to watch the execution of the king's law.It was Summer's ninth year, and Bran was seven. The condemned man had been led to the manor on the hill, and Robb thought he was a wildling sworn to die for Mance Rayder, "King Beyond the Wall."Bran thought of the stories Old Nan had told by the fire and gave Bran goosebumps.She said that the savages were cruel and tyrannical by nature, and all of them were thieves who sold slaves, murdered and set fire.They collude with giants and ghouls, abduct virgins in the dark, and drink blood from polished horns.Their women are said to have copulated with different ghosts in the ancient "long night" and reproduced terrifying offspring that are half-human and half-ghost.

But the old man in front of him was thin and haggard, not much taller than Robb, with his hands and feet bound behind him, waiting for the king's will.He lost both ears and a finger to chilblains in the extreme cold.And his black clothes were no different from the uniforms of the brothers of the Night Watch, except that they were ragged and full of abscesses. The breath of men and horses intertwined into a steaming snow-white mist net in the cold morning air, and my father ordered the prisoners by the wall to be untied and dragged to the front of the team.Robb and Jon sat astride their saddlebacks with their backs straight, and Bran rode between them on his pony, trying to appear mature enough that seven-year-olds don't, as if everything before them was commonplace.A breeze blew through the gate, and the banner of House Stark of Winterfell was flying above everyone's heads, with a gray wolf on a white background.

His father was riding on the horse with a solemn expression, his long brown hair flying in the wind.A few strands of white streaked out of his neatly trimmed beard, making him look older than his thirty-five years.His gray eyes were stern and hard that day, and he did not look at all like the man who would sit before the fire on a snowy night and tell the tales of the old heroic age and the children of the forest.He has taken off his fatherly face and put on the mask of Lord Stark, Lord of Winterfell, Bran thought. In the chill of the morning, Bran heard questions asked, and answers to them, but he couldn't remember what had been said afterwards.Anyway, at last my father gave the order, and the two guards dragged the ragged man to the iron tree stump in the middle of the clearing, and forced his head down on the black hardwood.Eddard Stark unsaddled and dismounted, and his adopted son, Theon Greyjoy, immediately offered the sword.The sword's name is Ice, and it is as wide as a hand, and taller than Robb when standing.The blade was forged of Valyrian steel, enchanted and dark as black smoke.Nothing in the world is sharper than Valyrian steel.

Father took off his gloves and handed them to the captain of the guard, Jory Cassel, and held his sword in both hands, and said in a loud voice: "The King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and the 'First Men', Ruler of the Seven Kingdoms and Guardian of the Realm , in the name of Robert I of House Baratheon, I, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, Eddard of House Stark, hereby sentence you to death." After speaking, he raised his giant sword above his head. Bran's half-brother Jon Snow came over. "Hold on to the rein and don't let the horse move. And don't turn your head, or Father will know."

So Bran held on to the rein, and didn't let the pony move or turn his head away. With a wave of his giant sword, the father neatly chopped off the death row prisoner's head.Blood splattered on the snow, and it was as bright red as grapes brewing summer red.A horse in the team neighed and jumped up, almost running wildly.Bran stared intently at the bloodstains, and saw Baixue drinking hungrily by the tree trunk, which quickly turned dark red under his gaze. The head rolled over the roots and rolled to Greyjoy's feet.Theon was a lean, dark nineteen-year-old with a zest for everything.He grinned and kicked the head away.

"Bastard," Jon cursed under his breath, trying to keep his voice low so Greyjoy couldn't hear him.He put an arm around Bran's shoulder, and Bran turned to look at his bastard brother. "You're doing well," Jon told him solemnly.Jon was fourteen years old, and watching executions was a routine for him. The cold wind had died down and the sun was shining brightly, but the long journey back to Winterfell seemed to be getting colder.Bran rode alongside his brother, far ahead of the pack, panting as he dismounted from his pony to keep up with the swift pace of his brother's mount.

"The deserter died bravely," Robb said.Tall and strong, he was growing every day, and he had inherited his mother's fair complexion, auburn hair, and blue eyes from the Tullys. "Anyway, at least he has some courage." "No," said Jon quietly, "that's not courage. Stark, the fellow died of fear, and you can see it in his eyes." Jon's gray pupils were so deep that Almost pitch black, but few things in the world can escape his observation.He was the same age as Robb, but they were very different in appearance: Robb was muscular, fair-skinned, strong and quick; Jon was lean, dark-skinned, graceful and quick.

Robb disagreed. "Tell the White Walkers to gouge out his eyes," he cursed. "He died a good death. Well, who's the first to get to the bridge?" "It's a deal." Jon put his feet on the horse's belly and galloped forward.Robb followed after a few curses, and the two galloped along the path.Robb yelled and laughed, and Jon focused.The horse's hooves splashed a cloud of snow and rain behind the two of them. Bran didn't follow. His pony wasn't up to it.He had just met the eyes of the condemned prisoner, but now he was lost in thought.Before long, Robb's laughter faded away, and the forest fell silent.

He was so focused that he didn't notice that the following team had caught up with him until his father rode to him and asked with concern, "Bran, are you okay?" "My lord, I'm fine," Bran replied, looking up at his father, who surrounded him like a giant on a steed in fur coat and leather armor. "Robb said that the man died bravely just now, but Jon said he was scared when he died." "What do you think of yourself?" asked his father. After thinking for a moment, Bran asked, "Can a man be brave when he is afraid?" "A man is only brave when he is afraid," his father told him. "Do you know why I killed him?"

"Because he's a wildling," Bran replied without thinking, "and they kidnap women and sell them to the White Walkers." Father smiled and said, "Old Nan told you a story again. The man was actually a deserter, who broke his oath to the night watchman. There is no more dangerous person in the world than this, because they know that if they are arrested, they will only die, so they are evil. Born to the guts, no matter how outrageous things can be done. But you will be wrong, I am not asking you why he died, but why I executed the execution myself." Bran couldn't think of an answer. "All I know is that King Robert has an executioner," he said uncertainly.

"It is true that he is executed by the royal executioner, who executes the king's law," his father admitted, "as did the Targaryens before him. But we follow the old tradition, and there is still 'First Men' in the Starks." ', and we believe that the man who condemns to death must do it himself. If you are going to take a life, you should at least look into his eyes and listen to his last words. If you can't do that, then maybe he didn't deserve to die." "One day, Bran, you will be Robb's vassal, ruling your own domain for your brother and the king, and then you must also rule the law. When that day comes, you must not kill for pleasure, nor escape responsibility. .The ruler who hides in the background and pays the executioner to execute will soon forget what death is." At this time, Jon appeared on the top of the slope in front of them, waving his hands and shouting down: "Father, Bran, come and see what Robb found!" After speaking, he disappeared behind the hill. Jory rushed forward, "My lord, is something wrong?" "Well," said my lord father, "come, let us see what mischief my naughty son has done." He galloped off, and Jory and Bran and the others followed. They find Robb by the river north of the bridge, Jon still on his horse.The snow had been thick in late summer this month, and Robb stood knee-deep in the snow, his cloak undone, the sun shining in his hair.Holding something in his arms, he was whispering excitedly with Jon. The team rode carefully through the many floating objects on the river, looking for rough ground hidden under the snow.Jory Cassel and Theon Greyjoy rushed to the boy first.Greyjoy was talking and laughing when Bran heard him gasp. "Gods bless!" he exclaimed, reaching for his sword as he struggled to hold his mount. Jory's sword was out of its sheath. "Get away from that thing, Robb!" Robb looked up, grinning as he held a lump in his arms. "She can't hurt you," he said. "She's dead, Jory." Curious and restless, Bran wanted nothing more than to teach the pony to run faster, but his father told him to dismount by the bridge and go on foot.He couldn't wait to jump off the horse, and ran over in three steps at a time. By the time he came, Jon and Jory and Theon Greyjoy had been dismounted. "Seven hells, what the hell is this?" murmured Greyjoy. "Wolf," Robb told him. "Nonsense," retorted Greyjoy, "how can a wolf be that big?" Bran's heart was beating wildly, and he pushed aside a waist-high pile of floating objects and ran to his brother. A huge dark figure was half hidden in the blood-stained snowdrift, limp and lifeless.The fluffy gray down was frozen, and the smell of decay clung to it like a woman's perfume, and Bran glimpsed its lifeless eye sockets filled with maggots and its grin full of yellow teeth.But what really frightened him was the size of the wolf, which was bigger than his pony and twice the size of his father's largest hound. "I didn't lie to you," Jon said seriously, "these are indeed direwolves, and they are bigger than other wolves." Theon Greyjoy said, "But no one south of the Wall has seen a direwolf for two hundred years." "Isn't there a head in front of you?" Jon replied. Bran tried to look away from the monster in front of him, and then he noticed what Robb was holding in his arms.He let out a cry of joy, and then leaned over.The cub was just a gray-black furball, its eyes still closed.It rubbed blindly against Robb's chest, searching for a teat on his leather armor, moaning mournfully.Bran held out his hand hesitantly, "It's okay," Robb told him, "you can feel it." Bran was very nervous. He quickly touched the pup and turned his head when he heard Jon's voice. "See, this is just for you." His bastard brother put the second pup into his arms. "There are five of them." Bran sat down in the snow and pressed the pup's soft fur to his cheek. "After so many years, the direwolf suddenly reappeared in the world," Hu Lun, the stable master, murmured, "I don't like this kind of thing." "That's a bad omen," said Jory. Father frowned. "It's just a dead wolf, Jory," he said, but his face was clouded.He walked around the carcass, the snow crumbling under his feet. "Do you know what killed it?" "There's something in his throat," Robb replied triumphantly, secretly proud of himself for finding the answer before his father asked it. "Just under the chin." His father squatted down, reached under the head of the wolf corpse, twisted it vigorously, and held up something for everyone to see.It turned out to be a shattered antler, with all its branches cut off and stained with blood. A sudden silence engulfed the team, everyone looked at the antler uneasily, but no one spoke.Although Bran didn't understand why the others were frightened, he could also feel their fear. Father threw off the antlers and cleaned his hands in the snow. "I didn't expect it to have the strength to give birth to a child." His voice broke the previous silence. "Perhaps he didn't last that long," said Jory. "I've heard tales of that . . . Maybe the she-wolf was dead when the pup was born." "Born with death," another said, "that's a worse omen." "It's all right," said Hullen, "these little ones won't live long anyway." Bran let out a silent sigh of disappointment. "I reckon they die as quickly as possible," agreed Theon Greyjoy, drawing his sword. "Bran, throw that over here." The little thing in Bran's arms seemed to understand people's words, and it squirmed against him. "No!" he cried firmly. "It's mine." "Put that sword away, Greyjoy," said Robb, and for a split second he sounded as majestic as his father, as the lord he would be someday. "We're going to raise these little wolves." "Boy, it won't work," Hullen's son Harwin said. "Killing them is mercy." Hu Lun said. Bran looked to his father, hoping to find help, but saw only furrowed eyebrows. "My son, Hullen is right. Rather than let them starve and freeze, it's better to end it as soon as possible." "Don't!" He already felt the tears rolling in his eyes, so he turned his eyes away. He didn't want to cry in front of his father. Robb stubbornly continued to resist. "Sir Rodrik's red bitch was born just last week," he said. "There were quite a few deaths in that litter. Only two puppies survived, and there should be enough milk for them." "As long as they try to get close to drink milk, they will be torn to pieces by it immediately." "Lord Stark," Jon said.It was strange to hear him address his father so formally.Bran watched him with one last hope. "There were five pups in all," he told his father, "three males and two females." "Jon, what's the point?" "You have five children," Jon answered. "Three sons and two daughters. The direwolves are your sigil again, my lord, and your children are destined to have these pups." Bran saw his father's face change, the others exchanged glances, and in that moment, he loved Jon with all his heart.Although he was only seven years old, Bran knew very well what his bastard brother meant by doing this: he had excluded himself from his father's heir to make up the numbers.He counted the two girls, even baby Rickon, but he didn't count himself, who bears the surname of Jon Snow, the illegitimate child.The surname Snow is reserved for those who were born in the North and were unfortunate enough to have no father. Father understood this too. "Jon, don't you want pups yourself?" he asked softly. "The direwolf is the coat of arms of House Stark," Jon pointed out. "I am not a Stark, father." His father gave Jon a thoughtful look, and Robb broke the silence eagerly. "Father, I'll feed the pup myself," he promised. "I'll feed it with a wet towel soaked in warm milk." "Me too!" Bran quickly followed up. The Duke looked at his son meaningfully, "It's easy to say, but it's not easy to do it. I won't let you occupy the servant's time. If you really want to raise these little wolves, you have to do everything yourself, you know?" Bran nodded eagerly, and the pup curled up in his arms, licking his cheek with his warm tongue. "You have to train them yourself," the father said again, "I guarantee that the head trainer will have nothing to do with these monsters. If you train them to be cruel, or if there is any mistake, then pray to the gods in the sky for protection. These aren't dogs who please and behave, nor are they characters that can be dismissed with a kick. Direwolves tearing off their arms is as easy as a dog killing a mouse, are you sure you want to raise them?" "Yes, my lord," Bran replied. "Yeah." Robb agreed. "Even if you try your best, the little wolf may die young." "No," said Robb, "we won't let them die." "Then keep them. Jory, Desmond, take the other pups with us. It's time for us to return to Winterfell." It was not until they rode home that Bran allowed himself to enjoy his victory.His pup was now safe in his leather armor, and he wondered what to call it. In the middle of the bridge, Jon reined in the horse suddenly. "Jon, what's the matter?" asked the Duke's father. "Didn't you hear?" Bran heard only the wind in the woods and the clattering of horseshoes, and a wolf pup in his arms, but Jon was listening to other things. "There," said Jon, and he turned his horse and galloped across the bridge, and they all watched as he dismounted beside the she-wolf's body, knelt, and rode back a moment later, all smiles on his face. "This one must have crawled away first," said Jon. "Or they were driven away," said their father, looking at the sixth little wolf.Its fur is pure white, while the other cubs are mostly gray and black, and its pupils are as red as the blood of a condemned prisoner in the morning.Bran was very curious, for some reason the other little wolves hadn't even opened their eyes yet, but it was the only one with bright eyes. "Bai Zi," said Theon Greyjoy with a kind of sarcasm full of interest, "I'm afraid this will only die the fastest." Jon Snow gave his father's adopted son a stare of significant indifference. "I don't think so, Greyjoy," he replied, "because it's my wolf."