Chapter 26 Chapter 25 Bran

Rickon ran and romped with the wolves in the courtyard below. Bran watched all this from the ledge.Wherever the boy went, Gray Wind was there first, loping ahead to cut him off, until Rickon saw him, screamed in delight, and went pelting off in another direction.Shaggydog stayed close to him, turning and growling if other wolves got too close.Its coat had darkened and was now black, with eyes of green fire.Bran's Summer came last. He was silver and smoke, with eyes of yellow gold that saw all there to see.It was slightly smaller than Gray Wind, but more alert.Bran privately thought he was the smartest of the pack.Bran could hear his brother's breathless laughter as Rickon drummed those baby legs up and down the hard dirt.

His eyes hurt only.He really wanted to go down, really wanted to laugh and run and jump.The more Bran thought about it, the more angry he was, and he wiped it with his knuckles before the tears fell.His eighth name day came and went, and he was too close to adulthood to cry anymore. "It's all a lie," he said bitterly, thinking of the crow in his dream. "I can't fly, I can't even run." "Crows are good at telling lies," seconded Old Nan, who was seated in a chair sewing. "I know the story of a crow." "I don't want stories," Bran snapped grumpily.He used to love Old Nan and the stories she told.But that was all in the past. Things are different now.They wanted her to be with him all day, to take care of him and bathe him so he wouldn't be alone, but her presence only made things worse. "I hate your stupid stories."

The old woman smiled at him with her toothless mouth open. "My stories? No, my little master, not mine. These stories existed long before you and I were born." What an ugly old woman she was, Bran thought viciously: huddled and wrinkled, half-blind, too weak to climb stairs, only a few gray hairs on a rosy, speckled scalp.Nobody knew exactly how old she was, and my father said they had called her Old Nan when he was a kid.She was undoubtedly the oldest person in Winterfell, and perhaps the oldest birthday person in the Seven Kingdoms.She first came to the castle to nurse Brandon Stark after his mother died giving birth to him.This man was the brother, or perhaps the younger brother, of Bran's grandfather, Duke Rickard, or the brother of Duke Rickard's father.Old Nan said something different each time.But no matter which version, the little boy in the story always died of a cold in the summer when he was three years old, but the old nanny and her children lived in Winterfell forever.Both of her sons had died in King Robert's battle for the throne, and her grandson had been martyred on the walls of Pyke in the fight against Balon Greyjoy's rebellion.Her daughters have already been married to other places one after another, and they are not alive now.Now only Hodor was left in her blood, the simple-minded giant who worked in the stables.Only Old Nan was still alive and well, continuing to sew and tell her stories.

"I don't care whose stories it is," Bran told her. "I just hate them." He didn't want stories, and he didn't want Old Nan.He wanted his father and mother, wanted to run outside to his heart's content, and let Xia Tian be by his side.He wanted to climb up the ruined tower and feed the crows corn.He wanted to get on his pony and ride with his two brothers.He wants everything to go back to the way it was before. "I know there's a story about a little boy who hates stories," said Old Nan with her stupid smile, and the needle in her hand went on and on at the same time, click, click, click, and Bran thought. scream at her.

He knew there was no going back.The crow tricked him into flying, but when he woke up, not only his feet were crippled, but the world was also changed.His father, mother and two sisters abandoned him, and even his illegitimate brother Jon left him without saying goodbye.His father had promised him to ride to King's Landing on a real horse, but they started south without waiting for him.Maester Luwin sent a bird to Duke Eddard that he had woken up, another to his mother, and another to Jon who guarded the Wall, but there was no news of any of them. "Child, birds often get lost," the master told him. "It's a long way to fly from here to King's Landing. There are countless eagles waiting to intercept the opportunity. The letter may not reach them." But for Bran , they all seemed to have died in his sleep... or Bran, and they had forgotten him.Jory, Ser Rodrik, Vayon Poole, Hullen, Harwin, Fat Tom, and a quarter of the guard were gone too.

Only Robb and Rickon Jr. remained, but Robb was also a different man.Now Robb is Lord of the City, at least he is working toward that goal.He wears a real sword and never smiles.During the day, he spent his time drilling soldiers and practicing swordsmanship. The sound of gold and iron clashing filled the school grounds, but Bran could only sit by the window sill and watch alone; at night, Robb locked himself in the room with Master Luwin. , exchange ideas or discuss accounts.Sometimes he rode out with Harris Moran for days at a time.And as long as he was away for more than a day, Rickon would cry and ask Bran Robb if he would come back.In fact, even in Winterfell, Lord Robb stayed with Harris Moran and Theon Greyjoy, and had no time for his two younger brothers.

"Let me tell you the story of Brandon the Builder," said Old Nan. "You like it best." Thousands of years ago, Brandon the Builder built Winterfell, and some say he also built the Wall.Bran knew the story, but he didn't particularly like it.Like this story, maybe another kid named Brandon.Sometimes Old Nan mistook him for the same Brandon she had raised all those years ago, and sometimes confused him with Uncle Brandon, who had been murdered by the Mad King long before he was born.She had lived so many years, his mother had said to him, that all the people named Brandon Stark had become the same in her mind.

"That's not what I like best," he said, "I like the scary ones." He heard a commotion outside and turned to look out the window.Rickon was running across the square toward the gatehouse, the wolves following.However, Bran's tower is in the wrong direction, and he can't see what happened.He couldn't help punching his thigh angrily, but didn't feel it. "Oh, my dear child, you were born in summer," said the old Nan quietly, "how do you know real fear? Little master, when winter comes, with snow piled up and wind howling, that is The real horror. When the night is long and the sun never sees, when children are born in the night, grow up in the night, die in the night, and the direwolf is skinny, and the white ghost walks the forest, that is the time of fear. .”

"You mean the White Walkers," Bran said grumpily. "Yes," Agreed Old Nan, "thousands of years ago, a long and unbelievably cold and harsh winter fell on the earth, but today's human beings can't remember it. During a long night that lasted a whole generation, the king of the city and the circle The swineherds also died trembling. Mothers would rather suffocate their children than see them starve and freeze. They cry aloud, but the tears freeze on their cheeks." The voice and the knitting needles fell silent at the same time, and she raised her head, Looking at Bran with those pale eyes that seemed to be covered with a layer of film, he asked, "Son, is this the kind of story you like to hear?"

"Well," Bran said reluctantly, "yeah, but..." Old Nan nodded. "In the dark, the White Walkers came," she said, and her needle creaked, cluck, cluck, cluck. "They are monsters of cold and death, hating steel, fire, and sunlight, and all life that flows with warm blood. Riding pale dead horses, they lead armies of the dead, and sweep across country, city, and kingdom, killing adults. Thousands of heroes and soldiers. No human sword could stop them, nor old and young women and children. They hunted maidens through frozen forests, feeding their dead minions with the flesh of human babies."

At this time her voice had dropped extremely low, almost like a babble, and Bran unconsciously leaned forward. "At that time, the Andals had not yet ruled the Seven Kingdoms, and even before women fled from the ancient city-state on the banks of the Lorne River across the narrow sea. Only the ancestors took the land from the children of the forest and established hundreds of states in all directions. But deep in the dense forest, the children of the forest still dwell in their tree towns and empty mountain valleys. So when the land was filled with cold and death, the last hero decided to find these children of the forest, hoping that their ancient magic Can resist the army that humans can't resist. He wears a sword, rides a horse, leads a hound, and sets off for the wilderness with a group of companions. After years of trekking and searching hard, he still can't find the son of the forest hiding in the secret city , and finally he was in despair. His friends were killed one after another, his horse and dog died one after another, and even his sword was frozen into ice, breaking at the touch. At this time, the White Walker smelled the warm blood in his body blood, stealthily following his tracks, leading a swarm of white spiders as big as hounds to attack—" The door slammed open, making Bran's heart almost jump out of his mouth.But it was only Maester Luwin who came in, and Hodor stood behind him in the stairwell. "Hodor!" cried the stable boy, as was his wont, grinning at them all. Maester Luwin didn't smile. "We have visitors," he announced, "and you must be there, Bran." "I'm listening to a story," Bran complained. "Young master, you can listen to the story later. When you come back later, they are all waiting for you." The old nurse said, "The guests are not so patient, and ah, they often bring Come tell your own story." "Who is it?" Bran asked Maester Luwin. "Tyrion Lannister, and some brothers of the Night's Watch, said there was a message from your brother Jon. Robb is meeting with them. Hodor, will you help bring Bran to the hall?" "Hodor!" Hodor agreed happily.He bent to let his big hairy head pass through the door.Hodor was nearly seven feet tall, and it was hard to believe he was Old Nan's offspring.Bran wondered if he'd be curled up like his great-grandmother when he was old.I'm afraid that even if Hodor lives for a thousand years, it's unlikely. Hodor lifted Bran as easily as a straw and hugged him to his chest.He always smelled faintly of horses, but fortunately it was bearable.His arms were muscular and covered with brown hair. "Hodor," he said again.Theon Greyjoy once commented that Hodor knew little, but no one could doubt that he knew his name.When Bran told Old Nan about it, she clucked like a hen and whispered to him that Hodor's real name was Walder.No one knew where the name "Hodor" had come from, she said, but when he started saying it, they started calling him by it.It was the only word he could say. So they left Old Nan in the tower room, leaving her to sewing and memory.Hodor hummed out of tune as he carried Bran down the stairs and down the corridor.Maester Luwin followed, quickening his steps to keep up with the groom's long stride. Robb was sitting on his father's high seat, wearing ringmail and stiff leather, with the stern expression of Robb's castellan.Theon Greyjoy and Harris Moran stood behind him.A dozen or so guards lined up against the gray stone wall and stood under tall narrow windows.In the very center of the hall stood the dwarf and his servant, and four strangers in the black of the Night's Watch.As soon as Hodor walked through the door with him in his arms, Bran felt a surge of anger in the room. "As long as you are a brother of the night watchman, we welcome you. You can stay in Winterfell as long as you want." Robb said in the voice of Robb, the lord of the city.His sword lay across his lap, so that all could see.Even Bran knew what it was to entertain guests with unsheathed weapons. "As long as it's a brother of the Night's Watch," repeated the dwarf, "so I don't count. That's what you mean, boy?" Robb got up, pointed at the dwarf with his sword and said, "Lannister, when my parents are away, I am the lord of the city. I am not a brat." "If you want to be a city lord, at least you should know some manners that a city lord should have." The little dwarf retorted, ignoring the point of the sword in front of him. "I think your father has left all the manners to your illegitimate brother." "Jon," Bran called into Hodor's arms. The dwarf turned to look at him. "Looks like the kid did survive. I can't believe it, you Starks are tough." "You Lannisters do well to remember that," said Robb, putting down his sword. "Hodor, bring my brother here." "Hodor." Hodor trotted forward, laughing, and placed Bran in the high place of the Starks.Ever since the owner of Winterfell called the King of the Northland, the rulers of all dynasties have sat in this position.The cold stone seat has long been worn smooth by countless passers-by.The heads of roaring direwolves are carved on the front of the huge handrails on both sides.Bran sat down clutching the armrest, his crippled legs dangling in the air.The big chair made him feel like a little baby. Robb put a hand on his shoulder. "You said you had something to say to Bran, Lannister. He's here." Bran looked Uncomfortably into Tyrion Lannister's eyes.One black, one green, and both were staring at him, examining him carefully. "Bran, I hear you can climb up and down," said the little man at last. "Tell me, how did you fall that day?" "I didn't fall," Bran insisted.He obviously didn't fall, no no no no. "The boy has no memory of falling, or how he got up," said Maester Luwin softly. "That's odd," said Tyrion Lannister. "My brother is not here to be questioned, Lannister," said Robb curtly. "Finish what you want to say, and then leave quickly." "I have a present for you," the dwarf said to Bran. "Do you like riding horses, boy?" Master Luwin stepped forward and said, "My lord, this kid's legs are useless. He can't ride a horse." "Hell," said Lannister, "a cripple can ride, as long as he has the right horse and saddle." The words pierced Bran's heart like a sharp knife.He could only feel tears filling his eyes involuntarily. "I'm not disabled!" "Then I'm not a dwarf." The dwarf curled his lips, "I'm so happy to hear that." Greyjoy laughed beside him. "What kind of horse and saddle do you speak of?" asked Maester Luwin. "A clever horse," Lannister replied. "The lad can't direct his mount with his legs, so you'll have to get him used to him. Teach him to understand the meaning of the bridle and his master's voice. I suggest never Start with the one-year-old ponies in training so you don't have to start over from scratch." He pulled a rolled-up piece of paper from his belt. "Give this to your saddler, and follow suit." Maester Luwin took the slip of paper from the dwarf like a curious little gray squirrel and read it. "I see. You drew it very clearly, my lord. Yes, it should work, I should have thought of it." "Master, it's easier for me to think. Because the damned thing is not far from my own saddle." "Can I really ride?" Bran asked.He really wanted to believe them, but he was afraid that this was a hoax.The crow also said he could fly. "No problem," the dwarf told him, "and I assure you, boy, you're as tall as any man on a horse." Robb Stark looked puzzled. "What trick are you playing, Lannister? What has Bran to do with you? Why are you helping him?" "Your brother Jon begged me. And as far as I am concerned, I have special sympathy for bastards, cripples and other deformed freaks." Tyrion Lannister grinned, covering his heart. Suddenly the door leading to the square flew open.The sunlight streamed into the hall, and Rickon rushed in, breathless, with the direwolves at his heels.He stopped at the door with wide-eyed eyes, but the wolves did not stop, their eyes on Lannister, and their scent on him.Xia Tian grinned his teeth first, and Gray Wind immediately followed.From left to right, they approached the little dwarf step by step. "Lannister, it seems that these wolves don't like your smell very much." Theon Greyjoy commented. "Perhaps I should go," said Tyrion.He took a step back... and suddenly Shaggydog jumped out of the shadows behind him, growling.Lannister turned quickly, and Summer sprang at him from the other side.He staggered away, staggering, and Gray Wind began to tear at his arms, biting his sleeves with his teeth, tearing off a piece of cloth. "Stop!" Seeing the followers of the Lannister family stretching out their swords, Bran quickly shouted from a high position, "Summer, come here. Summer, come to my side!" Hearing the sound, the direwolf glanced at Bran, then back at Lannister.He moved away from the little man and dropped under Bran's dangling legs. Robb, who had been holding his breath, sighed too, and called, "Grey Wind." His direwolf ran quietly but quickly to his side.Only Shaggy Dog was left with green fire in his eyes, still growling at the little dwarf. "Rickon, tell it to stop," Bran called to his little brother, and Rickon came back and screamed, "Come home, Momo, come home." A cry, and ran toward Rickon, who clasped his neck tightly. Tyrion Lannister took off his scarf, wiped his brow, and said in a flat voice, "This is really interesting." "My lord, are you alright?" one of his subordinates held a sword and asked, looking nervously at the pack of direwolves. "The sleeves were torn, and the inside of the trousers was wet, but apart from the loss of self-esteem, there were no missing arms or legs." Even Robb was surprised. "These wolves... I don't know why they would..." "They must have mistaken me for dinner." The Lannister bowed stiffly to Bran. "Thank you, little knight, for calling them away. Otherwise, I assure you, they'd think me a pain in the ass. Now I'm going, really." "My lord, please wait," said Maester Luwin.He walked over to Robb, and they whispered for a while.Bran wanted to hear what they were saying, but the voices were too low. Robb Stark sheathed his sword at last. "I... I think I'm being too pushy," he said. "You've done Bran a great favor, um, so..." Robb tried to sound natural. "Let Winterfell entertain you, if you will, Lannister." "Don't be hypocritical, boy. You don't like me, and you don't want me here. I see an inn in a winter town outside the city, and I'd better get a bed there, and we'll both sleep better." .Maybe I can get a pretty girl to warm my bed for a couple of coppers." He turned to an old stooped and bearded brother in black and said, "Yoren, we're going to Go south, and you will find me on the road." With that, he struggled to swing his short legs, passed Rickon, and walked out the door, followed by his men. The four night watchmen remained.Robb turned to them hesitantly. "I've got the rooms ready, and enough hot water for you to wash the dust off the roads. I sincerely hope I'll have the honor of having dinner with you tonight." He said it so strangely that even Bran could hear it It turned out that he recited it deliberately, not from the heart, but the brother in black didn't seem to care, and still thanked him for his kindness. Hodor carried Bran back to bed, and Summer followed them up the tower stairs.Old Nan was already asleep in the chair.Hodor said, "Hodor," and carried away the softly snoring great-grandmother.Bran lay thinking, Robb had just promised that he would have dinner with the Night's Watch in the Great Hall. "Summer," he called.The pup jumped onto the bed, and Bran hugged him hard until the pup's hot snort was on his cheek. "I can ride now," he said to his animal friend. "Just wait and see, we'll be hunting in the woods soon." It wasn't long before he fell asleep. In his dream he was climbing again, climbing up an ancient, windowless tower, fingers entangled in blackened stones, feet scrambling for support.He climbed higher and higher, through the clouds, into the night sky, but still could not see the top of the tower.When he stopped and looked down, he felt dizzy and his fingers slipped.He screamed and scratched like hell.The ground was thousands of miles away from him, and he couldn't fly.He can't fly at all.He waited until his heart stopped beating wildly and his breathing became easier before continuing to climb.There is no other way but to go up.At the top of the eye, a huge pale full moon was reflected, and he could vaguely see the figure of the gargoyle.His arms were numb, but he didn't dare to rest, instead he forced himself to speed up.The gargoyle watched him rise, eyes glowing like coals burning in a brazier.They used to have the appearance of lions, but now they are extremely twisted and grotesque.Bran could hear them whispering, the soft sounds of the stones terrifying.He shouldn't listen, he told himself, he shouldn't listen, as long as he doesn't listen, he can keep himself safe.But when the gargoyles broke loose from the stone seat and pressed down on where Bran was clinging, he knew he was not safe after all. "I won't listen," he cried as they drew closer. "I don't listen, I don't listen." He woke up panting, alone in the darkness, and saw a huge black shadow covering him. "I won't listen," he whispered, trembling with fear.At this time, the shadow said: "Hodor", and then lit the candle beside the bed, Bran finally breathed a sigh of relief. Hodor wiped his cold sweat with a warm damp cloth, and then changed his clothes deftly and gently.When the time is up, carry him to the lobby.A long table had been set up in the hall by the great fire, and the lord's seat was empty, with Robb at his right and Bran opposite him.That night they ate suckling pig, pigeon pie, and turnips in cream, and the cook said they had honeycomb for dessert.Summer snatched the leftovers from Bran, and Gray Wind and Shaggydog fought over a bone in the corner.The dogs in Winterfell were afraid to go near the dining room now. Bran found it strange at first, but gradually he got used to it. Yoren was the eldest of the blackshirts, so the steward seated him between Robb and Maester Luwin.The old man had a sour smell, as if he hadn't bathed for a long time.He tore pork with his teeth, cracked bones, sucked the marrow, and shrugged when Jon Snow was mentioned. "He's Ser Alliser's worst problem," he muttered, and his two companions laughed, but Bran didn't understand.But when Robb asked about their Uncle Bunyan, the brothers in black immediately fell silent. "What's the matter with him?" Bran asked. Yoren wiped his fingers on the vest. "I'm afraid this news is not very pleasant. My lords, I'm really sorry for this sumptuous dinner. But since I asked, I'll just say that Stark won't be coming back." Another said, "The Old Bear sent him to Waymar Royce, but he hasn't come back yet, my lord." "It's been too long," Yoren said. "I think he's probably dead." "My uncle is not dead," cried Robb Stark, angry.He got up from the bench and put his hand on the hilt of his sword. "Did you hear? My uncle's not dead!" His voice echoed through the stone chamber, and Bran was suddenly frightened. Sour old Yoren looked up at Robb, and said noncommittally, "My lord, you can say what you like," he said, sucking the flesh stuck between his teeth. The youngest of the brothers in black moved uncomfortably in his seat. "No one on the Wall knows the Haunted Forest better than Benjen Stark. He should find his way back." "Who knows," Yoren said. "Maybe they can, maybe they can't. Many great characters from the past have gone to the forest and never returned." All Bran could think of now was the White Walkers and the last heroes of Old Nan's stories, hunted through the white forest by spiders as big as dead men and hounds.For a while, he was very scared, and then he suddenly remembered the ending of the story. "The Children of the Forest," he blurted out, "the Children of the Forest will help him!" Theon Greyjoy snickered to himself, and Maester Luwin said, "Bran, the Children of the Forest disappeared thousands of years ago. Now all that remains are faces carved in trees." "Maybe that's true here, Master," Yoren said, "but outside the Wall, who knows? It's hard to tell the living from the dead up there." That night, after the dishes were cleared, Robb carried Bran back to bed himself.Gray Wind leads the way, and Xia Tian follows closely behind.His brother was strong for his age, and Bran was as light as a heap of rags, but the stairs were steep and dark, and when they reached the top of the tower at last, Robb was out of breath. He put Bran to bed, covered him with a blanket, and blew out the candles.Robb sat with him for a while in the dark.Bran wanted to talk to him, but didn't know what to say. "I promise you will find a suitable horse for you," whispered Robb at last. "Will Mom and Dad come back?" Bran asked him. "Of course." Robb's tone was full of hope, and Bran knew that it was Robb's brother who was talking to him at the moment, not Robb's lord. "Mother will be back soon. Maybe we can ride out of town together to meet her. She must be surprised and delighted to see you on horseback, right?" Even if the room was dark, Bran I can feel my brother's smile. "Then we can ride north to see the Great Wall. Let's keep it from Jon first, you and I can leave as soon as we want, just like going out for an adventure." "Adventure," Bran repeated longingly.He heard his brother sobbing softly.It was too dark in the room to see the tears on Robb's face, so he reached out and found his brother's hand, all ten fingers clasped tightly.