Bran

           TheKarstarkscameinonacoldwindymorning,bringingthreehundredhorsemenandneartwothousandfootfromtheircastleatKarhold.Thesteelpointsoftheirpikeswinkedinthepalesunlightasthecolumnapproached.Amanwentbeforethem,poundingoutaslow,deep-throatedmarchingrhythmonadrumthatwasbiggerthanhewas,boom,boom,boom.

           Branwatchedthemcomefromaguardturretatoptheouterwall,peeringthroughMaesterLuwin’sbronzefar-eyewhileperchedonHodor’sshoulders.LordRickardhimselfledthem,hissonsHarrionandEddardandTorrhenridingbesidehimbeneathnight-blackbannersemblazonedwiththewhitesunburstoftheirHouse.OldNansaidtheyhadStarkbloodinthem,goingbackhundredsofyears,buttheydidnotlooklikeStarkstoBran.Theywerebigmen,andfierce,facescoveredwiththickbeards,hairwornloosepasttheshoulders.Theircloaksweremadeofskins,thepeltsofbearandsealandwolf.

           Theywerethelast,heknew.Theotherlordswerealreadyhere,withtheirhosts.Branyearnedtorideoutamongthem,toseethewinterhousesfulltobursting,thejostlingcrowdsinthemarketsquareeverymorning,thestreetsruttedandtornbywheelandhoof.ButRobbhadforbiddenhimtoleavethecastle."Wehavenomentosparetoguardyou,"hisbrotherhadexplained.

           "I’lltakeSummer,"Branargued.

           "Don’tacttheboywithme,Bran,"Robbsaid."Youknowbetterthanthat.OnlytwodaysagooneofLordBolton’smenknifedoneofLordCerwyn’sattheSmokingLog.

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