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Bran

           "Youcouldhavebeenaknighttoo,Ibet,"Brantoldhim."Ifthegodshadn’ttakenyourwits,youwouldhavebeenagreatknight."

           "Hodor?"Hodorblinkedathimwithguilelessbrowneyes,eyesinnocentofunderstanding.

           "Yes,"saidBran."Hodor."Hepointed.

           Onthewallbesidethedoorhungabasket,stoutlymadeofwickerandleather,withholescutforBran’slegs.Hodorslidhisarmsthroughthestrapsandcinchedthewidebelttightaroundhischest,thenkneltbesidethebed.Branusedthebarssunkintothewalltosupporthimselfasheswungthedeadweightofhislegsintothebasketandthroughtheholes.

           "Hodor,"Hodorsaidagain,rising.Thestableboystoodnearsevenfeettallallbyhimself;onhisbackBran’sheadalmostbrushedtheceiling.Heduckedlowastheypassedthroughthedoor.OnetimeHodorsmelledbreadbakingandrantothekitchens,andBrangotsuchacrackthatMaesterLuwinhadtosewuphisscalp.Mikkenhadgivenhimarustyoldvisorlesshelmfromthearmory,butBranseldomtroubledtowearit.TheWalderslaughedwhenevertheysawitonhishead.

           HerestedhishandsonHodor’sshouldersastheydescendedthewindingstair.Outside,thesoundsofswordandshieldandhorsealreadyrangthroughtheyard.Itmadeasweetmusic.I’lljusthavealook,Branthought,aquicklook,that’sall.

           TheWhiteHarborlordlingswouldemergelaterinthemorning,withtheirknightsandmen-at-arms.

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