Bran

           DancerwasdrapedinbardingsofsnowywhitewoolemblazonedwiththegreydirewolfofHouseStark,whileBranworegreybreechesandwhitedoublet,hissleevesandcollartrimmedwithvair.Overhisheartwashiswolf’s-headbroochofsilverandpolishedjet.HewouldsoonerhavehadSummerthanasilverwolfonhisbreast,butSerRodrikhadbeenunyielding.

           ThelowstonestepsbalkedDanceronlyforamoment.WhenBranurgedheron,shetookthemeasily.Beyondthewideoak-and-irondoors,eightlongrowsoftrestletablesfilledWinterfell’sGreatHall,fouroneachsideofthecenteraisle.Mencrowdedshouldertoshoulderonthebenches."Stark!"theycalledasBrantrottedpast,risingtotheirfeet."Winterfell!Winterfell!"

           Hewasoldenoughtoknowthatitwasnottrulyhimtheyshoutedforitwastheharvesttheycheered,itwasRobbandhisvictories,itwashislordfatherandhisgrandfatherandalltheStarksgoingbackeightthousandyears.Still,itmadehimswellwithpride.Forsolongasittookhimtoridethelengthofthathallheforgotthathewasbroken.Yetwhenhereachedthedais,witheveryeyeuponhim,OshaandHodorundidhisstrapsandbuckles,liftedhimoffDancer’sback,andcarriedhimtothehighseatofhisfathers.

           SerRodrikwasseatedtoBran’sleft,hisdaughterBethbesidehim.Rickonwastohisright,hismopofshaggyauburnhairgrownsolongthatitbrushedhiserminemantle.Hehadrefusedtoletanyonecutitsincetheirmotherhadgone.

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