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- Джордж Мартин
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"
Hodor
,
go
with
the
maester
,
"
Bran
commanded
.
"
Hodor
,
"
said
Hodor
.
His
long
strides
caught
up
with
the
maester
’
s
furiously
pumping
legs
on
the
steps
of
the
Great
Keep
.
Maester
Luwin
held
the
door
open
,
and
Bran
hugged
Hodor
’
s
neck
and
ducked
as
they
went
through
.
"
The
Walders
—
"
he
began
.
"
I
’
ll
hear
no
more
of
that
,
it
’
s
done
.
"
Maester
Luwin
looked
worn
-
out
and
frayed
.
"
You
were
right
to
defend
Hodor
,
but
you
should
never
have
been
there
.
Ser
Rodrik
and
Lord
Wyman
have
broken
their
fast
already
while
they
waited
for
you
.
Must
I
come
myself
to
fetch
you
,
as
if
you
were
a
little
child
?
"
"
No
,
"
Bran
said
,
ashamed
.
"
I
’
m
sorry
.
I
only
wanted
.
.
.
"
"
I
know
what
you
wanted
,
"
Maester
Luwin
said
,
more
gently
.
"
Would
that
it
could
be
,
Bran
.
Do
you
have
any
questions
before
we
begin
this
audience
?
"
"
Will
we
talk
of
the
war
?
"
"
You
will
talk
of
naught
.
"
The
sharpness
was
back
in
Luwin
’
s
voice
.
"
You
are
still
a
child
of
eight
.
.
.
"
"
Almost
nine
!
"
"
Eight
,
"
the
maester
repeated
firmly
.
"
Speak
nothing
but
courtesies
unless
Ser
Rodrik
or
Lord
Wyman
puts
you
a
question
.
"
