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"
You
did
well
,
Bran
,
"
Ser
Rodrik
told
him
.
"
Lord
Eddard
would
have
been
most
proud
.
"
Down
the
table
,
Maester
Luwin
nodded
his
agreement
as
the
servers
began
to
carry
in
the
food
.
Such
food
Bran
had
never
seen
;
course
after
course
after
course
,
so
much
that
he
could
not
manage
more
than
a
bite
or
two
of
each
dish
.
There
were
great
joints
of
aurochs
roasted
with
leeks
,
venison
pies
chunky
with
carrots
,
bacon
,
and
mushrooms
,
mutton
chops
sauced
in
honey
and
cloves
,
savory
duck
,
peppered
boar
,
goose
,
skewers
of
pigeon
and
capon
,
beef
-
and
-
barley
stew
,
cold
fruit
soup
.
Lord
Wyman
had
brought
twenty
casks
of
fish
from
White
Harbor
packed
in
salt
and
seaweed
;
whitefish
and
winkles
,
crabs
and
mussels
,
clams
,
herring
,
cod
,
salmon
,
lobster
and
lampreys
.
There
was
black
bread
and
honeycakes
and
oaten
biscuits
;
there
were
turnips
and
pease
and
beets
,
beans
and
squash
and
huge
red
onions
;
there
were
baked
apples
and
berry
tarts
and
pears
poached
in
strongwine
.
Wheels
of
white
cheese
were
set
at
every
table
,
above
and
below
the
salt
,
and
flagons
of
hot
spice
wine
and
chilled
autumn
ale
were
passed
up
and
down
the
tables
.
Lord
Wyman
’
s
musicians
played
bravely
and
well
,
but
harp
and
fiddle
and
horn
were
soon
drowned
beneath
a
tide
of
talk
and
laughter
,
the
clash
of
cup
and
plate
,
and
the
snarling
of
hounds
fighting
for
table
scraps
.
The
singer
sang
good
songs
,
"
Iron
Lances
"
and
"
The
Burning
of
the
Ships
"
and
"
The
Bear
and
the
Maiden
Fair
,
"
but
only
Hodor
seemed
to
be
listening
.
He
stood
beside
the
piper
,
hopping
from
one
foot
to
the
other
.
The
noise
swelled
to
a
steady
rumbling
roar
,
a
great
heady
stew
of
sound
.
Ser
Rodrik
talked
with
Maester
Luwin
above
Beth
’
s
curly
head
,
while
Rickon
screamed
happily
at
the
Walders
.
Bran
had
not
wanted
the
Freys
at
the
high
table
,
but
the
maester
reminded
him
that
they
would
soon
be
kin
.
Robb
was
to
marry
one
of
their
aunts
,
and
Arya
one
of
their
uncles
.
"
She
never
will
,
"
Bran
said
,
"
not
Arya
,
"
but
Maester
Luwin
was
unyielding
,
so
there
they
were
beside
Rickon
.
The
serving
men
brought
every
dish
to
Bran
first
,
that
he
might
take
the
lord
’
s
portion
if
he
chose
.
By
the
time
they
reached
the
ducks
,
he
could
eat
no
more
.
After
that
he
nodded
approval
at
each
course
in
turn
,
and
waved
it
away
.
If
the
dish
smelled
especially
choice
,
he
would
send
it
to
one
of
the
lords
on
the
dais
,
a
gesture
of
friendship
and
favor
that
Maester
Luwin
told
him
he
must
make
.
He
sent
some
salmon
down
to
poor
sad
Lady
Hornwood
,
the
boar
to
the
boisterous
Umbers
,
a
dish
of
goose
-
in
-
berries
to
Cley
Cerwyn
,
and
a
huge
lobster
to
Joseth
the
master
of
horse
,
who
was
neither
lord
nor
guest
,
but
had
seen
to
Dancer
’
s
training
and
made
it
possible
for
Bran
to
ride
.
He
sent
sweets
to
Hodor
and
Old
Nan
as
well
,
for
no
reason
but
he
loved
them
.
Ser
Rodrik
reminded
him
to
send
something
to
his
foster
brothers
,
so
he
sent
Little
Walder
some
boiled
beets
and
Big
Walder
the
buttered
turnips
.
On
the
benches
below
,
Winterfell
men
mixed
with
smallfolk
from
the
winter
town
,
friends
from
the
nearer
holdfasts
,
and
the
escorts
of
their
lordly
guests
.
Some
faces
Bran
had
never
seen
before
,
others
he
knew
as
well
as
his
own
,
yet
they
all
seemed
equally
foreign
to
him
.
He
watched
them
as
from
a
distance
,
as
if
he
still
sat
in
the
window
of
his
bedchamber
looking
down
on
the
yard
below
,
seeing
everything
yet
a
part
of
nothing
.
Osha
moved
among
the
tables
,
pouring
ale
.
One
of
Leobald
Tallhart
’
s
men
slid
a
hand
up
under
her
skirts
and
she
broke
the
flagon
over
his
head
,
to
roars
of
laughter
.
Yet
Mikken
had
his
hand
down
some
woman
’
s
bodice
,
and
she
seemed
not
to
mind
.
Bran
watched
Farlen
make
his
red
bitch
beg
for
bones
and
smiled
at
Old
Nan
plucking
at
the
crust
of
a
hot
pie
with
wrinkled
fingers
.
On
the
dais
,
Lord
Wyman
attacked
a
steaming
plate
of
lampreys
as
if
they
were
an
enemy
host
.
He
was
so
fat
that
Ser
Rodrik
had
commanded
that
a
special
wide
chair
be
built
for
him
to
sit
in
,
but
he
laughed
loud
and
often
,
and
Bran
thought
he
liked
him
.
Poor
wan
Lady
Hornwood
sat
beside
him
,
her
face
a
stony
mask
as
she
picked
listlessly
at
her
food
.
At
the
opposite
end
of
the
high
table
,
Hother
and
Mors
were
playing
a
drinking
game
,
slamming
their
horns
together
as
hard
as
knights
meeting
in
joust
.
It
is
too
hot
here
,
and
too
noisy
,
and
they
are
all
getting
drunk
.
Bran
itched
under
his
grey
-
and
-
white
woolens
,
and
suddenly
he
wished
he
were
anywhere
but
here
.
It
is
cool
in
the
godswood
now
.
Steam
is
rising
off
the
hot
pools
,
and
the
red
leaves
of
the
weirwood
are
rustling
.
The
smells
are
richer
than
here
,
and
before
long
the
moon
will
rise
and
my
brother
will
sing
to
it
.
