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"
Crows
are
all
liars
,
"
Old
Nan
agreed
,
from
the
chair
where
she
sat
doing
her
needlework
.
"
I
know
a
story
about
a
crow
.
"
"
I
do
n't
want
any
more
stories
,
"
Bran
snapped
,
his
voice
petulant
.
He
had
liked
Old
Nan
and
her
stories
once
.
Before
.
But
it
was
different
now
.
They
left
her
with
him
all
day
now
,
to
watch
over
him
and
clean
him
and
keep
him
from
being
lonely
,
but
she
just
made
it
worse
.
"
I
hate
your
stupid
stories
.
"
The
old
woman
smiled
at
him
toothlessly
.
"
My
stories
?
No
,
my
little
lord
,
not
mine
.
The
stories
are
,
before
me
and
after
me
,
before
you
too
.
"
She
was
a
very
ugly
old
woman
,
Bran
thought
spitefully
;
shrunken
and
wrinkled
,
almost
blind
,
too
weak
to
climb
stairs
,
with
only
a
few
wisps
of
white
hair
left
to
cover
a
mottled
pink
scalp
.
No
one
really
knew
how
old
she
was
,
but
his
father
said
she
'd
been
called
Old
Nan
even
when
he
was
a
boy
.
She
was
the
oldest
person
in
Winterfell
for
certain
,
maybe
the
oldest
person
in
the
Seven
Kingdoms
.
Nan
had
come
to
the
castle
as
a
wet
nurse
for
a
Brandon
Stark
whose
mother
had
died
birthing
him
.
He
had
been
an
older
brother
of
Lord
Rickard
,
Bran
's
grandfather
,
or
perhaps
a
younger
brother
,
or
a
brother
to
Lord
Rickard
's
father
.
Sometimes
Old
Nan
told
it
one
way
and
sometimes
another
.
In
all
the
stories
the
little
boy
died
at
three
of
a
summer
chill
,
but
Old
Nan
stayed
on
at
Winterfell
with
her
own
children
.
She
had
lost
both
her
sons
to
the
war
when
King
Robert
won
the
throne
,
and
her
grandson
was
killed
on
the
walls
of
Pyke
during
Balon
Greyjoy
's
rebellion
.
Her
daughters
had
long
ago
married
and
moved
away
and
died
.
All
that
was
left
of
her
own
blood
was
Hodor
,
the
simpleminded
giant
who
worked
in
the
stables
,
but
Old
Nan
just
lived
on
and
on
,
doing
her
needlework
and
telling
her
stories
.
"
I
do
n't
care
whose
stories
they
are
,
"
Bran
told
her
,
"
I
hate
them
.
"
He
did
n't
want
stories
and
he
did
n't
want
Old
Nan
.
He
wanted
his
mother
and
father
.
He
wanted
to
go
running
with
Summer
loping
beside
him
.
He
wanted
to
climb
the
broken
tower
and
feed
corn
to
the
crows
.
He
wanted
to
ride
his
pony
again
with
his
brothers
.
He
wanted
it
to
be
the
way
it
had
been
before
.
"
I
know
a
story
about
a
boy
who
hated
stories
,
"
Old
Nan
said
with
her
stupid
little
smile
,
her
needles
moving
all
the
while
,
click
click
click
,
until
Bran
was
ready
to
scream
at
her
.
It
would
never
be
the
way
it
had
been
,
he
knew
.
The
crow
had
tricked
him
into
flying
,
but
when
he
woke
up
he
was
broken
and
the
world
was
changed
.
They
had
all
left
him
,
his
father
and
his
mother
and
his
sisters
and
even
his
bastard
brother
Jon
.
His
father
had
promised
he
would
ride
a
real
horse
to
King
's
Landing
,
but
they
'd
gone
without
him
.
Maester
Luwin
had
sent
a
bird
after
Lord
Eddard
with
a
message
,
and
another
to
Mother
and
a
third
to
Jon
on
the
Wall
,
but
there
had
been
no
answers
.
"
Ofttimes
the
birds
are
lost
,
child
,
"
the
maester
had
told
him
.
"
There
's
many
a
mile
and
many
a
hawk
between
here
and
King
's
Landing
,
the
message
may
not
have
reached
them
.
"
Yet
to
Bran
it
felt
as
if
they
had
all
died
while
he
had
slept
...
or
perhaps
Bran
had
died
,
and
they
had
forgotten
him
.
Jory
and
Ser
Rodrik
and
Vayon
Poole
had
gone
too
,
and
Hullen
and
Harwin
and
Fat
Tom
and
a
quarter
of
the
guard
.
Only
Robb
and
baby
Rickon
were
still
here
,
and
Robb
was
changed
.
He
was
Robb
the
Lord
now
,
or
trying
to
be
.
He
wore
a
real
sword
and
never
smiled
.
His
days
were
spent
drilling
the
guard
and
practicing
his
swordplay
,
making
the
yard
ring
with
the
sound
of
steel
as
Bran
watched
forlornly
from
his
window
.
At
night
he
closeted
himself
with
Maester
Luwin
,
talking
or
going
over
account
books
.
