A Game of Thrones 4-Book Bundle
children of the forest have been dead and gone for thousands of years. All that is left of them are the faces in the trees.â
âDown here, might be thatâs true, Maester,â Yoren said, âbut up past the Wall, whoâs to say? Up there, a man canât always tell whatâs alive and whatâs dead.â
That night, after the plates had been cleared, Robb carried Bran up to bed himself. Grey Wind led the way, and Summer came close behind. His brother was strong for his age, and Bran was as light as a bundle of rags, but the stairs were steep and dark, and Robb was breathing hard by the time they reached the top.
He put Bran into bed, covered him with blankets, and blew out the candle. For a time Robb sat beside him in the dark. Bran wanted to talk to him, but he did not know what to say. âWeâll find a horse for you, I promise,â Robb whispered at last.
âAre they ever coming back?â Bran asked him.
âYes,â Robb said with such hope in his voice that Bran knew he was hearing his brother and not just Robb the Lord. âMother will be home soon. Maybe we can ride out to meet her when she comes. Wouldnât that surprise her, to see you ahorse?â Even in the dark room, Bran could feel his brotherâs smile. âAnd afterward, weâll ride north to see the Wall. We wonât even tell Jon weâre coming,weâll just be there one day, you and me. It will be an adventure.â
âAn adventure,â Bran repeated wistfully. He heard his brother sob. The room was so dark he could not see the tears on Robbâs face, so he reached out and found his hand. Their fingers twined together.
EDDARD
âL ord Arrynâs death was a great sadness for all of us, my lord,â Grand Maester Pycelle said. âI would be more than happy to tell you what I can of the manner of his passing. Do be seated. Would you care for refreshments? Some dates, perhaps? I have some very fine persimmons as well. Wine no longer agrees with my digestion, I fear, but I can offer you a cup of iced milk, sweetened with honey. I find it most refreshing in this heat.â
There was no denying the heat; Ned could feel the silk tunic clinging to his chest. Thick, moist air covered the city like a damp woolen blanket, and the riverside had grown unruly as the poor fled their hot, airless warrens to jostle for sleeping places near the water, where the only breath of wind was to be found. âThat would be most kind,â Ned said, seating himself.
Pycelle lifted a tiny silver bell with thumb and forefinger and tinkled it gently. A slender young serving girl hurried into the solar. âIced milk for the Kingâs Hand and myself, if you would be so kind, child. Well sweetened.â
As the girl went to fetch their drinks, the Grand Maester knotted his fingers together and rested his handson his stomach. âThe smallfolk say that the last year of summer is always the hottest. It is not so, yet ofttimes it feels that way, does it not? On days like this, I envy you northerners your summer snows.â The heavy jeweled chain around the old manâs neck chinked softly as he shifted in his seat. âTo be sure, King Maekarâs summer was hotter than this one, and near as long. There were fools, even in the Citadel, who took that to mean that the Great Summer had come at last, the summer that never ends, but in the seventh year it broke suddenly, and we had a short autumn and a terrible long winter. Still, the heat was fierce while it lasted. Oldtown steamed and sweltered by day and came alive only by night. We would walk in the gardens by the river and argue about the gods. I remember the
smells
of those nights, my lordâperfume and sweat, melons ripe to bursting, peaches and pomegranates, nightshade and moonbloom. I was a young man then, still forging my chain. The heat did not exhaust me as it does now.â Pycelleâs eyes were so heavily lidded he looked half-asleep. âMy pardons, Lord Eddard. You did not come to hear foolish meanderings of a summer forgotten before your father was born. Forgive an old man his wanderings, if you would. Minds are like swords, I do fear. The old ones go to rust. Ah, and here is our milk.â The serving girl placed the tray between them, and Pycelle gave her a smile. âSweet child.â He lifted a cup, tasted, nodded. âThank you. You may go.â
When the girl had taken her leave,
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