A Game of Thrones 4-Book Bundle

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, Hothen 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.
    â€œBran?” Ser Rodrik said. “You do not eat.”
    The waking dream had been so vivid, for a moment Bran had not known where he
was. “I’ll have more later,” he said. “My belly’s full to
bursting.”
    The old knight’s white mustache was pink with wine. “You have done well, Bran.
Here, and at the audiences. You will be an especial fine lord one day, I
think.”
    I want to be a knight.
Bran took another sip of the spiced honey wine
from his father’s goblet, grateful for something to clutch. The lifelike head
of a snarling direwolf was raised on the side of the cup. He felt the silver
muzzle pressing against

his palm, and remembered the last time he had seen his lord father drink from
this goblet.
    It had been the night of the welcoming feast, when King Robert had brought his
court to Winterfell. Summer still reigned then. His parents had shared the dais
with Robert and his queen, with her brothers beside her. Uncle Benjen had been
there too, all in black. Bran and his brothers and sisters sat with the king’s
children, Joffrey and Tommen and Princess Myrcella, who’d spent the whole