A Game of Thrones 4-Book Bundle

meal
gazing at Robb with adoring eyes. Arya made faces across the table when no one
was looking; Sansa listened raptly while the king’s high harper sang songs of
chivalry, and Rickon kept asking why Jon wasn’t with them. “Because he’s a
bastard,” Bran finally had to whisper to him.
    And now they are all gone.
It was as if some cruel god had reached
down with a great hand and swept them all away, the girls to captivity, Jon to
the Wall, Robb and Mother to war, King Robert and Father to their graves, and
perhaps Uncle Benjen as well . . .
    Even down on the benches, there were new men at the tables. Jory was dead, and
Fat Tom, and Porther, Alyn, Desmond, Hullen who had been master of horse,
Harwin his son . . . all those who had gone south with his
father, even Septa Mordane and Vayon Poole. The rest had ridden to war with
Robb, and might soon be dead as well for all Bran knew. He liked Hayhead and
Poxy Tym and Skittrick and the other new men well enough, but he missed his old
friends.
    He looked up and down the benches at all the faces happy and sad, and wondered
who would be missing next year and the year

after. He might have cried then, but he couldn’t. He was the Stark in
Winterfell, his father’s son and his brother’s heir, and almost a man
grown.
    At the foot of the hall, the doors opened and a gust of cold air made the
torches flame brighter for an instant. Alebelly led two new guests into the
feast. “The Lady Meera of House Reed,” the rotund guardsman bellowed over the
clamor. “With her brother, Jojen, of Greywater Watch.”
    Men looked up from their cups and trenchers to eye the newcomers. Bran heard
Little Walder mutter, “Frogeaters,” to Big Walder beside him. Ser Rodrik
climbed to his feet. “Be welcome, friends, and share this harvest with us.”
Serving men hurried to lengthen the table on the dais, fetching trestles and
chairs.
    â€œWho are
they
?” Rickon asked.
    â€œMudmen,” answered Little Walder disdainfully. “They’re thieves and cravens,
and they have green teeth from eating frogs.”
    Maester Luwin crouched beside Bran’s seat to whisper counsel in his ear. “You
must greet these ones warmly. I had not thought to see them here,
but . . . you know who they are?”
    Bran nodded. “Crannogmen. From the Neck.”
    â€œHowland Reed was a great friend to your father,” Ser Rodrik told him.
“These two are his, it would seem.”
    As the newcomers walked the length of the hall, Bran saw that one was indeed a
girl, though he would never have known it by her dress. She wore lambskin
breeches soft with long use, and a sleeveless jerkin armored in bronze scales.
Though near Robb’s

age, she was slim as a boy, with long brown hair knotted behind her head and
only the barest suggestion of breasts. A woven net hung from one slim hip, a
long bronze knife from the other; under her arm she carried an old iron
greathelm spotted with rust; a frog spear and round leathern shield were
strapped to her back.
    Her brother was several years younger and bore no weapons. All his garb was
green, even to the leather of his boots, and when he came closer Bran saw that
his eyes were the color of moss, though his teeth looked as white as anyone
else’s. Both Reeds were slight of build, slender as swords and scarcely taller
than Bran himself. They went to one knee before the dais.
    â€œMy lords of Stark,” the girl said. “The years have passed in their hundreds
and their thousands since my folk first swore their fealty to the King in the
North. My lord father has sent us here to say the words again, for all our
people.”
    She is looking at me,
Bran realized. He had to make some answer. “My
brother Robb is fighting in the south,” he said, “but you can say your words
to me, if you like.”
    â€œTo Winterfell we pledge the faith of Greywater,” they said together.
“Hearth and heart and harvest we yield up to you, my lord. Our swords and
spears and arrows are yours to command. Grant mercy to our weak, help to our
helpless, and justice to all, and we shall never fail you.”
    â€œI swear it by earth and water,” said the boy in green.
    â€œI swear it by bronze and iron,” his sister said.
    â€œWe swear it by ice and fire,” they finished together.
    Bran groped for words.