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second pup into his arms. "There are five of them." Bran sat down in the snow and hugged the wolf pup |
to his face. Its fur was soft and warm against his cheek. |
"Direwolves loose in the realm, after so many years," muttered Hullen, the master of horse. "I like it not." |
"It is a sign," Jory said. |
Father frowned. "This is only a dead animal, Jory," he said. Yet he seemed troubled. Snow crunched |
under his boots as he moved around the body. "Do we know what killed her?" |
"There's something in the throat," Robb told him, proud to have found the answer before his father even |
asked. "There, just under the jaw.,, |
His father knelt and groped under the beast's head with his hand. |
He gave a yank and held it up for all to see. A foot of shattered antler, tines snapped off, all wet with |
blood. |
A sudden silence descended over the party. The men looked at the antler uneasily, and no one dared to |
speak. Even Bran could sense their fear, though he did not understand. |
His father tossed the antler to the side and cleansed his hands in the snow. "I'm surprised she lived long |
enough to whelp," he said. His voice broke the spell. |
"Maybe she didn't," Jory said. "I've heard tales . . . maybe the bitch was already dead when the pups |
came." |
"Born with the dead," another man put in. "Worse luck." |
"No matter," said Hullen. "They be dead soon enough too." |
Bran gave a wordless cry of dismay. |
"The sooner the better," Theon Greyjoy agreed. He drew his sword. "Give the beast here, Bran." |
The little thing squirmed against him, as if it heard and understood. "No!" Bran cried out fiercely. "It's |
mine." |
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"Put away your sword, Greyjoy," Robb said. For a moment he sounded as commanding as their father, |
like the lord he would someday be. "We will keep these pups." |
"You cannot do that, boy," said Harwin, who was Hullen's son. |
"It be a mercy to kill them," Hullen said. |
Bran looked to his lord father for rescue, but got only a frown, a furrowed brow. "Hullen speaks truly, |
son. Better a swift death than a hard one from cold and starvation." |
"No!" He could feel tears welling in his eyes, and he looked away. He did not want to cry in front of his |
father. |
Robb resisted stubbornly. "Ser Rodrik's red bitch whelped again last week," he said. "It was a small |
litter, only two live pups. She'll have milk enough." |
"She'll rip them apart when they try to nurse." |
"Lord Stark," Jon said. It was strange to hear him call Father that, so formal. Bran looked at him with |
desperate hope. "There are five pups," he told Father. "Three male, two female." |
"What of it, Jon?" |
"You have five trueborn children," Jon said. "Three sons, two daughters. The direwolf is the sigil of your |
House. Your children were meant to have these pups, my lord." |
Bran saw his father's face change, saw the other men exchange glances. He loved Jon with all his heart |
at that moment. Even at seven, Bran understood what his brother had done. The count had come right |
only because Jon had omitted himself. He had included the girls, |
included even Rickon, the baby, but not the bastard who bore the surname Snow, the name that custom |
decreed be given to all those in the north unlucky enough to be born with no name of their own. |
Their father understood as well. "You want no pup for yourself, Jon?" he asked softly. |
"The direwolf graces the banners of House Stark," Jon pointed out. "I am no Stark, Father." |
Their lord father regarded Jon thoughtfully. Robb rushed into the silence he left. "I will nurse him myself, |
Father," he promised. "I will soak a towel with warm milk, and give him suck from that." |
"Me too!" Bran echoed. |
The lord weighed his sons long and carefully with his eyes. "Easy to say, and harder to do. I will not |
have you wasting the servants' time with this. If you want these pups, you will feed them yourselves. Is |
that understood?" |
Bran nodded eagerly. The pup squirmed in his grasp, licked at his face with a warm tongue. |
"You must train them as well," their father said. "You must train them. The kennelmaster will have nothing |
to do with these monsters, I promise you that. And the gods help you if you neglect them, or brutalize |
them, or train them badly. These are not dogs to beg for treats and slink off at a kick. A direwolf will rip |
Page 13 |
a man's arm off his shoulder as easily as a dog will kill a rat. Are you sure you want this?" |
"Yes, Father," Bran said. |
"Yes," Robb agreed. |
"The pups may die anyway, despite all you do." |
"They won't die," Robb said. "We won't let them die." |
"Keep them, then. Jory, Desmond, gather up the other pups. It's time we were back to Winterfell." |
It was not until they were mounted and on their way that Bran allowed himself to taste the sweet air of |
victory. By then, his pup was snuggled inside his leathers, warm against him, safe for the long ride home. |
Bran was wondering what to name him. |
Halfway across the bridge, Jon pulled up suddenly. |
"What is it, Jon?" their lord father asked. |
"Can't you hear it?" |
Bran could hear the wind in the trees, the clatter of their hooves on the ironwood planks, the whimpering |
of his hungry pup, but Jon was listening to something else. |
"There," Jon said. He swung his horse around and galloped back across the bridge. They watched him |
dismount where the direwolf lay |
dead in the snow, watched him kneel. A moment later he was riding back to them, smiling. |
"He must have crawled away from the others," Jon said. |
"Or been driven away," their father said, looking at the sixth pup. His fur was white, where the rest of the |
litter was grey. His eyes were as red as the blood of the ragged man who had died that morning. Bran |
thought it curious that this pup alone would have opened his eyes while the others were still blind. |
"An albino," Theon Greyjoy said with wry amusement. "This one will die even faster than the others." |
Jon Snow gave his father's ward a long, chilling look. "I think not, Greyjoy," he said. "This one belongs |
to me." |
CATELYN |
Catelyn had never liked this godswood. |
She had been born a Tully, at Riverrun far to the south, on the Red Fork of the Trident. The godswood |
there was a garden, bright and airy, where tall redwoods spread dappled shadows across tinkling |
streams, birds sang from hidden nests, and the air was spicy with the scent of flowers. |
Page 14 |
The gods of Winterfell kept a different sort of wood. It was a dark, primal place, three acres of old |
forest untouched for ten thousand years as the gloomy castle rose around it. It smelled of moist earth and |
decay. No redwoods grew here. This was a wood of stubborn sentinel trees armored in grey-green |
needles, of mighty oaks, of ironwoods as old as the realm itself. Here thick black trunks crowded close |
together while twisted branches wove a dense canopy overhead and misshappen roots wrestled beneath |
the soil. This was a place of deep silence and brooding shadows, and the gods who lived here had no |
names. |
But she knew she would find her husband here tonight. Whenever he took a man's life, afterward he |
would seek the quiet of the godswood. |