Bran, will you let me tell you about a dream Jojen dreamed of you and your fosterling brothers?” “The Walders aren’t my brothers.” She paid that no heed. “You were sitting at supper, but instead of a servant, Maester Luwin brought you your food. He served you the king’s cut off the roast, the meat rare and bloody, but with a savory smell that made everyone’s mouth water. The meat he served the Freys was old and grey and dead. Yet they liked their supper better than you liked yours.” “I don’t understand.” “You will, my brother says. When you do, we’ll talk again.”
