The door to the crypts was made of ironwood. It was old and heavy, and lay at a slant to the ground. Only one person could approach it at a time. Osha tried once more when she reached it, but Bran could see that it was not budging. “Let Hodor try.” They had to pull Bran from his basket first, so he would not get squished. Meera squatted beside him on the steps, one arm thrown protectively across his shoulders, as Osha and Hodor traded places. “Open the door, Hodor,” Bran said. The huge stableboy put both hands flat on the door, pushed, and grunted. “Hodor?” He slammed a fist against the wood,
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