A Game of Thrones Chapter Thirty-seven

Bran A light snow was falling. Bran could feel the flakes on his face, melting as they touched his skin like the gentlest of rains. He sat straight atop his horse, watching as the iron portcullis was winched upward. Try as he might to keep calm, his heart was fluttering in his chest. â€Å"Are you ready?† Robb asked. Bran nodded, trying not to let his fear show. He had not been outside Winterfell since his fall, but he was determined to ride out as proud as any knight. â€Å"Let's ride, then.† Robb put his heels into his big grey-and-white gelding, and the horse walked under the portcullis. â€Å"Go,† Bran whispered to his own horse. He touched her neck lightly, and the small chestnut filly started forward. Bran had named her Dancer. She was two years old, and Joseth said she was smarter than any horse had a right to be. They had trained her special, to respond to rein and voice and touch. Up to now, Bran had only ridden her around the yard. At first Joseth or Hodor would lead her, while Bran sat strapped to her back in the oversize saddle the Imp had drawn up for him, but for the past fortnight he had been riding her on his own, trotting her round and round, and growing bolder with every circuit. They passed beneath the gatehouse, over the drawbridge, through the outer walls. Summer and Grey Wind came loping beside them, sniffing at the wind. Close behind came Theon Greyjoy, with his longbow and a quiver of broadheads; he had a mind to take a deer, he had told them. He was followed by four guardsmen in mailed shirts and coifs, and Joseth, a stick-thin stableman whom Robb had named master of horse while Hullen was away. Maester Luwin brought up the rear, riding on a donkey. Bran would have liked it better if he and Robb had gone off alone, just the two of them, but Hal Mollen would not hear of it, and Maester Luwin backed him. If Bran fell off his horse or injured himself, the maester was determined to be with him. Beyond the castle lay the market square, its wooden stalls deserted now. They rode down the muddy streets of the village, past rows of small neat houses of log and undressed stone. Less than one in five were occupied, thin tendrils of woodsmoke curling up from their chimneys. The rest would fill up one by one as it grew colder. When the snow fell and the ice winds howled down out of the north, Old Nan said, farmers left their frozen fields and distant holdfasts, loaded up their wagons, and then the winter town came alive. Bran had never seen it happen, but Maester Luwin said the day was looming closer. The end of the long summer was near at hand. Winter is coming. A few villagers eyed the direwolves anxiously as the riders went past, and one man dropped the wood he was carrying as he shrank away in fear, but most of the townfolk had grown used to the sight. They bent the knee when they saw the boys, and Robb greeted each of them with a lordly nod. With his legs unable to grip, the swaying motion of the horse made Bran feel unsteady at first, but the huge saddle with its thick horn and high back cradled him comfortingly, and the straps around his chest and thighs would not allow him to fall. After a time the rhythm began to feel almost natural. His anxiety faded, and a tremulous smile crept across his face. Two serving wenches stood beneath the sign of the Smoking Log, the local alehouse. When Theon Greyjoy called out to them, the younger girl turned red and covered her face. Theon spurred his mount to move up beside Robb. â€Å"Sweet Kyra,† he said with a laugh. â€Å"She squirms like a weasel in bed, but say a word to her on the street, and she blushes pink as a maid. Did I ever tell you about the night that she and Bessa—† â€Å"Not where my brother can hear, Theon,† Robb warned him with a glance at Bran. Bran looked away and pretended not to have heard, but he could feel Greyjoy's eyes on him. No doubt he was smiling. He smiled a lot, as if the world were a secret joke that only he was clever enough to understand. Robb seemed to admire Theon and enjoy his company, but Bran had never warmed to his father's ward. Robb rode closer. â€Å"You are doing well, Bran.† â€Å"I want to go faster,† Bran replied. Robb smiled. â€Å"As you will.† He sent his gelding into a trot. The wolves raced after him. Bran snapped the reins sharply, and Dancer picked up her pace. He heard a shout from Theon Greyjoy, and the hoofbeats of the other horses behind him. Bran's cloak billowed out, rippling in the wind, and the snow seemed to rush at his face. Robb was well ahead, glancing back over his shoulder from time to time to make sure Bran and the others were following. He snapped the reins again. Smooth as silk, Dancer slid into a gallop. The distance closed. By the time he caught Robb on the edge of the wolfswood, two miles beyond the winter town, they had left the others well behind. â€Å"I can ride!† Bran shouted, grinning. It felt almost as good as flying. â€Å"I'd race you, but I fear you'd win.† Robb's tone was light and joking, yet Bran could tell that something was troubling his brother underneath the smile. â€Å"I don't want to race.† Bran looked around for the direwolves. Both had vanished into the wood. â€Å"Did you hear Summer howling last night?† â€Å"Grey Wind was restless too,† Robb said. His auburn hair had grown shaggy and unkempt, and a reddish stubble covered his jaw, making him look older than his fifteen years. â€Å"Sometimes I think they know things . . . sense things . . . † Robb sighed. â€Å"I never know how much to tell you, Bran. I wish you were older.† â€Å"I'm eight now!† Bran said. â€Å"Eight isn't so much younger than fifteen, and I'm the heir to Winterfell, after you.† â€Å"So you are.† Robb sounded sad, and even a little scared. â€Å"Bran, I need to tell you something. There was a bird last night. From King's Landing. Maester Luwin woke me.† Bran felt a sudden dread. Dark wings, dark words, Old Nan always said, and of late the messenger ravens had been proving the truth of the proverb. When Robb wrote to the Lord Commander of the Night's Watch, the bird that came back brought word that Uncle Benjen was still missing. Then a message had arrived from the Eyrie, from Mother, but that had not been good news either. She did not say when she meant to return, only that she had taken the Imp as prisoner. Bran had sort of liked the little man, yet the name Lannister sent cold fingers creeping up his spine. There was something about the Lannisters, something he ought to remember, but when he tried to think what, he felt dizzy and his stomach clenched hard as a stone. Robb spent most of that day locked behind closed doors with Maester Luwin, Theon Greyjoy, and Hallis Mollen. Afterward, riders were sent out on fast horses, carrying Robb's commands throughout the north. Bran heard talk of Moat Cailin, the ancient stronghold the First Men had built at the top of the Neck. No one ever told him what was happening, yet he knew it was not good. And now another raven, another message. Bran clung to hope. â€Å"Was the bird from Mother? Is she coming home?† â€Å"The message was from Alyn in King's Landing. Jory Cassel is dead. And Wyl and Heward as well. Murdered by the Kingslayer.† Robb lifted his face to the snow, and the flakes melted on his cheeks. â€Å"May the gods give them rest.† Bran did not know what to say. He felt as if he'd been punched. Jory had been captain of the household guard at Winterfell since before Bran was born. â€Å"They killed Jory?† He remembered all the times Jory had chased him over the roofs. He could picture him striding across the yard in mail and plate, or sitting at his accustomed place on the bench in the Great Hall, joking as he ate. â€Å"Why would anyone kill Jory?† Robb shook his head numbly, the pain plain in his eyes. â€Å"I don't know, and . . . Bran, that's not the worst of it. Father was caught beneath a falling horse in the fight. Alyn says his leg was shattered, and . . . Maester Pycelle has given him the milk of the poppy, but they aren't sure when . . . when he . . .† The sound of hoofbeats made him glance down the road, to where Theon and the others were coming up. â€Å"When he will wake,† Robb finished. He laid his hand on the pommel of his sword then, and went on in the solemn voice of Robb the Lord. â€Å"Bran, I promise you, whatever might happen, I will not let this be forgotten.† Something in his tone made Bran even more fearful. â€Å"What will you do?† he asked as Theon Greyjoy reined in beside them. â€Å"Theon thinks I should call the banners,† Robb said. â€Å"Blood for blood.† For once Greyjoy did not smile. His lean, dark face had a hungry look to it, and black hair fell down across his eyes. â€Å"Only the lord can call the banners,† Bran said as the snow drifted down around them. â€Å"If your father dies,† Theon said, â€Å"Robb will be Lord of Winterfell.† â€Å"He won't die!† Bran screamed at him. Robb took his hand. â€Å"He won't die, not Father,† he said calmly. â€Å"Still . . . the honor of the north is in my hands now. When our lord father took his leave of us, he told me to be strong for you and for Rickon. I'm almost a man grown, Bran.† Bran shivered. â€Å"I wish Mother was back,† he said miserably. He looked around for Maester Luwin; his donkey was visible in the far distance, trotting over a rise. â€Å"Does Maester Luwin say to call the banners too?† â€Å"The maester is timid as an old woman,† said Theon. â€Å"Father always listened to his counsel,† Bran reminded his brother. â€Å"Mother too.† â€Å"I listen to him,† Robb insisted. â€Å"I listen to everyone.† The joy Bran had felt at the ride was gone, melted away like the snowflakes on his face. Not so long ago, the thought of Robb calling the banners and riding off to war would have filled him with excitement, but now he felt only dread. â€Å"Can we go back now?† he asked. â€Å"I'm cold.† Robb glanced around. â€Å"We need to find the wolves. Can you stand to go a bit longer?† â€Å"I can go as long as you can.† Maester Luwin had warned him to keep the ride short, for fear of saddle sores, but Bran would not admit to weakness in front of his brother. He was sick of the way everyone was always fussing over him and asking how he was. â€Å"Let's hunt down the hunters, then,† Robb said. Side by side, they urged their mounts off the kingsroad and struck out into the wolfswood. Theon dropped back and followed well behind them, talking and joking with the guardsmen. It was nice under the trees. Bran kept Dancer to a walk, holding the reins lightly and looking all around him as they went. He knew this wood, but he had been so long confined to Winterfell that he felt as though he were seeing it for the first time. The smells filled his nostrils; the sharp fresh tang of pine needles, the earthy odor of wet rotting leaves, the hints of animal musk and distant cooking fires. He caught a glimpse of a black squirrel moving through the snow-covered branches of an oak, and paused to study the silvery web of an empress spider. Theon and the others fell farther and farther behind, until Bran could no longer hear their voices. From ahead came the faint sound of rushing waters. It grew louder until they reached the stream. Tears stung his eyes. â€Å"Bran?† Robb asked. â€Å"What's wrong?† Bran shook his head. â€Å"I was just remembering,† he said. â€Å"Jory brought us here once, to fish for trout. You and me and Jon. Do you remember?† â€Å"I remember,† Robb said, his voice quiet and sad. â€Å"I didn't catch anything,† Bran said, â€Å"but Jon gave me his fish on the way back to Winterfell. Will we ever see Jon again?† â€Å"We saw Uncle Benjen when the king came to visit,† Robb pointed out. â€Å"Jon will visit too, you'll see.† The stream was running high and fast. Robb dismounted and led his gelding across the ford. In the deepest part of the crossing, the water came up to midthigh. He tied his horse to a tree on the far side, and waded back across for Bran and Dancer. The current foamed around rock and root, and Bran could feel the spray on his face as Robb led him over. It made him smile. For a moment he felt strong again, and whole. He looked up at the trees and dreamed of climbing them, right up to the very top, with the whole forest spread out beneath him. They were on the far side when they heard the howl, a long rising wail that moved through the trees like a cold wind. Bran raised his head to listen. â€Å"Summer,† he said. No sooner had he spoken than a second voice joined the first. â€Å"They've made a kill,† Robb said as he remounted. â€Å"I'd best go and bring them back. Wait here, Theon and the others should be along shortly.† â€Å"I want to go with you,† Bran said. â€Å"I'll find them faster by myself.† Robb spurred his gelding and vanished into the trees. Once he was gone, the woods seemed to close in around Bran. The snow was falling more heavily now. Where it touched the ground it melted, but all about him rock and root and branch wore a thin blanket of white. As he waited, he was conscious of how uncomfortable he felt. He could not feel his legs, hanging useless in the stirrups, but the strap around his chest was tight and chafing, and the melting snow had soaked through his gloves to chill his hands. He wondered what was keeping Theon and Maester Luwin and Joseth and the rest. When he heard the rustle of leaves, Bran used the reins to make Dancer turn, expecting to see his friends, but the ragged men who stepped out onto the bank of the stream were strangers. â€Å"Good day to you,† he said nervously. One look, and Bran knew they were neither foresters nor farmers. He was suddenly conscious of how richly he was dressed. His surcoat was new, dark grey wool with silver buttons, and a heavy silver pin fastened his fur-trimmed cloak at the shoulders. His boots and gloves were lined with fur as well. â€Å"All alone, are you?† said the biggest of them, a bald man with a raw windburnt face. â€Å"Lost in the wolfswood, poor lad.† â€Å"I'm not lost.† Bran did not like the way the strangers were looking at him. He counted four, but when he turned his head, he saw two others behind him. â€Å"My brother rode off just a moment ago, and my guard will be here shortly.† â€Å"Your guard, is it?† a second man said. Grey stubble covered his gaunt face. â€Å"And what would they be guarding, my little lord? Is that a silver pin I see there on your cloak?† â€Å"Pretty,† said a woman's voice. She scarcely looked like a woman; tall and lean, with the same hard face as the others, her hair hidden beneath a bowl-shaped halfhelm. The spear she held was eight feet of black oak, tipped in rusted steel. â€Å"Let's have a look,† said the big bald man. Bran watched him anxiously. The man's clothes were filthy, fallen almost to pieces, patched here with brown and here with blue and there with a dark green, and faded everywhere to grey, but once that cloak might have been black. The grey stubbly man wore black rags too, he saw with a sudden start. Suddenly Bran remembered the oathbreaker his father had beheaded, the day they had found the wolf pups; that man had worn black as well, and Father said he had been a deserter from the Night's Watch. No man is more dangerous, he remembered Lord Eddard saying. The deserter knows his life is forfeit if he is taken, so he will not flinch from any crime, no matter how vile or cruel. â€Å"The pin, lad,† the big man said. He held out his hand. â€Å"We'll take the horse too,† said another of them, a woman shorter than Robb, with a broad fiat face and lank yellow hair. â€Å"Get down, and be quick about it.† A knife slid from her sleeve into her hand, its edge jagged as a saw. â€Å"No,† Bran blurted. â€Å"I can't . . . â€Å" The big man grabbed his reins before Bran could think to wheel Dancer around and gallop off. â€Å"You can, lordling . . . and will, if you know what's good for you.† â€Å"Stiv, look how he's strapped on.† The tall woman pointed with her spear. â€Å"Might be it's the truth he's telling.† â€Å"Straps, is it?† Stiv said. He drew a dagger from a sheath at his belt. â€Å"There's ways to deal with straps.† â€Å"You some kind of cripple?† asked the short woman. Bran flared. â€Å"I'm Brandon Stark of Winterfell, and you better let go of my horse, or I'll see you all dead.† The gaunt man with the grey stubbled face laughed. â€Å"The boy's a Stark, true enough. Only a Stark would be fool enough to threaten where smarter men would beg.† â€Å"Cut his little cock off and stuff it in his mouth,† suggested the short woman. â€Å"That should shut him up.† â€Å"You're as stupid as you are ugly, Hali,† said the tall woman. â€Å"The boy's worth nothing dead, but alive . . . gods be damned, think what Mance would give to have Benjen Stark's own blood to hostage!† â€Å"Mance be damned,† the big man cursed. â€Å"You want to go back there, Osha? More fool you. Think the white walkers will care if you have a hostage?† He turned back to Bran and slashed at the strap around his thigh. The leather parted with a sigh. The stroke had been quick and careless, biting deep. Looking down, Bran glimpsed pale flesh where the wool of his leggings had parted. Then the blood began to flow. He watched the red stain spread, feeling light-headed, curiously apart; there had been no pain, not even a hint of feeling. The big man grunted in surprise. â€Å"Put down your steel now, and I promise you shall have a quick and painless death,† Robb called out. Bran looked up in desperate hope, and there he was. The strength of the words were undercut by the way his voice cracked with strain. He was mounted, the bloody carcass of an elk slung across the back of his horse, his sword in a gloved hand. â€Å"The brother,† said the man with the grey stubbly face. â€Å"He's a fierce one, he is,† mocked the short woman. Hali, they called her. â€Å"You mean to fight us, boy?† â€Å"Don't be a fool, lad. You're one against six.† The tall woman, Osha, leveled her spear. â€Å"Off the horse, and throw down the sword. We'll thank you kindly for the mount and for the venison, and you and your brother can be on your way.† Robb whistled. They heard the faint sound of soft feet on wet leaves. The undergrowth parted, low-hanging branches giving up their accumulation of snow, and Grey Wind and Summer emerged from the green. Summer sniffed the air and growled. â€Å"Wolves,† gasped Hali. â€Å"Direwolves,† Bran said. Still half-grown, they were as large as any wolf he had ever seen, but the differences were easy to spot, if you knew what to look for. Maester Luwin and Farlen the kennelmaster had taught him. A direwolf had a bigger head and longer legs in proportion to its body, and its snout and jaw were markedly leaner and more pronounced. There was something gaunt and terrible about them as they stood there amid the gently falling snow. Fresh blood spotted Grey Wind's muzzle. â€Å"Dogs,† the big bald man said contemptuously. â€Å"Yet I'm told there's nothing like a wolfskin cloak to warm a man by night.† He made a sharp gesture. â€Å"Take them.† Robb shouted, â€Å"Winterfell!† and kicked his horse. The gelding plunged down the bank as the ragged men closed. A man with an axe rushed in, shouting and heedless. Robb's sword caught him full in the face with a sickening crunch and a spray of bright blood. The man with the gaunt stubbly face made a grab for the reins, and for half a second he had them . . . and then Grey Wind was on him, bearing him down. He fell back into the stream with a splash and a shout, flailing wildly with his knife as his head went under. The direwolf plunged in after him, and the white water turned red where they had vanished. Robb and Osha matched blows in midstream. Her long spear was a steel-headed serpent, flashing out at his chest, once, twice, three times, but Robb parried every thrust with his longsword, turning the point aside. On the fourth or fifth thrust, the tall woman overextended herself and lost her balance, just for a second. Robb charged, riding her down. A few feet away, Summer darted in and snapped at Hali. The knife bit at his flank. Summer slid away, snarling, and came rushing in again. This time his jaws closed around her calf. Holding the knife with both hands, the small woman stabbed down, but the direwolf seemed to sense the blade coming. He pulled free for an instant, his mouth full of leather and cloth and bloody flesh. When Hali stumbled and fell, he came at her again, slamming her backward, teeth tearing at her belly. The sixth man ran from the carnage . . . but not far. As he went scrambling up the far side of the bank, Grey Wind emerged from the stream, dripping wet. He shook the water off and bounded after the running man, hamstringing him with a single snap of his teeth, and going for the throat as the screaming man slid back down toward the water. And then there was no one left but the big man, Stiv. He slashed at Bran's chest strap, grabbed his arm, and yanked. Suddenly Bran was falling. He sprawled on the ground, his legs tangled under him, one foot in the stream. He could not feel the cold of the water, but he felt the steel when Stiv pressed his dagger to his throat. â€Å"Back away,† the man warned, â€Å"or I'll open the boy's windpipe, I swear it.† Robb reined his horse in, breathing hard. The fury went out of his eyes, and his sword arm dropped. In that moment Bran saw everything. Summer was savaging Hali, pulling glistening blue snakes from her belly. Her eyes were wide and staring. Bran could not tell whether she was alive or dead. The grey stubbly man and the one with the axe lay unmoving, but Osha was on her knees, crawling toward her fallen spear. Grey Wind padded toward her, dripping wet. â€Å"Call him off!† the big man shouted. â€Å"Call them both off, or the cripple boy dies now!† â€Å"Grey Wind, Summer, to me,† Robb said. The direwolves stopped, turned their heads. Grey Wind loped back to Robb. Summer stayed where he was, his eyes on Bran and the man beside him. He growled. His muzzle was wet and red, but his eyes burned. Osha used the butt end of her spear to lever herself back to her feet. Blood leaked from a wound on the upper arm where Robb had cut her. Bran could see sweat trickling down the big man's face. Stiv was as scared as he was, he realized. â€Å"Starks,† the man muttered, â€Å"bloody Starks.† He raised his voice. â€Å"Osha, kill the wolves and get his sword.† â€Å"Kill them yourself,† she replied. â€Å"I'll not be getting near those monsters.† For a moment Stiv was at a loss. His hand trembled; Bran felt a trickle of blood where the knife pressed against his neck. The stench of the man filled his nose; he smelled of fear. â€Å"You,† he called out to Robb. â€Å"You have a name?† â€Å"I am Robb Stark, the heir to Winterfell.† â€Å"This is your brother?† â€Å"Yes.† â€Å"You want him alive, you do what I say. Off the horse.† Robb hesitated a moment. Then, slowly and deliberately, he dismounted and stood with his sword in hand. â€Å"Now kill the wolves.† Robb did not move. â€Å"You do it. The wolves or the boy.† â€Å"No!† Bran screamed. If Robb did as they asked, Stiv would kill them both anyway, once the direwolves were dead. The bald man took hold of his hair with his free hand and twisted it cruelly, till Bran sobbed in pain. â€Å"You shut your mouth, cripple, you hear me?† He twisted harder. â€Å"You hear me?† A low thrum came from the woods behind them. Stiv gave a choked gasp as a half foot of razor-tipped broadhead suddenly exploded out of his chest. The arrow was bright red, as if it had been painted in blood. The dagger fell away from Bran's throat. The big man swayed and collapsed, facedown in the stream. The arrow broke beneath him. Bran watched his life go swirling off in the water. Osha glanced around as Father's guardsmen appeared from beneath the trees, steel in hand. She threw down her spear. â€Å"Mercy, m'lord,† she called to Robb. The guardsmen had a strange, pale look to their faces as they took in the scene of slaughter. They eyed the wolves uncertainly, and when Summer returned to Hali's corpse to feed, Joseth dropped his knife and scrambled for the bush, heaving. Even Maester Luwin seemed shocked as he stepped from behind a tree, but only for an instant. Then he shook his head and waded across the stream to Bran's side. â€Å"Are you hurt?† â€Å"He cut my leg,† Bran said, â€Å"but I couldn't feel it.† As the maester knelt to examine the wound, Bran turned his head. Theon Greyjoy stood beside a sentinel tree, his bow in hand. He was smiling. Ever smiling. A half-dozen arrows were thrust into the soft ground at his feet, but it had taken only one. â€Å"A dead enemy is a thing of beauty,† he announced. â€Å"Jon always said you were an ass, Greyjoy,† Robb said loudly. â€Å"I ought to chain you up in the yard and let Bran take a few practice shots at you.† â€Å"You should be thanking me for saving your brother's life.† â€Å"What if you had missed the shot?† Robb said. â€Å"What if you'd only wounded him? What if you had made his hand jump, or hit Bran instead? For all you knew, the man might have been wearing a breastplate, all you could see was the back of his cloak. What would have happened to my brother then? Did you ever think of that, Greyjoy?† Theon's smile was gone. He gave a sullen shrug and began to pull his arrows from the ground, one by one. Robb glared at his guardsmen. â€Å"Where were you?† he demanded of them. â€Å"I was sure you were close behind us.† The men traded unhappy glances. â€Å"We were following, m'lord,† said Quent, the youngest of them, his beard a soft brown fuzz. â€Å"Only first we waited for Maester Luwin and his ass, begging your pardons, and then, well, as it were . . . † He glanced over at Theon and quickly looked away, abashed. â€Å"I spied a turkey,† Theon said, annoyed by the question. â€Å"How was I to know that you'd leave the boy alone?† Robb turned his head to look at Theon once more. Bran had never seen him so angry, yet he said nothing. Finally he knelt beside Maester Luwin. â€Å"How badly is my brother wounded?† â€Å"No more than a scratch,† the maester said. He wet a cloth in the stream to clean the cut. â€Å"Two of them wear the black,† he told Robb as he worked. Robb glanced over at where Stiv lay sprawled in the stream, his ragged black cloak moving fitfully as the rushing waters tugged at it. â€Å"Deserters from the Night's Watch,† he said grimly. â€Å"They must have been fools, to come so close to Winterfell.† â€Å"Folly and desperation are ofttimes hard to tell apart,† said Maester Luwin. â€Å"Shall we bury them, m'lord?† asked Quent. â€Å"They would not have buried us,† Robb said. â€Å"Hack off their heads, we'll send them back to the Wall. Leave the rest for the carrion crows.† â€Å"And this one?† Quent jerked a thumb toward Osha. Robb walked over to her. She was a head taller than he was, but she dropped to her knees at his approach. â€Å"Give me my life, m'lord of Stark, and I am yours.† â€Å"Mine? What would I do with an oathbreaker?† â€Å"I broke no oaths. Stiv and Wallen flew down off the Wall, not me. The black crows got no place for women.† Theon Greyjoy sauntered closer. â€Å"Give her to the wolves,† he urged Robb. The woman's eyes went to what was left of Hali, and just as quickly away. She shuddered. Even the guardsmen looked queasy. â€Å"She's a woman,† Robb said. â€Å"A wildling,† Bran told him. â€Å"She said they should keep me alive so they could take me to Mance Rayder.† â€Å"Do you have a name?† Robb asked her. â€Å"Osha, as it please the lord,† she muttered sourly. Maester Luwin stood. â€Å"We might do well to question her.† Bran could see the relief on his brother's face. â€Å"As you say, Maester. Wayn, bind her hands. She'll come back to Winterfell with us . . . and live or die by the truths she gives us.†

The Angry Black Woman

I am deeply interested in why Black women are received and portrayed as both â€Å"angry† and â€Å"strong† Black Women. It may seem inexplicable that a respected black woman educator would stamp her foot, jab her finger in someone’s face and scream while trying to make a point on national television, thereby reconfirming the notation that black women are irrationally angry. When confronted about race and gender, as a black woman I stand in a crooked room. I have to figure out which way is up. Bombarded with warping images of humanity, I sometimes tilt and bend to fit the distortion.From the single mother who complains about child support to the first lady of the United States, it seems like Black women of all ages and classes have been accused of either being â€Å"angry† or too â€Å"strong† at some point in life. For centuries, the angry black female has been a pervasive stereotype in the United States. You may have heard the term â€Å"Angry Bl ack Woman Syndrome (ABSW)†. Angry Black Woman Syndrome is not only the dynamics between black woman and black men. It is definitively not an official clinical diagnosis or anything.The attitudes behavior of some black women, by some can best be described as a word that starts with â€Å"b† and rhymes with the word â€Å"itch†. Angry Black Woman is just as inescapable today as it was during the slave era. Melissa Harris-Perry, suggests that anger is still one of the most ubiquitous stereotypes faced by black women in modern society. In a recent Super Bowl commercial, Pepsi was criticized for perpetuating this negative perception by depicting a black woman kicking, shoving and punishing her husband for cheating on his diet.America’s first lady had to address the stereotype: In a recent television interview on CBS, Michelle Obama denied the â€Å"angry black woman† depiction of herself that emerged in some coverage following the release of The Obamaâ⠂¬â„¢s, a book by Jodi Kantor. Mrs. Obama defended herself by saying instead that she is â€Å"merely a ‘strong’ woman†. By calling herself â€Å"strong† is she somehow trying to overcompensate for feelings of shame? Although many may think that the Angry Black Woman is a white supremacist myth, they are wrong.In fact, it is a regularly revived and recreated perception in the Black community. The anger black women have is something that ignites strong feelings among black women. The idea of the angry woman is particularly recreated by African-American men who have an interest in displaying Black woman as emasculating or overbearing or angry as a means of basically controlling. Preconceived ideas of black women as dominant and assertive may hurt when it comes to romantic relationships.Yes, there are black women that need to seriously check themselves – particularly black women who think it is cute to be bitter, argumentative, man-hating, and generall y feels angry. She is that woman that frowns or rolls her eyes when smiled at, brands all men as being â€Å"dogs† or â€Å"no good† and she is that woman that thinks it is necessary to curse out another female if she bumps into her in the store even after she has received a sincere apology. It is unfortunate that black women have attitudes and behaviors like this.It is this type of female that sometimes gets acknowledged as the representative for all black women. At the end of the day, the vast majority of black females do not suffer from Angry Black Women Syndrome. If you ask for what you want need or what you want, you are just an angry Black woman. If you do not ask for what you need and try to do everything on your own, however, you could then be labeled as a â€Å"strong† Black woman – a term that may sound like a compliment, but in reality contributes to a derogatory ideal that holds Black women back from progression.When black women respond to rac ism they are responding with anger; the anger of exclusion, of unquestioned privilege of racial distortions, of silence ill-use, stereotyping, defensiveness, misnaming, and of betrayal. Black women may have a well-stocked arsenal of anger potentially useful against those oppressions, personal and institutional, which brought that anger into being. Focused with precision it can become a powerful source of energy serving progress and change. —Audre Lorde, â€Å"The Uses of Anger: Women Responding to Racism† (1981).The emotion which accompanies the first steps toward liberation is, for most women, anger. Through the exercise strength may be gained. As a black woman I envisioned a new America in the 1990’s, anger may have been a vital political tool. I was provided new perspectives, new understandings of oppressive conditions that had previously remained unquestioned. I was introduced to my anger through relationships, through individual and collective political con sciousness; because the angry black women had been theorized.Attention seemed to have been drawn to the anger of black women; it exposed knowledge that had been buried and speech that had been silenced. Anger was a link to previous suppressed histories, and a revolutionary coalition. I couldn't believe—still can't—how angry I can become, from deep down and way back, it sometimes feels like a five-thousand-years of buried anger. Every black woman in America lives her life somewhere along a wide curve of ancient and unexpressed angers, Audre Lorde observed. Only when women are able to feel anger, and then recognize, accept, and direct it towards the real enemy can an association occur.If black women can identify their sources of anger and analyze why they use it is a form of expression. Their anger may then be used as a paradigm for understanding the ways in which black women, at different historical moments, have responded to myriad forms of oppression. Even though, the re is this long-lasting and unfair stereotype it is typically seen as a negative one, standing for abrasive brash and even ill-tempered, it is also consistent with qualities that is often associated with leadership, such as being decisive, aggressive and resolute.In a recent study conducted by Robert Livingston and Ella Washington of Northwestern University’s Kellogg School of Management, it was found that black women leaders who displayed dominant behavior when interacting with subordinates got more favorable reviews than their white female or black male counterparts who behaved the same way. In fact black women were evaluated comparable to white male leaders who display similarly dominant assertive behavior. Black people are proud; African Americans feel a sense of kinship with other Blacks with whom they can take pride in the accomplishments.The other side of racial pride is the underlying feeling of shame. Because we feel pride, about accomplishments of Blacks not related , we can also feel ashamed for failure, transgressions and misbehaviors. The ‘strong’ Black woman’ is a negative image of Black women. Black women are super-strong, hyper-competent; we do not have that many individual needs, we really can take care of others, and we can handle business. Despite the â€Å"angry† figure that some may try to replace with a â€Å"strong† image, Black women are not superhuman. We are not universally strong; we do sometimes feel weak and need help.Whether being labeled angry or strong, the biggest danger as a Black woman is when I began to think the labels were accurate, and began calling myself a â€Å"strong† Black woman. My goal is to recognize that labels are false. They are not indicative to who I am. I may be angry but I am not inherently angry. I am angry about something. So my anger has a meaning. It is not a personality trait. I may be strong enough to make it through difficult circumstances, but that is n ot because I have an inherent inborn capacity for strength – it is because I have very few other options except to be strong or be destroyed.

Cryptosporidium parvum Essay Example | Topics and Well Written Essays - 250 words

Cryptosporidium parvum - Essay Example The parasite is adapted to harsh way of survival. This is due to its outer layer that allows it to withstand harsh environment (CDC, 2013). This conveys it some resistance once it is exposed to chlorine disinfection. The organism exists in nature and causes disease. The organism is transmitted in different ways. However, water acts as the most common way of transmission (CDC, 2013). Such water may be for drinking or recreational facilities. The mode of transmission is through fecal-oral route (Health Canada, 2001). This may be from person to person, animal to person, or food and waterborne transmission (Health Canada, 2001). The organism prevalence has been on the rise in United States. For example, from 2009 to 2010 the number of cases of cryptosporidiosis has been on the rise (Yoder, T et al. (2012). Cases were most prevalent on children aged 1-9 years and adults in a category of 25-29 years (Yoder, T et al. (2012). Moreover, the number of waterborne diseases has been on the rise in the country. A number of factors contribute to the spread of the organism. However, there are factors that majorly contribute to the spread of the organism. They include accidental swallowing something that encounters the stool of an infected person (CDC, 2013). It may also be through drinking recreational water contaminated with Crypto (CDC, 2013). One may also be infected through eating of poorly cooked food contaminated with the organism. Likewise, one may get infected by touching of mouth with contaminated hand (CDC, 2013). It may also be spread in a laboratory by naturally and experimentally infected animals (Health Canada,

Comparison Contrast essay of Foreign and domestic automobiles

Comparison Contrast of Foreign and domestic automobiles - Essay Example Nissan, Honda and Toyota are the dominant forces in Japan, they make automobiles which perform very consistently and are equipped with the latest technology. The likes of Volkswagen, BMW and Mercedes Benz are the dominant forces in Europe, they make fine cars like Audi, Mercedes and other very popular cars, there are several types of Audis, and there are luxury cars, SUVs which sell like hot cakes. â€Å"Slightly more Americans now say the United States makes better-quality vehicles than Asia does, with 38 percent saying U.S. cars are best and 33 percent preferring autos made by Asian companies, according to an Associated Press-GfK Poll.† (Foreign Cars) Toyota specifically stands out because the company follows a comprehensive system of TQM which stands for total quality management, the whole line of production can easily be stopped should any problems be discovered, this has often saved the company from launching automobiles which have had safety problems unlike Honda and a few other companies. Ford, a leading American company has been very successful because they have been making affordable cars but these cars are complete misfits when they come up against foreign cars. Quality does not come cheap is an age old clichà ©, some of the high end models of European and Asian automobiles are far better than American cars, these cars are safer equipped with airbags and other high tech safety equipment, these cars are faster but these cars are not inexpensive. ... General Motors is a big American company which has had some serious financial problems in the past, these financial problems cropped up simply because the company was not making enough profits, these problems may occur in the future considering the highly competitive nature of the automobile industry. Camry manufactured by Toyota which is a foreign automobile company has been bought by countless Americans, it has been the bestselling car in America for almost a decade now, this goes to show the increasing popularity of foreign cars in America. â€Å"Cities in Middle America — places such as St. Louis, Cleveland and, of course, Detroit — have the highest percentage of American car buyers. In Detroit, for example, 67 percent buy American.† (Austin Business Journal) This quote from a very popular journal sheds light upon how only in a few selected areas do buyers buy American cars whereas the reach of foreign cars can be seen in almost all the areas and regions, thi s goes to show the widespread reach of foreign cars and the limited reach of domestic automobiles. â€Å"Toyota averages about 50 percent, he said, and imports about a million vehicles a year into the U.S. from Japan. Domestic content may decrease gradually." (Drive Blog Journal) The increasing demand of automobiles manufactures by Toyota has been highlighted time and again in this paper, the more this car gets importer into the US, the more it will capture the market share. This would mean that domestic automobile companies like GM and others would have to face increasing difficulty and a very competitive environment in the near future. Honda also exports a lot of cars into the US and it is again a very big competitor for the domestic automobile companies. â€Å"For some buyers, the concept of buying an

Disaster Management Essay Example | Topics and Well Written Essays - 500 words

Disaster Management - Essay Example For this paper, we tracked disasters in different provinces/cities to be able to draw conclusion on the hazards, impact and vulnerability of these cities, and to recommend measures in mitigating and being prepared when such disasters strike. Data of disasters that happened in Ontario and Quebec for 1993 up to 2010 were obtained from http://www.scribblemaps.com. Most common disasters in these areas based on the data gathered are floods, forest fires and storms/snowstorms. Other disasters that struck the area are chemical fire, train collision, tornado, snow avalanche, aircraft and bus accident, chemical release, epidemic and mine collapse. In Quebec, flooding happened every year since 1992 until 1996. These resulted to deaths, loss of homes and jobs, disruption of classes, washing out of roads and bridges and electricity cut-off. As a low lying area, Quebec has been vulnerable to floods. The government devised a plan to combat this via various infrastructures like construction and operation of a water retention reservoir, construction of a sill, consolidation and enhancement of existing dikes and implementation of an upgraded flood forecasting system as reported in Fisheries and Oceans Canada.

Network Load Balancing Essay Example | Topics and Well Written Essays - 500 words

Network Load Balancing - Essay Example The high availability is achieved by early detection of host failures and re-distributing their workload to other cluster hosts. Thus, failure of one host does not affect the services. Users would still feel as if they are being served by the same server despite of the fault. The downtime is thus, eliminated. This is the default mode in which all the cluster servers are given the same MAC address (Cisco, 2009). Thus, each packet (addressed to this MAC address) reaches all the cluster servers. Even if one server is unavailable or cannot process the request due to workload, another server will reply to the data packet. One problem with unicast mode is that if all servers are assigned the same MAC address and are connected to the same switch, the switch will be unable to identify the destination (due to same address of all servers). It is not possible to have two ports on same switch with same MAC address. The unicast mode addresses this problem with MAC address masking. The MAC address of each server is masked with a bogus MAC. So when the switch relays a packet, the NLB array decodes the masked address and then transfers the packet to destination (Cisco, 2009).

The impact of coffee brands on the purchasing pattern of consumers Dissertation

The impact of coffee brands on the purchasing pattern of consumers - Dissertation Example The respondents further stated that they prefer speciality coffee outlets for consumption and purchase as the area also helps to gain a further work exposure (The Independent, 2011). A.3 The interviewees in response to the brand affinity for coffee purchase stated that they generally tend to go over branded coffee than ordinary ones while taking a purchase decision. This is because the branded coffee reflects a sign of fair trade over which the consumers can easily rely upon for consumption purposes (Hayden, 2010, p.10). A.4 The respondents in the age group of 15 to 43 stated that they are more keen to purchase established and premium brands over the ordinary brands in that the purchase of high branded products reflects the consumption of ethical products. These people state that consumption of ethical products would be hygienic enough and thus safer to consume (The Telegraph, 2012). 4.2.2 Qualitative Finding 2Â   The second set of findings the age group ranging from 44 to 82 years would be considered. This age group would also be subjected to the income groups ranging from 974 to 2184 Pounds and 2688 to 5217 Pounds. This would also be conducted based on open set of questions. A.1 The second group consisting of more elderly people however responded that they liked tea more than coffee in that it reflected the culture of the bygone era. These people thus pertaining to the old culture stated that they liked consuming tea more often than coffee and thereby tea stood as a more popular beverage to them. A.2 These respondents also mentioned that they liked the consumption of coffee from speciality corners rather than from retail... The paper would focus on understanding the impact of coffee brands on the purchasing pattern of consumers. The coffee industry in United Kingdom is constituted by products that can be marketed on a mass plane and those that are especially dedicated to meet special needs of the people. The coffee brands are marketed by companies like Nestle and Kraft Foods along with other normal brands. Again coffee companies like Starbucks account for the speciality consumer groups in the region. The findings of the research reflect that the consumers of United Kingdom are tending to grow an increasing affinity for coffee products as a beverage item. The consumers were divided essentially into two groups in regards to age and income variables. It was found that the younger generation reflected an increasing affinity for taking coffee as a beverage than tea while the older generation still depended on tea as their main beverage product. Further both the younger professionals and the older groups refl ected an increasing desire to consume coffee from speciality coffee parlours in that they created a niche market. Moreover it was found that premium and established brands gains a significant importance in the purchase criteria for coffee for the consumers of both age groups. The first set of key findings indicate on the group of consumers who belong to the younger and middle aged profile ranging from 15 to 43 years and also to the lower and middle level income groups. These set of consumers reflect a growing passion to get a taste of modern beverages like coffee served at coffee parlours.