Game of Thrones White Wolf

Chapter 208 210: Hodor’s Death

The big brown direwolf crept low through the snow, ears pricked high, catching every sound like a living weathervane.

Suddenly Summer heard a familiar voice. He raced toward it, kicking up a trail of white powder behind him.

The direwolf peered from behind a fallen sentinel tree. A pack of Ironborn raiders were shouting like hunting hounds.

"Lady Catelyn! We mean you no harm!"

"Starks! We're allies!"

Crack—

One of them raised his whip high and brought it down hard across the pale, frail body tied to the cart.

Summer saw Maester Luwin, stripped to the waist and bound, barely breathing. Green fire blazed in the direwolf's eyes—enough rage to burn the entire forest down.

His long muzzle pulled back, baring gleaming white fangs, ready to tear the bastards apart.

Summer circled silently behind the group. He picked out the slowest one—a short-legged man who had fallen behind the others.

He pressed his belly to the ground, muscles coiled.

In a gray blur, Summer launched. While the raiders were still trying to lure the Starks out with Luwin, the direwolf slammed into his target. Ivory fangs tore through the man's throat. Hot, metallic blood burst across his tongue like biting into a ripe tomato.

"What the hell is that beast?!"

"It's a Stark wolf!"

Summer didn't linger. He struck and ran. The dying man clutched his ruined throat, gurgling for help as his comrades put him out of his misery.

Summer felt savage satisfaction hearing their curses and threats, but he still hadn't saved Maester Luwin.

As he darted through the Wolfswood, he suddenly spotted a raven the size of a night owl. Its dark red eyes stared straight at him, as if saying I've found you.

Bran quickly made Summer bolt in another direction, then pulled his consciousness back. He was still strapped to Hodor's back, Myrcella running close beside them. Since they'd fled through the secret passages, there had been no time to gather horses or carts. Everyone was on foot.

Catelyn carried little Lyanna. Rickon trailed behind her. Jeyne held baby Eddard, with Sansa and Jeyne Poole beside her. Arya ran ahead with Ser Cassel, scouting the path.

Arya's steps were light and swift—none of the veteran guards could keep up with her.

A handful of guards protected the front and rear as they fled north.

Their boots crunched through the snow with every step. The fresh powder slowed them down and left clear tracks behind them.

Bran studied their group and realized one hard truth: they were too big a target. They had to split up.

"Mother!" he shouted. "Mother!"

Catelyn turned, still cradling her granddaughter in the deep snow. "What is it?"

"We need to split up and run!"

"No!" Catelyn rejected it instantly.

"But Mother, they're going to catch us! We have to separate!"

"I said no!" Catelyn's face was set like stone. After everything that happened in King's Landing, she had sworn she would never let any of her children out of her sight again.

Jeyne said nothing, though she wondered why Bran had suddenly suggested it.

Rickon was too young and refused to leave his mother. Arya and Sansa seemed more willing.

Seeing his mother's stubbornness, Bran pressed on. "Mother, have you forgotten? If Jon hadn't left Harrenhal when he did, would we even be here right now?"

Catelyn's steps faltered. Little Lyanna began to cry in her arms.

She remembered the nightmare she'd had. If Jon hadn't convinced old Walder Frey, the Northern army would have been trapped beneath the Red Fork. And before that, if Jon hadn't turned the tide in King's Landing, the North and the Riverlands would have suffered terribly.

But the thought of separating from her children still tore at her heart.

"Mother, we should split up," Jeyne said softly. "Robb once told me a lone wolf dies, but the pack survives. As long as our hearts stay together, we're never truly alone."

Looking at their young, determined faces, Catelyn finally gave in.

Deciding who went with whom was harder. Bran made the call.

Ser Cassel would protect Catelyn, Jeyne, Rickon, and the two babies.

Bran, Sansa, Arya, and Hodor would go with three guards.

The group split in two. Catelyn kept looking back every few steps until Bran's party disappeared among the pale tree trunks.

Bran scanned their surroundings and felt a chill run down his spine. Several ravens with glowing red eyes perched on the branches around them.

The raven he'd seen through Summer wasn't alone. Their master could control many at once.

Even after splitting up, they were still being watched.

Bran frowned, desperately trying to think of a way out, when Sansa suddenly stumbled from exhaustion.

Myrcella helped her up. Snow clung to Sansa's auburn hair.

The old Sansa would have complained. The new one simply brushed it off and kept moving.

What bothered her most was noticing that Myrcella was the second-fastest in the group after Arya—and she wore a short sword at her hip. Despite training less time, Myrcella seemed more naturally gifted.

The ravens followed them like shadows.

Bran slipped his mind back into Summer. He immediately felt the ground trembling with hoofbeats.

He sent Summer racing toward the sound and saw Euron—one-eyed and mounted—leading soldiers straight toward them.

He's after me!

Without hesitation, Bran pulled back and told Sansa and Arya, "We split up—now!"

Before they could argue, he shifted his consciousness into Hodor's body.

Hodor was huge and strong. Carrying Bran's real body, he quickly left the girls and guards behind.

"Bran!" Arya shouted. She wanted to chase after him but knew she had to protect Sansa and Myrcella. She was torn.

"What's gotten into Bran?" Sansa asked, confused. When she'd left for King's Landing, Bran had still been in his coma. When they finally returned, her once lively little brother was confined to a wheelchair for life. His personality had changed dramatically.

But even after six months, today's maturity seemed far beyond an eight- or nine-year-old boy.

"I'll go after him," Myrcella said with sudden resolve and ran in Bran's direction.

Warging into Summer felt different from warging into Hodor.

When Bran entered Summer, the direwolf's soul obediently curled up in a corner.

Hodor was different. Even though he surrendered control, he was clearly terrified—shaking like a frightened child in the back of his own mind.

Bran didn't understand why Hodor feared him so much, but right now he needed this strong, healthy body to lure Euron away.

Carrying his own limp form, Bran glanced back at the ravens. They kept flying ahead, then waiting, toying with him like a hunter playing with prey.

Bran knew he couldn't escape. He planned to sacrifice himself to buy his family more time.

The hoofbeats grew louder. Euron and his mute thralls burst from the trees on stolen Winterfell horses.

Bran recognized every mount—he'd grown obsessed with animals lately.

Euron surrounded him. Riders on all sides, ravens above. A perfect trap.

"Too many people have this power these days," Euron said, staring into Hodor's eyes. He knew Bran's soul was inside.

He rode forward, drew his sword, and said coldly, "Go back to that disgusting broken body of yours."

Euron drove the blade into Hodor's chest. Bran felt strength draining fast. Terrible cold poured into the body through the steel.

Bran instinctively wanted to jump back into his own body, but he tried to save Hodor first.

He dropped his real body, clutched the wound, and tried to break through the circle. Another rider drove a spear into his side.

Thud.

Bran could no longer control the dying body. His soul was ripped back into his own crippled form.

One of the mute thralls lifted the real Bran onto a horse.

Just as Euron prepared to chase the rest of the Starks, a new vision appeared before him through his ravens—his entire fleet, trapped overnight in thick ice inside the bay.

And a fleet bearing white wolf banners was already blockading them.