He missed his true brothers: little Rickon, bright eyes shining as he begged for a sweet Robb, his rival and best friend and constant companion Bran, stubborn and curious, always wanting to follow and join in whatever Jon and Robb were doing. He'd beaten every one of them in the yard. All four of them were bigger than he was, but they did not scare him. "I'll break the other one for you if you ask nicely." Grenn was sixteen and a head taller than Jon. Go with him, Todder, that head wants looking after. The armorer gave the offered wrist the briefest of glances. "I'll be fifteen on my name day," he said. "Keep your quarrels out of my armory, or I'll make them my quarrels. "The yard is for fighting," the armorer said. Jon was rolling away from the blows when a booming voice cut through the gloom of the armory. The two from the Fingers pulled him off, throwing him roughly to the ground. "Try." Jon reached back for his sword, but one of them grabbed his arm and twisted it behind his back.
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