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My lord, may the old gods watch over your brother
and all our Northern sons.
The walls of my holdfast will not stand the winter.
The stones were last mortared in the time of King Aerys,
and I'm afraid the masons today are not fit to carry their fathers' hammers.
When I was a boy,
I remember seeing them put up a new tower at Torrhen's Square in a summer.
Men worked back then.
Today, my holdfast looks like it was built by drunk children.
At night you can hear the wind howling through the gaps.
Gods forbid it rains.
Why, I might as well sleep beneath a waterfall.
Maintenance of a holdfast generally falls to the lord of that holdfast.
Generally, yes,
but I've sent all the young men off to fight Robb Stark's war.
King Robb. And it's not his war.
He didn't choose it.
Maybe not, my lord, but he called in his banners and took the men.
Joffrey killed my father,
your liege lord.
Do you remember your vows, ser?
Of course I remember!
We can spare four masons for a week, my lord.
Will that be sufficient to repair your walls?
I believe it will.
We didn't want him here all day, did we?
I didn't like the way he was talking about Robb.
Nor did I.
But listening to people you'd rather not listen to
is one of your responsibilities as Lord of Winterfell.
Lord Portan.
My lord, may the old gods watch over your brother
and all our Northern sons.