Author's Note: Hello good people! I have returned and finally have another chapter up and ready for your viewing if you feel so inclined! I know its well past it now, but I hope yall had a good 4th of July! I had a few artillery shells blow up in my face and my hearing might not be the best now but that's besides the point.
Special thanks to TurtleMan141 for helping me on this chapter as a Beta reader! Seriously, I can't thank you enough. I was getting pretty stuck on some of the character interactions.
I also got a few PM's asking about different story challenges. I'll always be open to hearing whatever you guys have to say or ask but I might not always bite on whatever you are asking of me, just to be clear. I don't branch out much into other fandoms to be honest. GoT, Witcher, Elder Scrolls, Fallout, and Dragon Age are the only ones I know enough to even dream of writing about. Still, feel free to message me or leave a review if you have a question, concern, or anything else really.
Without further ado, on with the chapter!
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the characters or content from Game of Thrones or The Elder Scrolls Series.
Chapter 10: New faces, same problems
"I don't like this."
"You didn't object earlier."
"That was before you filled me in on this hair brained idea of yours."
"It's touching that you care even after everything, really." He teased, much to the huntress' annoyance. Seeing her heated glare, he smiled back widely. Maybe he did miss this after all.
"I know you how you regard honor, Darion, but this . . . this is still not right. Lying to the one man you need the most, even if for a day, it endangers everything." She argued again, causing the Dragonborn to glance away, his smile falling.
She wasn't wrong though, it did bother him, perhaps more than even he would care to admit. But this wasn't about whether or not this was honorable or right. This was about doing the smartest thing they could do with the hand they had been given. At least, that's what he continued to tell himself. Looking back at Aela with a raised brow, his patronizing smile returned full force.
'Though are you really one to talk about what's right or honorable, Aela? Are the Companions really anything more than highly regarded mercenaries?' Darion mused.
He bit his tongue on that however, not daring to speak his thoughts aloud. It wouldn't do to start a row between them again, at least not right now anyway. Not when they were so close to Winterfell. To the next step of this abomination of a plan.
"He may be a little upset about the cloak and dagger, but I believe Ned Stark will come around and forgive the deception. I think you'll be the bigger problem if you dare to smile at some point." He said with a wide grin, irritating Aela to no end if the twitch in her brow was any indication.
"You will refer to my brother as Lord Stark. You are not a lord in this land." Benjen called, his voice stern. Moving his eyes away from Aela's deepening frown to the ranger that rode ahead of them, Darion blinked owlishly, not understanding the sudden hostility.
"I may come from another land, but we are technically the same in status . . ." He started, the First Ranger of the Night's Watch turned in his saddle to stare at him coldly before he could finish.
"And you will address me as First Ranger while you are under my command, Ysmir. Lest I write to the Lord Commander and have you shipped back to Eastwatch." Benjen, his voice was harsh, though his twitching lips betrayed him.
"You're going to lord this over me, aren't you?" Darion asked apprehensively. Benjen didn't respond however, the older man only turning back around in his saddle to face the rapidly approaching walls of Winterfell.
"That depends on your actions."
'Maybe it wasn't a good idea to establish myself as a ranger for this disguise. He won't make me clean latrines for just talking out of turn, will he?' Darion wondered with a small shudder. He could do without having to clean another latrine for the rest of his life.
Still, Benjen did have a point. Just a few more feet and they would be at the gates. He would need to slink back into the disguise he and Benjen had mixed together. For the seeable future he was to be Ysmir, a wildling child found north of the Wall and raised into the ranks of the Night's Watch within the confines of Eastwatch-by-the-sea.
It wasn't the best nor the worst disguise he'd ever had to use. His new name and his accent could be passed over because of his background and no one would be any the wiser. So long as he could keep his mouth shut, that is. That meant no more talking back to superiors, questioning orders, and generally being as boring as possible. At least when Benjen broke the news to his brother, he could drop the facade a bit.
He imagined Karliah and Brynjolf would be laughing if they could see him now. Subterfuge and spy work wasn't exactly his area of expertise. Pick pocketing and lock picking were the closest things he had to any real skills in his brief time with the Thieves Guild. Hopefully he didn't fail too miserably at it this time. He'd rather not have another bungle like Markarth again.
His eyes glanced upward as a horn blared from somewhere atop the ancient limestone walls. Benjen calling them to a stop just in front of the gate. Guards in brown brigandine and grey cloaks watching them all the while, even as the gates creaked and bent inward. Looking to his side at Aela's sullen form, he sighed. Maybe he had been a little rude.
Clapping a black gloved hand down onto her left shoulder plate, he gave it a light shake. Awkward as he felt doing it, he hoped it was comforting in some small way.
"You worry too much, Aela. Everything is going to be fine. I promise." He didn't dare look at her now, especially with the gates opening wider. They had to seem like they hardly knew each other if this was going to work.
Another second and they were moving through the courtyards and pathways of Winterfell. The men and women of the North were, different, from what he had been expecting. Dull greens, muted greys, mustard yellows and the occasional blue made up the majority of the colors on the northerners attire. All plain and simple as far as the eye could see. Peering closer at a passerby, he frowned.
'Thick fabrics, fur cloaks, leather gloves, boots, and that's it. Do they value practicality so much that they would cast aside any and all want for looks? Or is the North so poor that the common citizen can't afford it?' Ceasing his gawking with a shake of his head, he faced forward again as they rode beneath an archway.
"A Cyrodilic textile business would be murder for these northerners coin purses." He muttered. One things for certain, had he wore his armor here he would have stuck out like a sore thumb. Perhaps he should have asked Yoren to secure a change of attire for Aela as well.
"Wildling bitch." A homely, ratty haired woman spat as they passed. Seeing Aela wipe away the spit from her cheek with a snarl, he reached beneath his cloak to nudge her. Enraged blue eyes on him alone, he shook his head.
Thankfully, she seemed to get the message, though she didn't seem all too enthused by it. Curious, he began to look around the pathways of the outer bailey at the Stark guardsmen and other castle surfs. Watching their eyes and tracing their gazes towards Aela and the angered peasant. It didn't concern them. Watching another pair of passing laborers stare oddly at the Companion, he frowned.
He had been foolish to think that the Wildlings could be brought over the Wall with little consequences, he could see that clearly now. With little food or resources, it wouldn't surprise him if Wildling raids were a regular occurrence south of the Wall. It would certainly explain the open animosity towards Aela at the very least, misguided as it was.
Hearing the carriage lurch as the wheels rolled over a loose stone, he chanced a look back at Yoren. Spying the man attempting to calm down one of the horses tethered to his carriage. The chain covered crate sitting eerily silent in the back throughout it all. He didn't have high hopes, but maybe a common enemy could bring the two groups together. Maybe.
After leading them through another gateway and into the inner bailey of the castle proper, Benjen called them to a stop beside the mouth of a dimly lit cavern. The grey, limestone brick ringing the maw of the entrance seeming to jut out into the courtyard, like some gluttonous beast. Figures he would want to stash the wight away as soon as they arrived.
Dismounting from his horse, he waited beside Aela and Benjen as Yoren brought the cart to a slow stop just in front of the entrance. Moving behind the carriage, he undid the latch holding up the backboard, already pulling the heavy crate to the edge of the cart. Feeling a large hand on his shoulder, he dropped the crate back down, the chains rattling noisily.
"I can carry this by myself, you know." Darion whispered impatiently, though Benjen's look of disbelief clearly said he thought otherwise. He made to speak again, but was cut off by the rangers raised hand.
"It's not about your ability, its about tradition." He said quietly. Hearing this Darion looked at him queerly, his eyes squinting at the older man.
"When exactly are you not worried about tradition?"
"If you would take some time to look," Benjen began, his grey eyes glancing towards a pair of nearby guards. "We are being watched closely. Only Starks are allowed down in the crypts."
Turning his head to look at the pair of leering guardsmen, he grunted. It made sense. Tombs of lords and kings were often well guarded and access was barred to only a select few. If a peasant broke the custom then they were like to be hanged as a grave robber. Bowing his head and accepting his misstep, he grabbed at the right side of the crate, waiting for Benjen to grab his own end.
"They know you but they don't know me."
"Right."
Noticing Benjen grimace in pain as they lifted the crate from its seat in the carriage, Darion's lips drew into a thin line. It didn't surprise him that he was still in pain after their flight beyond the Wall. Catching a fully armored man midair and pulling them up as dead weight with only one arm would leave lasting injuries to even the hardiest of Nords.
"Shoulder still troubling you?" Darion asked tentatively. Seeing a pair of grey eyes glare at him from well above the crate, he smiled sheepishly.
"No, I'm just making this face for fun." He bit back irritably as they passed the first of the statues. The statue chiseled carefully from what looked to be granite. A large sword wrought of rusted iron lay across its lap, accompanied in death by a sculpture of a massive wolf that lay at its feet. An ice wolf, maybe?
Shaking himself from his pondering, he focused back on Benjen. Noticing the sweat beginning to build on his brow. "What did Aemon give you for the pain anyway? You never told me."
"Milk of the poppy." He grunted, cursing under his breath as his foot hit a stray rock in the darkness. He must have looked lost, as Benjen stared at him blankly for a moment after. The ranger wincing again before continuing. "It helps to dull the pain in small doses."
"Clearly not enough."
"I'm fine." He said sharply. Shrugging his shoulders he decided to drop the issue. The two of them walking further along into the darkness. Passing by dozens more statues as they went. Each one they passed looking newer, less beaten than the last.
Seeing Benjen wince again, he shook his head. Enough was enough, the man had nothing to prove to anyone and carrying something like this would hurt him more than it would help him in the long run.
"Enough, let go of the crate." Darion barked, his voice firm. Stopping in front of a giant of a man, his hair cropped short to his skull even in death. An iron sword lay across his lap just like the others. Blackened steel plates rest against the statues feet.
"I am fine." Benjen replied stubbornly.
"No, you're not. You wince with every step and the added stress is already making you sweat. I may not know whatever Aemon advised, but I know enough to say that continuing like this will only injure you further."
Benjen didn't look at him for awhile at that, nor speak for that matter. A moment longer and the ranger finally decided to let go of the crate, the Dragonborn having to toss the crate up a little to readjust and hug it against his side. Feeling the wight within slide against the boards, he shook his head.
"I'm beginning to think this creature is actually dead. Hasn't made a sound yet for two days straight now." Darion joked, not hearing a response he glanced up at the ranger as the first of the flames crackle reached his ears.
He was just standing there. A lit torch in hand, staring at the statue beside them. Curious, Darion shuffled closer to stand beside the ranger. Benjen squatting down to pick up a piece of half melted armor. The scorched steel gleaming grotesquely in the firelight.
"This is all that remains of him." Benjen said somberly, holding the piece closer for him to see. The steel having melted and curled inwards in whatever blaze its wearer had died in. "There wasn't a body to bury after the Mad King was done with him. When Ned came home, we had naught but ashes of him and Brandon."
Darion felt a chill go through his body as the meaning of Benjen's sullen mood dawned on him. This was his father's armor. What remained of it anyway. For once, he felt at a loss for words. It was one thing to hear about the atrocity of what had happened to Rickard and Brandon Stark, but it was quite another to turn the evidence of that day over in your hands.
"I haven't been back down here since Ned came home from the war. Couldn't bear to." He added, taking the melted pauldron back from the Dragonborn.
"You were trying to distract yourself from seeing their graves again." Darion said quietly, biting his lip he inclined his head to the other man. "I'm sorry, if I had known . . ."
"Don't be." Benjen said casually, waving away his apology as he sat the pauldron back down beside Rickard Starks tomb. The older man moving to walk further back into the catacombs. "I shouldn't have kidded myself about this. I was bound to come back here and see them again, one way or another."
The next statue was smaller than the previous one, the firelight illuminating the mason work. The man looked half his fathers age, if that, judging by his build alone. Short cropped hair just like his lord father, the same long face and a handsome nose, Brandon Stark, he realized.
"Your brother, Brandon?"
"Aye, the very same." He acknowledged with a tip of his head, his hand pointing down to the steel sword that lay in its sheath against the statues wolf. "His body was burnt alongside our fathers after his death. His sword was all Ned could find of him to bring back. Brandon was always restless. Fighting with father over his duties, about betrothals and his nightly escapes to the whorehouse in Wintertown."
Hearing this made Darion smile a bit despite the somber mood. A rebellious heir who wanted nothing to do with their intended duties and instead yearned for none whatsoever, a thrill seeker. Brandon reminded him of a certain dark elf woman in a way. Well, besides the womanizer bit. Karliah could be a bit of a prude in terms of anything intimate.
Benjen walked on without a word. Only stopping when they came to the next statue, a woman this time. The first female statue he had seen in this entire crypt, actually. The castle mason must have been a master in his craft, he thought looking over the dead woman's statue. Even in death she was beautiful.
'And someone still brings the lady her flowers, I see.' Darion thought looking at the blue rose that sat in the statues hands. The fringes of the petals frosted over to a near white.
"Lyanna Stark?"
"Aye."
Darion stood there staring at the statue with Benjen for a long moment. The Dragonborn turning over what little events he had learned of that birthed the war that would be called Robert's Rebellion. Lyanna Stark had been kidnapped by the Crown Prince, Rhaegar Targaryen, and raped? To what end? Didn't he already have a wife and children?
Brow furrowing, he turned his sea green eyes from the statue to look back at Benjen Stark. The other man holding the blue rose close to his chest. It might be inappropriate to bother someone in mourning but he couldn't deny his curiosity, morbid as it was.
"Remind me again, the Crown Prince kidnapped Lyanna to rape her?" He asked confused. Benjen looked sidelong at him with a stony face before sighing and nodding yes. Though this only brought more questions than answers.
"Then why?" He started, seeing Benjen's eyes turn to ice he had to suppress a shudder. "He had it all. A throne to inherit, wealth, power, influence, respect, and he wasn't lacking for heirs if I understand correctly. Why would he throw it all away to rape your sister?"
"We can't exactly ask the bastard, can we?" He ground out through clenched teeth.
Deciding not to press his luck any further, Darion decided to drop the subject. He would need to ask Eddard about the finer details of the war, if he would even deign to fill him in at all. It was likely to be a sensitive topic for Ned Stark as well.
"Where are they?"
"I'm sorry, what?"
"My family, Darion, where did they go?" Benjen asked again.
He usually enjoyed being the center of attention. Feeling like he was the smartest person in the room, but for once, he didn't enjoy the idea of answering a question. He usually lived for questions like this. Ferreting out both secrets and answers to ancient riddles and prophecies had become a favorite hobby of his in recent years.
Feeling Benjen's eyes linger on him, he shifted uncertainly. He could try and explain what little he already knew, he supposed.
"In Skyrim," he started, whetting his lips. "the Nord people believe in a realm called Sovngarde. The Hall of the Slain. A refuge for heroes and great warriors past. There they sing and they feast, awaiting the coming of the End Times, from which they will ride out into Nirn to do battle once more at the end of the world."
"I can't say much for your world as I do not know it well, but I can say for a certainty that Sovngarde exists. Especially so, having been there myself."
Benjen looked away from him in that moment. Staring back at the statue of Lyanna Stark, turning the blue rose over in his hand.
"Were it anyone else, I'd call you a madman."
"You wouldn't be entirely wrong," he joked. "half of Skyrim thinks me insane for some of the things I've done."
"Well, here in the North," Benjen began, placing the rose back into the statues hands gingerly. "we are taught to honor the Old Gods. For they guide us, they hear us, see us, through their weirwood trees. My father would tell me and my siblings that we could hear them speak to us if we but listen. That we could hear their voices in the wind. Do you know what I hear now?"
He turned to face him again. The fire reflecting off of his eyes, his face world weary. The dim fire light of the torch making the ranger look a man twice his actual age. Jaded and haunted by uncertainty.
"I hear nothing. And that scares me more than anything."
A moment longer and the troubled man turned to walk further into crypts, the darkness almost seeming to swallow him whole. Sighing wearily, Darion turned to follow after the watchman. He knew something had been brewing in that head of his, but he didn't expect this. Eyeing the aforementioned man, he frowned worryingly.
'Does he not see that this could be exactly what Hermaeus wants?'
Every Daedric Prince he had met had always had some motive, a reason for saying the things they say or do the things they do. It could be pleasure from torture both physical and mental, jubilation from the reverence of worshippers, or even something as mundane as being bored. There was always a reason. There was always a motive.
'So why sow the seeds of doubt in one man? What could Hermaeus Mora possibly hope to gain from Benjen's failing faith? A new follower or something more?' He wondered, his mind recalling the Prince's offer of patronage just a week prior.
The rest of the walk through the chilly air of the crypt was rife with silence. A deafening, maddening sound only broken by the footfalls of leather boots on warm, dry stone, the crackle of the torches wispy flames, and the jingle of iron chains.
"Is there a library here in Winterfell?"
"There is."
"Might I ask where?" He asked, trying to ignore the cold look Benjen sent his way. "I admit I am curious about this world and its history. There are many things here I would like to learn. I won't be here forever, true, but this is a once in a lifetime opportunity and I don't intend to pass it up."
Not a lie, but not the whole truth either. He would wager Benjen sensed that as well. Perhaps he could gleam some small sliver of knowledge from whatever texts they had on hand. Something that would shed a ray of light on Herma Mora's dark words. It wouldn't be his first time researching through tomes for obscure and forgotten lore.
Seeing he wasn't going to get an answer, Darion stopped beside the ranger, sitting the crate down at the end of a passageway. Pushing it flush against the limestone bricks. The soothing warmth radiating from the stone heating his hand through the glove even with the brief contact.
Standing back up, he shrugged, it should be hidden just far enough away now that no one, not even the surviving Stark family, would be able to find it without foreknowledge. Well, unless Nocturnal was feeling whimsical and decided to bless someone with a burst of dumb luck.
By the time they reached the end of the tunnels and could see the sunlight shining through the passageways entrance, his ears began to pick up the barest hint of voices. Glancing at Benjen, he could see he heard it too, though he saw no need to rush. Hearing a feminine voice raise in pitch, shouting, he picked up his pace. Leaving Benjen behind as he jogged towards the light.
" . . . she is within the walls of Winterfell and thus is subject to our rules as the host." The voice said airily.
"You haven't given her bread and salt. Rules of guest rites don't apply just yet." Yoren argued back. Entering into the grey light, he blinked furiously, trying to adjust to the new brightness.
"What's going on out here, Yoren?" He asked quickly, though the newcomer wasn't having any of it, as her sharp voice cut in before the wandering crow could get in so much as a word.
"It is of no concern to you, watchman." She snapped frostily, her piercing blue eyes turning back over to glare at Yoren. "It is just as well then that we do not offer bread and salt to wildlings. It is only because she is with the Night's Watch that she is not to be hanged immediately," Hearing that, he couldn't bite his tongue anymore. That was not part of the plan. Not at all.
"Then I'd say it does concern me. The woman is a guest of the Night's Watch. That puts her under our jurisdiction, not yours." Darion said heatedly, pushing his way in front of Yoren. Hearing the squelch of steel against leather he glanced towards the two guards flanking the noblewoman.
Both would be close enough to do serious damage were it anyone else. As is, if it came to it gods forbid, he could get out maybe one word of power. It wouldn't be much, but it would buy him enough time to get some distance and arm himself if it came to it.
"If you must know, Ser," She said with no masking the intended mockery at the title. "The men of the Night's Watch are welcome in Winterfell so long as they obey the rules and customs of House Stark. This same courtesy does not extend to Wildlings."
"And where in those rules does it grant you the right to hang another's guest solely by virtue of their birth?" Darion bit back.
He could feel a cold rage threatening to overtake him, his dovah siil starting to waken and thrash about his mind as he stared back at the woman. Vaguely he could hear footsteps in the background and Yoren trying to whisper sense to him from his side, but it all went in one ear and out the other for him.
"You are seeking shelter in Winterfell as our guests. That overrules any right you have to keep a guest of the Watch here in our home."
"Then what is the problem exactly?" He queried, gesturing back towards a motionless huntress. "She is unarmed, out armored, surrounded by a legion of armed guards, inside the biggest castle for miles around, what could you possibly have to be worried about?"
Seeing the noblewoman's face only grow more stern, he frowned. His heart pounding against his chest, he decided to press his luck further. Or at least, he would have, had a hand not slapped him on the backside of his head.
"Forgive him, good-sister, Ysmir's still young and foolish. I'll see to it that he is punished accordingly later," Benjen said with a warning glare leveled at the Dragonborn. "What seems to be the problem?"
"Benjen, its good to see you." She said, relieved at the presence of a familiar face. The auburn haired woman looked at Darion scathingly for a short moment before her cold blue eyes landed on Aela again.
"This woman you have brought to our home is a wildling, Ben." She said simply, as though that was all that needed to be explained.
"Aye, she is."
"Then you know that I cannot offer hospitality to a wildling, even if she is already a guest of the Night's Watch." She reiterated, raising a hand from her dress to gesture towards Aela.
"You can." He pressed. Though she remained uncertain, as she only shook her head in response to his words.
"What would Ned's bannermen think? Lord Umber would be up in arms within a fortnight." She said exasperated.
"Then lay the blame on the Night's Watch. I'm sure his bannermen will understand then."
She chuckled lightly as she looked at Benjen, smiling ever so slightly. Darion frowned at the sight despite himself. Maybe he had been a bit defensive, he decided. Were Benjen not here to do the talking then this conversation might very well have descended into violence already.
"You're joking? Northerners understanding?" She laughed a little again, her hand cupped underneath her chin and cheek as she stared between the four of them before shaking her head again.
"I would have her in irons until Ned returns to decide on the matter at least, though your subordinate seems to feel very strongly about the matter." She said finally.
It was better than hanging at least, though still, he didn't like the idea of them throwing Aela in irons. They may have their issues, but he didn't hate her enough to want to see her suffer for it. Another warning glare from Benjen and a nudge from Yoren beside him kept him silent however.
"Ned's left Winterfell?"
"You didn't know?" She asked, seeing Benjen shake his head, she looked between Yoren and himself. "None of you did? Strange, I thought that might have been what you were sent for. A deserter from the Night's Watch was caught this morning, fleeing down the Kingsroad just south of Winterfell."
'A deserter?'
Glancing over at Yoren, he could see the grizzled man was wondering much the same thing. Whomever it was, they had to have left the same night he and Benjen flew beyond the Wall if they were to have gotten out ahead of them. If they came from Castle Black, that is.
"Did the men give you a description? I may know who it was." Benjen offered. Lady Stark went silent for a moment, as though wracking her brain for an answer to his question.
"I think I remember Ser Rodrick mentioning a blonde haired man, not much older than this one here." She said with a nod towards Darion. The mention of blonde hair put him on the right track, but young, around his age?
'Shit.'
"It's Will, isn't it?" Darion said aloud, looking towards Benjen pointedly. Though the First Ranger only stared back at him stoically in return.
"Aye, could be."
"It makes sense. He's the only one who fits the description. Not to mention he was caught on the Kingsroad. It doesn't lead to any of the other castles on the Wall, not directly anyway." He mused aloud, though Benjen only grunted in response trying to get him to drop the subject.
Looking between Benjen and Lady Stark, an idea started to form in his head. If she didn't want to be the one to pass judgement, then so be it, they could go straight to the man who would. Lord Eddard Stark himself. And in the same vein they could try and keep Will from losing his head due too stupidity. It would be a win for both sides. He only hoped Benjen wasn't too stubborn to oppose the idea outright.
"First Ranger," he started, looking at Benjen with a pointed look and dipped head. "It isn't why we're here, but perhaps me and the wildling could go try and collect Will from Lord Stark. We are bound to return to the Wall later on anyway." He reasoned. Though the noblewoman seemed entirely against the idea almost immediately.
"That man is a deserter. The punishment for desertion of the Night's Watch is death." She said dismissively.
"Were we to behead every boy who fled the Night's Watch, the Wall would be manned by ghosts, Lady Stark." Benjen said decidedly, much to her growing confusion and horror, though Darion couldn't help but smile a bit despite the situation.
"You can't be serious, Benjen."
"Where's the harm in it? Ysmir can reach Ned and ask him about the situation and maybe come back with one of our own, alive." He stressed. "We're few enough as it is, Cat."
Lady Stark pondered this a moment longer before exhaling, a load of weight seeming to lift from her shoulders. Fixing him with those cold, blue eyes of hers again before flicking them back over towards Aela.
"As long as he takes the wildling with him and they travel unarmed, so be it."
The guardsmen at her side sheathed their weapons as soon as the words left her thin lips. The tension gone from the air, Darion nodded at the pair with a small bow of his head muttering platitudes before turning around to Yoren. The grey bearded man already motioning for him and Aela to follow along behind him.
'Aemon was right again. I do need to get a grip on my temper.' He thought with a sigh, rubbing his face roughly as soon as they were out of sight of both Benjen and Lady Stark.
Yoren continued to lead the pair further along the courtyard until they reached a large stable sat beside another pair of enormous, iron studded gates. The Stark sigil emblazoned on either side of them in polished iron. Upon sight of the hulking, bearded giant of a man, he spoke.
"Need two horses, saddled and ready to go on the chop." Yoren asked, though it sounded a lot more like an order to his ears. Though that might be his anger bleeding through, he guessed.
"Hodor." The large man replied happily.
Already lifting a pair of riding saddles off a rack even as he spoke. Darion eyes turned back to Yoren just in time to see a blur of black before his face lit up red like a beet. Shaking his head, he looked back up at Yoren's angry snarl with a frown.
"I guess I deserved that."
"You're godsdamned right you did! What in blazes were you thinking?!" Yoren roared back, small flecks of spit flying from his mouth as he yelled. He had expected Benjen to be the more angry of the two, truth be told. He never expected to see Yoren of all people this heated.
"Did you think you could just walk in, undo your trousers, toss your cock on the table and expect everyone to cater to your every whim?" Yoren asked, looking at Darion with a pointed gaze. Unable to meet the older mans eyes, he looked away.
"Well? Did you!"
"I thought they were going to hang her!" He blurted out, finally finding his voice. To which Yoren only gave a mirthless chuckle in response.
"And how did you know that? You never even let the woman finish speaking!" He pointed out. The simple minded stable hand only giving a nervous chorus of 'Hodor' from the beside a now saddled destrier.
It was embarrassing to admit, but Yoren had the right of it. He had heard the word hanging and only saw red. He was the one who escalated the situation, not Lady Stark. Oblivion be damned, he had questioned one of the Stark family openly and in public. To make matters worse it had been Lord Eddard's wife, of all people.
"Did it not occur to you to maybe let Lady Catelyn finish speaking before you decided to try and challenge her? At least if she had finished speaking, she wouldn't have cornered you so damn easily!" He spat. "How in Seven Hells are you a lord of anything if you let your hormones rule over your mind?!"
"It wasn't by choice, I can tell you that." Darion muttered quietly. Yoren must have heard him, as he nodded his head in agreement at him, a mocking smile over his face.
"Evidently."
"Hodor?" the man called again, standing beside a black thoroughbred, his large hands finishing setting up the saddle on the creature. Seeing this, Yoren grunted, waving his hand for him and Aela to move past him and mount up.
"Now get going, both of you, before I change my mind and throw the pair of you out the gates on your arses." He cursed again.
Not needing to be told twice, Darion swung his body back up into the leather saddle. Grabbing hold of the horses reigns, he clicked his tongue and nudged the horses ribs with his heels, urging her to walk forward. Feeling a hand clasp onto his thigh, he glanced down at the wandering crow again.
"And I know its hard for you, but try not to cock this up anymore than you already have." Darion laughed lightly at his words, though Yoren himself remained unamused.
"No promises."
Nudging his horse into a gallop, he rode off, falling into a trot beside Aela. The westernmost gates of Winterfell swinging open before they even reached them. Feeling a pair of blue eyes boring into his skull, he snuck a glance over at the huntress beside him. Seeing her coy grin, he frowned deeply.
"And you were worried I was going to be the problem?"
"Just can it, will you?"
"In the name of Robert of the House Baratheon, the first of his name, King of the Andals and the First Men," Lord Stark began to recite whilst resting his chin against Ice's pommel. His voice much lower in contrast to the watchman's shrill cries.
"Don't look away, Bran. Father will know if you do." Jon coached quietly, seeing his younger brother swallow nervously.
"Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, I, Eddard of the House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, sentence you to die."
Lord Eddard lifted the great blade over his shoulder, cleaving the deserters head from his body in one clean swing, a distant clap of thunder echoing from afar as the blade fell. Bran visibly flinching at the sound of flesh giving way to steel. The headless stump twitching and convulsing as blood trickled from the slick stump at a snail's pace, the stone beneath the body turning maroon in color as the life water seeped into its cracks and crevices.
"You did well."
Taking one last look at the now headless watchman, Jon's face darkened along with his thoughts. They had all heard the deserters last words. A rational man would say he had been a madman but wouldn't a wise man keep his thoughts open?
Seeing Robb begin to guide Bran back down the hill to the horses, Jon followed closely behind. Untethering his own horse and tightening the girth strap on his saddle. His ears pricking up at the sound of their lord fathers voice. Jon glanced up as Lord Starks hand rested on Bran's shoulder.
"The Targaryens and their dragons are long gone, Bran. The last of the Mad Kings line are far and away across the Narrow Sea."
"So he was lying?"
"A madman sees what he sees."
Jon turned his eyes back to his saddle at that. He knew it was wrong of him to eavesdrop but he couldn't deny his curiosity. The bastard of Winterfell frowning deeply as his fathers words played over in his head again.
'He didn't answer Bran's question. Not truly.'
"Rider approaching! Another man of the Watch, looks like!"
Hearing this, Jon's eyes narrowed into slits. Why in the world would a second watchman track them down to the edges of the Wolfswood? Glancing towards Robb, he could see his brother wondering the same thing. How did he track them at all?
The clatter of distant hoof beats growing closer and closer as the seconds ticked by, before slowing steadily, the newcomer cresting over the hill. His hands raised above his head as walked his horse down towards the nearest guard.
"State your name and business." The guard barked, holding his hand up to grab the horses reigns away from the watchman. Even from here, Jon could see the exasperated look the man gave him.
"Ysmir, ranger of the Night's Watch. Have a message for Lord Stark, from his brother, Benjen Stark."
The guardsman looked back towards father for a moment, seeing him nod, he motioned for the watchman to dismount. The stranger nodded his head, obliging the demand, though his eyes lay elsewhere Jon noticed. Tracing his gaze back to where his black brother lay. A pair of guardsmen still digging the headless corpse a shallow grave.
"I see I'm too late to talk you out of taking Will's head," Ysmir said aloud, his green eyes turning to glance at the rest of them before settling on Lord Stark. "Though I suppose he might have fled again even had I convinced you otherwise."
"The punishment for desertion of the Night's Watch is death." Lord Eddard intoned. The newcomer only shrugging his shoulders as he stopped before him. The Stark patriarch standing a whole head taller than the watchman.
"As your brother told your lady wife, we need every man we can get. Now more than ever."
Lord Stark remained silent on this however. Reaching a hand out from beneath his wolfskin cloak to accept whatever message the man had to deliver. The green eyed watchman shook his head, frowning.
"The message I have to deliver is far too sensitive to be in a letter. Benjen can fill you in on all the details when we arrive back at Winterfell. All I can say right now is that it does concern why Will fled the Wall." Lord Stark retracted his hand slowly, his eyes never leaving the watchman's own even as Bran glanced between them with wide, fearful eyes.
Jon's own eyes focusing on the man intently. Surely he was jesting? White Walkers and dragons beyond the Wall? Whatever he was selling, he wasn't buying. Neither was any of the others for that matter, he was glad to see.
"I hope you didn't come all this way to play some sort of prank." Lord Stark warned, his voice low. Though the smaller man only chuckled lightly at him, even as the surrounding guardsmen began to reach beneath their cloaks again, the tension spreading through the air like an angry rash.
"If it was, then it's one of your brothers design, not mine. And I think we both know he's not the type to joke about something like this."
He wasn't wrong. Uncle Benjen would come south for their namesdays on occasion to tell tales of his journeys beyond the Wall, he would ride with them, spar with them, but he was always serious whenever he spoke about the Wall. He always had been, even when he pestered him about joining the Watch.
Jon watched as the man's eyes darted around the scattered procession warily, before returning his attention towards Lord Stark. Likely noticing the tension in the gathered people. All of their eyes trained on him, watching the conversation transpire.
"Their wasn't a body for you to bury when you searched for your father. You had to settle for what remained of his armor. One of his pauldrons still sits beside his grave. A memento, just the same as you placed Brandon Stark's sword beside his own." He said suddenly. Father remained still for a long moment, his cold eyes never leaving the watchman's own.
"How do you know this?" Lord Eddard asked quietly, his voice barely audible to his ears. Jon could see the muscle in his fathers jaw twitching even from afar.
"Your brother told me. I like to think we're friends, he and I, though I imagine I'm more of a thorn in his side than anything else."
Lord Stark went quiet for a moment after that. The Warden of the North staring back at the watchman, his face blank even to Jon. Eventually, father nodded his head, accepting what Ysmir said as truth.
"So be it. If Ben sees fit to trust you then I shall as well. I will hear what my brother has to say when we return to Winterfell. For now, you will ride beside Jon and Ser Rodrick as we return." Father said with finality, motioning for a guard to come up behind the ranger.
Bowing his head slightly, Ysmir backed away from Lord Eddard, allowing the guard to guide him over to stand beside himself, Robb, and Ser Rodrick. Ysmir glanced over at Robb and Theon offering them a small smile, when his eyes landed on himself however, he paused. His lips pursed into a frown, like he was studying him.
"How old are you exactly?"
Releasing the strap on his horses saddle, Jon blinked at the mans inquiry. Staring back at Ysmir owlishly. His mind not processing the sudden question.
"What?"
"How old are you?" he repeated again. His finger pointing towards Jon, leaving no room for doubt that he was the focus of his unusual curiosity.
"Why does that matter?" Robb asked confused, his brow furrowed. Ysmir glanced back towards Robb with a frown over his lips in that moment.
"I'd like to know how long I have until I'm the shortest again. I'd like to savor my removal from that spot for as long as I can."
Hearing this, Jon turned to look back at the watchman fully now. His face morphing into one of disbelief, whilst trying his best to ignore Theon's guffawing and Robb's light snickering. His height had always been a sore spot for him. He knew he couldn't do anything about it, but that didn't mean he like it being pointed out either. Much less by a stranger.
"You're barely a hair taller than me." Jon pointed out, his voice indignant. Ysmir only smiled in return however.
"But I am taller than you."
His lips drawn up into a thin line, Jon turned away from the smiling ranger, fuming even as he readied his horse. Theon full out laughing from behind Robb now, while thankfully his brother had more sense not to join in. Synching down the last strap on the saddle, his horse shifted uneasily as the stranger leaned against the mares shoulder.
"Oh don't be mad at me. I didn't mean to offend you or anything, just making a harmless joke is all," He paused for a moment, Jon seeing him raise his hand to point back at Robb and Theon from the corner of his vision. "And don't mind those two twits either. It'll make it all the more embarrassing for them to be beaten by someone a head shorter. Especially for the ugly one there."
Though outwardly he remained stoic, Jon couldn't deny the small twinge of amusement he felt as Theon's laughter began to cease. The Greyjoy just now starting to realize that he was now the subject of attention. "I mean, really, that is a face only a mother could love."
Turning his head to look at the still smiling man, his grey switching over to watch the Stark ward. Theon tensing in his spot, his laid back demeanor gone now. "What makes you think you'll even stay in Winterfell? Lord Stark might just send you back to the Wall soon as we return."
Ysmir clicked his tongue in response, cocking his head sideway the Greyjoy. "After hearing what Benjen has to say? Aye, he could, but I doubt very strongly that he will." He said airily, pushing off from against his horse to accept the reigns of his own from the approaching Stark guardsman.
Looking away from the brother of the Night's Watch with a shake of his head, Jon busied himself with readying his horse again. Thinking on Ysmir's claim of friendship with his uncle, Jon had to suppress a chuckle. He couldn't imagine Uncle Benjen willingly dealing with someone as foolish as this man was.
"Do you often get to know someone by insulting them?" Robb asked with a light scoff. The ranger only chuckling as he swung up into his saddle.
"That, or fighting and drinking with them. Best ways there is to get to know a man. Hence my want to spar. I may be a bit bored," Ysmir looked towards him then, just as he climbed up into his own saddle. "Cause no offense, but your uncle can be a bit of a dead fish at times."
Looking over at Ysmir, his lips parted, wanting to say something but eventually deciding it wouldn't be worth it. With every word he said, every little motion, he alienated himself from what the Night's Watch was. Farther away from the honorable calling Uncle Benjen had always assured him that it was.
Yet here sat this man, grinning ear to ear like a court fool, acting the part of one with every second. He was arrogant like Theon, that much he could see already, but an arrogant fool to boot. The thought of having Ysmir as a brother in the Night's Watch rankled him, he had to admit.
It wasn't until after the procession had set off back towards the Kingsroad did the ranger speak again. Breaking the blissful slilence. Jon never thought he'd miss it as much as he did then.
"So, what did my brother in black yammer on about that has you all so spooked?" Robb narrowed his eyes at the sudden question, sharing a look with Jon, his brow furrowing.
"I thought you knew already?"
"I know the truth of the matter," he corrected. "what I'd like to know is how many embellishments Will made that Benjen and myself will have to unravel."
'If you knew then why not come out and tell father straight away?' Jon wondered.
"Your brother was a lunatic. He was spouting about White Walkers and mad dragons right up until Lord Stark took his head," Theon jeered from behind. The grunt Ysmir gave being his only acknowledgment of the ward's words.
Shaking his head, Jon faced forward in his saddle. The procession falling back into its standard travelling positions as they journeyed back towards home, to Winterfell. Well, it would be the usual if he wasn't stuck minding the mad fool Uncle Benjen had sent out. Ser Rodrick didn't seem to care for the ranger either, he noticed.
The old, northern knight only glancing back at the watchman on occasion, as though he too was trying to forget about Ysmir's presence entirely. Hearing him mutter something under his breath, he snuck a glance back at the watchman, finding him to be studying the stream below them with intense scrutiny. Theon must have heard it too, noticing the curious glint in the Greyjoy's eyes.
"What accent is that? I can't place it."
Ysmir turned in his seat to look at the ward then, his head nodding from side to side for a moment. Jon's ears pricked up at the conversation, listening intently as he watched from the corner of his eyes. Their was a lilt to his voice. Every other word he spoke seemed to roll over into the next with some strange sort of inflection, but it was tempered, proper even.
"I suppose for you, it would be more of a wildling accent. I've picked it up from extended contact with the wildling clans near Eastwatch and various other brothers of the watch."
"Whatever it is, you sound like you're gargling on something."
Ysmir opened his mouth at that, his green eyes glancing back up towards little Bran. His seemingly constant smile falling for a moment and replaced with a frown as he stared back at the Greyjoy.
"For the little ones sake, I'll be the better man and hold my tongue."
A lone eyebrow raised in surprise, Jon turned back to stare at the Kingsroad that sprawled before them. Maybe he wasn't as big a fool as he had thought. He did appear to have some restraint at least.
"How are things at the Wall?" Robb asked.
"Same as usual. Dwindling supplies, fewer and fewer men to man the castles," Ysmir paused for a moment, frowning. "There has been a drop in wildling sightings beyond the Wall in recent times, though not for good reasons."
"Because of the grumpkins and snarks you lot guard the realm against?" Theon jeered again. Ysmir's eyes turning to look back at the Stark ward with a baleful glare.
"You know what? I think I'll enjoy feeding you your teeth when we spar." The watchman said calmly. His voice taking on a dark edge. Darker than he had ever heard from the smiling ranger so far.
"There will be none of that," Ser Rodrick interjected. The gray whiskered knight staring at Ysmir with hard eyes. "You will obey my rules in my yard or you will never spar at all. There will be no maiming so long as I stand as Master of Arms in Winterfell."
Ysmir stared back at Ser Rodrick for a moment, glaring more like, before looking away. Though he didn't say it aloud, Jon could understand his thoughts on the matter clear enough. The watchman's eyes went wide for a moment then as he glanced about the surrounding woods worriedly.
"Something the matter?" Jon asked confused. Ysmir only smiling nervously in return. His eyes glancing around the Wolfswood uncertainly. His attention focused anywhere but on anyone else in the procession.
"Yes, as a matter of fact there is. I may have forgotten to mention something earlier," he whispered quietly. The ranger's head turning to look back towards father at the head of the caravan. "Lord Stark? Might I tell you something?"
"If you must."
"It genuinely slipped my mind, but seeing as we are nearing the spot, I thought it best to forewarn you. I wasn't sent alone."
The reaction was immediate. Father bringing the procession to a stop just over the bridge, all eyes on the ranger beside him. Hearing the rustle of heavy fabrics, Jon glanced sidelong at Ser Rodrick, watching the old knight seize the reigns from Ysmir's hands.
"Well, you work fast don't you?" Ysmir quipped, staring back at the old knight with a raised brow.
"Peace, all of you," Lord Eddard said slowly, his head turned to stare at Ser Rodrick admonishing him. Though the knight relaxed in his saddle, he still didn't drop his hand from the reigns. Turning his grey eyes to Ysmir, he continued. "Explain yourself."
Hearing the brief command from father, Ysmir raised his left hand to point towards the bend in the road. What lay beyond the bend was obscured by the forest surrounding them. Ironwood pine trees , birch, and the occasional oak standing tall, scraping against the sky in the old growth of the Wolfswood.
"Around that bend you'll find my lovely travelling companion and the uh, friend I guess you could say, that we found on the way to find you. I warn you now that she is a wildling and she was brought with me and Benjen south of the Wall for reasons that he will soon disclose to you and only you."
"You're not making a very good case." Robb warned, staring pointedly at the watchman. Ysmir seemed unperturbed by this however, as he only smiled in return.
"What else can I say? The truth is the best case I can make."
His eyes flitting between Robb and Ysmir, Jon frowned. He was an arrogant fool to be sure, but he didn't strike him as a liar either. Glancing over to their lord father, he wondered if he felt the same. Ysmir was shady, but perhaps he was telling the truth.
"Prove it." Jon pressed. Robb, Theon, and Ser Rodrick staring at him blankly for a moment before looking at Lord Stark for orders.
Seeing him nod in agreement, Ysmir's gaze turned back to Jon. The other man nodding his head, grateful at the opportunity. His eyes lingered on him for a moment. Only a moment and then it was gone, the ranger turning his head back to look towards the bend in the Kingsroad just past the bridge.
"Aela! Mind showing yourself so I don't get my throat slit?" He shouted aloud, his voice carrying across the Wolfswood with a thunderous sound, far louder than he had expected. His mare's head yanking up at the sudden noise, prancing about uncertainly even as he shushed the animal.
Silence. The others mounts also growing uneasy as they waited. They never even heard her. It was the woman's head of fiery red hair that they saw first between the trees and dense brush. As she stepped further into view, he could hear Theon whistle lowly from his side.
Her hand raised into the air above her head, she sighed as she shook her head at the restrained watchman beside him. "How do you always get into these situations, Ysmir?"
"My charming personality, what else could garner a captive audience like this?" Ysmir joked back, his voice light and airy even as Ser Rodrick jabbed him in the side. "So, how are they?"
"Hungry and squealing." Was the red haired wilding's strange reply. Jon looking back at Ysmir and the wildling woman in befuddlement. Each word that passed between the two only serving to deliver more questions than answers.
"And the mother?"
"The she-wolf is stable, but there's naught much else I can do. I'm not a healer."
"Do you mean to say that you found a pregnant wolf on the Kingsroad and left the wildling woman to play as midwife to a wild animal?" Lord Eddard said slowly as though he was speaking to a small child. "Do you take me for a fool?" Ysmir only smiled back however.
"A pregnant wolf we found lain beside a disemboweled stag, I might add. You had best get used to dealing with the strange, Lord Stark. You're about to see and hear a lot more of it in the coming days."
Father didn't say anything for a long moment. His jaw set into a straight line as he looked between the unusual pair. It was a look Jon had seen in times past whenever he, Robb or Theon got into trouble, or when Arya played some cruel prank on Sansa. Theon had often joked and called it his lordly mask in times past.
Wordlessly, father nudged his horse to resume its trot. Riding past the wildling woman without so much as a glance. Looking over at Robb, Jon nudged his horse to follow after their lord father. The Stark patriarchs voice calling out from around the bend.
"Ser Rodrick, bring the others over," He commanded in a weary voice. Seeing Lord Stark kneeling beside a dead creature, he knew why. "It would seem that Ysmir was telling the truth."
Dismounting from his horse, Jon moved to squat beside Lord Stark, staring at the dead creature in awe. It was massive. It was a stag, one of the largest he had ever seen. It was old to be sure, if the gray hairs over its dark coat were anything to judge by. Feeling a fly land on his hand, he shook it away, Jon glanced down to whence it had came. It was just as Ysmir had said. Dead by disembowelment.
Hearing a low, high pitched squeal a few feet away, he looked up at the culprit. The friend Ysmir had claimed to have made on the way lay staring at him with warm, golden brown eyes just a few feet away. The she wolf's tail thumping weakly against the cobblestones as soon as he made eye contact. It would've made for a humorous sight were the creature not of a height with his mare.
'It would be less terrifying if its muzzle wasn't caked in blood as well.' He added mentally, watching the seemingly friendly animal with a critical eye.
It's a freak." Theon spat upon seeing the wolf, his hand dropping back beneath his cloak, presumably to reach for his sword. The she-wolf only blinking slowly at the Greyjoy in return, not understanding the sudden hostility.
"It's a direwolf." Lord Eddard corrected, eyeing the wolf with a wary eye. "A tough old beast, I'll give her that." He said, noticing the stags broken antler, cast aside across the road. The blood coating the broken antler having dried and stained the bone crimson.
Hearing a set of feet dismount from behind, Jon glanced behind to see Ysmir sauntering up behind them. That same, constant grin on his face again.
"I'm not exactly an expert on the whims of the gods but I'd say this is some pretty auspicious timing, no?" He pressed, stepping past Lord Stark and closer to the injured direwolf. Seeing Ysmir walk closer to the fallen direwolf, he felt his heart drop into his stomach. Was he mad?
Jon watched in awed silence as the she wolf licked at the rangers outstretched hand, nuzzling it gently. Her large tail flopping against the stone bricked road like some large, playful dog. It was unnatural.
"She's peaceful for now, but that's probably from the blood loss," The wildling woman, Aela said from beside Jon. Her sudden appearance startling him more than he'd care to admit, truthfully. "She's lost a lot of blood. Both form the birthing and from her wounds."
Feeling a wad of warm, damp fur press itself against his leg, Jon froze in fear for a moment. His grey eyes looking back at the she-wolf mortified. As the common saying went, never get in the way between a cow and her calf, the same held true for all other mammals. Though wondrously, and oddly enough, it didn't seem to apply to the direwolf for some reason.
Watching the she-wolf blink at him slowly, he felt a tinge of madness overtake him. Licking his lips, Jon reached down to pick up the direwolf pup. His grey eyes never leaving the she wolf's even as he raised the pup off of the ground and into his arms, despite his father's horrified stare.
'Nothing. No reaction at all. Strange.'
"Well now, I think that means she approves," Ysmir said with a nod. Standing up from beside the direwolf with another pup in his arms, this one gray with splotches of honeyed brown along its coat. "Care to hold another?" He asked with a smile, holding the squealing, grey furred pup out to Jon.
"This is madness." Father muttered beside him, standing upright. The Stark patriarchs grey eyes never leaving the she wolfs, even as she wagged her tail weakly at him.
"This, Lord Eddard, is a sign from your Old Gods if I ever saw one."
Taking the squirming pup from Ysmir's hands, Jon glanced back at the direwolf, shaking his head. Deserters with tales of frozen men and dragon riders beyond the Wall and now a dead stag beside a direwolf and five pups?
"There are no direwolves south of the Wall. They don't belong down here." Ser Rodrick said aloud from behind. Many of the surrounding guardsmen muttering amongst themselves, thinking along the same lines as the old knight. Standing up, Jon smiled a little.
"Now there are six." Turning towards Robb and Bran behind him, he held the pups out to them both. "You want to hold them?"
Bran's eyes widened with delight as he placed the squiggling pup into his arms. Whilst Robb looked unsure of what to do, glancing back over at the pups mother cautiously every few seconds. Chancing a look himself, he found the she-wolf to still be lounging on the road, unbothered that her pups were being passed along to strangers.
Lord Stark brought a swift end to the newfound joy however, his voice cracking sharp like a chisel hammered through ice. "It doesn't matter. The pups will stay here with their mother."
"No! We can't leave them here! Please father!" Bran begged, looking at their father with wide, pleading eyes.
"I'm sorry, Bran. It's too dangerous."
Hearing a shuffle of movement, Jon glanced up to see Theon standing over the top of Bran, reaching down to try and pry the pup from his little brothers arms. "C'mon, give it here."
The pup squealing louder as Theon's fingers brushed against its fur, drawing its mothers ire immediately. Growling lowly at the squid with pearly white fangs. The Stark ward lifted his hands away from the pup, backing away from Bran, and the growling stopped almost immediately. Father looking down at Bran and the direwolf, his face set in stone. She had made his point clear just by growling.
Out of the corner of his eye, he noticed Ysmir looked alarmed as well. His green eyes staring down at the she-wolf in what looked to be confusion. He shook his head once, before turning back to face Lord Stark. His voice calling to him even as he walked further away.
"Pardon my language, but are you daft, Lord Stark?" Ysmir asked loudly. The smile he had worn throughout the journey now cast aside entirely. A mask of thinly veiled annoyance taking its place over his face. Father turned to look back at him, his own face hard and unmoving.
"They will not survive out here with her. She is injured. Badly at that. Low on energy from blood loss, five hungry pups to care for, a fresh carcass that's sure to attract scavengers . . ." he trailed off.
"It makes no difference. This is the way the wild is, ranger. You should know that by now." Ysmir chuckled at that. Not a genuine one either as far as he could tell. The sound more akin to steel scraping against stone than it was laughter.
"Do you know what your brother told me before I left Winterfell?" The ranger asked, his head cocked to the side. His green eyes looking almost deranged in a way. "He told me that he had begun to doubt the Old Gods, and I can't blame him either, given what he's seen in the last few weeks. Then mere minutes, minutes mind you, after we leave Winterfell we stumble upon this,"
His arms stretched out around him, gesturing dramatically to the scene surrounding them. The enormous stag carcass that lay at his feet, its guts splayed out into the road for all to see. Corpse flies a buzz all around its gut and muzzle, attracted by the smell of death. Then to the direwolf that lay next to it, wounded with three large, clumps of blood-soaked fur along its left shoulder and the three remaining pups that lay there, suckling at their mothers teats.
"Your house sigil lying next to your kings sigil. Yours lived and bore multiple pups and if I'm not wrong, you have the same amount of children. King Robert's sigil died alone, disemboweled in the middle of the road. This is a sign, Lord Eddard. You cannot ignore it."
His words, while aggressive, did seem to have some sort of effect on father however. Jon watching silently along with the rest of the procession as Lord Eddard looked back towards the stags bloody body and then back towards the direwolf, shaking his head the entire time.
Glancing down at Bran's hopeful eyes and Robb's resigned look, he pursed his lips. There were five pups and one mother. Ysmir was right, this had to be a sign. A dark one at that, if he was right about the meaning of King Robert's sigil.
"Lord Stark," he began. Gaining his lord fathers attention almost immediately. Whetting his lips, he looked towards the she-wolf. "There are six direwolves here. Five pups and their mother. One for you and each of the Stark children. Ysmir is right in this. You were all meant to have them."
The silence seemed to drag on for an eternity. Jon felt ready to squirm in his skin as he felt all of their eyes on him in that moment. Sighing wearily, Lord Eddard set his lips into a thin line. His face grimacing as he looked back at the she-wolf. He turned his gaze back to Jon, then Bran and Robb next, his eyes hard as steel.
"You will train them yourselves. You will feed them yourselves. And if their mother harms even a single person inside of Winterfell, they will all be removed from the castle. All of them. Do I make myself clear?"
A wave of relief washing over him, Jon couldn't help but smile a little. An energetic Bran nodding his head up and down as fast as he could. "Yes father! We'll take care of them!"
Lord Eddard tarried a moment longer, staring back at the direwolves again before shaking his head and walking back towards his horse. Muttering something under his breath the entire way. The gathered crowd beginning to disperse, Jon looked down as he felt a nudge against his side.
"What about you?" Bran asked innocently. Smiling sadly, Jon gave his little brother a light shove on the shoulder, urging him to follow after father and Robb.
"I'm not a Stark. Get on."
Hearing a pair of light footsteps behind him, Jon turned around to see Ysmir's wide grin staring back at him. Amusement twinkling in his green eyes.
"Well, that was awfully noble of you, and well done, I have to admit." He praised, his left hand clasped over his sword belt. The red haired woman walking to stand beside him as he spoke.
"He did better than you did at any rate." Ysmir turned to face her, his face showing with mock hurt.
"You wound me, you know? I wasn't aware we were having a competition," Ysmir groaned weakly, shaking his head with a chuckle, the ranger smiled at him. "It sure would be a shame if I had snatched up a sixth pup after you made your case." Pulling his arm from beneath his black cloak with a wide smile.
Jon's eyes lit up in amazement at the white direwolf pup in Ysmir's hand. Its fur as white as freshly fallen snow and eyes as red as the sap of a weirwood tree.
"A true shame that you turn out to be a Stark after all, eh?" The ranger joked lightly.
Though Jon's entire focus was on the pup Ysmir had handed him. Marveling at the small creature in his hands. He must have been the runt of the litter. Forced out by his siblings and left wandering for food on the other side of his mothers body.
'His mother!'
Looking up from the white direwolf in his arms, he nodded to the watching she-wolf that lay mere feet from them. Staring up at him curiously.
"How are we going to get her back to Winterfell? We didn't bring a cart."
Aela looked at Ysmir pointedly at that. The ranger only noticing after a moment. Ysmir blinking his eyes rapidly as some sort of hidden conversation played out between the two.
"No. I know what you're thinking Aela, and I'm not doing it. It would be too much of a chore trying to get him to help." Jon furrowed his brow for a moment, looking between the two of them, puzzled. Ysmir instead turning to grab the last two pups from their mothers side.
"First, we need to stash these two somewhere. Open up a saddlebag or something maybe?" Handing the pups off to Aela, Ysmir turned to look back at the she-wolf then back to Jon. "How long do you think the horses could carry her?"
Jon blinked at him for a moment, the words entering in one ear and out the other. When the meaning sunk in, he couldn't help but chuckle.
"You can't be serious. She's the same size as my mare. No horse in the North could carry her for long."
"It won't just be one horse carrying her the entire time, I might act differently but I'm not stupid nor am I cruel. But I'm also not patient enough to wait out here any longer than I have to."
Ysmir stepped away from them, moving to squat down beside the injured direwolf. Jon shook his head in disbelief, watching as the ranger scooped his arms underneath the wolfs midsection, heaving her up onto his shoulder with a muffled grunt. The she-wolf whimpering in pain at the sudden motion, blood leaking from her side as she nudged his shoulder.
"Oh shut it! I'm in more pain than you are!" Ysmir shouted back, stumbling past him and the wildling woman, his face red and veiny as he shambled past them awkwardly back towards the horses.
Seeing the wildling woman walk after Ysmir silently, Jon shook his head as he made to follow after them. It certainly wouldn't be boring if father allowed them to stay in Winterfell, that was for sure.
Well I hope you guys enjoyed reading it as much as I did making it! (Once I was helped over my writers block anyways) like I said earlier at the beginning, I am always open to hearing any questions, concerns, or what you via either a PM or through a review. I know I have a problem about response times, and I am trying to be better about it, I promise!
But anyways, I'll see you guys next time! Hopefully the next chapter won't take near as long as this one did, yeah? Take care!