Disclaimer: Characters and world belong to George R. R. Martin. I do not claim any ownership over the characters or the world of Game of Thrones. This story is for entertainment only and is not part of the official storyline.
Wolf's blood
The moon is full tonight, but hidden by dark clouds. The summer snows cover the ground in a blanket of white. Beneath the red leaves of the weirwood tree, Jon likes to think he is in a different world, where he is as normal as any other, and where he is not alone.
Someone drapes a warm cloak across his shivering form, and when Jon looks up, he sees his father standing next to him, a warm smile on his face. It almost makes him forget the last hour, when he'd been running through the woods on four feet, wind blowing through his silver fur.
'Our ancestors were given magic by the gods, Jon. The blood of the First Men flows through your veins as well as your siblings', and now it is up to you to use this gift wisely.'
I'm not a Stark, Jon wishes to say, but he knows Father's answer to that, so instead he asks:
'So the legends are true? The Starks, the Lannisters... the Targaryens?'
'I don't know', Father admits, and sits down next to him. His eyes are glowing silver in the light of the moon, and Jon wonders how he can control himself so well.
'But I do know this. Winter is coming, and in winter, we must protect ourselves, look after one another.'
Jon knows the words. He has heard them since he was a child.
'When the snows fall and the white winds blow, the lone wolf dies, but the pack survives.'