Author's Note

I do not own A Song of Ice and Fire, A Game of Thrones, or anything affiliated. All rights to the rightful owners.

So this was meant to be a oneshot, only of the first episode, but it's now spun too long. I still plan on finishing it with the first episode though, unless the mood strikes.

Raucous laughter echoed through the training yard as another of Bran's arrows whizzed past the target. He grumbled in annoyance.

Medgar, the nearest of his brothers in age at nine, grinned. "Come on, is that all you've got?"

Bran scowled and snatched up another arrow. Jon patted his shoulder. "Don't let him rile you. Just shoot. Go on. Father's watching."

Bran nodded and glanced up at his parents, who were fondly watching their large brood of sons in the yard below, the youngest twins, Rickon and Lelani in their arms. In the far corner, the two other eldest Stark boys, Edwyle and Tylar, were sparring with swords, while fourteen year old Hoster and twelve year old Rodrik watched on. Like many of their siblings, the two had taken after their mother in appearance, with her soft red curls and blue eyes. Hoster, however, had their father's temperament, while Rodrik's more closely matched his younger sister Sansa, much to the amusement of his brothers.

Edwyle cast Tylar's sword to the ground and grinned. "You can never beat me." He glanced to Rodrik. "You want a round, Rod?"

Rod shook his head. "No thank you."

Liya and Arya, he thought, had no idea how lucky they were.

Another of Bran's arrows flew wild, hitting the barrel beside the target. Aden, one of his half-brothers, moved to pull it free. "Nice shot. If you were aiming for this."

Bran turned red as his brothers dissolved into laughter.

Sixteen year old Liya ground her teeth as the needle pricked her finger again. Across the room, Septa Mordane smiled at her crib sister, Minisa. "Fine work, as always. Well done."

Sansa returned her bright smile. "Thank you."

Septa Mordane took the edge of the fabric. "I love the detail that you've managed to get in this corners. … Quite beautiful … the stitching …"

At Liya's side, nine year old Arya glared at her own embroidery. "I hate this. I want to learn archery."

Beside her, Sansa frowned. "Archery isn't befitting of a lady."

"Well, I don't want to be a lady! I want to be a knight!"

"Me too!" squealed six year old Mariah. "I be a knight!"

"Neither of you can be knights," said their older sister, Lyarra.

Mariah pouted. "Well, I'm gonna be a bird instead."

"None of you can be birds!" exclaimed Septa Mordane. "Or knights, for that matter."

Liya grumbled and threw down her embroidery. "Forget it. None of us are ever going to be as good as Lady Perfect anyway."

"Hey!" Minisa protested.

"I never said your name."

"You implied it!"

"Girls!" Septa Mordane scolded. "This is not becoming of young ladies."

"I'm not doing anything," Sansa whined.

"And I'm not a lady," Liya said, shoving the door open and striding out.

"Liya!" Minisa called after her. "Liya!"

Arya grinned at Mariah and dropped her own embroidery, hurrying out to follow the second eldest of her sisters. Well. Third eldest, if the illegitimate one was also counted. Liya made her way through the passageways of Winterfell to where Bran had just missed another shot in the training yard. His brothers laughed. Above them, their father's voice rang out. "And which one of you was a marksman at seven?"

"I can shoot better than that!" declared Medgar, crossing his arms.

"You're two years older," Ned replied. "Keep practising, Bran. Go on."

Aden smiled at his half-brother. "You can do it."

Jon clasped his shoulders. "Don't think too much, Bran."

Aden scoffed. "Easy for you to say."

Robb laughed. "Relax your bow arm."

Liya picked up a bow as Bran pulled the arrow back. Father said she shouldn't, but her crib-brothers had been helping her with archery for years now. Her shot flew straight, thudding into the bullseye.

Arya made an impressed noise behind her. "Why do you get to learn to do that and I don't?"

Bran lowered his bow as he turned to face them, along with his older brothers. Liya passed the bow to Arya and curtsied.

Bran turned scarlet. "You– You–"

"If Liya can do it, you can do it," Aden said, spinning him back to the target. "Come on, give it another shot."

"Arya, you want a turn?" Jon called.

Arya laughed and darted past Liya to enter the yard as Bran fired his arrow. Jon fetched her an arrow of her own. "Here, like this."

Above them, their father's attention was taken by the Master-at-Arms, Rodrick Cassel, and the Stark's fosterling, Theon Greyjoy. Rodrick bowed. "Lord Stark. My lady. A guardsman just rode in from the hills. They've captured a deserter from the Night's Watch."

Ned grimaced. "Get the lads to saddle their horses."

Theon nodded and hurried over to the steps. Catelyn glanced up at Ned. "Do you have to?"

"He swore an oath, Cat."

Catelyn turned away to look down as Theon passed the news to her sons in the yard.

"The law is law, my lady," said Rodrick.

"Tell Bran he's coming, too," Ned said, passing Lelani to Catelyn.

Rodrick nodded and moved to follow Theon down the steps. Catelyn turned back to Ned. "Ned. Seven is too young to see such things. Bad enough you take Medgar."

"He won't be a boy forever," Ned replied. "And winter is coming."

The deserter was a young man, little more than a boy, pale and trembling. "White Walkers. I saw the White Walkers. White Walkers. The White Walkers, I saw them."

Bran looked up at Medgar. "Do you think he really did?"

"Hush," scolded Rod.

"I know I broke my oath," stammered the deserter. "And I know I'm a deserter. I should have gone back to the Wall and warned them. But I saw what I saw. I saw the White Walkers." His gaze darted past Ned to his sons, lined up by age. "People need to know. If you can get word to my family, tell them I'm no coward. Tell them I'm sorry."

Ned nodded, and the two men holding the deserter forced him over the execution block. Ned drew the ancestral sword of their family, Ice, and pressed the tip to the hard ground. "In the name of Robert of the House Baratheon, first of his name…"

"There's gonna be so much blood," Medgar whispered eagerly to Bran. "It'll get everywhere."

Tylar grinned. Bran whimpered and turned away. Jon shook his head. "Don't look away. Father will know if you do."

"I, Eddard of the House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, sentence you to die." Ned raised the sword as he reached the end of his speech and brought Ice down through the deserter's neck. Bran watched with wide eyes.

Edwyle smiled down at him. "You did well."

Rod shuffled over to Bran's side and wrapped his arm around him. "Are you all right?"

Bran nodded. "I think so."

He narrowed his eyes at Medgar. "You lied! There wasn't so much blood!"

Tylar laughed. "Disappointing."

Robb sighed and herded his brothers towards the horses, where they met with Ned.

"You understand why I did it?" he asked Bran.

Bran nodded. "Aden said he was a deserter."

"But do you understand why I had to kill him?"

Ned touched his shoulder. "The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword."

"Is it true he saw the White Walkers?" Medgar asked suddenly, bouncing on his heels. "Do you think they're out there?"

"The White Walkers have been gone for thousands of years," Ned replied.

"So he was lying?" Rod whispered.

Their father looked out at the land beyond them. "A madman sees what he sees."

The horses treaded carefully through the woodland, halting with soft whickers as their riders took in the sight of a dead stag, gutted and laid across the path.

"What is it?" Aden asked.

"Dead deer, what does it look like?" Jon replied.

"Mountain lion?" Theon suggested, indicating the deep wounds to the stag's side.

Ned shook his head. "There are no mountain lions in these woods. Come on."

He drew his sword and led the way into the trees, hacking his way through them. One by one, his sons dismounted and followed, spreading out to search. Having been the first to leave, Ned was the one to find the culprits: two large, silver and black wolves lying dead on the bank of a stream. One had the dead stag's antlers through her throat, but the other seemed untouched, simply lying dead. Around them, wolf pups were whimpering and crying.

"They're freaks!" Theon exclaimed.

"Direwolves," Ned said grimly, glancing at Rodrick. "Tough old beasts." He pulled out the antlers and held them up.

"There are no direwolves south of the Wall," Hoster said.

"Now there are…" Aden attempted a count. "Twelve?"

"Fifteen," Jon muttered.

"Fifteen," Aden echoed.

Jon stepped forward and scooped up one of the pups, holding it out to Bran. "You want to hold it?"

"Yes!" Medgar said, jumping forward to grab at the pup. Aden picked up another and handed it to him.

"Where will they go?" asked Bran. "Their mother's dead."

Rod crept forward to scoop up a fluffy red puppy of his own, smiling as it flicked its ears.

"They don't belong down here," said Rodrick.

Ned studied the mewling pups. "Better a quick death. They won't last without their mother."

Theon drew his knife and reached for Bran's pup. "Right. Give it here."

"No!" Bran cried, backing away and shielding his pup in his arms. Medgar and Rod, too, backed up, attempting to guard their own stolen pups.

"Put away your blade." Robb said with a scowl.

"I take orders from your father, not you," Theon replied.

Bran shook his head. "Please, father!"

Ned looked again at the two dead direwolves. "I'm sorry, Bran."

Jon frowned. "Lord Stark? There are fifteen pups. One for each of the Stark children. The direwolf is the sigil of your House. They were meant to have them."

Bran stroked his pup's ears and gazed up at Ned, hope in his eyes. At last, Ned nodded. He had a large family, and to have the correct number of direwolves did have to be some form of sign. "You will train them yourselves. You will feed them yourselves. And if they die, you will bury them yourselves."

Bran smiled and cradled his pup as Jon and Aden crouched down to begin gathering up pups, handing them to Robb, Edwyle, Tylar and Hoster, two each.

"What about you?" Bran asked.

"We're not Starks," Jon replied, handing two pups to Aden and taking the last two himself.

Aden waved a hand at him. "Get on."

Jon stepped up towards them, stopped, and hesitated.

"What is it?" Robb called down.

Jon crouched again, setting down his two puppies, and reached into the roots of a tree to produce another three puppies, two albino and one a pure silver. A smile broke across Robb's face.

"Runts," Theon said. "Those are yours, Snow."

"Here then," Jon said, passing one of his original puppies to Robb and the other to Aden. "I'll carry these three."

They rode back to Winterfell laden down with the squirming, mewling puppies – all except Jon's, whose never made a sound. The gates opened before their strange procession, and the Stark boys halted their horses in the courtyard, dismounting with no small amount of difficulty.

"Take the pups through to the kennels for now," Ned said. "We'll call your sisters down and you can all choose one."

"I want this one!" Bran declared, holding up the pup he'd carried throughout the ride.

"Then you may have that one. Go and fetch your sisters."

"Yes father."

Jon and Aden, who already had their runt puppies, smiled at the excitement of their brothers as Robb looked at them.

"One of those is for…"

"I know," Jon said, holding up the silver pup. "This one. It's the female."

"Take it to her then." Robb rubbed the head of the pup he was still holding. "I'm keeping this one."

Jon and Aden broke away from the rest of their brothers and headed into the castle, pups held carefully in their arms. They made their way through the passageways, passing Lyarra on their way.

"You should go down to the kennels," Jon told her. "Robb has a surprise for you."

"Really?" she asked with shining eyes.

"Take your sisters."

Lyarra nodded and hurried away. Jon and Aden continued to the library and let themselves in.

At a table in the far corner, a silver haired figure was leant over a book, copying out pages. She paused as they entered and turned to face them. "Oh, have you come to visit me in my lonely tower?"

"You're not in a tower, Alys," Jon said.

"And you wouldn't be lonely if you didn't shut yourself away," Aden added.

Alysanne sighed. "We all know I'm not welcome."

While her brothers had both come out identical, with the dark hair, grey eyes, and long face of their father, their sister, Alysanne, had inherited white-blonde hair and dark purple eyes from – presumably the triplets' mother. Her appearance had left in its wake many whispers that she was not in fact the triplet sister of the boys, and that had only been a cover story, that she was in fact the daughter of Rhaegar Targaryen, who Lord Stark had stolen and sheltered, or perhaps even that she was Rhaenys Targaryen – a ridiculous rumour, then she'd be four years older than the boys – or the daughter of the Mad King, rescued from Essos for… reasons, the triplets supposed.

It all seemed like such nonsense to them.

"That's not true," Jon said.

Aden clasped her shoulder. "We welcome you."

Jon held up the silver pup. "And we brought you a gift."

"A puppy!" Alys took it from his arms with eager hands. "Ooh, she's so cute." She narrowed her eyes. "But why?"

"They're direwolf pups. Orphans. The others all have one too."

Alys smiled and stroked her pup's head. "Maybe I will join you for supper tonight."