Welcome to Game of Thrones: A Time for Wolves!
This is my first time writing a Game of Thrones fanfiction I am actually intent on completing, and I'm really excited. I know most people hate the show now, but I've rediscovered my love for it. So for those who still appreciate the GOT world, get ready for a wild ride!
Few things first, don't comment for me to update or even allude to it at all. It doesn't encourage me. It actually pisses me off. Just don't do it, and we'll get along swimmingly. So without further ado, let our Watch begin!
Disclaimer: I do not own any of the Game of Thrones characters in the story or from the novel, A Song of Ice and Fire. Only the OCs included are mine and any original plots.
Chapter 1: Winter is Coming
298 AC
A sharp chuckle of amusement drifted out the lips of Brynden Stark as he stared at his younger brother, Bran gulp nervously, positioning an arrow on his bowstring and aiming for the target in front of him. He watched as the young boy's chest rose and fell and his eyes narrowed before he let loose and -
Clunk!
The second true-born son of Eddard and Catelyn Stark doubled over in laughter as Bran's arrow sailed smoothly past its target and hit the barrel behind it. The sixteen year old couldn't help the snickers and snorts that escaped him as he watched Bran huff in clear frustration. He could feel the disapproving glares of Robb and Jon burn into his skull but he paid them no mind.
Sighing, the bastard of Winterfell walked forwards, placing his hands on Bran's shoulders encouragingly, and leaning down to his height. "Go on. Father's watching."
The four turned in sync, looking up at the balcony where, sure enough, the lord of the house stood watching. His Tully-born wife stood at his side, smiling down at her sons.
"And your mother." Jon added with a solemn look on his face.
"No pressure though." Brynden added teasingly, causing Robb to shoot him a stern look, silently telling him that his input wasn't helping. Brynden immediately held his hands up in surrender, though the smirk never faded from his face. When Robb looked away, his hands fell back to his sides, the action earning a soft giggle from the little boy beside him.
"What you laughing at, huh?" The sixteen year old teased, his hands shooting out to tickle his baby brother's sides, causing him to go into a hit of laughter. When the youngest of the Starks started begging him to stop, Brynden laughed and pulled his hands away, turning back to the other three, but not before ruffling the shaggy hair on Rickon's head.
Yet again, Bran pulled back another arrow and aimed at the target, taking a deep breath and letting it go...only for it to soar right over the target and into the foliage behind it, causing the three oldest brothers to laugh out loud while the boy huffed once more.
"And which one of you was a marksman at ten?" Their father's voice came from above, causing the boys to turn once again as they were scolded. Out of the corner of his eye, Robb saw Brynden's hand twitch, as if he was going to raise it, and gave him a smack on the arm to stop him. "Keep practicing, Bran. Go on."
The brunette boy sighed and nodded, turning back around. He took a deep breath and pulled his arrow back. "Don't think too much, Bran." Jon scolded, seeing how his brows pulled together in concentration.
"Relax your bow arm." Robb instructed as well.
The young boy heeded to their advice and took a deep breath, relaxing himself. From where Brynden stood and from the ten year old's positioning, it looked like he would have at least hit the target. That is if it hadn't been for the arrow that whizzed by his head and stick itself dead center before he got the chance to.
The group of boys spun around, only to see little Arya standing there with her own bow and a teasing smile on her face. Though the weapon was the size of her, she still managed to bow into a joking curtsey with it in hand. In an instant, both bows had been dropped as Bran took off after the girl, who broke off into a sprint.
"Run!" Jon yelled, laughing as he watched the two. "Faster!"
"Hurry up, baby sister!" Brynden called, laughing with the rest. "He's going to catch you if you don't!"
"Shut up!" He heard the little girl yell from across the square, causing the three of them to laugh some more before they started picking up the mess their siblings had made.
Brynden huffed in frustration as he sat atop his steed to once again witness his lord father behead yet another deserter of the Night's Watch.
The second true-born son of Eddard Stark never understood why the order of the Night's Watch was so highly regarded in the North when everyone knew that the Wall was filled to the brim with rapists, thieves and murderers. Only proud fools like his uncle Benjen went there willingly. Brynden sighed as his horse trotted along the dirt path outside Winterfell alongside Jon.
"What do you think he did?" Jon asked, breaking the silence.
"What do you mean?" The sixteen year old questioned as he looked over at his half-brother. "The fucker is a deserter. His crime is that he left."
Jon rolled his eyes. "But why do you think he wanted to leave so bad. You don't just abandon your post without a valid reason. I mean, what's worth losing your life over?"
"It doesn't really matter. He broke his vows and now he will pay the price." Brynden stated with a bored tone of voice, sending Jon a sideways glance. "Perhaps this time, you'll finally be deterred from your foolish dream of taking the Black."
The bastard of Winterfell's face darkened upon hearing his younger half-brother's words and urged his horse forwards without another word. Brynden watched him go with a sigh. Up ahead, Robb rode with their younger brother, who was only coming because their father persisted. He's the same age as you were, the man had said when asked by his sons. It's time he sees it.
It didn't take long for them to arrive at the execution site, where the deserter was being shoved to his knees in front of the execution block by Stark soldiers. The man looked raggedy, malnourished and ashamed and was rambling incoherently underneath his breath. He fell silent though when Eddard Stark walked up to him with his ward, Theon Greyjoy not too far behind him.
"I know I broke my oath." The man finally spoke, his voice soft, as the Warden of the North loomed over him with a stony look in his dark grey eyes. "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. People need to know. If you can get word to my family, tell them I'm no coward. Tell them I'm sorry."
Eddard gave the deserter a single nod before the soldiers shoved the man's head onto the execution block. The Lord of Winterfell turned to Theon as the Greyjoy brought forth his greatsword, bound in a sheath made from pelts. As he pulled it out, the grey steel of Ice, the Valyrian Steel sword glistened in the sunlight.
"In the name of Robert of the House Baratheon, first of his name ..." Ned began reciting the words of law.
"Don't look away." Brynden heard Jon whisper to Bran. "Father will know if you do."
"... 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." And with that he took half a step back, swung the greatsword downwards and in one clean strike sliced the deserters head off, the action inciting a sharp wince from Bran. Brynden merely watched on blankly along with Robb and Jon. They had witnessed such executions many times before and had grown quite numb at the sight of a beheaded body.
"You did well." Jon told his younger brother before turning and making his way back to the horses. Robb and Brynden then walked away as well leaving Bran behind to speak with their lord father.
On the road back to Winterfell, the small party came across a rather peculiar and disgust-inducing sight. A large stag lay at the edge of the woods, its side and belly savagely ripped open. Its entrails were spilled onto the forest floor and part of its antlers was missing, presumably torn off.
The Lord of Winterfell was the first to dismount, his dark grey eyes skimming over the gorey sight as he knelt by the deceased stag.
"What is it?" Jon asked curiously.
"Maybe a mountain lion?" Theon guessed from his place besides Robb.
"There are no mountain lions in these woods." Eddard dismissed. The pious northern lord was tempted to leave things be, before something caught his eye and he rose from his knelt position. There was a trail of blood which led to a river and he began to follow it.
The rest of the party followed Eddard's example and dismounted from their respective horses, following the Stark patriarch down to the river. There, they found the deceased body of a large wolf laying at the edge of the river bank. The part of the stag's antler which had been missing was firmly lodged in the beast's neck. Surrounding the large wolf's body was a litter of pups, whining and nudging the corpse of what Brynden presumed was their mother.
"It's a freak!" Theon Greyjoy uttered with complete disgust.
"So are you, but we still keep you around, Greyjoy." Brynden fired an insult at the ward without even looking at him, his icy blue eyes set firmly on the litter of pups, particularly one with pitch-black fur and burning amber eyes.
"It's a Direwolf." Eddard spoke up, ignoring the banter between his son and ward. The Lord of Winterfell reached forwards with one arm and yanked out the antler which was lodged in the creature's neck. "Tough old beast."
Robb blinked with confusion as he looked at the pups and then their lord father. "There are no direwolves south of the Wall."
"Now there are six." Jon spoke up, reaching down and scooping up one of the pups and holding it out for Bran to take. The boy eagerly scooped it up, looking down at the pup's wide eyes in awe.
"Where will they go?" Bran asked shyly, looking up at Eddard. "Their mother is dead."
"They don't belong down here." Ser Rodrik Cassell spoke up, with a stern look in his eyes. The Lord of Winterfell nodded in agreement with Winterfell's Master-at-Arms.
"Ser Rodrik is correct. Better a quick death. They won't last long without their mother."
Theon wasted no time in unsheathing his dagger and reaching out for the Direwolf pup in Bran's arms. "Right, give it here."
"NO!" The boy of ten and one protested with wide fearful eyes, recoiling from the son of Balon Greyjoy. Almost immediately, Brynden and Robb stepped forwards, both brothers glaring at the Greyjoy with icy cold looks.
"Put away your blade." Robb uttered his command while Brynden tightened his right hand into a fist, preparing to lunge at the ward and beat him bloody if things were to escalate.
"I take orders from your father not from you." Theon replied harshly, not backing down.
"Father, please!" Bran turned to their lord father with tearful eyes but the stern man merely shook his head.
"I'm sorry, Bran." The Lord of Winterfell spoke with a regretful and apologetic tone of voice. He prepared to turn away from his son when Jon suddenly spoke up.
"Lord Stark," He called out, gaining everyone's attention, including his father's. The bastard of Winterfell turned to glance down at the litter of Direwolf pups. "There are six pups; one for each of the Stark children. The Direwolf is the sigil of your house. They were meant to have them."
All eyes rested on the Lord of Winterfell, eagerly waiting for his reply. After a few moments passed, Eddard let out a very soft sigh, before facing his sons sternly. "You will train them yourselves. You will feed them yourselves. And if they die, you will bury them yourselves."
With that said, the pious northern lord then turned his head and walked away, leaving the boys to gather the pups. Brynden picked up the black Direwolf he had been eyeing and chuckled as the pup leaned its head forwards and licked his nose.
"Look at you..." The second born son of Eddard and Catelyn Stark whispered softly in awe, not noticing the looks or smiles exchanged between Jon and Robb.
All those who knew him would agree that Brynden was Brandon Stark reborn. He possessed the same wild spirit his late uncle had along with the man's boisterous personality. They even had similar sounding names. And as it was with his late uncle, it wasn't often that one would get to see his softer and calmer side.
As the boys prepared to make their way back to the horses, the six Direwolf pups nestled comfortably in their arms, Jon suddenly froze bringing the others to a halt with him.
"What is it?" Robb questioned, ignoring the smoky-grey furred pup nuzzling against the scruff on his jawline.
Jon didn't reply and instead walked back down and disappeared into the shrubs. He reappeared a moment later, holding a snow-white Direwolf pup with blood red eyes. After a few seconds of staring, Brynden spoke up.
"That one is as white as a snow bear's arse." The sixteen year old sniggered quietly, but his blue eyes displayed nothing but warmth. "You two would make a good pair."
"Are you sure?" Jon questioned uncertainly.
"Of course." Robb spoke before Brynden could say anything. He too was smiling brightly at his half-brother. "You're just as much of a Stark as we are, Jon."
Jon smiled softly as he held the snow-white pup close to his chest and rejoined his brothers and together they walked up the slope, making their way back to the horses.