The Wolfswood

294 AC

The fresh scent of pine and morning dew had filled the air.

Up high above, the thick grey clouds were shimmering in a dim pink as the sun had begun to peek its warm gaze along the thin white line of the horizon.

Even from within the ocean of trees, Starag Mormont felt its plain and loving glare on his face. It returned some feeling back to his skin, thawing it only just enough for the next few hours.

Then again, he realized that he wouldn't be staying that long. Soon enough, he'd call this little excursion quits, and then head back behind the towering granite walls of Winterfell. Regardless of if they'd found prey in the woods.

Today was his last day in Winterfell. At least, it would be for a long time. Mormont had no idea when he'd return, and he knew that with all that would be going on in his life, it wasn't likely to be very soon.

And as much as he wanted to stay for much longer, Starag Mormont knew that it was high time he got back to work. The settlement at Sea Dragon Point would not build itself, and neither would the port at Fisher's Ridge, or even the distillery he'd keep close to Bear Keep.

There was much work to be done. It all required a sufficient amount of planning and overseeing. His job, primarily.

So, Starag had chosen today to spend with the one person who had kept him company for the last six moons. The one person who had made him remember that he was loved and cherished by others than just himself. The one person who he'd miss the most once this was all over.

Riding at his side, Jon Stark kept his hands carefully placed on the wooden recurve bow in his lap. He was simply too small and weak to be using a full length longbow like the one slung on Starag's shoulders.

The boy had understandably tried to stand up for himself before they'd set out earlier that morning, but when Starag thrust the longbow into his hands, the boy could barely manage to fully draw the string back for a few seconds. Then, the taut cord had whipped against the soft flesh of his inner forearm.

After that painful experience, Jon didn't complain when he'd taken up the recurve. And he refused to talk about the red welt patch underneath his gloves.

And then, they'd gone out into the Wolfswood. Just before the crack of dawn. Mormont didn't have any particular game in mind initially, though he finally settled on bagging a rather large deer. Not so much for himself, but more so for Jon.

There was a sort of primal sensation he felt when he was out in the woods. It was the natural hunting and gathering aspect that his ancestors had taken to on Bear Island. In a way, it was the most human practice of all.

Far away from the large bustling cities and settlements, the loud and winding streets of King's Landing, or even the sheer audacity and size of Oldtown. Out here in the wild, Mormont felt truly at peace.

It was something he'd wanted to share with the boy before they both went back to their own, separate lives. Back to the normal and cruelly mundane life ahead of them…

What would Jon be doing? No doubt he'd continue training with Arthur. The Sword of the Morning would work his King to the bone, just like he'd done with Rhaegar and Mormont himself. The boy would become quite probably the best swordsman that Westeros had ever seen.

Perhaps he'd continue his relationship with Margaery. That was all but inevitable. There were some days that Mormont found the two of them joined at the hip. And, of course, Obara had informed him of their kiss back on Dragonstone.

The little player… He'd shaken his head with a smirk upon hearing that set of news. He was more than proud.

And even then, Jon had been walking the halls of Winterfell as a King would. Straight back, and head held high. Almost as if a new sense of confidence had been injected into him. Or had simply revealed itself.

Despite that, Jon still kept fiercely to his kind heart. He'd greeted the castle servants with the utmost affection, and would even thank them upon providing good service. Every time, Mormont had seen those people of the lower birth beam back at the boy, and even blush.

Mormont knew that the time would come when Jon would be told who he really was. Probably a year from now, he estimated. That's when Ned had said he'd planned to tell Jon. And Ned was a man of his word. If he said he was going to do something, he was going to do it no matter what.

But… all of that would be for another time. Right now, Mormont decided that he'd just need to enjoy what little time he had left with the lad. They'd catch a mighty big deer, and then go back to Winterfell and boast of it.

And that would be that.

"Uncle?" Jon asked suddenly, summoning Starag's attention. "I thought you said you hated archery."

Mormont smirked. "I do, but I love hunting." He patted the sturdy longbow slung across his shoulder. "There's nothing better than a good bow during a hunt. Even if you hate shooting."

Jon frowned in confusion. "But why would you use something you dislike? That doesn't make sense to me."

Those grey eyes flashed violet once again. Starag didn't answer the question as he heard something shift underneath the trees about twenty meters away. He stopped Bear in his tracks, and so did Jon.

"We'll leave the horses here." He said. "We'll go the rest of the way on foot."

They brought a sleigh and a third horse with them, so that neither or their own horses would have to carry both a dead animal on their backs as well. The hard and flexible wooden pad had slid effortlessly along the flat wet snow.

After disembarking, they continued on foot. Mormont had expertly knocked an arrow in preparation. The ninety-pound drawback of the longbow was seamless as he tested it for a moment.

He absolutely hated archery, though he couldn't deny that it certainly had its practicality and uses. A good warbow could take down an armored knight with a few well-placed arrows.

Their footsteps were light and padded on the fresh snow. It had fallen the night before and still had not hardened. It was more than a boon for sneaking up on any nearby prey.

Mormont decided to continue their conversation, of course. The boy had been patient. "Jon, there are going to be plenty of times throughout your life when you'll encounter something you dislike or don't even want to bother with." He said quietly, though he kept his eye focused on the treeline. "So, you may as well get used to it."

The boy had glanced up at him, but he was silent. Waiting for his uncle to continue.

Starag did so. "As for myself with bows…" He paused as he recalled the distant memory. "When I was old enough, my father took me out on a hunting trip for three days into the forest. Mother was terrified to death, as any woman would be, but my father wouldn't hear any of it."

"But when we were out there, all alone, he handed me the bow and said, "You are hunting for deer. Not we. You." and then took out his knife and began cleaning it."

Jon looked absolutely bewildered. "So he left you to do all the work?"

Mormont shook his head. "No. He was teaching me how to hunt. I was six at the time."

He continued. "For two days, I couldn't fire the bow to save my life and I didn't know what I was doing. Therefore, I didn't kill anything. All we ate was stale bread." The memory had come back to him hauntingly fast. How long ago had that been? "But on the third day, I came upon the tracks of a deer. I was excited, naturally. And when I saw it swimming in a pond, I took my shot."

The boy was rapt with attention. "And what happened?"

"I missed. Terribly." Mormont said nonchalantly. He was sure there was something nearby. Just up ahead through the trees, he could make out a sort of rocky overlook. It couldn't have been more than seven, or ten feet high. And just below it was a small grove.

"The deer was spooked and ran off. My father, however, was not angry about it. He simply took the bow from me and told me to find it again. He would let me shoot it when I found it." Starag continued telling the story as he glanced along the forest floor. There were massive hoof prints in the snow. Though they were not that of a deer. These definitely belonged to a boar. A big one.

He looked at Jon with a hard look. "What are these?" He asked and pointed to the tracks.

The boy gave the tracks a searching look for a few moments. "A boar I think. Seems it was here recently."

"Indeed." Mormont agreed with his observations. "So what does that mean?"

Jon sighed reluctantly. "If there's trouble, run away." He said with a knowing half-smile.

Starag nodded his head. "Good."

They continued on towards the overlook. Once they got there, they crouched on top of the rock edge and saw the monstrous and gnarled tusks tipped with blood and the large body of muscle and fat.

Truly, it was probably the largest boar Mormont had ever set his eye on.

Yet, despite the boar's gargantuan size, Starag had watched with great interest as he saw the beast limp noticeably. It was in such bad shape that it seemed to be dragging itself along the ground.

There were multiple bite marks along its hard exterior, each of them leaking torrents of red ichor. Something with jagged claws had raked open its flesh with ease, apparently. There was too much blood being spilled for it to have any chance at survival.

Fair enough that they'd caught such a creature. They'd just have to finish it off.

He looked to Jon. "It's all yours, lad."

The boy seemed initially disheartened by the amount of blood that had been trailed in the snow. Still, he nodded resolutely and then knocked an arrow on the drawstring of his recurve bow.

"Relax," Mormont said calmly. "Don't think of it like an animal. It is a target. Nothing more, nothing less." He slung up his own bow around his shoulders. "Fire on my mark."

Jon nodded firmly. This time, there was a thrilling determination in those grey eyes. He inhaled, and slowly pulled back the arrow, holding it steadily in place, pointed directly in the boar's direction.

The beast still didn't seem to notice them and had simply kept limping along. It would be a few more feet until it ducked behind some rocks for cover.

"Steady," Mormont said.

The boy's grip was unwavering. Good. He wouldn't miss.

"Now."

The arrow fired in a blindingly straight arc towards the badly wounded boar. It hit home directly into its chest, the weight of the impact had thrown the dying beast off its angle and sent it tumbling into the snow.

It was finished, but Starag had kept his hand on Longclaw's hilt just in case.

"I hit it!" Jon said with renewed vigor. "Did you see that?"

Mormont nodded with a fresh warm grin. "I did. Careful now, it might have some surprises left for us."

They made their way down the ridge and into the grove. There was much more blood trailing behind the beast than Mormont had anticipated. The animal must've been on its last legs in a desperate attempt to get away from… whatever had gotten it.

Still, the boar itself was a fearsome creature up close. It was a monstrous and ugly thing to look at, and the fresh red blood didn't do anything to help it in that regard. Were it not already half-dead, Mormont knew that no amount of arrows would have stopped the beast from running them down.

Mormont crouched over the dying beast. Its eyes fluttered lazily as it gasped harshly for one last breath of air.

Jon squatted next to him, and Starag took out his hunting knife and handed it to the boy. "You do the honors, lad."

He nodded again, though he was far more reluctant this time around. Jon took the knife and gripped it sturdily in his hand. Yet as he hovered it over the heart of the boar, he hesitated.

Mormont said nothing. He wasn't surprised that the lad was apprehensive at taking a life, even when putting one out of its misery. That was good. Very good. Starag had been the same.

He gently pressed his hand into Jon's and nodded. The boy looked at him with thankful grey eyes. Together, they plunged the deadly sharp knife deep into the boar's tough flesh, hearing the beast let out one last guttural gasp until the life behind its eyes faded away permanently.

Starag took the knife from Jon and got to work. They'd brought along cold and dry blankets to wrap the meat in.

It was bloody and time-consuming work, but perhaps an hour later, they had finished dissecting the boar, taking what they could from it. Starag didn't want to take the whole corpse back to Winterfell. He'd leave that for the wolves.

He'd put the wrapped bundles into his pack by the time he'd stood up and glanced around the clearing for Jon. He was surprised to see that the boy had gone to the other edge of the grove, following the thick trail of fresh red blood.

"Jon," Mormont called. The boy simply looked back at him with a mildly confused expression. "Where are you going?"

Those grey eyes had flashed amethyst once again. "I swore I heard something from down there." He said. "It was a… yelp, I think. Like that of a dog."

Mormont frowned. A dog? In the Wolfswood? Not likely. Dogs were more likely to be hunted down by the wolves or even the tree cats that lived in these woods.

Wolves… He glanced down at the carcass of the once-mighty boar. The large, jagged claw marks certainly looked like that of a wolf, though even wolves couldn't tear through that tough hide that easily.

His curiosity had been sufficiently ignited. What had gotten this boar? Now he was dying to find out.

Mormont looked back to Jon. Immediately, he began making his way over once he'd seen the boy jump down the edge of the clearing, further down the trail of blood.

He followed the thick red line, climbing down the same path of snow-covered stone steps that the boy had gone down.

Nearby, he heard the singing and rushing water of a small creek. The larger rocks in the water had caused ripples and tears in the silk blue stream. Along the bank, the red pathway had continued.

It was perhaps fifty or so feet later that he finally saw Jon standing on the edge of the running water, looking down at something. As he came closer, he saw the vivid shock and awe in the boy's grey eyes.

Mormont climbed up the final rocky step and finally saw what the boy was staring at.

By the Old Gods… He gulped in palpable tension as he saw it. And them.

It was definitely not a simple wolf that lay heaving in the blood-stained patch of snow. It was a full body of light grey fur with a crown of white for its head. Two yellow eyes looked right at him.

It was massive. Far bigger than the boar had been. It was nearly the size of a horse.

A Direwolf…

Then… There were six, much smaller crawling forms prancing around the corpse of their wounded mother. Five different bundles of fur in various shades of grey.

And the sixth?

Mormont felt a chill run up his spine as he looked down at the pup with the coat of snow-white fur and gleaming ruby-red eyes. No…

The vision that he'd experienced back in the Water Gardens had come back to haunt him right then at that moment. Especially towards the end, where he'd seen Jon standing out in the blizzard on the other side of the Wall. And at his side was the mountainous white wolf with those blood-red eyes.

So it had been the future that he'd seen… It was beyond speculation at this point. This was a confirmation of the days to come. Of the things he'd seen.

At first, he wondered if he should kill the pups. But then he thought better of it. What part would they play in the future? Perhaps… If Jon had seemingly tamed one, why not his cousins, too?

"Uncle…" Jon didn't really know what to say either. Especially when two of the pups had brushed softly against his feet. "W-what…"

Mormont didn't say anything, either. He simply looked into the twin yellow eyes of the mother. The life behind them was fading fast, yet he could see some kind of emotion behind them…

Pleading. Plain and honest supplication.

"Shit." That was all he could say. He ran a hand down his face as he contemplated his choices. This was definitely not what he had in mind for this morning.

Killing the direwolf and her pups would've been his first choice. They were more than dangerous beasts to be around, let alone keep as pets.

Yet… There was no mistaking it. The white wolf that now drank from the flowing stream was the exact same that he'd seen in his dream. It had the same coat, the same eyes, the same freezing gaze.

"Uncle…" Jon began slowly. When he looked at Starag, he was looking at him with petitioning dark grey eyes. "Surely we can take them with us?"

Mormont let out a heavy sigh. Ned's certainly not going to like this… He thought to himself.

He'd come to a decision right then. It was a roll of the dice, but that was what he was known for, after all. "You get the pups. I'll carry their mother. We'll take them back with us to Winterfell, alright?"

Jon nodded hastily and began picking up each member of the litter one by one. Meanwhile, Starag had staunched the bleeding in the fully grown direwolf's midsection. He held his knife just in case the beast would lunge at him. He might have just enough time to gut it before it ripped out his throat.

Yet… The beast did not attack him. She only whimpered softly as he bandaged up her wounds, and then hauled her up as gently as he could onto his shoulders.

She was by far one of the heaviest things he'd ever carried, but he knew he'd make it. Even when his muscles strained underneath her weight.

Once they got back to their horses, Mormont had given Jon a portion of the boar to feed to the pups, while he gave some to the mother wolf. It might've been her last meal, otherwise.

She fit on the sleigh with just barely enough space left over. Mormont strapped her to the wood so she wouldn't slide off, and hooked up Bear to help the extra horse.

Are you fucking nuts? Those big brown eyes asked him as they widened at the direwolf. Do you see what that is? I don't get paid enough for this shit.

"You'll get three apples when we get back," Mormont said. "That, and I'll have someone give you a rub down." He then remembered that they would be leaving later that morning. "Not to mention you'll get the rest of the day off."

Bear glanced at him, then at the direwolf, and then back at Starag for one final time. Alright… But it's got to be a good quality rub down. And the apples better be green. I like those ones the most.

"Done." Mormont patted his horse on the neck, so as to solidify their agreement. And to calm him as well.

They split the pups between them the two of them, in two groups of three. Mormont carried all of his in his arm while he had the other holding onto the reins.

Jon had slung his cloak over his shoulder in a clever swaddle of sorts. He placed each of the pups in the bundle and wrapped them up with their heads jutting out so they couldn't squirm out of the hold.

As they turned around and slowly made their way back towards Winterfell, he glanced down at the pups in his arm.

One of them was a shaggy little thing, but it was actually the darkest of the lot. He had inky black fur and bright green eyes. His paws were padding firmly against his sister.

Who, was in fact the smallest out of the litter. Her arms and legs were narrow and lean whereas the other's was more toned with muscle. Still, her glowing yellow eyes were healthy.

And then there was the white wolf.

Mormont couldn't help but look down at the snow-white pup in his arm. He stayed perfectly still and was ignored by his siblings as they rough-housed and tumbled in Starag's grip. His eye traced along with the triangular shape of the white pup's fluffy left ear. Until he finally found the ruby orbs.

The blood-red eyes were staring back up at him.