Winterfell, The North
Jon
"C'mon, Jon! We're going to be late!" The tall girl complained, as her brother was putting on his fur coats. He rolled his eyes - She always got like this when their father wanted to take them out of the castle. Not that he could blame her: Their mother hardly ever let her out of the castle. Even as a bastard like him, Catelyn made sure she was taught the basics of how to be a proper lady.
From the looks of it, Jon didn't think those lessons left a mark on her. He couldn't think of a single time he'd seen her sister in a dress. Even when other nobles were coming to visit, she'd still be in pants, often covered in mud and dirt just like the boys. She'd skip out on her lessons whenever she could, finding Septa Mordane's lessons an utter bore.
"Did father say you could come this time?" Jon asked.
"Of course he did," Lyanna Snow replied, a playful smile on her face as she donned her coat, "Why wouldn't he?"
"Does mother know?" He pressed.
"You say that as if she doesn't want me out of the castle whenever she can," A ponytail of hair so black it looked blue swished behind her, and bright blue eyes sparkled with anticipation over a mischievous smirk. "Now, are you ready?"
"I've been ready for five minutes," Jon teased, pulling his cloak tighter, "I've been waiting for you."
"Oh, for The Seven's sake," She rolled her eyes, moving for the door, "You're just as bad as Bran."
Jon smirked, and moved for the door. His sister beat him there, as she always did. She was easily the fastest of all the children in Winterfell, always had been. She was also one of the best fighters in the castle, too, even as a girl. Every boy tried to prove themselves against her, and each one ended up on their rear in the dirt. Only Jon had been able to make their duels close, and he was half-convinced that it was only because he was her favorite brother. Their master-at-arms was initially skeptical of letting a girl train with them, but after so many sessions, he considered her his star pupil. Their mother disapproved of such brazen behavior, but father allowed her to practice as much as she wished.
Bastards needed to know how to defend themselves. Especially the women.
They went outside, buffeted by the cold air that remained a constant in The North. The first flurries of snow were already starting to fall, as they made it down to the courtyard. Even during the Summer years, snowfall was a regular occurrence, and harvests had to be quick and bountiful to make it through the hard, cold Winters.
Down below, their father and brothers were already gathered. Ned was helping Bran onto his horse, while Robb was already mounted and ready to go. They all noticed their arrival, and Bran called out, "Took you two long enough! We've been waiting here forever!"
"I tried to hurry her as best I could," Jon sighed with exaggeration, mounting his horse, "But you know how girls are."
"Seven Hells," She retorted, "Who do you think I am, Sansa?"
"Enough," Ned ordered, ending their bickering, "We're already running late. Let us ride."
The children smirked or rolled their eyes as they rode out. None of the boys actually disapproved of her being there. Jon was sure they all thought she was their favorite sister, even compared to young, adventurous Arya. As far as they cared, she was one of the boys, and her being a bastard like Jon just gave her the freedom to do as she pleased. That their father allowed her and encouraged her to learn how to defend herself and pursue such things only added to the air of favoritism.
They rode for most of an hour, heading to the edge of the nearby woods where a patrol had set up camp. They had caught several deserters from the Night's Watch, and had brought them to Winterfell for the Starks to execute. It was their father's responsibility to kill them, and he wanted them to witness that responsibility.
After all, aside from himself and Lyanna, one of them would take his place in time. They needed to prepare themselves for what it meant to be Lord Paramount of the North.
Three prisoners awaited them, surrounded by several soldiers. They were deserters of the Night's Watch, trying to make their way down south to King's Landing. A foolish, desperate plan, made by foolish, desperate men.
One of the men was already on his knees, his chest pressed against a tree stump. As Ned dismounted, the man called out, "I know I'm a deserter, but I know what I saw. They were White Walkers - By Old Gods and New, I saw White Walkers. They're coming for us, for all of us."
Jon and Lyanna glanced at each other, his sister raising a quizzical eyebrow. Prisoners would sometimes spout nonsense just before they were executed, hoping to lie their way into importance and a stay of death. Their father considered the man's words, as he dismounted and approached.
"Your punishment remains the same," Ned said solemnly, "You abandoned your brothers, and broke your oath."
"At least I'll die feeling the last warmth of summer," The man said, as he placed his head on the stump.
Eddard nodded, pulling out Ice, his Valyrian steel blade. Resting it in front of him, he intoned, "I, Eddard Stark, Lord Paramount of the North, in the Name of Robert Baratheon, First of His Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar and First Men, sentence you to die."
With that, he lifted his sword up. "Don't look away," Robb whispered to Bran, as they all watched. With a mighty swing, the sword arched and came down, cleaving the man's head from his body. The head rolled briefly downhill before coming to a stop, the wide, vacant eyes staring up at them. The head and body were taken away by the guards, and other deserters were brought forth to meet their fate. One by one, they all met the same fate.
"Were those men lying?" Bran asked, "About why they left?"
"They were about to die," Ned said, "What reason would they have to lie?"
"So it's true then?" He asked, "The White Walkers are real?"
Ned said nothing, and as he mounted his horse, they started their journey back home. Jon pondered that question as they went. The Others, the White Walkers, they were just myths and legends - stories to tell children on long summer nights. No one had ever seen one in thousands of years. The men had to be lying, surely. But like his father said, they knew they were going to die, so why bother with a mummer's farce?
As they rode back, something was up with Lyanna. Her gaze was continuously drawn to the woods to the south, her body tense and alert.
"What is it?" Jon asked.
"I can sense… something." Lyanna answered, her brow furrowed. She tilted her head, as if hearing a distant song. "I think I hear something. It sounds like a person, and yet it also sounds like… something else."
Jon listened. The forest was quiet, save for the rustling of the trees, the hoof steps of their horses, and the chirping of birds. There was one birdcall that he didn't recognize, though.
"Pip-lup! Pip-lup!"
"There it is again!" She said, looking at the woods to their left, "It's close. It sounds like someone calling for help." Her gaze zoned in on something small, shuffling through the brush. "There!" She declared, pointing.
Jon looked. To his astonishment, something shuffled out of the bushes. A large, bluish bird the size of a large chicken, came out frantically, waving its wings at the party.
"What in the seven hells is that?" Robb asked, speaking everyone's mind.
"Pip!" The bird cried, "Piplup-Piplup!"
Lyanna squinted, tilting her head curiously. "Wait, slow down," She called out, "What are you saying?"
"Piplup! Pip-pip-piplup!"
Her expression hardened in realization and understanding. The other riders had come to a stop, staring at Lyanna or the strange bird in confusion and alarm. She pointed her horse over to the forest, moving to the trees and the strange creature.
"Lyanna!" Ned shouted, turning to follow her, "Where are you going?! Come back!"
The girl ignored him. The Piplup, noticing this, quickly went back into the brush. Lyanna followed, guiding her horse through the thick foliage and trees. The rest of the train followed after them.
A few minutes later, they entered a clearing. In the middle of this was a massive she-wolf, dead and laying in a puddle of its own blood. An antler jutted out from her chest, a point having pierced the heart or lungs. The Starks came to a halt, recognizing the beast for what it was.
"That's a direwolf," Ned observed, moving around the corpse, "I haven't seen one this far south in years. What was it doing here?" Jon thought back to the warning the deserter gave them, and as he looked up at Robb, he knew his brother was thinking the same thing.
"There's a whole litter of pups over here!" Robb announced, rounding the body and dismounting. He checked them out, picking one up. "They're frozen solid. They all must've died during the night."
"How many pups?" Bran asked.
"Eight," Robb said, standing back up. His expression darkened, as he made a realization. "That's-"
"All of us," Jon said, "Every Stark child in Winterfell, and Father." The boys looked at each other, all thinking the same thing.
"There's a girl over here!" Lyanna called out from the edge of the clearing. The Starks looked in her direction. There, underneath a large, snow covered tree, was a girl who seemed poorly dressed for the cold. She wore a white jacket far too light to keep out the cold, oddly shaped shoes, a skirt that only covered half of her pale thighs, and a woolen beanie over long bluish hair nearly the same shade as Lyanna. Next to her was a large wooden box that had spilled to the side, with hay scattered around eight gallon-sized containers, each holding an egg within.
"She's still alive," She announced, taking off her cloak, "But she's cold as ice. We should get to Maester Lewin immediately."
"The eggs," The girl murmured, shivering and barely conscious, "Save… the eggs…"
Lyanna looked at Jon, but he was already grabbing the containers, wrapping them in his cloak. Robb came over, and together they lifted her up to her horse. The bird - the Piplup, for lack of a better name - hopped up, somehow jumping onto the horse and climbing into the girl's lap.
"Girl, can you hear me?" She asked, as they started heading back to the trail, "What's your name?"
Blue eyes the same shade as her hair opened lazily, glancing up at her. "Dawn," She whispered, "My name is Dawn…"