Love, Ghost thought, had the capacity to make man and beast alike into absolute fools.
It had to be love that made Jon, the head of this rather haphazard pack of theirs, take every chance to spar with his bannermen. It wasn't the sparring that was so odd, it was the fact that he'd do it bare-chested, his scarred torso on full display. And he did *that*, Ghost knew, because inevitably Silver Dany would wander near, like a moth to a flame, and then the next thing anyone knew they'd be sending everyone away to fuck like jackrabbits in the stables, or the armory, or whatever flat surface Jon could sort out on short notice.
It was all rather undignified, of course, and not nearly the secret those two seemed to think, but love made fools of everyone, even Kings and Queens.
It had to be love that made Rhaegal, stoic and somber and serious, dote and hover like a nursemaid over Drogon who allegedly now sheltered some mysterious magical egg within her enormous form, though Ghost had always found the proof to be in the pudding, so he would believe that tale when he laid eyes on the egg, please and thank you.
His green, scaly brother could barely be bothered to hunt with the wolf anymore, at least not for sport, his attention solely on one of the few other beings in the world who was perfectly capable of defending herself.
She reminded Rhaegal of this often, and with loud complaints peppered with some of the more choice Northern curses Ghost had taught her, but to no avail.
And it was most definitively love, albeit of a different sort, that had placed him in his current misery.
Jon and Silver Dany had decided, after they'd put down their enemies and Drogon and Rhaegal had leveled a place called the Red Keep, that there would be no lasting peace unless they tried to make allies of *all* the Kingdoms that remained, and so it was decided that they must go on something Jon's mate called a 'tour'; Ghost thought it might best be called a parade of absurdity, and he was the biggest fool of them all.
But he loved Sweet Aly. He would do anything for Jon's little pup, *his* little pup. Ghost was by her side every moment of every day. When the wee girl had taken her first faltering, doddering, stumbling steps, she had done so with her hands grasping his fur so tightly he thought she'd rip it out by the tiny handful.
Ghost loved Sweet Aly as if she were his pup to care for, and so he tried to behave.
When their procession of carriages and carts would arrive at village after endless village, it was always the same. The people would gather, a bit nervous and unsure when great, leathery wings would cast long shadows across the land below, but then Jon would hop off his horse, and Silver Dany would emerge from the carriage she detested riding in, save that it was a measure of protection for the small girl who rode inside with her mother.
No sacrifice was too great when it came to Sweet Aly's safety. Even Drogon and Rhaegal eschewed their normal desire for a bit of space when they would arrive at these small hamlets dotting the landscape, crowding close to the edges of towns and ignoring the acrid stench of fear that would inevitably hover over the place for at least the first day.
But Silver Dany could befriend just about anyone, Ghost reckoned, and it would only be a matter of hours before the wives and children would cluster about her, tales of those with dragon blood still told by those old enough to remember them that had come before, and soon fear would turn to grudging respect, and then…
Oh, and then Sweet Aly, who'd just passed her third year, would laugh, or dance about while one of the villagers would strike up a tune, and in short order they were all of them enchanted with this small family who commanded very large beasts.
He understood, as did his packmates of the non-human variety, that this was important. They were striking a balance, he knew, between fear and love. Oh, it might be easier going if wolf and dragon did not accompany their family, if they stayed out of sight, were less intimidating in their arrival.
But humans needed reminding, regularly, Jon had told him. They needed to remember that while Jon and his mate sought to rule in a kindly and just manner, it would be so very easy to snuff the life from their enemies, just as Drogon and Rhaegal and Jon and Silver Dany had done in a place called the Crownlands, while Ghost had remained behind to guard his most precious ward.
They needed to remember, Jon had said, exactly who it was they were dealing with.
When Jon had impressed upon him the need for Ghost, as the most…accessible…member of the pack, to lead the charge in this respect, the wolf had not entirely understood what that would require of him.
Unfortunately, in the Riverlands, that meant becoming unbearably sticky rather quickly. Masses of children, swarms of them, *plagues* of them would see Sweet Aly playing with him and it always devolved into a pile of giggling, messy faces that would plunge themselves into his fur and pull at his ears and tail, and it took all his will not to snap or nip, to play the part of a docile hound instead of a beast of war.
It made Sweet Aly so happy, though, to play with these awful little ruffians, and it made Silver Dany happy, and those conditions were quite necessary to Jon's own happiness. So he bore it, despite the prodding of Drogon when the village children would place a crown of flowers upon his head, or braid ribbons into his shaggy white coat.
In the end, he cared that his pack was happy, and safe. He loved them, all of them, but Sweet Aly most of all, even if it made a fool of him.
Today, in the sweltering spring humidity of these lowlands, he had grown quite sticky indeed, as honey had been procured and made into treats, and these treats had found their way into the hands of the children in this village, and those hands had made their way through his fur for hours.
Hours and hours.
He lay on his side under a large shade tree, on the banks of a river whose name he did not know, content though his fur stuck and pulled in myriad places, as Silver Dany and his wee girlpup waved farewell to the last of the children, mothers smiling over their shoulders at the Queen as they whisked their small ones into little stone homes to prepare for bed.
Success, he thought to himself, letting out a heavy, low groan, staring up at Jon's mate with doleful eyes, begging for assistance as she gave him a regretful once-over.
"Oh, Ghost, you poor dear." She leaned in close, smelling of fire, and Jon, and dragons, and home. "Let us get you set to rights." She glanced at Sweet Aly, who clapped her chubby hands together at her mother's words, already knowing what the Queen intended.
"Bath!" She began to chant it, dancing a silly little jig while her mother laughed. "Bath for Ghost! Bath for Ghost!"
Silver Dany shucked off her boots, rolling up her trouser legs and shedding her fine black tunic, tucking her shift in at her waist. She gave a nod, and Ghost heaved himself up, padding down the muddy bank and submerging himself in the river's embrace a few feet from shore.
Jon emerged from the treeline just as his mate began to wade in as well, Sweet Aly still watching with glee beside the tree, and he grabbed Silver Dany's attention with a birdlike whistle, approaching with a lazy smile and tossing her a rectangular bar.
"Begged it off a stablehand." Ghost fought another groan, catching the scent. Lye. He hated the smell, it irritated his nose until it faded, obscuring the more subtle scents around him for hours.
But, if he wanted to be clean, he'd have to bear this as well, so he gritted his teeth, holding very still as Silver Dany worked him over, crouching when she needed him to as she only barely reached the top of his shoulder when he stood at his full height.
When she carefully washed at his face, paying special care around his eyes and the sticky, matted fur along his muzzle, she whispered the one reassurance guaranteed to placate him.
"You've been such a good boy, Ghost, that I suspect you've earned yourself two very fat hogs for dinner."
He couldn't stop the hungry whine that escaped; she knew him too well, Silver Dany, especially his weaknesses. And just below the love he had for his pack was his love for a sweet, savory pig to feast upon after a long day of placating what seemed to be the world in exchange for his pack's safety.
Silver Dany laughed, looking up at the shore to see that Jon had swept Sweet Aly up onto his shoulders, sire and pup watching as Ghost was attended to. "How is it, Jon Snow, that I am tending to *your* wolf?"
Ghost knew she meant it in jest, but he gave her an offended snort all the same. Throwing the wolf a wink, she gave the brother of his blood a mocking, menacing glare, wet hands landing on her hips.
Jon merely smiled wider, walking a circuit and bouncing Sweet Aly who slid her small fingers over her father's eyes. Batting the girl's fingers away gently, Jon met his mate's eyes and gave a muted shrug.
"He won't hold still for me, Dany. Though I suspect that's got more to do with the pigs than anything else." Now it was his turn to look skeptical, staring between the woman and beast in the water.
Dany placed a protective hand on Ghost's head. "He deserves it, you silly man."
"He's just going to get messy again, you know." Sweet Aly squealed at this, merry as her father swung her down from his shoulders. Man and girl came closer, within feet of the water, as close as Jon dared go without his pup in his arms.
Sweet Aly directed her focus to Ghost, then, squinting at him in the dying twilight, oblivious to her parents' playful sparring. "Ghost can shake?"
He panted happily in response, letting his tongue loll out, checking his gaze back to Silver Dany who gave him a nod. "We're done, sweet boy."
Ghost ignored Jon's scoff; He could be sweet and good if he wished, but right now he would be messy, because this was Sweet Aly's favorite part. Sopping wet, river water streaming from his fur, he made his way up the bank a yard or so, turning and waiting for Jon and the girl to join him.
Jon kept his distance, wisely, but Sweet Aly scampered close, and Ghost waited, fighting the urge to do what she wanted until she was near enough and assumed what Jon liked to call her 'fighting stance', her feet spreading apart and her arms coming up, ready to cover her face for what came next.
"Shake, Ghost, shake!" Sweet Aly's wish was his command, and he began to shake the water from his body with great, twisting movements, sheets of water flying high and far, the girl screaming and laughing as she ran in circles, playing in the water as though it were all a great game.
When Sweet Aly laughed it was like a song, and Ghost looked back at Jon to find that Silver Dany had left the water to stand at Jon's side, their arms wound around each other, the dying sun revealing the wetness welling in their eyes as they watched their pup play with him.
"You really are a proper lad, Ghost," Jon finally said once Ghost had stopped, satisfied he'd worked all the water off that he could, leaving the rest of it for the night air to dispose of, and he looped an arm around Ghost's thick neck. Dany murmured her agreement, tucking herself in under Jon's other arm, her hand clasping Sweet Aly's as the wet girl grinned up at them all.
They made their way quietly up the trail to the village square, together, content, because they were a pack, and they were surviving.
And Ghost thought to himself, with his aching bones and hungry stomach, for the first time, that for this pack to be complete, he needed a pup of his own.
Silver Dany had made good on her promise, and under the cover of night Ghost had dunked himself once more into the flowing waters, ridding himself of the bloody mess his meal had made, thanking the Old Gods that blood washed out much more easily than honey.
He settled himself in for the night just outside the door of the room the three humans all shared, Jon and Dany opting more often than not to let Sweet Aly climb into their bed and snuggle between them in the night, assured of her safety and security between them both.
He slept, but it was fitful, and he could still feel the fog of sleep hanging heavy over him when he finally gave up on finding anymore rest curled up on the wooden floor. Silver Dany's horselords watched with respectful eyes as he glared at them in turn, willing them to understand that they would protect this room and the occupants inside or face his wrath.
The sky was still a steely gray, the sun not yet piercing the horizon, and it was as he crept on silent paws out of doors to relieve himself that he saw her.
Arya, the wolf sister. Arya had belonged to Ghost's sister once, but while Nymeria had shown herself in time for the fight against those icy fuckers, she had quickly disappeared, taking a pack that numbered in the thousands with her.
It hurt the girl, this much Ghost knew for certain. There had been several times, along the course of this tour, that the girl had curled up beside the white wolf before a blazing hearth, whispering to him how much she missed her own wolf, how she still dreamed with his wayward sister though they were parted, how she hoped one day the wild wolf would return to the fold.
Ghost wished for the same, but he doubted it would happen.
She did not act as though she'd seen him, perched like a cat on the wooden railing of the staircase, her eyes on the copse of trees a short distance away, the early morning mist coating everything in dew so that his legs were quite damp when he had finished tending to his business in a tall fringe of grass.
He cast his soul about, sensing that Drogon and Rhaegal slumbered on, likely not to awaken until the sun chose to, and made his way over to Jon's deadly little sister. He knew she'd sensed him, because the girl didn't miss a trick, near impossible to sneak up on even for one as silent as Ghost prided himself on being.
"Ghost." She gave him a whispered acknowledgement and a scratch along his jaw, tickling under his chin just like he liked best.
He stayed still as a statue, training his gaze to where hers remained, on the trees in the distance, when he caught a whiff of something on the wind, something familiar, that called to mind his days as a pup, before everything had gone to absolute shit before binding itself back together in the most wonderful of ways.
It smelled like pack.
It smelled like…
"Nymeria." Arya whispered once more, her face twisting with emotion when Ghost flicked his eyes towards her. "It's her, isn't it?"
She didn't wait for a response at all, leaping down onto the hardpacked earth below, her booted feet slapping the ground like the rhythm of a war drum, like the pounding of Ghost's heart as he followed close after, overtaking her midway there and forcibly pushing his body into hers.
Arya stumbled, staring at him with an open mouth and shocked eyes, but Ghost held firm, stopping her progress again when she made to go around him. She did not know what Ghost knew.
Nymeria was not alone.
Ghost huffed out an aggravated breath, wondering exactly how much trouble this was going to stir up. She'd brought that blasted pack with her, great in number, though as he felt his packmate come closer the teeming thousands that followed her remained behind, though still she wasn't completely alone.
The white wolf cast a glance back at the sleeping hamlet behind him, knowing it would be all shouts and screams if those common beasts were to descend on this place, and so he grudgingly began to walk towards the one who had come, Arya seeming to sense his cautiousness and mirroring his slow, steady pace.
And then she was there, larger than when he'd last seen her, his pack sister who had a soul as wild as the one within the girl beside him, and he stopped, allowing the girl to approach her wolf alone.
Nymeria was *hers* after all, though she was Ghost's through the bonds of blood and bone. But Ghost had learned that the bonds of the heart, the ties that bound their souls as one ran far deeper and stronger.
Ghost averted his gaze the moment the girl threw her arms around the grey wolf's neck, pretending he did not feel the swell of relief that seemed to radiate from Nymeria as she allowed herself to be embraced. He had wondered if she'd gone a bit too wild, had forgone the oaths the Old Ones had sworn to the blood of House Stark so very long ago, had forsaken the call of blood and pack, and gladness swelled within his heart at the confirmation that it had not, though he tried his level best to ignore it all.
Unlike some dragons he knew, he was capable of minding his own business.
He looked about in the direction where he knew said dragons were resting, unsure of how they would take to Nymeria and her monstrous pack this close to where their family lay sleeping peacefully.
"Brother." Nymeria dipped her head, the girl Arya's face buried in her neck, attempting a regality which was absurd with a human draped around her like a scarf.
"Fuck that," Ghost scoffed, chuffing and coming close to lick at her face, rubbing his muzzle against hers in real greeting.
Arya drew back as the wolves came closer together, allowing them space to circle and sniff and reacquaint themselves, a quiet peace settling over her as she looked on with a silent smile, seemingly content to be near her wolf.
"You've been busy, Ghost." There was a mocking edge in her words, and Ghost cocked his head to the side in confusion.
"Well that's a fine how do you do, and as a matter of fact I have been busy, sister. Quite busy, as it so happens."
Nymeria wrinkled her nose as she sniffed at him more deeply. "You smell like those awful beasts you consort with."
Ghost rolled his eyes. "Not this again." Nymeria had made no secret of her distaste with some of the newest members of Ghost's pack. "They're a sight better than the mangy excuses for wolves you run with, dear sister."
She gave him a sharp nip to his flank in warning, circling back around to stand before him nose to nose. "'Someone here who has business with you, brother." Twisting her head around, she barked a command and soon, emerging from the trees, came a trio of wolves far too large to be timber wolves like the sort that roamed these lands.
"These lands are mine, I will remind you. I trust your business will be completed soon?" Ghost let his eyes roam the approaching forms before glancing back at Nymeria with a put-upon sigh.
"The sooner the better for both of us I should think," he muttered, eyeing Arya quickly. "Except for her, I suspect. She misses you something terrible."
Now it was Nymeria who sighed, eyeing the girl closely, something regretful in the depths of her tawny eyes when she looked back at Ghost. "I cannot stay. I have my own pack to be tending to, and I cannot abandon them now."
Movement over Nymeria's shoulder drew his attention, and he felt a flicker of excitement when he realized he'd been right, these were direwolves with his sister, though where she'd found them he could not begin to say. There were few still beyond that broken, icy wall, but none this far south that he'd found.
And one of them, he noticed, looked exceedingly familiar.
Oh, yes, he knew this one, this great black direwolf with amber eyes, a lovely bitch he'd chanced across in the days following their Great War to the north, and when she narrowed her eyes at him in return he knew she remembered as well.
"Lily, as I live and breathe!" Gold eyes traveled his form, and he straightened proudly, preening and puffing up for her inspection.
"Shocking, really, that you remain both living *and* breathing." Oh, but she was a sharp-tongued thing, this sable-furred vixen he'd spent several enjoyable days with. It was one of the things he'd liked most about her, this black wolf with her hard, icy heart, so much like his own.
But his had thawed since they'd last met, and he let his tail wag happily, even as she chuffed in irritation at the movement. He saw the flicker of amusement in those yellow depths, so he let her rebuke pass unchecked, his attention snatched away again as he scented something strange.
When she peered down at her side, at the cream-colored little body winding through her legs in nervous excitement, he thought, for the first time in his life, that his heart might beat itself right out of his chest, or stop completely.
It would be one or the other, he knew, because this was a pup, though it was no newly-whelped babe. A girl pup, who looked to be at least a year along, beginning to grow gangly and long limbed though she could still easily walk under her mother's body to tuck herself away from his gaze.
"As I said," Nymeria drawled from beside him, "you've been busy, brother."
"Mine?" The question escaped on a gasp, and he found himself short of breath, almost dizzy, his eyes drinking in every hair and tuft of fur, and then the girl pup looked at him and he wanted to weep for it.
Her eyes, of such startling green that they looked to be hewn from emeralds, the clear, warm green of a spring meadow, stared back at him with an odd mix of fear and wonder. "Green eyes." He looked from Lily to Nymeria, joy building in his chest. "This one is touched by the Old Gods."
"She is," Lily agreed, "and she can no longer stay under my care."
Ghost's head whipped up to look at his pup's mother, though he was reluctant to take his eyes off this little furry miracle for even one second, hungry to look upon her and examine her and teach her all that he knew. "What'd you mean?"
"She is not meant to be mine any longer. She is your charge now, Ghost of Winterfell." The black wolf crept in close, a snarl building. "You will protect her or I shall hunt you down and leave what's left to the vultures."
The white wolf let out a nervous chuckle. "Right, then. No pressure at all." He swallowed, eyeing the pup as her mother retreated to push her towards Ghost with her nose, the smaller wolf finally overcoming her lingering hesitation to come close and sniff at her sire curiously, and it was the most wonderful thing Ghost had ever experienced.
"I have something for the girl, as well." Nymeria's words broke through his rapturous entrancement, and he listened as best he could, wanting to wriggle with glee just as Sweet Aly did when the pup circled him then sunk low, her haunches up, leaping and nipping at him as she sought to play.
When he finally broke his gaze from his very own pup he found Nymeria staring at Arya with something approaching mourning in her eyes. She chuffed, low in her throat, and from behind one of the other direwolf bitches came much smaller pup, just weaned from the size of her, another girl pup but this one no whelp of Ghost's.
This was Nymeria's pup, and even the air seemed to still as the breeze died suddenly, the sun rising just enough to wash them in golden rays of light as she picked the squirming pup up by the scruff of it's neck, her teeth so very gentle as she slowly approached the girl who had been hers.
Arya seemed to understand the moment Ghost did, and she began to weep even as she smiled, her head bowing as she took the pup with tender hands, her voice breaking as she addressed Nymeria for what Ghost suspected might be the final time.
"Thank you, girl." Arya sniffed, her hands unable to wipe at the stream of tears that coursed down her cheeks, and it didn't matter then, because Arya loved Nymeria just as Jon loved Ghost, and saying goodbye to those you loved was a painful thing, like being stabbed in the heart, like being locked away, helpless. "But I shall miss you even still."
Nymeria came so close that her nose touched the tip of the girls, and she sweetly licked away the girl's tears. "Watch them for me, Ghost. Take care of them. I'm trusting you, brother."
"Of course," Ghost choked out, his own chest tight though it was filled with a father's joy, because he had said goodbye to all his packmates but this one, and it made a sharp pain lance through his soul, though he knew it was for the best.
Nymeria walked back, her eyes locked on those before her, the pack she had left behind, and she turned, retreating and flanked by the last direwolves in Westeros.
She did not look back.
Ghost watched until he could not see her anymore, and in his heart he said goodbye to his sister. This pain, though, this ache that such farewells brought, was eased when his eyes fell on his little green-eyed pup, with fur the color of cornsilk.
"C'mon then, Ghost." Arya cleared her throat, her tears drying, her pup held tight to her chest. "Let us give them a proper welcome."
When Jon's sister made to take her little pup inside, Ghost demurred, leading his little lass back out into a nearby clearing, glad to finally be alone with this little life that he had created.
Oh, but she was a beautiful thing, the promise of a great and fearsome wolf still dormant in her fluffy, fuzzy coat, her eyes still round and curious, ears pricking up at each new sound, as if everything was a discovery.
He could not remember ever being filled with such pride, such a bone-deep sense of contentment, save, perhaps, for hours spent at his Sweet Aly's side, and he realized quite suddenly just why Nymeria and her pack had come; This pup's purpose was clear to him.
"You shall belong to Sweet Aly, my little lass." His pup, in return, said not a word, only panting and smiling and rolling around in the still-damp grass before catching a mouthful of the green blades and munching happily.
"Oh, yes, that's good, nothing like a bit of roughage, eh?" Still nothing, though she titled her head and him curiously, her creamy fur gilded in golds and pinks in the rising morning sun. "Keep the old system in tip-top shape."
He squinted his red eyes at her when still she kept her silence, but he thought perhaps she was still a bit unnerved, being in a new place and all, settling in with a new family.
And it was with that thought that he felt a stirring, deep within. Rhaegal was awake.
"Come with me lass," he said, stalking exaggeratedly and crouching low so as not to be seen in the tall grass, laughing inwardly when she mimicked him, as silent as he on her soft paws. "And whatever you do, don't be afraid."
The first lesson Ghost learned, as father to a partly grown pup, was not to suggest there was something to be afraid of. His pup had been on edge from the moment she'd spotted those great scaly forms, Rhaegal spotting them and seeming to know that he ought to stay very, very still, no doubt discerning that he was very much in the company of another.
She was a brave little ball of fur and claws and bright green eyes, for though she tensed and had to be coaxed into approaching Jon's great dragon, she hid her fear well, curiosity beginning to spark to life when it became obvious that Rhaegal did not mean her any harm.
And, for his part, Rhaegal had realized the situation in short order, his eyes growing comically large, heat radiating from his body as he shifted just barely, adjusting his wings to fit more tightly to himself, perhaps to make himself smaller, less intimidating. He knew, of course he knew, that this was Ghost's pup.
"Oh, my. Oh, my my my." He looked between the wolves, one white as snow and one a creamy ivory, one with eyes of ruby and the other with eyes like emeralds. "You've done it, old chap. You've really done it!" He gave a great, gusty exhale, both wolves finding their fur blown back, the pup Ghost's side letting out a startled yelp and scurrying behind her father's large frame. She peeked her head above her father's shoulder meekly. "My word, what a lovely little thing she is."
He felt warmth bloom anew in his chest, knowing the dragon truly was happy for him, a joy shared by two now, the threads that bound their souls positively dancing with delight. "Aye, isn't she though?" Ghost looked fondly back at his pup. "It's all right, lass, you'll get used to the breath. They're dragons, you see?"
Slowly, ever so slowly, one small paw at a time, his girl crept forward, until only a foot of space lay between her and the green dragon. And Rhaegal, thoughtful, kind Rheagal, whispered gently so as not to frighten her further. "You can come closer and smell, if you like. I won't eat you up, you have my word."
Green eyes, so full of blind, loving trust that it shook Ghost to his core, met his, and he gave the pup an encouraging nod. "Aye, he's part of our pack. You have no need to fear him." Still, she hesitated, giving a delicate sniff in the dragon's direction but unsure, intimidated by the warmth that radiated from the great scaled beast, by the smell of fire and brimstone that escaped his snout with each breath. "We're brothers, you see."
The pup gave a whine, still no words to be found, but it didn't matter a whit to Ghost, because his brave little lass closed the last bit of distance then, nosing at Rhaegal's muzzle for several seconds before pulling back and sneezing, thrice, in rapid succession.
"That bit takes some getting used to as well, lass." He screwed up his own nose. "Smell a bit like a furnace, don't they?" The pup's head tipped to the side, confused. "Aye, you don't know what a furnace is, do you?"
The pup let out a tiny chuff then set to work in a real exploration of Jon's dragon, sniffing every inch of grassy ground that surrounded the green-scaled beast, from snout to tail and back 'round again, already careful not to disturb the black dragon that slept on nearby.
"Can she not speak, Ghost?" Rhaegal whispered the question when the pup lingered at the tip of his spiked tail, clearly concerned but not wishing to offend.
"Suppose not." Ghost shrugged. "Can't say I remember at time when I didn't, but I'm sure there was one. Mayhap Jon taught me." He gloried anew at the sight of his flesh and blood as she crept back to her father, coming to nuzzle her face into his side. She had just curled herself up against his haunches when another voice came, this one much less friendly and clearly rankled at having her slumber interrupted.
"Well, well, well." Ghost braced himself, this introduction being the only one he was a trifle nervous about. The black dragon let out a great, booming yawn, rising on all fours, large talons digging into the ground as she took in the scene before her. "What have we here, pony dog?"
She pressed on, her amber eyes glowing bright in the morning sun, afire from within, her voice curious but edged with friendly suspicion. "Can it be? Has the mighty Ghost finally proven he is, in fact, a wolf of his word?" She peered at the creamy ball of fur that seemed determined to tuck itself under him, his pup shying away from the largest dragon in all the world as she advanced on them both. "A girl," she hummed serenely, her large nostrils flaring as she inhaled the combined scent of sire and pup. "I shall sing praises to your Old Gods myself, that they have spared us another packmate who thinks more with his-"
"Ah, ah, ah," Rhaegal tutted. "Not in front of the pup, my dear."
"Yes," Ghost interjected, "we wouldn't want her to pick up on your terrible habits, would we?"
Drogon glared at a him, a rumbling building in her chest, but when she saw the pup shiver at the sound she quieted. "Come here, girl," she entreated, trying for a softness that he had not expected from this dragon of Silver Dany's. "Let me look upon you."
There, under the bright blue sky, in the heart of the Riverlands, his only pup seemed to take a deep, steadying breath, and then she obeyed the dragon's command. She took small, halting steps, but she did not pause, and his soul stirred once more with unbidden pride at her bravery.
"Good girl," Drogon whispered, when the pup was close enough to place two paws upon one large, talon-tipped foot, and he was amazed at the gentleness in the dragon's voice. "You're a brave one, aren't you?" Now, both Rhaegal and Ghost peered at each other in surprise. The black dragon was practically cooing at his pup, lowering her snout obligingly so that the creamy, gangly pup could rub her muzzle against the heated scales. "Much better looking than your father, which is a blessing for us all."
Ghost sighed. "I'll have you know I'm considered quite handsome amongst my kind." He looked at his pup, whispering forcefully, "Don't listen to her, love." He paused exaggeratedly, letting his eyes grow wide. "She doesn't even eat her food bloody, burns all the flavor right out of it. I wouldn't trust her in matters of taste."
Drogon ignored him. "Haven't you got anything to say, girl? A greeting is customary."
His pup stared up at the dragon mutely, before swinging her head around to look at Ghost.
"She doesn't speak yet."
Drogon looked again at the pup, pondering Ghost's words. "Ahhh," she finally sighed. "Perhaps she is just…simple. She does have *you* for a sire, after all."
"Ignore her, lass," Ghost muttered between gritted teeth, the pups head swinging between white wolf and black dragon as they exchanged jests, "I fear she's got a tiny little brain in that overly-giant head of hers." He smiled down at his wee girl. "You'll speak soon enough, I'm sure of it."
His fluffy pup gave him a lick on his check then sunk down on to her haunches once more, this time in front of Drogon, who gave both wolves a surprised look. She issued forth a stream of little yips to the black dragon, prancing this way and that, darting in to nip playfully at Drogon's snout before dancing back on her small paws, waiting expectantly as she stared at the massive beast with inquisitive green eyes.
"Is she mad?" Drogon chuckled, though she tried her best to sound exasperated. "What is she doing?"
It was Rhaegal who answered. "She wants to play." The green dragon gave a contented sigh, curling up close to Ghost so that he could watch the scene unfold. "Such temerity. I do admire such boldness, don't you?"
If Drogon agreed with her mate, she did not get a chance to voice such, as a commotion from behind caused them all to turn and look for the source, human voices raising in excited crescendo as the village behind them rose to greet the day.
But Ghost already knew what he would find, and now the joy in his heart, the peace in his soul was tripled where it had only been doubled, for Jon stood now on the stairs of the Inn, a wide grin breaking across his face when gray eyes met red.
And when Jon gave a shout towards the interior of the building, Ghost knew who he summoned forth, pleased to see Jon's Queen and his Sweet Aly emerge, still in their bedclothes, rubbing their eyes and squinting in the bright rays of the morning sun.
And when the little trio descended the stairs, Sweet Aly squirmed so much in her mother's arms that Silver Dany was forced to let her loose, both the small girl's parents giving chase as the lass made haste to join the dragons and wolves, crying in dismay when Jon caught up with her and scooped her up into his arms.
No, these things were not surprising to Ghost.
What was, surprising, what threatened to knock him straight back onto his furry arse, was the furry streak that shot out from beside him, his pup heading straight for the little girl who twisted in Jon's grip, something happening that he had not anticipated, not yet at least.
For Ghost, when he had been found, when Jon had named him as his own, had not sought such a fate. He had been swept into this purpose through the ebb and flow of fate and destiny, but he had been so very small, and weak, and tired, and hungry, that he had made no decision of his own. Jon had simply been his, from the moment he'd plucked him from the snows near his dam's dead body, near frozen and starved to death himself.
But his pup, perhaps because she was a bit older than he'd been, more aware of the world around her, having had a mother to guide her and teach her, showed no hesitation at all.
She made a beeline for Ghost's other pup, for Jon's sweet little babe, and if wolves could truly cry he imagined he might become the sort of blubbering, sloppy mess these humans made of themselves each time they engaged in the humiliating task. Something was happening, he knew, something quite important, something building and charging the air.
Wolf and girl stopped, just before they collided, and stared at each other for a very long time. None dared speak; Not Jon and Silver Dany, who clasped hands tightly and looked on in wonder, nor the villagers who'd also begun to rouse for the day, and stopped in their tracks to witness the spectacle. Even Arya, her pup squirming in her grip just as Sweet Aly had in her father's, stood motionless and smiling.
Then Sweet Aly clapped her chubby hands together, and the wind began to whip around them, the curls escaping her silver braids creating a halo of light around her face, and Ghost had the sense that for his little charges none others existed in that moment, only them.
"Their souls call out to each other," Rhaegal intoned quietly beside him, a strange pronouncement of the sort he had taken to making since before he'd left off with Drogon to make his alleged magical eggs.
But he was right.
Ghost could feel the magic of the Old Ones riding on the breeze, causing the trees to sway and stir, wrapping around them all in a powerful embrace, and he did not think he could move even if he wished to, not just then.
The girl did have power, tremendous power, just as his green brother had said, but Ghost had not felt the extent of it until now.
"Bear," she exclaimed brightly, before closing the remaining space between the two and wrapping her small arms around the pup's neck, giggling when the pup unleashed such a fury of kissing licks to the girl's face and hair that soon both were on the ground wrestling around, Sweet Aly's melodic laugh and his pup's happy little yips filling the air.
With a patience that belied her usual nature, Sweet Aly stood then, her hair a mess of silver, her face streaked with dirt and her little nightgown streaked with grass and dew. And she stayed very, very still while the pup she called Bear inspected her carefully, her small black nose hovering over the girl, examining her with careful inspection.
"Mama," the girl whispered, giggling when the pup nosed at her neck, "look!" She turned her head to look at Silver Dany, who smiled at the pair and came closer, slowly, not wishing to disturb the two in the middle of an obvious introduction. "Is Bear!"
"No, sweetling," Silver Dany chuckled. "This is a wolf, not a bear."
"Mama!" Sweet Aly frowned, and shook her head forcefully. "Is Bear! Ice Bear! Story!" She stamped her little feet and crossed her arms, though Ghost was a bit mystified by the cause of her aggravation. He supposed the girl was right, his pup did look a bit like the great, white bears that frequented the Northern, icy wastelands, but he was fairly certain his Sweet Aly had never actually seen one.
"Her eyes, Jon." Silver Dany knelt before the pair, looking closely at Ghost's pup. "Look at her eyes."
Jon came close as well, his hand falling on his mate's shoulder. "Touched by the Old Gods. That is how you know, in the North." He whispered to Silver Dany, but Ghost could hear him loud as day. Jon understood what it meant, and that pleased him greatly. "Green eyes, Red eyes, and eyes of gold. These are the mark of the Old Gods." Jon gave Ghost a proud smile. "And now, look. We've got some of each!"
Sweet Aly was deeply unconcerned with what her parents discussed, and she lay a small hand on the top of the pup's head. "Name is Bear." She stared hard between her parents, as though she would brook no argument in this, and Ghost spied the corners of Jon's mouth twitch. "Like story." She nodded with emphatic surety, and it was then that Silver Dany's eyes widened in apparent comprehension.
"The story book Sam gave her. That's what she means."
Jon nodded slowly then knelt as well, level now with both girl and pup. "I see," he said seriously. "Aye, she looks like that bear, doesn't she?" Jon's head tilted to the side. "But you know she's not a bear, don't you love? She's a direwolf, like Ghost." His eyes flicked up, meeting Ghost's. "That's Ghost's pup, come to see you."
"*My* pup," Sweet Aly said, hugging the pup's head closer to her as she addressed her father gravely. "Name is Bear, Papa." The girl peeked sweetly at the fluffy pup who sat gamely beside her. "She said."
Slowly, Jon nodded, hiding his amusement so as not to offend the small girl before him. "I see." He spared a look at Silver Dany, who shrugged and nodded. "Well, that's settled then, and a fine name." Jon stood, finally looking about to find the entire village gathered behind them little family, his eyes finally settling on the man who cut up all the meats, who'd delivered Ghost's delicious pigs just the night before. "Perhaps you would assist the Queen and Princess in finding a meal for our wolf?"
Jon turned back and stared at Ghost, his lips finally curling up as Silver Dany and Sweet Aly scurried off to find his pup something to fill her rumbling stomach.
"You, come with me."
Jon came to a stop on the hillside, the sun still rising, and he settled himself down, his knees bent, his arms bracing him on each side. He tipped his chin to the space beside him, and Ghost came, settling down as well, relishing the quiet moment where it was just the two of them, like it used to be.
"Things were easier then, weren't they lad?" Jon laughed quietly, clearly of the same mind as his wolf. "But far, far lonelier. Just the two of us, alone in the world save for each other." He leaned into Ghost's side, his breath fanning the fur there with each exhalation. "Aye, can't say I miss those days much anymore." His oldest companion was quiet, contemplative.
"Now you are a papa as well, aren't you lad?" Ghost let out a grunt of agreement at Jon's question, a sense of completeness, though unfamiliar, warming him from the inside out in the lingering morning chill. "You have given me a great comfort."
The white wolf pulled back in confusion, staring at Jon, willing him to explain until finally the man's gaze was upon him. "We will not be here forever, Ghost. And when we are gone," he trailed off, his jaw clenching, his hands fisting in the grass, "now I know they shall have each other, too. Just like us."
Now, he understood, though it filled him with sadness, this prospect that there would come a day when he would not be here for Jon, or Silver Dany, or his Sweet Aly. But it *was* a comfort, he realized, that his little wolf pup named Bear would be here to watch over his sweet girl, even when he could not.
So, he whined in agreement, licking at the tear that escaped Jon's eyes and wandered slowly down his cheek. "Yes," Jon said gruffly, his arm wrapping around Ghost's neck as the man pulled the white wolf closer, "a great comfort indeed."
Jon pushed on, clearing his throat, straightening to meet Ghost's eyes. "I do hope that, wherever her dam is, you might chance upon her again someday." Ghost narrowed his eyes. "For I suspect that Dany's got another babe to come, lad, and perhaps that babe shall need a protector as well."
Ghost gave a yelp of surprise. Exactly how many bloody babes did he mean to put in Silver Dany? He was only one wolf, Old Gods preserve him, though he couldn't say he begrudged the idea of making another pup with the lovely Lily.
On the other hand, he couldn't exactly blame the brother of his blood. Pups were work, of that he was certain, but they were awfully fun in the making.
He was, perhaps, more surprised that he had not noticed, though he had been so busy with Sweet Aly that such state for Jon's mate, while unsurprising given their constant practice at making babes, had caught him unawares.
Jon sighed, plucking a blade of grass and clutching it between his teeth, nudging Ghost's shoulder with his own. "D'you know, I reckon the sort of wolf who makes such a proper little pup as that, ought to be entitled to a special reward."
Ghost straightened, pushing out his chest, adopting what he hoped was a proud, noble stance. His pup was most glorious, this was true, the most beautiful pup Gods and man alike would ever dare lay eyes on. He was reserving judgment on the dragons.
They made up their own minds, always.
Jon stood, brushing off his trousers, giving Ghost in scratch in that most special spot, just below his ear but right above his great jawbone, and the man laughed like the boy he had once been when Ghost's hind leg set to thumping.
"Let's go see if they've got anymore pigs about, lad." Jon began to walk, knowing Ghost would follow behind, the guard at his back, the silent protector who lay in wait for any who meant him or his pack harm. "Today is a day to celebrate."
Off in the distance, the dragons roared their agreement, and as the sun shone above, and the green grass of spring grew below his paws, Ghost could not help but agree.
And beast though he may be, and a fool by even greater measure, he loved, and that was enough.
His pack was complete.
For now.