Author's Note:

This chapter follows chapter one of A Game of Thrones, Including some parts that are word for word. Future chapters of this story will include multiple chapters from the books. I plan on using a mix of the books and the show, ending with season eight of GoT. So, spoilers for both GoT and ASoIaF. All rights go to G.R.R.M and HBO.

It was a cold day in Winterfell. Matthew Snow waited for the execution to begin. The man was of the Night's Watch, a deserter. Lord Eddard Stark was at the front of the party. Deserting the Night's Watch was a crime punishable by death and, in the North, it was strongly believed that the man who passes the sentence should swing the sword.

The oldest of the Stark children were there; Bran was the youngest, at the age of ten; Robb was seventeen, the oldest trueborn Stark; Jon, Ned's bastard, was also seventeen; as was Matt, a ward of Ned's and Rickard Karstark's bastard; last came Theon Greyjoy, another ward from Lord Balon Greyjoy of the Iron Islands. He was nineteen.

Jon was whispering something to Bran.

"Keep the pony well in hand," he whispered. "And don't look away. Father will know if you do."

Ned dismounted his horse. Theon handed him his sword, Ice. Ned peeled off his gloves and handed them to Jory Cassel, the captain of his household guard. He took hold of Ice with both hands and said, "In the name of Robert of the House Baratheon, the First of his Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, by the word of Eddard of House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, I sentence you to die." He lifted the greatsword high above his head.

He took off the man's head with a single sure stroke. Blood sprayed out across the snow, as red as summerwine. One of the horses reared and had to be restrained to keep from bolting.

The party started back towards the castle. Robb and Jon started racing each other to the gate. Matt kicked his horse after them. He passed Jon and was coming up on Robb.

"Your horse is getting slow," he shouted to Robb as he passed. "You should get a new one if you ever want to be Lord of Winterfell!"

He got about ten yards ahead when he looked back and noticed that Robb had stopped and dismounted. Matt rode back to find Robb in knee-deep snow, cradling something in his arms. When he got closer, he realized what it was; a grey and black direwolf pup. Jon rode up behind them, saw the pup and went back to tell the others.

Jory Cassel and Theon Greyjoy were there first. Theon drew a quick breath when he saw the pup. "Gods!" He exclaimed as he went for his sword.

Jory's sword was already out. "Robb, get away from it!" he called as his horse reared under him.

It was then that Matt noticed the mother. Half-buried in bloodstained snow, a huge dark shape slumped in death. Ice had formed in its shaggy grey fur, and the faint smell of corruption clung to it like a woman's perfume.

"A freak," Greyjoy said. "Look at the size of it."

"It's no freak," Jon said calmly. "That's a direwolf. They grow larger than the other kind."

Theon Greyjoy said, "There's not been a direwolf sighted south of the Wall in two hundred years."

"I see one now," Jon replied.

"I see five." Matt pointed.

Sure enough, huddled around the dead bitch were four more pups; two male, two female.

"Direwolves loose in the realm, after so many years," muttered Hullen, the master of the horse. "I like it not."

"It is a sign," Jory said.

Ned frowned. "This is only a dead animal, Jory," he said. Yet he seemed troubled. Snow crunched under his boots as he moved around the body. "Do we know what killed her?"

"There's something in the throat," Robb told him, proud to have found the answer before his father even asked. "There, just under the jaw."

Ned knelt and groped under the beast's head with his hand. He gave a yank and held it up for all to see. A foot of shattered antler, tines snapped off, all wet with blood.

A sudden silence descended over the party. The men looked at the antler uneasily, and no one dared to speak.

His father tossed the antler to the side and cleansed his hands in the snow. "I'm surprised she lived long enough to whelp," he said. His voice broke the spell.

"Maybe she didn't," Jory said. "I've heard tales . . . maybe the bitch was already dead when the pups came."

"Born with the dead," another man put in. "Worse luck."

"No matter," said Hullen. "They be dead soon enough too."

Bran gave a wordless cry of dismay.

"The sooner the better," Theon Greyjoy agreed. He drew his sword. "Give the beast here, Bran."

The little thing squirmed against Bran's chest, as if it heard and understood. "No!" Bran cried out fiercely. "It's mine."

"Put away your sword, Greyjoy," Robb said. For a moment he sounded as commanding as his father, like the lord he would someday be. "We will keep these pups."

"You cannot do that, boy," said Harwin, who was Hullen's son.

"It be a mercy to kill them," Hullen said.

Bran looked to his lord father for rescue, but got only a frown, a furrowed brow. "Hullen speaks truly, son. Better a swift death than a hard one from cold and starvation."

"No!" Bran looked like he was about to cry.

Robb resisted stubbornly. "Ser Rodrik's red bitch whelped again last week," he said. "It was a small litter, only two live pups. She'll have milk enough."

"She'll rip them apart when they try to nurse."

"Lord Stark," Jon said. It was strange to hear him call Father that, so formal. Bran looked at him with desperate hope. "There are five pups," he told Father. "Three male, two female."

"What of it, Jon?"

"You have five trueborn children," Jon said. "Three sons, two daughters. The direwolf is the sigil of your House. Your children were meant to have these pups, my lord."

Ned's face changed. Jon had done something that Matt would never have done himself. The count had come right only because Jon had omitted himself. He had included the girls, included even Rickon, the baby, but not the bastard who bore the surname Snow, the name that custom decreed be given to all those in the north unlucky enough to be born with no name of their own.

Ned understood as well. "You want no pup for yourself, Jon?" he asked softly.

"The direwolf graces the banners of House Stark," Jon pointed out. "I am no Stark, Father."

Lord Stark regarded Jon thoughtfully. Robb rushed into the silence he left. "I will nurse him myself, Father," he promised. "I will soak a towel with warm milk, and give him suck from that."

"Me too!" Bran echoed.

The lord weighed his sons long and carefully with his eyes. "Easy to say, and harder to do. I will not have you wasting the servants' time with this. If you want these pups, you will feed them yourselves. Is that understood?"

Bran nodded eagerly. The pup squirmed in his grasp, licked at his face with a warm tongue.

"You must train them as well," Lord Eddard said. "You must train them. The kennel master will have nothing to do with these monsters, I promise you that. And the gods help you if you neglect them, or brutalize them, or train them badly. These are not dogs to beg for treats and slink off at a kick. A direwolf will rip a man's arm off his shoulder as easily as a dog will kill a rat. Are you sure you want this?"

"Yes, Father," Bran said.

"Yes," Robb agreed.

"The pups may die anyway, despite all you do."

"They won't die," Robb said. "We won't let them die."

"Keep them, then. Jory, Desmond, gather up the other pups. It's time we were back to Winterfell."

Soon after they started back, Jon stopped. "Do you hear that?" He said.

"Hear what?" Matt asked.

"There," Jon dismounted and went off into the woods. "Matt, come here!" He shouted.

Matt ran to where Jon stood. "What?" he asked.

"There," Jon pointed.

Laying in the snow were two more direwolf pups. One was all white with red eyes, the other was dark grey with streaks of red, yellow, and orange.

"They must have crawled away from the others," Jon said.

"Two more pups for the two bastards," Lord Stark said.

"I don't understand," Matt said, confused. "I'm not a Stark, my lord. I'm just your ward, as is Theon. Why doesn't he have one?"

"Your father is a Karstark," Ned pointed out. "You have Stark blood, Theon does not. Your meant to have it."

Matt picked up the grey one and it almost immediately snuggled up to him.

"See," Robb said. "He already likes you."

Jon picked up the other pup and cradled it in his arms.

"An albino," Theon Greyjoy said with wry amusement. "This one will die even faster than the others."

Jon gave Theon a look of annoyance. "I'll take him to the Wall when I leave," he said. "He'll be at home there."

As they rode off again, Matt looked down at the pup in his arms. "Your going to need a name."

Author's Note:

Well, that's chapter one. I have a few names in mind for Matt's direwolf. Leave a review with the name that you want. The names are as follows: FireWind; Fireball; Flamefoot; Blaze.