Chapter VII: The Pack
Jon felt Ghost nuzzle against his leg. He crouched down and scratched him behind the ear, a smile eliciting from his lips. Tormund was looking at them with scrutiny.
"That beast of yours had disappeared," he said.
Jon nodded. Ghost had been away for days, but he knew where his friend had been. He had seen through his eyes, and he recollected flashes of trees and land without winter.
"He went South," Jon replied, eyes cast down on the direwolf as he sat back. Ghost looked at him too, then as if understanding, slowly slipped away, earning short and sharp gasps from some of the women and men aike.
Tormund guffawed.
"Wolves in the South, eh?" He raised his brow.
"He was running for long, searching for something, I think. I know he was there. Only he himself knows why."
"You still have wolf dreams, Lord Crow?"
"Yes," Jon sighed. "You know what I am. It's not unusual."
The Wilding shook his head and laughed good-heartedly.
"Aye, I know." He propped his elbow up on the table. "I knew a man once, King Crow. He was as pretty as you, and knew how to change skins even better. Shadowcats, wolves, crows. But the dreams got to him, and consumed him whole. You have a rare gift, Jon Snow. But remember what your true form is. Too much warging, and you might become as beastly as that white pup of yours."
Jon stayed quiet. The wolf dreams were getting frequent now, and Ghost had been restless for days. He had roamed through the wild, and Jon had felt the anxiousness of his wolf seep into his own skin. He knew that Tormund was right, but Jon couldn't control the dreams; he never had been able to. Ghost was a part of him now, in dreams as much as in life.
And he had been seeing strange things too. Ghost had never strayed so far South before, and Jon somehow knew it was the Riverlands or at least some place near it. But Ghost hadn't been hunting. He had ignored the smell of prey and had refused to hunt even when Jon himself felt the need for food. Whatever he searched for, before it could be found, the dreams would end every time. When he woke up, sweat beaded on his brow and he felt like he had ran a thousand miles continuously without any destination.
He had his dinner with Sansa silently, both of them quietly trying to figure out how to tell the Lords about the Dragon Queen. Jon couldn't make out exactly what she was thinking, but he guessed that she was against his decision to bend his knee. She had agreed to his decision, but it was unlikely she truly gave him her support. It was hard to understand her unspoken words, most of all after he saw her whispering to Littlefinger some days before. He was conflicted already about trusting her, and she was making it harder. He loved her, but trust was something else entirely.
Perhaps she wants to be Queen, he thought.
It had been her own brother, after all, who was the King in the North. Jon was just a bastard, a baseborn son, and yet he had snatched from her what was her right by blood. But he had never even thought of becoming King before Lyanna Mormont had said his name out loud before every Northern Lord. He had been contended with being back in his home, and Jon would gladly give Sansa the Crown if she asks for it. She only had to ask if she truly wanted it.
Just as he was about to retire, one of servants, a skinny little boy of thirteen, entered the room and managed a little, half-bow.
"Your Grace," he said, with a small voice. "There is someone at the gates. Ser Davos asks for you."
Jon nodded and stole a glance at Sansa.
"At this hour?" She asked, curious.
Jon stood up and offered her his arm. They both walked out of the castle, and Jon felt the cold seep into his skin even through the thick, furred cloak he was wearing.
Winter has truly come.
"Your Grace. My Lady." Davos bowed his head in acknowledgement. "The sentry spotted a lone rider in the snow. He is coming this way. I didn't have the gates opened fearing it might be an enemy."
The yellow light of the torches bathed the snow-covered ground. The wind was getting harsher every passing second, and Jon watched as the guards tried their hardest to hide that they were shivering.
"Perhaps he needs shelter?" Sansa recommended.
"Most probable, Princess," Davos replied.
"Open the gates!" Jon ordered. It was one man. What harm could he do when there were hundreds of them inside the walls?
His body and mind were cautious, as the gates were slowly opening. Jon sucked in a breath as the temperature around him dropped, and in the blink of an eye, the torches were blown out by a sharp gush of wind. The men stood in the moonlight, a few of them rushing to relight the fires. His eyes fell on his direwolf who went ahead and slipped through the small opening between the gates.
When it fully opened, Jon braced himself, doubtful at the rider's appearance. The guards appeared before him, and Jon waited for the man to unhorse himself but he didn't. He had a cloak around him, too big that it almost swallowed him whole. The moonlight shone on his black garb, and his face was well hidden from view.
"Reveal yourself!" Davos yelled.
Jon felt a strange feeling in his gut when he saw Ghost calmly circle the rider without any hesitation. The wolf kept his eyes fixed on him, and in turn the rider looked no more frightened. He finally slipped down from the horse, barely making a sound.
Only then did he started realizing that the rider perhaps was actually a woman. He saw the hint of curves across her chest, but he was still not too sure.
She raised her hands, and the men took a step forward, earning to Jon's astonishment, a growl from Ghost.
"Ghost," Sansa whispered beside him, as much surprised as him. Ghost barely showed affection to anyone but him, even Sansa.
The rider finally revealed herself, her hands pushing the hood backwards and revealing her face, a pale, long one with hair just passing her shoulders. She looked strangely familiar, like something forgotten. Jon felt a tightness in his chest, suddenly wanting nothing more than to be in Ghost's skin; suddenly being curious and at the same time nervous of the woman.
And that's when it happened.
Before anyone could react, two eyes blinked behind her and out of her shadow emerged a wolf as huge as Ghost, eyes golden and shining and haunting, and Jon realized just then what it all was. His legs were shaking under him, and he felt weak in his knees. He gulped loudly, and closed his eyes, picturing Ghost, the cold, winter, his home.
A sword and a girl.
He opened them when he heard Sansa's sharp intake of breath.
Every person around him shrank back, and Sansa gripped his arm in fear as another thousand eyes appeared around her. The woman smiled, and he recognized her instantly, cursing himself for not doing it earlier.
When she spoke, her voice sounded like the sweetest one he had ever heard, and at the same time the most frightening.
"Your Grace," she said, one hand around Ghost and the other around Nymeria. Jon took a few steps ahead, and their eyes were locked on each other, refusing to acknowledge anyone else around them. "Don't you remember me?"