Chapter 1:
The Northern Wolves
Robb POV
Robb can barely hold back his chuckle as Bran misses the bullseye again. Causing Jon to give him a pointed look over Bran's shoulder. They had been helping Bran with his archery for about an hour, and the poor boy hasn't made a bullseye yet.
"Come on, Bran. You can do it!" Sansa calls from her place next to Rickon, atop the courtyard fence. Arya was around here somewhere too, but she had been slinking in and out of the shadows since they began and Robb had given up trying to keep track of her. Jon, he was sure, knew where she was hiding. He never missed anything, as observant as he was.
"Go on. Athair's watching," Jon says, patting Bran on the shoulder. They all turn then, and sure enough Athair and Mother stand on the balcony above them, smiling proudly down at their children. "And your mother."
Bran nods in determination and fires one more. This time the arrow completely misses the target and lands in one of the trees at the edge of the courtyard. Not even Jon can stop his laughter at their brother's failure now.
"And which one of you was a marksman at ten?" Athair's voice cuts through their laughter like ice, and Robb may be Traith of House Stark but it still chills him as if he were a young pup. "Keep practicing, Bran," Athair says, "Go on."
"Don't think too much, Bran," Jon tells him.
Bran pulls the arrow back. "Relax your bow arm," Robb instructs him. And suddenly an arrow soars straight into the middle of the bullseye. They all turn in surprise, because it wasn't Bran's arrow that had found its target. In front of the armory stands Arya, bow in hand, and she curtsies when she sees they are all looking at her. And just like that, Bran takes off, chasing after a giggling Arya as she runs towards the godswood.
"Quick, Bran!" Jon calls after him.
"Faster!" Robb shouts.
They laugh for a few minutes until, suddenly, Jon sombers. He nudges Robb in the arm and gestures towards the balcony. Robb glances up confused and suddenly understands. Up on the balcony where his parents had been watching them, they are now turned away having a conversation with Winterfell's master-at-arms, Ridire Rodrik Cassel, and their father's ward, Theon Greyjoy. And a serious one by the looks of things.
"Alright, that's enough for today."
"Yes Traith," Sansa says dutifully as she helps Rickon down from their perch. And Robb knows she's disappointed. She had hoped to work on her own archery today.
"Sansa," Jon says getting her attention, "will you go fetch Bran and Arya and make sure they put away their bows?"
"Of course, Baintraith," Sansa beams before running off to find her siblings.
"Come on, Cuilean," Robb says to Rickon. "You can run the arrows back to Jon as I gather them."
Rickon cheers at being able to help.
•)()()()(•)()()()(•
"But who is it? What did they do?" Bran's voice is filled with a child's curiosity as he asks Robb and Jon questions about the execution.
They ride in their own formation near the back of the group of mascs that had come with their father for the execution. Bran's pony trots in between Robb and Jon's own horses. Theon Greyjoy and Alysane Mormont, who had been fostered at Winterfell since she was thirteen, rode on their respective other sides. Behind them, Heiley Poole—Robb's valet—and Jarrad Cassel—Jon's handmaiden—rode with Sansa, Arya and their handmaidens—Jeyne Poole and Beth Cassel—between them.
"He is a deserter of the Night's Watch," Jon tells Bran, "and it is Athair's duty as Feargleidhidh of the North to serve the Rìgh's justice. Just as it is your duty to learn how to do the same for when you are lord of your own castle. Just as it is Sansa and Arya's duty to do so for when the husbands they will someday be bonded to are away."
"But why?"
"Our way is the old way," Robb says in way of an answer.
The deserter is a scruffy, disheveled man who seems to be muttering something as the guards bring him before Tighearna Stark.
"I know I broke my oath," The man speaks, looking directly at Robb's father. "And I know I'm a deserter. I should have gone back to the Wall and warned them. But I saw what I saw. I saw the White Walkers. People need to know. If you can get word to my family, tell them I'm no coward. Tell them I'm sorry."
Tighearna Stark nods at the man. Robb grits his teeth as he is positioned over the block, and his father draws Ice, the ancestral sword of House Stark from the scabbard Theon holds out to him and bows his head.
"In the name of Robert of the House Baratheon, first of his name…"
"Don't look away," Robb whispers to Bran where he stands, still between Robb and Jon.
"Rìgh of the Andals and the First Men…"
"Athair will know if you do."
"Tighearna of the Seven Kingdoms and protector of the realm, I, Eddard of the House Stark, Tighearna of Winterfell and Feargleidhidh of the North, sentence you to die."
Tighearna Stark swings his sword, and the deserter' head falls to the ground.
Bran, Robb notes does not look away.
"You did well," He tells him.
Jon puts his arm around Bran's shoulder and they head back to the horses together.
"He wasn't lying" Jon says to him as they check their saddles.
"What?"
"About the White Walkers, he wasn't lying. I could tell," Jon gives him a pointed look.
"The White Walkers have been gone for thousands of years. I think you've listened to one too many of Old Nan's stories." Robb smiles at him, but it immediately drops when he sees the hurt in Jon's eyes. He sighs and pulls his mate against his chest.
"A madman sees what he sees," Robb tells him, kissing Jon's forehead before releasing him and climbing atop his horse. Prompting Jon to do the same.
•)()()()(•)()()()(•
On their way back to Winterfell, Arya pulls up beside Jon with a wolfish grin on her face.
"Race ya to the bridge!" she says before galloping off into the trees. Robb can't help but smile as Jon gives chase, the others right behind him. Robb places a hand on Bran's shoulder as the boy makes to follow.
"Stay here, Bràthair Beag," he says. "One day when you have more riding experience, but not yet." And then the Triath of House Stark takes off after his sisters, friends, and mate.
When he reaches the bridge, there is no bickering over who had actually won, as he had expected. No cries of triumph. Only silence.
"Robb," Jon calls softly, beckoning to him from his place where the group has dismounted and stood before something in the road. Robb steps forward until he is just behind his ebony haired mate. And now he can see what has them all in such a stock. There in the middle of the road is a dead stag, ravaged and torn almost to pieces.
"Arya," he says for she is the fastest rider among them, "go fetch Athair and the men."
Arya gives a curt nod before mounting her horse and racing back down the road.
They stand in silence for some time, staring at the dead animal before them.
"What did this?" Jon asks as he presses himself against Robb's chest, pulling Sansa with him.
"Mountain lion?" Heiley suggests.
"There are no mountain lions in these woods," a voice says from behind them.
They all turn then to see Tighearna Stark, Arya, Bran, and Jory Cassel riding up to them, the other men not far behind. Their father dismounts and comes to where they stand. He looks at the deer carcass for a moment before drawing his sword and turning off the road into the woods. Taking their que from him, Robb and the other mascs draw their own blades and follow after him, while Jon, Aly and Jarrad gather the children close to them, bringing up the rear. For even though the older fems have weapons of their own, the children do not, and whatever killed the stag could still be lurking about.
They walk a few metres into the trees before they see it. A gigantic wolf lies dead with an antler through its throat. Robb hears whimpering suddenly and he thinks maybe it isn't dead, until he notices the pups tumbling around at the beast's belly.
The children come forward for a better look, Jon, Jarrad, and Aly not far behind.
"It's a freak," he hears Theon say from somewhere behind him.
"It's a direwolf," Athair replies as he shares a look with Caiptein Cassel. "Tough old beast," he says turning back to the wolf and pulling out the antler.
"There are no direwolves south of the Wall." Robb says in awe.
"Now there are five," Jon smiles at him. He turns to the children then, "Do you want to hold one?" At their excited nods he hands Sansa, Arya, and Bran a pup for each of them.
"Where will they go?" Sansa asks, her light grey wolf pup nestled in her arms. "Their mother's dead."
"They don't belong down here." Uachdaran Jory says.
"Better a quick death," Athair tells Sansa gently. "They won't last without their mother."
Right. Give them here." Theon says as he pulls a dagger from his belt.
"NO!" Arya shouts as she, Sansa, and Bran clutch at the pups in their arms tighter.
"Put away your blade." Robb tells Theon in his Triath voice. Disgusted that his friend seems all too eager to end the lives of a couple of pups.
"I take orders from your father," Theon says to him curtly, "not you."
"Please, Athair!" Bran begs Tighearna Stark.
"I'm sorry, Bran."
"Tighearna Stark?" Jon calls their attention. "There are five pups. One for each of the Stark children. The direwolf is the sigil of your House. They were meant to have them." They all turn to Tighearna Stark then, and Robb can see the hopefulness in his siblings' eyes.
Their father sighs. "You will train them yourselves. You will feed yourselves. And if they die, you will bury them yourselves."
"Yes Athair." They all answer.
"What about you?" Bran asks turning to Jon.
"I'm not a true Stark," Jon tells him. "Go on."
Arya lets out a whoop of joy as she runs back toward the road, Beth hot on her heals. The others follow at a slower pace as Jon reaches down to pick up the other two pups, and hands one to Robb.
They begin to walk away, side by side, but Jon stops suddenly.
"What is it?" Robb asks him in concern.
"Jon walks a few steps to the side and picks up a wolf pup as white as the snow it was laying on.
"The runt of the litter. That one's yours, Snow," Theon says nastily, smiling at his own joke until Aly hits him upside the head.
"That's Baintriath Stark to you, Ward."
•)()()()(•)()()()(•
They are sitting around the small table in the kitchens, talking about their pups when it happens.
"Thank you, Lyna," Jon says to the servant girl as she places a small platter of cheese and sausages in front of them.
The girl curtsies, "You're welcome m'baintighearna."
"So, what are their names?" Robb asks the table, looking down as the smoke grey pup in his lap.
"Nymeria!" Arya declares as she struggles to keep her iron grey pup from jumping onto the table.
"Summer?" Bran says seemingly uncertain as he scratches behind his charcoal grey pup's ear.
"Lady," Sansa decides with a smile to her silver coloured wolf pup.
"You can't name it that!" Arya says to her.
"I can name her whatever I want!"
Sensing a fight, Robb turns to Rickon. "What about you Cuilean?"
"Shaggydog!" he exclaimes from his place beside Jon.
"And you, Gràidheag," he says to his mate. "What will you name yours?"
"Ghost," Jon smiles, mauve eyes bright. "And what about you Triath Stark? What is your pup's name?"
"Grey Wind."