Author's Note
I do not own Game of Thrones.
The boy was quick and deft, bounding through the trees like a dancer, even in the thickest places. He moved half stooped over, reaching to feel and test the ground with his hands, a strange, only partially fluid way of moving. Rodrik kept his bow in hand.
"It still bears a child's face," Ned whispered. "And we won't be child killers unless it forces us."
"I don't like this ill-omen, my Lord."
"And nor I. But it wants something of us."
A pained whine echoed through the trees. The boy paused ahead, gesturing for them. Ned followed.
Between the trees there, rusted chains held a bear trap to the cold ground. And trapped in it by one paw lay the biggest wolf Ned had ever seen. Even Lordling's size as a juvenile had done nothing to say the true size of a full grown direwolf. It was grey and black, and bigger than a pony.
"By the gods," breathed Rodrik.
The boy tipped his head in a very not-Jon way. "The direwolf is the sigil of your house, Lord Stark."
He even sounded like Jon, but–
His voice had some of Robb's trill there too, and Sansa's bubbling joy.
As though someone had thrown all three children in a pot.
"Do you want to put it out its misery?" asked Rodrik, though Ned knew by his eyes that he knew the answer.
"No. Let me see if I can free it first."
It had teeth bigger than knives, but barely raised its head as he approached. Too weak. Ned reached for its leg, flinching as it grumbled. This one would not be so tame as Lordling.
The boy danced through the foliage and touched the wolf's head. "Be calm. He will aid."
He moved like an animal himself.
Ned took the wolf's foot and felt for the trap release, prising it open. The wolf left out a long, low moan.
"That's it," Ned murmured. "You're free now."
Though how far would it get with its foot like that?
He looked at Rodrik.
Rodrik shook his head. "Oh, my Lord, no."
They had to wake more of the men to get the beast back to camp, and between them Ned and Rodrik bandaged its leg and hauled it into an emptied wagon.
Sometime during the commotion, the not-Jon disappeared.