"What's that sound?"
"Up ahead m'lord, there's a young man sitting in the middle of the road"
Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, Paramount and Warden of the North urged his horse forward at a slow gallop. Taking the report of his guardsman into account, he motioned for the rest of the men to move ahead of their party. The guard seemed shaken, unnerved.
Behind him, his three sons and ward followed. They were returning from a short tour of the local lands. Bran had just turned seven and it was time to ease him out of the castle, get him used to the North outside of Winterfell's walls.
The guard turned back toward the distant sound. A low voice singing some strange tune. The group couldn't make out any words or rhyme. As the figure finally came into sight, Lord Stark began to realize why the-boy? man?-was so unsettling.
He sat in the dirt of the road, just off the center. He had broad shoulders and long black hair pulled into a thick braid. Unfortunately, that was all the description Ned could think of. The rest of the man was covered by a large thick green robe. The robe was clasped over his right shoulder and resting opposite was a pauldron with what looked like a deer skull attached to it. He could see a necklace of various sized fangs, feathers and… teeth, around the stranger's neck.
The most confusing part of the entire outfit was the mask. A large piece of white wood covered from his chin up well past his hairline, wrapping around his ears. Short branches sprouting red leaves crested the mask like a crown. Carved with lines flowed from top to bottom in deep clean cuts. There were eyes cut in the mask, with upturned corners. The nose was long and crooked with a tree knot taking the place of a nostril, the mouth was set closed stretching to the right giving the entire mask an unsettling grinning façade; as if the mask had told a jape no one else understood. The macabre finishing touch was lines of some red liquid dripping from the eyes and corner of the mouth. The mask was horrifyingly beautiful and reminded Ned of the Heart Tree in Winterfell.
Ned pulled the reins on his horse and stopped. The tone being sung was a slow longing tune, the words seemed to be a mixture of common words and something else. For some strange reason Lord Stark felt as if he was being rude by interrupting the song but chose to press on.
"Excuse me, my companions and I were hoping to use this road, I would ask that you move." Ned said.
The man's humming stopped abruptly. He looked up and made eye contact with Ned. The man then stood tall. He wasn't wearing boots but some sort of strange sandals made of red twine.
Ned realized the man hadn't answered, he was still staring.
"Greetings, I was waiting for someone to come down the road." the stranger explained. "Would you be able to help me? I'm in search of something and need directions."
"I very well could, that would depend on what you sought." Ned replied.
The man chuckled, "Of course, I should introduce myself first, I am Beorn, I'm looking for a Godswood, unfortunately I'm not from these parts."
Ned hesitated but felt compelled to help the stranger, as long as he posed no danger of course. "If you seek to worship the Old Gods, I would not be opposed to you praying before the Godswood of Wintertown, outside my keep."
By this time the rest of the party had caught up. Some of them looked very disturbed by the sight of the stranger but Bran was teeming with excitement and curiosity. Jon on the other hand had his sword at the ready should a threatening move be made. His attention was drawn back to Beorn once he realized the man had tensed up.
Warily he addressed him once again, "Beorn? Are you well?"
Beorn suddenly started chuckling, confusing the entire group. Beorn then dropped to one knee.
"Forgive me, Magnar, I should have realized the Gods would steer me true. You must understand though, to meet the Stark of Winterfell so easily is not what I expected when I awoke this morning"
That avalanche of statements shocked the entire group of northmen silent.
"I will admit I have been searching for you, the sudden rain a few nights past damaged my map and I'm afraid my charges have a bad habit of wandering."
"Your charges?" Ned asked.
"Yes, in fact they are the reason I've come south. I've been charged to bring the Stark in Winterfell –" Beorn began.
"WOLF!"
The entire party snapped to Theon Greyjoy who already had an arrow knocked and aimed into the foliage along the side of the road. The guardsmen ran and surrounded Lord Stark, swords at the ready. Before anyone could make a move Beorn abruptly walked toward the wolf.
Ned was about to shout for the mad man to step aside. The animal was larger than any wolf he had ever seen and there was a predatory intelligence behind its eyes. It matched the stories he had been told as a child, it had to be a direwolf, the long gone beast that his house used as a sigil.
When Beorn began talking, Ned suddenly realised it might be Old Tongue, not just talking but scolding, he could do nothing but watch incredulously. Beorn walked right up to the obviously large and dangerous direwolf. It came up to Beorn's stomach and had dark brown fur with patches of red along its back.
Robb seemingly snapped first, "Are you mad, get away from it!"
Beorn turned back, "Crag here needs to learn he can't just run off from his pack whenever he wants."
Then returned his attention to the wolf, "Crag" apparently and resumed his scolding. Slowly the beast sat down and kept its head pointed at Beorn's feet.
Ser Rodrick leaned closer to Lord Stark and whispered, "Are we sure the young man is all there, my lord? Perhaps bringing him to Wintertown is a mistake?"
"I'm not sure," Lord Stark hesitated before finally responding, "What I am certain of is that he said companions. My question is, where are the others?"
"Magnar Stark!"
Ser Rodrik and Ned turned back to see Beorn walking towards them, Crag following at his heels.
"My apologies, Crag here has run ahead, the rest of his pack should be along soon. I must ask that no one approach the bitch."
"Beorn, how many direwolves are with you?" Ned paused to absorb the absurdity of the question he just asked.
"Well there's Crag, he's a juvenile from a pack that was killed off, and Maw an older male. Finally there's Green Eyes, she's pregnant and will be having her litter soon. She's the reason we need to find a Godswood, I need to feed the pups Weirwood Sap after their birth."
Ned kept himself calm and collected while digesting the information. After a few seconds he simply gave up and decided to deal with it later, after a cup or two of wine.
"Are they nearby?" Ned questioned.
"Yes, they will follow us through the woods. Crag will stay by me."
Ned turned back to Robb, his eldest son would one day be making much bigger decisions as the Lord of Winterfell and needed to get accustomed to such responsibility. His son gave Beorn a searching look then slowly nodded.
"Very well, do you have a horse Beorn?"
"No, Magnar, I prefer my feet personally."
Also, Ned noted, he'd have to find out why he was being called a "Magnar", Beorn couldn't possibly have him confused for a noble family on Skagos.
/
Ned breathed a sigh of relief as Winterfell's walls drew near. The sight of the keep always set his mind at ease. He chanced a look back at their follower; Beorn was singing again but quietly, seemingly to only himself and Crag. It was unnerving, a man bringing long extinct legends into his house. Ned wasn't sure he could take much more.
As their group entered the gates he saw his wife and daughters waiting for them, quickly dismounted he rushed towards them.
"Jory! Whatever you see, stay calm, we have important guests with us."
"Ned what's going on? Who's with you?"
"Farlen! Clear out some space in the kennels, move those smithy supplies being stored there into the tower"
The household rushed to comply with Lord Stark's orders.
"Ned what is going- BY THE SEVEN!"
Lady Stark's scream drew the attention back to the gate where a strange man in green walked through with five massive wolves. One obviously pregnant.
"Ned what is going on?!"
"I'll explain later. Children! Gather round but keep your distance."
The Stark pack gathered around their father, Robb and Jon stood in front of their younger siblings. Bran and Arya were looking past them in awe at the beasts and even Sansa seemed curious but stood resolutely beside her mother.
"Beorn, do I have your word that those wolves will not harm anyone within these walls?"
Beorn stepped forward. The bitch of the pack, Green eyes, followed closely. He stopped a few feet before the Starks and knelt.
Beorn reached into his cloak, withdrawing a bronze blade with a simply white wood hilt inlaid with intricate rune-work. Focusing on the knife he didn't see the confused look shared between Ned and the elderly Maester Luwin, who'd rushed out of the castle.
"I, Beorn, Son of Torrhen due swear by my soul and blood," Beorn carved a circle into his palm, bringing a shriek from Sansa and Catelyn. "in front of the Gods of wood and stone, sky and sea, that I shall be your Shepherd. I shall care for your woods and wolves. I shall teach your children the old stories so their lessons will never be forgotten. My sons and daughters shall follow me in this oath. I serve the Stark of Winterfell, The King of Winter"
Beorn finally looked up, stretching out his hand to Lord Stark expectantly. Only to see a face of confusion and shock.
"Magnar, have I performed the ceremony wrong?"
"Beorn… What are you talking about? What was that?"
"Oh no…" Beorn slowly rose.
"Beorn I have no idea what that was or what you're doing here."
Severely disappointed, Beorn took a step forward causing the guards to tense.
"What I'm doing is reaffirming the oath of the Shepherd. I'm taking my place as the Shepherd of Winterfell, The Shepherd of the Starks." Beorn slowly explained.
Bran spoke up next.
"Father, what does he mean by Shepard? We don't have any sheep in Winterfell."
"Magnar Stark. Am I correct in understanding that you never received the heirs' lessons before you took up your title as The Stark in Winterfell?"
Eddard slowly walked forward, gently taking Beorn's hands and taking the knife out of it.
"Beorn, I am the second son of Lord Rickard Stark. My brother and father died together before the start of Robert's Rebellion."
"We feared as much. But, we held out hope that perhaps somehow you were told… I take it you never found the books?"
"No, I don't know what books you speak of."
"Your father would have passed the Starks' personal histories onto your brother when he became Magnar Stark. Since that didn't happen the books must still be somewhere in Winterfell. You must find these books, Magnar Stark. There're a number of rituals that must be completed. If only we had come earlier… my father and I would have come sooner." Beorn took a deep breath, "I must send a message to my father."
"I'll tell my Maester to prepare a raven."
"Thank you, Magnar. First I need to ensure that Green Eyes is properly cared for."
Beorn turned back to the direwolves and called out in the Old Tongue. The wolves immediately surrounded Green Eyes and followed Beorn.
"Which way is the Godswood?" Beorn asked.
/
Ned closed the door to his study and poured three cups of wine. It was the following morning and his night hadn't been as restful as he would have liked.
"I've already explained how we found him." He passed the goblets to his wife and Maester Luwin. "What I need to decide, is what to do next"
"Ned you can't possibly be thinking of letting him stay, he's obviously mad and those beasts are dangerous." Catelyn implored.
"But what if he's not mad, Cat? I know there were some things Father told Brandon that I wasn't privy to. Things I only learnt about after reading through his journals."
"Lord Stark, perhaps we should first try and find these histories he spoke of. If they are real, then they are Stark heirlooms. Once we sort the truth from the lies, we can act. Until then, Beorn seems to be the only one the direwolves will listen to and having the first live direwolves in centuries here in Winterfell will be a strong symbol of power." Luwin argued.
"Perhaps." Ned took a sip, "Perhaps you are right, Luwin. You and I will begin searching for them. I'll comb the study and the older rooms. Check the library and get some of the guards to help you with the old tower. I'll also have to read through the journals again. Maybe I missed something."
"I'll go check on the children. Arya and Bran have been begging to be allowed into the Godswood. They want to see the direwolves." Cat added.
"I need to speak to Beorn anyway, tell them to meet me in the courtyard after lunch." Ned instructed.
/
"Do you think we'll get to play with pups? Will father let us name them? I hope so! I'd name them after warriors like Nymeria and Visenya." Arya wondered.
"I'd name them after the Kingsguard, they would be strong like knights with names like Duncan and Barristan!" Bran insisted.
Jon and Robb watched from the side, listening to their siblings.
"Jon, What do you think of Beorn?" Robb wondered.
"I'm not sure, he knows things that Lord Stark should. I don't know how he can command direwolves. I'm wary of him." The Bastard of Winterfell admitted.
"He reminds me of the stories Old Nan would tell us about the Green Men. But aren't they supposed to be in the south, near the Isle of Faces?" Robb said.
"Aye and he called himself a Shepard, like it's a title." Jon added.
Their father entered the clearing and addressed them, "Children, it's time to go. Remember do not approach the direwolves and listen to what I say."
A chorus of "Yes father" answered him.
They walked through Winterfell coming to the entrance of the Godswood. Ned entered first, walking with caution. In the Godswood he saw the Heart Tree and pond that characterized Winterfell's shrine to the Old Gods.
The Starks noticed the wolves first. The juvenile, Crag, was sitting on a small hill that the path crossed beside. He snapped his head toward the Starks but made no moves, he simply watched as they passed. Laying by the pond was the largest of the pack, Maw. A massive brown beast slightly bigger than Crag, he looked to be resting. His grey eyes seemed to draw Ned's and the two locked gazes.
Ned could see Green Eyes laying on a bed of red leaves, her swollen stomach pronounced by her grey and black fur.
"Father, is that the mother? How long until she gives birth?" Arya said.
"I don't know, Arya, it should be soon. I doubt she can get much bigger."
"Father, where is Beorn?" Robb asked.
"I'm not sure, none of the guards saw him leave."
The surface of the pond broke with a splash. Ned pulled his son Bran back behind him. A man pulled himself out of the hot spring. Long black hair laying across his shoulders and back. Standing at height with Ned, clad only in his small clothes, he finally turned. Sansa's face developed a deep flush. His form was marred with various scars along his chest and shoulders, his forearms and legs were similarly marked. His face was long with a flat nose and grey eyes. In fact, a quiet part of Sansa's mind noted that he looked somewhat like Jon and her father; not exactly, but some of his features matched quite well.
Beorn seemed to finally take notice of his guests and bowed his head.
"Magnar." Beorn addressed Ned.
"My apologies for intruding on you, Beorn, perhaps you could dress yourself in the presence of my daughters?" Ned suggested.
"Of course." Beorn moved to the pile of cloth near Green Eyes and began dressing. "I'm surprised Magnar Stark, I didn't expect your visit so soon. Have you found the Stark Histories?"
"I'm afraid not, I have people searching as we speak though. How are you settling in, Beorn? I was told you did not sleep in the room I had prepared for you in the Keep."
"Yes, thank you for your courtesy but until the pups are born I'm afraid I must stay by Green Eyes' side. When she has her litter, I will gladly share your table and hospitality." Beorn reassured him.
"Can we name the pups, Shepherd?" Arya shouted.
"Arya!" Ned rebuked his youngest daughter.
Beorn chuckled, "Perhaps you shall, I'm not sure how many pups there will be but my father told me that Green Eyes shall be the one to bring direwolves back to Winterfell, and my father's green sight is rarely wrong."
"Your father has the greensight?" Ned said.
Beorn made his way to Green Eyes with a dish of water, offering it to her.
"Yes, my father is the Great Shepard, the Great Shepard must always have greensight."
"Do you have it?" Arya asked.
"Unfortunately I have a very weak talent. I sometimes have vague dreams, my younger sister Mira however, has very strong and vivid visions."
Bran moved closer to Beorn, excitement evident in his eyes. "Greensight is real? I thought it was just a myth like wargs and giants!"
Beorn looked down at the lad and frowned. "Now who has been telling you such ridiculous lies? There have been many Starks who were wargs, and giants have walked this earth as long as the First Men and the Children"
"Listen, please don't lie to my brother, Old Nan told us all about the old fairy tales." Sansa rebuked.
Beorn pierced Sansa with a sharp glare, "I had such a dream a few nights before I met Magnar Eddard."
Beorn took a seat on a stump away from the pond, Ned and the children drew closer. Bran, Arya and Rickon sat by his feet. With his face revealed, Beorn's strangeness seemed lessened and most of the children felt at ease around him.
"I saw a forest covered in snow, with trees made of stone. A horn blew and the mist cleared. Direwolves circled me." The Starks were entranced, all of them held their breath. "A great cry came from the south, a falcon fell to its death. The pack began moving south. It was a terrible thing, Direwolves do not belong in the south. I followed them until they crossed a narrow bridge and watched as they each melted under the southern sun and disappeared."
Ned looked over his children, then back to Beorn. The howl of a wolf broke the reverential silence of the glade. Beorn leapt up and ran to Green Eyes' side.
"The litter is coming!" Turning back quickly to face Ned while pulling a bag from the base of a tree and shifting through the contents. "Magnar, your entire family needs to be here, send someone to fetch your wife!" He picked up a small stone bowl and walked towards the Heart Tree. "Will you trust me, Magnar? The next hour is going to be very important."
Ned looked to his children and saw worry and sympathy on their faces. Steeling himself he shed his cloak and stepped forward. "What do you need Beorn?"
/
As Catelyn entered the Godswood, she reflected how she only ever entered to retrieve, or speak with, her husband. She had never felt comfortable under the eyes of the white trees. She preferred her sept and statues. She heard another howl, they had started shortly before Arya had found her in the keep. Catelyn wouldn't lie, she was somewhat curious. After all, direwolves were legends of myth to a woman from the Riverlands.
As she walked farther down the path she resolved to ask Ned to have the stranger leave as soon as possible. She would not have some savage staying in her home, Cat had brought up the possibility that Beorn was a wildling; her husband had simply told her being born North of the Wall was no crime.
Laying at the base of the Heart Tree was the direwolf mother in the middle of labour; kneeling next to her was Beorn, sitting nearby was her husband and children. Bran and Arya were trying to get a good look, while Sansa held onto Rickon near Robb.
Beorn pulled a small grey form to his chest, wrapping it in a cloth before laying it down. Cat slowly walked closer until Ned noticed her. He rose quickly and approached her then smiled softly.
"Cat, come, Beorn says we need you here." Ned called out.
Without even waiting for a response, he gently tugged her to his side. Beorn had set aside another pup and turned towards her.
"Magna Stark, I'm glad you came, I'll just be a moment then you and your children will need to help me."
She went to her youngest, Rickon eagerly crawling into her arms. She paused long enough to give Snow a glare, he wisely moved away from the family, farther back to the pond.
A small group of six pups all eagerly fed off their mother. Cat smiled softly, the mother was simply laying there exhausted but there was a look in her eyes of deep satisfaction. Beorn took a small stone bowl and his bronze knife from earlier and leaned close to the tree, her husband seemed confused.
"Beorn, what are you doing?" Ned asked.
The stranger replied without straying from his work, "The pups will need to be bonded to the Starks, since their mother wasn't; while we're doing that you and your wife should offer something to the parents as a token of thanks. I'll need some weirwood paste and then something from all of you."
He pressed his knife flat against the white bark, slowly red sap began to leak out and trail along the blade. The sap coated the flat of the knife which Beorn scraped it into the dish he held. He slowly filled the bowl twice more until there was a thimble or two of sap. He returned to the group approaching Ned in particular.
"Magnar, please give me your hand." Beorn instructed.
Cat wanted to say something but Ned caught her eyes so she held her tongue. Ned reached for the knife, she heard Beorn mutter something about "-the fingertip". Her husband quickly cut along his thumb, then following Beorn's instructions, dipped his bleeding thumb into the paste and walked over to Maw and bent down. She held her breath and clutched her son to her.
The attack never came, instead Maw lapped and nuzzled into Ned's hand. Everyone released a collective breath. Robb stepped forward and offered his finger to Beorn who simply smiled and repeated the process. Robb picked up a grey pup who struggled until the thumb was presented to it, then it eagerly devoured the red sap. Slowly, the rest of the Stark's picked up their pups, Ned took Rickon and helped him pick a dog, he was still very young and didn't really understand what was going on but enjoyed petting the pup anyways. Cat took her turn, marvelling at the story she'd have to tell her family the next chance she got.
As everyone settled with their new companions, Cat was ready to leave and return to the Keep but Beorn's voice stopped her.
"Jon? There's still one left."
The bastard boy was standing closer, watching with envious eyes and seemed startled when his name was called. Cat angrily narrowed her eyes. Before she could inform Beorn of his status, the bastard did it for her.
"I'm not a Stark, Beorn, I'm a Snow." Jon replied.
Smirking, Cat was satisfied, before noticing Ned's frown.
"Is Magnar Stark not your father? Does the blood of the North not flow in your veins?" Beorn responded.
"Jon is my natural born son, but is the son of another woman" Ned easily answered, agitating Cat at how easily he admitted it, without a hint of shame.
"I know the name Snow is used for bastard children but he is still your son. One day he will act as a bodyguard, general or even bannerman to your heir. This ritual will acknowledge and fortify their tie," Beorn insisted.
Cat had heard enough as this wildling continued to argue in Snow's favour; but to suggest that he would one day be a Lord! This was too much.
"You have no authority here! My husband is the Stark in Winterfell and you shall obey him." As she stood, her tone became increasingly venomous, shocking all of her children.
Jon looked down, a heartbroken look crossing his face.
"You allow your wife to demean your son so?" Beorn turned to her husband.
Again, before Ned could even respond, Cat spit faster, "Snow should be grateful for his life, it is far better than most bastards are afforded. He could have been sent off to some place to work the fields until his death!"
The clearing was silent, her children's faces were frozen in shock and even little Rickon looked upset. Robb wore a mixture of disbelief. It was when her eyes turned to her husband that she realized she had errored.
The Quiet Wolf, they called her husband. Many took the name as a play on Ned's stoic demeanor. What many forgot was that a wolf on the prowl was silent as the wind. Ned was not a man of fiery temper, his anger was chilling and hard. His face resembled the stone statues of his ancestors in that moment.
She did not hate the boy, but he was a constant reminder of the stain on her family's honour, of a possible threat to her children. The lessons of her septa on bastards rang in her head. She had allowed Snow to live a good life, he took lessons under Maester Luwin and was trained by Ser Rodrick. A direwolf, a living sigil of the Starks, at his side could very well sway Lords to him. He was already the spitting image of Ned, the wolf would only add to the connection, another step above her eldest.
Nightmares of a rebellion still plagued her. Visions of Winterfell being taken, Robb brought before the usurper in Winterfell's throne room. In her husband's place sat a mirror image of Eddard while bastard colours flew over her home.
Ned was a Lord Paramount, who preferred his time with his children to be calm. Cat had never touched Snow but she had perfected the art of conveying warning through her eyes. She wanted to ensure he never forgot his place, never forget what his station was. As the Blackfyre Rebellion showed Westeros, a bastard shown too much favour was a dangerous thing.
"Lady Stark. Return to the keep and wait in my study."
Catelyn couldn't believe what she was hearing, "Ned-"
"Now." His orders were calm and unrelenting.
Cat once again looked at her children, they were hurt and confused; Robb looked upset. As she turned to leave, she glanced back at the bastard one last time expecting to see a cruel smile. Instead, Snow's eyes were on his feet, a frown on his lips and shoulders hunched. As the Lady of Winterfell left the Godswood she did not feel anger, only shame.
/
Jon watched his father standing stock still in the clearing. No one said a word. The only sounds were the cries of the newborn pups. Lord Stark turned and looked at him, Jon couldn't stop himself from quickly focusing on his feet instead. He was embarrassed and angry, if Beorn had just let things be then Lady Stark would never have snapped like that. To hear the words said out loud, plainly and clearly boiled his blood. His fingers dug into his palms and he breathed hard to calm himself.
Again, Jon was being a burden to his father. Sometimes, late at night when he couldn't sleep, Jon wished that his father hadn't brought him back. He wished that he was left…wherever it was his mother was from, at least there he wouldn't be in this state of limbo.
As the son of Lord Stark, Jon was above the smallfolk, yet at the same time not a member of the nobility. He was given deference because of his blood ties to the Warden of the North but in practice he was no more important than a member of the household, like Ser Rodrik or Maester Luwin. Jon hated wondering what his future would hold, by this point he knew better than to dream. Feeling his eyes burn, Jon turned to follow Lady Stark.
"Jon," the quiet voice of Lord Stark halted him mid-step.
He turned slowly, keeping his head down. "Jon, look at me."
Jon slowly raised his eyes to meet Lord Stark's.
"You belong with us, never think otherwise." Lord Stark seemed to hesitate and glanced to where his wife last stood, "I did not realize Cat felt that strongly. This is my fault and I will make it right."
Jon assumed his father would stride out then and there to apologize to his lady wife, instead he returned to Beorn and picked up the smallest pup, the only one unclaimed. It was white, with blood red eyes; Lord Stark put him into Jon's arms, Beorn joined the pair and held out the knife. Jon wanted to refuse, he tried to say as much, if not for the runt in his arms licking his face and drawing his attention. Looking down at the small wolf, Jon couldn't bring himself to protest. He slowly cut his thumb, dipped it into the cup and held it to the pup; he waited for the rejection, surely if these creatures were meant for the Starks they would know he was not one. No growls or bites came, just the cool tongue as the pup eagerly lapped at his finger.
He smiled softly, not noticing the same smile reflected on his father and Beorn's faces, "Hello there… hello… Ghost."
/
AN: This Chapter has been rewritten as of Jan 24/2022 to better bring it in line with the rest of the story. Correcting mistakes and also dropped plotlines.