Jon felt a groan leave his lips. Of fucking course Lady Stark was here. Feeling her gaze upon him, he turned, and glared right back. The action causing her to pale and look away from him. "I'm not some whelp you can intimidate, not any more!" he muttered, smirking. "Yeah, not fun to be glared at by someone more powerful than you, is it?" he grunted.

Feeling another set of eyes on him, Jon turned to glare at whoever it was only to be cawed by Kodlak's disappointed look. Unable to bear the look on his mentor's face, he turned back to his food. Jon began studiously avoiding the eyes of the old man as he ate, suddenly feeling like a boy who'd gotten caught sneaking out again.

A voice spoke up, "If you don't want to be treated like a child," it said, "then don't act like a child, White Wolf," Aela mock scolded. "Now, raise your head and ignore her. You shall not shame us by acting so petty," she commanded, her voice getting darker as she glared at him. Jon scowled, but at her fierce look, he closed his eyes and reined himself in.

"Apologies, Sister," Jon whispered, "But seeing her opened wounds I thought healed." He admitted.

"Wounds of the heart are rarely so easily dealt with," Aela consoled. "Now, focus on the feast, for Whiterun joins hands with Winterfell and grows stronger!" Jon nodded, but felt his mind go back to a week ago, when he found Lady Stark and Sansa, in danger of being spoiled by bandits.


The plains of Whiterun were a vast place, rife with game of all kinds: Elk, deer, boars, wild cows, wild bison, and even a few stray mammoths. For that reason, it was perfect for three young Lycans to hunt.

The party stalked a herd of boars, one they'd tracked for three days now, all eager for a feast. With steps so light, they barely disturbed the ground. The Lycans crept forward, inching ever closer to their prey. Soon, they were close. Close enough to earn their meal. The youngest of the party, armed with a bow, one with intricate wolves carved across the wood, with twin moonstone wolf heads at either end of the bow, connecting the string.

Inhaling softly, the Lycan notched and drew an arrow, slowly zeroing in on his target. A soft twang filled the air, and one of the boars fell, dead. Before the other five could panic, a white blur erupted from nearby and snatched one up in its maw, darting off and scattering the herd.

Two more twangs echoed, followed by a whistle of wind. And more fell dead, arrows embedded in their eyes. The final boar fell to a knife, one of the Lycans having shot forward and sank the small blade into its eye. "Nicely done, Jon," one of the others said, taller than Jon by no more than an inch or so, with straight, dark brown hair. "And you as well, Ghost," he added as Jon's companion trotted up, dragging the boar corpse with him.

"Thank you, Vilkas," Jon said, lifting his prize onto his shoulders, "You weren't bad yourself," walking over to a sled, he placed his prize down. Vilkas joined him. Like Jon, he was adorned in the famous Wolf Amor of the Companions, though he'd forgone the helmet. On his back rested a Wolf Claymore, while his Wolf Sword rested on his hips. In his hands was a bow almost identical to Jons.

"Ah, thank you, Ghost," Jon said as his Direwolf dropped a second corpse on the sled. Vilkas and his brother, Farkas, also added their kills to the sled. Farkas was even taller than his brother, with a wider shoulders and fairer, braided hair. Aside from the bow he carried, Farkas' only weapon was the Wolf Dadao on his back.

"I'm still amazed that Aela allowed you to use her Father's bow," Farkas said, "she never lets anyone use it." He added, "Waters of Oblivion! Remember when Mikeal tried to show off using it? The dumb bard was lucky Kodlak was there, else he'd have made his way to Sovngarde!" Vilkas chuckled while Jon looked confused. "Ah, this would have happened just before we found you."

"Still, my brother has a point, Aela doesn't let anyone use her father's bow. Not even Kodlak," Vilkas said, giving Jon a considering look, "You have any idea why she's allowed you to use it?"

Jon shrugged before attaching the sled to Ghost, "guess I'm just special like that," he jested, covering his lack of knowledge up as he carefully contracted the sled's harness to his longtime friend. "Now. Ready to head back, Ghost?" His long-time friend nodded and began padding away, unbothered by the weight of the sled.

Jon took a moment to admire his bonded brother. Ghost had grown truly enormous now, standing taller than Jon by a head, shoulders and chest's length and wider than a brown bear by a hair's breadth. "It's hard to believe that he used to be so small," Vilkas grunted, "or that he's still so gentle," he muttered, spotting the dark grey bow around his neck. Farkas snorted.

"Please! Little Mila has our giant pup here tied around her finger," the bigger twin chuckled, "By the Pits, I think Ghost here answers her call more than Jon's!" Farkas laughed, dodging a swipe from Jon as Vilkas laughed softly.

"Oh close it, Ice-brain," Jon grunted, catching the bigger male with a swipe to the head, "My ears are already sore from the boar squeals, I don't need your voice making them worse!" Jon smoothly side stepped Farkas' retaliatory arm smack.

"Be thankful he's not singing then," Vilkas chimed in, amusement colouring his voice, "otherwise we'd all be screwed! Just like the Hag who you scared away by singing that shanty, remember her?" Vilkas asked, a teasing smirk on his face as Jon chuckled.

"Didn't you find traces of blood that smelled like ears, as well?" Jon asked, smirking at Farkas from the other side of Ghost.

"Oh ha-ha," Farkas grumbled, "At least you're on my side, right Ghost?" The Direwolf merely huffed and moved faster. "Traitors, the lot of you," Farkas grumbled as Jon and Vilkas howled in laughter. So much so, they stopped moving. "I'm not coming back for you traitors!" Fakas shouted as he caught up to Ghost.

Once regaining themselves, Jon and Vilkas jogged to the duo. Companionable silence filled the air as the party made their way back to their camp. Soon, they were sitting around a small fire, a cooking pot between them. "Hey, little brother, can you-" Jon leaned forward, pouring a jug of water into the pot. "Thank you, now, elder brother, do you mind?"

Vilkas nodded and grabbed a bag. From which he produced a series of spices and seasonings. Once added, all three of them knelt and opened their palms, a jet of fire shooting out and lightning the logs beneath the pot. Farkas got to work, stirring the pot while Vilkas skinned the boars and Jon cleaned the meat.

A glint from his bag caught the Whitestark's eyes. "Ah, Talos Damn it!" he growled, "It's a damn shame we don't have a grill," Jon sighed, passing a large slab of boar to Farkas, "I just found some of Kodlack's Lycantongue sauce," he grumbled, reaching into the bag and producing the half full bottle. The twins cursed, but continued their tasks.

Jon grunted as he handed a final slab of boar to Farkas. Grabbing what was left of their salt, he began to rub it into the slabs of boar. "Hey, Vilkas," Jon called, when he was nearly finished with his new task.

"Yes, little brother?" Vilkas perked up, taking a large slab of meat and giving it to Ghost, who greedily devoured the morsel, loudly licking his chops in satisfaction.

"You got any plans for the hide?" Jon asked, setting up a meat dryer.

"Here," he said, handing the hide over, "I'm not a craftsman, so I was just gonna sell it."

"Thanks," Jon said as he got to work, quickly making a few marks on the hide. Seeing the looks he got, Jon explained. "Aela got into another argument with Eorland about her armor, again." The brothers rolled their eyes, having heard many an argument between the two proud Nords. "So, I decided to jump in… well, neither of them know that, yet," Jon smirked, getting the brother's attention.

"Oh?" Vilkas grunted.

"Yeah, Eorland refuses to make anything resembling light armor. And Aela refuses to wear anything heavier than hide armor. So, I figured, since Eorland worked me to the bone, when he taught me to Smith, if I were to make the light armor, neither should complain. Hopefully." Jon explained.

"And by adding Ghost's shed fur, the armor may as well be plate due to how magical Ghost is," Vilkas spoke aloud. "Clever, little brother, very clever."

"Plus, I have a ton of Plains Silk back home," Jon added, getting Vilkas to nod, "which will get rid of chafing," all three men shuddered, "nothing worse than armor that chafes." Jon grumbled, remembering past armor sores and how they'd felt when he had them. "Especially if it chafes during battle, Talos preserve me when that happens."

"Too true brother, too true," Farkas grunted, stirring the stew away. From the corner of his eye, Jon spotted the bulkier brother handing Ghost another slab of raw boar. "Gods, remember the heatwave two years ago? I had armor chaffing on me during that," Farkas admitted, causing Jon to cringe at the mental image.

"Anyways, I have the tanning salt and all I need to do is start curing the hide." Jon said quickly, avoiding an awkward silence. And with that, silence descended on the camp once more. Carefully, Jon rubbed the curing salt over the hide, coating every inch of the thick roll. Once the hide was covered, Jon moved it to his portable leather rack and moved on to weaving Ghost's fur. But, before he could make more progress, Farkas tapped his ladle against the pot.

"Stew's done," he announced, "come get it while it's hot!" The smell of lightly spiced and seasoned meat floated into Jon's nose, causing his stomach to rumbled loudly. Vilkas' echoing a second later. Quickly, all three men grabbed and filled a bowl, eager for something other than hardtack and dried fruit.

"To Hircine, we praise for delivering this wondrous bounty. To Hircine, we offer this share of our prey. To Hircine, we rejoice in the spoils of The great hunt!" they said, Ghost doing his miming along with them, before digging into their own bowl, dunking some bread and groaning as their hunger was sated.

Jon belched loudly, "By the Nine, you really took Tilda's lessons to heart, Farkas." he moaned, slumping against an equally contented Ghost. "Seriously, I think you may have missed your calling in life!" Jon only half joked.

"Heh, thanks but I'll stick to The Companions," Farkas chuckled, before a considering look appeared on his face, "Though, maybe a side gig? Chef Farkas does have a nice ring, doesn't it?" The three laughed as they grabbed their goblets, filled with mead.

"TO FAME AND FORTUNE FOR ALL!" the trio of men called, downing their meads in one go, Jon noticing something wrong immediately.

"Urg, seriously guys? Black-Briar? You know I can't stand this ultra sweetened shite!" Jon groaned as he finished his drink. "Give me a basic Nordic Blizzard Or Honningbrew! Not this child's first beer!"

"Ser Jon Whitestark, Honoured Companion, slayer of many beasts, vanquisher of even more foes, Lord of house Whitestark, master of wolves, and Legendary Milk Drinker!" Vilkas laughed, dodging a bone Jon tossed his way.

"Shove off Ser Bard-" Jon's head snapped to his right, in synch with Ghost's, grey eyes bleeding to bright, glowing red as he stared into the distance, all traces of humor and merriment gone. "You hear that?" He asked in a low growl, rising to his feet.

"Sounds like… bandits!" Vilkas rumbled the last word, his body bulging from his rage. His dark brown eyes turning to a bright gold.

"Down!" Jon commanded, whipping around and turning his glare on the other Lycan. Vilkas growled but soon bowed his head. Jon nodded, and turned. "Ghost," locking eyes with the Direwolf, Jon looked gestured with his gaze, sending their fastest member ahead.

"And we aren't just rushing because?" Farkas growled, hands clenching around his Dadao, his own eyes now a bright blue, which glew in the darkness.

"I'd rather not blow our secret so easily! Now, quiet. This takes focus," Jon ordered as he closed his eyes, using Ghost's senses. Upon catching sight of a familiar crest and flash of red hair, Jon was moving before he'd even realised what was happening.

"Why the rush?" Vilkas asked, sprinting behind the Werewolf Lord. "I'd thought you sent Ghost to scout, to gain an understanding of our foes!"

"Those Fucking bandits are attacking my Little Sister and Step-Mother! Attempting to defile them both!" With those words said, the trio took off, springing toward Jon's direwolf.

Within moments, the three men found themselves at the scene. Jon's blood boiled at the sight of numerous dead Stark men, especially at the weaker bandits looting their bodies. His inner wolf nearly got out at the sight of a towering Orc sinisterly approaching his sister and step-mother. "Oh Merciful Mother, deliver us from evil," Catelyn prayed, doing her best to shield her daughter.

Jon snorted, he'd long learned that praying to the gods was a waste of time. Her seven weren't here, not in Skyrim. Nor would they save her from the Orc who now towered over them. It was just like Lady Stark, to not have adequate protection, despite travelling with her favourite child. A sneer crossed Jon's face, the irony of her needing his saving was something he truly savoured.

A dark part of Jon, one built on violence and revenge, spoke up. Commenting on how easy it'd be to not help Catelyn. Jon shook his head. It was best to not ponder such thoughts, for they invited evil into his soul. He refused to allow himself to become a bastard from her religion, for he was no craven or weak man. Kodlak and Skjor had ensured that with their lessons.

Hearing Sansa whimper caused Jon to refocus on the task at hand. With a mental push, Ghost shot forward, lunging over the wreckage of the cart and tearing the Orc's throat out, yet the wolf's presence only worsened Lady Stark's fear. "Oh Mighty Warrior, please keep us safe from that beast!" she cried, clutching Sansa closer to her as Ghost approached, doing his best to appear submissive.

Not that it helped, Catelyn feared Ghost and kept Sansa from him, despite his submissive actions. In this, Jon could not blame her. Ghost was enamoras, easily coating the bandits in his shadow. Paired with his silent footsteps and vaguely metallic hide, it was easy to see why she feared such a beast.

Still Jon was in no mood to hide, so he stepped forward and called out, "GHOST, GUARD!" At his voice, Catelyn Stark stiffened, pulling Sansa deeper into her embrace as Ghost blocked them from the bandit's view. "Now," Jon snarled, barely keeping the wolf in check. "You people have one chance to surrender," Blizzard, his Skyforged, wolf styled Ebony Greatsword scraped against his scabbard as he drew it, "or you die." He said, pointing his sword at them.

A second Orc roared, "YOU KILLED MY BROTHER!" and drew steel, recklessly charging at Jon, the red aura of his Berserker Rage flaring like fire. Catelyn and Sansa gasping in fear at the obvious magic. "DIE!" The Orc bellowed, frothing at his mouth, as his eyes vanished. A bellowed gurgle left the Orc's lips as he raced at Jon.

"Death it is," Jon growled, sucking in a deep breath, uncaring of the fear he smelt behind him. With a Howl that rocked the ground, Jon's vision went red as he shot forward, deflecting and slashing the other Orc's throat, ending the fight. Farkas met the charge of another bandit, shield checking him with enough force to burst several organs.

Vilkas joined the fray, cutting down a few more. The part of Jon not caught up in the Feral Rage was idly amused by the bandits. He could respect the courage to charge at three Companions with a massive Direwolf, but he seriously questioned their intelligence. The rest of him was burning with the desire for blood, even as the Feral Rage began to fade.

Quickly, the trio cut down every bandit in sight. The would be rapists proving no match for three members of the Circle. Seeing some fleeing, Jon turned to Farkas, who asked, "Shall we pursue them, brother?" A glance at the Werewolf's eyes showed that they were bright blue and filled with blood lust.

Jon shook his head, "not yet brother," Farkas growled, but quietned at a glare from Jon, "You need to calm down," Jon whispered, dropping his voice to a level that normal humans couldn't hear, before raising back up as he spoke again. "I need to make sure that my sister is fine," Jon said before approaching Sansa and Catelyn, discreetly whipping the blood off. "Are you alright, My ladies?"

"We are fine, Jon," Sansa said, managing to free herself of her mothers grip, "thanks to you." Sansa curtseyed, causing Jon to bow.

"No thanks needed, sister, I merely did what any decent man would do," Jon said, smiling at the redhead.

Sansa opened her mouth to speak but suddenly slumped, the adrenaline leaving her suddenly. "SANSA!" Cately screeched as her daughter dropped, Jon shooting forward in time to catch them both. "SANSA!" Jon winced at the screech near his ear. "GET AWAY BASTARD! I WILL NOT HAVE YOU USE YOUR FOUL MAGICS ON HER!"

"I did nothing to her!" Jon roared, before restraining himself, "Sansa's merely gone into shock, My Lady," Jon said grimly, "come, we must make for Whiterun! She will be much safer there, behind its walls." He said, daring Catelyn to undermine him. For a moment, she held his stare but found herself relenting.

Seeing that she'd agreed with him, Jon turned to Vilkas and Farkas, "Take Ghost and the wagon. I shall return to get our supplies," he said, causing Sansa to reach for him.

"No. Stay." Sansa slurred, grabbing Jon by the arm. "Knight's aren't supposed to leave princesses," she added, head bobbing as she brought up her role in their childhood games.

"As much as I would like to, sister," Jon said softly, smiling in remembrance of those days, "I'm afraid your mother may take offence," he said, before scoping Lady up, "Now, I shall tend to Lady while Ghost tends to you," and with that, Jon set off, leaving the other two men to secure the wagon to Ghost. "Safe travels, brothers," Jon muttered, clasping arms with both Vilkas and Farkas, "Keep them safe." He ordered, locking eyes with both.

"Of course," Farkas said, "Between Ghost and my brother, we've more than enough strength to protect," A snicker escaped his lips "Your princess," Jon rolled his eyes as Vilkas chuckled. Quickly, the wolves set off, leaving Jon with Lady and a scent.

"Now then, let's get you patched up, shall we?" he muttered to Lady, who nuzzled against his neck in response. "And after that, I'd say it's time for a hunt," Jon muttered, eyes flashing red as he locked onto the bandits' scent.


"Mind elsewhere, boy?" the calm voice of Kodlak Whitemane filled his ears, bringing Jon back to the present. "You seem distracted."

"Merely wondering what God I've offended to have summoned Lady Stark," Jon grunted, "And wondering about why Robb wasn't sent instead."

"If I were to hazard a guess, your Lordly Father is likely trying to educate his heir in manners of his home." Kodlak said, "Manners his Lady Wife wouldn't approve of," he added, catching Jon's attention. "As for why he's sent them here? Well, that's easy. Look," Jon followed Kodlak's gesture, and frowned as he saw Sansa giggling as Frothar flirted with her.

The three-and-ten years boy was a good kid, from Jon's memory. A bit arrogant, but in a way that reminded Jon of Robb, and not a princeling. A fine match for any girl, common or noble born. And yet, "Sansa's too young for such nonsense," Jon growled, narrowing his now red eyes at the Jarl's eldest to Kodlak's amusement.

"Were you not four-and-ten years, when you had a little, ah, rendezvous with Miss Valerius?" his mentor chuckled, causing Jon to scowl at him. "Relax, son. Right now, it's just a little harmless flirting. Let them enjoy it." Kodlak said, before his smile turned stern.

"Now, onto the matter of Lady Catelyn," Jon growled but kept his ground, Kodlak allowing a small smile at the action before speaking, "Aela has already said it reflects poorly on the Companions if you behave too pettily. So, the question is," Kodlak paused, locking eyes with Jon and flaring them yellow, "what has she done to earn your fury?"

Jon grunted, feeling the pressure of his leader's mind, "What hasn't she done?" He began, "I was a boy, and she made me feel unwelcome. From servants to bannermen, all were so afeared of her, that they took that fear out on me." Jon snorted, "And then there was the rumours about Brandon Stark being my true father and that I'd try to Usurp Robb." Jon grunted.

"To say nothing of her hidden sneers and whispered comments," Jon said. Sipping his ale, Jon's voice rose an octave, mocking Catelyn, "What were they? Oh yes, "Bastard," "Mistake," "Stain," "Beast," I didn't ask for this, Lady Stark, so kidney fuck off!" Jon whispered, eyes flaring red once again.

"In truth, I could deal with all that. No. It's what she did to Sansa that truly hurt me." Jon admitted, now sounding much younger, "she raised my first baby sister, who used to crawl after me, to feel unsafe in my presence." Jon's voice was a whisper as he spoke, "I didn't ask for much. She didn't need to be my mother. But would a little kindness be so much?"

Kodlak sipped his mead, choosing his words carefully, "It may have been." He began, "from what you've told me of this, "Seven Who are One," religion, it sounds as if it creates a self-fulfilling prophecy. It demonises bastards, which turns them into the very demons it paints them as." Kodlak began, "and given that Lady Catelyn seems to be a devout follower of them, that when she learned of you, she likely saw the vilest of Daedra," he said.

"Someone who'd come to take away her child, to take away his home, to reduce him to nothing." Finishing his mead, Kodlak stood. "In her weakness, she could not give you a shred of decency, because it stood as the complete opposite to what she believed in. Yet, you can see it, Lady Stark is not a bad person. Look," Jon followed his mentor's gesture and saw her conversing with Dagny, seemingly teaching her something.

"Does this make her right? No. Nothing ever could." Kodlak said, "but, your best means of retaliation? That's to do what you've been doing. Treat her well, show her that you are not a Snow but a Whitestark, that her scorn and ill-founded hatred mean nothing to you." Jon's face morphed into one of pondering as he processed his mentor's words. "Now, come, Farkas is deep in his cups and wants to raise a glass high in your honor."

Soon, Jon joined the table reserved for his Shield Siblings, and joined in their merriment. "TO JON WHITESTARK! THE FINEST BEAST MASTER IN WHITERUN!" Farkas roared, causing the others to roar as well.

"WHITE! STARK!"

"WHITE! STARK!"

"WHITE! STARK!"

"WHITE! STARK!"


Nordic Blizzard - Nord Mead

Feral Rage - Ability from Extra Werewolf Perks