Disclaimer: I don't own ASOIAF or GOT in any way or form.

AN-1: I have a P*T*R*N, where you can read the NEXT SEVEN CHAPTERS RIGHT NOW if you want to.

Edited by Lordlexx and GladiusX

"Shhh, sleep now you little furball," I snorted, flicking the nose of the pup trying to climb up my cloak, chuckling a little as it yelped and fell back down. The little rascal turned its icy blue eyes towards me as it snarled, baring its small canines and raising its tail. Rolling my eyes to show just how scared I was, I smiled as a wet, warm tongue swiped over my cheek. Patting the pup riding upon my shoulder, I tickled its ears, seeing the white bundle of joy wiggle with joy out of the corner of my eyes.

"I still can't believe she gave birth to seven pups," Bran whispered, and I glanced over at him as our horses trotted over the rickety bridge. Catching onto the wolf trying to jump out of the hold of my left arm, I pinched its snout shut for a moment as I saw the brown one being held by my Uncle in much the same manner. Ignoring the whining of the little rascal, I looked at Bran as he continued in the same wondrous, awed voice, looking at the one in his hands like it might vanish any moment, "There is one for each of us!"

"I already know which one is going to be Sansa's," the said girl's father shook his head, and I nodded, my eyes straying to the grey-furred pup, its golden eyes peeking out from the saddlebag as it calmly viewed the world around it. That one was the second smallest of the litter and seemed to be the…most well behaved along with another grey-colored one. The other five were all considerably more excited and jumpy…However, I had lucked out with the two pups that were with me.

My Uncle looked like he was going to chuck the black wolf into the creek any moment now.

"I like this one," Bran looked over his shoulder at his father as he held up the sleeping creature in his arms. With a silvery-grey coat, that wolf was the most beautiful of its siblings—barring the one riding on my shoulders that is. Petting its stark white head again, I smiled, feeling it rub its head against my fingers.

"That's good, but remember my words, Bran," My Uncle began, laying his hand atop Bran's shoulder, his voice solemn and as hard as steel, "You will feed them yourself, clean after them yourself, and should they die, you shall bury them yourself."

"Yes, Father," Bran nodded, running a hand down his chosen wolf's back, and even though I could not see his face, I knew that those words had somewhere hit a chord inside him. Looking at me the next moment, he smiled as his eyes flicked toward the pups with me, "Do you like the white or the black one?"

"I'd rather not get my fingers chewed off by this animal," I snorted, flicking the black one on its nose with my free hand, and ignoring its indignant yelp, I picked it up by its neck. Baring its tiny teeth at me, the pup kicked its legs in the air as Bran laughed to our right, and I smirked at it casually. Brushing its threatening growl aside as easily as I brushed aside Rickon's attempts to smack me with a spoon, I dropped it into the saddlebag.

Bran began to laugh instantly, and even the pup in his hands looked to be yipping with glee as the sounds of distress came from my bag—and for a moment, even the stoic Lord of the North had cracked a smile at my work, before he looked over at the distance ahead and sobered up. Turning my eyes, I looked at the banners and flags waving in the air ahead of us, and just like that, the impending reality once again settled upon my mind.

Just this morning, I had heard Arya talk about our departure with Visenya, her arms around my twin as she had stubbornly insisted upon joining us. And while Sansa may not show it, but she too was worried…at least for Robb anyways, sewing him handkerchiefs and a personal banner by herself. Bran was too young to do anything, but he was intelligent enough to recognize and realize what was happening, as well as what his role would be in Robb's absence. Maester Luwin had kicked up his lessons since we had gotten back, training him in everything Robb had learned as the Heir to the North.

Alliances, Revenue, Upkeep, Soldiers, Grain, Trade…not a single stone was being left unturned in making sure that Bran was brought upto the mark. And now that Robb was wed, word around the keep was that Sansa's betrothal was to follow soon either with Joffrey Baratheon or one of the Northern Houses. Though, I doubted that Catelyn would let her daughter be wedded by someone other than the Prince, or at least an Heir to a Great House.

"Jon, tell the carpenters to craft some kennels once we reach the Keep," Uncle Ned ordered as we reached the outskirts of the camp, the soldiers on watch lowering their heads towards their Lord as we passed by. Nodding back at them, he continued, "and make it clear to Arya that on no condition are they to roam freely while the Royal guests and the Southerners are still in Winterfell. Until we depart, the wolves shall either be in the Godswood, or strictly inside your rooms."

"Great, you leave the most dangerous task to me," I sighed, already dreading the conversation with Arya, knowing that after getting her direwolf, the last thing she would want to hear is that a curfew has been imposed on her. However, it was better than her causing some incident with her rough-housing, or some idiotic, excited Southerner thinking that direwolves would make excellent trophies and rugs.

"Lyanna can talk to her then, she listens to her," he replied as the men atop Winterfell's walls came into view, the Sun's dying light gleaming through the space between the towers and walls as we once again picked up the pace. He hummed for a moment as Bran shrieked at the sudden jolt, steadying the boy with one hand as the other pulled on the reins of his mount, "and while we are on the march, you would have to hunt for the wolves too. I doubt the Northern army is going to get ration from the Riverlands or the Westerlands."

"Why won't Grandfather support our army?" Bran asked, looking up at his father as he turned over, his voice just as confused as the exasperation on my Uncle's face, "Aren't we all on the same side? Plus he is your goodfather!"

"And he is the great Lord of the Riverlands before that," he gently answered after a pause, and I snorted at the words, making him look at me with a warning glance even as he explained it further to the ten-year-old boy, "So, he has a responsibility to his people and soldiers first, just like I do to the Northern army. Also, Riverlands isn't rich enough to support three armies at once, since his rationing of our men would slight Lord Tywin if the Lannister men were not offered the same."

"Besides, the wolves are better taken on hunts than fed meat already cut and prepared," I interjected, petting the white one once again as it snuggled into my chest, the animal somehow managing to turn around in the hold of my arm. Rubbing its neck slowly, I looked at Bran and cocked my head in the direction of the trees, "Otherwise, how will they learn to scare the piss out of Lord Bran the Climber's enemies? You did see the size of their mother, right?"

"...Direwolves?! You got fucking DIREWOLVES Ned?!" Robert choked on his spit as he looked at the seven pups running around in the Godswood, and Ned smiled smugly, hearing the incredulity and a hint of jealousy in his friend's voice as his children played with their companions. Standing atop the closest balcony to it, he couldn't help but feel a wave of affection adn warmth spread through his heart at the sight of all seve-eight of his children— considering Alys was as good as his daughter now—playing around the Weirwood.

"Wish I had a Sta-"

"You did…until you choked it to death," Jon's dry voice cut over Robert's, and Ned grimaced, remembering that day. A gift from the Late Steffan Baratheon to his son and Heir, Robert had somehow managed to hug that calf to death in a drunken stupor, and that day, Ned had learned that the spine of a deer just above its neck was a weak part—and that his friend was strong enough to shatter bones like they were twigs.

"Oh yeah, didn't even get to name that animal," Robert nodded, before his eyes turned back towards the children below. "Tommen also likes animals, I saw him playing around with some cats a few moons ago. Haven't seen them since, though."

"The last time a cat disappeare-nevermind," Jon began wearily, only to sigh and stop as he took a deep breath, and Ned raised an eyebrow as he saw the old Lord shudder. Besides him, Robert too seemed to lose all of his good mood as he looked down, his knuckles tightening upon the wooden railing.

"I told you I talked with her regarding it," he grunted out after a moment, turning his eyes upon his Hand before looking away, "Do not mention it again."

"What are you talking about?" Ned asked, looking from his friend to his foster father, his interest and suspicion rising more and more with each silent second that passed between them, "Is there something I should know?"

"Nothing…just my wife being a bitch like usual," he shook his head, and Ned nodded slowly. Robert may think the matter had ended there, But Ned knew that whatever Jon had been talking about, it had been much more serious and worrying for the Baratheon than a simple marital spat. And based on what he knew of Robert, as well as the Lioness of the Westerlands, it most probably had something to do with the Prince.

"Speaking of the Queen…she has been absent from the dinners for a few days." he muttered, turning around as Sansa suddenly shrieked, and Ned smiled softly as he saw Nymeria, the grey she-wolf jump over at his girl. I had barely been a few hours, but something had become very much clear to him. All the pups had somehow chosen or been taken by the person most like them.

Grey Wind, Robb's direwolf was bigger than the others, and had a commanding air about it. Silently licking its paws while Alys carded her fingers through its fur, it still was looking out at the other wolves, eyes peeking through the fur upon its family. Sansa's direwolf, which had amusingly but predictably named 'Lady' was just like her too, sitting quietly as she ran a comb through its fur, and even putting down her tail once Sansa got to it.

And Nymeria…was Arya's, and just as mischiv-"She doesn't like the cold," Robert grunted, and Ned blinked, the thoughts of his youngest daughter and her companion pushed to the back of his mind as he turned back towards his friend. Robert was staring out towards Wintertown, even though they had not been face to face for more than a decade, Ned could still tell the Baratheon King was lying through his teeth. The man looked at him and snorted, waving a hand towards the banners of the Southerners waving by their horses, "None of 'em do, to be honest. I still can't believe Mace actually sent you a note saying he can't bear the cold outside his rooms."

"He has been rather…slighted by the fact that I had been in conversations with the Redwynes without his notice," Ned shook his head in turn, both at Tyrell's actions, adn Robert's attempt at shifting the topic, "So…got your hammer ready?"

"Aye it is ready," Robert nodded, bringing up his first in front of his face as he closed his fingers, the sound of his knuckles popping echoing the silence for a moment. And suddenly, Ned was back in the Iron Islands…back with salt on his tongue and iron in his nose as he and Robert cut and smashed dozens of Ironborn, "Ned…I am not going to say that your kids should have been attacked…but it is good to get rid of the Ironborn once and for all."

"Has the Greyjoy been told of his impending execution?" Jon asked, before a sudden coughing fit overtook the aged lord. Ned shot a worried glance at him, but Jon waved him off as he straightened up, wiping the spit on his lips away as he continued, "I know that his mother continues to visit him in the prison."

"She carries to him the last meals of his life and hopes to spend some time with her estranged son." he shook his head, genuinely saddened by what the woman must be going through. But it was the cost of war and her people's mistakes that her son was going to bear. And given what had almost happened to Lyanna and Jon, Ned had no sympathy to spare for the Iron Islands.

"Let her be, Robert," Jon turned in the direction of the prisons, "It is for another couple of days anyways."

"Aye... then we march to war."

"Again."

"He likes me."

"Everybody does," I murmured back, laying down on the bed with Visenya by my side as our newest friends played together on the floor. As expected, the white-furred, red-eyed. one had latched onto me, while the blue-eyed one had taken to my sister. Both of them were the smallest of the litter, with Visenya's direwolf being a little bigger than mine. It had only been minutes after we had returned—and probably half a dozen instances of the white one managing to sneak upon someone, that I had realized the name of his direwolf.

Ghost—named for its silence, as well as the screams it had made Bran and Rickon let out.

Visenya's she-wolf though, seemed to be a little more wilder than her snow-furred brother. With its black fur and whitish-blue eyes, my sister had decided to name it 'Dusk'—at least it was better than being 'Lady'. Though given just how…well, ladylike Sansa strived to be every waking moment, I wasn't much surprised by her choice. Now, hours later, we were back in our room at the farther end of the family wing, the logs in the fireplace having long since burnt out and a rug already prepared for the wolves.

"It's hard to believe that there were exactly seven direwolves…just right in your way."

"Well believe it, you got two in your room right now," I muttered, laying my head upon her shoulder, and feeling her arms wrap around me instantly. Warmth spread through my body within moments, and I shivered slightly at the feeling of her cold fingers ghosting across the back of my neck. She hummed appreciatively as I leaned further into her, my left hand snaking over her stomach as I hugged her softly. Breathing in the faint scent of sweat that lingered upon her skin, I sighed and rested my face against the nape of her neck.

A moment later, my lips touched her skin, and I felt her shudder as my hand upon her waist tightened. Drawing myself closer to her still, I slowly moved up, tasting every inch of her pale flesh as Visenya gasped. She tilted her head away from me, gasping again as I reached the spot just below her chin, swiping at her skin with my tongue slowly. Groaning as I felt a shudder run through her body, I moved my left hand over her waist, slowly pushing it beneath her shirt. She moaned again, and a pleased thrill shot through me as I dragged my fingers over her belly, feeling the soft yet muscled flesh beneath my touch.

Moving upwards, I savored the little gasps and sharp breaths she began to let out, my fingers continuing to roam across her stomach and sides. Kissing up her face, I ran my lips over the shell of her ear, and at the same moment, laid my hand fully upon her stomach. Feeling the heat beneath my palm, and the way she was twisting and turning, I felt my patience run thinner with each passing second. Biting slightly, I raked my nails upwards towards her chest, and the moment she opened her mouth…I swallowed her breath in an instant.

Her lips instantly melded against mine as her hand grabbed my hair, our kiss fast and wet as I ran a finger over her bindings. She moaned as I pulled on her plush lips, my hand finally coming upto her neck from beneath her shirt, a single finger trailing down her skin towards her cleavage. I felt sweat bead upon my forehead, as well as the way my finger touched the sides of her breasts, her cleavage barely able to be felt over the bindings. However, before I could do something about the restrictive clothing, Visenya groaned and grabbed the back of my head, turning us onto our sides as she began to kiss me back.

Hard.

A moan rumbled out of my throat as she bit my lip in turn, her nails scratching down the back of my neck, as her other hand snaked its way to my back. A shiver ran down my body as her cold fingers touched me, and I hissed, tilting my head up as she suddenly began to bite and kiss my neck. "Visenya…fuck," I gasped, somehow managing to turn my head down and smash my lips against her open ones the next second, as I slowly squeezed her breast. Feeling the supple flesh beneath the bindings, I pulled back and just looked at my sister, her closed eyes, slightly parted lips, and the tiny tremors in her breathing making my breeches tighten within moments.

Her tongue touched my lips as I squeezed and touched her tits, feeling the curve and swell of her breasts more fiercely than I ever had, even as her hand descended my back, leaving behind burning scratches in its wake. Pressing myself close to her, I lowered my hand to her hips, biting her lip as I felt her break skin, the stinging on my back stoking the heat between us even higher. Grabbing her ass, I turned us over and stared down at her, leaning up between her legs as our chests heaved.

With her hair in disarray and her forehead soaked with sweat, Visenya was a vision to be savored. Her chest heaved with each breath she took, and her wide, Valyrian purple eyes roamed upon my face and hands continuously as I held her down. I leaned down slowly, watching her eyes focus back on mine as she licked her lips, her leg rubbing against mine.

Bringing my lips to her ear, I kissed it gently as she raised her hips, pressing her core against the bulge in my breeches, letting out a cute little moan. Closing my eyes as I felt the delicious friction against my dick, I brought myself back to her lips, capturing them in a slow, passionate embrace as her legs wrapped around my hips. Groaning into the kiss as she nibbled on my lip, I grabbed her thigh and squeezed the toned, muscled flesh, the lust riding through my mind like a rampaging dragon. As Visenya raked her nails down my back again, a final thought went through my head before everything became a blue of lips, tongues, and roaming hands.

I loved the fact that I was a Targaryen.