35 Direwolves of House Stark

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The Following TEN Chapters are avaliable for Patrons.

Chapter 36 (No Time Left), Chapter 37 (A Wildling's Life), Chapter 38 (Crow's Eye), Chapter 39 (To The South), Chapter 40 (White Harbor), Chapter 41 (A Bear's Roar), Chapter 42 (Where it All Began), Chapter 43 (Harrenhal), Chapter 44 (A Feast and A Queen), and Chapter 45 (Queen Rhaella and The Hidden Prince) are already available for Patrons.

Ned Stark

Minutes? Hours? Days? Weeks? Months? He didn't know how long he had been sitting in the chair; his legs felt numb and lifeless, as if they would fall off at any second. Jon had left his solar an hour ago, along with Benjen, who said he wanted to meet his new daughter-in-law.

Leaving Ned alone in his solar with his thoughts invading his mind. After begging for him to be the only one who would receive a punishment, Jon had simply stared at him; it felt as if he wanted to shout at him that he had no right to beg for anything; Ned knew Catelyn hadn't been kind to Jon and hoped Jon's anger, and perhaps even hatred didn't run deep enough to make him want her punished as well.

Ned knew that she hadn't been a good woman to Jon, but the Lord of Winterfell didn't want all his children to be suddenly left with no parents to guide them; Rickon was only three name days. Ned knew there was no way out of this one; he would be executed for crimes against House Targaryen; he just hoped Rhaegar Targaryen and Jon would show mercy to the rest of his family. A small part of him feared what he had dreamed that night; his family executed in front of him; Ned could still hear the sound of the blade cutting through their necks, their heads on spikes, blood dripping from their necks, their lifeless eyes glaring at him, their pale lips cursing his existence.

"Lord Stark!" Ned escaped his thoughts when the shout from Ser Rodrik reached his ears; he blinked before turning his attention to the man with a concerned look written all over his face.

"Ser Rodrik?!"

"My lord, I have been calling you for a minute. Should I call Maester Luwin?" Ser Rodrik suggested worriedly, but Ned quickly shook his head. He took a deep breath to calm himself, massaging his temples.

"No need. Why are you here?" Ned dismissed him with a wave of his hand.

"Your son Bran Stark is practicing his archery; I wanted to let you know in case you wanted to observe," Ser Rodrik informed him.

Lord Stark thought of it before nodding after a short pause; watching his son would be the right thing to do to calm himself. He thought perhaps after the archery, they could all hunt together, perhaps even Jon. It would do well for everyone.

"Lead the way,"

Benjen Stark

After his nephew had rushed out of Ned's solar, Benjen had been quick to follow him. He had wanted answers and to talk with his nephew, perhaps hoping that his nephew wasn't trying to take revenge on the entire Stark family, but Benjen quickly dismissed the thought; Jon loved his siblin-cousins to punish them for something their father did.

Jon had gone where he had expected, in God's Wood, sitting in the weirwood's root, his back leaning against the tree, his sword over his lap, Val sitting close to him, humming something to his ears. Her hands were playing with his curly hair.

Benjen stopped in his tracks; he suddenly felt like he was back in time; he remembered it; he could almost see them as if they were alive and breathing right in front of him; Benjen remembered his father, he would always seek comfort in the Weirdwood trees of God's Wood, but nothing could calm him as much as Lyarra's voice. Benjen barely remembered his parents; it had been many years, and he had almost forgotten their faces, their voices, but he remembered this, he had seen them many times, and he would never forget this.

Rickard Stark always sought the comfort of the Weirdwood tree and the arms of his wife, Lyarra Stark.

Benjen felt his eyes burning, swallowing; he resumed walking where his parents used to sit, now his nephew and wife sitting; the thought made Benjen smile.

"Jon," Benjen said with a loud cough making his nephew and wife turn to face him, his nephew's eyes were calm like snow, but his wife's eyes were sharp, as sharp as Valyrian Steel, eyeing him up and down, like a potential enemy.

"Uncle, what brings you here?" Jon addressed him before standing up; Benjen noticed Val's left hand holding Jon's arm, her right hand grasping something hidden in her waist.

"Can't an uncle talk with his nephew, or has your head grown too big," Benjen japed, earning a chuckle from his nephew.

"I suppose it's good to have you here, Uncle," Jon said, hugging him; Benjen returned the gesture, and in a way, it felt like he was hugging Lyanna. Stepping back, getting a very good look at him, he could clearly see Lyanna in him, as clear as day. Benjen wondered how he hadn't seen from the beginning, he had been so blind, or perhaps he hadn't wanted to see it; perhaps I couldn't believe that my brother would ever do something like that, Benjen thought with a frown; remembering the first time he had seen Jon. Perhaps he had seen what he had wanted to see, a child who simply took a lot after his aunt.

"I hope I didn't interrupt anything," Benjen said, looking at both of them. Val and Jon shared a smile before quickly denying it.

"No, Uncle, we were simply talking about something," Jon said with a dismissive hand; Benjen arched an eyebrow at the sudden red cheeks on Val's face; he wondered what it was but decided not to pry on their business.

"Might I know, nephew, how you ended up together?" Benjen asked, sitting in a tree rot, as did Jon and Val, who held hands, something that brought Benjen great joy.

Marriage because of Love is quite Rare, he thought with a melancholy look on his face, remembering his brother after the war; it had taken years for Ned to love Catelyn; perhaps he still didn't, perhaps he still loved the beauty of Starfall.

Jon and Val shared a look before they started telling him the story; Benjen listened closely as his nephew told him how he had passed the wall; Benjen noticed he didn't explain why he went beyond the wall.

Jon told him how they met with their weapons drawn, his nephew almost ordering his animals to kill Val's group. How an Ice Spider had attacked them and a White Walker, Benjen had almost thought his nephew was japing when he saw their faces; they weren't lying; Benjen knew his nephew would never think of this as funny. Benjen felt a sudden shudder on his body at the realization, his spine almost freezing. He did not comment other than he was happy they survived.

Jon told him when he met Mance Rayder; this part got Benjen by surprise; the story they told in the hall was different; he didn't bother pointing it out but was shocked and a little concerned when Val revealed that his sister was married to Mance, this made Benjen mentally frown, afraid that Val had some hidden agenda with his nephew.

Val told him how Jon sang songs for them once a week in the camp; two years later, they had started calling him 'The Singing Wolf.'

Hearing this made Benjen chuckle in amusement; he could almost hear it, a hall full of people calling Jon 'The Singing Wolf!'

"Does that mean I should call you The Singing Wolf? All hail, The Singer," Benjen japed, earning a laugh from both of them.

Jon then told him how he had found out the truth about his mother from someone who called himself 'The Three-Eyed Crow,' and he told him how he had seen the past through the Weirwood Tree and had seen the truth about who he was... Silence fell over them when the discussion turned to the truth again.

Benjen let out a long sigh, he wondered how his nephew could see the past, but he trusted him. He wondered who this Three-Eyed Crow was. What were his intentions? Why tell Jon the truth? Why make him go beyond the wall and risk his life? Benjen soon concluded that this man was doing something behind Jon's back.

Jon then told him how they went South of the Wall, eventually reaching Winterfell. After the story ended, Benjen had only one thing to say.

"You had quite an adventure, my nephew. Perhaps next time I should accompany you," Benjen said, itching his nose slightly. His eyes then went to the blonde wildling.

"Jon, might I have a moment with Val?" Benjen suddenly requested; this caught the couple by surprise; Jon and Val shared a look before the latter nodded. Jon gave her a quick kiss on the forehead before walking away.

A gentle breeze passed over them, making Benjen's long hair fall over his face. Once Jon was out of earshot...

"Val, I believe you know Jon is dear to me. He's my nephew, and as such, he's family. I would like to know why you chose him?" Benjen questioned bluntly, he wasn't good at dancing around the bush, and the Wildlings weren't exactly known for their cunning, but Mance Rayder was from the South, and Val was his good sister-in-law, and it just happens that Val married Jon, someone who at the time they thought was Eddard Stark's bastard.

Val frowned, looking at him with disgust. "Is that what you think of me, Benjen Stark? Unlike you Southerners, we don't spread our webs in hopes of catching an unfortunate fly to feast on it until nothing is left. If Mance had told me to bed Jon because of personal benefits, I would cut his balls and burned them in a fire in front of everyone. I chose Jon because he's an honest and strong man who cares for his loved ones. Stark, Snow, or Targaryen, to me, are just names without meaning. I'm his, and he's mine; it is as simple as that." Val claimed with a stern look that made Benjen shudder, the gentle breeze making her long braid fly with the wind. Her hand grasped tightly something hidden in her clothes.

Benjen smiled slightly; hearing that, he knew perhaps he had given the wrong impression, but he wanted to know that Jon wasn't being used in any way, and Val's eyes showed no lies. He could see that as clear as day.

"Then, you're welcome in House Stark. I wish you both a long and happy life," Benjen exclaimed. Her facial expression barely changed, but Benjen could tell she appreciated his words.

She said nothing as she walked past him, leaving Benjen alone with his thoughts, whose eyes turned to the eyes of the weirwood tree. Kneeling in front of it, he prayed for the future.

Arya Stark

Arya was convinced that she should have been born a boy.

The more time she spent in the room watching Septa Mordane praise Sansa's work, the clearer it became.

Sansa Stark's sewing was perfect. Arya's, a disaster. She was quite sure that if a common hen had been put in her place at that moment, either she would have had the ability to sew a tapestry fit for a king, or no one would have noticed the change.

She felt she was born to wield a shield and a sword, not some silly needle and stupid sewing thread. She wasn't interested in ladies' tasks at all because she wasn't exactly good at it; delicacy was not her strong point; she did not daydream of brave knights or beautiful princes with beautiful golden hair mounted on the backs of snow-white steeds, her good manners were soon lost when she was in front of someone she did not tolerate and had two hands left for what was known as "feminine arts."

Sansa was definitely better at those things.

Looking back at her work, she gave a little contemptuous snort, and taking advantage of the fact that Septa Mordane seemed to be focusing all her attention on Sanda's work, she put her needlework aside and leaned out the window overlooking the courtyard.

From there, he could watch as his brother Bran trained with Robb in what looked like combat with wooden swords. The older man's movements were far more agile than little Bran's, but it was evident that he was doing his best to keep up with the odds. He dodged thrusts rather quickly for his age, Arya had to admit, but he still thought she would do infinitely better if given a chance. But she never got it, so she had to just participate vicariously by looking through the window.

She wasn't aware that someone was watching her too, until she turned her neck slightly to get a better view of what was happening below. There he was, a little more to the right, looking up and with a mischievous smile, her favorite brother, Jon Snow, Ned Stark's bastard, as she had heard many call him.

She hated that word. Bastard. It was hard on her ears. As if illegitimate children had the option to choose whether they wanted to be born or not. The 'bastard' label was hateful to her and cruel, and for this reason, she always shouted at Sansa when she referred to Jon that way. Because to her, Jon was just Jon. Without the burden of a surname involved.

He stuck out his tongue in amusement and watched as the boy winked at her before approaching Bran, who was exhausted after the fight, presumably to give him some advice on how to position his legs correctly when launching an attack.

He had taught her that too, on one of the many afternoons she had once enjoyed in his company before they both, especially Jon, had grown up.

Usually, Jon always let her choose the game, and Arya took the opportunity to ask him to teach her how to handle a sword. Then he would show her her basic movements, and she would repeat them as best she could, trying to remember what she had learned from previous lessons. Too bad that what began as a serious instruction on how to function in single combat almost always ended in a fight on the grass, between tickles and laughter, and that the contestant who ended up with the least leaves in their hair and clothes was awarded as the winner.

The game that Jon almost always chose was one of his own inventions, 'Maidens and Knights', which, she argued, would help her improve her manners and win the approval of Septa Mordane. The rules were very simple: he represented the role of the gentleman in various situations, and she adopted the role of the maiden, in which she had to know how to behave appropriately on each occasion.

The vast majority of the time, Arya managed to switch roles, and that was when she was most sorry that it was getting late and they had to stop playing. She loved to see Jon adopting the role of the maiden, as she always managed to grab a bunch of leaves and arrange them to look like a crown while she exaggerated movements and expressions, becoming quite a show in itself...

She was playing the knight, a branch acting as a sword in one hand and Jon's cloak draped over the other arm as a shield. With said weapons, she fought against the imaginary dragons of House Targaryens that guarded the tower where the 'Joncella,' as Arya had thought to call her, was a prisoner and crying out for a brave knight to rescue her from her.

The battles were always arduous, and when the dragons were mortally defeated and the magical moment of the kiss on the hand arrived, they could barely hold back their laughter, always leaving that ending on hold.

The other times, Jon would get very serious in his role as a gentleman, and then she couldn't escape her role as a maiden. Even so, she was fascinated to see him fight with invisible soldiers in fictional battles because his movements were accurate, precise, and elegant. At least in her opinion.

"Arya! Arya! Pay attention to what I'm saying!"

Septa Mordane's excessively close voice brought her back from the trance in which she seemed to have sunk. She repeatedly blinked, realizing that all the girls, especially Sansa, were looking at her censoriously. She muttered an insult between her teeth and prepared to listen to the unpleasant criticism of her work adorned in the background with the ill-concealed laughter of stupid Jeyne Poole. But, despite this, she couldn't help but look back at the courtyard; Bran was trying to aim his arrow at the center of a round target with a small red circle at the center. Arya's eyes went to Val's figure, making her way to Jon.

Her mind went to her brother's new wife; she was a wildling; unlike her mother and sister, Arya didn't think lowly of her despite being from beyond the wall. Arya was only nine name days, but even she knew that Val was a rare beauty. Arya had heard many in Winterfell compliment Sansa's looks when they thought no one was listening, mostly talking about her figure and things Arya didn't understand.

But now, she had heard of all the guards talking about Val, saying she had the beauty of a Princess. Arya herself knew she was; she knew Sansa was pretty, her mother was beautiful, and Val was as well.

Getting bored of doing nothing fun, Arya decided to sneak...

WINTERFELL COURTYARD

Brandon Stark is getting frustrated, his archery lessons are seemingly hopeless, and he just can't hit the target. Lining another arrow up, he squints, aims, and fires, missing yet again as the arrow sinks itself into a barrel. With a glare, he stomps his foot on the floor, wanting this all to be over.

His elder bastard half-brother Jon comes up behind him, placing both hands on the young lord's shoulders.

"Go on," Jon says encouragingly, lowering himself to look into Bran's eyes.

"Lord Stark's watching." The two boys look up to the area above, where Lord Eddard Stark is watching his sons intently, with his wife Catelyn standing to his right.

"And your mother," Jon continues. Bran takes encouragement from this and, with a small nod to his parents, gets ready to try again. As he was about to release the arrow, another flew past him, hitting the center. Everyone turned to see Arya with a bow as large as her; she bowed mockingly to Bran, who started chasing her, earning a burst of laughter from everyone.

As Ned and Catelyn continue to watch the three boys below the deck, Lord Stark can't help but watch as Jon and Robb are sparing. Although Robb has more brute strength than Jon, Jon has more potential than the Kingslayer from what he's seen. Footsteps were heard behind the husband and wife. They both turn to see Winterfell's Master-at-arms, Ser Rodrick, and he isn't in a playful mood.

"Lord Stark." He calls out before bowing. "Mi Lady. A guardsman just came in from the hills. They've just captured a deserter from the Night's Watch." Ned's mood instantly turns sour as this is a very serious offense.

A brother of the Night's Watch is an oath to serve from life; breaking that oath comes only with death by execution, and this was the ninth one this summer. Reluctantly, Ned looks up at Theon Greyjoy beside Rodrick.

"Tell the lads to saddle up their horses." Theon nods at once and leaves.

"Do you have to?" Lady Stark questions.

"He swore an oath, Cat," Ned says, hoping she doesn't push this further than it needs to be.

"Law is law, milady." Ser Rodrick adds as Catelyn shakes her head in sorrow.

Before Rodrick can take his leave, Ned adds. "Tell Bran he's coming too."As Rodrick bows and takes his leave as well, Catelyn almost feels the wind knock out of her, grabbing Ned by the arm. "Ned, Bran is too young to see such things." Ned doesn't let up his hardened expression, his eyes cold as steel.

"He won't be a boy forever; he has to see the world for what it truly is soon enough." Ned looks back at Catelyn. "And winter is coming."

Later

It doesn't take long; Eddard gathers his men along with Robb, Theon, Jon, Bran, and Val. The wildling women had wanted to see how justice was served South of the wall. Ned had accepted it, but when Arya had seen Val accompanying them, she had shouted that it wasn't fair.

There is also Ser Rodrik Cassel and the Captain of the Guards, Jory Cassel riding with them.

"A deserter was caught?" Bran says to Robb, his eldest brother.

"Aye, the punishment for desertion is beheading," Robb answers as they get closer and closer to the site.

"It's a law that has been passed down for centuries."

"This isn't going to be pleasant, but it must be done," Jon adds.

"If he is going to get beheaded, why is father going?" Bran asks.

"Father believes a man who gives the sentence should carry out the sentence," Robb answers gently. "You'll understand soon enough, Bran."

Val nodded in approval of what Lord Stark was doing; from Jon's words, the Southern Lords ordered people to execute someone for them. She felt a little respect towards Lord Stark for not going the easy way out.

The area surrounding the execution block is too hilly. Good for keeping the scene private but awful to get to. The Stark party arrives and quickly dismounts, forming an audience around the block. Standing between Robb and Bran, Jon looks ahead and hears a trembling voice mumbling.

".... Saw the White Walkers. White Walkers. The White Walkers. I saw the White Walkers."

They spot a man being dragged towards the block in the middle by two guardsmen; this was the deserter, being escorted to his death.

Eddard steps forward and allows the stuttering man to speak.

The scraggly-haired man in black is escorted to the block where Ned is standing. As the Lord and the prisoner face each other, the deserter speaks directly to Ned. "I know I broke my oath. And I know I'm a deserter. I...I should have gone back to the Wall and warned them."

Ned's face is solid as stone as he hears the man's words, but nothing he says can get him out of his punishment.

"But I saw what I saw. I s-saw the White Walkers." He declares with as much confidence as he can muster, which isn't a lot. "People need to know. If you can get word to my family, tell them I'm no coward. Tell them I'm sorry."

Robb stands tall as heir to Winterfell, as he feels he should when represented with his father.

Jon stands beside Val, with Ghost near her, standing almost protectingly.

Seeing that the deserter has nothing else left to say, Ned gives the order with a nod to the two guardsmen behind the former brother of the Night's Watch. They force his head down onto the hard black wood as Theon Greyjoy, ward of Winterfell, offers Ned the large Valyrian Steel great sword Ice that has belonged to House Stark for thousands of years.

"In the name of Rhaegar of the House Targaryen, first of his name ..." Ned begins under the deep whisper of his voice, with Jon stepping a bit closer to Bran.

"Don't look away," Jon whispers to his little brother. "Lord Stark will know if you do."

"...King of the Andals and the First Men. Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, I, Eddard of the House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, sentence you to die."

As Ned lifts the greatsword above his head, Bran almost has half a mind to run away.

Ned brings down the sword and takes the man's head off with a single sure stroke.

Whereas Bran has little to no reaction other than a slight twitch of his lips.

Theon looks down at the head that bounced towards his feet after getting separated from its body. He laughs and kicks it away.

"Ass," Robb mutters low enough for Theon not to hear. Ned walks up to his eldest son, who turns away from watching Theon and now stares at Jon.

"One day, you will be the one to pass sentence. Remember the lessons I gave you," Ned says to Robb, who nods. Ned looks at Jon speaking to his wildling wife. Ned allows himself to smile, seeing his nephew smiling.

_____________

Jon rides with Ned and his sons; well ahead of the main party, Val is telling the party stories on how beyond the North, those who break the rules are executed by the leader of the clan or the person who they harmed.

"Val, I thought you from beyond the wall were free people?" Bran inquired, looking over his shoulder as he asked. This got an arched eyebrow from Jon and Ned.

"We do, little Bran, but even we have rules that cannot be broken unless you want to get the Bloody Eagle,"

Bran nodded in understanding and said nothing as they kept riding. Not wanting to know what she meant by 'Bloody Eagle.'

"The deserter died bravely," Robb interjects, but he's not speaking to Ned behind him but to his bastard brother Jon up ahead.

"He had courage, at the least."

"No," Jon Snow says quietly. "It was not courage. This one was dead of fear. You could see it in his eyes, Stark."

"Are you well, Bran?" Ned asks. Bran takes his time to spare the Lord of Winterfell a quick nod of acknowledgment.

"Y-yes, Father," Bran replies, his deep blue eyes having lost a bit of their life. Ned also notices that Bran is clutching the reins of his horse a bit tighter than necessary, as if he is afraid of falling.

"I had to do it, Bran," Ned says. "I hope you understand that."

Bran continues to look forward, his voice as dull as an old rusty knife. "I do, father. Robb said the man died bravely, but Jon said he w-was afraid."

"What do you think?" Ned asks.

Bran thinks about it. "I don't know. Can a man still be...brave? Even when afraid?"

"That's the only time he can be," Ned tells him.

"But I need you to understand that that man was an oathbreaker, a deserter from the Night's Watch."

"And you had to be the one to kill him," Bran says matter-of-factly, his stomach still turning at the memory of the man's head being cut from the rest of his body.

Ned nods. "Yes. Although King Rhaegar and the rest of the Targaryen kings before him used a headsman, our way is the older way. The blood of the First Men still flows in the veins of the Starks, and we hold to the belief that the man who passes sentence should swing the sword. If you would take a man's life, you owe it to him to look into his eyes and hear his final words. And if you cannot bear to do that, then perhaps the man does not deserve to die."

"That's a lot to take in." That's all that runs through Bran's head once his father finishes his "little" explanation. But Bran heard; he heard loud and clear. He hopes he never has to be put in a position to look someone in the eye before killing them.

_____________

"Marks!" Val suddenly shouted, making the party stop.

"What?"

"These are from a Direwolf and a... Stag!" Val continued pointing at marks in the mud. Ned could hardly see anything from his horse, but her words made the party tense.

"Eyes Open," Ned shouted at everyone; not wanting to take chances, Ghost got in front of both Jon and Val, standing protectively.

They don't get too far on the road back to Winterfell when a horrendously ravaged stag halts the group a while down the road, and Ned dismounts to investigate further, the rest of the party soon following suit.

"What is it?" Jon asks, staring at the carcass.

"The Direwolf?" Theon questions to the left of Eddard Stark, wondering if the direwolf Val mentioned had left this mess.

"Maybe, there hasn't been another direwolf here for years," Ned replies sombrely, looking around and following a trail that leads away to a nearby stream.

Unsheathing their swords as a precaution, they make it down to the stream, only to find a giant of a wolf with antlers through its throat, with five wolf pups whimpering around the massive beast. The group looks on in horror at the size of the wolf.

Bran is just wondering what is going on today. First, he witnesses someone's head being chopped off, then the dead carcass of a stag, and now this.

"What in the seven hells is that?" Jory asks.

"It's a freak," Theon says with disgust.

"It's a direwolf," Ned explains, glancing at Rodrik before kneeling. "Tough old beast," he adds, ripping the antlers out of the direwolf.

Bran is fascinated, watching his step as he gets a better look. Ser Rodrick, his swords instructor, wraps his fingers around the boy's arm to stop him from getting closer.

"Don't be afraid, little one." He whispers. "It's dead."

Bran looks up at the elder man. "I...I'm not afraid. I just want a closer look with them." He is at some level as Rodrick, seemingly satisfied with the boy's response; lets go of his arm to allow him a closer look.

"There is only one direwolve south of the Wall," Robb says worriedly, unblinking.

"Now there are six," Jon adds.

A sudden silence descends over the party. The men look at the wolves uneasily, and no one dares to speak.

Ned cleans his dirty hands with the little snow nearby. "I'm surprised she lived long enough to whelp," Ned says, referring to the fact the wolf gave birth to her pups in these circumstances.

"Maybe she didn't," Val says. "I've heard tales. Is it possible she was already dead when the pups came."

Jon bends down towards the pups and picks one up, handing it to Bran, who looks slightly scared. "You want to hold it?" He asks.

As the pup is dropped in Bran's arms, he looks up nervously. "Where will they go? Their mothers dead." As he said that, Ghost started licking one of the pups, wiping away the dirt from the face and tail.

"Lord Stark," Jon says, not taking his eyes off the wolves throughout the exchange. Bran looks at him. "There are five pups, three male, two female."

"You have five trueborn children," Jon added. "Three sons, two daughters. The direwolf is the sigil of your House. Your children were meant to have these pups, my lord."

Bran sees his father's face change, and the other men exchange glances. Bran looks at Jon and understands why he only said, "five trueborn children."

The lord weights his sons long and carefully with his eyes. "You will feed them yourself, you will train them yourself, and if they die. You will bury them yourself. Is that understood?"

Jon glances at Bran, who has since wiped his tears, and shows a smile. "Yes, Father."

"Yes." Robb agrees.

"The pups may die anyway, despite all you do," Theon added with a snarky attitude.

"They won't die," Robb says. "We won't let them die."

"Keep them, then. Theon, gather up the other pups. It's time we were back to Winterfell."

Jon noticed how Ghost was still cleaning the pups and how he had bared his teeth when Theon said they would die.

Val walked up to him and spoke once everyone was out of earshot. "Direwolves and a Dragon south of the wall. Perhaps Aanogar is real, too," she suggested with a smile, remembering Jon once mentioned magical creatures, one of them being Aanogar, the largest Kraken.

"I hope not. It is said that's The Drowned God's creature, and only A Sea of Blood will satisfy's it's hunger,"