Chapter 4

The rhythmic sound of hoofbeats echoed through the crisp morning air as Lord Stark, flanked by Harry, Jon, Robb, Theon, Bran, and a retinue of Stark household guards, rode in formation through the woodlands surrounding Winterfell. The towering trees cast dappled shadows across the forest floor, creating a sense of foreboding as they ventured deeper into the unknown.

Ahead of them, their guide— a seasoned Stark guardsman— urged his horse forward, leading the way to the spot where the Night's Watch deserter had been apprehended. His cloak billowed behind him as he navigated the winding paths with practiced ease, his steely gaze focused on the task at hand.

Lord Stark rode at the head of the group, his expression grave yet determined, a silent testament to the weight of his responsibilities as Warden of the North. Harry rode alongside him, his senses alert to the slightest sign of danger, one hand on the hilt of Ignis, and his wand tucked securely in its wrist holster.

Jon and Robb rode close behind, their faces set with determination as they prepared to confront the deserter and uncover the truth behind his actions. Theon, Bran, and the Stark household guards followed closely, their eyes scanning the surrounding woods for any sign of trouble.

As they rode on through the winding paths of the Wolfswood, Harry couldn't help but be struck by the passage of time. It had been six months since he arrived in this world, yet it felt like both an eternity and the blink of an eye.

In that time, Harry had forged bonds with the Stark family and their companions, becoming an integral part of their lives at Winterfell. He had trained alongside Jon and Robb, shared meals with Lord Stark, and explored the vast expanse of the North with Bran and Theon.

Yet, despite the familiarity he had gained with his surroundings and companions, Harry couldn't shake the feeling of displacement that lingered within him. His memories of his previous life remained ever-present, a constant reminder of the world he had left behind.

As the party reached the spot where the deserter had been apprehended, a solemn hush fell over the group. The forest seemed to hold its breath, the only sound the soft rustle of leaves in the gentle breeze.

Lord Stark reined in his horse, his expression grave as he surveyed the scene before them. The ground bore signs of struggle, with broken branches and trampled foliage marking the spot where the deserter had been captured.

Harry's keen eyes scanned the surroundings, taking in every detail with a sense of heightened awareness. His hand strayed to Ignis sheathed at his side.

Jon and Robb dismounted, their movements purposeful as they examined the area for any clues that might shed light on the deserter's motives. Theon and Bran remained on horseback, their gazes darting nervously to the shadows that danced at the edge of the clearing.

The Stark household guards fanned out, their hands resting on the hilts of their swords as they stood watch, ever vigilant for any sign of danger.

Lord Stark dismounted from his horse, his presence commanding as he approached the captured deserter. His expression was stern, yet there was a hint of curiosity in his eyes as he prepared to interrogate the man before him.

The deserter, bound and kneeling on the forest floor, cast a wary glance at Lord Stark, his features drawn with fear and apprehension. He knew that his fate now rested in the hands of the Warden of the North, and he awaited Lord Stark's judgment with trepidation.

Lord Stark regarded the deserter with a steady gaze, his voice measured yet commanding as he posed his next question. "What is your name, deserter?"

The man hesitated for a moment before responding, his voice barely above a whisper. "Will, my lord. My name is Will."

"Tell me, Will," Lord Stark's voice rang out, firm and unwavering. "What drove you to abandon your post on the Wall? What did you see beyond the Wall that compelled you to risk your life and betray your vows?"

Will's eyes flickered with uncertainty as he gathered his thoughts, the weight of Lord Stark's questions bearing down on him. He knew that the truth of his encounter with the White Walkers would be met with skepticism, yet he also knew that he could not deny what he had witnessed.

"My lord," Will began, his voice tinged with desperation. "I saw them—the White Walkers. They came for us in the dead of night, with eyes as blue as ice and a chill that froze the very soul. We were no match for them, my lord. They slaughtered us without mercy, leaving naught but death and despair in their wake."

As Will's tale unfolded before them, skepticism clouded the minds of Lord Stark's companions. Jon, Robb, and the others exchanged uncertain glances, their expressions reflecting the disbelief that lingered in their hearts. Yet, despite their doubts, Lord Stark remained silent, his expression unreadable as he pondered the deserter's words.

Harry couldn't shake the nagging doubts that lingered in his mind. The tale of the White Walkers seemed too fantastical to be true, yet a part of him couldn't ignore the urgency in Will's voice or the gravity of his words.

Determined to uncover the truth, Harry focused his thoughts, delving into the depths of Will's mind with Legilimency. With practiced ease, he sifted through the deserter's memories, searching for any trace of deception or falsehood.

What he found there was a maelstrom of fear and desperation, memories of a nightmarish encounter with creatures that seemed to defy all reason. As Harry delved deeper, he sensed the raw terror that had gripped Will's soul, the haunting echoes of a battle fought against an enemy that seemed unstoppable.

As the memories unfolded before him, Harry's skepticism began to wane, replaced by a growing sense of unease. Though he had hoped to find evidence to refute Will's claims, the truth revealed by Legilimency left little room for doubt.

With a heavy heart, Harry withdrew from Will's mind, his thoughts weighed down by the grim reality of the situation. Though the existence of the White Walkers seemed impossible, the evidence provided by Will's memories painted a chilling portrait of a threat that could not be ignored.

Lord Stark's gaze met Harry's, a silent understanding passing between them. Lord Stark, Jon, and Robb were the only ones privy to the full extent of Harry's abilities, including Legilimency.

With a subtle nod, Harry silently confirmed what Will had said to be true, his eyes reflecting the gravity of the situation. Though skepticism had clouded their minds, the truth revealed by Harry's Legilimency left little room for doubt.

Lord Stark's voice was grave as he turned his attention back to Will, his gaze steady yet filled with empathy. "Before we proceed, Will," he began, "I must ask if you have any final wishes."

Will's expression softened at the unexpected question, his eyes reflecting a mix of resignation and gratitude. Though he knew that his fate was sealed, the opportunity to express his final wishes brought a sense of closure to his troubled heart.

After a moment's pause, Will spoke, his voice steady despite the weight of his words. "My lord," he said, his tone tinged with solemnity. "If it pleases you, tell my parents I died bravely. That I died fighting the Wildlings."

As Will's request lingered in the air, Lord Stark's expression remained stoic, his thoughts weighed down by the solemn duty before him. Without acknowledging Will's wish, Lord Stark drew his sword Ice from its scabbard, the steel gleaming in the dappled light of the clearing. As the blade emerged, it seemed to catch the very essence of the gathering, reflecting both the weight of duty and the solemnity of the moment.

"In the name of Robert of House Baratheon," Lord Stark intoned, his voice steady and unwavering, "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."

Each word rang out with authority, echoing through the clearing as Lord Stark's gaze remained fixed on Will, his expression resolute and determined.

With a solemn nod from Lord Stark, the execution proceeded. Jon's voice, firm yet compassionate, cut through the tense silence. "Bran," he whispered, his tone urging his younger brother to remain steadfast. "Don't look away. Father will know if you do."

Bran's eyes widened in understanding as he clenched his jaw, determination flashing in his gaze. Though the sight before him was harrowing, he knew that he must steel himself, for to avert his eyes would be to dishonor the solemnity of the moment and the sacrifice that Will had made.

As the blade of Ice fell, slicing through the air with a swift and decisive motion, Bran forced himself to maintain his gaze, his expression resolute despite the turmoil churning within him. He felt Jon's steady presence beside him, a silent reassurance that together, they would weather the storm.

As the deed was done and the group began to depart, Bran spared a final glance at the scene before him, the image seared into his memory as a testament to the harsh realities of the world beyond the safety of Winterfell's walls.

As the group began to ride away from the scene of the execution, Bran's curiosity got the better of him, and he turned to Jon with a furrowed brow. "Do you believe what Will told us?" he asked, his voice low with uncertainty.

Jon's gaze flickered to Harry, who rode beside them, his expression unreadable. In that moment, Harry's silent affirmation spoke volumes, leaving Jon momentarily speechless. The weight of Harry's unspoken confirmation hung heavy in the air, casting a shadow of doubt over Jon's previous skepticism.

With a solemn nod, Jon finally spoke, his voice tinged with a newfound sense of conviction

"There's more to this world than we know." he replied quietly, his eyes fixed on the horizon ahead.

As they rode on, Harry's keen eyes scanned the surrounding terrain, alert for any signs of danger or intrigue. Suddenly, a glint of something caught his attention, and he reined in his horse, bringing the group to a halt.

"Look," Harry called out, his voice cutting through the quietude of the forest. "Over there."

His companions turned to follow his gaze, their eyes widening in astonishment as they beheld the massive carcass of a beast lying amidst the underbrush. Its sheer size and formidable appearance left no doubt that it was a creature of great power and ferocity.

"What in the Seven Kingdoms is that?" Robb exclaimed, his hand instinctively moving to the hilt of his sword.

Harry approached the carcass cautiously, his senses on high alert as he examined the creature's massive form. Its size alone was enough to inspire awe, but the sight of its lifeless body left lingering questions about its origins and the circumstances of its demise.

As the group gathered around the fallen beast, Theon's voice cut through the silence with a note of disdain. "What a freak," he remarked, his tone tinged with contempt as he regarded the massive creature.

Robb's brow furrowed in disapproval at Theon's remark, and he spoke up, his voice firm and resolute. "It's not a freak," he corrected, his gaze unwavering as he surveyed the creature's imposing form. "It's a Direwolf."

Theon's expression shifted, a flicker of recognition crossing his features as he absorbed Robb's words.

Lord Stark's brow furrowed in consternation as he surveyed the fallen Direwolf before them, his voice heavy with concern. "There are no Direwolves south of the Wall," he remarked, his tone reflecting the gravity of the situation.

Before he could dwell further on the matter, Jon's voice broke through the solemn silence, drawing attention to a nearby thicket. "Father, look," he exclaimed, his tone tinged with excitement.

Lord Stark followed Jon's gaze, his eyes widening in astonishment as he beheld the sight before them. Nestled amidst the underbrush were five small forms, their fur a snowy white against the verdant foliage.

"There are Direwolf cubs," Jon declared, his voice filled with awe and wonder. "Five of them."

Lord Stark's expression softened at the sight of the vulnerable creatures, a mixture of surprise and curiosity flickering in his eyes. Though the presence of Direwolves south of the Wall was indeed unusual, the discovery of the cubs offered a glimmer of hope amidst the uncertainty that loomed over the land.

As the group approached the thicket where the Direwolf cubs lay, tension simmered beneath the surface, palpable in the air. Theon's voice cut through the quietude, his tone brimming with aggression as he addressed Jon. "Hand them over," he demanded, his hand drifting towards the hilt of his knife.

Before Jon could respond, Bran's voice rang out, sharp and commanding. "Stop!" he shouted, his words echoing through the clearing with startling clarity.

As Jon moved to intervene, Theon's defiance flared, his voice edged with disdain. "I take orders from Lord Stark, not his Bastard," he retorted, his words laced with contempt.

Jon's jaw tightened at Theon's insult, but he held his ground, his gaze unwavering as he met Theon's defiant stare.

As Theon's insult hung in the air, Harry felt a surge of annoyance ripple through him at the derogatory term aimed at Jon. His gaze hardened as he locked eyes with Theon, his silent stare a wordless challenge that spoke volumes.

Sensing Harry's displeasure, Theon faltered, a flicker of uncertainty crossing his features. The memory of past encounters with Harry, where he had been swiftly and decisively put in his place for overstepping his bounds, flashed through his mind, a sobering reminder of the consequences of crossing the line.

Though his pride bristled at the thought of backing down, Theon knew better than to provoke Harry further. With a reluctant nod, he begrudgingly stepped back, his earlier bravado giving way to a grudging acceptance of Harry's silent rebuke.

As the tension between them eased, Bran's plea echoed through the clearing. There was a note of desperation tinged his voice, his eyes pleading with Lord Stark for mercy towards the vulnerable creatures before them.

"Please, Father," he implored, his words a heartfelt plea born of compassion and empathy. "We can't leave them here to die."

Lord Stark regarded Bran with a mixture of sympathy and understanding, his expression softened by his son's earnest appeal. "Direwolves are not pets, Bran," he stated firmly, his tone gentle yet resolute. "They belong in the wild, where they can fend for themselves."

Bran's shoulders slumped in defeat at his father's words, the weight of disappointment heavy upon him. Though he understood Lord Stark's reasoning, his heart ached at the thought of abandoning the helpless creatures to an uncertain fate.

Jon's voice broke through the tense silence, his words carrying a note of urgency as he interjected in the conversation.

"Lord Stark," Jon said. Bran looked at him with desperate hope. "There are five pups," he told Father. "Three male, two female."

"What of it, Jon?"

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

As Jon's words hung in the air, a solemn hush fell over the group, each member keenly aware of the weight of his revelation. Bran's heart swelled with pride for his brother, admiration shining in his eyes as he beheld Jon's selfless sacrifice.

Lord Stark's gaze softened as he regarded Jon, a mixture of admiration and paternal pride evident in his expression. "You want no pup for yourself, Jon?" he inquired softly, his tone gentle yet probing.

Jon's response was unwavering, his resolve clear as he reaffirmed his place within the Stark family. "The direwolf graces the banners of House Stark," he explained, his voice steady and resolute. "I am no Stark, Father."

A flicker of understanding passed between them, a silent acknowledgment of Jon's unwavering loyalty and devotion to the Stark name. Though custom dictated that Jon should be excluded from the count, his omission spoke volumes of his humility and selflessness in the face of societal expectations.

Their lord father regarded Jon thoughtfully, a sense of respect and admiration evident in his eyes. In that moment, Jon's sacrifice had not gone unnoticed, his unwavering dedication to his family serving as a testament to the strength of the bonds that united them as one.

Lord Stark's voice cut through the solemn atmosphere, his words firm and unwavering as he addressed his children. "You'll train them yourselves, you'll feed them yourselves, and if they die, you'll bury them yourselves."

His words carried the weight of authority, a solemn decree that underscored the gravity of the responsibility that lay before them. Each Stark child understood the significance of Lord Stark's command, their hearts swelling with determination to rise to the challenge set before them.

Bran nodded solemnly, his gaze sweeping over the Direwolf cubs before him. He felt a surge of determination welling within him, a silent vow to protect and nurture the creatures entrusted to their care.

Robb's keen eyes scanned the area, his gaze sweeping over the surrounding landscape until they settled on a small figure near the stream. With a furrowed brow, he nudged Theon and nodded in the direction of the sickly albino cub.

"There," he said, his voice low with concern. "Another one."

Theon followed Robb's gaze and spotted the lone cub, his expression shifting to one of apprehension. "Looks like he's in bad shape," he remarked, his tone tinged with worry.

Bran, who had been preoccupied with the other cubs, turned his attention to the albino cub, his heart sinking at the sight of the frail creature. "We have to help him," he declared, his voice tinged with urgency.

With a determined nod, Robb's arms cradled the sickly albino cub with tender care as he approached Jon, his expression grave yet determined. Without a word, he gently placed the frail creature into Jon's arms, a silent gesture of trust and responsibility.

"It's yours, Jon," Robb stated, his voice steady as he met Jon's gaze.

Jon's eyes widened in surprise at the unexpected gift, a mixture of gratitude and concern flickering in his gaze. He understood the weight of Robb's gesture, the unspoken bond forged between them as brothers.

As Jon cradled the albino cub close to his chest, Theon couldn't resist the urge to interject with a mocking comment, his tone laced with sarcasm. "Looks like you got the runt of the litter, Jon," he quipped, a smirk playing on his lips.

Jon's jaw tightened in annoyance at Theon's jibe, but he remained silent, his focus on the frail creature nestled in his arms. Harry's hand moved with swift retribution as he delivered a sharp smack to the back of Theon's head, the impact echoing through the air with a resounding thud. Theon recoiled slightly, taken aback by the sudden blow, his expression shifting from smug amusement to startled indignation.

Before Theon could protest, Harry turned his attention to Jon, his gaze softening as he watched his friend cradle the albino cub in his arms. "What will you name him, Jon?" Harry inquired, his voice gentle yet curious.

Jon's eyes met Harry's briefly before returning to the small creature nestled against his chest. As he stared into the cub's piercing red eyes, a sense of connection washed over him, a silent understanding passing between them.

"Ghost," Jon declared, his voice steady and sure. "I'll name him Ghost."

The name hung in the air, a testament to the cub's ethereal appearance and the enigmatic presence that seemed to surround him. In that moment, Jon knew that the albino cub would forever hold a special place in his heart, a silent guardian in the shadows, ever watchful and ever loyal.

---

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