7-The Stag, The Wolf & The Dark Truth

Jon, Theon, Robb, and Bran stood around in the courtyard as Bran practiced and failed at archery. Losing yet another arrow that flew over the wall, Jon couldn't help but smirk as Robb and Theon lost it, laughing hysterically.

"And which one of you aside from Jon was a marksman at ten? Keep practicing, Bran," Ned encouraged as he and Catelyn looked down from the balcony above.

"My lord, my lady. A rider rode in from the hills; they've captured another deserter from the Night's Watch," Rodrik reported, wiping the smiles from the faces of the couple.

"Tell the lads to saddle their horses," Ned ordered Theon, who nodded and took his leave.

"Do you have to?" Catelyn asked with concern.

"We swore an oath, Cat," Ned replied.

"The law is the law, my lady," Rodrik affirmed.

"Tell Bran he's coming too," Ned commanded Rodrik, who nodded before also taking his leave.

"Ned... ten is too young to see such things," Catelyn retorted.

"He won't be a boy forever. Winter is Coming," Ned replied before walking off.

The ride through the hills was long, but eventually, Ned's party arrived at the location. The boy, Will, was barely older than Jon, and yet he was about to die. A cruel fate awaited those of the Night's Watch, forced to man a frosty hellhole while fighting off Wildlings and worse for the rest of their lives. He'd much rather sacrifice his hand if he were in such a position, if need be, death.

"I saw them, White Walkers, White Walkers, they're back..." Will mumbled as he was led to the executioner's block.

Out of the blue, Ned turned and without saying a word, gestured for his nephew to approach.

"My lord?" Jon asked curiously before Ned handed him Ice, House Stark's ancestral Valyrian Steel sword.

"In the name of King Robert of the House Baratheon, first of his name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, I, Jon Baratheon, Prince of the Seven Kingdoms and Heir to the Realm, condemn you to die. That is what you will say. The man who passes the sentence..." Ned spoke before Jon continued.

"Should swing the sword. I understand, uncle. I will not disappoint you," Jon replied as he accepted the sword with a nod.

"I know you won't; you never have. 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," Ned said before patting him on the shoulder and sending him to do his duty.

Slowly making his way over to Will, Jon looked into his eyes, knowing the truth he spoke that others would call him mad for, was really the truth.

"I know I broke my oath, but I saw what I saw... the White Walkers..." Will stammered not at the thought of dying, but at the thought of not only being brought back as one of them, but even being around when they return in force.

Jon nodded to the two Stark men to force the deserter to his knees and over the block. Holding the colossal blade close, Jon recited what he had been told, knowing this was only the beginning.

"Don't look away, father will know if you do," Robb ordered Bran, who kept his sight fixed on Jon, the man he almost respected more than his father.

"In the name of King Robert of the House Baratheon, first of his name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, I, Jon Baratheon, Prince of the Seven Kingdoms and Heir to the realm and Iron Throne, condemn you to die. Dead, ice-like skin and eyes like gates to a blue hell," Jon spoke as he muttered the last part only loud enough for Will to hear. 

At the realization of his Prince had said, Will's head was about to turn to face him, only to then be parted from his body with no more difficulty then a chef prepping the carrots for supper. Blood sprayed across the gold snowy grass, causing Bran to jump but remain otherwise still and watching. Theon laughed as Will's head rolled towards him, kicking it back towards the rest of his body, only to stop his cackling at receiving a glare from Rodrik. 

"You did well," Robb told Bran as he patted little brother's shoulder reassuringly, helping him walk off the shock.

Taking the blade from Jon and giving it a quick clean, Ned placed a hand on his nephew's shoulder.

"Any man would sleep better knowing that death not following him would be a certainty, but even royalty doesn't get that luxury. Come on, let's get back," Ned said as he walked next to Jon.

Taking an alternate route back, Ned's party was eventually stopped at a most peculiar scene. A dead stag sprawled across the road and rotting, meaning it had been here for some time. Dismounting and drawing their blades, Ned took the lead.

"Could it have been a mountain lion?" Robb asked.

"There are no mountain Lions, nor Shadowcats ," Ned replied as he followed a small trail of blood.

Leading them down beside the bridge and next to the creek it was built over, they discovered a grisly scene. A mother dire wolf had been skewered by the dead stag back on the road and died shortly after, a broken antler still stuck in the neck of the beast.

"What in the hells is that monstrosity..." Theon said, unnerved at the sight before him.

"Dire wolf. Tough old beast," Ned said as he pulled the bloody antler from the beast's neck and handed it to Jon, who thought of a good idea for a new knife handle or sword pommel.

"Where will they go? Their mother's dead..." Bran asked with concern.

"They don't belong down here," Rodrik replied.

"Untrue. Many of the Stark Kings of old had them as pets if the statues in the crypt can be believed," Jon retorted.

"Better a quick death. They won't survive without their mother," Ned said as he sheathed his sword.

"Right, give it here!" Theon said as he pulled his dagger and took the pup from Bran.

"Sheath your blade!" Robb demanded.

"I take orders from your father, not you!" Theon rebuked.

"PLEASE, Father!" Bran pleaded with Ned.

"I'm sorry Bran," Ned replied.

"Lord Stark, if I may. There are six pups, enough for each of the Stark children. The dire wolf is the sigil of your house; you were meant to have them," Jon spoke, giving hope to Bran as Ned thought on it for a long moment.

"And what of the sixth?" Ned asked.

"I will see if it will take to me. If not, I will do what needs to be done," Jon reassured.

"You will feed them yourselves, you will train them yourselves, and if they die, you will bury them yourselves. No maids nor kennel masters will have anything to do with this," Ned relented as he took his leave back to his horse while Theon holstered his dagger.

Robb assisted in carrying two, Bran carried another, and Jon took two as the albino one hid from sight behind a nearby tree.

"Thank you," Bran said as he looked up to Jon.

"Come on, let's get home," Jon said as he followed behind the group.

The days following the execution, Jon took to nurturing his pup and assisted Bran in taking care of his. Quickly, the Stark children took to them as pets, regardless of their status as regal beasts they were seen as beyond the wall and in ancient times. Naming his 'Ghost' to honor the 'bastard' the timeline had replaced with himself, Bran named his 'Summer' in contrast to his orangey, multi-colored coat reminding him of the reddish Weirwood leaves.

Sansa named hers 'Lady' after her gold eyes and snobbish habits of eating only milk at a certain temperature, nervously kissing Jon on the cheek in thanks for saving the pups. Arya named hers 'Nymeria' purely because that's who she looked up to when forced to listen to the stories and who Jon believed was reincarnated as Arya on behalf of her being a little firecracker. Robb named his 'Grey Wind' on behalf of his darker coat and being the largest of the pups, with the last being Rickon's, who named his 'Winter,' a name Jon persuaded away from 'Shaggy Dog.'

Winter Town Inn, Just Outside Winterfell, Midnight

A cloaked figure sat at a table far in the corner of the main room, cleaning his nails and drinking an ale as he appeared to be waiting for something. It wasn't long before another cloaked man entered from the snow, tall and muscular with a black beard. Spotting each other, the tall man approached and took a seat across from him.

"Hilda love, customer!" The Bar Keep beckoned a young waitress who quickly approached.

"What will it be?" She asked.

"He don't talk, and he won't have anything" The nail-cleaner dismissed the young girl, waiting for her to walk away far enough so they could talk.

"Did you manage to get them?" Mr Tall asked.

"Aye, and they were a bunch of glum, moody cunts, just as you said they would" Mr Nails replied.

"Were you seen?" Mr Tall questioned further.

"I wouldn't be worth so bloody much If I had been. A hundred onions, freshly peeled. They were tough old bastards to get off too!" Mr Nails reported as he tapped a large crate next to him.

"Pleasure doing business" Mr Tall commended before he placed a well-filled coin purse Infront of him.

The near-giant of a man effortlessly carried the heavy crate back through the walls of Winterfell, through it's yards, and into the keep unnoticed. Turning the corridor to the Lord's Quarter, Ser Barristan placed his hand on the hilt of his sword upon seeing a familiarly large man before him.

"Easy ser, I don't plan on being put in the past tense just yet" Mr Tall revealed himself to be Jon with a smile as he removed his cloak.

"Apologies your grace. Another one of your nightly strolls?" Barristan asked.

"Indeed. I was assisting the cooks with their onions, but I know of only one prybar to get this blasted crate open!" Jon reassured before entering his room and closing the door.

Using a lit candle in his room to light a larger torch for more light, Jon brought it close as he proceeded to effortlessly pry the crates lid away from it's box and carefully sift through it's contents. Quickly coming upon something that had been carefully and generously wrapped, Jon placed the torch on a table to his side to free his hands as a smile crossed his face. 

Unwrapping the mysterious and cleverly hidden item, Jon's smile grew ear to ear as a Valyrian Steel blade without a hilt and it's tang exposed presented itself, shinning brilliantly in the torch light despite it's smoky-grey patterns. 

"Well...aren't you a beauty!"

The day of the King's visit arrived as Bran reported to his mother from atop the wall of the castle that she scolded him for climbing. Perching Ghost on his shoulder, Jon took his place in the front line of the greeting assembly on Robb's right, who had his father and mother to his left. Soon a convoy of many mounted troops marched through the gates of the massive castle, ending with the Royal family, who were accompanied by their Kingsguard, Barristan among them. Quickly dismounting from his horse, Robert ignored everything else for the now man he knew to be his son. All knelt, except for Jon.

Meeting face to face, Jon, now taller somehow than his giant father, stared him in the face, a duel of stares that no one present knew who the victor would be.

"And who are you supposed to be? You lanky bugger! Do you not bow for kings now?" Robert raised his voice as a moment of tension fell on the courtyard, the only audible sound being the snorting of the present horses and the squelching of their hooves into the muddy ground.

"And you've gotten fat, old man," Jon retorted.

The tension built to an unsettling high, only to break as a smile formed on both the father and son's faces. The two clashed in a hug strong enough to breeze Robb's perfect hair out of place.

"I knew Stark and Baratheon blood would make giants, but by the gods, you'll grow to rival the mountain one day," Robert spoke as he admired his son's stature.

"All I can say is the North forges a breed of men unparalleled in the Kingdoms," Jon replied.

"We'll talk later, at length," Robert reached up and patted his son on the shoulder before greeting the rest of the Starks, then requesting to visit the crypts with both Jon and Ned.

"We have been riding for a month, my love, the dead can wait," Cersei protested, only to fall on deaf ears as Robert took his leave with his best friend and son.

Robert, Jon, and Ned made their way past the heavy Ironwood doors and deep down the first level of many 'Halls of the Dead.'

"Tell me about Jon Arryn!" Ned asked.

"One minute he was fine, and then... burned right through him, whatever it was. I loved that man more than my own father, gods forgive me. Remember me at sixteen? All I wanted to do was crack skulls and fuck girls, but he straightened me out all the same," Robert recalled with a heavy heart.

"Oh yes, I remember," Ned chuckled with a raised brow.

"Don't look at me like that, it's not his fault I didn't bloody listen. You seem to have managed to straighten this one out, though. Let me guess, he hasn't killed a man or bedded a wench yet," Robert laughed.

"My first kill was just over a week ago, deserter from the Night's Watch," Jon replied, correcting his father, causing Robert to stop and turn.

"Aye, that sounds right. Since the day you were born, you had those eyes. Not of a madman, but of one who was capable of just about bloody anything. Tell me, what did he say before you took his head?" Robert asked.

"He claimed to have seen the White Walkers. Truth or not, his eyes told me he'd rather die than face whatever it was he saw again," Jon replied, getting no response from his father other than striking a chord deep within him that not even Ned picked up on.

"I need you both, you know. Down in King's Landing, not up here where you're no damned use to anybody. You, as my heir and a better man than I ever was or could be, and you, to run my kingdom while I drink, eat and whore my way into an early grave. Lord Eddard Stark, I would name you Hand of the King!" Robert proclaimed, leaving Ned speechless before taking to one knee.

"I'm not worthy of the honor..." Ned replied as he looked to the ground, not himself to be worthy of filling the shoes of his foster father and mentor.

"I wouldn't be so quick to get all sentimental. Damn it, Ned, get up!" Ned rises. "You helped me keep the throne, now help me and your nephew keep the damned thing. If fate wasn't so cruel, your sister, your mother, and my beloved would still be here, ruling by my side. However, she gave me a gift I was never worthy to receive, us, bound by blood. I would do it once more. I have a son, you have a daughter, we will further join our houses!" Robert proclaimed further, giving no time for Ned to think before taking off further down the hall towards Lyanna's grave.

Looking over to his nephew, Jon didn't seem surprised by his father's quick proclamations. Patting his uncle on the shoulder, the two followed their King further down, eventually reaching their destination.

Placing a freshly picked blue rose on the outstretched hand on Lyanna's statue, Robert was almost brought to tears at remembering their time together, however brief. Her beauty, her laughter, her long and flowing mud-brown hair.

"Did you have to bury her in a place like this?" Robert asked as he reached out his hand to caress the face of the statue. "She could be on a hill somewhere, under a tree with the sun and clouds above her..." Robert spoke.

"She was my sister, this is where she belongs," Ned replied with a look of equal melancholy to Robert's, only hiding it better.

"She belonged with me, and her son... In my dreams, I butcher that silver-haired bastard every night, every time in a new way," Robert spoke with a drastic tonal change to one of venom.

"It's done, your grace, all the Targaryens are gone," Ned spoke.

"Not all of them..."