Blood Brothers
Jonelle was recovering slowly. Ned visited her each day, but he could see his presence was strange for the girl. If her story was to be believed, and he had no reason not to, then here was her who looked like her father and spoke like her father but wasn't.
Bit by bit, visit by visit, he had pieced together her story. After performing a miracle, she had attempted to hide what she called her children, but her sister Lyarra had still discovered them. From there, they had taken the news to their father.
She wasn't certain how the next part had happened. She and her father knew of the miracle, as did the Cat of that Winterfell, Lyarra, and Robert, the heir to Winterfell. But somehow word had spread to King Robert, whose visit to Winterfell had then become a war campaign.
“I don't know how he found out. I thought it was only us that knew,” Jonelle whimpered.
“The walls always have ears,” Ned replied grimly. He would have liked to believe his staff here in Winterfell were loyal to him, but mayhaps that was not the case. He’d have to speak to Vayon about interviewing the staff, lest they have spies in their midst.
Jonelle turned away. “We were so careful.”
Robert was in King’s Landing as far as Ned knew. From what he'd heard, he rarely left these days, unless it was to go hunting. Yet he had in the Winterfell that Jonelle came from.
Ned took a fresh sheet of parchment and began penning a letter.
Howland,
I am sorry to write to you on such a grave matter, but I am deeply in need of your help here in Winterfell. There has been an incident of which I do not understand. The bastard is gone and another is here who knows of the truth.
I have two requests of you during this time. Firstly, please inform your men to close off the Neck. I do not want travellers from the south. I shall be writing other Houses to send men to the Moat.
I also ask for your presence here in order to aid me during this time. You would be of great comfort to me.
Eddard Stark,
Lord of Winterfell.
Ned sat and looked at the letter for some time before folding it in half and sealing it with his stamp.
That done, he selected fresh sheets of parchment and wrote out letters for Lords Manderly, Karstark, and Umber, instructing them to send men to the moat.
If Robert could besiege Winterfell where Jonelle came from, he could do it again here.
Rodrik disturbed him in his task, bringing him the news of a Night’s Watch deserter. That was something Ned didn’t need right now.
“Have the boys saddle their horses. Bran and Rickon too.”
Rodrik frowned. “Rickon as well, my lord?”
Ned nodded grimly. “He needs to see this.”
Where Jonelle came from, Rickon must be suffering through a siege and a war. He was old enough for this execution. He cried through it, clutching Robb’s hand, and once they were done, he turned and hugged Robb tightly.
“You were very brave,” Robb said, but Ned saw the accusation in his eyes. He hated Ned for doing this to his brothers.
As they rode back, his sons rode ahead, Robb urging his brothers to ride and race. He was trying to cheer them. As they reached the bridge, however, Bran slowed his pony and peered off downstream. Something was said between him and Robb, and then he rode off along the bank.
“Bran!” Robb shouted after him.
“Rodrik, Jory, with me. All others wait here,” Ned commanded, turning his horse to follow his sons.
By the time he found them, they had all dismounted, and Rickon was holding the reins. The stench of blood was thick. Ned’s horse snorted. Before them lay an enormous dead stag, its throat torn open by great fangs. Robb and Bran, meanwhile, had crept further on, to where a great grumbling growl faced them.
“It’s a big wolf,” Rickon explained with a bright grin.
“Wait here,” Ned said, passing his reins to Jory.
Rodrik dismounted and accompanied him further along the stream.
Rickon was right. The boys had found a big wolf. She was almost as big as Bran’s pony, shaggy and grey, with yellow eyes. Blood smeared her shoulder and neck where the stag’s antlers had cut her open.
“By the gods,” breathed Rodrik.
“She has puppies,” said Bran.
“She's a direwolf,” said Ned.
The sigil of their house. There must be a reason she was here, now, just after Jon disappeared.
“Can we keep her?” asked Bran.
“No, Bran. She's a wild animal.”
“Five pups. Three male, two female,” said Robb, dumping a silvery one in Bran’s arms.
The mother snarled, but she was too weak even to protect her young.
“My lord?” asked Rodrik.
Ned stared at the wolf. In the crypts, the Kings of Winter sat with direwolves at their feet.
“Can I keep him, Father?” asked Bran.
“They're wild beasts,” Ned said again, though direwolves were more than that in truth. They were mythical.
“The mother will die without help and the pups will die without their mother,” said Robb. He had arms full of pups, and another still squirmed at his feet. “If you won't help them, I will.”
“Very well. Take the pups and your brothers and return to the castle. They are to be your responsibility. You will rear them, feed them, train them, and bury them.”
For a moment Robb’s resentment wavered. “Thank you, Father.” He handed Bran another pup, scooped up the last one, and hurried back to the horses. Then he stopped, passed one to Rickon, and dug a final pup from the undergrowth. “He must have crawled away.”
“That one must be Jon’s,” said Bran.
Robb hugged the pup a little tighter. “I’ll take care of him.”
Ned waited while the boys mounted their horses and rode away before turning back to the mother wolf.
“What is to be done with her, my lord?” asked Rodrik.
“Bring ropes and a few sturdy branches. We'll need to take care in guiding her back to the castle.”