Bran Stark was not good at archery. Robb wanted to think the best of his little brother, but what he witnessed, in reality, was pitiful. The Winterfell air was crisp and the sun shone, quite the perfect time for archery. A perfect time for Bran to improve. With a loud thunk, the younger boy shot an arrow into a barrel a yard away from the target. Robb sighed and crossed his arms in front of his chest. 

Jon Snow walked to his little brother's side and clasped his shoulders. 

"Go on, father's watching," Jon paused, and, after a moment said, "And your mother." The brothers looked up to Lord and Lady Stark, then Bran drew to shoot again. 

He missed again. 

Then again. Then again. Robb could not help but laugh, nor could Jon or little Rickon nearby.

"And which one of you was a marksman at ten?" The children's father's voice boomed from above, loud and commanding enough that everyone looked up to him. With an encouraging smile, he said, "Keep practicing Bran. Go on."

Jon leaned down next to his brother. "Don't think too much, Bran."

"Relax your bow arm," Robb added. A good piece of advice Rodrick won't teach.

Suddenly an arrow pierced the bulls-eye, but it was not Bran who made the mark. All the boys whipped around. There stood Arya, bow in hand, who curtseyed with a sly smile. Bran dropped his bow and arrow, then lunge at Arya, chasing her around the courtyard.

"Quick Bran, faster!" Jon laughed. Robb knew his mother would not approve, but found himself laughing as well.

As the young Starks ran they nearly knocked someone over, "Seven hells! Won't you two behave?" Robb did not have to hear speak anymore to know to turn the other way. Seven hells is right.

"Good day, Jon," the commoner called out, then turning to Robb, she muttered a mindless, "M'lord." Hilena nodded her head slightly, lips pressed together in a firm line. She left so fast, she might as well not have looked their way. Jon sighed deeply but gave Robb a mischievous smirk.

"Enough of that," Robb grumbled. He exhaled, then said to Rickon nearby, "Come on lad, let's put the arrows back." Rickon, a boy of six, lost interest immediately and toddled off to find their lady mother. 

Jon shuffled closer to his brother, "Stark, you should've seen the look on your face when—"

"When what, Snow?" he interrupted, staring dead into his brother's dark eyes.

"When Hilena came by." Jon stifled a laugh, "You looked like you'd been hit over the head."

"I meant it when I said 'enough'." Robb gave his brother a playful shove.

"If you two are done, we have to saddle our horses." The brothers glanced across the yard to find Theon Greyjoy approaching then. Robb smiled at the sight of his friend. 

The older boy stopped before them. "A Night's Watch deserter was caught in the moors." 

"So we're to attend an execution then," Jon said grimly, then with a sardonic tone, "My favorite."

Robb and the others saddled their horses, heading out to where his father carried out his justice. He had attended many executions but was not numb to them; watching a man die was always an unnerving sight to behold. So, when he learned Bran was to join them, it was a discomforting surprise. I had barely seen ten years when I first witnessed death. Six years ago.

Dour-faced guards brought the deserter before Robb's lord father. The man was filthy and frostbitten with chapped lips, donning ragged, black garments. If he weren't in black, I'd think him a wildling. The Night's Watch man was mumbling nonsense while being dragged to the chopping block. As he stood by the block, his mutterings ceased.

"I know I broke my oath," the man started, "and I know I'm a deserter. I should have gone back to the Wall and warned them, but... I saw what I saw. I saw the White Walkers. People need to know. If you can get word to my family... tell them I'm no coward. Tell them I'm sorry." With a stiff nod from Lord Stark, guards shoved the man down onto the block. 

Behind Robb, Jon whispered to Bran, "Don't look away. Father will know if you do." Robb's jaw clenched, in anticipation for the execution alone or concern for his little brother's witnessing of it, he could not discern.

When his father had finished speaking the necessary words, he rose Ice— the Stark's ancestral Valyrian steel greatsword— then brought it down. Robb grimaced at the sight of the man's head rolling along the ground. He turned to Bran behind him, squeezing his brother's shoulder to lead him back to the horses. White Walkers? That's impossible, he thought as he mounted his black steed, Impossible. Robb rode to the front of the party, joined by Jon and Bran. 

"The deserter died bravely," Robb asserted, "He had courage, at the least." Admitting wrongdoings; that's true courage.

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

"The Others take his eyes," Robb swore. "He died well. Race you to the bridge?"

"Done," Jon said with a smile and bolted ahead of his brothers. Robb kicked his horse forward, galloping after his half-brother and leaving Bran behind.

The pair were far away from the procession, spotting their path ahead was blocked at the bridge. A stag's corpse lay in the middle of the road, riddled with maggots, its guts spilled out. Gods, what could have done that?

As the rest of the group arrived, they dismounted and inspected the beast. Lord Stark went the closest to it, then turned to go off the trail. Robb and the others followed him down to the river. There was an even more astonishing sight. 

Is that a wolf? It must be. However, it was larger than any wolf Robb had ever seen. It was dead like the stag, stinking of corruption and covered in writhing maggots. Yet, there was life. Five pups nestled against their mother's stomach, trying to wean. A miracle.

"It's a freak!" Theon shouted, breaking the silence as everyone observed the carcass.

"It's a direwolf," the Stark's father corrected, then reached down towards the wolf's throat. "Tough old beast." With a grunt, he pulled out an antler buried in its neck. The prospect of the wolf and stag's deaths at each other's hands uneased him. What vicious fight could have brought such ends to such great beasts?

"There are no direwolves south of the Wall," Robb mumbled. That's the truth of it, isn't it?

"Now there are five," Jon remarked. He picked up one of the small pups, and asked Bran, "You want to hold it?" Bran took the pup in his arms without question as the other men shifted nervously. 

"Where will they go?" he asked innocently. "Their mother's dead."

"They don't belong down here," Rodrick Cassel stated.

"Direwolves loose in the realm, after so many years," Hullen, the master of horse muttered, "I like it not." Hilena's father was an older man of rotund stature, stern and committed to his work. And protective, to Robb's memory.

"Better a quick death," Lord Stark resolved, "They won't last without their mother."

Theon took no time in drawing his dagger and rushing toward Bran. 

"Right. Give it here," he said, reaching his hand out.

"No!" Bran cried out, clutching the pup close to himself, but Theon still got a hold of it.

"Put away your blade," Robb ordered. I would rather not speak to Theon in this way but I will not see my brother's happiness ruined. Theon looked up at him, pup in hand. 

"I take orders from your father, not you," he retorted. Robb decidedly ignored the scathing comment. 

"We will keep these pups," Robb stated firmly.

"You cannot do that, boy," Harwin replied bluntly, who was Hullen's son and Hilena's older brother. Harwin was a kind man of five-and-twenty, a Winterfell guard who only regarded Robb with daggers for eyes.

"It'd be a mercy to kill them," Hullen said.

"Please, Father!" Bran begged.

His father stalked away from the direwolf, then turned to his young son. "I'm sorry, Bran. Hullen speaks truly."

"Lord Stark?" Jon said, looking up at his father, "There are five pups... one for each of the Stark children. The direwolf is the sigil of your house. They were meant to have them."

It did not take long for the Stark's father to give his answer. "You will train them yourselves. You will feed them yourselves. And if they die, you will bury them yourselves." 

Eagerly, Robb went down to the wolves and took two from Jon, which he passed off to Theon. Then, he grabbed another two pups, which squirmed in resistance as he took them. They're such little things.

As Robb left he overheard Bran asking Jon, "What about you?"

"I'm not a Stark," the Snow answered, "Get on." 

Robb's brow creased at Jon's words. He's a Stark. He's my family, my brother. Being without a true name won't change that. He deserves a direwolf. Robb, Bran, and Theon began trekking up the hill, then turned to see Jon lean down into the grass. 

"What is it?" Robb asked, trying to keep his pups from squirming out of his grasp. When Jon stood, he clutched the scruff of a wolf pup as white as snow, scarlet eyes blinking. 

"The runt of the litter," Theon remarked. "That one's yours, Snow." Jon stared at Theon, mouth agape. Robb smiled at his brother. He deserves the pup.

The journey back to Winterfell was chaotic; handling direwolves while riding proved to be difficult, as Robb had to balance the pups while they pawed at him and wiggled. From the two he held, he wished to keep the one with ashy fur and yellow eyes. The other pup had a similar appearance, sporting deep golden eyes, and a dark, silvery coat. However, Robb sensed that the yellow-eyed direwolf was for him.

Not long after the party dismounted their horses, the rest of the Stark family swarmed them. News had spread quickly of the discovery. Arya arrived first, jumping around Jon to pet his small, white wolf. Theon handed Sansa a light grey pup and the girl squealed in excitement. Rickon grappled for the only coal direwolf still in Theon's arms. Robb smiled at the sight and held his two grey pups closer.

"Brother," Jon called out with a smile, "Arya still needs a pup." With a nod, Robb strolled over to his brother and sister. Jon and Arya were an inseparable pair. They had inherited their father's look unlike some of their other siblings.

"Which one would you like, Arya?" Robb asked. If she chooses the direwolf I want, I'll still give it to her, he told himself. His little sister scrutinized the direwolves, grey eyes moving between them.

"That one," she finally answered, pointing to the dark pup with gold eyes. He handed his sister the wolf which she held with an uncharacteristic delicateness. Arya giggled when the pup began licking at her face, Jon laughing along with her.

"You should give the wolf a name," Jon suggested.

The Stark girl's face scrunched up in thought, before stating, "Nymeria! After the Rhoynish princess."

Jon ruffled Arya's mousy hair and she swatted at this hand. Robb grinned, but his smile faltered at an old memory. Arya sprinted away with her new pup with Jon at her heels.

"Do my eyes deceive me? A wolf?" The Stark's eyes flicked to the source of the voice. Not far away, Hilena peered over Jon's shoulder down at this albino wolf. Just walk away.

"A direwolf," Jon answered proudly.

"A direwolf? What a world we live in. I thought they only lived in the histories." The commoner threw her arm across Jon's shoulders, then reached down to the pup with a broad smile. The white wolf nipped at her fingers and the friends laughed.

Robb was not bothered by his brother and Hilena's growing closeness, not particularly. It was only sensible, they always had more of a similar sense of humor about the world. His thoughts trailed off as the two walked away, and he hoped they had not seen him staring.

With a sigh, the Stark peered down at the wolf in his arms, then journeyed off to find milk for him. Eventually, he made it to the kitchens. Upon his command, a servant brought a milk dish for the direwolf pup. The pup lapped it up eagerly and barked for more. Robb smiled and took the little wolf back into his arms once it calmed. All the smallfolk about the castle stared fearfully at Robb's new pet as he walked past them. I hope the direwolves won't be feared for long.

"Stark!" Robb looked up at the familiar sound of Jory Cassel's voice. The guard strode the corridor with a smile, and the boy returned a grin. He continued as he approached, "By the gods, these pups are quite something, aren't they?"

"I suppose they are," Robb answered, nervously glancing down at his pup with no name. The wolf stared back with deep yellow eyes.

"Ah, don't worry," Jory said, jest in his tone, "You'll be fine. Haven't imagined yourself as a father yet have you?"

"No, not yet," Robb answered with a chuckle.

"You'll need to learn soon, poor thing lost its mother," said Jory, who had witnessed the day's earlier events. The memory of the dead direwolf, antler deep in its neck was unnerving.

"It was a sad thing, to see the stag and wolf dead by each other. It concerns me in a way that I cannot explain... only the Gods may know."

"Only the Gods know," Jory reiterated, patting Robb on the shoulder with another smile before departing. The boy brought his pup closer to him, and the wolf licked his face. He smiled, but the unease had not left him. If only the Gods would tell me.

Special thanks to persephone for editing and beta reading <3