[Chapter Size: 2500 Words.]
Third Person POV
North, 94 AC.
"Haha, these drawings are certainly quite interesting," said Mr. Tallhart, Alaric, as he looked at the drawings in the notebook that Garren had brought — drawings his son had made.
"He classified the deer as a large dog with strange antlers?! He called it Crown-Dog?" he asked, looking at the name written beside the drawing.
Jon didn't know the names of some of the animals when he began drawing, so he made up names for them himself.
"Your boy certainly has a lot of talent," said Lord Tallhart, impressed. "Look at this, son."
He handed the notebook to the heir, Edric, who took it and was also impressed by the level of the drawings.
"It's hard to believe a four-year-old boy draws like this. Your son certainly has great talent; you should be proud to be his father," he said.
Garren nodded.
"Thank you for your words, my lord. My son brings much pride and joy to me and my wife."
"I heard a few things in town about your boy after I visited your house. He is quite well known among the village. You can see that the people like him... But I also heard some rumors," said Tallhart, staring at the man as they walked through the forest.
Garren had already been carefully tracking the animals, but he turned his gaze back when he heard that from Lord Tallhart.
"Well, I told everyone about Jon's birth. He was born in the middle of a storm, when we were returning from Winter Town after visiting some relatives. On the way back, it caught us by surprise and he was born prematurely," Garren explained.
"I see. Well, in any case, you must be a proud father of your boy. Now, let us continue the hunt," said the lord, ending the subject and returning to the hunt.
Everyone went back to focusing. Garren continued leading the group through the forest in search of tracks of deer, stags, and even elk. They spent the entire day hunting, stopping only to eat.
Garren's skills in tracking the animals soon proved efficient. He led the group to the prey, and Lord Tallhart managed to bring down an animal with precision. His guards also struck down another.
In the end, they carried the carcasses, and Lord Tallhart seemed quite satisfied, laughing as they returned.
It was almost the end of the day.
"Let's gather your things that we left in town and camp before we return to Torrhen Square. Mr. Garren, this belongs to you," said the lord, handing him a small pouch of silver coins. It would certainly be useful.
"Thank you, my lord. I do not deserve so much," Garren replied.
"Do not say that, lad. I like hardworking men, and the Tallhart family is certainly not ungrateful," said Tallhart.
"Thank you, my lord. This will help my family greatly," Garren repeated, bowing even lower.
They said their goodbyes. Garren returned home, while the lord remained in town, gathering his belongings before continuing his journey south. As there was no tavern there, they would need to camp along the way.
Thus, Garren returned home when the sky was already beginning to grow dark.
Jon ran to him as soon as he saw him arrive, while his mother shouted for him not to hurt himself running through the darkness without a candle — it was already night.
Jon did not care. He ran to his father, eager.
Garren smiled and picked his son up in his arms. "You are so heavy! Soon you will be quite a strong man."
"How was the hunt, papa?" Jon asked, excited.
"Productive. Lord Tallhart praised your drawings greatly," his father said, still carrying him in his arms as he walked toward the house. Ghost was already emerging from the darkness, approaching them.
Jon pressed his lips together. "Really? He truly liked them?" he asked innocently.
"Yes. He said you have talent."
"And what did you hunt?" the boy asked.
"We caught a... what was it again? a great crown-dog, as you named it," Garren teased.
Jon already knew it was a deer, but he liked laughing at his own creativity. They entered the house, and Garren set him down before greeting his wife.
The next day, Lord Tallhart continued riding south.
"What are you thinking about, son?" he asked, noticing the heir quite thoughtful.
"That hunter... and his son," the young man replied.
"You are speaking about the wolf?"
"Yes. That is not a normal wolf, father. And I am certain you know it is not, as well."
Lord Tallhart remained silent for a moment. "Perhaps. But the wolf is clearly bound to the child. I know you enjoy reading about the legends of the North, about the Starks and the direwolves, son... but let us leave that child and his family in peace. If that truly is a direwolf... We will see it as large as a horse in the coming years. Even our lords will take interest in it... After all, direwolves have not been seen on this side of the Wall for centuries..."
His son nodded, and they continued their journey back to Torrhen Square in the following days.
Meanwhile, the months passed, the hunts continued, at least once every moon, Lord Tallhart came with his heir and guards to hunt in the woods near Garren's house.
However, three moons later, winter arrived.
The snow began to fall heavily.
Jon was excited. He loved that season, running from one side to the other while the North turned white and Ghost practically disappeared into the snow-covered landscape.
His parents were worried, for they did not have many clothes to keep away the cold, however, Jon strangely had an abnormal resistance to the cold. He never complained about it, and ran with his little feet alongside Ghost all the time across the frozen fields around their house.
At first, this frightened them, but there was no stopping that restless child, and it proved that nothing bad had happened to him in the last moon since the snow had taken over the landscape.
But compared to his older brother, in his first winter, Sam ended up catching a cold, and Rowena had to take urgent care of him.
Rowena once again did not catch the winter fever, but Sam did.
Jon was worried about his brother and his mother caring for him, but he was stable, and so he did not worry much after his mother said he would be well soon.
So he sat in front of the house, his father had gone to chop firewood to keep the fire warm, and he ended up staring at the sea of white snow covering the place where the family's crops once stood.
There was a thick layer covering the fences and the ground. The roofs of the houses were also heavy with snow, while the flakes continued to fall without stopping.
Jon liked it very much. He found it so beautiful. It was his second winter, and he never stopped marveling at it at four name-days old.
He kept his eyes on the road, with Ghost at his side, they were also waiting for someone, until he saw a wagon approaching.
They had planned to visit Roman, but, because of Sam's cold, Rowena could not leave, and Garren would never leave his wife alone caring for their sick son. Roman, Garren's brother, insisted that they would instead spend the night at their house for supper.
"Papa! Uncle Roman has arrived!" Jon shouted to his father at the other end of the yard, using all he could to warm his body.
Garren, who was also preparing meat to roast, stopped immediately, wiped his hands, and approached the entrance.
On the road, Roman's wagon approached with Sarra and little Mara. Jon grabbed a cloak that his father insisted he should wear, as did his father, and the two went out to greet them.
"Look at you all!" Roman stepped down from the wagon laughing, going to greet his brother and nephew. Sarra and Mara also climbed down. Mara ran to hug Ghost before anyone else.
"He is so big, Jon!" said the three-year-old girl, jumping with joy and trying to reach the wolf's head, but she was unable to. He was far too big. Ghost showed his tongue, his mouth half-open, as he watched her.
"Truly, this wolf is far too large, Garren. How are you feeding him? He does not seem to stop growing," Roman grumbled.
Garren shrugged.
"I do not know. He has been with us for two years now, I do not know if he will stop. Should I be worried?" he muttered, looking seriously at his brother.
"Most likely. You know Lord Tallhart may pass this information on to Winterfell."
"But the wolf is bound to my son," Garren retorted.
"That is the problem. We do not know how the Starks will deal with this. You know the direwolves were theirs. How does someone like us suddenly have one? They may very well not accept it..." said Roman.
It was no longer a secret that Ghost was one of the legends of the North: a direwolf, already nearly half the size of a horse and still growing. Even Jon had already ridden on him a few times.
No one but the Starks should have one. But his son did, and the blood spoke loudly there. They did not know how the Starks would react upon learning that Jon came from a lineage of bastards.
"Let us set that aside. Take Sarra to Rowena and we will stay with the children," Garren said at last.
Roman nodded, and they entered the house. Jon and Mara ran through the snow in their cloaks as they played.
Sarra helped her good-sister with Sam, trying to control the fever that seemed to worsen greatly as the day went on. This set off an alarm among the adults of the families.
Jon could also feel the strange mood. Mara approached him.
"What is happening?" she asked, not understanding much.
"I do not know. But let me see something," Jon replied, going to the room where his mother and his brother were.
"Mother, is everything well? Could this be..." he began.
Rowena startled. "Jon, you are here..." she sighed before shaking her head. "Forgive me. Your brother has quite a fever."
She was clearly frightened, and Jon could see that.
That worried him.
The supper was not as cheerful as they had planned. Rowena barely ate and returned to stay with Sam. Sarra also remained beside her. Even Ghost was allowed to stay nearby, since Jon's brother loved the elder's wolf.
"My mother says those winter fevers always take little children. Many of them die in the North..." Mara commented sadly to Jon at one point.
Jon looked at her furiously. "My brother will not die!" he exclaimed, startling Mara with his outburst upon hearing that.
Jon's eyes widened, realizing he had let his anger show. "Forgive me... forgive me for that, Mara. I understand that the North is harsh, but my brother will not die," he said, more softly at the end.
She nodded, but said nothing more. The two remained in silence.
They slept there that night and, the next day, departed. Sarra said she would speak with Roman so that he might ask in town for some healer to come to their house.
Jon's father needed to go out hunting, while his mother remained at Sam's side.
"Mother, is there anything we can do?" Jon asked, worried. He could not bear the thought that his brother might be there, dying of fever.
Rowena looked sadly at her son. "Jon... pray for us," she asked.
"Like at the heart trees?" he asked immediately, innocent, believing he could help if he made that prayer. That was what his parents had said about that sacred place, though Jon had never been to one...
"We do not have a weirwood here, but you may go to the forest, beneath the open sky. The old gods rule over all that is natural," she explained.
Jon nodded quickly and left the room. He wanted to help in some way and believed in his mother's words.
Perhaps, if he asked the old gods, they would have mercy on his little brother.
Jon went to the edge of the forest, clasped his hands, and knelt in the snow.
"Please, old gods, save my brother. Please, old gods... gods of nature, or whatever you are... I do not yet know you, but please, save my brother," he said, his voice growing more and more choked.
"Please..." By the third time, tears were already streaming down his face.
"Do not let my brother die!" he shouted, beginning to cry before the forest.
The woods remained silent, save for a few birds that still endured the winter. The branches and leaves throughout the forest were covered in white.
Jon continued to cry, begging for his brother to be saved. Sam did not have the same resilience he had, nor even the kind his mother showed.
His tears dampened the snow, and Jon remained there until his eyes were completely dry, repeating without ceasing:
"Please, save my brother."
At last, he rose and returned home, his shoulders slumped in defeat.
Ghost watched him with something like pity, letting out a soft sound in his throat.
Jon remained there with his mother until his father returned. He still cried from time to time and did not cease expressing how powerless he felt before the situation. Rowena also wept, fearing she might lose her second son.
Garren prepared supper, but they scarcely ate. A heavy silence hung over the family, and Rowena refused to leave Sam's side.
But on the following day, when the healer had still not come to them, something extraordinary happened.
The boy opened his eyes after days of fever. "Mother..." he murmured. Using for the first time a complete word, never Wolf, but Mother.
Rowena, who had been leaning over the bed, lifted her head at once.
"Sam? Are you well?" she asked, drawing closer and touching her son's face to see if it was still warm.
He seemed perfectly normal.
His fever was gone.
"Are you well?" Rowena repeated.
He nodded, still surprised, feeling hungry and somewhat weak. He was only a boy of one year and six months; there was no way for him to know exactly what had happened.
Somehow, that alerted the rest of the family. Jon and Ghost ran to his brother's room, as did Garren, who went to see his son.
Soon, they were all gathered in the small chamber, rejoicing in the boy's extraordinary recovery.
In the place where Jon had cried the day before and let his tears fall upon the earth, the snow seemed different.
A small white sprout was beginning to rise from the snow, with two delicate leaves emerging through the ice.