"I'm not a Stark," Jon reminded Bran. Confusion spread across his tiny face, and maybe a little hurt as well. With the puppy in his arms it just reminded Jon of how young and innocent he was. Jon's father was his father, and to Bran that was all that really mattered. The word "bastard" was a foreign concept, not applicable to someone as close to him as Jon was. "Get on," he encouraged.

The boy looked as if he wished to say something more, but then he turned away and Jon had the passing, sad thought that maybe Bran wasn't as young as Jon wished he was.

Jon turned to follow, noticing Robb standing ahead with a frustrated look on his face. He wanted to comment on Jon's statement, he could tell. But he wouldn't do so in front of Theon and Bran. Besides, even Robb couldn't quite manage to look dignified and serious while clutching two squirming puppies to his chest, something Theon was quick to tease him about.

Jon took another step, trying to keep his thoughts from turning dark. It was not easy, as he watched his family's backs turn away from him. It was a little too harsh a reminder.

Then a soft whimper, almost too quiet to be heard. He looked back at the mother wolf, suddenly worried she was still clinging to life somehow. It would be kindest to just end it, and assure her that her offspring were safe.

But the direwolf was dead, truly dead. There was no life in her yet. So that meant…

His eyes scanned the tree line, looking for something out of place.

Sure enough, a flash of white caught his eye, and Jon went to it.

Another puppy, this one stumbling helplessly into the roots of a tree. Jon took pity on the poor thing and picked it up by the scruff of his neck. He was tiny, and thin. Jon would be surprised if it even weighed three pounds. The soft fur was pure white, like the driven snow, and it squirmed in his grip without making a sound.

"Oh the runt!" Theon crowed, "That one's yours Snow!"

Well he supposed it was kind of apropos.

He still gave the puppy one more exasperated look because really? Would he never be free of the blackmail ammunition?

He brought his other hand up, to support the creature's bum. The wolf stopped squirming, adopting a sort of stillness that was almost unnatural. Jon looked at him, held aloft, and then the thing opened his eyes and Jon couldn't look away.

The eyes were a deep, dark red, set above a long nose, a strange air of solemnity to them that Jon couldn't help but think was something unusual, special.

There was a single heartbeat where they simply stared at each other. Then the puppy squirmed almost violently. To hold onto him better, Jon tucked him into his chest, like Bran and Robb had done with theirs. The squirming stopped, and the wolf happily nuzzled his neck.

Something shifted, snapped in his mind. A warmth in the back of it, something soft and strong and implacable. He froze at the sensation, and the pup curled further into his hands. A wave of contentment, and strange satisfaction passed through him, and Jon knew, deep in his bones that it was not him who felt so satisfied but the puppy in his arms. It was a shared feeling, somehow. There was something connecting him to the puppy as real as the air they breathed.

Jon took one breath, then another. Then he kept walking, not saying a word.

It was something private, he could tell. And it didn't feel dangerous. Not right, exactly, or natural, but not dangerous.

"His eyes are open!" Bran said excitedly, the puppy in his arms whining a little at the bouncy ride the excitable boy was giving him. "Strange. He might be the runt of the litter, but his eyes opened first."

"Everything grows at its own pace," his father stated mildly, only a few steps ahead of them. Ned Stark cut a strong figure, with a thick fur cloak over his shoulders and his hand resting easily on the pommel of his Valyrian steel sword, Ice.

When he was younger, Jon wished desperately to have such a presence. Now, he thought a little ruefully, not much had changed, but the puppy in his arms probably threw off the image.

Bran babbled on, about how much fun it would be to have the puppies, about how he wanted to see what they could do, and did Nan know of any stories where Direwolves had magical powers?

Jon kept his silence, slowly stroking the little wolf's fur. The puppy wagged his tail, and Jon smiled in response. He wasn't sure why he didn't tell them. He just knew it wasn't something he wanted to share.

"Magic is gone," Theon snipped harshly. "I'm not sure it ever existed, anyway."

Jon would have told Theon to sod off, but Bran beat him to it. "If magic never existed then where did all the stories come from? And the wierwoods? And the Direwolves?"

Theon rolled his eyes. "Fine, it existed once. But not now. These are just wolves now, nothing too special."

"Direwolves are different, Theon," His father replied. "They're deadlier. More intelligent. Not to mention much bigger."

Unable to snip at Lord Stark, Theon turned his spite to Jon, as per usual. "Not Jon's pup! I'd be surprised if he made it to the size of a flea-bitten mutt!"

The wolf in his arms turned from Jon then, locked his gaze with Theon, and growled.

It would have been a bit more threatening if the growl in question wasn't so high-pitched as to be just short of a whine, but Jon doubted that detracted from how unnerving it probably was for Theon.

Bran smirked smugly. "Told you!" he crowed to Theon. "He knew what you were saying about him!"

The look on Theon's face was rather priceless. "It was probably just a coincidence."

But no one really believed that. Least of all Theon.

I love the wolves. They deserve more love. Plus it gives me an interesting means of exploring Jon.

This was just the prologue, but I hope you guys enjoyed it! Leave a review to let me know how I did!