2 Runts

Age 16.

It happened one day when the children were practicing their archery.

Lord Stark and Lady Catelyn watched from above as Bran aimed. Rickon sat on a barrel. Jon and Rob were to either side of Bran, giving him pointers and words of encouragement.

*PEW….* *THUNK!*

Bran's arrow managed to hit the target, close, but not exactly the bullseye.

Jon placed a hand on Bran's shoulders, "Go on, fathers watching."

He aims again. But the pressure of his father's eyes made him lose composure. He held the string back too long, overthought, and missed miserably.

"Hahaha!" Jon, Rob and Rickon laughed.

Lord Stark came to his son's defense, "And which one of you was a marksman at ten? Keep practising, Bran."

*Keep practicing.*

Bran had heard those words many times from Joe, who was nice enough to spare time and give Bran and Arya some pointers. He had seen Joe shoot arrows all day until his fingers began to bleed. If that was the price to get as good as him, was it truly worth it?

Bran shook his head. 'Whatever it takes! I'm going to become a knight!'

Jon leaned down, "Don't think too much, Bran."

Robb agreed, "Relax your arm."

Bran aimed and released.

*PEW!* … *PEW!* … *THUNK!* … *THUNK!*

Bran's arrow hit the bullseye, but another arrow hit the bullseye also~

Everyone looked behind to see Arya with a bow. With a pleased expression, she did a dignified courtesy. The only time she acts like a lady…

This prompted everyone to laugh, and Bran chased his sister around the courtyard.

Meanwhile, Joe was getting his Weirwood shield plated with fresh steel. The old plating had many knicks from wear and tear. The time was ripe, so Joe wanted his equipment looking fresh as fuck.

Mikken was just finishing up when word came.

"Joe!" Robb came beckoning. He was taller than Jon and Joe. Everyone liked to joke that the bastards didn't get their father's genes. "Father wants us all to saddle up our horses. It sounds like there was a deserter from the wall."

Joe raised a brow of expectancy, "So the time has finally come, eh? Aight, let's do this."

"The time has finally come?" Rob said as the pair walked to the stables.

"The winds of winter, dear brother. The winds of winter."

***

On a grassy hill within one league of the castle, bannermen held the Stark direwolf vigil proudly with solemn faces. This was about business. The flags flapped in the changing winds.

There were rocks on this hill. No doubt placed here by the first men centuries ago. They reminded Joe of the pictures he'd seen of Celtic religious sites. A poor mans Stone Henge, if you will.

"I know what I saw. I saw the White Walkers. People need to know. If you can get word to my family, tell them I'm a coward. Tell them I'm sorry."

A man dressed in black with grime on his face said his last words.

The stoic Lord Stark listened patiently without empathy. Once the deserter was finished, Lord Stark nodded, and his men forced the guy down onto the chopping block.

Bran watched nervously as Theon Greyjoy held out the sword Ice- the valerian steel heirloom of House Stark. Lord Stark drew Ice from its sheathe.

*SHINGGGG!*

"In the name of Robert of the House Baratheon, first of his name…"

As Lord Stark recited the words, Jon came behind Bran to try inject some courage into the boy.

"Don't look away. Father will know if you do.." Jon softly told him.

Lord Stark finished the words, "I, Eddard, of the House Stark, ….., sentence you to die.."

The deserter's world felt like it was already going dark as Lord Stark raised his mighty great sword.

Down he swung…

But it was not the sound of flesh being cut that was heard.

No.

It was the clashing of steel.

*CHING!!!*

"!!!"

Just in time, Joe intercepted Lord Starks blade, parrying it away.

The deserter could feel the rush of wind from the aftermath of the swing. Any closer and he would have received a free haircut.

Everyone's eyes widened. What the hell was Joe doing? How dare he stop a lawful execution by their lord father, Eddard Stark?

Bran felt relieved, though he would never admit that to his family…

"What the fook are you doing?!" Theon Greyjoy was the first to speak. Normally he puts on his 'tough' voice. But this time his voice broke like a prepubescent man-child.

"Forgive me, father." Joe said as he sheathed his bastard sword, "But I object to this execution."

"Tch!" Ser Rodrik was so angry that he was almost speechless, but alas, he was a seasoned veteran who had seen many situations. "What is the meaning of this, Joe? You have no place in objecting to a lawful execution. This man is a deserter!"

"Yes," Joe calmly replied, "But this is no time to kill able bodies. We're all on the same side here."

Lord Stark kept his composure. He knew there had to be a reason for such an irresponsible display, "And what side is that?"

"The living."

Everyone began glancing at each other with the same confused faces. Joe let the silence linger for a moment before he continued.

"You heard the man. He saw the White Walkers. Winter is coming. Just imagine it: The dead have overtaken the continent. As we die, we think 'If only we spared that lad! He could have helped us fight!"

After recovering from the shock of the moment, Jon managed to find his speaking voice, "But he's a deserter!"

"Yes.." Joe said in a sigh, "And he said he regrets it. These are mitigating circumstances, dear brother. Surely we can give the man a chance to redeem himself for the *realm*. He can return to the wall with Uncle Benjen when the time comes."

Joe then turned to his lord father with a gleam in his amber eyes, "Father, I understand that he who passes the sentence must swing the sword. But that also means you can be the granter of mercy. I implore you to search your heart. Winter is coming!"

Bran felt inspired. It was like he could charge into battle right now!

Rob listened silently, bobbing his head slightly, impressed with Joe's speech.

Jon clenched his fist; his heart was conflicted. At what point should duty, honor, and the law be re-evaluated? It was all too confusing.

"You have no right to request such a thing from Lord Stark!" said Theon Greyjoy, ever the bumboy to his captor.. *ahem* I mean, ever so loyal the ward to his guardian..

"Enough!" Lord Stark commanded. "I have made my decision. The boy's life will be spared. And that will be the end of the matter."

"Waaah!" The Night's Watch deserter broke into tears, "Thank you, Lord, thank you!"

Lord Stark then looked at Joe with an expression that said, 'Don't fuck around here.'

"But he will be your responsibility until his departure. Any trouble he causes will be your burden to bear. Alone. You understand?"

"Fine by me! Thank you, father. Truly."

Joe whispered into the deserter's ear, "You'll be a good boy, won't you? Try anything funny, and I'll fucking destroy you. Hardly need your tongue or cock when fighting the White Walkers, right?"

It was a bluff, of course. Joe had no affinity for torture. He just felt compelled to give the warning since he stuck his neck out for the guy.

"Yes! Yes! Of course! Thank you, Lord!"

"Yeah yeah, whatever cunt." Joe offered his hand, "We're all in this together now. Let's do our best!"

***

On the way back from the execution hill, the party passed through the Wolfswood when something was spotted lying on the road.

It was a dead stag. Its guts were ripped out.

"What could have done this?"

"A mountain lion?" Theon Greyjoy theorized.

"There are no mountain lions in these woods." Lord Stark told him. He had lived in the North all his life.

Joe couldn't hold his tongue, "Think again, father. You would be surprised by the sort of shit you find out here. But no, this was not the work of a mountain lion. More importantly, this is a bad omen. We all know which house is represented by the stag…"

Lord Stark felt chills run up his arm. He didn't want to think about those sorts of implications..

Then Lord Stark spied something some distance from the road.

It was a dead wolf, bigger than anything they had ever seen before, its body was impaled by deer antlers, and her pups were still attempting to suck her milk.

Lord Stark, the kids, Ser Rodrik and his nephew Jory Cassel, all stood in a circle around the strange scene.

"It's a freak!" Theon Greyjoy declared.

Joe negged him, "Takes one to know one. Nah, man, it's a-"

"It's a direwolf." Lord Stark completed the sentence.

"There are no direwolves south of the wall." Robb recited Maester Luwin's teachings.

"Now, there are five." Jon said, picking up one of the pups and handing it to Bran, "Do you want to hold it?"

Bran had a sappy voice, the sweet summer child.. "Where will they go? Their mother's dead."

"They'll go with us, of course. It seems only fitting that the Stark children each have a direwolf companion. Don't you agree, Jon?"

"I do. Lord Stark, there are five pups. One for each of your children. The direwolf is the symbol of your house. They were meant to have them."

"I couldn't have said it better myself!" Joe said proudly, "Gotta say, though, this is very ominous… The stag and the direwolf- dead. But you know what this means, right? If direwolves are this far south from the wall, then what that deserter said is likely true. I sure hope you cunts are ready for when the dead march."

Lord Stark glanced at Ser Rodrik, and they both exchanged weary looks of understanding.

"Don't worry, father! I'm the hound whisperer, remember? I'll be around to ensure these beasts don't cause any harm."

Bran knew he had to interject in the deal quickly. He could see the hesitation on Lord Stark's face, "Please, father!"

Lord Stark paused for a moment, inspecting Bran's innocent disposition. The big responsible lord had a soft spot for his children…

"You will train themselves. You will feed them yourselves. And if they die, you will bury them yourselves."

Joe couldn't help but chuckle. The instant relief on Bran's face was just too cute.

Theon and Robb got to collecting the pups.

"What about you?" Bran asked his bastard brothers.

"Me? I already have a Shadowcat and a bloodhound. What do I care?" Joe replied.

"… I'm not a Stark. Get on." Jon said seriously.

But just as they were leaving..

*Whimper!*

Jon stopped in his tracks. He turned to find a small furry creature underneath a tree. Picking it up by the scruff of its neck, it is revealed to be a white direwolf.

"Runt of the litter. That one's yours, snow!" Theon Greyjoy said like an asshole.

"Pfft. Whatever bitch. At least our father *kept* us, even at the cost of his famed honor. What did your father do? He gave you up to be a glorified hostage while your sister gets to live the life of a true iron born. His one and only heir given to the Northmen. Bahahahaha! What a fucking loser!"

Theon Greyjoy's cheeks became flushed as he turned to Joe with anger in his eyes.

But there was nothing he could say back to him. Joe's words cut deeper than any blade.

"See? Doesn't feel too good, does it? How about you handle your own shit before being a cunt to others? Fucking asshole."