A Lullaby of Mewls and Howls: (ASOIAF/Dragon Age) (Ser Pounce)

[konamikode]

AN: First posted on AH, but given this is my usual haunt (and QQ, but this isn't that kinda story) so I'm cross posting here :3

A relatively silly story about a reincarnated cat who is once more tasked with guarding the realms of men.

Fair warning, fluffles ahead :3

Chapter 1: Ser Pounce of House Anders, Warden of the Grey.

"Gods be good. Boy! It's just a damned cat! What about it could possibly be frightening!?"

Robert Baratheon to Joffrey Baratheon 295 AC

----------

Winterfell, 297 AC
Pounce I

There are fewer things in life I enjoy more than curling up against something warm and dozing away underneath the rising sun. Indeed, before I found myself in my current circumstances, I spent a considerable amount of time atop the chests of the sickly, helping my companion to heal those in need in my own small way.

Of course that was only during the day. At night I would leave the small clinic in the bosom of Kirkwall to conduct my duties against the rot that plagued that horrible place. It'd taken some time for me to find him after we'd parted, but find him in the City of Chains I did.

I spent the rest of my lifetime with him, as much to repay my debt to the kind wanderer of the Fade as I did my duty against the tainted creatures of the deep. It was a good life, one well spent and now I find myself rewarded for my service.

Anders. I hope that you are well, my friend.

"Ser Pounce?" The familiar voice of my favored human scratching at my rump causes me to stretch languidly against the no longer pudgy boy's side.

I turn my forepaws upwards, touching my pink pads against the warm skin of my human's arm and trapping it against my well groomed chest.

"Tommen. Go back to sleep. It is early yet." I hum, chin rubbing searchingly along the fabric of his sleeping gown and mewl in contentment at the roughening fingers that have begun scritching along my jawline.

"Please Ser Pounce, I'm to go hunting with Lord Stark and his sons today! If you could just move ever so slightly?" The youth of ten years pleads, but does little else to dissuade me from my current position of resting against his side and clinging to his arm.

Ah. Yes of course. This was the day of young Tommen's first hunt alongside the fellow pups and father of his fostering family-

How could I have forgotten!?

"Of course child, you must prepare yourself at once! The first hunt is the most important lesson for all children be they two-legged or four!" I agree firmly.

Unfortunately my body refuses to listen to my mind, too content with the warmth radiating against my fluffy orange coat to do much more than cling tighter against Tommen's arm.

As usual, I find myself hanging loosely around the neck and shoulders of my charge who begins the prepare for the day without the help of human servants. He'd grown much in spirit in the year he had been sent here to be fostered. No longer would he lay in bed helplessly until a servant came to pry me from his formerly pudgy form. Instead, he had matured in such a way that he no longer needed help to lift me away!

I am very proud of the golden maned boy. Surely any youth courageous enough to move a sleeping cat was one who held a heart of steel!

"Well, if you aren't going to move…"

He'd even grown so bold as to attempt to trap me in the fabric of his sleeping gown! Hoho! You are still twenty of your human years too young to catch me boy. As if I'd caught by someone of such youth-

The moment my paws had touched down on the warm stones of our shared room did my eyes widen and ears peel backwards as the sound of fluttering cloth followed me down from the sky!?

"Meow!?" What is this!? What devilry?

Have the tainted spawn of the underdark followed me to this place!? How cunning! To wait until I was at my most vulnerable to spring this entangling cage! Every movement I make only makes it harder for me to move! To escape!

Foul darkspawn, if it is my might you wish to taste, then Fade you shall feel-

"Hehe, Pounce you silly cat." Tommen giggles from nearby, easily pinching a piece of my cage and lifting it up to set me free!

"My thanks good Tommen! Now, stand behind me as I vanquish the foe who would dare…" My hackles lower and my upraised rear lowers until it hits the warm stone with a plopping sound.

My grinning and giggling boy impishly holds his sleeping gown above him as I look upon his smiling face with a growing sense of prideful mortification.

I'd been had. But my charge had successfully surprised and caught me oh so cleverly with his so very human cleverness.

"Perhaps I should not have to follow you so closely during the hunt." I drawl, eyes hooding in my growing pride of the boy who'd been so helpless not a year ago. "It grows apparent that I have been coddling you unnecessarily if you can catch a cat in his second life."

The boy giggles warmly once more at my plaintive reply and brings down the back of his hand to show no hard feelings were meant.

I realize that he hadn't intended any true harm upon my person, so such a gesture is unnecessary.

However, that does not mean I could simply ignore his gesture of goodwill. Thus, I butt my head against his hand and spread my scent along the fledgling's riding leg coverings so that the familiar presence of myself will be close to him even were I not to be.

Tommen is still a child by the standards of men. And until he is grown, it is my duty to ensure he is raised correctly in the absence of his uncaring blonde father and his overbearingly sweet mother.

I am gladdened that his false father had the wisdom to send his adopted second son to the home of the human called Eddard. This place and the humans living within have been good for my charge.

"Come boy. I can smell that food has been prepared and we must break our fasts accordingly for the hunt ahead." I call out backwards, pausing at the door I'd clawed open and waited.

While his sense of direction had gotten much better over the years, if a certain dark haired misfit of a girl appeared from the shadows, Tommen would surely once more be dragged away to play.

… and likely myself as well.

Damn this youthful body of mine!

Near two years old and I am once more reminded that my previous, lordly stature, has been reduced to that of a young tom not yet grown.

Bah!

---

Eddard I

"Mrow."

"Aye. There doesn't look to be much in the way of excitement this day Ser Pounce." I state seriously to my traveling companion.

To my side, my eldest daughter, Sansa, giggles to herself at my reply towards the large cat gently cradled atop her saddle.

Indeed, my daughter who had so shunned unladylike activities was riding with us this day. Yet another change wrought by the influence of Prince Tommen and his pet forest cat.

If I were to speak such to someone outside of my or the King's household, I'd likely be pierced with odd looks and sad whispers of impending old age.

But tis true. Robert had boisterously warned me as much while slapping my back with all the strength of his youth just a scant year and some months ago.

"You keep an eye on that fey creature Ned, just watch! Best thing I ever did for my boy was bring that mud caked kitten back from the Kingswood to teach him some responsibility! May the gods fill my mouth with pig shit if a lie leaves my lips, but that damned cat rode his own horse near halfway to Winterfell by my side! Next thing you know, I'm teaching my boy to ride for the first time! Why, just the other day I-"

A story I would be sharing over an ale with my chosen brother would be what started as… play… ended up with Sansa learning to love horse riding.

My own Cat would call me mad were I to speak aloud of it, but early on during Tommen's stay, it seemed his pet made it his sworn duty to ingratiate himself with the members of my household. On a given day he would silently follow along those who Tommen spoke with often. From myself, my wife, Maester Luwin, Old Nan, Ser Rodrick, and more would he follow and watch like a well furred shade.

My children of course were also subject to the strange feline's inexplicable habits. The sight of the orange and white northern forest cat swishing its tail and watching the children from a high place became the norm.

Robb and Jon would find themselves learning to maintain their awareness in the sparring grounds lest they trip over an unseen, furred obstacle. Arya would regularly exclaim at the hearth of how Ser Pounce would slip away from her without trouble, yet tag her without a hint of difficulty. More than once had I felt my heart near burst from my chest when I heard a challenging mewl atop the towers of Winterfell only to see the forest cat dragging Bran from a window by a sleeve.

At least with Rickon he only patiently hung from his arms as they played children's games.

Now, Sansa…

How to explain it?

Again, most would call me mad were I to say this aloud, but I believe Prince Tommen's pet to be… worried for my daughter for the lack of a better word.

The first I became aware that he was spending additional attention with my eldest daughter was when I'd realized the furry body whom I'd grown used to squeezing between my side and the arm of my chair, had been oddly absent during court.

I'd thought nothing of it for the next several days, berating myself mentally for expecting a cat of all creatures to have a schedule.

Then my wife had mentioned she hadn't seen Ser Pounce who had so diligently followed her to the septs to pray at the end of every week.

I thought it odd, but thought nothing of it until Robb had paused in eating while sharing a look with young Theon who had shrugged and raised a questioning brow at Arya who'd begun giggling.

As it so happened, it appeared that the knighted animal had spent his time interrupting the girls during their time learning from Septa Mordane.

Not thinking much of it, we finished dinner that evening and I made a reminder to visit the girls lessons for nothing else if to quench my curiosity.

I couldn't help but laugh at what I'd found.

Ser Pounce had taken it upon himself to spend his time attempting to keep away the strings of yarn used for embroidery away from the girls as he left a trail of string throughout the halls of the tower. And despite poor Septa Mordane's admonishments, Sansa, Arya, Jeyne, and their other handmaidens were being supremely entertained by the large cat whose widened eyes and shaking rear had stolen their attentions.

In that moment I could not help but believe that the young cat had grown concerned that the girls were not being properly taught how to…

I suppose hunt would be the word? It is known that animals teach their young to do so with play. At least, this is the case with Direwolves as the writings of Starks of old say within my solar.

I thought nothing more of it, seeing the girls being so entertained. I'd even sternly warned Ser Pounce against doing so with a serious tone and a japing smile. To my surprise that had been the end of it.

At least until Pounce had learned Sansa so did enjoy her lemon cakes.

The next time the cooks had served sweetmeats at the table, Ser Pounce and leapt upon Sansa's legs with a fork in his mouth, speared her cube of dessert off of her plate, and fled towards the stables while everyone had sat in wordless shock.

At least until Sansa had leapt up with a dismayed shout and dashed after the cat who had stopped to turn back, a challenging, muted mewl being cast from his mouth still holding the fork.

I had followed with a more sedate pace with my equally confused, curious, and dismayed wife.

Even if he was the pet of a Prince, the cat was causing too much of a disturbance to keep.

And then as we'd exited the gate, the thundering of hooves passed us by much to our surprise.

And the rider?

An orange and white northern forest cat with a forkful of crumbling lemon cake held in his mouth.

Sansa, still wearing a dress had followed quickly atop the back of my favored mount.

When I spoke with Tommen not a minute later, the boy had only smiled without guile and shrugged. "Ser Pounce is special Lord Stark. He knows magic."

"Aye. It seems so." I could only reply numbly at the time, the angry shrieks turning into girlish laughter singing through the walls of Winterfell responded to by the challenging calls of a tomcat.

"Do you think we'll find anything today, Father?" Sansa wondered, banishing my thoughts as she used a free hand to scratch the forehead of the cat contentedly leaning against her.

"Somehow I doubt it. I've found that I have come to trust in the senses of our knightly companion these past months." I chuckled, glancing towards the dejected face of my second youngest son and the prince.

"Worry not. The day is early yet, and mayhaps we'll find some fowl towards the lake even if we do not discover anything more substantial-"

"Ah!"

I find myself tightening my hands over the reigns, my right barely stopping from moving to my boar spear at the surprised sound that escapes my daughter's lips.

Only, my concern followed by an eyebrow raises when I see that the cat who'd be so contentedly lounging in Sansa's saddle had suddenly perked up and leapt to land on the dirt trail.

Looking backwards at us with his tail lowered in line with his body, the cat takes off into the underbrush, leaving the younger members of the party to call out in dismay.

Barring Prince Tommen.

Instead, he calls out with an excited tremble in his breaking voice. "Ser Pounce found something!"

Dismounting from his horse, the young prince, cheerily hums to himself while gathering his bow and short spear like a young man readying himself to chase after his loyal hounds instead of a boy panicking about a lost pet.

"But…" Sansa tries, placing a concerned finger against her nibbled lower lip.

"It's fine my lady! Ser Pounce is strong and smart!" He smiles her direction and hefts his spear over his shoulder.

"Not looking forward to grooming out the tangles though…" Tommen grumbles to himself almost too quietly for me to hear before his expression brightens once more. "Lord Stark? Can we follow?"

"Indeed." I sigh softly followed by a snort of disbelief while dismounting.

Strange days to be following a hunting cat instead of a hound.

-----

AN: I hear ASOIAF stuff is poppin here. Just something small I'm posting to shoo away the brain floofs for a while :3

 

[konamikode]

Chapter 2: The Knightly Apostate

"Anders. Did Ser Pounce-A-Lot just telekinetically eviscerate that Ogre with its own axe? Marian? Bethany, dear? Did either of you-? Andraste's perfect, lovingly sculpted tits, Carver, Carver! Did you bloody well see that!? Varric-"

-Garrett Hawke, Champion of Kirkwall speaking incredulously to the Grey Warden, Anders, and the Apostate Mages, Marian and Bethany Hawke. And also the little known Carver Hawke-

-9:31 Dragon, Deep Roads-

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Winterfell, 297 AC
Pounce II

The scent of blood was strong in the air as I darted through the forest undergrowth. Fallen logs were no impediment to me, merely obstacles to be powerfully leapt over. The dense shrubbery of the area was even less an issue, merely needing to be brushed away, thornes and tangles harmlessly bouncing off the familiar shell of power I'd surrounded myself with.

Arcane Shield. A simple enough cantrip for one who'd lived among mages of unbelievable power all his life.

The separation between perception may be somewhat thicker in this land, but for me, slipping between the thin veil that separates the waking world from the nonsensical dream of the Fade comes as easy as breathing.

As long as we mortals dream, no matter the place, I can trick the world into believing it a part of an impossible fantasy.

-

"Did you know Ser Pounce? The old tales say that the first cats originally fell into our world from the Fade, small guardian spirits who desired companionship and made real." So whispered kind Bethany, lightly squeezing my paw as she ladled another helping of soup to the impoverished of the Undercity.

The youngest of the Hawke siblings, it was only dutiful of me to dedicate my time to guide and comfort the bright child who would wade through filth to bring sustenance and healing to the poor of Kirkwall. Whether it was when she had first arrived in Anders' clinic that first year to learn how to mend wounds and soothe sickness, or later when her family grew in fortune that her 'allowance' provided more aid to the hungry than a single mage ever could, I carefully watched over her.

Dearest Bethany, whose sweetness was burdened by the guilt of her connection to the Fade, did her best to provide a soft warmth to the people around her.

She was a small, guiding candlelight that could not be allowed be extinguished, much less flicker against the cruel night.

This the Dog and I agreed upon implicitly.

And by the time I grew old, that small, quivering fire had grown into a fine hearth that warmed all those within her home.

Mage or Templar, Human or Elf, Rich or Poor, Ferelden or Orlesian.

Cat or Dog.

None of these mattered to her. And in turn, thousands in Kirkwall rose to her defense when the Extremists of Templar Meredith's order sought to do the unthinkable and chain Bethany to the Circle scant minutes after the Qunari uprising had ended.

That was unacceptable.

"Apostate? What apostate? Do you see an apostate anywhere Marian?" The newly crowned Champion of Kirkwall spoke, never taking his hand off his still bloody blade.

"No Garrett. Can't say I do. Little brother?" The second eldest Hawke pulsed with power, eyes glowing with the barely restrained fury of her burning blood already dripping along the opened scar of her palm.

"I think the Knight-Commander's gone senile in her old age, sister. Mayhaps she's lost her head." Birthed ahead of the youngest by mere minutes, Carver stood between his elders, a protective hand gently pushing the heart of their family behind the fierce protection of three, barely restrained older siblings.

Then rose the rest of our friends. And from the growing crowd of people, a small child of elven descent stepped forward. Then another, and another until the greatly outnumbered Templars found themselves surrounded on all sides by all those Bethany's kindness had touched.

No apostates were found by the extremists that day.

I remember well the astonished expression that graced her face. One that was quickly followed by guilted disbelief until finally the girl had begun to shed tears.

That very next morning, and the mornings that followed, she left the Amell estate unclouded by doubt and with a quiet strength to do as she'd always done.

Spread kindness, healing, and sustenance to those in need.

-

It was thoughts of her that entered my mind in a flood of soothing memory as I entered the clearing before me.

I'd scented something else besides the blood.

Pain and fear was something I'd learned to decipher by necessity as a young kitten. But this fleeting spark of hope being drowned by a tide of despair mixed with the scent of birth had given wind to my limbs.

My ears swiveled towards the sound of labored, pained breathing and terrified, newborn whimpers.

Throwing what caution I had left to the warm noon air, I rushed forward in bounding leaps towards the she-wolf laboriously pushing out the last of her litter with her dying gasps.

"...who goes…?" She hisses weakly.

The large, fallen form shudders with a burst of desperate life, the desperate last struggle of a new mother finding a last drop of strength somewhere within her dying body.

But it is not enough for the wolf the size of a bear to do more than wearily lift her head for but a moment.

And then she falls, her quickened breath falling weaker than her previously labored pants of pained distress.

"Be at ease, young mother. I mean you and your pups no harm." I explain, slowing my pace and staying within her line of sight.

To further my lack of aggression, I slowly step within reach of her massive jaws to lay myself belly up at her side as dogs do to show my intent to do no harm.

I can feel her weak, warm breathes, tickling my side.

Were the she-wolf to find me a threat, I have no doubts that she'd use all the life left within her slowing heart to snap me up in her jaws and hold me in an unceasing death grip long after she'd passed.

"A… cat…?" Her eyes seem to wonder, lowering her guard ever so slightly at my lack of aggression. "How… nngh… unexpected."

I say nothing in return, hooding my eyes and beginning to entire the familiar trance between wakefulness and sleep required to work my more potent spells.

"Why...are you here?" She asks.

"To help." I reply, focused, ignoring the blurring shifting of my perception as the edges of my vision begin to waver and melt into a swirl of impossible colors.

"My pups. You would…?" She wonders, her dying hope bolstered by the truth of my intent and the loosening of her soul returning slowly to the Fade.

As if she were experiencing one last, unlikely dream where the end begins with an improbable, but heartening beginning.

"Am I dreaming, old spirit…? Have I already passed?" A moment of clarity is followed by a sharp pang of despair.

But this is no dream.

"No. You yet live." I soothe, shimmying forth to nuzzle my cheek against a cold, blood covered snout.

Blood, much like the markings that drip across the war markings of those worn by the elder Hawke twins adorn my face.

"Then…" She gasps, a final, defeated breath.

The blood on my face flakes away and becomes more fuel to the magic gently swirling searchingly in the air.

"And you will continue to live. I will it." I say, closing and opening my eyes in a slow, comforting gesture that is filled with promise.

You will not die this day.

Power pours forth from the desires shaped by my awakening dream, pulling belief into reality from the sleeping realm.

The she-wolf gasps, the Revival of her soul being pulled back into her container as a wave of soothing, false reality, imposes itself on the waking world.

Blood is replenished and continues to be replenished with Heal and Regeneration. Once she is strong enough, I will away the broken antler digging into her neck with a careful Telekinetic Burst, her cry of pain fading as the healing energies continue to do their work.

Strength begins to return to her warming limbs as the power of Rejuvenation fills her weary form with power enough that her labored breaths, calm.

"What are you doing?" The young mother asks, wonder causing her confused and scared voice to lilt musically like that of a child.

And in that moment, I recall a human girl very dear to me asking a very similar question to her teacher and my friend, Anders.

I reply with his answer.

"What I think is right." I reply, my entire being filled with conviction.

Wounds. Be they a bleeding rent in marred flesh, an illness ravaging the insides, or a hurt of the heart that not even the greatest masters of magic could heal...

Are terrible things.

They are meant to be healed.

This I learned from watching first, my protector, father, and closest companion, Anders.

Second, the unsure, wavering candle who nonetheless wished to spread warmth and comfort to the world, my dear Bethany.

How could I, small and insignificant in comparison, do no less than emulate the kindness so freely given to me by the people I'd sworn to repay with all nine of my lives?

And so the young mother and I laid next to one another and shared a long moment of silence.

Eyes of burnished gold met with hooded green.

Gold softened and closed peacefully.

Acceptingly.

Permission given, I slowly stand on all fours to stretch my back in an upwards curve before padding my way to the resting she-wolf's side where even now several pups were searchingly nuzzling for their first meal of life.

Three have already latched onto their mother and I have to nudge two others and carry back a confused sixth, snow white pup, who is busily filling his nose with a scent that he knows is not his mother's.

A content purr rumbles forth from my throat as I curl up my body to keep the newborn pups between myself and their mother, busying myself with cleaning the whimpering bundle of hungry fur as their mother allows the magic coursing through her to slowly return her former, powerful vitality.

It is in this position that Tommen along members of his foster family find us.

----

Dream of Spring I

I know not what to make of it.

This… spirit in the form of a large, fluffy cat.

A mystery for certain. He whose smell is covered by the manscent of a dozen, is no mere animal.

Covered in scents he may be, it does little to mask the presence of the otherworldly that sends tingles up my muzzle.

The heady sweetness of spring, the dry warmth of summer, the wet rain of fall, and the sharp frost of winter. All of the seasons of the world melded into a single, twirling twine.

It is a wondrous scent that I will never forget.

Even now, my children who were only born minutes ago sniff and snuff questioningly. Unable to yet properly speak, they make noises of confused wonder, never having experienced the seasons, everything is new.

Those who have sated their hunger and have more curiosity than fear, whine questioningly, using their noses to guide them where their eyes can not yet see and yelping when a firm paw and rough tongue holds and grooms away the birth water on their soft coats.

I can tell by his comfort and skill that he has done this before, and I lay back to rest despite all instinct telling me that it should be me cleaning my pups.

But another, hazy memory surfaces of my own mother's sisters helping to clean my siblings and I, allowing me the ease of mind to continue resting from my endeavor.

The cat who smells of youth, but acts like that of an experienced caretaker is only filled with the warmth of concern and surety of purpose. Were this any other time, I may have raised my hackles in warning, but how could I?

I am only alive due to the spirit's kindness. My pups would not survive long without me.

A debt is owed. A place in the pack.

Thus I calm the nerves of my children with a long chuff of breath, the soft, scant thumps of my tail against the ground telling them that all is well.

A short time later, I hear as well as smell men beginning to approach and prepare to lift myself to guard my pups when the spirit speaks.

"Be at ease. The humans I have chosen as my companions will do no harm to you or your pups. I swear it." He says easily and turns his neck to face the first of them to break clumsily through the brush.

"Keep your distance, young Tommen. You have not yet been given permission." He makes a deep, warning noise that causes the human pup to pause and tilt his head as if trying to understand our language.

The human boy says something with the strange, mouth language of the humans as he lowers his rear onto the ground, himself looking backwards and calling out to the other men who are slowly closing.

"What is it that you are called, young mother?" The spirit asks, taking my attention away from the small pack of men that have paused at the edge of the clearing.

I can smell their confusion, fear, and wonder. Fear which begins to ebb away as the straw haired pup's example is followed by the weathered leader of their pack.

Stark.

Somehow, I know this human. He who carefully lowers himself to a knee and bades the others to do the same.

Several of them are his own pups who match gazes with mine with unbridled curiosity.

Each of them look away, barring the father of the pack himself whose cold, grey eyes never once blinks to break my judging stare.

Strong and wise. A good leader.

Stark.

"That one may pass. No other." I murmur quietly, resting my head once more against the ground. "And I am called Dream of Spring."

At this, the cat lifts himself, gently nudging my white and grey pups back towards the rest of their siblings before turning to face the humans.

He makes to walk forward, but turns his head to me with a cattish tilt and speaks with a wry, odd inflection. "I have been named Ser Pounce. But I was born this time as Justice."

His names given, Justice pads towards the stilled men and presses his head firmly against the Stark.

The man looks down in confusion until the straw haired pup speaks nonsensical noises and the man slowly rises and begins to move forward.

When others behind him begin to stand, I raise my hackles in time with Justice's warning hiss.

The man with a mane colored like tree bark swiftly lifts a commanding hand and barks out an order that causes the other humans with him to freeze and reluctantly return to their place on the ground.

"Come, Eddard. Make your greetings." Justice mewls, slowly guiding and herding the human until he is close enough for me to bite.

"Sit, present your hand." The spirit commands, sitting himself and bringing up a paw to my nose to show the Stark what it is he should do.

"Gods be good." A whisper of man language brushes past his lips as he takes off the leather covering of his hand and presents his pale flesh for my inspection.

I move my head, placing my muzzle in his hand sniff deeply.

STARK.

Almost of its own accord, my tongue flips out to lap warmly against the cold, furless skin of the man's palm.

His is a familiar taste and smell. I've never encountered it, but something deep within my bones tells me that he and his ilk are long lost wolves of the packs of winter.

I have found a home.

 

[konamikode]

Chapter 3: A Cat Teaching Wolves

----

"The pups grew quickly under our care. It was not necessary for us to open our coffers, no. Indeed, it was a common sight to see people of all walks of life come to the godswood with offerings of meat and offal.

Be they noble or commoner, lord or bastard, all sought the blessings of the old gods and the symbols of their continued presence.

Many of those who had not seen it first hand, scoff at the notion of the otherworldly, but I have seen it.

A spirit in the form of a cat, teaching impossible skills and abilities to the pups and their mother.

And from them, so did we, if only in small ways."

-Robb Stark, Lord Paramount of the North commenting on the return of magic.-

-20 AD-

----------

Winterfell, 297 AC

Jon Snow l

It had only been a few short weeks since we returned home from the hunt. And in that time, I'd found that my responsibilities have grown along with the rest of my half siblings and father.

While not in an unacceptable state of disrepair, the direwolf kennels had required refurbishing. Unsurprisingly, the mother wolf had been leery of allowing any but Father to approach, and for the first several days he had taken it upon himself to personally clean the building.

Day after day, he would return to the keep, dirty and famished, but with a satisfied expression in his normally solemn countenance.

"Before a lord, I am a man. And if I am the only one who is given permission to move freely among the wolves, what can I do but act?" Father had spoken softly over the long table.

That had been the catalyst for myself and my siblings.

We who'd been there, had seen the obvious guiding of the old gods. A normal wolf would've undoubtedly snapped and growled at any man who neared her pups, much less herself. But it was father alone that she had allowed to close.

And that we could see no sign of injury on the mother or any of the pups that had been carefully wrapped and carried in Father's cloak back to Winterfell, it was one more sign of the otherworldly.

The antlers of the dead stag had been covered in gore, strips of flesh, and ripped clumps of fur that could only have come from the she-wolf. Yet after quickly feeding, she had trotted alongside father's horse without difficulty while quietly chuffing in response to Pounce's mewls.

The large cat himself was comfortably striding alongside his larger companion without difficulty or pause.

It was unnatural, but it was an oddness we had come to expect.

Less so was the lack of his presence in our daily lives for the first few weeks of the pups' rearing.

It was Arya who had discovered him first, having snuck into the direwolf kennels in the early morning with choice bits of meat and a skin of goat's milk from the kitchen.

When she didn't show to break the morning fast, it hadn't taken longer than a moment for all of us to realize where she had gone.

Father was furious and worried as were the rest of us. Almost as one did we immediately dash towards the kennels, a mix of dread and quiet wonder mixing in our hearts as to what we would find.

Was Arya unharmed? As maddening as the thought of it was, Father had said that Pounce had been the constant companion of the direwolf pack during his time in the kennels.

It was insanity, but I agreed with Tommen's unyielding firmness in his statement that the cat would never allow any child to come to harm.

Still, the scene that awaited us was surprising and completely shattered any thoughts of cruel rationality with cheerful giggles, excitable yips, and the greeting mewl of a large orange forest cat waiting by the kennel entrance.

While the household guards that had followed us had been forcibly curtailed by a hissing Pounce, the rest of the family to include Tommen, Theon, and Lady Stark, were herded inside with insistent nudges and pushing forepaws.

What we saw was just as chilling as it was heartening.

Little Arya was slowly feeding the grey and dark brown coated pup directly from the skin. Next to her there were several pups impatiently waiting their turn to be fed, their bodies and chins held low against the ground and their forepaws. Closeby was the mother wolf, seemingly taking the opportunity to rest and chew on the haunch of ham Arya had brought with her.

Before anyone could speak or act, the largest of the pups, grey and male, had risen to his feet and cautiously pawed forward in an attempt to crawl up Arya's seated lap. Only to pull himself back with lowered ears and a whine when Pounce trotted forward with a noise of what I could only decipher as admonishment.

A cat was training wolves.

It was the Lord of Winterfell who chuckled first at the irony, simply waving a hand towards the unlikely foster father in the shape of a feline. It was as if Father was telling us that it was this madness he had been subjected to in his time making the kennels fit for habitation.

I found a snort breaking past my lips before it was joined by varying noises of similarly entertained disbelief.

We were then slowly introduced to the pack, first to the mother who was impossibly tolerant of us being so close to her pups.

Since that day, it had been the duty of Father's older sons to care for the needs of the direwolves on a rotational basis.

Today, it was my responsibility to feed, water, socialize the wolves to human contact.

"Mrr~" At my feet, Pounce was affectionately rubbing his scent along my legs, something I was quick to realize had helped to quickly accustom the pups and mother to the presence of their caretakers.

I'd watched him do it to all of us that first day before allowing any to close with the mother wolf.

"Right, right, the pups are old enough to start chewing on softer meats." I replied, not really understanding the cat's mewls, but understanding the intent behind his actions and soft trilling.

I can't be mad if everyone else is slowly coming to understand the impossibly intelligent cat's actions, right?

"Mrowr?" He asked.

"Aye. It's just us this morning." I replied, knowing that my younger siblings would be busy with additional courtly lessons.

A raven had come not days ago detailing the King's plan in coming to Winterfell.

It likely meant little for me, but I couldn't help but be excited.

I had met the king once before when Tommen was first brought to foster in the North. He was everything that father had said he was, boisterous, strong, and merry. While I felt sorrow for the loss of the man that helped raise my father, I was shamefully looking forward to meeting Robert Baratheon once more.

I was still unsure of whether I would join the Night's Watch, or if I would choose another path forward. Perhaps there would be a life for me in the south?

"Mew!" An insistent noise followed by the scratching of claws against the wooden door of the larder drew me out of my reverie.

Whatever decision there was to make, I had my duties to worry about first and foremost.

Spring required a large amount of food as the pups were still suckling. Quickly I gathered the various meats, greens and a jug of freshly boiled oats into a basket before following after the orange coated tom.

I will admit to having thought wolves were primarily carnivorous, but a few nudges of a white colored paw and the carefully carried ears of corn between sharp teeth, had quickly disavowed my family and I of the notion.

This I didn't question. It was well known and quietly spoken of at the table that Pounce could understand the wolves as well as he could his 'humans'.

It was telling that many members of the Stark household were only humoring Tommen when he said that his cat could perform magic, even then.

Oh how quickly I and the others would be disavowed of the notion in the coming months and years.

---

Ghost I

"Slowly, Ghost. There you go." Jon spoke softly, carefully keeping his lips closed around his teeth even as I saw them quirk upwards in the human language that meant happiness.

Eagerly, I accepted the now tender strip of waterless meat from the fingers of my favorite human brother.

I had trouble with chewing on the tough piece of meat that he and Father called 'jerky'. It was dry, hard, and I don't think I'd be able to swallow it without trouble if Jon wasn't here.

I would've tried anyway, but Father was quick to admonish me and commanded me to drop the meat. And when I did so with a sad whine and sadder whimper when Jon picked it off the ground to pop it in his mouth, I quickly understood what my human brother was doing.

He was using his grinding teeth to help me do what my own fangs weren't meant to do.

Some of my younger, but older human brothers and sister didn't like it when I greeted them by licking around their mouths, but Jon, Robb, Arya, and Rickon didn't have that problem. Neither did their father.

But it was only Jon that I felt so close to, even more than my wolf siblings.

I didn't know how to explain it, and Mother was just as confused.

But Father had told me, all of us, stories about the humans he had known before.

Powerful beings more akin to gods shackled in mortal skin, but good and loving. He says that they would've loved us very much.

I hope to meet them one day.

"Thanks Jon!" I remembered to thank my brother at Father's push of his paw against my side.

"Aye." My brother spoke softly as he were to do.

"My turn?" Grey Wind wondered, pulling away from Mother's side to trot next to me with wide eyes.

We knew the hierarchy now, as strange as it was.

Our favored human siblings would feed their own favorite wolf brother or sister first before the rest of us were given milk or meat in order.

From largest to youngest, from oldest to smallest.

"Hold. Wait your turn." Jon said, the second eldest of our human siblings softly ran an ungloved hand across the back of my older wolf brother.

"I will! Father says I will lead the pack with Robb one day!" Grey Wind snuffs proudly, looking towards our orange furred foster father with a happy wag of his tail.

"You will indeed. But only when your mother and I feel you are ready." The cat known to us as Ser Pounce rumbles back in a contented purr as he kneads his paws against our half asleep mother's shoulder.

Mother chuffs her agreement sleepily.

I knew that we would one day be as large or larger than her, and that we would leave to start our own packs soon after.

One or two of us would stay by her side for a time, but as the siblings of STARKS, we knew from the moment we met our partner siblings, that all of us would one day be separated.

Even Father would leave us in the coming years. And as much as the thought of such a future, hurt, I knew it was something we had to live with.

Still, just because I knew that my future laid with Jon, didn't mean that I liked having his attention stolen by my overly affectionate wolf siblings!

"Jon, Jon! Look! Father taught me how to use Fire-!" I yipped, gathering a deep breath of air into my lungs and-

"What?" Jon blinked, understanding but not.

Instead he reached a hand forward, likely to calm my jealousy with physical attention.

I took no notice of this, instead allowing the world the Fade, and instead filled the fraying edges with a spark of-

"Ghost!" An admonishing voice and white furred paw quickly bopped me clawlessly on the nose, causing me to lose focus-

"Ball-urp?" I coughed, choking up a small burp of fire and smoke that tasted of ash, momentarily engulfing the stunned hand of my partner.

"Faaaather…" I shuffled, properly chastised, but still a little mad.

I wanted to show Jon something cool!

"None of that! You are not ready to draw from the Fade out of my lessons!" The large cat mrowled in a furious manner!

"But-"

"Hearth of Fire!" Mother growled, awakened from her nap to stand at her full height. "What was the first lesson Justice taught you and your siblings!?" She fumed, almost ironically as icy hoarfrost grew in patches underneath her quickly moving paws.

"But Mother-" I tried to reply before I was quickly snatched up by the scruff and placed into my wide-eyed human brother's lap.

The small puff of flame that I'd exhaled had done nothing to frighten, or even leave a soot mark against the reaching skin of my brother's hand.

"Apologize for your foolishness! You could have burned your brother!" Mother is quick to admonish me before quickly approaching the still frozen Jon and licking concernedly at his unburnt hand.

"See! He's fine-"

"Not another word from you." Mother turns to face me with a fierce glare.

She doesn't growl, but she doesn't need to or wishes to lest she frighten my second eldest human brother. Instead she brushes herself bodily against his smaller frame, carefully searching for any signs of damage against his form before chuffing in relief and lying down to rest her head against his lap.

"Forgive your brother. He is still young." She warbles apologetically with no little worry.

"It's alright girl, no harm done. I'm fine, see?" Jon comforts her, running both his hands along her cheeks and back.

"Ghost." He says, causing me to fitfully fidget my paws up and down against the hard muscles of Jon's thigh.

"It's fine. I was just surprised." He says softly, looking to Mother for permission before using his unburned hand to run it soothingly along my back.

"Sorry Jon." I mumbled softly, starting to feel foolish.

"Don't worry about it."

So Jon says and I lay myself fitfully down on his lap next to Mother's whiskers.

I'll be better.

I promise.

These are the last thoughts I have before I find myself falling into the Fade, the comfortable warmth of Jon's furless hand lightly resting itself atop my back.

-----

AN: Fuuuuuuck that ending tho