Ghost
The girl acted as much as he expected. If not for man’s training and surprising skill, he would have been shocked out of the wolf’s skin at the discovery of long-time kin. The wolf moved, its feet not even making a sound as it prowled around the girl. Yet where man was focused on sniffing his sister and nudging the white-furred head and snout into her side, earning himself chuckles from the girl, the wolf was more alert for danger.
“Is that really you, Ghost? But if you’re here, does that mean...” Man tried to speak from the wolf's throat, but only ended up letting out a low rumbling sound, a sound that stirred the burly armoured man with the burn scar on his face.
One white eye blinked open with little awareness, while a brown bloodshot orb blinked with more vigor. That brown eye narrowed at the presence of the great beast in their camp, and where man was oblivious, wolf was not. Ears pricked, it listened for the burned man’s heartbeat. The meaty and chewy organ hidden behind cages of bone began to speed up as more awareness dawned on the burned man.
Steel-clad fingers reached out, and the scratching of gauntlet upon blade hilt was an annoyance in the ears of the wolf, one that man ignored as it focused solely on the girl. Wolf was disappointed. It had hoped man had learnt better than to lose track of predators in the face of kin or blood.
The scream of steel leaving its sheath rang out as the burned man wielded the claw of men, the long steel glinting in the light of the fire as the man surged forward without a sound, hoping to bury the iron claw in the side of the beast.
The wolf had had enough of the distraction of its partner and forcibly reclaimed control of the body, sending its partner hurtling away from its mind. The wolf bounded to the side just as the blade kissed the edge of his back hunch, staining his beautiful white coat with blood but not doing much else.
The wolf retaliated. Its jaw snapped out, hard and fast, and its teeth bit into the metal skin that covered the soft flesh of the man. It grinded its jaw and steel buckled. The steel-clad man let out a yell before sending out a punishing strike with his free hand towards the face of the wolf.
The wolf had two choices. Before the touch of man’s mind upon it, it would have simply let go of the limb and dodged away before searching for a way to retaliate and strike back. But it had learned from man. The joining of two minds changed and twisted it in ways the wolf could not understand, comprehend, or care about. All the wolf knew was that it had learned, its way of things had changed, and that difference was enough to bring up another option.
The wolf jerked down its head, its lupine strength overwhelming the tin man. The change in stance forced the man to a knee, an act that weakened the blow that man had sent towards the wolf’s head. Steel fist bounced off the skull of the wolf with only a dull pain to show for it. Then the wolf retaliated.
Twisting its neck muscles, it lifted and pulled, then spun on the spot, and with a flick of its head, it hurled the man away. Armour-clad, huge, and heavy as the burned man was, he was no match for the strength of the muscles in the lupine frame.
The man was sent flying with a yell and a curse, words that the wolf vaguely noted were a sign of annoyance and confusion among the humans of the camp. The burned man landed heavily, his steel skin protecting him from the ground but also jarring him. The wolf could have killed the man right there, but unlike the men and the dead that it had gotten used to killing for half its life, this man was different. He was not simple prey like most men, even the ones that wore steel skin like him. He was different.
He was a predator, and the wolf recognized that. So it didn't surge forward and fall into the trap that man had laid, for already under the moonlight and the firelight, the wolf could see the glint of a smaller steel claw, sharpened and hidden under the man’s bulk as he waited for the wolf to attack what it should've thought was a simple fallen enemy.
His partner’s kin spoke, words that it did not care to understand. There was a bond there, a tentative connection that reached out to it, much like its partner unconsciously did before the three-eyed crow thought it better. The wolf ignored it. Without making a sound, not even in the entire brief fiasco that had occurred, the wolf backpedaled slowly until the darkness of the night swallowed it. Darkness black enough to hide even its beautiful white fur.
The last thing the girl and the burned man, who had long realized his ambush had failed and had gotten to his feet, could see were bright red eyes before they disappeared into the dark.
The wolf was not done. The girl was kin, but the same could not be said for the man, and the wolf was growing hungry. If it could, it would have let out a threatening growl, but unlike its kith and kin, one it could even smell vaguely in the distance, the wolf was different. It was the perfect ambush creature and would bide its time in silence.
Its lips slowly licked its teeth clean. The puncture had been thin, but its teeth had proven superior to steel and had managed to draw blood. The steel man had proven strong and had drawn first blood. The wolf would prove stronger and eat from his heart.
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Jon
Like a bow’s string that had been pulled back too far and too hard before being let loose, Jon snapped back into his body with a gasp. His body jerked forward instinctively, animal-like instincts left over from his broken connection with Ghost forcing him to dodge an incoming blade and pushing him forward into the fire he had been staring into.
A calloused hand grabbed him by his shoulders and roughly pulled him back, throwing him back first into the ground. Jon moved on impulse, all reaction and no thinking, the animal part of his brain and his connection to Ghost sending his body into fight-or-flight mode so intense that his reflexes were sharpened to wolf life standards.
He bounded to his feet, dagger in hand, and almost lunged at the figure that had pulled on his shoulders before the more human and rational part of the brain put a stop to the motion. Some part of him almost growled in response, a reaction that was supposed to warn off his attacker, but the sensation was suppressed as Jon Snow blinked grey eyes in confusion as he looked into the face of Ulmer.
The grizzled archer stared at him with narrowed eyes and pursed lips. This close, Jon could see every wrinkle and furrow in his skin as the man gave him a look that sent the feeling he was displeased but was reserving judgment for now.
“Ulmer?” Jon finally said, his voice coming out strange and rough.
The man did not reply for a second. The brief commotion had not been enough to wake the sleeping men, but the two on watch had turned to them, confusion and worry in their frame. Jon waved them away as he straightened up from the near beast-like crouch he had been in. It was only when he did that Ulmer loosened his own crouch, and only then did Jon see the thin blade he held in a reverse grip, partially hidden behind his body.
“I suppose that’s you in there and not the beast then,” the weathered man said before spitting to the ground with a growl.
“You know,” Jon replied, not bothering to deny it. If the man had wanted him dead or maimed, he would have let him jump headfirst into the fire and not pulled him away.
“Aye, I suspected, so I watched.” The older man looked like he had more to say, so Jon remained quiet and sheathed his knife back into its place at his hips. Ulmer did the same a second later before he continued. “There is a reason why, even when the small folk turned their back on us, it still took so long for the Kingsguard, led by some of the best woodsmen, to find us. Wenda the White Fawn.”
“She was a skin changer?” Jon asked in surprise. Of course, he knew of the woman. Just like Ulmer, Wenda was just as legendary, or perhaps even more so, considering she was never arrested.
“Aye. When Simon, Fletcher, and I found her, she was being raised by a herd of deer. Her parents lost as levies in the previous war. So we took her in. She had fits such as that once in a while, especially when her eyes turned white...” He gave Jon a strange look before continuing. “Never quite as dangerous as yours, though. I suppose that’s because you slip into the skin of that giant white wolf of yours instead of a simple speckled deer.”
Jon nodded slowly. The older man’s guess made sense. Ghost was a wolf, one that could easily be mistaken for tame due to how quiet and surprisingly gentle he was, but at the end of the day, he was still a direwolf. Jon had been warned of bleed-throughs by both Bran and the Three-Eyed Raven, which was a thought for another time. For at the reminder of Ghost, Jon remembered everything.
His grey eyes narrowed as he immediately began to move. He did not have time to put on his breastplate, so he only tightened his gambeson and reached for his sword, still sheathed and on the floor beside him.
“We can speak on this later, but we have to go, now.”
Ulmer’s brows furrowed again. It was obvious he had a lot to say, but since the fight at the walls of the settlement in the Frostfangs, the aged ranger had grown to respect him somewhat, so he simply nodded his head.
“We would talk about this later, but considering your hurry, I’m to assume there’s something wrong, aye?”
“Yes,” Jon answered, already turning away and drawing on his connection to Ghost. He traced the pathway he had taken when he walked on four feet instead of two, and using the combination of both, he began to move. “I found my sister.”
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Arya Stark
The Hound was a fool. It was not some great secret. Arya already knew the brutish man was slow and unnecessarily violent, with some animal cunning, and it was those traits that had served them well in their escape and travel to the Riverlands so far. It was such a pity that that same trait was hampering her now.
It had been enough of a surprise to look up from the fire to Ghost. The albino direwolf had looked at her with an intensity that surprised her. All too intelligent eyes. There had not been even a single sense of fear or wariness in her as she stared at the wolf pad up to her before nudging her with its head, even though it was almost as tall as she was.
Then everything changed when the brutish bastard had attacked it. It was like a light had gone out of its eyes as it immediately changed. The fight between man and beast had been quick and over before she could do more than calm the beast. Then the game had started.
“Come out, you mangy mutt!” Sandor growled from his place in the middle of their camp, while Arya simply sat and looked about. She had wanted to leave, of course, if Ghost was here...
“Stand up, you little shit, there’s a wolf prowling in the dark,” Sandor growled at her without taking his eyes off the edges of the clearing as he constantly rounded the fire so the wolf could not strike his back.
“If you hadn’t rushed to attack it and allowed me to explain, we would not be here now,” Arya replied with a small laugh. Unlike Sandor, she was not worried. So far, Ghost had appeared a sum total of three times, and each time had been to strike out at Sandor while ignoring her. It moved faster than her eyes could track half the time, with enough speed and strength to rip off a part of Sandor’s armour, knife-like teeth tearing through strap and leather.
So far, Sandor had lost a vambrace and his two gauntlets. The wolf was being methodical. It was peeling Sandor like an onion, and it was only a matter of time until he got to the bulb within. When it did, Arya was going to have it lead her to—
The sound of feet breaking branches, rough breath, as well as a body smashing through the undergrowth and branches broke her train of thought and finally brought Arya to her feet. It was not Ghost. She knew that without a second thought. The white-furred beast was too subtle, which meant...
A man burst out of the foliage, his grey eyes wide as he searched the clearing. Two grey eyes met for the first time in over a year. Brother and sister both, with features so similar they could not be mistaken for anything else.
“Jon!” Arya screamed in delight at the sight of her bastard brother. She moved forward to meet him, but Sandor’s fingers clamped into her shoulders as he repositioned and raised his blade in a new guard position with a single arm.
Jon’s eyes narrowed, a flash of anger in them. Then an arrow streaked out from behind Jon and slammed into the Hound’s shoulder. The force of the steel broadhead bent the pauldron that protected Sandor’s shoulder and sent a tremble down his arm that weakened the single-handed grip on the blade. Then a blur of white shot out, faster than anybody could react to, and it slammed into Sandor, throwing the disgraced knight away.
The dust settled later, and Arya looked to the side to see Ghost on top of the Hound. The burly man was strong, stronger than any other man that Arya knew, but Ghost was not a man. They scrambled for a few seconds until the white wolf got the perfect angle. Its head lunged forward, white teeth gleaming as they clamped down on Sandor’s throat. Sandor’s face turned to her, and for the first time since she had known and traveled with the man, she saw fear and desperation on the unburnt side of his face.
“No!” Arya shouted, surprising even herself. Even more surprising was the fact that Ghost halted immediately as small trickles of blood dripped down the Hound’s neck from where wolf teeth had almost dug in.
Arya turned to Jon, whose attention had shifted to her since she screamed. “He saved me.” She started, seeing the confusion on his face. “He might be an annoying, greedy bastard with an obsession for violence and murder, but he saved me. He might have done it simply to ransom me to Robb, but he could have just as easily turned me away and taken me to the Lannisters.” She spat out the last part with fury.
Jon’s features softened, and at once, even without a word, like it could read its owner’s intent, Ghost dismounted. Licking its lips as it stared down at Sandor, even while the man slowly found his feet, his arm rubbing his neck, just then the archer that had nearly disarmed him stepped out of the forest.
Then Jon lunged at her, and she met him halfway, sinking into his chest as bottled-up emotions, from watching their lord father being beheaded to the suffering she had gone through on her journey from King’s Landing, all culminated. It caused tears to sprout from her eyes in hiccuping bursts as she cried into the chest of her elder brother, with the knowledge that the world was not suddenly right, but for the first time, it was better than it had been since the moment her father died.