The Little Wolf Under the Ruined TowerBran left his little direwolf beneath one of the ancient sentinel trees outside the armory wall. After making sure the cub was settled, he scratched behind its ear, earning a pleased flick of its tail, then turned and bounded away with barely contained energy.
Reaching a low-hanging branch, Bran leaped upward, grabbed hold, and swung himself into the tree with the practiced ease of someone who had been climbing long before most children learned their letters.
He was already halfway up the towering pine, moving swiftly from branch to branch, when the little wolf suddenly stiffened, rose to its feet, and let out a sharp, piercing howl.
The sound sliced through the quiet courtyard like a blade.
Startled, Bran froze and looked down.
The direwolf pup instantly quieted, tilting his head back to stare at Bran with bright, unsettling yellow eyes that glowed even in the shadowed light.
A strange chill crept up Bran's spine, though he could not explain why.
"What's gotten into you?" he muttered under his breath.
Shrugging it off, he turned and prepared to climb higher—only for the cub to unleash another long, urgent howl.
"Shut up!" Bran snapped, irritation bubbling up. "Sit still and don't move. You're more annoying than Mom!"
The wolf did not listen.
Bran ignored him anyway. He had a mission, a grand plan, and he wasn't about to let a whining wolf ruin it. The howls followed him relentlessly as he climbed onto the armory roof and finally disappeared from view. Only then did the direwolf fall silent, watching the place where his boy had vanished.
Far away, in the heart of the godswood, Karl paused mid-stride.
"I heard a dog barking," he said suddenly.
Jon Snow rolled his eyes so hard it was a wonder they didn't fall out. "That's a wolf howling. It must be Bran's pup."
"But Ghost doesn't make sounds like that," Karl countered, suspicion lining his voice. "Does your White Spirit not bark at all? Is it mute or something?"
"Ghost is simply… quiet," Jon replied, though even he sounded unsure.
Among the six direwolves, Ghost was unquestionably the odd one out—silent as snow, pale as moonlight, eyes like red embers. Sansa's Lady, Robb's Grey Wind, Arya's Nymeria, even little Rickon's Shaggydog—every one of them cried out, whined, or howled at least occasionally.
But Ghost? Never.
Jon had long since accepted that his wolf was different from the rest. Special, even.
Just like his owner.
Karl scratched his chin thoughtfully. "Back home, we say: 'A dog that bites doesn't bark.' You should watch yourself. A quiet one is the most dangerous."
"For the last time, Ghost is a wolf," Jon muttered, exasperated. "Direwolves are wolves. Not dogs."
Karl only hummed skeptically. "Wolf or dog? Wolf or dog…?"
The rooftops of Winterfell were Bran Stark's kingdom.
His mother often said he had learned to climb before he could walk. Bran could not remember learning either skill, so she was probably right.
From the high places, Winterfell unfolded beneath him like a stone-and-ice tapestry. The towers, walls, courtyards, and smoky chimneys all lay at his feet. People below seemed tiny—ants scurrying along their duties—while the sky above felt near enough to touch.
He loved climbing for that reason. Only up here did he feel as though he could see everything.
From the rooftops, Bran had uncovered many secrets—old cracks in the battlements, forgotten passageways, and strange quirks of the castle's ancient construction.
For example, he knew that the builders of Winterfell had never leveled the terrain around the fortress, leaving the lands uneven, full of shallow valleys, twisting streams, and sudden drops. He had found a sealed bridge that connected the fourth floor of the clock tower to the second floor of the crow's nest. And if a person entered the inner wall from the south gate, climbed a certain stairway to the third floor, and squeezed through a narrow stone passage, they could follow it all the way around to the base of the north gate—hidden beneath the shadow of a hundred-foot-high wall.
Winterfell was full of mystery.
And Bran loved mysteries.
"So you're really just letting Bran climb all over the roofs like this every day?" Karl complained loudly as he and Jon approached the inner yard. "One of these days he's going to break his neck."
Jon winced. "Lady Catelyn is just as worried. She used to panic every time Bran climbed higher than the stable roof."
"So why didn't she forbid him?"
"She tried," Jon said with a sigh. "Bran promised he wouldn't climb again. That lasted exactly two weeks. On the last night, he slipped out after Robb fell asleep."
Karl snorted with laughter. "And then what?"
Jon shrugged helplessly. "He confessed, and Father punished him by sending him alone to the godswood to repent. Father even set guards to watch him."
"And?"
"The next morning, Bran was gone."
Karl blinked. "Gone?"
"Fast asleep atop the tallest sentinel tree in the godswood."
Karl let out a long exhale, rubbing his forehead. "This child… is blessed by the gods or cursed by them."
Jon's expression said he wondered the same.
"Anyway," Jon finished, "after that, everyone simply accepted that Bran would climb. There was no stopping him."
Karl suddenly paused and pointed ahead. "That place—what's that building? Is it safe to approach?"
Jon followed his gaze. "That's the inner courtyard. We practice archery there."
"And that one with the domed roof?"
"The First Keep," Jon replied. "Oldest part of Winterfell. No one uses it anymore. Just rats and spiders, probably."
Karl squinted thoughtfully, as if memorizing every detail. Jon had been right—Karl clearly wanted to understand the castle's layout thoroughly, perhaps imagining the fortress he might build someday.
"And the tallest structure?" Karl asked.
Jon's tone shifted, becoming slightly more wary. "The ruined tower. They say lightning struck it more than a hundred years ago. A fire destroyed a third of it… collapsed the upper floors. Lord Stark sends people inside now and then to clean out the rubble and rats."
Karl opened his mouth to ask another question, but Jon continued unprompted. "It's unstable. We're not supposed to go there. Father warned us many times."
Karl brushed that aside. "That's unfortunate. Because your brother"—he pointed toward the distant silhouette scrambling up the tower—"is already there."
Jon's heart dropped. "Bran…"
Karl's eyes glinted with something sharp. "Come on. I have a very bad feeling about this."
Bran approached the ruined tower from the north wall, swinging across broken gargoyle statues like stepping stones. The wind tugged at his clothes, but he moved with perfect confidence.
He had climbed this tower before—but never this high. Today he intended to reach the very top, just to see what Winterfell looked like from its tallest ruin.
A loose stone crumbled under his foot. Bran paused, shifted his weight, and continued onward, undeterred.
Then he heard voices.
Soft but distinct. Coming from inside the tower.
Bran froze so abruptly he nearly lost his grip. Arms windmilling, he steadied himself and clung to the stone face, heart hammering.
Who could be inside the tower? No one ever came here.
He pressed himself against the broken wall and listened, breath held.
A man's voice. And a woman's. Whispering. Urgent.
Bran's mind raced. The tower was supposed to be abandoned. And yet someone—no, two people—were inside, talking.
He edged closer.
The voices grew clearer.
Bran's eyes widened, confusion and curiosity warring inside him.
The ruined tower was supposed to be empty.
Who could possibly be here?
Advance Chapters avilable on patreon (Obito_uchiha)