Benjen
The wolves were watching again.
Benjen Stark crouched low, his breath misting in the cold air. The snowfall had lightened, but the wind still bit through fur and bone.
He glanced down at the bundle in his arms.
"Don't look at me like that," he muttered to the nearest wolf, who tilted its head, unimpressed.
Benjen adjusted the furs around the baby. "I know I said I wouldn't interfere with strange things I find beyond the Wall. But, in my defense... I didn't expect to find a baby in a tree."
The smallest pup crept closer, sniffed, then sneezed.
Benjen raised an eyebrow. "Is this funny to you?"
The she-wolf gave a soft chuff, almost like a laugh.
He sighed, standing with a grunt. "You lot are no help."
Carefully, Benjen turned, cradling the child closer to his chest. As he faced the weirwood again, he saw her—
The mother.
The she-wolf had risen. She stood still, alert, her golden eyes meeting his. Something passed between them. A silent understanding.
Benjen didn't speak. He only nodded once.
Then he stepped forward, into the falling snow.
The she-wolf walked beside him.
---
The Baby
Before the snow and the silence, he'd been a boy.
Not a loud boy. Not the kind who drew attention to himself.
But he'd always felt deeply—more than he let others see. He wanted friends. Truly. The kind of friends who noticed the quiet things. Who understood without being told.
But people didn't always get him. They thought he was distant, or just weird. So he stayed to himself. Better alone than misunderstood.
Still, he was kind. Always kind. Even when he didn't say much, he felt everything.
He didn't like seeing people cry. He didn't like yelling. He liked quiet mornings, warm tea, shows with big, messy stories and complicated heroes. His favorite characters were always the gentle ones. The ones who protected without asking for anything back.
That day, walking home from school, the sky had been gray.
He'd been thinking about nothing in particular. Maybe about a scene from a show he liked. Maybe wondering if anyone had texted him—not that they usually did.
And then—light. Noise. Brakes. A flash of white.
---
Then something strange.
Not dark, not light. Not anything.
He didn't feel like he had a body. But somehow, he was still him.
And then... something else. Not a person, not really. But present. Fuzzy, like a half-remembered dream.
> "Oh," it said. "There you are."
He didn't know how to answer.
> "No worries," the voice continued. "This sort of thing happens. Don't think too hard about it."
A pause.
> "You're not here to save the world. You don't have to do anything at all."
> "But," it added gently, "I've given you a gift. You'll understand it later."
And then it was gone.
Like breath fading into winter air.
---
Cold.
That was the first thing.
Not painful, but sharp. A sting on his cheek. A breath of ice against his nose.
He was wrapped in something—cloth, maybe. Rough against his skin. He couldn't move much. He didn't know how to move.
Something was touching him. Pressing softly against his side. Warm. Coarse.
Sounds filled the air. Muffled, strange. A deep voice speaking words he didn't understand. Another, smaller sound nearby. Footsteps? Breathing?
Then—
Hands.
Big ones. Careful ones.
He felt himself being lifted. The cold faded slightly as the bundle tightened around him.
His cheek pressed against something warm.
The world rocked gently. The voice was still speaking. A rhythm in the air. A heartbeat not his own.
The light above was soft and white.
He felt tired.
Sleep pulled him down.
And this time, he didn't resist.