Ned Stark, you're breaking character

Young Ned looked nothing like the grim, careworn man he would become!

The teenage Ned could only be called good-looking, but his face was so tender you could have squeezed water from it, and he had the innocence and high spirits unique to youth.

And Ned, who seemed so quiet and composed on the surface, was actually a chatterbox in private!

He talked to Ghost almost nonstop the whole way, from the North's long winters to the tradition of the Hundred-Person Hunt. He knew the rules of the entire event, the best hunting routes, and everything else like the back of his hand.

"House Karstark will definitely send Laisen. He's my sister's little shadow, but he's good."

(...Is that any way to talk about your sister's knight?)

"House Bolton will be a little tricky this year. Their bastard is a seasoned hunter, and that Roose Bolton is as cunning as a red fox."

(House Bolton has no chance. Those two competed way too hard with each other. They're probably both dead.)

Ghost silently snarked to herself.

"House Bear... never mind. They probably can't even scrape together enough people and weapons."

As he talked, Ned laughed happily. "House Stark is definitely going to win again this year!"

They headed toward the camp outside Winterfell. Competitors and spectators from all over the North were now making their way to Winter Town in a steady stream.

Tents bearing the sigils of different houses stood in clearly separated groups outside the walls. There looked to be at least several hundred tents of all sizes.

In the camp, smiths hammered away at weapons with great gusto, while men tended to the tools of their trade and shouted crude, filthy jokes. Women carried hot soup and water jugs, laughing as they flitted lightly between the tents.

The North was simply too vast. Besides the subjects of the houses sworn to House Stark, there were northern Free Folk who had appeared from who knew where. They would each hunt for themselves, taking the opportunity to bring some game back to their settlements.

It wasn't just the men. Many strong spearwives would also take part in this grand hunt.

Though the northerners lived in a barren, freezing land, it had also forged their tough, tenacious way of life. Boys and girls alike had to learn to fight and hunt as soon as they could lift a weapon.

As they walked, Ned explained each house's sigil and amusing stories about them. Ghost felt as though he was explaining them specifically for her.

Whenever Ghost thought of how, decades later, these loyal northern houses would march off with Robert only to be wiped out, she couldn't help sighing inwardly.

Meanwhile, Ned quietly observed Ghost's reactions.

He noticed that whenever she heard certain names, Ghost would instinctively react-by looking at the corresponding house's banner.

The Mormonts of Bear Island, for instance, the Karstarks of Karhold, and the Umbers of Last Hearth.

Ghost seemed to recognize the sigils of certain houses.

Could a wolf really be this clever? Had Lyanna deliberately said "she," or had she meant something by it?

The doubts in Ned's mind were like a tangled thread, leaving him deeply curious about the secret hidden behind them.

Did Lyanna know something?

The wooden platform outside Winter Town had already been erected. Once the event began and the elite hunters of the leading houses set off, everyone else, men and women, young and old, would gather outside the town for a celebration.

They would eat, drink, dance, and place bets with the bookies. Or step into the ring themselves for a few rounds of boxing to burn off their excess energy. Peddlers from far away clustered together, setting up stalls selling all sorts of strange things.

Huge antlers, white bear pelts, dark, broken weapons. There were even fingers supposedly belonging to the legendary Others...

Fuck the Others. Everyone knew they were only a legend.

The open-air taverns were almost ready too-with beer, sweet wine, and even summerwine and homemade fruit wine.

It felt like going to a temple fair in her previous life.

Brandon, dressed for battle, hurried past them at the head of a party. Spotting Ned and Ghost, he reined in his horse and frowned in displeasure.

"Ned, why aren't you practicing your swordsmanship?"

Ned's smile faded. "I've finished today's practice."

"Then you can go riding and practice your archery. Work on your aim. You don't want to hold us back in the Hundred-Person Hunt, do you?"

Ned lowered his head and said nothing.

Brandon angrily shouted at him, "Ned, did you hear me?"

"...Yes, brother."

The interruption had completely spoiled his good mood, and he no longer felt like watching the festivities. With a stiff expression, Ned glumly took Ghost back to Winterfell's garden.

Hot springs flowed beneath the castle, keeping the garden warm. Lush greenery flourished, little flowers whose names she didn't know bloomed everywhere, and a tall heart tree stood amid them.

Young Ned leaned against the great tree and sulked, while Ghost curiously circled the heart tree.

She had never seen Winterfell's heart tree before. This seemed to be where Bran and the Night's King had fought their final battle.

Ned sighed and lay down beneath the tree with his arms behind his head. At that moment, perhaps his greatest worries were that his eldest brother was too strict and that his sister would one day marry someone thousands of miles away.

Who could have imagined that this boy would one day shoulder the fate of the entire North and House Stark, only to die in King's Landing?

Ghost still remembered seeing a question on a certain Q&A site asking what people thought of Ned Stark.

One passage had said-

[Compared with "Winter Is Coming," Ned seemed to embody the Vale's "As High as Honor" more fully. He did not wish to take part in the game of thrones. Rather than involve himself in such things, he would have preferred to return to his cold homeland.]

Ghost walked over to Ned and lay down with her head resting on his stomach.

Ned reached out and gently stroked Ghost's back. Ghost simply bared her soft belly and let him pet her to his heart's content.

Before they knew it, both of them had fallen asleep.

Ghost saw her dream clearly... or rather, she clearly knew that she was dreaming.

She was still in the same place, beneath the heart tree. Snow blanketed the garden, and Ned, the grass, and the flowers had all vanished. Winterfell before her had become a mass of shattered walls and ruins...

Just like the moment the Night's King had taken Winterfell.

In human form, Ghost sensed something strange. She looked up and saw that the heart tree was covered in vines tangled together like a mass of snakes.

Amid the dense vines, a pale face like old tree bark showed through.

Ghost froze, then began climbing the vines with both hands and feet. She wanted to see that face.

When she got closer and looked carefully, sure enough, it looked exactly like that prophetic black raven who had hoodwinked Bran.

She couldn't help blurting out, "Three-eyed raven."

The pale, bark-like face slowly opened its eyes...

Everything before Ghost began to spin and blur. Her body kept falling, and then she suddenly woke from the dream.

Had... the Three-eyed raven sent her a dream?

No, that didn't seem right. It felt more like she'd wandered in by accident. What was going on?

Why did it feel as though there were more and more secrets surrounding her?!

Ned woke as well. "Ahh, that was a good nap." He yawned and reached out to pet Ghost.

"Hm? Your fur's standing on end, Ghost. Did you have a nightmare?"

Yes, Ghost thought. Dreaming of that black raven was no good thing. It reminded her of the Others' army of the dead in the show, those terrifying mountains of corpses and seas of bones.

Ghost quite naturally licked Ned's hand, reminding him that it was time to go back for dinner.

She was now a hired wolf, and from now until the end of the Hundred Hunt, she had to stay with Ned.

Ghost was now House Stark's darling, and Benjen in particular loved to hold her and refuse to let go. But he was small and weak, and every time he held Ghost with half her body dangling in the air and the other half dragging along the ground, she felt as though she was being tortured.

Whenever that happened, Lyanna would pound the table laughing. Only Ned would speak up and rescue her. Ghost liked him quite a lot.

Ned's children had it so much better, each with a direwolf of their own...

She wanted to pet fluffy little wolves too, instead of being petted every day!!

That night, Ned returned to his room, stripped himself naked in a flash, and burrowed into bed.

He lifted the thick, fur-covered quilt and patted the bed. "Ghost, come up. Let's sleep together."

Her! Pupils! Quaked!!!

In her mind, Ghost contorted herself into a world-famous painting-The Scream.

Ned Stark! You've lost all sense of decency!

Seeing Ghost standing there frozen, Ned grinned wickedly. He got up and pushed Ghost beneath the covers.

A wolf's body was incredibly warm! Ghost loved keeping clean, and she even carried a faint scent of snow roses. Her soft white fur pressed against Ned's bare skin, and it felt wonderful.

He yawned, hugged the white wolf in his arms tightly, and soon fell asleep.

Ghost lay stiff as a board in Ned's arms, her mind a complete muddle. For a moment, she couldn't work out whether she was taking advantage of Ned or Ned was taking advantage of her...

Judging by the man Ned would become, wouldn't he have to atone with his life if he found out she was a girl?

Still, Ned's bed was so warm.

zZzzZzzz...