The Wolf’s Child

The world was quiet, but no longer empty.

Kyle still didn't have words—not the way he used to. His thoughts came in images, in sensations, in echoes of who he once was. But slowly, piece by piece, things were beginning to make sense again. Light. Sound. Motion. Faces.

He spent most of his time in Benjen's arms or curled against soft wool in their small room. Benjen didn't speak much, but when he did, his voice was steady, low. Kyle didn't need to understand the words to know their meaning. He simply felt it—like the calm that settles over water after a storm.

They walked through the keep together that morning, past brothers of the Night's Watch, past thick stone walls and snow-covered courtyards. Kyle blinked as the cold brushed his face, but he didn't shiver. He only watched, quietly curious, his head turning at the sound of boots crunching snow, or ravens calling from the towers.

At breakfast, the main hall buzzed with the noise of men. Spoons clinked against bowls, and steam rose from simple food. Kyle glanced around slowly, taking it in.

Benjen sat near the edge of the room with Kyle in his lap. The others barely gave them more than a glance. Kyle stayed quiet, content to watch, tucked beneath a folded cloak.

After breakfast, they crossed the yard and stopped by a pen near the stables. It was quiet here. Snow softened everything.

Inside the pen lay a large black direwolf. Her fur was thick and dark as coal, her body curled around something Kyle couldn't yet see. Benjen stepped close to the fence and said, "There she is. Vara."

The wolf lifted her head and looked at them. Kyle stared, not frightened, just watching.

Then, from behind her, a pup appeared.

He was small and clumsy, ears too large for his head, his paws oversized. He stumbled forward, blinking toward the two figures watching him from outside the fence.

Kyle leaned slightly in Benjen's arms, eyes fixed on the pup.

And the pup looked right back at him.

There was no flash of magic. No memory restored. Just a moment. A quiet thread pulling between them. Kyle didn't know what to call it—but it felt real.

Benjen smiled beside him. "You'll name him someday," he said gently. "Feels right that way."

Kyle didn't fully understand. But maybe he would, later.

They returned to their quarters before the day grew too cold. Benjen settled Kyle onto the bed, wrapped him in a blanket, and then moved to the small desk. He lit a candle, pulled out parchment and ink, and sat down. Kyle watched him from across the room, calm but alert.

Benjen sat for a moment, still, before he began to write.

"Dear Ned,

I hope this letter finds you well. I won't waste time.

I've taken in a child. I found him outside the Wall—alone. He doesn't speak yet, but he understands more than he lets on. I don't know who he is or where he came from.

But I can't keep him. You know our vows. We aren't meant to raise children. I'm asking for your help—not as a brother of the Watch, but as your brother.

Would you take him in? Raise him with your family? I'd feel better knowing he's somewhere safe, with people I trust.

Please consider it.

—Benjen"

He folded the letter carefully, tied it, and stood. Kyle's eyes followed him.

Benjen paused at the door, then looked back for a long moment.

"I'll be back soon."

And then he was gone.

Kyle lay there, quiet and thoughtful.

He understood more than Benjen realized. He couldn't speak it out loud, but he had followed the writing, the way Benjen's eyes had looked when he signed his name. The letter was for Ned Stark. Kyle knew what that meant. If Ned agreed, he'd be sent to Winterfell. To the Starks. To a place full of faces he already knew so well—Sansa, Arya, Robb, even Jon.

The idea warmed something deep inside him. And yet, the thought of leaving Benjen... made something small inside him twist.

He already knew Benjen couldn't come with him. Not truly. The Wall was his home—his duty. If Kyle went to Winterfell, he'd only see Benjen rarely, if at all. That made his chest ache a little.

Still... he would go. If Ned said yes, he has to go. I don't have a choice.