Benjen waited in silence as the Lord Commander led him through the dim corridors of Castle Black. The newborn in his arms stirred softly, letting out a faint whimper. The baby wolf, trotting behind them with curious, cautious eyes, kept close.
At the Lord Commander's door, the old man stopped and turned.
"The wolves cannot come inside. They stay out here."
Benjen hesitated. "The mother is calm. She'll stay near the door."
The commander frowned. "If they cause trouble, they're gone. I'm being generous enough as it is."
Benjen gave a nod, then crouched to whisper to the wolf. She looked up at him, intelligent eyes catching the tension in his voice. He pointed to the shadowed spot near the stone wall.
"Stay here. Protect him," he said quietly.
The mother sat, her cub pressing against her side.
Inside, the Lord Commander poured himself a cup of watered wine.
"You've put me in a difficult position, Stark."
"I didn't plan this," Benjen said, holding the baby tighter. "But I couldn't leave him to die."
The commander sighed. "We're the Night's Watch, not a bloody orphanage. And I don't care what you think this child is or isn't — rules are rules. He cannot stay."
"I never said he would. I planned to write to my brother. To ask Ned."
The commander raised a brow. "You've already thought of that?"
Benjen nodded. "He has sons of his own now. One more won't be a burden."
"And if he says no?"
Benjen glanced down at the baby, who had gone quiet again. "Then I'll find another way."
The commander didn't answer right away. He paced. "Let's say Stark says yes. Who brings the babe to Winterfell?"
"I will."
"And leave your post?"
"For a few days. The Wall will survive without me."
The commander sat down, lacing his fingers. "If your brother agrees to take him in, I'll expect something in return. Support. Supplies. We need more than just boys from the dungeons."
Benjen narrowed his eyes. "So this is about leverage?"
The old man didn't flinch. "It's about survival."
Benjen didn't answer. He hated it, but he knew — deep down — this was the only way.
"Fine," he said at last. "I'll write to him today."
The Lord Commander stood. "Good. But understand something, Stark. This kindness — this exception — it's because of your name. Most of our men would never get such a chance."
"I know."
When he stepped outside again, the cold air slapped him awake. His boots crunched lightly on the frosted ground. He spotted the wolves right where he had left them. But before he reached them, he heard it — quiet voices, half-whispers, behind the stables.
"They'd throw any of us out in a blink," one man muttered.
"Aye. But he's a Stark, isn't he? Different rules for the noble-born."
"Night's Watch, my ass. He still walks like he owns the place."
Benjen didn't stop. He didn't even glance at them. But every word stung. He walked straight to the wolves and crouched.
"This isn't forever," he whispered, mostly to himself.
He looked around until he found a corner near the stables, half-covered by crates and old hay. It wasn't perfect, but it would do. He guided the wolves there. The mother seemed uneasy, her ears twitching as she sniffed the air.
"You'll stay here. Just for now," Benjen said, placing a hand on her shoulder.
She looked at him for a long moment — then sat down. Her cub growled, high and defensive, but the mother gave him a low chuff, and he quieted immediately.
"Good girl," Benjen murmured.
Then the child began to cry. A thin, sharp wail, desperate and growing louder.
Benjen sighed. He cradled the boy against his chest. "You're hungry, aren't you?"
The baby didn't answer, of course, only cried harder.
Benjen stood up. Food. He'd need milk. Clean cloth. Something warm.
He turned toward the kitchens.
This was only the beginning.