The Wolf’s Child

Kael's cry cut through the cold air like a blade. Benjen winced. The wolves stirred restlessly in the makeshift space he'd shown them, ears pricking at the sound. He crouched beside the pup, placing a careful hand on the child's chest, but it did little to calm him.

"You're hungry, I know," Benjen murmured, voice low and rough. "You're not the only one, though."

He looked toward the castle. They wouldn't have anything for a child. Not in the kitchens. Not in the armory.

And he, well—he didn't know what to do with a baby. Why would he?

Kael's cries grew sharper, insistent. With a sigh, Benjen gently wrapped him tighter in the old cloak and stood. "Alright then. Let's find someone who might know more than I do."

He left the wolves nestled beside the stables. Before he turned away, he hesitated, watching them. The mother raised her head, eyes locked on his. She was still wary, still protective—but she hadn't moved when Kael cried. She was learning to trust him, and he—though he'd never admit it aloud—was doing the same.

He crouched and touched the side of the mother's neck, careful and slow. "You need a name," he murmured. "I can't keep calling you 'the wolf.'"

The name came unexpectedly. "Vara," he said. "That's what I'll call you."

The pup—Kael's pup—sniffed at his boot, a soft rumble in its throat. Benjen smiled faintly.

"I won't name you. That's Kael's choice."

He turned and made his way into Castle Black, keeping Kael close to his chest. The baby was quieter now, but fussing in small, restless sounds.

Benjen headed for the rookery. If anyone would know what to do, it would be Maester Aemon.

The old man sat in his usual place, thin and still as a statue, his milky eyes half-lidded in thought. As Benjen entered, Aemon turned his head slightly, alert despite the blindness.

"Steps I recognize," Aemon said. "Heavy. Cold. But not unwelcome. Benjen Stark?"

"Yes, Maester."

"And what is that sound?" A faint smile tugged at the corner of Aemon's mouth. "A child?"

Benjen hesitated. "Yes," he finally said. "An infant. I… found him."

"You found him," Aemon repeated, leaning forward slightly. "And yet you carry him like you've done so before."

Benjen allowed himself a bitter laugh. "I haven't. Not once." He adjusted the cloak around Kael's tiny body. "I don't know the first thing about caring for a baby. That's why I'm here."

Aemon nodded slowly. "Then you've come to the right place. I've not raised children myself, but I've studied enough to guide those who have. And the Night's Watch hasn't always been without its strays."

He pointed toward a stack of parchment. "You'll need something soft, warmer than that cloak. Milk, of course—goat's milk, if possible. And you must keep him close to your body, especially at night."

Benjen frowned. "We don't have any of that."

"No," Aemon agreed. "But the village at the base of the Wall might. Speak to the women there. They've raised children. Some still do."

Benjen nodded and turned to leave.

"Benjen," Aemon called after him. "It may not feel like it now, but this choice will change you."

Benjen paused at the doorway. "It wasn't a choice."

Aemon's face softened. "Perhaps not. But still—it matters."

—

The ride to the small village didn't take long. Kael had fallen asleep on his chest, a little bundle of warmth and breath. Benjen kept a hand steady around him the whole time, alert for every jostle.

The village was half snow and half smoke, quiet save for a few distant hammering sounds and a woman hanging clothes stiff with frost. He asked for someone who might help with a baby and was pointed toward a low hut near the edge of the houses.

The woman who answered was middle-aged, with sharp eyes and wind-chapped cheeks. She took one look at Kael and raised a brow. "Yours?"

Benjen didn't answer.

She didn't press. "Come in. The boy's cold."

Inside, the fire warmed the room fast. Benjen knelt beside it while she examined Kael with the practiced efficiency of someone who'd done this many times. She handed Benjen a cloth-wrapped bundle and began gathering a few items from shelves.

"He needs milk," she said. "And rest. And warmth. But you're young enough to figure it out."

"I need something else, too," Benjen said. "Something to carry him in. I can't keep my hands free like this, and I don't trust my brothers to watch him."

She turned, pulled out a long piece of woven cloth. "This'll do. Wrap it like this," she demonstrated quickly, binding it across his shoulder and chest. "Keep him close. He'll feel you move and stay calm."

Benjen took it, nodding once. "How much?"

She gave him a price, and he paid it, taking extra milk and dried mash besides. He didn't want to come back often—not unless he had to.

As he stepped back into the snow, the cold bit less sharply than before.

—

By the time he returned to Castle Black, night had almost fallen. The sky had gone pale with the first traces of dusk. Benjen was just dismounting when he heard raised voices beyond the stable.

He quickened his pace.

Two brothers stood near the pen he'd made for the wolves. One had a stick raised, and the wolves were snarling in warning.

"Back off!" Benjen's voice cracked like ice.

They turned, startled. One of them sneered. "They're wild, Benjen. They don't belong here."

"They're under my protection." Benjen stepped between them, his hand on his sword, though he didn't draw it. "Next time I see either of you near them with a weapon, I won't just speak."

The men grumbled and withdrew. Benjen turned to the wolves. Vara stood rigid, teeth bared. The pup had flattened itself behind her legs.

"It's alright," Benjen said quietly. "They're gone."

Vara stared at him, unblinking. He knelt and rested a hand on the snow-covered ground between them.

"I'll keep you safe. All of you."

Kael shifted in the wrap against his chest. Benjen looked down at him, then at the wolves. He didn't know what he was doing—still didn't—but the boy was fed, warm, alive.

That was something.

He stood, glanced back at the Wall behind him, looming tall and pale in the fading light. Tomorrow, there'd be letters to write. Plans to make. A future to try to shape.

But for tonight, he walked back into Castle Black—not as he had come, but changed, even if only a little.