#don't worry jon is crying too I just couldn't draw it

[madootles]

the last dance

[magalidragon]

A wolf in Essos | a Robb POV fic | part of when the sun sets in the east | a teaser

I wanted a drabble (less than 2500 words) and now it’s 6000 words and counting. Damn! 🤣😭

Sansa sat down at the small table in the corner, clutching her hands in her skirts. "I do not speak Valyrian, but there were some sailors who spoke Common Tongue, I could hear them through the walls." She cocked her head, narrowing her eyes. "She has three known advisors. We need all the information we can get on her. Davos is looking for more."

"Jorah Mormont," he said, already knowing the Bear Knight was in her service.

She ticked off her fingers. "Jorah Mormont, Barristan Selmy, and an unknown. They said he's a shadow."

"Probably some sort of assassin from Braavos."

"They said he's her lover."

"What do sailors know? Who cares," he grumbled, his eye socket aching, his heart hurting. He wanted a nap.

Sansa wrinkled her nose. "We just need to be prepared for all avenues."

He waved her off. He wanted to sleep. Grey Wind whimpered again, scratching the door. "Go," he shouted, waving off the wolf, who was driving him insane. He fell back onto the bed, closing his eyes, a major headache forming. He felt like his mind was getting split.

The second his eyes closed, Jon's face swam into view, his pale face unlined, gray eyes wide, shouting at him to not run off, that father would be angry with him.

“Robb! Wait up! You're too fast!"

“You can't catch me! I'm the Lord of Winterfell!"

“Robb!"

He felt Jon disappear, water trickling through his fingers, and then he pulled on the tether with Grey Wind. He was not very good at warging; he didn't even know what it was for the longest time. Not until he got to the Wall and the wildings there knew immediately. He had to work hard to control it, but he still struggled.

Grey Wind let him in and he saw through his eyes, loping out of the house, someone shouting and pointing again. "Zokla!" He padded away from the building, making his way down the streets, sniffing here and there, searching for bits of scraps. He wanted to hunt, he wanted to run, but he couldn't, because there was something he was searching for. He needed to find him.

His brother.

It was Grey Wind speaking, trying to override his thoughts, refusing to let him lead the way, so he relaxed into his mind, tried to let the wolf take over while still being present; it was hard for him. He let the wolf sniff around, wondering why it was so <i>familiar</i>. He panted, hot and tired, but he had to search, had to find.

There was something familiar to the smell that overrode the general filth of a highly populated city, made even worse by the heat. He closed his eyes, pausing, and struggling to collect it on his senses. Once he did, he sprang forward, hurrying towards where it seemed to be strongest.

The pyramid.

He ran across the city, towards the great stone structure with its Targaryen standards, the closer he grew towards it, the stronger the scent. It was the North. It was pine, snow, and wind. It was Stark. It was Winterfell.

It was home.

The Unsullied soldiers with their smooth gray armor and deadly spears stood together on corners, closer and closer to the pyramid, the greater their number. He was not scared; they were not worried at the sight of him, which he should have questioned. He made his way towards the great gate and stopped, sniffing the stone, and it was here.

Brother.

In the distance he thought he heard a sound; a strangled, high-pitched noise, the sound from the silent one. The one they wanted to leave behind, who could not survive.

Except he had survived.

He was here.

Brother, he screamed in his mind, and took off, sending dirt and dust up in a cloud under his feet, howling, and then he saw him.

The great white wolf, the tiniest of their litter, the silent, the strange. He loped towards him, eyes bright and red, and he knew it was him, for it could be no one else.

Ghost!

They collided, the two of them reunited after so long, a crash of massive bodies, garnering attention and exclaim from others around, some of the Unsullied drawing their spears, but he noted-- more for the protection of his long-lost brother then to attack him. He rubbed his neck along the other wolves in affection, crying out in howls and whines, unable to understand exactly what was happening beyond that he was seeing him again.

He thought he heard a voice, a harsh, almost Northern voice scream out-- "Robb!"-- in his head, but it was a mistake surely, because Jon was dead. He had to be dead.

But the wolf had survived, had made his way here to Meereen of all places, to the Queen's pyramid.

He tore away from him, jerking upright in the bed, screaming out: "Jon!"

At the table, Sansa looked up from a missive of some sort, alarmed. "Robb?" she asked. "What is it?"

He blinked a few times, his hand to his heart, confused, almost frightened. He pushed at his forehead, his head splitting in half, groaning. "Gods, that...I...I don't understand..."

"What did Grey Wind see?" she murmured, getting up from the table. She squinted, peering down at him. "Robb?"

He tilted his face up to hers, ignored her recoil at his face, and he whispered, confused, needing more information. "Ghost. He's alive."

But how?