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Jon stared at the falling snow in wonder. Having been born in Dorne and raised in King’s Landing, he had never seen it before. He was only a toddler during the last winter and it was mild by all accounts, barely a few flurries fell upon the capital. Regardless, he remembered none of it anyway. All of that only made the summer snows of the North more marvelous. Jon loved it immediately.
Everything about the North, Jon loved. Winterfell and the weirwoods and the snow and the furs and his Stark cousins. Especially his Stark cousins. Robb, who was of an age with him, was the brother he’d always wanted, an equal, a partner in crime. Though they’d only met twice before, they were no less close for it. And Arya, fierce and wild, always eager to chase after the older boys. Bran was spirited and witty and begged Jon to take him back south with him so that he may become a squire, preparing the way for knighthood someday. Even little Rickon, who hadn’t been born the last time the Starks traveled to King’s Landing.
He loved Sansa too, his pretty cousin, although it wasn’t quite the same as with the others. The others he could play with, roughhouse and tell dirty jokes to. Not so with Sansa, who was every inch the proper lady. She preferred to dance and sew and sing, and while Jon considered himself a fair dancer, there was hardly an occasion to share a song with her. So he contented himself to the simple pleasantries they shared whenever their paths crossed.
But that had been before the puppies. Direwolves, more properly, but direwolf pups, still small enough to be taken for dogs. There had been one following the footsteps of each of the Stark children upon the arrival of the royal party and they, perhaps more than anything, had captured his attention. He watched with envy as Robb taught Grey Wind to howl on command and more than once, he rescued Rickon’s Shaggydog after having gotten lost in the Godswood. Gods, but he wanted one of his own, although knew that direwolves were rare this side of the Wall and he would never ask to take one away from his cousins. But that didn’t make his want any less.
It’s while he sat with Sansa, watching her brush out Lady’s coat, that he mistakenly let it slip. He stroked the soft fur behind her ears and sighed, “I should like a wolf.”
He regretted the words as soon as he said them, not wanting to upset his cousin, but Sansa only looked at him for a moment before breaking into a wide smile. “I’ve something to show you then. Come.” She took his hand in hers and led him to the kennels. In the corner cell, kept apart from the other dogs, was a white pup all on his own. Jon was about to ask why this one should be separated from the others when he realized, that’s not a dog. It’s a direwolf.
“My brothers found six pups in the snow that day. One for each of us, and one left over. But they couldn’t just leave this one behind to die in the snow. Rickon wants him for himself, but it’s no fair that he should get two wolves. Besides, he’s only a baby.” Sansa bit her lip shyly before opening the cage. “I suppose this one could be yours, Jon. I’m sure Father won’t mind. You are a Stark too, after all, on your mother’s side.”
As soon as the door swung open, the white wolf rushed into Jon’s arms. He submitted happily to Jon as Jon rubbed and petted and scratched his ears, tail wagging all the while. Like this, it was easy to forget that direwolves were fierce predators and wild beasts. “Can I really have him?” Jon asked.
Sansa replied, “I think he’s already yours,” giggling as the pup licked at Jon’s face.
After that day, Jon and Sansa are quite inseparable. They finally had something in common, a shared bond, and Sansa was more than helpful training Ghost, even if she did find the name silly. Quite often, the pair of them could be found strolling about the yard, direwolves chasing at their heels.
“Well, isn’t that a lovely sight,” Lyanna remarked as she witnessed Jon stop to tuck a wildflower behind Sansa’s ear.
“It seems we have a pair of young lovers on our hands,” Catelyn agreed.
“For gods’ sakes, they’re only children!” But, truly, even Ned couldn’t deny the fond way they look at each other, the way Sansa leans into Jon’s side when she takes his arm, the slight color that comes to his nephew’s cheeks whenever he makes Sansa smile.
“And why should that matter?” Robert asked, elbowing his friend sharply in the ribs. “Jon’s nearly a man grown and your Sansa’s only a few years behind. A match between them isn’t so unthinkable. What do you say, Ned? Would you like your girl to be queen someday?"