Game of Thrones Iron Stark

Deep in the wolfswood north of Winterfell lived wolves that walked on two legs.

They wore wolf pelts like cloaks and moved like wildlings, but they were not men. They were something older and stranger. The wolfswood had always hidden more than ordinary wolves.

A pack moved through the snow under their king. He was tall and broad, his gray fur thick as winter ice. Scars crossed his muzzle. A battered hat sat on his head. The other wolves followed in tight formation, disciplined and silent.

They found a herd of deer and took them down with practiced coordination. The wolves ate in order of rank.

One wolf stood apart. He pulled a banana from somewhere inside his pelt and started eating, tossing the peels behind him without care.

A sudden yelp made him turn.

A battered, bloodied direwolf lay in the snow.

"Uncle! Uncle! There's another one of us here!" the banana-eating wolf shouted.

The Wolf King walked over, slow and heavy with authority. He studied the injured wolf, then gave a short order.

"Big Wolf. Bring him."

They called the banana wolf Big Wolf. He hauled the stranger into the middle of the pack. Another wolf in a cloak pulled out a glowing orb and a vial of thick liquid. He poured it over the wounds. In minutes the gashes closed and the stranger stood on shaky legs.

He looked around at the upright wolves and backed up a step. "You… what are you?"

A big wolf wearing boxing gloves snorted. "Scared we're going to eat you? We're all wolves here, pup. What's your name?"

"Shaggydog."

The wolves muttered in disgust.

"What kind of name is that? It's an insult to the pack. Wolf King, give him a real name."

The Wolf King stared at Shaggydog with cold yellow eyes.

"No. The name stays. We return to Wolf Fort before the snow gets worse. You can come with us, little one. Or stay here and die."

Shaggydog didn't hesitate. He fell in at the rear beside Big Wolf.

"Big Wolf… you're not direwolves, are you?"

"We came from the Green Grassland," Big Wolf said around another bite of banana. "Some accident dragged us here. The sheep people came with us too."

Up ahead the Wolf King's ears twitched. His scarred muzzle twisted.

"Damn that Happy Sheep," he muttered under his breath. "Because of him I'm stuck in this frozen hell. How the hell do I get home?"

---

South of the Dothraki sea, Drogo's khalasar rode like thunder.

They had lost strength in the last battles, but the core remained. Drogo still lived. His bloodriders still lived. That was enough.

They crested a low rise and saw the village.

Iron walls. Thick. New. A massive gate stood closed. Painted across the iron in crude but clear letters were two words: Sheep Village.

The Dothraki reined in hard.

One rider pointed. "That writing… it says Sheep Village."

Another laughed. "Sheep people built walls? Since when do lambs grow spines?"

Drogo stared at the iron barrier. His face was unreadable.

"Break it down," he ordered. "Kill the men. Take the women. Burn everything else."

They charged.

Horses screamed and skidded to a halt twenty yards from the gate. The iron did not move. Arrows did not fly. No one appeared on the walls.

Inside the village, on a wooden watchtower, a Lhazareen man in a full sheep-head hood lowered his telescope.

He turned to the younger warrior beside him.

"Happy Sheep's plan was right. We can't kill them all at once. We take their leader first."

The younger one, bell jingling at his neck, nodded.

"Boiling Sheep is already in position. When the signal comes, we spring the trap."

Below them Drogo's khalasar milled in confusion, horses stamping and snorting at the sudden stop.

The watcher smiled behind the wool.

"Let the horse men come closer. This time the sheep are ready."