Chapter 40 - Chapter 38

Androw took a deep breath as he gazed at the old watchtower in the Wolfswood, long abandoned and forgotten. The stones had fallen from their places, overgrown with moss and ivy, blending the structure into the forest around it. Its true name had been lost to time, but in the future, Bran would call it the "Tumbledown Tower" for its crumbling appearance.

Sitting down on one of the displaced stones, Androw glanced at the two clearly terrified faces beside him—one belonged to the bull, and the other to Jon, whose wide eyes betrayed his disbelief. The boy's gaze darted nervously toward the woods, where shadows flickered, illuminated by the eerie glow of many eyes lurking just beyond the trees. From time to time, Jon's barely audible voice called out, "Master?" His fear was clear, as he stood closest to the unknown creatures hiding in the dark.

Androw heard his trembling voice and understood the fear behind it. He looked at Jon and spoke calmly, "It's okay, they won't hurt you."

As if in response, one of the shadows moved, revealing a giant wolf emerging from the trees. Its black mane danced as it stepped forward. Jon's mouth hung open in awe at the sight of the majestic creature, but the wonder quickly gave way to fear as the wolf growled, causing Jon's legs to buckle beneath him. Just before he could fall, Androw reached out, steadying the boy. Jon, still trembling, retreated behind Androw, using him as a shield.

Androw smiled reassuringly at him before extending his hand toward the massive wolf. The beast approached, eyes locked on Androw, and allowed him to place a hand on its head.

 While Jon, still peeking from behind Androw, glanced at the massive wolf and asked, "Why is it so big?" His voice was filled with confusion as he stared at the beast, which was nearly the size of a horse. Smaller wolves began to emerge from the woods, their presence making the size of the giant wolf more standing out. Jon had seen wolves before—hunted ones, dead ones, and even wolf pelts dragged into Winterfell by hunters—but nothing like this.

Androw kept his hand resting on the wolf's head, his eyes closing briefly as he replied, "It's a direwolf."

Jon's eyes widened in disbelief, blurting out, "Dire wolf?"

Androw remained silent, offering no further explanation. There was a stillness that followed, a quiet shared between the wolves, the forest, and the two of them. Jon stood frozen, watching as more wolves gathered, their glowing eyes shifting in the dark.

Then, something caught his attention. The wolves began looking upward, their gaze drawn to the sky. Jon followed their eyes, his heart pounding as a large shadow passed overhead. For a moment, it blotted out the pale light filtering through the trees. His breath caught in his throat as he murmured, "Dragon?"

Before Jon could make sense of the shadow, Androw opened his eyes and turned his attention to the bull, which was clearly terrified. If not for the rope tying it to the tree, the bull would have bolted, now straining and bucking at the wolves inching closer. Its panic was evident, its breath heavy, struggling to break free. All the goods had already been removed and stacked in the corner of the crumbling tower.

The bull's desperate thrashing against the wolves earned a quiet sigh from Androw. His parting gift to these creatures—who had helped him hunt during his time in Winterfell—was the bull. He glanced at Jon, who was still staring at the sky, lost in thought.

"Jon?" Androw called softly.

Jon finally looked at him, his expression a mix of awe and confusion, clearly struggling to find the words for what he'd seen. At last, he pointed toward where the shadow had flown and said hesitantly, "Master, dragon..." His voice trailed off, unsure if Androw would believe him.

Androw followed Jon's gesture, glancing at the sky for a moment before calmly replying, "Let's leave, then."

The direwolf approached, brushing against Androw's side and glancing up at him, offering its silent support. Androw moved toward the sacks, lifting them effortlessly and placing them on the wolf's back. The creature didn't flinch under the weight.

Androw then extended his hand toward Jon, who was still dazed by the recent events. With a moment's hesitation, Jon reached out and clasped Androw's hand, finding stability in the gesture. Together, they began walking toward the cliff's edge, moving through the Wolfswood. Behind them, the bull bucked and struggled as the wolves closed in.

The forest closed in around them as they made their way toward the cliff, with the direwolf silently padding beside them, guiding their way.

As they walked, Jon occasionally glanced back, hearing the bull's distressed cries echoing through the forest. Each cry grew weaker, fading slowly until it was nearly gone. For a brief moment, he had thought the bull might be a new friend, but now it was nothing more than prey. There was no joy in that, just an unsettling realization of the world's harshness.

His gaze shifted from the direwolf to Androw, who seemed more mysterious with each passing day. Jon had grown up hearing old stories from the granny about direwolves, but never had he imagined his master, of all people, would somehow bond with one. How had Androw managed this? Jon's mind raced with questions.

Hours passed, and the endless forest seemed to stretch on. Jon's legs were growing heavy with exhaustion. Noticing this, Androw lifted Jon effortlessly into his arms before laying him across the direwolf's back. The wolf growled, clearly displeased, but Androw paid it no mind. He was familiar with the wolf's haughty nature.

"Master, when did you tame a... direwolf?" Jon finally asked, curiosity overcoming his fatigue.

Androw smiled faintly as he replied, "I didn't tame them, Jon."

Jon blinked, clearly confused by the answer. "Then how?" he asked.

Androw remained quiet for a moment, his expression thoughtful. "It has something to do with my bloodline," he said, leaving it at that, offering no further explanation as he led the direwolf deeper into the forest.

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I know many are confused about how Androw seems to know the direwolf. We could say it's because he has First Men blood, giving him the ability to warg. Some may also recall that his consciousness controlled his dragon during the battle against Balerion. So, he does possess warg magic, though not as powerful as Bran's—perhaps it grew stronger as he aged. For more chapters, visit my Patreon.

link: patreon.com/AmouxCreationX

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