SHE-WOLF
By: Aaron Geerts
The wind howled north of the wall as it had for thousands of years. Stars spilled across the jet-black of the frozen night sky, bright, vivid, and eternal amidst the radiant moonlight. Jon Snow gawked at it with the same reverence he had as a lad swearing oaths to the Watch.
He looked down at his campfire dancing in the reflection of Long Claw. He pet his old blade with a whetstone, over and over and smiled. It’d been 40 years since he was banished north of the shattered wall and never once was the blade rested upon a mantle. It was always by his side, as Ghost had been.
Suddenly Jon felt something nudge his back. “Grandpa Jon! Grandpa Jon!” a group of children shouted from behind while the nudge in Jon’s back revealed itself to be a direwolf’s nose under his armpit followed by a white head and black ears.
“Autumn, what are doing silly girl?” Jon laid Longclaw to the side and scratched the direwolf’s head. Meanwhile, a group of children planted themselves in a semi-circle around the fire. “Rob, Rickon, Ygritte, Daeny, and umm…sorry lad, I forget your name.”
“Tormund!” A four-year-old got up and punched the old man’s knee.
“Oh, yes. Tormund,” Jon smiled and ruffled the boy’s curly black hair shared by all his siblings. “So, what can I do for my grandchildren this evening?”
“We want to hear another story!” Said one.
“Yea! ‘Bout the She-Wolf!” Said another.
“Yea! Yea! The She-Wolf, grandpa. Tell us about the She-Wolf! You tell her stories best!” Tormund said and plopped down on the pine-covered dirt and melted snow.
“You lot always want to hear about great auntie Arya,” Jon shifted his weight under a shadowcat pelt. “What about the snarks and grumpkins your grandpa battled here in the north?”
The children whined in unison and shook their heads. “7 hells to that, grandpa,” said the eldest, Rob at 11. “Great auntie Arya is the greatest warrior who ever lived! Not even death could stop her!”
“Aye, lad,” Jon smiled, shook his head, and watched the direwolf lie down across his feet. “Not even death can stop her. And it looks like Autumn here isn’t letting me up without telling a story.”
Jon’s grandchildren clapped, spitting images of his family that could only be visited in the past. Their faces, features, and demeanors were almost genetic deja-vu’s that Jon could reminisce fondly his mind. Save for Arya. Jon closes his eyes…
…Let’s see here (Jon’s voice echoes in a fade of black. Images begin to clarify in his mind as if he were somewhere else. A woman clad in tight black clothes emerges.) What story can I tell about the She-Wolf?
The woman in black sprinted across rooftops and leapt across the narrow alleys between buildings. Pale yellow sand sprayed behind her strides, every step and leap a flawless calculation of proximity and reaction. The slums spread for miles leading towards the center of the city where a gargantuan tower reached beyond the clouds and towards the full moon.
She jumped off the last roof, tumbled, and popped to her feet in front of bridge of white brick that spanned across a river connecting the slums to the tower. The woman in black was a slender shadow with piercing, determined eyes and a catspaw and Needle in either hand.
Two guards stood before the bridge entrance, spears crossed with shields in opposite arms. In a blink, the woman in black sprinted, silently, across the pavement towards the guards.
Did I ever tell you about the time she rescued prince Hector from the Egonians? (Jon’s voice echoes in the background of the imagery of his mind.)
Before the guards could react, the woman in black slid beneath the “x” of their spears, bound upward, twisted, and plunged her blades into their necks. She lowered the bodies slowly with each arm, knelt, and laid them down without a sound.
Egonia, you see, is West of Westeros. Beyond the edge of the map where anything can happen. Jon’s voice echoed.
Even magic grandpa Jon? Tormund’s voice followed.
The woman in black continued down the bridge, leaving bodies in her wake. When none were left, she looked up at the radiant moon and pulled down the cloth covering her mouth.
Yes, lad. Even magic. Jon’s voice echoed as the woman in black is revealed to be Arya.
Grandpa. How do you come up with these stories? Daeny’s voice echoed.
Arya’s eyes glimmered in the moonlight and she smiled. In that instant, she thought of Jon. His smile. Their time together. Their connection, and their new one. Out of her mind flew a red raven toward the moon. She could not see it, but there was a knowing of it. A feeling of comfort, she recalled, when she was around Jon as a little girl. She raised the cloth over her face and began to scale the tower.
Well, Daeny… Jon’s voice echoed.
He looked toward the moon and the red raven flew downward from the center of the moon and landed on his shoulder. He could not see it, but there was a knowing of it. A feeling of comfort, he recalled, when he was around Arya as a teenager. A shared presence made of memory and foretelling that crossed time and distance.
Let’s just say they come to me.
All imagery fades to black with a title emerging from the center that reads: “She-Wolf…Coming August 2021…Winter has come and gone.
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