The Small Differences

Derren

The day was cold. The coldest Derren could remember in a long time and a clear sign of summer finally coming to an end. The season had been long, Derren knew, despite it being the first he had experienced - nearly a decade long. While he had only been six when it first began, even after all those years he could still faintly remember the white snow that melted away with the summer's arrival.

The Stark family and its two bastards had gathered outside a small holdfast in the hills near Winterfell. Cold air assaulted them, seeking to infiltrate their thick coats to no avail. Chill or not it seemed to have no effect on the boys, even the small Bran hardly let out a sniffle.

'We're men of the North,' Derren thought to himself proudly, knowing most he knew would disagree. They still viewed them as just boys, little children. With Bran he could agree perhaps, but Jon, Robb and himself were all age ten and six now, and the slight stubble on their chins gave them the confidence to say otherwise.

Wind blew roughly against them as they sat upon their steeds. They only ever came to this holdfast for one reason – a beheading. This would be Bran's first time coming, but Derren knew the area well enough.

Bran was nine now, a recent occurrence, but he had assured his siblings more than once that he would soon be ten and quickly after eleven, continuing until he reached their age. The young boy wanted to grow up quickly so he could be a knight and fight alongside his brothers. Derren himself hoped it wouldn't happen, and that his small brother would always look up to him with innocent and sweet eyes. But life continued regardless of how he felt. One day Bran would no longer need him, and his littlest brother Rickon would follow soon after. So he made an effort to make the most of the days he still had.

He watched as the young Bran sat tall on his pony, doing his best to compensate for the difference in stature next to his older brothers he between. As he sat as straight and upright as his little body would allow him, hoping to overcome the natural gap in height between them.

Derren and Robb shared a smile at the image.

"Focus Bran. It's almost time." Robb told the younger, his blue eyes sparing a glance at Derren afterwards.

While the words had been spoken to Bran, Derren knew they were meant for him also. Perhaps it was the knowledge he would one day be Lord of Winterfell, but Robb had always taken it upon himself to make sure his brothers were doing what they were supposed to. At least he tried. Hot-blooded and eager to compete, Derren had never had much trouble getting his brother to join in with their antics, be it horse racing, sneaking out at night or, when they were younger, competing on who could throw their bread balls the furthest across the dinner hall without being caught. The two had always been close, something that brought a smile to their father's face even as he thumped the back of their heads as punishment.

There was only one person he felt closer to – Jon, his twin brother and literal other half. They had been together from the beginning, sharing a cot as babes and toys as children, how anyone be closer than they were? They were almost the same person, or at least it sometimes felt so. They looked the same, thought the same, and from afar, no one could tell them apart. Derren had wondered many times whether, if it weren't for the small differences, they would truly be identical. Yet those small differences had made each of them who they were, for better or worse.

Jon was sitting still atop his horse, brooding – just as Derren often did, though his was always covered by his fringe, the most obvious difference between them. Whist Jon kept his hair swept back, allowing the long and black curls to fall to the sides of his face, Derren had his cover his visage down to the nose. As they didn't often have it cut, he often found himself annoyed by its length. Always blocking his sight or dipping into his cup when he wasn't careful. He wished he could just wear his hair like Jon, the style would suit him. It suited his twin after all. But the small differences between them changed everything.

'It's time.' Derren pushed his previous thoughts to the back of his mind. Two of his father's guards dragged a man across the grass, towards an ironwood stump. He was old, Derren saw clearly, and stuttering fearfully as he was carried off. Derren didn't see him a criminal. He looked more like a beggar in his dirty rags.

Still the man was about to be beheaded and Derren's curiosity made him take a closer look.

'He's missing a finger and both his ears... frostbite? A deserter then.' It made sense. Death had always been the punishment for deserting the Night's Watch and even with summer coming to an end, the Wall was still the only place cold enough for a man to lose limbs.

His father was next to the man now, looking down at him. "Ice," he called.

Eddard Stark's ward, a lean and dark-haired young man named Theon Greyjoy was quick to bring the sword forward.

'Ice', the ancestral great sword of House Stark, shined brightly in the sunlight as Ned Stark took it into his grasp. The blade was dark and smoky, as all Valyrian steel weapons were and was as wide as a man's hand and almost as tall as his father who wielded it.

His gloves taken off, Ned Stark held the sword firmly, a hard look on his face as he spoke imposingly.

"In the name of Robert of the house Baratheon, the First of his name, King of the Andels and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, by the word of Eddard of the house Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, I do sentence you to die."

The greatsword rose high, quickly and strongly, well above the elderly man's head.

"Keep the pony well in hand" whispered Jon whilst moving closer to Bran on his horse, "And don't look away. Father will know if you do."

Derren held back a smile at his brother's words. It had been the same thing by younger Jory Cassel their first time here.

The sword swung down, tearing through the air and then... the unsettling noise of the blade slicing through neck and spine reached their ears. The old man's head hit the dirt quieter than a shuffling horse's hoove. The head rolled for a moment before quickly coming to a standstill in front of Theon.

'A clean cut,' Derren admired.

The three older brothers, and even Theon, quickly looked towards Bran to make sure he was ok. They saw that the boy's eyes were glued to the blood pouring down the ironwood stump and onto the light snows around it, dying them in the now dead man's memory.

Theon decided to kick the head away, an entertained smile on his face.

"Ass," Mutters Jon, placing a hand on Bran's shoulder. "You did well!" The boy snaps out of his daze at his words.

"Aye." Robb chimed in.

Bran turns to Derren next, expecting similar praises. 'Give an inch and they'll take a mile,' Derren thought amusedly. He grinned at his little brother.

"You kept strong and didn't look away, father will be proud."

Having been praised by each of his older brothers, a large smile blossomed on the boy's small face, causing Derren to ruffle his hair in response.

"You think so?" he cheered. "I'm going to be just as strong a knight as him one day!"

-

The journey back to Winterfell was peaceful, though it seemed even colder than before. The brothers rode well ahead of the main party with Bran and his pony working extra hard to keep up.

"The deserter died bravely," stated Robb, looking sure of himself.

"Did he?", Derren questioned. "He wasn't the quietest." 'He did little else other than whimper.'

"We've seen men louder," said Robb, quick to reply.

"Fair enough," Derren acquiesced. 'Doesn't make him brave though.'

A small moment of silence passed before Jon decided to quietly add his own thoughts. "I don't think he was brave," he said, looking slightly unsure of himself. "To me he seemed dead of fear. You could see it in his eyes, Stark."

"The others take his eyes," said Robb unimpressed, "He died well. Race you to the bridge?"

"Done!" said Jon, kicking his horse forward.

"Fucker!" Robb cursed, kicking his own horde and galloping after Jon. The snow the hooves of their horses was kicked up in both Derren and Bran's direction, surprising the nine-year-old and making Derren scowl a little.

Knowing Bran wouldn't be able to keep up with them his, Derren stayed behind to keep him company.

"If I wasn't on a pony, they would never be able to beat me in a race," said Bran quietly.

"You've never ridden on a horse by yourself Bran, you'd have to have some more lessons before you can race."

"Maybe," he notes before asking, "Who do you thinks going to win, Derren?"

"I'm not sure. Jon had a head start but Robb's got the better horse," Derren states simply.

"We'll see soon enough boys." A familiar voice sounds out from not too far away. Knowing who it is immediately the boys turn their heads.

"Yes Father," said Bran.

"Not racing yourself, son?" Asks the Lord of Winterfell. Derren's lips form a smile. Usually father wouldn't refer to Jon or himself as his sons in case someone hears him and informs the Lady Catelyn, who would of course always cause a fuss about it. However, as it was just him, Bran and Derren, he could allow himself to say 'son' without any qualms.

"Would have but Bran's better company," Derren smirked. "And beating them over and over again gets stale," he added jokingly. In truth they had each won nearly equally as much, but a little embellishment never hurt anyone. 'I won the last time we raced, at least.'

"Ho, is that so?" Ned smiled wryly at him. "Then perhaps it is time for us to race?" Derren's heart pumped eagerly at the proposal. It wasn't often he got to spend time with the man.

"Mayhaps, father."

"Father." Bran called softly, seeking for a little attention himself.

"Hmm, what is it, son," Ned's asked.

Looking up at his tall and well-built father, Bran spoke up. "Robb says the man died bravely, but Jon says he was afraid." Derren hadn't realised his brother had been mulling about the matter still.

"Well, what do you think?" Ned asked.

Bran went into thought, not wanting to sound silly in front of his father. "Can a man still be brave if he's afraid?" Derren was curious what his answer would be as well.

Ned smiled at the both of them. "That is the only time when a man can be brave."

-

Not long after, Jon came into view. "Father, Bran, Derren, come quickly, look at what Robb has found!" he shouted to them before running back down a nearby slope. They followed after him, moving faster than before, and quickly came across him and Robb by the riverbank north of the bridge. Robb was off of his horse and kneeling against the ground. His thick red-brown hair was shining in the sunlight as he cradled something in his arms.

Theon caught up first. "Gods!" he exclaimed, "What in the seven hells is it?"

"It's a wolf," Robb told him.

"It's a freak!" Theon responded not noticing the eyes of Robb glaring at him.

"It's no freak," said Jon. "It's a direwolf."

'A direwolf!?'

Derren inspected the scene as best he could. Besides what he assumed were pups in Robbs arms, he quickly spotted a wolf corpse to the side. But it wasn't just any wolf – it was massive. Derren felt it would reach his shoulders if it could still stand. 'Definitely ain't no ordinary wolf.'

"There's not been a direwolf south of the wall in centuries," said Theon.

"Well there's one here now," Derren stated. Although it was dead now; impaled by an elk's antlers.

They heard a small cry from Robb, which gained everyone's attention. Derren of course knew it wasn't his brother who made the noise, so he dismounted and started moving closer to him. Bran quickly jumped off his pony and overtook him however, reaching the eldest brother first. He heard another whimper before he was actually able to see what is in his brother's arms. Once he finally made it to him, he was met with a tiny ball of grey-black fur – a pup!

"You can touch him Bran," Robb told the boy with a smile.

After giving the pup a little stroke, Bran soon found a second pup placed in his grasp, courtesy of his half-brother, Jon.

"There are five of them," Jon informed.

"Where will they go?" Bran asked, worried, "Their mother's dead."

Each of them looked to Lord of Winterfell. His brown shoulder length hair fell over his eyes, momentarily hiding a look of mourning before he swiped it away. Derren knew his father didn't want to say what he was about to, as Jon said, it's in the eyes. Those dark grey eyes, so similar to Jon's. Ned crouched down and motioned to Robb. "Better a quick death," he sighed, "they won't last without their mother."

As usual, Theon was quick to follow orders. He stepped forward pulling out his knife and grabbing out at the pup Bran was cuddling, "Alright, give it here."

"No!" screamed Bran.

"Stay your blade Greyjoy!" said Robb harshly, his tone commanding.

Derren turned away and began looking about the area. The nearby forest ground was uneven with many small hills and ditches spread about.

Behind him he could hear his twin speaking. "Lord Stark?" said Jon. "There are five pups. One for each of the Stark children. The direwolf is the sigil of your house. They were meant to have them."

The words stung to hear but he knew it hurt Jon just as much to say them, if not more. Derren kept walking forward, unwilling to listen to another reminder of his bastardy. That they bastard sons with the surname Snow who would never be Stark's. The knowledge that the outside world viewed them as nothing more than stains on their father's good honour. No matter how loving their family could be, the truth of their birth left scars.

It was clear to him that the reason Jon had brought it up was to try and change their father's mind, but Derren wasn't sure it would work.

'Maybe I can hide one of the pups and look after it in secret,' he mused. 'The chance of it working out how I want is low, but it doesn't feel right to just let them die. And it would only be for a little while, father will change his mind if I can get it to behave.'

Filled with a sudden confidence, Derren scouted further. He quickly found a small burrow with a bush growing over it. 'This is as good as I'll get.' There was a large enough rock close by to block off anything that would try and enter. He didn't anticipate it being needed as, beside the now deceased direwolf, predators were usually scarce in this area. Still, it was better to take precautions.

He turned back to his family. 'Good, they're still arguing.' They were distracted; he wouldn't get a better chance. Now all he needed to do was sneak one away from the group without being noticed... something easier said than done.

A quiet whine interrupts his thoughts from behind him. Derren stood still... he heard it again. The noise was faint. If he had been even just a few steps closer to his family, he might not have even been able to hear it.

'Another pup!'

He followed the cry, letting his ears lead the way as excitement edged it's way throughout his body. He couldn't be sure; the sound was too far away for him to be certain – but he allowed himself to hope as his heart pumped in his chest.

Derren found himself standing by a lightly flowing stream at the bottom of the slope the rest of his family were stood atop of. They would have surely noticed his absence by now, but he cared not, he would come up with a timely excuse when the time called for it.

Derren scanned around himself but found nothing. He looked by the trees, then the bushes and even the rocks - yet there was no direwolf. 'Did I simply imagine it?'

After searching all around the river with nothing to show for it, he looked to where his father and brothers were and sighed. "Sounds like they've settled down." He had squandered his best chance at sneaking a pup away. It was important to know when you've lost. Derren began making his way back but turned around halfway to take one last look at the scenery.

The environment of the North was plain and rough and colder than most other places into the world, but there was beauty in it. Derren saw it clearly in this moment. Dense trees with green leaves turning orange as the season changed and birds singing softly atop the branches. The setting sun dyed the sky pink and the stream he had been stood beside sparkled as the light bounced off of it. Derren smiled. The North was his home and he loved it dearly, nothing would ever change that.

Derren was just to turn back once more when he spotted it. From the corner of his eye, a white blob of fur, easy to miss or mistake for a rock – a direwolf pup laid down in the shallow end of the stream, curled into a ball and half submerged in the water.

He dashed towards it, twice nearly falling from the unsteady ground. His feet splashed at the water when he reached it, droplets landing on the new-born and making it stare his way and growl. However it's body was still weak and didn't have the strength to keep the act up, dropping its head back into the running stream. Derren picked the direwolf up gently yet quickly, a smidge of blood dripping onto his hand in the process.

'It must have walked off and fallen down the slope, injuring itself.'

The wolf was cold to the touch, far too cold for Derren's liking, and it's breath was weak. Unsure of what else he could do, he held the wolf close, cradling it beneath his cloak, both to warm it up and dry it off.

Derren didn't care what his father would say, he was taking the new-born home.

Luckily, when he made it back to his family, Jon had already somehow convinced their father to let them keep the pups. Bran was still holding the wolf he had been given and Robb had a bundle of them in his grasp. Even Jon was now holding a white pup with bright red eyes.

'I guess Jon managed to convince father not to kill them after all.' He counted the direwolves, 'Six?'.

"I thought you said there were five pups?" Derren questioned, gesturing towards the wolf in Jon's arms.

"I found him to the side," Jon muttered.

Theon sneered. "The runt of the litter, fitting." He turned to Derren. "Guess you'll have to share."

Derren smirked. It was clear Derren had no need to hide his findings, so he unveiled the pup beneath his cloak. It seemed stronger than when he had picked it up. "You needn't worry about that, Theon."

Jon's expression brightened, a smile of his own forming. However, the ward's surprise was apparent on his face, though he quickly he shrugged it off and walked away.

"We should get back home as soon as possible," said Jon, having noticed the pup's blood.

"Aye," Derren nodded in agreement.

Before he got into his horse, Derren took a look at the small direwolf he had picked up and found it staring at him also. It was white, same as the one Jon was holding, save for a black patch on its paw. Derren found it funny to see even their pups looked alike. But there was one big difference – a difference that resonated with him.

"Your eyes aren't the same, little one," he said softly. "Just like mine." Derren swept back his hair and the pup's eyes met his, yellow amber staring into a deep violet.