Rickon was allowing Brienne to teach him swordplay, though, having declined lessons from any number of northmen.

 "Good, Rickon; very bold," said Brienne. "But remember what I told you about patience; hang back and defend yourself until you see an opening."

 Several men-at-arms looked on, and called out encouragement to their young lord. They nodded amiably at Brienne; the maid of Tarth would probably never be entirely free from mockery, but she had restored the Starks to Winterfell, and that had won her a not inconsiderable measure of respect and affection.

 Catelyn watched from a window as Brienne set Rickon back in a defensive stance. Seeing her son in Winterfell's yard with a practice sword in hand and a look of fierce concentration on his face... for a moment Cat was watching Bran before his fall, Robb before he was crowned, even Arya when she hadn't realised her mother was watching.

 She turned away from the window.

 *

 Brienne found Catelyn in her chambers where she was pouring over lists of Winterfell's food and supplies.

 She stood with one hand resting on the pommel of her sword; it was one of the few things that could still make Catelyn smile, the way Brienne was always guarding them.

 "How does Rickon's training go?"

 "Your son is fearless, and strong for his age, my lady--"

 "But?"

 Brienne hesitated. "He could be more cautious and prudent, mayhap."

 Catelyn sighed at that. "Couldn't we all. Where is he now?"

 "I sent him on to his lesson with Maester Samwell."

 Sam was the first maester that Rickon had shown any inclination to listen to. "I don't know how he does it," Catelyn wondered almost to herself.

 "I believe..."Brienne trailed off.

 "Brienne," Catelyn said gently. She had thought they were long past Brienne fearing to speak to her.

 "I believe that Maester Samwell speaks to Rickon of Jon Snow."

 Cat felt no anger, only weariness. "And what do you speak to my son of, Brienne?"

 Catelyn had promised herself that she would not become jealous of Brienne and Rickon's relationship; if the young lord of Winterfell had formed a bond with his sworn shield, then that was only to the good.

 Brienne looked up; her remarkable blue eyes met Catelyn's. "I speak of you, my lady. Of your bravery and strength; of how well you love him, and how often you speak of him."

 "Prudence and caution," Catelyn said darkly.

 "Lady Catelyn?"

 "I should be patient, I know that. My son is angry and not without cause. He will come to me in time."

 "He often asks me about his brothers and sisters. I can only tell him that I know only good things of them, and that you would be more than happy to answer his questions about them. He will come to you in time."

 Catelyn nodded - prudence and caution - and returned her attention to her lists of supplies.

 Brienne crossed the room to look over her shoulder. "Are you expecting visitors to Winterfell?"

 "A party from the Crownlands." Catelyn sighed. "I suppose I should expect another marriage proposal; I'll have to think of a politic way to refuse."

 The number of southron lords who sought to wed her and rule the North through her son was ridiculous. As though Rickon would countenance a stepfather; as though the northern lords would countenance her marrying a southroner; as though Cat could even think of replacing Ned.

 It was different with Brienne.

 Brienne who had saved Catelyn many times over; firstly at the Red Wedding, then in the Riverlands when she'd wanted nothing more than to lay down and for death to take her to Robb, and finally by bringing Rickon home and giving her something to live for.

 Brienne who was devoted to Cat and her son; and who, in the darkness, was enough.

 She reached out and took Brienne's large hands. "Stay with me tonight?"

“I am not a baby!” Rickon shouted.

“Of course you aren’t, Rickon,” Sansa said. “No one said you are.”

“Theon said I was afraid of my wolf. I am not afraid of my wolf!”

As if agitated by the little boy’s shouting, the black wolf pup snarled and snapped in the direction of Theon Greyjoy who jumped involuntarily.

Robb and Jon both cackled.

“Looks like you’re the one frightened of Rickon’s pup, Greyjoy,” Robb teased, as he stood there holding the pup he had named Grey Wind in his arms.

“I’m not afraid of anything I can send flying with well aimed boot,” Theon replied nastily.

“Don’t you kick Shaggydog!” Rickon snarled, looking and sounding remarkably like a fierce little pup himself.

Arya started to comment on that when Theon’s laughter rang out loudly. “Shaggydog? You’re calling it Shaggydog? That’s the stupidest name yet.”

Rickon’s face fell, and his lip started to quiver just a little. Before he could actually be accused of crying, he turned and fled from the kitchen, and the black wolf pup started to run after him. Bran grabbed it, though, struggling to hold onto it with one arm as his other arm was already wrapped around his own pup.

“He’s just a little boy, Theon. What pleasure do you get from making fun of him?”

Arya looked up from watching Bran struggle with two wolf pups at the sound of her bastard brother’s voice. Jon and Robb were both glaring at Theon, and she joined them in doing so.

“He’s just mad because he doesn’t have a direwolf,” she said smugly.

“I wouldn’t want one of those mangy things. They aren’t likely to live anyway,” Theon said nastily. “Especially that one.” He pointed to Jon’s Ghost. “It’s obviously a freak.” He smiled then. “Maybe it’s a bastard.”

“Enough, Theon.”

Arya was glad to hear Robb speak up. He was the most likely of all her siblings to actually side with Theon in things, but even he wouldn’t put up with Theon being so terribly mean to Rickon and Jon. And he’s the only one of them Theon would ever actually listen to.

“Fine. You children play with your dogs. I have better things to do.” Theon then turned on his heel and left the kitchen at a much slower pace than Rickon had.

“Good riddance,” Arya muttered, and Jon laughed.

“I think you’re right, little sister. He’s miffed that he didn’t get a direwolf pup, too.”

“Why don’t you just let Shaggydog go?” Arya asked Bran who was still struggling to restrain the pup. He’d let go of his own wolf now, and it simply sat calmly beside him.

“Are we really going to let Rickon name him that?” Robb asked, rolling his eyes.

Arya glared at him.

“What? I didn’t say it in front of Rickon,” Robb said. “And Bran, what are you trying to do to that pup?”

“Keep it here,” Bran grunted. “Rickon was a little scared of it, even if he won’t admit it. If it tears off after him, he’s likely to run and then it’ll chase him which will make him even more scared.”

“Give it here,” Sansa sighed, tearing herself away from petting the pup she had named Lady to reach for the wiggling black pup. Her pup, like Bran’s, at perfectly still at her side.

“What are you going to do with him, Sansa?” Arya asked, giggling as Nymeria jumped up on her lap nearly knocking her off balance.

“Take him to Rickon, of course,” Sansa said in her ‘grown-up-sound-like-Mother’ voice that Arya hated. “We can’t just leave him out there to cry. And I think if he can spend some time with just his pup and not so many wolves jumping around, he’ll learn to be less afraid.”

Arya hated to admit it, but Sansa made sense. “I’ll come with you,” she said. “But what do we do with Nymeria and Lady?”

“Nymeria?” Sansa asked.

“Yes. I’ve decided. My wolf is a warrior queen.”

“I like it,” Jon said loyally. “How about yours, Bran? I think all the wolves are named now except yours.”

“I’m still thinking,” Bran said. Turning to Arya, he said, “You can leave your wolves here. I’ll watch them.”

“It’s time to get all those pups out of the kitchen if you expect the cooks to prepare you anything to eat.” The steward, Vayon Poole, was coming toward them, and he looked less than happy about the six wolf pups in the kitchen.

“Our lady mother let us bring them in here,” Sansa said sweetly, and Arya wondered if she practiced talking to grown-ups like that or if it just came naturally to her.

“Yes, she did, Lady Sansa,” Vayon answered. “But Lady Stark is not here any longer. She has gone to speak with your lord father about something, and I doubt she intended that you make the kitchen the wolves’ new home.”

“No,” Robb said. “She only wanted a warm place for Rickon and the girls to meet the wolves that was sort of out of the way.”

“I understand, Lord Robb, but as I said, if you would like to eat again some time today, I fear your wolf pups must relinquish the kitchen to the cooks.”

Robb laughed. “Well I definitely want to eat. How about you, Snow?”

Jon grinned. “I’m as hungry as you are, Stark.” He looked at Bran. “Why don’t we take all our pups out and find them a place to stay. We can take the girls’ pups with us easily enough. Robb and I will each carry two.”

“And we’ll take the black one …” Sansa started.

“Shaggydog,” Arya interrupted.

Sansa rolled her eyes just as Robb had. “Shaggydog,” she said, “to Rickon.” Turning to her sister, she said, “Come along, Arya,” in the ‘trying-to-be-Mother’ voice again, and Arya looked at Jon and rolled her own eyes as she followed her out.

Jon’s laughter made Arya grin as she and Sansa stepped out into the courtyard.

“Where do you suppose he went?” Sansa asked.

“Godswood,” Arya said. “That’s where he always goes.”

“How do you know?” Sansa asked.

Arya sighed. “Because it’s usually me or Bran he’s running away from. Rickon gets angry easily. He thinks he’s big enough to do whatever anybody else does even though he isn’t. And it makes him mad.”

“All right,” Sansa said.

“Look at that!” Arya said, pointing to the wolf pup in Sansa’s arms.

“What?” her sister asked her.

“He stopped struggling as soon as you started walking toward the godswood.” She grinned. “Even Rickon’s wolf knows where he is.”

“That’s the silliest thing I’ve ever heard, Arya.”

But it was true. The wolf pup hadn’t stopped wriggling around the entire time Sansa held it until they started toward the godswood. “I think direwolves are smart,” she told her sister. “A lot smarter than dogs.”

Sansa did smile at that. “I think so, too,” she said.

Rickon was indeed in the godswood. He sat on a flat rock with his arms wrapped around the knees he had pulled up to his chest, and he faced away from them.

“Go away!” he said with a pout in his voice when he heard them approach him.

“Rickon, you know you’re not allowed to run off into the godswood alone,” Sansa said in her annoyingly reasonable voice.

“Stop making fun of me!” Rickon demanded, and Arya nearly laughed at the look on Sansa’s face. Her impersonation of Mother didn’t work as well on Rickon as it did on everyone else.

“I’m not making fun of you, Rickon. I only told you the truth. Turn around and look here. We’ve brought you Shaggydog.”

“Shaggydog?” Rickon said with more interest, turning slowly around, and Arya was pleased Sansa had used the pup’s name.

“Here he is!” Sansa said with a smile, holding him up.

The pup gave a yelp and tried to jump out of her arms to get to Rickon, who startled and tumbled off his rock.

Rickon jumped up to his feet and glared at them as if daring them to laugh. Neither girl so much as smiled.

“Look, Rickon,” Sansa said gently, running a hand through the squirming pup’s black fur as she held him tightly. “He’s a sweet little baby. He wouldn’t hurt anybody.”

“Yes, he would,” Rickon insisted. “He’s not a baby.”

“Of course, he is. He’s only a pup,” Sansa insisted. “Come pet him.”

“Stop making fun of me!”

Sansa sighed in exasperation. “I’m not making fun of you, Rickon. I’m trying to cheer you up.”

“Stop trying to cheer me up!”

At that, Arya couldn’t keep herself from laughing. The look on Sansa’s face was too good, and Rickon glaring at her just made her laugh harder. Finally, she calmed down enough to say, “Let go of Shaggydog, Sansa.”

“I don’t want him to run off,” Sansa said.

“He won’t. Put him down.”

Sansa frowned, just like Mother did when she was about to explain why what you wanted to do was not appropriate. Before Sansa could start talking, Arya walked up to her and grabbed Shaggydog out of her arms before she could protest.

“Arya!” she snapped angrily.

Shaggydog wiggled furiously, trying to escape her grip, and Arya had to give Sansa credit for having held on to him so long.

“Look at him, Rickon!” she said to her little brother. “He’s desperate to get away from me. He doesn’t like being held like a baby.”

That got her brother’s attention.

“I think he’s probably the fiercest one of the bunch,” she continued.

“He is!” Rickon agreed immediately.

“Arya …” Sansa started to say.

“That’s why he’s yours, I think,” Arya went on as if Sansa hadn’t spoken. “Because you’re too fierce to be a baby, too.”

Rickon grinned at her. Then he took a tentative step toward her with his hand extended toward the direwolf pup. “I’m not afraid of him,” he said, sounding rather apprehensive.

“Of course, you aren’t,” she said. “I am, just a little. Because he’s so fierce. And Theon should be very afraid of him.”

That made Rickon grin again.

“But you don’t have to be afraid of him because he’s yours,” Arya said with confidence. “So he’ll never bite you except play bites.”

“Play bites,” Rickon repeated carefully, moving even closer to Arya and the wolf. “Those don’t hurt, right?”

“Nah. He’s got sharp little teeth so it might scratch a bit. A baby might cry about it, but not a brave boy like you.”

“And he’ll lick you,” Sansa added, finally seeming to understand how this worked. “His tongue is a little bit rough, but it tickles more than hurts, and you’re way too big to bothered by tickling.”

Rickon’s hand reached the direwolf pup then, and he only jerked it back slightly when the pup immediately put his snout toward it. Then he eased it forward again and allowed the pup to lick his fingers. He giggled. “It does tickle,” he said. “Just like the puppies from the kennels.”

“He’s a lot like the puppies in the kennels, Rickon,” Sansa assured him. “Only bigger.”

“And much more dangerous,” Arya added cheerfully. “To everyone who isn’t you, of course.”

“He’s fierce,” Rickon said, now with both hands on the wolf pup’s head. “But he’s mine.”

“He’s all yours,” Arya agreed.

Rickon smiled and stuck his face right down into the pup’s and then laughed loudly as the animal proceeded to lick his face all over.

Arya looked at her sister over Rickon’s head and grinned.

Sansa smiled back and mouthed at her, “Well done.”

Arya rolled her eyes at her older sister, but actually she was pleased that Sansa had recognized that she had known how to cheer Rickon up and get him over his fear of the wolf pup. When Rickon demanded to hold Shaggydog, she knew she’d been completely successful.

Her littlest brother’s arms weren’t quite big enough to handle the squirming wolf, though, and this time Sansa came up with the solution.

“Can I hold him with you, Rickon?” she asked. “I confess I was a little afraid of him when I carried him here, but if you’re holding him, I know he’ll be good, and I would like to learn to be less afraid of him.”

Rickon nodded thoughtfully. “Do you want me to help you hold him, too, Arya?” he asked seriously, and Arya bit her lip hard and tried to keep her face grave as she nodded back to him.