the young wolf reborn


They called Rickon Stark the Young Wolf Reborn, in the image of his brother. But some could argue that there was never a king with more fury than the forgotten pup of Winterfell.

He had animal fury down cold, but human anger eluded him. His account of anger was oversimplified: Someone offends you, so you dislike him; your dislike turns to hatred; brooding over your hatred makes you angry and results to fury.

They say if you wander the coast of Skagos, you may catch sight of him. Not a cannibal horde, not a unicorn, but a man. Some swear it is Robb Stark’s ghost, insist that you can still see the blood on his cloak, the place where the Freys severed his head, just like his Lord father before him.

Wiser men will remember the oft-forgotten Rickon Stark, the pup chased from the den when Winterfell became naught but ash and stone. They say he is the Young Wolf reborn, that he is the very image of his brother, the King in the North. Some believe he will return, take back the godswood, the castle, and the seat of Winterfell.

But he wants no crown, no throne. No, the wilds carved him a new man. What use do wolves have for thrones? For crowns? He hungers for sweeter meat, this one. The wolves will come again, they say, and Gods help us when they do.

inspired by this beautiful graphic by lordeddardstark