The White Wolf of Winterfell

Chapter 1: New beginnings

The young man stood browsing a notice board. Though he was 17 years of age, he appeared no older than 14 due to the Trial of Grasses slowing down his aging process. His unkempt snow coloured hair hung just over orange cat-like eyes. Standing at just 5'6, he was shorter than most, together with his lean build was very deceiving of the incredible wiry strength his body possessed, a mistake not many lived to regret.

He wore a long loose-fitting white shirt covered by a dark brown leather vest, with matching gauntlets. Brown, baggy leather pants covered his legs, secured by a belt which held his dagger as well as pouches containing various oils, potions and his bestiary journal comprising of information on alchemy and all different types of monsters. He wears brown steel-capped boots and on his back, he was armed with two swords. One of tempered steel, and the other made of silver, reinforced with a quality steel core and engraved with runes. Around his neck hung a wolf head medallion- the symbol of a Witcher. The boy wearing it is known as Gilan.

Gilan stood there skimming over each of the documents until one of them caught his eye. Curious, he ripped the weathered parchment off the board to examine it further.

"Oi Gil, you found something?" A familiar female voice called out to him.

He glanced up and saw his jovial companion headed his way. The two looked strikingly similar. They each shared the same ashen white hair, the same cat-like eyes, the same Witcher's medallion. The pair could easily be mistaken as siblings, and they probably wouldn't be too far off. She was his mentor and closest friend, Ciri. He smiled to himself as he recalled all the many different adventures and misadventures they'd shared together over the years- from drowners and ghouls to griffins and katakans. And each time they've come out on top.

"So, what are we dealing Gilan?", she asked eagerly, "Higher vampire? Bloodthirsty werewolf? Haven't had one of them in a while".

"Hmm, let's see, 'children missing without a trace', 'livestock terrified' 'withered crops' and 'strange, unexplained noises in the dead of night'. Sorry to disappoint you Ciri but I think we're dealing with a Witch."

Her face hardened a fraction and she took on a more serious tone, "A hag too by the sounds of it. Alright, who do we talk to?"

"The innkeeper"

Gilan forcefully tore his silver blade out of the ghoul's skull, watching in grim satisfaction as it fell lifelessly to the floor, 'that should be the last of them' he thought. He pulled out a cloth and began to clean his crimson soaked blade, before sheathing it in its scabbard on his back.

Behind him lay 10 or so motionless corpses, a mix of ghouls, alghouls and even a wraith. All of them were either left gutted, headless or burnt to a crisp curtesy of igni. Gilan stood there examining his work, panting slightly, they had put up a good fight. 'Guarding something, but what exactly?' he thought to himself. The shadows were growing longer as the sun quickly dropped below the horizon, a dark purple twilight had descended on the forest.

Together the two Witchers had tracked the Hag to an old rundown church. However, they had run into a bit of a problem along the way, forcing the two to temporarily part ways. He reflected on what Ciri had told him.

"You go on ahead Gil and clear the area, I'll deal with this, but whatever you do don't confront don't confront the Witch, that old crones head is mine". She flashed him a smile before running off in a different direction, "just wait for me outside the building!" She called out over her shoulder.

So now there he sat, on a log with his hand on his chin waiting for her to return. He gazed over to churches entrance, a decayed and rotten oak door. Suddenly growing impatient he stood up and stretched his stiff muscles, resolving himself to storm the building himself and end the wretched hag's life. Determined, he strolled up to the entrance. He was about to open the old wooden doors when he hesitated. 'Ciri would probably get mad if I disobeyed', shuddering at the memory of the last time he didn't follow her orders during a contract, 'probably better if I just wait'.

He began to turn away, when a bloodcurdling cry erupted from within the building, and echoed through the silent forest. With his mind made up, Gilan blasted the double door off its hinges with a full powered Aard sign. Then drew his silver sword as he dashed into the building.

He made his way down the dimly lit stairs of the hidden doorway, his silver sword drawn out in front of him. He saw a bright blue light down below, and the closer he got, the louder the chanting became. He could feel his medallion begin to bounce, whatever he was dealing with, it was certainly powerful.

When he finally came across the source of the light and chanting, his eyes widened and faltered, almost dropping his sword. A coven of Witches surrounded a magic circle drawn in blood, in the centre was a small boy no older than six, acting as some sort of sacrifice or vessel for the ritual. They seemed to be pouring their tainted magic into the child. Immense magical energy radiated from the ritual in pulsating waves, causing his Witcher amulet to jump erratically on his chest.

He closed his eyes and took a few deep breaths to ready himself. When he opened them again he charged forward towards the ritual. He could vaguely hear Ciri from the top of the staircase he had just descended, shouting for him to stop. He paid her no regard though, and kept running.

He thrust his blade deep through one of the witch's back, dragging the sword the whole way down before yanking it out. The Witch gurgled one final protest before collapsing dead on the floor. Before any had realised what had happened, he used his Aard to disrupt a couple more before making his way toward the centre of the circle.

"You fool! Do you have any idea what you're doing?" The hag screeched. Gilan ignored her and pushed forward, grabbing the boy's arm. As soon as he made contact, the child burst in a white light engulfing the entire cavern.


The two men forced the man in black, a deserter from the Nights Watch, onto his knees, resting his head on a big log. A large man wearing a fur cloak approached him, followed by a much smaller man clutching a sheathed sword in his arms. The man drew the massive greatsword Ice from it sheathe before giving the man his last rites. He then, raising his sword high in the air behind his head, he brought it down on the man's neck.

On the journey back to Winterfell, the party encountered a stag, lying gutted and dead in the centre of the road. Three men approached the lifeless stag, led by the executioner- Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell and Warden of the North. He was flanked by two men. On his right, his bastard son Jon Snow, and by his left was his ward Theon Greyjoy.

"What is it?" Asked Jon regarding what had killed it.

"Mountain lion?" Replied Theon.

Lord Eddard shook his head. "There are no mountain lions in these woods", he said.

Something suddenly caught his eye. He followed the tracks leading off the road while the rest trailed behind him. He crouched down beside what the trail had led them to- a dead direwolf with an antler protruding from its neck. Five direwolf pups were resting by their dead mother. Their shocked reactions were obvious, as none of them had seen anything like this. It was Eddard who broke the silence, "It's a direwolf."

He was about to have the pups killed when Jon suggested they keep them instead, one for each of the Stark children. To which Lord Stark reluctantly agreed to. Jon was about to file out with the rest of them when he heard a pup whine further down the creek, and followed the sound.

"What is it?" His half-brother Robb called out.

He ignored him, instead focussing his attention to the red-eyed white direwolf pup, picking it up by the scruff of its neck. His eyes widened when he found what else had been hiding back here, a boy with white hair, leather armour, and two swords strapped to his back lying unconscious with a strange amulet around his neck.

"Jon, what have you found?" Robb called out to him again.

Jon turned towards him, "Get Lord Stark!"

Gilan's eyes slowly fluttered open. His mouth tasted dry and sourr. He tried to recall his last few moments and winced as he was rewarded with a sudden headache which felt as though he had been hit over the head with a cudgel. He vaguely remembered running towards a boy. 'Oh, that's right, I remember now', he thought to himself, 'surprised I'm still alive, Ciri must have saved me and brought me here'. He smiled to himself, she's always been there to rescue him. 'But where am I?' He adjusted his head to obtain a better view of his surroundings.

He was lying in a soft fur bed in a grey sparsely furnished room. On his left by a set of drawers he could see all his gear; his two swords, his pouches, as well as his armour and clothes. 'Wait what?' He only just registered the fact that he was entirely naked save for his breeches and Witcher's medallion resting on his chest. Before he could think on it further, the door began to creak open.

He relaxed, expecting his Witcher companion to enter and explain everything that happened. The young Witcher was slightly taken aback when an old man dressed in a grey flowing robe entered. The old man noticed him staring and smiled. "Good to see you're finally awake", he said casually, "My name's Maester Luwin"

"Gilan", he replied.

The old man chuckled to himself and started heading towards the door, "Well now that you've woken up I should find Lord Stark", he glanced at the boy lying in the bed, "He's very interested in meeting you Gilan"

"Wait", Gilan called out before he could exit, attempting to sit up in the process and earning himself another painful headache. "Where's Ciri", he asked, trying to ignore his throbbing head.


"Ciri", he replied irritably, "the woman who brought me here"

Maester Luwin frowned, "You were found unconscious in the woods, Jon Snow's the one who found and brought you here"

"And where is here exactly?", asked impatiently.

"Winterfell of course", and with that he turned and left.

Maester Luwin returned a short while later with a large, middle aged man with long brown hair which had been tied back. He pulled a chair a chair up to his bedside and sat down.

"My name is Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North". He sat waiting for the boy to introduce himself, but he wasn't listening. He was too busy trying figure out where this 'Winterfell' was located. He knew the name and location of all the settlements, castles, and cities- his teacher had made sure of that.

"… and you a- "

"Bring me a map", he tersely told the Maester.

The two men exchanged a glance before the old man hurriedly left the room, as an awkward silence soon followed.

He returned a few moments later, this time with a large sheet of parchment and a curious young girl following behind. "Is this the boy Jon brought back?" She asked the Maester. She approached the doorway and peered into the room, before making eye contact. "Woah, his eyes are like a cat's", she turned to Lord Stark, "I want to talk to him about his cool swords", she said eagerly.

"Later Arya", he told her," besides aren't you still grounded"

The young girl called Arya, grumbled to herself and left the doorway. Gilan had to supress a smile at the exchange.

"Now then", Lord Stark began as Maester Luwin sprawled the map across his bed. Gilan, who was now sitting upright began analysing the foreign map, not recognising any of it. He began to feel the tension in his chest rise. "Where are you f- "

"I've never heard of this 'Westeros' before", pronouncing the word carefully. He turned to Lord Stark, "and I'm not answering any of your questions until you answer some of mine he said testily.

The two men traded another glance. Eddard sighed heavily, frustration written all over his face after being interrupted twice. "Fine then", he said after a few moments, "But then I want the truth and you damn well better give it to me"

Gilan stared down at his fur blanket. His worst fears had been confirmed It was clear to him he was no longer in his own world, and perhaps most troublesome was that he had no idea where Ciri was, or if she was even still alive for that matter.

He glanced up at Eddard and gulped, 'I think honesty is definitely the best route here', he thought, 'and this is certainly not a man you want to provoke; besides I owe them at least that much'. He took a deep a breath, unsure of where to start, 'this isn't going to be easy'.

"My name is Gilan, and I'm a Witcher…"