The chambers of Winterfell were warm, the hearth casting flickering shadows across the stone walls. The wind howled outside, but inside, the night was quiet. Jon stepped in with a heavy sigh, his dark curls damp from the icy mist. It had been a long day of council meetings and winter preparations.

His gaze landed on you, already tucked into bed, but then shifted to Ghost—normally roaming, now sprawled across the mattress, head resting in your lap, muzzle pressed softly to your abdomen.

Jon frowned, stopping at the bed. “What’s all this, then?” he murmured, confusion in his deep voice. Ghost didn’t move, ears twitching but otherwise ignoring him.

Jon pulled off his tunic, ready to climb in, when Ghost let out a low warning growl. Jon hesitated, narrowing his eyes. “Ghost…” he muttered, impatient now.

Still, the direwolf didn’t budge.

Jon exhaled sharply and nudged Ghost aside. The wolf reacted instantly—shoving Jon back with powerful hind legs, wedging himself between the two of you. Jon stumbled, forced to sit back.

Jon blinked, watching Ghost adjust his position, still pressed protectively against your stomach.

Then, realization struck. The last time Ghost had been this territorial, you had been carrying your eldest.

Jon sighed, rubbing his face before glaring at Ghost. “You bloody great beast,” he grumbled. Ghost remained settled, his bright red eyes unwavering.

Jon shoved Ghost’s flank, only for the wolf’s thick furred backside to press into his face. He recoiled instantly, irritation plain. “Oh, for fuck’s sake.”

He sighed once more, rubbing at his jaw before giving Ghost a final shove. “You keep her warm, then,” he muttered, conceding defeat for the night. “But at least shift your arse somewhere else.”

Ghost ignored him, resting his muzzle gently against your stomach again. Jon glanced at you, thoughtful now, before resigning himself to his fate—at least for tonight.