"She still lives," Melisandre remarked, her crimson eyes lifting to meet his eyes. "The mother is alive."
Jon was taken aback by this sudden declaration from Melisandre. Obviously, it was not something he had been expecting. He was surprised, almost shocked. He approached Melisandre with a serious expression plastered on his face.
"She lives?" He questioned, his eyes narrowed with anxiety, his voice filled with disbelief.
Melisandre nodded her head with a grave expression. Her hand was clamped tightly around the neck of the direwolf. It was probably there that Melisandre was feeling the faint beating heart of the beast. She still had not pulled the antler out of the wolf's neck.
"Is she alive?" Ned questioned, approaching the duo.
The rest of the entourage had also closed in and were looking at the direwolf with concerned faces. Especially Robb and Bran.
"Barely," Melisandre whispered.
"What do we do?" She questioned, looking at Jon. "We may do nothing, and in a few more moments she will die. A swift death and no more pain."
"Or, I possess some medicinal skills and I may try to save her," she continued. "But it is entirely possible that it may only prolong her agonizing pain, and in the end, she will ultimately die."
Even before Melisandre had asked the question, Jon had known what he would do. He would try to save the wolf. In the canon, the wolf had been dead. Or probably not. Maybe Ned and the others had simply considered her dead, and she would have died eventually. Even this time, if not for Melisandre checking upon her, the direwolf would have perished.
It was not that Jon was going to have any shortage of direwolves. There were a lot of direwolves beyond the Wall. And as the summer ended and the long winter arrived, many direwolves would cross the Wall and enter the North. But this particular direwolf being alive was a stroke of fate. And Jon was willing to use every possible measure to save her.
"We will save her," he replied in a heartbeat, without any hesitation. "Use whatever skills you have."
"Jon," Ned called out.
Jon turned to face the Stark Lord.
"Do you not think this is dangerous?" Ned questioned. "She is not a cub that you can control, tame, and train. She is a full-grown wild direwolf. She is very dangerous and ferocious."
"But she will not be dangerous the moment she wakes up," Jon replied resolutely. "Even if she survives, it will take days before she is even able to stand on her legs."
"I am not giving up on saving her," he added.
Whether the direwolf was dangerous or not did not really matter to Jon. He had his powers of warging to calm and control her. And even without it, he was far stronger than the direwolf.
The expression and the tone of Jon's voice made it absolutely clear to Ned Stark that he was not going to budge from his decision. And Jon was not the same bastard son he had been years ago, a boy whom Ned could force into yielding.
"Okay," Ned nodded his head.
Meanwhile, Melisandre had gently lowered the direwolf's massive head to the frost-covered ground and hurried toward her horse. Strapped to her saddle was a sturdy leather satchel.
She unhooked it quickly, rushed back to the fallen wolf, and spilled its contents onto the dirt. Around a dozen small steel vials clattered together, accompanied by bundles of dried herbs, fresh cloth bandages, and an array of medical instruments, needles, pincers, and fine blades.
In a life spanning centuries, Melisandre had accumulated a vast array of skills. The art of healing, treating grievous injuries, and clinging to fading life was among them. She was highly proficient and knowledgeable, possessing a depth of medical knowledge that likely made her one of the finest healers in the known world. As a red priestess, her duty was to serve life and light, and she never traveled without her supplies.
Melisandre knelt beside the wolf. She gripped the jagged antler into her neck and she pulled it free from the creature's neck in one swift and unbroken motion.
A fresh surge of blood burst from the wound, coating Melisandre's crimson sleeves even further. But before the direwolf could lose a lot of blood, the priestess uncorked one of the steel vials and poured a thick liquid directly into the gash.
As the liquid seared the torn flesh, a very faint but noticeable twitch rippled through the massive wolf's body. Everyone noticed, the wolf was alive. Still alive. Melisandre did not pause. She reached for her pincers and meticulously began extracting the splintered fragments of bone lodged in the injuries.
The entire Stark entourage watched in stunned silence, completely transfixed by the surreal sight. They were unable to tear their eyes away from the red woman laboring over the dying wolf.
"I will send for Maester Luwin," Ned remarked after a few moments. "With his knowledge and skill, he may prove helpful."
"It is not needed," Jon responded with a shake of his head. "If Melisandre cannot save this direwolf, then I sincerely doubt Maester Luwin could."
"She is more than sufficient," he added.
Ned remained silent, offering only a curt nod in response.
"Lord Stark," Jon continued. "You should return to the castle with the others."
"Melisandre and I will stay behind to try and save her," he explained. "There is no telling how long this will take, and Lady Catelyn and the rest of the keep will worry if you linger on the road past dark."
Ned opened his mouth to protest, but Jon calmly cut him off.
"I believe this is the best course of action," Jon said firmly. "There is no need for the entire party to wait out in the cold."
"Very well," Ned sighed, finally yielding.
He harbored little hope that the mangled wolf would survive the hour, but he did not wish to extinguish Jon's determination. Moreover, Ned knew he had to tread carefully. He did not want to appear overly stubborn or obstructive to a man who was now a sovereign ruler in his own right.
Gathering the remaining pups and his men, the Lord of Winterfell turned his horse back toward home. Bran and Robb were almost unwilling to leave but they did not really have any other option.
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