GOT: The Arcanine of the North

[WonderingWriter]

I didn't slow after leaving the passage, even when the tunnels narrowed enough that I had to turn my shoulders sideways to keep moving. The stone pressed close on both sides, rough and uneven, scraping along my fur as I forced my way through gaps that were never meant for anything my size, and every step carried sound farther than I liked.

Behind me, the keep should already be stirring for another day, but I don't have a whole day.

I slowed when the tunnel opened into a narrow junction.

At first I thought it was just a shadow, until the shadow blinked.

A child crouched in the corner where the pipes met, thin shoulders drawn in, a slate clutched tight against his chest. Soot covered his face and hands, and the way he held himself told me everything I needed to know. One of Varys' little birds.

He hadn't expected me as such neither of us moved. The space between us felt too small for anything else.

Then I stepped forward, slow enough not to startle him, lowering my head as I let the heat gather low in my throat. I didn't release it, didn't let it flare into flame, but I let it build just enough that the air changed with it, and when the low rumble came it carried through the tunnel.

That was enough. He scrambled back without a sound, his bare feet slipping against the stone as he forced himself into a side duct and vanished into the dark.

Good, He'd run, and someone would listen.

Which meant I didn't have much time. Those boot lickers will soon come for me.

I pushed forward again, forcing my way through the last tight stretch until the passage opened enough for me to move properly. A rusted grate blocked the exit, half-set into the stone. I hit it once with my shoulder, felt it strain, then hit it again harder until the iron gave way with a sharp snap.

I dropped through into the space below.

The sound disappeared almost as soon as I landed.

It took a moment for my eyes to adjust, but as the darkness settled into something I could work with, the shape of the room began to reveal itself. The ceiling stretched far above, lost somewhere in shadow, while rows of massive shapes lay scattered across the floor, half-buried in dust thick enough to dull even the faint light filtering down.

Dragon skull.

Not the ones I saw last time, some of them are much bigger.

I moved through them slowly, my steps leaving clear marks in the dust, the stillness of the place broken only by the faint scrape of my claws against the stone.The largest of them all waited as a centre piece.

Balerion.

Even stripped down to bone, it dominated the room. The skull alone was massive, the lower jaw rising high above my head, the teeth thick and dark, worn but still sharp enough to matter.

I stepped closer without thinking.

My paw caught on something sharp.

I slipped, my claws scraped hard across the surface as I shifted my weight, catching myself before I went down fully, and for a moment I just stood there, steadying my footing against something that didn't feel like stone. It was too smooth, too cold to be stone.

I lowered my head and looked.

Dragonglass.

Not a shard like the last one, rather a slab.

It was embedded deep into the floor beneath the skull, rough-edged and dark. Even through my paws, I could feel it pulling heat away.

I stood there longer than I should have. Why didn't I notice this before?

Behind me, far above, I heard distant shouts.

They will reach soon.

I lowered my head and set my teeth against the edge of the stone.

It cut immediately. The taste of blood followed just as fast.

I didn't let go.

Instead, I forced the heat inward.

Everything in me resisted it. Every instinct pushed toward release, toward fire, toward burning outward the way it was meant to, but I held it back and drove it the other way.

[Evolution Begin]

Heat built too fast, too deep, spreading through my chest before it flooded my spine, pooling there until it felt like it had nowhere left to go. My muscles locked, then tightened further, forcing my body into a shape it didn't want to hold.

My ribs pulled inward before they pushed out again, shifting against each other with a grinding pressure that turned sharp a second later. Something cracked. Then something else followed.

I lost my grip on the stone and dropped against it.

The heat didn't stop.

It climbed higher, forcing my muscles to stretch and thicken under pressure, my legs shaking under the strain before giving out completely as my weight changed beyond what they had been built to carry.

Breathing became harder. The air felt thin, useless against the heat building inside me.

My skin burned. Fur along my back scorched away in uneven patches before something heavier forced its way through beneath it, thicker, coarser, built to hold what I was forcing into myself.

Time stopped making sense.

It stretched, broke, then returned in fragments I couldn't follow.

At some point, the pressure peaked.

Then it broke.

Not cleanly, not all at once.

I lay there for a while, pressed against the base of the skull, breathing hard, the stone beneath me warm now, cracked where the heat had been strongest.

When the shaking eased, I pushed myself up.

It took effort.

More than it should have.

My limbs felt unfamiliar at first and heavier, slower to respond. But they held as I adjusted my stance, claws digging into the stone for balance, and when I lifted my head, the world didn't line up the way it had before.

The floor felt farther away.

The skull felt closer.

I stood there for a second, letting it settle.

Then I moved.

The sound of my step was different. It felt much heavier than before.

The weight followed with the next step, then the next, settling into something that felt solid rather than foreign.

I drew a breath as I felt the sensation of fire building up violently.

I turned toward the doors at the far end of the chamber.

I didn't need the tunnels anymore.

So I walked toward them, each step certain, the sound carrying across the empty chamber as the dust blew under my presence.

I didn't look back.

 

[Legrio]

Well that was dumb. Had the perfect chance to stop Robert's death and you threw it away for no reason, plus you still treat your MC like its a helpless puppy instead of a superhuman killing machine that could easily 1v1 the Mountain at this point.

I really tried to give this fic a chance, but at this point its clear that you're just going to mindlessly follow the stations of canon

I'm done.

 

[RainyDay]

Yeah i like this story a lot actually but i have to agree, Growlithe is a pokemon it is not a true "puppy", it could definitely have overpowered many guards easily. And with Lancel, all he had to do was knock down the wine skin, literally all he had to do. That's something dogs and cats do by accident.

Now if you have him as an Arcanine struggle against anyone that isn't a dragon, you don't understand pokemon. Arcanine is said to be so fast it can turn supersonic and blur, that it can run like 7,000 miles in a day etc. With Extreme Speed, FlareBlitz, Flame Thrower and Take Down it should have zero issue with anyone. Arcanine is literally called legendary.

Also don't stick to canon so much the entire point is to change it isn't it? Instead the MC is no better than an observer.

 

[WonderingWriter]

Every step In took, my claws left deep, jagged gouges in the masonry. I was too big. If I walked out of the main gates like this, the Gold Cloaks wouldn't stay still, rather they'd bring scorpions and a hundred archers.

I was moving through the service corridors near the outer ramparts when a disturbed thud of boots echoed from around the corner, followed by an uneven dragging of boots.

I pressed myself into the shadows of a vaulted alcove to let the man pass without letting him know of my existence.

A man stumbled into the pale moonlight filtering through a high arrow slit. He was wearing the red cloak of a Lannister man-at-arms, his armor loosened and his belt hanging low. He held a half-empty flagon in one hand. Even from ten feet away, I could smell the bitch and the sour stink of a man who had spent his afternoon celebrating.

I recognized the man, a Lannister men Polliver. I'd watched him in the show where he drove a needle sword through a boy's throat. I knew the kind of man he was, the kind who thrived when the world turned ugly.

He stopped a few feet from my hiding spot, swaying on his feet. He looked around the empty corridor while having a dull arrogant smirk on his face. He didn't care where he was. To him, the Red Keep was his playground now that the Northmen were cooling in the dirt. He hummed a tuneless scrap of a song, unbuckled his trousers, and began to piss against the base of a decorative pillar.

The sound of it splashing against the stone was the only noise in the hall.

I moved.

I didn't growl. I didn't warn him. I was three hundred pounds of silent mass, patiently closing on him. I shifted my weight, the stone floor groaning under my paws, and closed the distance before he could even finish.

Polliver started to turn, his hand fumbling for his belt, his eyes widening as a shadow taller than a man fell over him. He didn't even have time to scream.

I opened my jaws, the heat in my throat was a dull roar as I clamped down on his head and shoulders in a single crunch. The sound of his cervical spine snapping and his helmet crumpling like parchment was muffled.

I didn't let him hit the floor as I kept my jaws locked, feeling the hot spray of his dirty blood, while dragging him back into the shadow of a disused storage chamber. I dropped the body among the broken crates. It was a messy, silent end for a man who deserved much worse.

My first kill as a monster, they wouldn't be expecting me to go on an offensive.

As I stood over the heap of red cloth and broken helm, a predator moved by instinct.

[Suppression Ability Unlocked]

[Cost: High Stamina Drain / Constant Internal Fever.]

I needed to get to the Great Sept. Tomorrow was the execution, and I wouldn't be late any longer

I focused on the core of the fire in my chest. Instead of letting it burn outward, I pulled it back. I forced the heat to stay in my marrow, driving the energy into the center of my being.

The pain was different this time. It wasn't the expansion of evolution; it was a crushing, suffocating pain. My bones didn't crack rather they folded. My muscles compressed, the dense fibers weaving tighter and tighter. The steam rising from my coat turned into a thick, choking fog.

I dropped to my knees as my height vanished. The floor felt closer. The heavy weight of an Arcanine receded.

When the fog cleared, I was standing on four paws again, but I wasn't the small pup I had been. I was a large, powerful Growlithe, the size of a mountain dog. My fur was a deep, scorched orange, and the cream mane around my neck was thicker than before I became Arcanine.

Every breath felt like swallowing hot coals. My stamina was ticking down, a slow, steady drain that I could feel in my lungs.

I didn't waste time looking at the body in the corner. I turned and trotted out of the storage room, my paws making a sharp, light clicking sound on the stone.

I bypassed the main barracks and found the low servant's gate near the stables. The guards were distracted, laughing over a dice game and a stolen cask of ale. I slipped through the shadows, an orange blur against the grey stone of the walls, and vanished into the winding, narrow streets of King's Landing.

The city was quiet, but it won't be for long.

And I wove through the Alchemists' Quarter, heading toward the hill where the Great Sept of Baelor stood like a white ghost against the night sky.

I found a crawlspace beneath the marble steps of the Sept's outer plaza. I curled into the dark, my heart pounding against my chest. The suppression was taxing, but it worked. To anyone passing by, I was just a little bigger stray dog seeking shelter from the cold.

Tomorrow, the crowd would fill this plaza, and Ned would walk onto that platform.

I closed my eyes, trying to get adjusted to this new found strength and beast instincts that came along. The time for preparation was over.

The execution was coming.

 

[WonderingWriter]

The air under the scaffolding didn't move. It smelled of dry wood and too many people packed too close above. I lay flat in the dirt, my heart beating hard enough to feel in my ribs.

Every breath was a struggle. The [Suppression] was no longer just a drain; it was a physical agony, my inside felt like they had caught fire.

Through the gaps in the planks, I saw the underside of the platform. The footsteps of Gold Cloaks moving into position. The vibration of the crowd's jeers.

Then I saw Ned.

His boots worn, caked in the filth of the Black Cells. He stumbled as they dragged him toward the edge of the stage. He looked fragile. No longer the man he once was. I watched him look toward the statue of Baelor, his eyes searching. I followed his gaze.

There she was. Arya. Perched on the pedestal, her small hand white-knuckled around the hilt of Needle. Nearby, a man in the ragged black of the Night's Watch, Yoren was already moving, his eyes fixed on the girl. He knew what was coming.

Ned began to speak.

"I, Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Hand of the King... come before you to confess my treason."

The words were a ruin. He said them for Sansa, standing just a few feet away with a look of desperate, fragile hope. He said them for Arya. He was killing his own honor to keep the pack alive, and the "Human" in me felt a sick, cold hollow in my stomach. I knew the script. I knew the history.

The crowd erupted in a roar of "Traitor!" and "Death!" The sound was a physical wall of noise.

Joffrey stepped forward. He looked small in his golden finery, his face twisted into that characteristic, arrogant smirk. "My mother wishes me to let Lord Stark take the Black. Lady Sansa has begged mercy for her father."

He paused, letting the silence stretch.

"But they have the soft hearts of women," Joffrey's voice rose, turning shrill and thin. "As long as I am your King, treason shall never go unpunished. Ser Ilyn, bring me his head!"

The world slowed.

[Event: The Death of the Hand]

[Time to Impact: 30 seconds.]

The crowd's roar shifted from anger to a frantic, bloodthirsty hunger. Sansa's scream was lost in the noise. I saw Ser Ilyn Payne move. He didn't have a tongue, but his presence was loud and chilling enough. He reached over his shoulder and drew Ic,. The Valyrian steel caught the sun in ripples, shimmering with a cold, blue light.

I didn't wait for twenty-nine seconds.

I let go.

With [Suppression] gone. The heat I'd been hoarding exploded outward. I erupted outward, the wooden scaffolding beneath the stage detonated. Massive beams of seasoned oak splintered into toothpicks as my frame expanded, my ribs forcing the stage upward.

The crowd's roar died instantly, replaced by a collective, suffocating gasp.

I burst through the floor of the platform in a cloud of splinters and white steam. I wasn't the orange hound that was hiding before. I was six feet of smoky-black muscle and a cream-colored mane that shimmered with the residue of the fire.

I saw Payne. He was mid-swing, the greatsword beginning its downward arc toward Ned's neck.

[Extreme Speed]

I became a blur of gold and shadow. The air cracked with the force of my movement.

I slammed into Ilyn Payne's side with the weight of a charging bull. The impact solid launching the executioner. He flew ten feet across the stage, his body a ball in heavy wool, the greatsword Ice spinning out of his grip and clattering harmlessly against the stone steps of the Sept.

I skidded to a halt over Ned's slumped body. My claws gouged deep, jagged furrows into the wood of the stage.

Silence.

Absolute, terrifying silence fell over the thousands in the plaza. The High Septon dropped his crystal. Joffrey fell back into his seat, his mouth hanging open, his face turning a shade of white. The Gold Cloaks froze, their pikes leveled but their hands shaking.

For them, God had sent a demon to claim their prize.

I stood over Ned, my mane steaming, my breath coming in low rumbles that shook the very boards of the stage. I looked at the crowd, my eyes burning with aggression that made a promise.

The sentence had been passed, but I was the one who would carry it out.

 

[WonderingWriter]

The silence lasted only a heartbeat before the screaming began.

I didn't give them time to organize. I stood over Ned, my paws planted firmly on the splintered oak of the stage. The Kingsguard were already reaching for their swords, their faces pale behind their golden visors. I could see the hesitation in their eyes. The raw, primitive fear for a predator that didn't belong to their world.

I drew a deep breath, feeling the fire churn in my chest and let out.

[Roar]

A shockwave spread out from me that rattled the iron pikes of the Gold Cloaks and sent the front row of the crowd stumbling backward. The frequency was so low it made the wooden boards beneath me groan. Joffrey scrambled away on his hands and knees, his crown slipping into the dirt.

...

I turned my head toward the base of the platform.

[Flamethrower]

I didn't aim at the people. I swept my head in a wide, punishing arc, blasting a stream of white-hot fire directly into the stone steps and the remains of the wooden scaffolding. The heat was punishing. The decorative marble cracked and popped under the thermal stress, and the dry timber caught instantly, sending up a massive, billowing wall of black smoke and heat.

The fire curtain worked better than I expected. The Gold Cloaks were cut off by a barrier of fire, their screams of terror muffled by the burning of the flames.

I looked down at Ned. He was staring at me, his eyes wide and bloodshot, his face clearly showing his disbelief. He wasn't the broken man from the cells anymore; the sight of the chaos seemed to have shocked some life back into him.

"Red?" he rasped.

I didn't have time to explain. I leaned down, my jaws closing firmly but carefully around the wool of his tunic at the shoulder. I felt his weight as I hoisted him upward. He struggled, but he didn't fight me. His leg, though bruised and stiff from his time in the dark, wasn't the shattered ruin like I remembered from the screen. He had enough strength to reach out and bury his fingers deep into my thick, cream-colored mane.

I felt him pull himself onto my back, his chest pressed against me trying to hold tight.

I rumbled out a sound trying to let him know to "Hold". The sound was a low vibration that seemed to calm him.

I didn't look for an exit through the crowd. There wasn't one. I turned toward the edge of the high platform, facing the sheer drop into the plaza. Thousands of people were packed below, a sea of upturned, terrified faces.

I coiled my haunches. The wood groaned under the pressure of three hundred pounds of muscle.

I leaped.

For a second, the world was silent. We sailed over the heads of the crowd, clearing the first twenty rows in a single, massive arc. I saw the statue of Baelor flash past, saw the look of pure shock on Yoren's face as he clutched Arya to his chest.

I hit the cobblestones with a heavy, bone-jarring thud, my claws gouging the street. I didn't stop to check the damage.

[Extreme Speed]

The city became a blur. I saw the buildings flash by. My paws hammered the ground, each stride covering twenty feet of street. We tore through the narrow alleys of the Alchemists' Quarter, the wind whistling past Ned's head. He was clinging to me with everything he had, his face buried in my mane to shield himself from the speed and anything else along the way.

"Close the gate!" a guard screamed as we reached the Mud Gate.

They were too slow to react. The portcullis was halfway down, its iron spike descending toward the road. I didn't slow down. I lowered my head and put every ounce of my mass into a final burst of speed. We cleared the gap with inches to spare, the heavy iron gate slammed into the dirt behind us.

The city walls fell away. The smell of the harbor and the stench of the slums replaced by the sharp, clean scent of the Blackwater and the open woods.

I didn't stop until the towers of the Red Keep were nothing more than a jagged silhouette against the morning sky. I slowed to a soft gallop as we hit the Kingsroad, my breath coming in deep, steaming clouds.

I felt a sharp, familiar chime in the back of my mind.

[Level Up: 30]

[Current Status: Fugitive / Protector of the North.]

I slowed to a walk, the heat in my chest finally settling into a dull, manageable glow. I turned my head back, looking toward the city. King's Landing was a hornet's nest now, and I had just stolen their prize.

Ned moved on my back, his grip on my mane loosening slightly as he realized the danger had passed, but his worries still remain. He sat up, looking back at the distant walls of the city he had nearly died in. He didn't speak for a long time. He just looked at his hands, then at the massive beast he was riding.

"You're not a hound," Ned whispered, his voice steadying.

I didn't answer. I couldn't. I just turned my eyes north, toward the mountains and the cold.

We were hunted, and the war hadn't even truly begun. But for the first time since I woke up in this world, I wasn't just surviving. I was thriving.

I started to run again, a long, easy stride that would carry us toward the Neck. The pack was scattered, but the alpha was alive.

That was enough for today.

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[HowardOberheit]

Could have started the story here tbh. Took 23 chapters to move away from canon. Could have just barked up a storm to alert Jamie and cercei of bran, like he did immediately after to inform others that bran had fallen.
Maybe proof read the ai a bit as well. Would be a little less grating to read if you bothered to remove 'it was not this, it was this' that shows up every other paragraph.

 

[RainyDay]

You know I really wanted to like this, it started off well enough. But the use of AI has gotten more obvious and the plot is moving at a snail's pace. You literally could have changed so much but decided not to and that's fine, but how the hell is an unstoppable beast like an Arcanine not fast enough to save Sansa, take Arya, and save Ned before this even happened? Also Extreme Speed should have mulched Illyn Payne into greasy paste, not just launched him a few feet. You need to take some time to actually read up on what Pokemon can do, or straight up ask the AI you're using. Anyway, good luck, have fun writing, this isn't for me anymore.