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.

 

[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.

 

[WonderingWriter]

The gallop eventually slowed as the Kingsroad faded into the distance. My paws were heavy, the pads raw from the sprint across the shale and roots of the Riverlands. King's Landing was nothing but a smudge of smoke on the horizon. I didn't stay on the main road. Every outrider and Gold Cloak in the city would be riding North within the hour.

I turned toward the God's Eye, moving through the thickets where the bush grew high enough to hide a horse. Ned was a dead weight on my back now. His grip on my mane had slipped, his head lolling against my shoulder. The fever from the cells hadn't left him, and the shock of the flight was taking the rest of his strength.

I used [Detection]. The map in my mind pulsed, highlighting the terrain ahead. I needed somewhere dry and defensible. About three miles in from the road, the ground rose into a series of limestone ridges. I found a shallow cave, hidden by a curtain of dead briars and overhanging rock.

I slid Ned off my back. He hit the ground with a soft groan, his face pale in the dim light of the cave. I was spent. The [Extreme Speed] and the transformation had eaten my stamina like a furnace. I couldn't stay as the Arcanine.

I pulled the heat back into my core. The suppression felt like my skin was shrinking around my muscles. Steam poured off my coat, filling the cave with a white mist and heat. My bones ground together until I was back to the size of a large mountain dog. The internal fever was a dull, constant ache in my chest.

I left the cave for a time, and caught two rabbits in the tall grass near a stream, breaking their necks before they could even scream. I brought them back, dropping them near the entrance.

Ned was shivering. The cold of the Riverlands night was settling in. I dragged him further back into the cave, away from the draft, and curled my body around his chest. My fur was still radiating the heat of the suppression. It was like a living hearth.

Hours passed. The only sound was the wind in the trees and Ned's ragged breathing.

Near dawn, he stirred.

Ned's hand moved first, his fingers twitching in the dirt. He let out a low, pained breath and opened his eyes. He stared at the ceiling of the cave, then at the gray light coming through the briars. He looked lost.

"Robert?" he whispered.

He thought he was back in the past, or maybe in Kingswood. He tried to sit up, but his body wouldn't obey. He turned his head and saw me.

He froze. He looked at my scorched orange fur, the thick cream mane, and the way I was watching him. He looked at the dead rabbits a few feet away. His memory seemed to flicker, the Sept, the fire, the monster that had launched Ilyn Payne like a sack of grain.

"I saw... a beast," Ned said, his voice a dry rasp. He looked at his hands, then back at me. "The Sept... it was burning. I was on the platform."

He reached out, his hand trembling, and stayed just out of reach. He looked into my eyes, searching for the "hound" he had known.

"I'm dead," he decided. His voice was flat. "This is the dark. The gods have sent a wolf to guide me."

I didn't growl. I moved closer and licked the palm of his hand. My tongue rough and warm. It was a simple, animal thing. It didn't belong in a dream.

Ned flinched at the contact, but he didn't pull away. He felt the heat of my body against his side. The reality of it hit him all at once. The "beast" that had carried him out of the city was the same hound that had sat at his feet in the Red Keep.

"Red," he breathed. A heavy, shuddering breath escaped him. "It was you. All of it."

He closed his eyes, his head falling back against the stone. He didn't ask how. He was a man of the North; he knew the world held things that didn't fit into the maesters' books. He just lay there for a long time, his hand resting on my head, feeling the rise and fall of my breath.

"You saved me," he said, and for the first time, I heard a sliver of the man who had been the Hand of the King. "But the girls... They are still in that nest of vipers."

He looked at the rabbits again. He knew we couldn't stay. He knew the hunt was only beginning.

I let out a soft huff, resting my chin on his chest. We were in the heart of the Riverlands, fugitives of the crown, with the most wanted man in the Seven Kingdoms barely able to walk.

I was Level 30, and the world was finally awake. I didn't have a voice to tell him we would find them, so I just kept him warm. It was the only promise I could make.

 

[WonderingWriter]

Ned's breathing was the only thing filling the cave. It was clearer now, lacking the wet rattle from his time in the dungeons. Still the fever had peaked and left him exhausted. So I stayed close, letting the heat from my chest keep the damp chill of the God's Eye from seeping into his bones.

The wind shifted outside, pulling a draft through the briars at the entrance.

The smell hit me then.

Arya.

I stood up, my joints stiff from the constant internal fever of the suppression. I was still the size of a mountain dog, dense and heavy. I nudged Ned's shoulder. He didn't wake, just groaned and pulled the fur coat tighter. He needed the rest more than an explanation he wouldn't understand.

I slipped out through the briars.

The Riverlands at night felt really cold. In the distance, toward the Kingsroad, a faint orange glow sat on the horizon. A village burning, likely. Tywin's outriders were already having their show. I kept my head low, my paws finding the soft earth to muffle the sound of my pace.

[Scent Tracking] turned the world into a map of odors. The trail was a few hours old, winding toward the northwest. I followed it for miles, bypassing a group of Lannister scouts camped near a bridge. I didn't have time for them.

I found the convoy in a hollow between two low hills.

Yoren knew his business. There were no fires, just three dark wagons huddled together. The Night's Watch recruits were scattered in the tall grass, wrapped in rags. Most of them were just shadows, but the smell of unwashed bodies and sour breath made them far less approachable for me if not for her presence.

I moved to the downwind side, my belly fur brushing the weeds. I saw Yoren first. He was sitting against a wagon wheel, a crossbow across his lap. His eyes were shut, but I knew better than to think he was fully asleep.

Then I saw her.

She was tucked under the back of a wagon, curled into a ball. Her hair was a jagged ruin, hacked off to make her look like another gutter-born boy. She looked small. Smaller than she had on the statue in the plaza.

I stayed in the tall grass, waiting for the wind to carry my scent to her. I didn't want to startle the whole camp. If those recruits saw a dog my size coming out of the dark, someone would scream or throw a spear, and then Yoren would have to kill me.

I let out a soft huff, a low sound that barely carried over the rustle of the leaves.

Arya's head snapped up. Even in the dark, I could see the flash of her eyes. Her hand went straight to the hilt of the small sword hidden in her rags. She didn't move, didn't breathe. She was listening.

I stepped forward into a patch of moonlight.

Arya didn't move. She stared at me, her hand white-knuckled on the hilt of Needle. She looked for the threat first, scanning the tree line behind me, her breathing shallow and silent. Recognition didn't come all at once; I was bigger than the dog she'd known in the Red Keep, and the moonlight made my scorched fur look black as coal.

I stepped closer, lowering my head and letting out a soft huff. I gave my tail a single, slow wag.

"Red?" she whispered. The word was barely a voice.

I didn't bark. I walked to the edge of the wagon and gently took the heavy wool of her sleeve in my teeth. I didn't pull hard, just enough to show direction. Her eyes went wide, reflecting the pale light as she realized I wasn't a stray. I was the piece of home she thought had been butchered on the Red Keep.

She scrambled out from under the wagon, moving with the jagged, desperate speed of a cornered cat. She looked at Yoren once, he was still slumped against the wheel, his chin on his chest, then she followed me into the tall grass.

We moved through the woods for an hour. Arya stayed close to my flank, her hand occasionally brushing against my mane to make sure I was still there. She didn't ask questions. She was too used to the silence of the road, the kind of silence that kept you alive while the Gold Cloaks hunted you.

As we reached the limestone ridge, the scent of the cave grew stronger.

I led her through the curtain of briars.

Inside, the only light came from the dull, orange glow of my skin beneath the fur. Ned was sitting up, his back against the cold stone. He held a jagged branch in his hand like a club, his face set in a hard, wary mask. He looked like a man expecting a final fight.

"Red?" he called out, his voice a dry rasp.

Arya stopped dead. She looked into the shadows, her eyes squinting against the gloom. She saw a man in a dirty tunic, a graying beard, with the tired, sunken eyes of her father.

She didn't move for a long heartbeat. To her, the last time she'd seen him, a sword was descending toward his neck and a beast carrying him away. She thought the cave was a tomb and he was a ghost.

"Father?"

The word broke in the middle. She stumbled forward, her knees hitting the dirt before she could reach him. Ned dropped the branch. It hit the stone with a hollow clack that echoed through the small space.

"Arya... Arya, come here."

She threw herself on him, her small frame shaking. Ned pulled her into his chest, his arms wrapping around her with a strength I didn't think he had left. He buried his face in her hacked-off hair, his eyes closing tight.

"I saw the sword," she choked out, her voice muffled against his tunic. "The big black beast... it hit the man. I thought... I thought it killed you."

Ned didn't look at her. He looked over her shoulder at me. I was standing by the entrance, my head lowered, watching the two of them. The "human" part of me felt a little peace. I'd seen this story play out a dozen times on a screen, but the screen never told you how much a man's hands shook when he held a daughter he thought he'd never see again.

"The beast is a friend, Arya," Ned said. He reached out a hand, beckoning me over.

I didn't move. I stayed in the shadows, letting them have the moment. They were huddled together in the dirt and straw, a fallen lord and a gutter-thief, but for the first time in weeks, they weren't alone.

I rested my chin on my paws, the heat in my chest settling into a soft hum. My stamina was low, and the "internal fever" was making my head swim, but I didn't care. The pack was slowly getting together.

Ned leaned his head back against the stone, holding Arya as she finally fell into a deep, exhausted sleep in his arms. He looked at me, a silent, weary gratitude in his eyes that no lordly speech could have matched.

The Riverlands were still burning outside, and the Lannisters were still hunting, but tonight, the North had a reason to fight back. I closed my eyes and listened to the sound of the wind in the briars, waiting for the sun to rise on a world that didn't know what's coming.

 

[S. Aidobare]

I'm liking it so far, excited to see what the next chapter will bring. Will our mc become a fix-it-fic murderhobo, or stick with the starks?

 

[WonderingWriter]

The morning light was thin and grey, barely reaching the back of the limestone cave. Ned sat leaning on the far wall, his face pale and slick with a cold sweat that hadn't quite broken. Beside him, Arya sat with her knees pulled to her chest.

And I stood at the entrance, my nose twitching. The scent reached me.

Lannister outriders. They were close, less than a mile east, moving along the ridge of the God's Eye.

I turned back to them. Ned watched me, his eyes tracking my movement trying to understand what happened. He knew the look. He'd spent his life leading men, and he recognized the stance of a scout who had found something they didn't like.

"They're close?" Ned asked, his voice a dry rasp.

I didn't give him a nod or a huff. I didn't have time for the dog act anymore. I stepped into the center of the cave, putting myself between them and the exit.

I let the [Suppression] go.

This time it wasn't a shimmer or a flash of light rather it was a biological snap. My bones ground together with a sound like wet gravel being crushed, and my muscles expanded with a violent pressure. Steam erupted from my skin as my internal temperature spiked, filling the small cave with a thick, humid fog.

Ned flinched, his hand flying up to shield his face from the sudden heat. Arya scrambled backward, her eyes going wide as the mountain hound she'd been sitting next to grew until it's head brushed the low ceiling. My fur darkened to a charred, smoky black, and the cream-colored mane around my neck billowed out, radiating heat like an open furnace.

Arya stared at me. She didn't scream. She didn't reach for her sword. A slow, jagged grin spread across her face, cutting through the soot.

"I knew it," she whispered. Her voice was high with a sudden, manic delight. " You're Red. You're my Red."

She stepped forward, ignoring the heat, and buried her small hands in the thick fur of my mane. She looked up at my six-foot frame with a fierce, terrifying pride. To her, this wasn't a monster. It was her hound, finally showing the world what it was.

I didn't let her linger. I nudged Ned with my muzzle, a blunt, forceful shove that sent him back against the stone. He looked up at me, his mouth slightly open, the sheer scale of my Arcanine form finally hitting him.

"You want us to ride?" Ned asked, his voice breathless.

I didn't wait for his permission. I lowered my haunches and shoved my shoulder under his arm, forcing him to find his footing. I wasn't being gentle. We were in a kill zone, and his lordly dignity was the last thing on my priority list. I gave a low, impatient rumble that made the loose stones on the floor vibrate.

Ned got the message. He hoisted himself up, his movements pained and clumsy, his fingers burying deep into my mane for purchase. Arya didn't need to be asked. She scrambled up behind him, her arms locking around his waist.

"Hold tight," I wanted to convey as a rumbling sound emitted from the back of my throat. The sound was a tectonic vibration that seemed to settle the panic in Ned's eyes, even though he wouldn't understand what I meant.

I pushed through the briars, my mass shredding the dead branches like they were paper. Once we hit the treeline, I broke into a steady gallop. I didn't use [Extreme Speed]. If I hit eighty miles an hour, Ned would be dead from the wind shear or a fall within minutes. I kept it to a good pace, my paws silent on the moss, weaving through the thickest parts of the woods to keep us out of the sightlines of the ridges.

"The crossing is north," Ned shouted over the wind, his head bowed against the heat of my mane. "The Twins. We have to see Walder Frey. He's a bitter man, but he owes my wife's father his loyalty. We can cross there."

I didn't change my heading. I knew exactly what Walder Frey was. I knew the price he'd ask. The marriage contracts, the political rot, the eventual betrayal. I wasn't putting Ned Stark's life in the hands of a man who traded loyalty like salt pork.

I adjusted my stance, my shoulders bunching as I pivoted toward a steep, jagged bank where the Blue Fork of the Trident roared. The water was high, white-capped from the spring melt, and the current looked like it could pull down a castle.

"Red, no!" Ned called out, his grip tightening. "The river is too high! We have to go to the bridge!"

I didn't stop. I hit the water at a full run.

The second my scorching skin touched the river, a massive, deafening explosion of steam hissed into the air. A wall of white fog erupted around us, thick and blinding, veiling us from the shore as the heat of my body fought the freezing current. I began to swim, my massive paws churning the silt below, driving through the deeps while the steam created a private tunnel of white.

Ned went silent, his face buried in my mane to avoid the spray. We were a ghost in a cloud of our own making.

We climbed the opposite bank, dripping and steaming like a fresh-forged blade. I didn't let up. I pushed through the afternoon, the scent of the Northern army finally beginning to me.

We reached the outskirts of the camp as the sun began to bleed into the horizon. I didn't creep through the shadows. I walked straight onto the main track, my head high, the steam still rising from my blackened fur.

The reaction was a total break in the camp's reality. Men-at-arms dropped their pikes. Some fell to their knees. A wide, terrified circle formed around us. A guard looked at the passengers on my back, he pointed towards Lord Stark, murmuring of recognition passed through the camp and with a belief that they wouldn't do anything rash I my walk towards the center of the camp, a six-foot-tall beast of smoke and fire carrying the man they all thought was dead.

I stopped in front of the command tent.

Robb was the first one out. He stood there, his hand on his sword, the "Young Wolf" looking at a nightmare he couldn't comprehend. Beside him, Catelyn appeared, her face drained of all color as her hands flew to her mouth, her eyes fixed on the man on my back and her daughter.

I lowered my haunches. Ned slid off, his legs shaking as he touched the ground, leaning one heavy hand on my shoulder for support. He looked at his son, then at his wife, his face a mask of weary, bloody relief.

 

[DoomLordSteve]

Interest concept. Poorly executed. And the AI is really obvious.

 

[Questioni]

Interest concept. Poorly executed. And the AI is really obvious.

Click to shrink...

What makes the AI obvious?

 

[DoomLordSteve]

What makes the AI obvious?

Click to shrink...

The occasional random sentences that go nowhere. Checked a random chapter on a ai detector and it came back 32% AI with some editing. So there is that.

 

[WonderingWriter]

The silence in the camp was high. Thousands of eyes tracked my every movement as I stood near the command tent, the steam still rising in thin, wispy curls from my blackened fur. The Northerners didn't move. They stood with their hands on their spear shafts, their knuckles white, watching the Beast like men waiting for a lightning strike.

A low, vibrating rumble pulled my attention toward the shadow of the main tent.

Grey Wind stepped out. He was massive for a wolf, his grey fur bristling and his yellow eyes locked onto mine. He didn't bark. He moved in a slow arc, his claws digging into the soft turf as he tried to find a weakness in my stance.

I didn't move. I didn't need to show my teeth to prove what I was. I simply stood my ground, my head held level with his. I let the internal heat in my chest flare, just a fraction. The air between us began to shimmer as the dry fire rolled off me in a wave.

Grey Wind stopped mid-stride. He sniffed the air, his nose twitching. He looked at my size, the six-foot height, the sheer, crushing mass of muscle and then at the heat radiating from my skin. He wasn't a mindless animal. He felt the power coming off me, something told his instinct not to engage this familiar presence.

The hair along his spine smoothed down. He let out a soft, sharp whine and lowered his head, moving his weight back in a clear sign of concession. He stepped to the side, clearing the path to the tent, and watched me with a wary respect he always had for me.

The tension in the camp didn't disappear seeing Young Wolf's shadow accepted me rather it grew.

...

I nudged Ned's hand with my muzzle. He was leaning on Robb's shoulder, his face couldn't hide his exhaustion. I could feel my own strength flagging. The river crossing and the weight of the riders had bottomed out my stamina. I needed to eat.

I turned away from the command tent and trotted toward the dark line of the woods. No one tried to stop me. The men at the edge of the camp practically fell over themselves to get out of my way as I vanished into the brush.

The Riverlands were my hunting ground now. I used [Detection], my mind mapping the heartbeats in the dark. About two miles north, a large bull elk was moving through a stand of birch.

I didn't hunt with the patience of a dog. I moved with the directness of a landslide. I caught the elk in a small clearing, my weight crushing it into the dirt before it could even turn its head. I didn't cook the meat. I tore into it, the raw, feeling the blood and the dense protein of the muscle flowing back into my system. I ate until my stomach was heavy and the dull ache in my joints began to fade.

By the time I returned to the camp, the moon was high. The whispers followed me through the rows of tents.

"The Lion-Wolf," a man muttered, his voice shaking. "I saw him... the fire in his eyes."

I ignored them. I walked straight to the large, grey command tent where the light of a dozen candles flickered against the canvas. I pushed the flap aside with my head and stepped in.

The space was cramped. And what annoyed me was the sour breath of men who hadn't slept in days. Ned was sitting at the head of a massive oak table while Robb, Catelyn, and a dozen Northern lords including Umber, Karstark, Bolton were huddled around a map of the Trident.

"The crossing is the problem," Robb said, his finger tapping the parchment. "If we're to surprise Lannister at Riverrun, we have to move now. But the only way over the Green Fork is here. The Twins."

Ned frowned, his eyes fixed on the twin towers marked on the map. "Walder Frey."

Then my mind flashed to images of the Stark camp burning and Catelyn's throat being opened in a hall full of laughing Freys.

A low, guttural growl tore out of my throat.

The sound was tectonic. It shook the heavy iron map-weights on the table and sent half the lords reaching for their sword hilts. The Greatjon scrambled back, nearly knocking over a chair, his face turning a mottled red as he stared at me.

Ned didn't flinch, but his brow furrowed. He turned his head, his eyes searching mine. He saw the way my hackles were raised, the way I was staring at the marks on the map with hatred.

"Red?" Ned asked softly. He reached out, his hand resting firmly on the thick fur of my shoulder. He could feel my anger through his palm. "What is it?"

He looked from me to the map, then back again. He was trying to bridge the gap, trying to understand what the beast was trying to tell him.

I didn't back down. I stepped closer to the table, my shadow falling across the Riverlands, my eyes locked onto Ned's. I needed him to see that the Twins was a trap.

But in the end what choice do I have?



[

For more chapters, access my patreon

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]

 

[Qem1ng]

Current Objective: Change the Fate of the Wolves.]

Click to shrink...

When was Quest a Thing?

 

[John Jones III]

When was Quest a Thing?

Click to shrink...

Since the first chapter I think. It's been a while but the first quest was trying to survive the wild or something like that

 

[Qem1ng]

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.

Click to shrink...

Excuse me what?!?! WHO in their right mind wanna BE a growlithe instead are arcanine?
...bruh repeated Change into growlithe. What a Joke.