GOT: The Arcanine of the North

[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.

 

[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?



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