GOT: The Arcanine of the North

[Zetakille]

No one will ever believe her

Click to shrink...

Until a second incident happens....at which point it becomes a local legend.

 

[TheLastDreamer]

The morning sun broke through the dense canopy of Gods Eye as I opened my eyes, letting out a low breath that rustled the ferns. The adrenaline from the assault on Harrenhal was completely gone, leaving behind a heavy, aching exhaustion. The graze along my ribs from the scorpion bolt still stung.

It was time to see exactly what Harrenhal's night assault had earned me.

I focused my mind, pulling up the pale blue interface of the System. The notifications cascaded instantly.

[Combat Report: Siege of Harrenhal]

[Targets Eliminated: Ser Amory Lorch (Commander), Kevan Lannister (Lord), 400+ Vanguard Infantry, 6 Siege Engines.]

[Massive XP Awarded.]

[Level Up!]

[Level Up!]

[New Skill Unlocked: Morning Sun]

Description: The user absorbs ambient sunlight to rapidly restore HP and mend physical injury. Effectiveness increases depending on the intensity of the sun.

I blinked at the glowing text. A healing skill. The System was really preparing me for the future.

I pushed myself up into a seated position, wincing slightly as the torn muscle stretched, and looked up at the patches of clear blue sky visible through the leaves. I triggered [Morning Sun].

The effect was deeply soothing. The golden rays of sunlight filtering through the trees seemed to physically bend toward me, pooling onto my coat. A warm, glowing aura enveloped my frame. I felt the jagged, bleeding tear along my ribs stop stinging. The damaged flesh knit itself together, the scab flaking away into ash, leaving behind fresh, unblemished skin that quickly vanished beneath a new layer of fur.

The pain evaporated. My stamina reserves refilled, replacing the heavy exhaustion with fresh energy.

I stood up, shaking out my mane, my heavy claws digging into the soft earth. The Riverlands were behind me. It was time to return to my pack.

By midday, I had left the winding trails of the woods and found Kingsroad.

I decided not to use [Extreme Speed], as a steady, loping run from a beast my size was enough to cover ground at a terrifying pace. The muddy tracks of Robb's two hundred lances and the deep ruts of the Stark wheelhouse were stamped clearly into the dirt, leading straight North.

The road mostly empty, cleared by the rumors of war. But not entirely.

Somewhere near the northern borders of the Riverlands, an exhausted hedge knight was plodding along the road. He looked to be half-asleep in the saddle, his rusted chainmail clinking dully, his tired, swaybacked horse moving at a miserable crawl. The poor man was nodding off, a half-eaten apple loosely held in one hand, completely unaware of the beast rapidly closing the distance behind him.

I shifted slightly to the left to give him room, keeping my pace.

I blew past him as a silent blur.

But the sudden, violent gust of wind ripped the apple from his hand, blew his tattered cloak directly over his face, and sent his horse spinning in a panicked circle.

"Fuck!" the knight shrieked, blindly flailing his arms as he tumbled backward out of the saddle and splashed heavily into a roadside puddle.

By the time he managed to pull his cloak off his face and draw his rusted sword, staring wildly up and down the empty road, I was already a mile away, nothing but a cloud of settling dust on the horizon.

...

The air grew noticeably colder as the sun dipped below the horizon. The landscape shifted, the rolling fields giving way to the gloomy, dense bogs of the Neck.

Ahead, the flickering orange glow of campfires dotted the dark.

Robb's vanguard had set up camp for the night. Men were posted at the perimeter, their spears resting lazily in the cold air, completely unaware of the shadows shifting in the trees just beyond their torchlight.

I stepped onto the damp moss, letting the wind carry the smell of me straight into the camp.

Before the human guards even noticed the change in the wind, the direwolves reacted.

Near the center of the camp, where the royal wheelhouse was parked, Grey Wind stood up. His ears perked sharply forward, his golden eyes locking onto the dark treeline. A second later, Nymeria scrambled to her paws, letting out an excited, high-pitched whine, pulling hard against her tether. Even Lady, usually the quietest of the pack, let out a joyful, yipping bark, her tail wagging furiously.

The sudden, frantic commotion from the massive wolves alerted the camp.

"To arms!" a guard shouted, his voice cracking with tension. "Movement in the trees!"

Steel rasped against leather as a dozen men drew their swords, forming a hasty barricade between the treeline and the wheelhouse.

The flap of the command tent was thrown open. Robb Stark emerged, his face looking tired, his hand resting tightly on the pommel of his sword. Catelyn appeared behind him, clutching a heavy fur cloak around her shoulders, her eyes wide with fear that the Lannisters had somehow caught them.

"What is it?" Robb demanded, stepping past the guards, peering into the pitch-black woods. "Outriders? Bandits?"

Grey Wind the massive direwolf let out a happy huff and strained forward, trying to pull his stake out of the mud to run toward the darkness.

"Hold your fire," Robb ordered, his brow furrowing as he noticed his wolf's behavior.

I stepped out from the shadows of the Neck and into the flickering light of their campfires.

The flames caught the thick, cream-colored fur of my mane, reflecting off my glowing amber eyes. I stood at my full six-foot height looking down at the circle of stunned Northern guards.

Robb's hand slowly slipped off the pommel of his sword. His jaw parted in disbelief. He had left me in Riverrun. He thought his father had kept me to fight the war in the South.

"Red?" Robb breathed.

I let out a low, warm rumble from my chest and walked casually past the frozen men. Grey Wind and Nymeria softly tackled me, burying their snouts into my fur, welcoming the alpha back to the pack.

I looked over the wolves heads, locking eyes with Catelyn and Robb. The surprise in their eyes visible. The War in the South was behind me. Hopefully I am exactly where I am needed.

 

[TheLastDreamer]

The Kingsroad eventually gave way to the hard-packed earth and familiar grey walls of Winterfell.

Word of the returning vanguard had reached the castle ahead of our arrival. As the column passed through the winding, muddy streets of the winter town, a massive crowd of smallfolk had gathered to welcome the Young Wolf and the Lady of Winterfell home. But the cheers died in their throats before they even began.

A terrified silence fell over the town.

Robb Stark rode near the front, tall and proud in his armor, but the eyes of the North were not on him. They were fixed entirely on the vanguard. I walked at the very head of the procession, my massive, six-foot frame moving with grace. Every step I took radiated a wave of heat into the freezing Northern air. Women pulled their children behind their skirts as men stepped closer to their family. Their eyes wide with absolute awe and fear, to them, I was a creature pulled straight from stories old.

Inside the wooden wheelhouse rolling behind me, Arya Stark pressed her face against the small, slatted window. She watched the awestruck, terrified faces of the commoners, a fierce, incredibly proud smile spreading across her face.

The heavy iron portcullis of Winterfell's main gate groaned upward, and the drawbridge was lowered.

The courtyard was lined with guardsmen, stablehands, and household staff. As I stepped through the arched gateway, the tension in the yard spiked. Hardened Northern spearmen gripped their weapons tightly, taking involuntary half-steps to give me a wide berth.

Standing near the armory was Theon Greyjoy. The ironborn ward stood with his hands resting on his belt, wearing his usual arrogant smirk, fully intending to greet Robb with some swaggering remark.

I stopped. I turned my heavy head and locked my glowing amber eyes directly onto his.

Theon's smirk vanished instantly. For two agonizing seconds, he tried to hold the gaze, his pride fighting his survival instincts. But he was only a kraken. Theon swallowed hard, his Adam's apple bobbing in his throat. He broke the stare, dropping his gaze entirely to the muddy cobblestones, his hands falling nervously to his sides.

I dismissed him and turned my attention to the center of the courtyard.

Waiting near the steps of the Great Keep was Bran Stark. The boy sat in a specially crafted wooden chair, a thick blanket laid across his useless legs. Standing right beside him was little Rickon, and behind them both stood Maester Luwin, his grey robes sweeping the stones, his chain of many metals clinking softly in the cold wind.

As I approached, Rickon let out a frightened squeak and scrambled backward, hiding behind the maester's robes.

Maester Luwin did not run. His hands trembled slightly, but the man of science held his ground. His wide eyes scanned the sheer impossibility of my size. He had heard the rumors from the Citadel and knew that the impossible beast standing before him was Red.

I lowered my massive head, bringing myself down to Bran's eye level. The boy didn't flinch. His eyes were wide with wonder. I closed the distance and gently nudged his shoulder with my nose.

Bran let out a breath he had been holding, a small, tentative smile breaking across his face. He reached out with his hand, sinking his fingers into my mane.

From the crypts and the kennels, two streaks of shadow bolted into the courtyard. Summer and Shaggydog bounded forward. They didn't dare bark or challenge me. They fell into step alongside Grey Wind, Nymeria, and Lady, forming a complete circle of direwolves around Bran's chair and my frame.

I lifted my head and looked directly at Maester Luwin. I let out a low, vibrating rumble that rattled the chain around his neck before I looked back down at Bran for a lingering moment, making sure the boy was okay.

Then, I felt it.

A prickling sensation at the back of my mind. A watcher.

I slowly lifted my head, my ears swiveling toward the high stone towers and the sprawling branches of the Godswood leaning over the inner walls. A murder of black ravens sat unnaturally still along the branches. Their eyes completely black, all of them staring directly at me with a singular, unified intelligence.

I narrowed my glowing amber eyes. I didn't just look back. I reached into the invisible threads of the world, found the tether connecting those birds to their master, and violently yanked it.

Far beyond the Wall, deep beneath the frozen earth in a cave tangled with the weirwood roots, Brynden Rivers gasped.

The Three-Eyed Raven, the greatest greenseer in the world, was ripped from his thousand and one eyes. The darkness of his cave dissolved. He was no longer watching the courtyard of Winterfell. He was pulled into a void of pure, blinding heat, a mental landscape he did not create and could not control.

He found himself standing, not as the withered corpse tangled in tree roots, but as his old self: a pale, one-eyed man with a wine-stain birthmark, wrapped in the black cloak of the Night's Watch.

The air around him was suffocatingly hot. The ground trembled.

Slowly, Bloodraven looked up.

Looming over him in the darkness was a monstrous entity. It was the beast from Winterfell, but here, in the projection of the mind, its true spiritual weight was unchained. Its fur glowed like liquid fire, its mane flared aggressively around its neck, and its massive teeth were bared in a terrifying rumble that shook the very foundation of the vision. Its amber eyes bored into Bloodraven's soul, pinning the seer in place like an insect.

For the first time in a century, the Three-Eyed Raven felt fear.

Bloodraven whispered, his singular red eye wide with absolute disbelief as he stared up at the living sun. "What are you?"

 

[Tsureai]

Take that you voyeuristic tree man! I kind of want to see an interlude of the aftermath of his raid

 

[ATP]

Good.Strong MC changed story - Ned still live,and Kevan died arleady.Now,how made Lords accept wildlings before Others come?

 

[TheLastDreamer]

I did not offer the three eyed raven a single word in return.

Words were the tools of men, used to bargain, lie, and beg. I'm different now. Let us see if the Bloodraven is able to survive my answer.

I opened my jaws, the inferno in my chest blazing as a flaring white-hot glow, and unleashed a deafening roar.

The sound tore through the mental projection with force. The void the Three-Eyed Raven stood in cracked and shattered like thin ice under a heavy boot. The vision violently collapsed into nothingness.

Back in the muddy courtyard of Winterfell, the unnatural silence broke. The murder of black ravens perched along the high towers erupted into panic. They took flight in a chaotic flurry of dark feathers, their unified intelligence broken, cawing in blind terror as they fled into the grey Northern sky.

I blinked, the oppressive cold of the real world settling back over my fur. I lowered my gaze, back at Bran Stark.

The boy was staring up at me, his breath hitching. The sheer proximity to the spiritual shockwave had done something to him. He blinked rapidly, raising a trembling hand to his temple. The heavy, suffocating fog of his fall and the chaotic, confusing dreams that plagued his sleep seemed to recede, leaving behind a clarity in his eyes. He didn't fully understand it yet, but the dormant magic in his blood had finally awakened.

Footsteps splashed through the mud behind me. Catelyn Stark, followed closely by Sansa and Arya, pushed through the ring of stunned spearmen, rushing toward Bran's chair.

The courtyard was quickly filling with the overwhelming noise of human emotion, weeping, shouting, and frantic questions.

I had no interest in the noise. I let out a low huff, turning away from the gathering crowd. The Northern guards parted silently, pressing their backs against the stone walls to let me pass. I walked straight through the fortress, following the scent of the weir wood, until I passed beneath the heavy ironwood gates of the Godswood.

The silence of the forest swallowed the sounds of the castle. I padded over the mossy ground, finding the towering, bone-white trunk of the heart tree. The carved face wept red sap, staring blindly into the hot springs. I circled twice among the dark red leaves scattered over the roots, laid my head on my paws, and closed my eyes.

...

For the next few days, I did not leave the Godswood. I remained entirely unseen by the castle.

But there was a lot to do and little time for rest.

On the morning of the third day, the courtyard was once again filled with the sounds of marching men. Robb Stark sat atop his warhorse, dressed in heavy furs and boiled leather, his longsword strapped to his hip. The two hundred seasoned Northern lances formed up behind him, their breath pluming in the freezing air. They were riding for the Wall.

As Robb raised his hand to give the order to march, I emerged from the shadows of the archway.

A hush fell over the column. I walked at a slow pace, my heavy paws silent against the stone. I passed the nervous warhorses and stopped directly beside Robb. I looked up at the young lord, then turned my head, fixing my eyes squarely on the open gates leading North.

Without waiting for his command, I started walking, taking the lead of the procession.

Once we cleared the winter town and entered the dense wood of the Wolfswood, I left the hard-packed dirt of the Kingsroad entirely. I took the cover of the trees, walking parallel to the marching column through the dark shade.

I was not alone in the bushes. Grey Wind trotted faithfully just a few paces behind me, his golden eyes watching my every movement, content to shadow the true alpha of the pack.

Back on the road, the rhythmic clopping of hooves carried through the cold air.

"I don't understand why you let it roam free," Theon Greyjoy's voice drifted over from the column. He was riding stirrup-to-stirrup with Robb, his face pinched with lingering unease. "It's been missing since we left the castle. Where is that beast of yours, anyway? Probably ran off to..."

Before Theon finished the sentence I stepped out from behind a massive oak directly on his left. I kept out of his sight keeping my steps silent, but the sudden, intense wave of heat radiating from my body washed over him instantly.

Theon gasped, violently flinching to the right. His horse whinnied in sudden panic, dancing sideways on the road and nearly throwing the ironborn from the saddle.

I kept my gaze and pace forwards, brushing past his panicked horse, and seamlessly melted back into the treeline ahead.

Behind me, Robb let out a short, sharp laugh, while Theon cursed under his breath, his face flushing red as he fought to steady his reins.

By nightfall, the Vanguard made camp in a wide clearing bordered by thick, dark timber.

Fires were built, and the smell of roasting salted pork filled the air. I sat on my haunches near the largest fire, right beside the log where Robb was viewing a worn leather map. The heat of the flames was nothing compared to my coat, but the soft light was comfortable.

The camp was quiet, save for the low murmurs of tired men and the crackle of burning wood.

My ears suddenly twitched. They swiveled forward, locking onto the pitch-black void of the northern treeline.

I stopped breathing for a fraction of a second, letting my senses expand. Deep in the darkness, beyond the reach of the torchlight, eyes were reflecting the faint glow of the camp. Ten. Twenty. An entire pack of massive, wild timber wolves had gathered in the brush. They were drawn by the smell of the horses, the meat, and perhaps the scent of Grey Wind. They were watching, waiting to see if the two-legged creatures were weak.

I pushed myself up from the moss.

Robb looked up from his map, noticing the sudden shift in my posture. "Red?"

I ignored him. I stepped away from the fire, walking to the very edge of the light. I planted my heavy paws into the frozen earth, my chest expanding as I drew in a massive breath of freezing air.

I let out a deafening, ferocious roar.

The sound ripped through the quiet night, vibrating through the ground and rattling the snow straight off the branches of the pines. It was an assertion of dominance, a warning that an apex predator had already claimed this territory.

In the woods, the glowing eyes vanished instantly. The wild pack scattered in absolute terror, their panicked yelps fading quickly into the deep forest.

Behind me, the camp erupted into chaos.

"Wolves!" a captain shouted. Men scrambled over logs, kicking over their bowls of stew as they drew their swords in a blind panic, frantically searching the darkness for an ambush. Robb was on his feet in a second, his sword in hand, his eyes wide.

I let out a soft snort, a wisp of smoke curling from my nostrils.

With the threat thoroughly chased away, I turned around, completely ignoring the two hundred cautious men standing with their weapons drawn. I walked back to my spot near the fire, circled twice to mat down the grass, and lazily laid my head on my paws to go to sleep.


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[MorbiIIionaire]

Great story so far! Cant wait for more!

 

[deadreeper]

Good.Strong MC changed story - Ned still live,and Kevan died arleady.Now,how made Lords accept wildlings before Others come?

Click to shrink...

When did he stop being a normal dog that looks like a pokmon as like others say he feels super weak up to Ch 24?

 

[jaggedfalcon49]

Zani treating the festival as prestige spending instead of profit is a nice touch too.