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?"

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[Tsureai]

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