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?

 

[WonderingWriter]

The Twins stood over the Green Fork like two ugly stone stumps. I watched them from a rise half a mile away. Arya sat beside me in the tall grass, her fingers working through the thick fur behind my ears. Grey Wind lay a few yards off, chewing lazily on a stray branch, but his ears flicked toward the towers.

I didn't share the calm. I stared at the stone bridge connecting the two keeps. I knew what those walls meant. Some destinies felt like they were trying to force their way back into the world, no matter how many changes I made.

The heavy oak gates of the western tower opened. A small riding party emerged. Ned, Robb, and Catelyn. They rode hard back toward our side, and even from this distance, I could read the outcome from their posture. The parley had failed. Ned's face tells me everything I needed to know. Walder Frey had demanded too much, or Ned had simply refused to sell his son into a marriage pact to buy a bridge.

I stood up, shaking off Arya's hand.

"Red?" she asked, looking up in confusion.

I didn't look at her. I started walking down the ridge, my eyes locked on the dark stone of the towers. I wasn't going to let a bitter pervert old man dictate the survival of the North.

......

Night fell black and starless over the river.

Inside the eastern tower, Walder Frey sat on the edge of his featherbed. He was a ruin of a man, his skin like translucent parchment stretched over brittle bones. He was completely naked, his watery, bloodshot eyes fixed on a new, terrified serving girl standing near the hearth.

"Come here, little bird" he wheezed.

Before she could take a step, the stone floor violently lurched.

BOOM.

Walder pitched forward, his bony knees hitting the rug hard.

He scrambled up, his breathing suddenly ragged, and dragged himself to the narrow window overlooking the bridge. He looked down and froze.

A thick black smoke poured from the lower gatehouse. Then, a blinding beam of white-hot fire erupted into the night sky, illuminating the dark river in unnatural daylight. The roar of the flames was immediately followed by the shrieks of burning men.

"My clothes!" Walder shrieked, spinning back into the room. The girl was backed against the wall, paralyzed with fear. "Dress me, you stupid bitch!"

He didn't wait for his heavy furs. He pulled a rough woolen tunic over his head and hobbled out the heavy oak door. The spiral stairs were absolute chaos. His sons and guards were running blindly, swords drawn but with nothing to swing at.

One of his men-at-arms came scrambling up the steps, his face smeared with soot and his armor dented. "My lord! We have to leave! The gate is breached!"

"Which cunt is it?" Walder spat, grabbing the man's collar.

"A beast, M'Lord!"

Walder didn't ask questions. He knew the rumors coming out of the south over the last week. He shoved past the guard, descending as fast as his old legs could carry him toward the water gate beneath the tower.

A small skiff was tied to the iron rings, bobbing in the current. Walder tumbled into it, followed heavily by two guards and his eldest son, Stevron.

"Row!" Walder screamed, his spit flying into the dark. "Get me across the river!"

The guards grabbed the oars, digging them frantically into the black water. The skiff shot away from the damp stone walls, out into the open current.

Walder sat in the bow, clutching his knees to his chest, watching his impregnable fortress burn. The flames reflected in his watery eyes.

Then, a massive shadow detached itself from the top of the burning bridge. It plummeted downward, the silhouette of a monster against the fire that crashed into the river with a heavy splash.

The rowers froze, their oars hovering above the water.

"Don't stop!" Walder shrieked, his voice cracking in pure panic. "Row faster!"

The men pulled, their breath tearing in their throats. The skiff surged forward through the dark.

Suddenly, the boat violently jerked backward, the wood groaning in protest. Frey men was thrown off his bench into the bottom of the hull.

He looked up just in time to see the black water behind the skiff erupt. A massive, steaming head broke the surface. The jaws snapped open lined with teeth the size of small daggers and clamped down entirely over the head of the rear oarsman.

There was a wet, sickening crunch. The man didn't even have time to scream.

The beast ripped backward, dragging the limp, headless body into the dark water. A warm, heavy spray of blood hit Walder straight in the face, blinding him for a second.

The river surged once, washing the red away in the black current, leaving Walder Frey sitting in the dark, shivering and covered in the blood of his own guard, while the beast vanished beneath the waves.

The boat drifted, spinning slowly in the current. Stevron Frey, Walder's eldest son, scrambled for the fallen oar, his face a reflection of his terror. "Help me!" he yelled at the remaining guard. "Get us to the......"

He never finished the sentence.

The water beside the boat rose. A massive, sodden paw slammed onto the gunwale, tilting the skiff nearly to its breaking point. Stevron looked down, staring into an amber eye that looked back at him.

The beast didn't give him a second to pray. It lunged, its jaws locking onto Stevron's shoulder and neck. Frey heard the collarbone snap like a dry twig. It dragged Stevron over the side, the weight of his mail pulling him down as the river grew darker with Frey blood.

…………………

I let the body sink into the silt and I wasn't done.

Walder Frey was alone now. He sat in the bottom of the rocking boat, his breath coming in shallow, pathetic wheezes. He wiped the blood from his eyes with a trembling hand, looking around the empty, dark expanse of the Green Fork. The towers were still burning behind him, sending the omen of death.

He saw the ripples first. A V-shaped wake cutting through the water, heading straight for the skiff.

"I'm a Lord!" Walder screamed at the dark. "I have the King's peace! You... you're that Stark beast!"

I breached the surface slowly, five feet away from the boat. The steam from my fur hissed as it met the cool night air. I didn't growl. I didn't roar. I just watched him. I knew what this man would have done to my family. I knew the "Red Wedding" he had planned in another life.

I swam closer, the front of the boat dipping as I rested my massive head on the edge. Walder backed away, his heels drumming uselessly against the wood until he hit the stern. He looked at me, his mouth hanging open, his watery eyes reflecting the fire from his home.

"Please," he whimpered. "I'll give you whatever you..."

I didn't want his gold or his bridges. I lunged.

My jaws closed over his upper body, crushing the ribs and the bitter heart beneath. I felt life leave him in a single, sharp exhale. I didn't let the river have him. I shook the body once, a violent snap that broke his neck, then let the current carry the ruined remains of the Lord of the Crossing toward the sea.

The river went quiet. I turned back toward the shore, the firelight from the Twins dancing on the water. The destiny of the North had just been unwritten again.

I sank back into the depths, the cold water washing the blood from my mane. Walder Frey was gone. The crossing was open. And I was just getting started.

 

[WonderingWriter]

The smoke from the Twins rose in columns; even after night turned day. The smell of charred stone and burnt bodies drifted miles.

Ned pulled his horse to a halt on the ridge. Behind him, Robb, Catelyn, and a dozen Northern lords slowed their pace, the thud of hooves replaced by a stunned silence.

The Greatjon let out a breath that was almost a whistle. "The gates... they're just gone."

Ned didn't speak. He stared at the blackened gap where the western gatehouse had stood. He had left that parley only hours ago, insulted by a bitter old man who had demanded his son's future in exchange for a bridge. Now, the bridge was open, and the old man was nowhere.

Ned's hand tightened on his reins. He had heard the frantic reports from the few Frey survivors who had stumbled toward their camp, the stories of a beast that breathed fire, a beast that had fallen from the sky and turned the castle into a hell.

He knew who had done this. He thought of the sweet hound that had sat at his feet in the Winterfell, the sweet hound that had carried him and Arya across the Riverlands with a tenderness that didn't belong to a beast.

If he could do this to the Twins... Ned thought. If he had wanted to, he could have turned King's Landing into hell. He could have burned the Red Keep.

The realization was jagged and uncomfortable. He had fed this beast. He had treated a dragon like a loyal hound.

"What kind of monster have I let into my house?" Ned whispered to the wind.

He closed his eyes, unable to look at the ruins of the crossing any longer. The path to Riverrun was open, but the cost felt heavier than any toll Walder Frey could have asked for.

...

I lay in the shadows of a great oak, my head on my paws, the taste of Frey blood finally fading from my mouth.

The sound of a boot snapping a dry twig made my ears swivel.

I raised my head. Ned was walking through the trees alone. He wasn't carrying Ice since it is lost in Red Keep, but he had a standard longsword gripped in his right hand. The sheath was gone.

He stopped ten feet away. The orange light of the fire danced in his eyes, but it didn't hide the deep, hollow sadness there. He didn't look like a Lord coming to thank a savior. He looked like a man coming to put down an oath breaker.

I stood up slowly, my six-foot frame unfolding from the shadows. I saw his eyes flicker to the dark stains on my mane, the dried blood I hadn't been able to wash away in the river.

I took a step back.

My [Detection] picked up more heartbeats in the brush behind him. Archers. Ned hadn't come alone. He was a man of the Old Gods, a man of laws, and I had just committed a massacre that violated everything he believed in. To him, I was no longer family. I was a bloody beast that had taken innocent lives.

In his mind, I was a danger to the very North I was trying to save.

I looked at Ned, and for a second, our eyes locked. I saw the hesitation in his grip, the way his shoulders slumped as he was prepared to give.

I didn't give him the chance to be a murderer.

I didn't growl. I didn't snarl. I simply pivoted.

[Extreme Speed]

The world became a blur of grey and green. The shockwave of my departure kicked up a cloud of dead leaves and dirt, the sound of my paws hitting the earth like a succession of thunderclaps. I was a mile away before the archers could even draw their strings.

Ned stood in the clearing, the wind of my passing still ruffling his hair. He lowered the sword, the steel looking dull and useless in the moonlight. He let out a long, shuddering sigh that seemed to drain the last of his strength.

"I always knew I couldn't fool you," Ned murmured to the empty woods.

He looked at the spot where I had been standing, then turned back toward the camp. The beast was not gone forever.

[

For more chapters, access my patreon

Link: https://patreon.com/WonderingWriter

]