walked into the deep woods until the noise of the camp faded completely. Finding a dry hollow beneath a massive pine, I laid down. A soft rumble rattled through my chest as I closed my eyes, letting the exhaustion sink in.
A chime echoed in my head.
[Level 40 Reached. Major Milestone Achieved.]
[New Skill Unlocked: Empathic Link. Allows the host to project emotions, memories, or specific visual imagery into the minds of targeted individuals.]
My head snapped up. My ears pricked forward, catching the silent night air, and my tail gave a hard, involuntary thump against the dirt. Another thump followed. For a year, I had been trapped behind barks and growls, unable to warn them about the future. Now, I had a way to show them the truth.
I looked toward the distant orange glow of the camp. Ned needed to understand why I burned the Twins. So I focused my mind, picturing the Lord of Winterfell, and activated the link.
...
While in the camp, Ned twisted in his fur blanket. The air in his tent felt suffocating.
He was standing on the steps of the Great Sept of Baelor. Ilyn Payne stood beside him, lifting the heavy, blood-stained steel of Ice. Ned looked at the crowd, searching for his daughter. He saw Arya clinging to the statue of Baelor. He saw the blade come down.
He felt the cold dark.
Then the dark shifted. He saw Robb, older and harder, sitting at a table in the Twins. A song started playing, The Rains of Castamere. Crossbow bolts tore through Robb's chest. Catelyn screamed as her throat opened by a Frey blade. His family, butchered under the roof of Walder Frey.
Ned thrashed in the bed, sweat pouring down his face.
The blood washed away, replaced by a wall of solid ice towering into the sky. At the base of the frozen cliff, a single winter rose bloomed, its petals a vibrant blue.
Promise me, Ned.
Lyanna's face flashed before him, pale and bleeding in the bed of blood.
Ned bolted upright, gasping for air. His sudden movement jolted Catelyn awake.
"Ned?" she asked, her voice thick with sleep and sudden worry. She reached out, touching his drenched tunic. "What is it?"
He took a deep, shuddering breath, trying to slow his racing heart. The images were too vivid. They felt like memories of a life he had barely escaped. The bloody slaughter at the Twins, the wall, Lyanna. He rubbed his face with trembling hands, his mind scrambling to make sense of the horrors.
"Just a dream, Cat," Ned rasped, though his voice lacked any conviction. "A nightmare."
Catelyn shifted closer, wrapping her arms around his broad shoulders. She pressed her face against his back, murmuring quiet words of comfort. Ned stared into the dark of the tent, listening to the wind outside. He had no idea I was the one who sent the vision. To a man of the North, such vivid terrors could only be a warning from the Old Gods. A reminder of the cost of failure.
The next morning, the fog was thick over the Whispering Wood. I stayed on the ridge overlooking the camp, keeping my distance from the scout.
Around midday, a black speck shot up from the Maester's tent, climbing high above the canopy before catching the wind south toward King's Landing. A raven.
I watched it disappear into the grey sky. Ned's resolve had been affected. The dream had done its work. He wasn't playing the honorable fool anymore, waiting for Cersei to see reason. The message was likely an ultimatum: trade Sansa, or the North marches on the capital. He was finally fighting the war that was in front of him.
A soft rustle of leaves caught my attention.
I didn't turn my head. My scent tracking had already picked her up. A shadow approached from the brush behind me and stepped into the clearing.
Nymeria.
She didn't head down into the camp to find Arya. For some reason, she chose to stay by my side. She padded softly over the pine needles and dropped down heavily beside my front paws.
I looked at the direwolf. She was growing fast, her grey coat thick and healthy despite the long journey from the capital. I felt gratitude toward Jory. He had let both Nymeria and Lady loose in the chaotic streets of King's Landing before the Lannister gold cloaks could slaughter the Stark household. Somehow, the Nymeria had found her way out of the city and tracked Arya. Jory's act had kept a piece of the Starks' soul alive.
Nymeria rested her chin on her paws, letting out a long, contented breath. She lay close to me, her yellow eyes fixed on the horizon, watching the open sky as the Northern host prepared for the long march ahead.