The drawbridge of Riverrun lowered with the grinding groan of rusted iron chains. I watched from a limestone outcropping a quarter-mile away, the morning wind pulling the thick smoke of the ruined Lannister siege engines across the Tumblestone river.
Nymeria sat on her haunches beside me, her yellow eyes tracking the movement below.
Edmure Tully led the Riverlands cavalry out of the castle gates. He looked exactly how I remembered from the show, proud, eager, and currently deeply confused. Beside him rode a much older, harder man in scale armor, Brynden Tully, the Blackfish. They spurred their horses through the charred, bloody remnants of the Lannister camps, taking in the splintered trebuchets, the collapsed tents, and the sheer scale of the rout.
Ned rode forward to meet them, flanked by Robb and the Greatjon.
From the ridge, I couldn't hear the words, but I could read the situation. Edmure pushed his horse forward, opening his arms in a relieved greeting to his good-brother. Ned didn't dismount. He sat stiffly in the saddle, his mud-spattered cloak hanging heavy over his shoulders. He gave a curt, hard nod, pointing his gauntlet back toward the captured Lannister officers kneeling in the mud under Northern guard. There were no smiles or warm embraces.
The Blackfish noticed the change immediately. The old knight pulled his horse up short, his eyes narrowing as he looked past the Stark banners. He scanned the tree line, tracing the path of the scorched earth until his gaze locked onto my position on the ridge.
Even from hundreds of yards away, a six-foot beast with charred cream fur and glowing amber eyes stood out against the grey Riverlands morning.
I didn't move into the shadows. Rather I wanted the Riverlords to know that the North hadn't just brought an army of men; they had brought a monster as well.
By midday, the Northern host had fully integrated with the Tully forces. The wounded were moved into Riverrun's keeps, and the banners of the direwolf and the leaping trout hung side by side over the battlements. The Lannister prisoners, including a feverish, one-handed Jaime Lannister, were dragged down into the dark, damp dungeons beneath the castle.
While I found a quiet, shaded spot of an ancient dense grove just outside the castle's western approach. Nymeria curled up at the base of a massive tree near me. She was growing accustomed to the ambient heat I radiated, treating me more like a massive, living hearth. She rested her chin on her paws and closed her eyes.
An hour later, footsteps crunched heavily on the fallen leaves.
Ned walked into the grove alone. He had finally stripped off his plate armor, wearing a simple boiled leather tunic and a dark grey wool cloak. The deep bags under his eyes were still there, the lingering toll of the vision I had forced into his mind, but his demeanor was entirely different. The honorable victim in a den of snakes was gone.
He stopped a few paces away. Nymeria lifted her head, acknowledged him with a lazy twitch of her ears, and went back to sleep.
"Edmure wanted to throw a feast," Ned said. His voice was flat, his eyes staring past me into the dark of the woods. "To celebrate the breaking of the siege and our reunion. I told him to double the watch, execute any Lannister scouts they catch, and begin rationing the grain."
He looked down at his scarred hands.
"Tywin Lannister is still in the field," Ned continued. "He is marching toward Harrenhal. Once he gets word that the siege is broken and his golden son is rotting in my dungeon missing a hand... he will not sue for peace. He will unleash mad men. He will try to burn the Riverlands to ash out of pure spite."
I gave a low, rumbling exhale. It was exactly what Tywin would do. The transmigrator knowledge in my head aligned perfectly with Ned's tactical assessment.
Ned looked at me. He noticed the dried scar under my eye from Jaime's dirk, now scabbing over.
He stepped closer, his boots sinking into the soft moss.
Ned become hesitant but still said his intention. "I sent another raven to King's Landing this morning. Cersei has three days to agree to the exchange. Sansa's safe return to the North, for the Kingslayer's miserable life."
Ned paused. He remembered the blood on the floor of the Twins. He remembered the crossbow bolts in Robb's chest from the vision I showed him. The ghost of that nightmare hardened the lines of his face.
"If she refuses," Ned whispered, the words carrying a cold, lethal promise. "Or if she sends terms I do not like... I will march this host to Harrenhal. And I will not ask you to hold back."
I held his gaze. I didn't need to use the [Empathic Link] for this. I simply dipped my massive head in a single, deliberate nod.
Ned let out a long, slow breath. He didn't reach out to pet my mane. He didn't treat me like a hound that needed praise. Rather he just turned and walked back toward the towering stone walls of Riverrun, leaving me to the quiet of the grove.
The board was set. The Northern army was whole, the Riverlands were secure, and the Lannisters were bleeding. I rested my head on my front paws, closing my eyes to sleep.
Let the lions come.