The lower courtyard was now filled with mud, restless warhorses, and shouting men. Baggage wagons were being loaded with ration and goods, their wooden wheels sinking deep into the Riverlands muck. The two hundred lances Robb had been given were mounted and forming ranks outside for the procession.
I lay on my belly in the far corner of the courtyard quietly watching the preparations.
"Where is she?"
Catelyn's voice shown her frustration and anxiety. She swept through the chaos, her heavy riding cloak dragging through the mud, two Tully guards trailing uselessly behind her. "We are to march before the sun! Find her!"
They were looking for Arya. The fierce little wolf had vanished the moment the saddles were brought out, absolutely refusing to be sent away from her father's side.
I rested my chin on my paws and let my ears flick back. I didn't need to look. I let my senses stretch across the courtyard. Beneath the heavy stench of wet horsehair, men and damp earth, I caught the distinct scent belonging to her.
I rose slowly, my joints popping, and padded past a group of nervous spearmen. I walked toward a stack of wooden supply crates piled near the armory, destined for the baggage train. I stopped in front of the largest one, dipped my massive head, and nudged the heavy wooden lid off with my snout.
Arya sat curled in the bottom, her knees pulled to her chest, her dark hair plastered to her forehead. She glared up at me, pressing a finger to her lips a furious command to keep quiet.
I kept quiet. I reached down, my massive jaws opening wide, and carefully caught the thick leather collar of her tunic between my teeth.
"Hey! Put me down! Stop!" Arya yelled, thrashing wildly as I hoisted her straight out of the crate. I lifted my head, leaving her dangling three feet off the ground like an unruly pup, completely ignoring her kicks as she swung in the air.
"Arya!" Catelyn rushed over, her face showed relief warring with strict maternal fury.
I lowered my head, depositing the scowling girl gently onto the muddy ground at her mother's feet.
"Gods give me strength," Catelyn scolded, grabbing her daughter by the arm before she could bolt again. "You will ride in the wheelhouse with your sister, or I will have the Greatjon tie you to a saddle. Am I understood?"
Arya kicked at the mud but finally slumped in defeat. "Yes, Mother."
Catelyn gave me a brief, tired nod of gratitude before dragging the girl toward the waiting convoy.
The heavy iron portcullis groaned upward. The wooden drawbridge slammed down against the stone abutments. I sat in the mud and watched them leave. Grey Wind, Nymeria, and Lady fell into step beside the wheelhouse. The direwolves paused at the edge of the drawbridge, looking back at me, but I did not follow.
I watched the Stark banners disappear into the morning mist. When the courtyard finally emptied, I saw Ned Stark standing alone on the stone steps of the keep. He watched the horizon for a long time before he finally turned his back and disappeared into the dim corridors of his chambers.
I laid my head back down on my paws, and closed my eyes.
That night, a light, freezing rain began to fall over Riverrun as I remained outside, the rain hissing and turning to steam the moment it touched my coat.
The castle was asleep.
I reached inward, finding invisible thread of the [Empathic Link] that connected me to Ned. Ned did not know I possessed this ability. To him, the horrors of the mind were the domain of the Old Gods.
I pushed emotions into his mind.
The absolute, suffocating terror of The Long Night and I funneled it directly into his sleeping mind.
I gave him the vision of the future, showed him a blinding expanse of dead, frozen wasteland beyond the Wall. I pushed the sensation of a cold so absolute it burned the lungs and cracked the stone. And then, I showed him the march. Thousands of ragged, rotting corpses walking through the blizzard in total, unnatural silence. Upon a high ridge of ice, overlooking the army of the dead, sat a pale rider. He had skin like brittle frost, eyes like burning blue stars, and he sat astride a massive, rotting dead horse.
In his chambers, Ned Stark gasped. He shot up in his bed, his heart pounding wildly, a cold sweat chilling his skin despite the heavy furs.
He didn't stay in his room. He needed air.
...
A short while later, the heavy doors of the keep opened. Ned walked out into the courtyard, a thick wolfskin cloak thrown over his sleeping tunic. The freezing rain plastered his hair to his face, but he didn't seem to notice.
He walked slowly across the wet stones, heading straight for the massive cloud of steam rising from my resting body in the corner of the yard. I kept my eyes closed, pretending to sleep, until he stopped beside me.
With a heavy, exhausted sigh, Ned sank to the ground. He leaned his back completely against my warm shoulder, staring blankly out at the rain.
"I saw them," Ned whispered, his voice trembling in the dark.
I opened one glowing amber eye, turning my massive head slightly to look down at him.
"The dead," he murmured, rubbing a scarred hand over his face. "Marching on the Wall. A rider made of ice... It was no ordinary dream. The Old Gods are giving a warning."
He sat in silence for a long time, letting the heat of my body ward off the freezing rain.
"I sent my boy into the dark today," Ned said softly, the weight of the decision crushing him. "I sent him to face a horror he cannot comprehend, while I stay here to fight over dirt and pride. I pray I was right to send him."
Ned turned his head, looking up into my glowing eyes. He reached out, his hand burying deep into the fur of my mane.
"Sometimes," Ned breathed, "I wonder if you understand me better than anyone in this world."
He held my gaze, his grey eyes pleading.
"I cannot leave my post here. Not while the Lannisters hold the Riverlands. But Robb... he is only a boy. I wonder... I wonder if you could help me. By accompanying Robb to the Wall. Protect my son, where I cannot."
I looked at him. The man who had taken me in. The man willing to shoulder the war of the South so his son could save the North.
I stood up.
Ned fell back slightly as I shifted my massive weight, looking up at me with a weary, hopeful expression. I let out a low, rumbling breath, nudging his shoulder gently with my snout.
But I was troubled.
If I went North now, Ned would be left entirely vulnerable to the old lion locked in Harrenhal. Tywin was a ruthless pragmatist. If Ned was outmaneuvered, the Stark family would shatter. I could not begin the System's progression while an immediate, lethal threat hung over the man who had given me shelter.
The System demanded I face the Long Night. But my pride demanded I clear the board first.
I turned away from Ned. I didn't look North toward the Kingsroad. I turned my heavy head East.
Within the hour, I had vanished from Riverrun.
The rain had stopped by the time the monstrous, melted silhouette of Harrenhal rose against the night sky.
It was a fortress built by a tyrant and broken by a dragon. Its five massive towers thrust upward like the scorched fingers of a charred hand. The Lannister banners hung limp from the battlements, and the glow of a thousand campfires illuminated the grounds where Tywin's army had turtled behind the impregnable stone.
I stood at the edge of the treeline, hidden in the pitch-black shadows, my amber eyes fixed on the massive iron gates.
They thought they were safe behind stone that had already burned. They thought a beast could not breach the greatest fortress in Westeros.
A deep, vibrating growl began in my chest, heating the air around me until the damp grass beneath my paws began to smoke. I didn't need a siege engine. I didn't need an army.
The heat flared, flooding my muscles with pure, energy.
I lunged forward into the dark, and triggered [Extreme Speed].
[
For more chapters, access my patreon
Link: https://patreon.com/WonderingWriter
]