GOT: The Arcanine of the North

Day after day, ravens fluttered down from the grey sky.

I lay in the center of the lower courtyard, watching the ravens circle the high towers of Riverrun before disappearing into the rookery. Men rushed back and forth across the floor, carrying sealed parchments with whispers of the lion's movements, of the Crown's outrage in King's Landing.

I cared little for what those messages held.

The pale blue text of the system was far too important to ignore: The Long Night. The squabbles of lions and wolves over mud and iron chairs meant nothing against the death and cold rising in the north. I was content to wait, hoarding the heat in my chest, ignoring the frantic political maneuvering of the humans.

I had also tried to ignore the human currently climbing my back.

"Stand up", Arya grunted, her boots slipping against my thick coat as she hauled herself up my side. Her small hands twisted into my mane, pulling with stubborn strength. I didn't move an inch. I simply let out a long, slow puff of hot air from my nostrils, melting a puddle of frost on the stones, and rested my chin heavier on my paws.

"Arya." Her mother's sharp voice cut across the courtyard. Catelyn marched through the damp morning air, her heavy blue cloak pulled tight against the chill. She looked upon the six-foot predator with a solemn face.

"He is no draft horse for your amusement," Catelyn reprimanded gently, coming to a halt before us. "Come down."

Arya scowled, her grip tightening in my fur. "I've ridden him before."

"He carried you for a reason then," Catelyn corrected, her tone leaving no room for the child's argument. "It is not the same thing. Show him the respect he is due. Down. Now."

With a heavy sigh, Arya swung her leg over my back and slid down, landing with a soft thud on the floor. She crossed her arms, kicking at a loose pebble.

"There is naught to do here but wait in the mud."

"Then go to your chambers and wash the mud from your hands," Catelyn said smoothly. "And pack your things."

Arya blinked, her frustration faltering. "Why?"

A faint, fiercely proud smile touched Catelyn's face, washing away months of exhausted grief. "Because we are going home. Your father will not have you or your sister lingering in a war camp.

My ears snapped forward, swiveling sharply toward Catelyn.

Winterfell?, I thought.

"I'm not going," Arya answered.

"It's decided," Catelyn replied. "Your father has ordered a heavy escort to take us North. Now go."

As Arya sprinted off toward the keep, Catelyn did not immediately follow. She stepped closer to me, the damp hem of her gown dragging across the flagstones. She stopped beside my massive head and slowly reached out, her bare hand sinking deep into the thick, coarse fur of my shoulder. It was a firm, grounding grip of a mother embracing her own.

"You brought my family back to me," Catelyn whispered, her voice trembling slightly as she looked directly into my glowing amber eyes. "You are Stark now. Always."

She let her hand linger for a moment, allowing the heat of my coat to warm her pale skin in the damp Riverlands air, before she turned and followed her daughter into the keep.

I waited until they were gone. Then, I decided it was time to move.

I pushed myself up, my heavy claws clicked loudly against the stone, as I walked toward the arched entrance of the main keep.

The moment my massive frame breached the dim, torch-lit corridors of Riverrun, the castle ground to a halt. Serving girls carrying linens gasped, pressing their backs completely flat against the damp stone walls to give me a wide berth. Two squires carrying a basket of bread froze in their tracks, their eyes wide with terror.

"Gods above," one whispered faintly. "Is it hungry? Is it going to the kitchens?"

I ignored them, following the scent of my friend. I navigated the winding, drafty halls until I reached the heavy oak doors of Ned Stark's private solar. The guards stationed outside took one look at my glowing amber eyes and hastily stepped aside, not daring to cross their spears.

Through the thick wood, the muffled sounds of a bitter quarrel echoed into the hall.

"He's sitting there mocking us!" Robb's voice carried through the door. "Every day we wait, more of the Riverlands burns."

Ned remained silent.

"You heard the lords. They want to march."

At last Ned spoke.

"We have him penned up at Harrenhal! It will remain there tomorrow."

"It isn't Harrenhal!" Robb argued, his voice showing frustration. "It is dividing our strength, Father. If I take the vanguard north to escort Mother and the girls, the Lannisters will know our numbers have grown weak."

"Tywin will not march here," Ned countered. "And I will not risk your sisters in a war camp."

A tense silence followed.

"My place is here, at your side," Robb pressed, sounding every bit the young commander he was becoming. "I am your heir. Let the Greatjon command the escort. Let me stay and hold the line with you."

The silence stretched for a time before Ned spoke, "A raven came from Castle Black this morning."

Robb answered after a moment of silence."What of it?"

"Benjen is still missing."

Robb glanced the map spread across the table, his brow furrowed. The candles cast long shadows over the painted forests and mountains of the North.

"They've found no sign of him?" Robb asked.

"None."

The silence returned, heavier than before.

"The Watch asks for help."

Robb's gaze lifted from the map. "Then send men."

"I am."

"Then send the Umbers. Send Karstark."

"You will go," Ned answered, cutting Robb off.

"To the Wall?" Robb asked. "The war here isn't done."

"No,"Ned's voice softened slightly."But Jon is there."

Silence.

"You are my heir," Ned continued, the iron returning to his voice. "Your duty is to secure Winterfell. You will take two hundred lances and see your mother and sisters safely home. Then ride north. See what troubles the Watch. See your brother. Then return."

Robb let out a ragged breath.

The silence stretched, heavy with a young commander's desire to protect his father fighting against a bannerman's duty to obey his lord.

"Aye, my lord," Robb finally bit out.

Heavy footsteps marched toward the entrance. The oak doors were thrown open violently. Robb stormed out, his face flushed red with anger and nearly walked straight into my chest.

He stopped dead, his head tilting all the way back to look into my eyes. The sheer size of my physical frame shocked the anger right out of him. He let out a breathless exhale, his shoulders dropping. He stared at me for a second, shook his head, and marched down the hall without another word.

I stepped slowly into the solar.

Ned Stark sat heavily behind a massive wooden table, bathed in the grey light filtering through a narrow window. His cloak was cast aside. He was staring down at a crumpled piece of parchment bearing the black wax seal of the Night's Watch, rubbing his temples with his scarred hands.

I walked around the table. The floorboards groaned under my weight. I stopped beside his heavy wooden chair, lowered my massive head, and rested my chin directly on his armored shoulder. I leaned over, my glowing eyes scanning the messy ink on the parchment he was reading.

Ned stiffened for a fraction of a second. He turned his head, completely surprised.

He looked at my scarred muzzle, inches from his own face, and then down at my paws resting on the map table. I had never entered the enclosed spaces of Riverrun before, much less his private solar.

The hardened lines around Ned's eyes slowly softened. He let out a long, weary breath, the tension leaving his spine. He reached up, his rough, calloused hand burying into the thick fur behind my ears.

He looked back down at the dark news from the Wall, the weight of the realm bearing down on his shoulders.

"Robb thinks I do not trust him."

Ned's hand rested on my mane.

"Gods help me, I wish that were the reason."

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