Chapter 55

I did not offer the three eyed raven a single word in return.

Words were the tools of men, used to bargain, lie, and beg. I'm different now. Let us see if the Bloodraven is able to survive my answer.

I opened my jaws, the inferno in my chest blazing as a flaring white-hot glow, and unleashed a deafening roar.

The sound tore through the mental projection with force. The void the Three-Eyed Raven stood in cracked and shattered like thin ice under a heavy boot. The vision violently collapsed into nothingness.

Back in the muddy courtyard of Winterfell, the unnatural silence broke. The murder of black ravens perched along the high towers erupted into panic. They took flight in a chaotic flurry of dark feathers, their unified intelligence broken, cawing in blind terror as they fled into the grey Northern sky.

I blinked, the oppressive cold of the real world settling back over my fur. I lowered my gaze, back at Bran Stark.

The boy was staring up at me, his breath hitching. The sheer proximity to the spiritual shockwave had done something to him. He blinked rapidly, raising a trembling hand to his temple. The heavy, suffocating fog of his fall and the chaotic, confusing dreams that plagued his sleep seemed to recede, leaving behind a clarity in his eyes. He didn't fully understand it yet, but the dormant magic in his blood had finally awakened.

Footsteps splashed through the mud behind me. Catelyn Stark, followed closely by Sansa and Arya, pushed through the ring of stunned spearmen, rushing toward Bran's chair.

The courtyard was quickly filling with the overwhelming noise of human emotion, weeping, shouting, and frantic questions.

I had no interest in the noise. I let out a low huff, turning away from the gathering crowd. The Northern guards parted silently, pressing their backs against the stone walls to let me pass. I walked straight through the fortress, following the scent of the weir wood, until I passed beneath the heavy ironwood gates of the Godswood.

The silence of the forest swallowed the sounds of the castle. I padded over the mossy ground, finding the towering, bone-white trunk of the heart tree. The carved face wept red sap, staring blindly into the hot springs. I circled twice among the dark red leaves scattered over the roots, laid my head on my paws, and closed my eyes.

...

For the next few days, I did not leave the Godswood. I remained entirely unseen by the castle.

But there was a lot to do and little time for rest.

On the morning of the third day, the courtyard was once again filled with the sounds of marching men. Robb Stark sat atop his warhorse, dressed in heavy furs and boiled leather, his longsword strapped to his hip. The two hundred seasoned Northern lances formed up behind him, their breath pluming in the freezing air. They were riding for the Wall.

As Robb raised his hand to give the order to march, I emerged from the shadows of the archway.

A hush fell over the column. I walked at a slow pace, my heavy paws silent against the stone. I passed the nervous warhorses and stopped directly beside Robb. I looked up at the young lord, then turned my head, fixing my eyes squarely on the open gates leading North.

Without waiting for his command, I started walking, taking the lead of the procession.

Once we cleared the winter town and entered the dense wood of the Wolfswood, I left the hard-packed dirt of the Kingsroad entirely. I took the cover of the trees, walking parallel to the marching column through the dark shade.

I was not alone in the bushes. Grey Wind trotted faithfully just a few paces behind me, his golden eyes watching my every movement, content to shadow the true alpha of the pack.

Back on the road, the rhythmic clopping of hooves carried through the cold air.

"I don't understand why you let it roam free," Theon Greyjoy's voice drifted over from the column. He was riding stirrup-to-stirrup with Robb, his face pinched with lingering unease. "It's been missing since we left the castle. Where is that beast of yours, anyway? Probably ran off to..."

Before Theon finished the sentence I stepped out from behind a massive oak directly on his left. I kept out of his sight keeping my steps silent, but the sudden, intense wave of heat radiating from my body washed over him instantly.

Theon gasped, violently flinching to the right. His horse whinnied in sudden panic, dancing sideways on the road and nearly throwing the ironborn from the saddle.

I kept my gaze and pace forwards, brushing past his panicked horse, and seamlessly melted back into the treeline ahead.

Behind me, Robb let out a short, sharp laugh, while Theon cursed under his breath, his face flushing red as he fought to steady his reins.

By nightfall, the Vanguard made camp in a wide clearing bordered by thick, dark timber.

Fires were built, and the smell of roasting salted pork filled the air. I sat on my haunches near the largest fire, right beside the log where Robb was viewing a worn leather map. The heat of the flames was nothing compared to my coat, but the soft light was comfortable.

The camp was quiet, save for the low murmurs of tired men and the crackle of burning wood.

My ears suddenly twitched. They swiveled forward, locking onto the pitch-black void of the northern treeline.

I stopped breathing for a fraction of a second, letting my senses expand. Deep in the darkness, beyond the reach of the torchlight, eyes were reflecting the faint glow of the camp. Ten. Twenty. An entire pack of massive, wild timber wolves had gathered in the brush. They were drawn by the smell of the horses, the meat, and perhaps the scent of Grey Wind. They were watching, waiting to see if the two-legged creatures were weak.

I pushed myself up from the moss.

Robb looked up from his map, noticing the sudden shift in my posture. "Red?"

I ignored him. I stepped away from the fire, walking to the very edge of the light. I planted my heavy paws into the frozen earth, my chest expanding as I drew in a massive breath of freezing air.

I let out a deafening, ferocious roar.

The sound ripped through the quiet night, vibrating through the ground and rattling the snow straight off the branches of the pines. It was an assertion of dominance, a warning that an apex predator had already claimed this territory.

In the woods, the glowing eyes vanished instantly. The wild pack scattered in absolute terror, their panicked yelps fading quickly into the deep forest.

Behind me, the camp erupted into chaos.

"Wolves!" a captain shouted. Men scrambled over logs, kicking over their bowls of stew as they drew their swords in a blind panic, frantically searching the darkness for an ambush. Robb was on his feet in a second, his sword in hand, his eyes wide.

I let out a soft snort, a wisp of smoke curling from my nostrils.

With the threat thoroughly chased away, I turned around, completely ignoring the two hundred cautious men standing with their weapons drawn. I walked back to my spot near the fire, circled twice to mat down the grass, and lazily laid my head on my paws to go to sleep.

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