The North's Defender

by lizard-senpai

Its origin is uncertain at best. A demon, created by blood magic and vengeful to all enemies of the North. One of the Old Gods, whose name has been lost to time. The Stranger's dog sent to make the Northern savages abide by the ways of the Seven through acts of goodwill. Whatever it is, only one thing is known; it has no master save the King in the North whose name is Stark.

1. Chapter 1

1: The Beast His Father Summoned

Ned was a child when he first saw him summoned. No more than seven and scared witless as he hid at Brandon's side, he watched and listened as his father murmur foreign words while painting a circle with his own blood on the snow covered floor of the Godswood. The weirwood trees watched on in solemn anticipation as Lord Rickard Stark summoned the spectre of his house. The air, already bitter with winter chill, seemed to steal the warmth from the lordling's furs. Brandon too was shivering, but unlike the younger of the brothers he did not seem keen to leave if the grin on his face was any indication. Fear was edging into every available piece of Ned's mind as the ritual continued before him. His father did not seem as he had been that morning, strong and solemn yet wholly dependable and safe. Now, it seemed as if he was a grim statue carved from stone, much like those in the crypt and the likeness unnerved the second son.

A shift in the breeze, his father's voice quieting, and suddenly everything fell still. His heartbeat, having mere moments before been racing madly, all but stopped completely. Not a thing could be heard, not even his older brother's breathing. It seemed as if life itself was taboo in face of the summoning.

Then, the leaves upon the ground began to shift within the circle Lord Stark had drawn. They swayed and rolled like running water, dancing in the designated area as their border seemed to glow. Wind returned to the Godswood but it was a vicious thing, beating against his exposed skin and biting at him with the intent to tear through his skin. It rushed through his ears so loudly that he felt as if any more exposure to it would surely deafen him.

Fire, icy blue and flickering with hazy images, sprang to life suddenly within the circle, leaping high into the darkening sky. Ned stumbled backwards at the sight of it, as did his brother, though the sound of the wind masked the crunch of dead foliage their sudden steps made. The fire blazed brilliantly for a moment before shrinking just as suddenly as it had been formed. In this moment, the deafening and brutal wind died as well.

In the circle stood a man.

He wore not but torn trousers, the pockets of which his hands were shoved into, but the man seemed to not notice the cold in any way. He was not tall and bulky in the way of northmen nor was he like any southron man Ned had seen before. The man summoned by his father was like a wraith, well muscled and certainly not short but lacking an imposing figure. Still, something about the man exuded a dangerous presence like Ned would imagine from a wild animal. His skin seemed grey, but the boy assured himself that that was nothing more than a trick of the poor lighting.

"You've summoned me, Stark," the man spoke in a nearly mocking tone. His voice was heavy with an accent the boy could not place and gravelly like it hadn't been used in quite some time. It was not an unfriendly tone but much like everything else about him it was subtly threatening.

"I have," his father said. The man grinned and Ned's blood froze like the snow and ice that surrounded them.

His mouth was filled with glittering, white fangs as sharp as any blade.