His body was lean, furred and powerful. He could bound through the undergrowth, unencumbered by the branches and brambles that held back his master and his master's friend. He could sense his master's urgency, and knew it as well, his litter-mate was gone and it was up to him to find her. He could feel her, he kept leading his master in the direction of her fear, her loneliness drawing him to her like man to fire and home. But his master did not trust him, continuing to look for the trails of man, paw prints in the dried mud or broken brambles.
Then he heard her cry, piercing his sharp ears like his fangs would through the hide of lesser beasts, howling up at the darkened sky, calling for the shining orb to re-appear. He followed the sound, tearing into the nearest bushes so fast that a heavy branch broke on his flank, but it mattered not, his litter-mate was in need of aid, and he would find her.
He burst through the undergrowth, the lesser beasts scurrying out of his way. He noted the scents of prey; of hart and stag and man, but ignored them. The scent of family, of wolf, that was the greatest of them all.
But then, his ears pricked. He heard hooves of the beasts humans rode, the flesh of stallion left a scent that he picked up with ease. He slowed to a pace, these ones would not be friends, few humans were and his master was asleep.
He made himself silent like the birds that flew at night, looking for prey but fleeing when they saw him. Two horses emerged from within eyesight, on a road of mud. In the darkness, he could still recognise what they were wearing. Anger rose within him, his fangs extended and his muscles tensed. He saw lions, lions of cloth and metal, lions of blood and meat. Lions were threats to his master, and that made them prey.
He heard them speak. "We should've stayed with the column," one of them muttered. He still had difficulty distinguishing the voices of man. But this one seemed… displeased, with the current situation.
"You 'erd the Queen," the other lion said, from atop his horse he was powerful but he could feel the fear of the beasts they rode. Those two were smart, they knew he was there, even if the pink men and metal lions did not. "One hundred dragons for the wolf pelt, that's enough to live well forever."
Anger surged within him and he leapt out of the undergrowth, roaring at the horses of the men, who raised themselves high, the lions of cloth falling into the dirt to be trampled, those of metal dropping to the ground with delicious cries of pain. He charged, savaging the first lion, targeting the weak pink flesh of it"s throat and ripping it out. The taste was vile, sour and burning, but the pleasure of the act was something else entirely.
The second lion was fumbling with his metal weapon, a clumsy fumble, if he were a wolf, then he would trip over the smallest of branches. He bounded forwards, his paws feeling the hard security of the earth as he leapt forward, clamping his jaws over the hand and yanking to the right. He heard the ripping of skin and the breaking of bone as he pulled the hand from the wrist and spat it onto the ground. Then he savaged the man until it stopped moving, leaving the remains where they fell.
The blood was still on his lips when he felt his litter-mate again and, leaving the dead lions where they fell, trampling over the fallen cloth ones as he did so, he sprang off into the bushes.
He found her not long afterwards, cowering in some undergrowth, though no life dared approach her. He came up to her slowly, nuzzling the ground to show that he meant no harm, and hopeful that she would recognise him. Her golden eyes turned to him slowly and looked at him with wonder. She had not expected to see him again, but he could feel her relief, her joy. So he got closer, licking gently at her face to clean some of the earthen muck from it. She should be a beast of pride, not hiding in the dirt. He would keep her safe, and his master would be pleased for finding her.
When dawn crested the horizon, Tristan awoke from his slumber, and his strange dream. He and Cley had pursued any trail of Nymeria they could find, chasing it further and further north. Soon they would be in the marshlands of the Neck, and any hope of finding Nymeria before she vanished into the Riverlands' woods would be lost to him, he would have no choice but to turn north, for Winterfell. He, Cley, Lady and Shield had not pitched a tent, sleeping under the skies every night. Lady was content now, though she had not been the first few days, with Shield having to fight her down in order to prevent her running back to her mistress, but now she was docile, accepting her fate of returning to Winterfell.
"Are you okay?" Cley asked him. His friend was saddling his horse already, tightening the straps. His mail shirt was on as well, underneath his leathers. Both had taken to wearing them, it made them more threatening on the road, though not as much as having two wolves would.
Tristan nodded, stretching as he got to his feet. "Why wouldn't I be?"
"You thrashed around more than usual last night," Cley commented. "I just wondered."
"I appreciate it," Tristan replied, pulling his own mail shirt over his head, tightening his belt and pulling his leathers on over it. "But it was just a strange dream, nothing more."
Cley nodded, finishing up with his horse and tossing some meat they had saved from the last night to Shield and Lady. Tristan moved to his own horse, taking up the saddle and slinging it over the back of it, tightening the straps and running his fingers along the mane, stroking the muzzle softly, before putting the harness on and securing it. Then he felt a pulling on his leg, and looked down to see Shield there, tugging insistently. "What is it?" He asked, crouching down to Shield's height. There was blood on his muzzle and fangs, but he seemed insistent that they follow him.
"I think Shield's found something in the night," he said, looking at Cley.
"Then let's follow him." Cley had learned to trust Shield in this, just as Tristan had. He found them the best places to sleep, and even brought them fresh carcasses to eat when the sun got too low. They finished packing and mounted their horses, kicking them into action to follow Shield, whilst Lady trotted at the side of Tristan's horse. The course was erratic, cutting through undergrowth and low hanging branches, more than one of which scratched Tristan's face as he passed them. However, Shield did seem to be avoiding the tightest undergrowth, that Tristan would have to be down in the dirt to follow. Still, there were times when he was hit on the head by a low flying branch, or he had to dismount in order to get through some thick brambles, but progress was being made, and Tristan found himself praying that he found Nymeria before the sun dipped that evening.
Then Shield began to move through the undergrowth, undergrowth too tight for the horses to follow. "Cley, stay here with the horses," he said dismounting, undoing his sword belt wrapped over his shoulder, the handles would only get caught more, and taking it through by hand. He watched Shield pass by a broken branch and felt a pain jolt his side. He rubbed it, curious. He had seen the branch before, but could not tell where, and the slight pain below his ribs was familiar, he had felt it before. Shaking his head, he scrambled on all fours after his loyal wolf, eventually coming to a clearing. He heard a second scrabbling in the dirt and looked up. He had found her. Nymeria next to Shield, nuzzling him with her muzzle. When Tristan emerged and got to his feet, Lady rushed over to join them, her having followed him since dismounting. The three wolves enjoyed each other's company and Tristan allowed himself some time to stand back and enjoy it. But he didn't want to leave Cley alone for long, so whistled to them.
Shield and Lady came bounding over at once, but Nymeria was more sceptical. "Nymeria," he said, softly, dropping to one knee. "I will not hurt you, your mistress sent me to take you home." He did not know what made him say it, but it felt right, so he did. "Arya may not be here, but you remember me," he said. "You remember Shield." Shield stared at Nymeria as intently as Tristan did, maybe the wolves were communicating, he did not know. "Come back to Winterfell," he said, "with me, we'll find a way to get you to Arya again, but for now, come back, be with your littermates at Winterfell."
Nymeria approached him, and he did not move away, as was his instinct. Direwolves are creatures of strength, and to show weakness would not make one follow him, and with three behind him, he could expect only trouble. His mother had often told him the trouble of having twin boys when they were young. He may never have been very good with children, outside his family at least, but he had the Direwolves in hand, when he told them to come with him back to the horses they did so without complaint.
"So," Cley asked as they approached the end of the stinking marshland of the Neck. "Are you disappointed in not participating in the melee?"
Tristan grimaced, "not truly," he said simply.
Cley raised an eyebrow. "You aren't?"
Tristan shook his head. "From what it sounds like, it wasn't going to be a proper melee," he told Cley, "it sounds like it's just going to be a brawl."
"Brawl?" Cley asked.
He nodded. "Yes, just a few dozen fighters put into a field to fight, as they do in the south too much."
"You're right," Cley said, sniffing the pungent air. "That is no melee."
"Exactly," Tristan complained. "With all their southern fancifulness and chivalry they have forgotten how to hold a proper melee." He shook his head. Shield seemed, for some reason, to share in his disappointment. "A melee should be teams of fighters with dulled weapons fighting together in mock battle situations. That is the purpose of a melee, training for a real battle."
"Southerners," Cley shook his head despondently. "What was the melee at Highgarden like?" He asked, "the one you won."
"Like a brawl," he replied simply. "But there were advantages to that," he said, the memories of blood from Highgarden clear in his mind.
"Like what?" Cley asked.
"No holding back," he replied simply, grinning now. "I captured four knights, including Lord Cuy, who were willing to pay a pretty price for all their shiny armour and big horses."
Cley laughed. "Such pride in their colours," he replied. "They forget what matters sometimes."
Tristan nodded. "That they do Cley." They rode on in silence for a while, the only sounds being the panting of the Direwolves and the strikes of their horses" hooves on the ground. However, soon other noises reached their ears.
"We must be nearing Moat Cailin," Cley commented.
Tristan nodded. "That we must," he replied. Sure enough, soon the first towers and walls were within view, and the sounds of the workmen and their tools were all too distinguishable. "Do you think they have somewhere for us tonight?" He asked Cley. In reply, Cley simply looked at the three Direwolves at their feet. Tristan laughed.
"Who goes there!" A voice called from a window in the gatehouse tower. There was no gate yet, but there would be before long, Tristan did not doubt, progress on the ancient keep was going well. For now, there were wooden barricades, easily movable, in place in front of the archway where the gate would be.
"Shall I answer," Tristan called up. "Or should my direwolves?"
"Lord Tristan?" The man called back.
"Well done," he replied, smiling. "May we enter the North?"
"Clear the barricades!" The man called down and soon enough the wooden barricades were dragged to the side and the guardsmen were bowing their heads as he and Cley entered Moat Cailin.
The work on the castle was extensive, there were hundreds of men working on the bricks of the walls and their wives and children were also nearby, cleaning things or doing other chores or housework. Most were able to stop to bow to him briefly though, as they made their way through to the partially constructed stables. Since stables could be put up swiftly, they had erected half of the full size one that were planned, mainly for travelling lords and nobles. Tristan and Cley swiftly tied their horses up and gathered their saddlepacks, stepping back outside.
The castle was going to be large, though not as large as it had been in times of legend. The Keep, more than half finished now, was at the back, with most of the windows on it from the bedchambers looking out over the North. The courtyard was large and expansive, and Tristan could imagine one side being set aside for the guards to train in, or sons, once whoever his father planned on naming Lord of Moat Cailin was landed there. The walls were large and strong, well buttressed and mostly done. The wall facing north was finished and temporary Stark banners flew from the ramparts. On the east and west they were adding the final touches, but on the south they had to fit a double gatehouse, which was taking time. Although the gatehouse to the north was already done, and was of the same design. Tristan knew they were designed so that should someone breach the first gate, they could be picked off by archers and masonry dropped from murder holes with ease. There were other buildings scattered around that Tristan assumed would become the armoury, library, bell towers, maybe a sept, a smithy and what looked like a glass garden on the edge of the recently planted godswood. Though the trees were young, Tristan knew they would grow fast, with the Weirwood tree in the middle of the two acre forest being the center of it and sentinels, ironwoods, oaks and pines would be growing thick and fast around them.
"My Lord," it was Ser Cregan Manderly, a distant cousin of the current lord Wyman and the man that Tristan"s father had set to oversee the rebuilding of Moat Cailin. "How good to see you again."
"Likewise, Ser Cregan," Tristan replied, grinning.
"I thought you were competing in a tourney in the south?" He commented.
Tristan felt his face darken, and was pleased that Cley answered for him. "There was an altercation on the road with the Lannisters. We returned to ease some of the tensions."
"I see," Cregan said, not pushing further for which Tristan was grateful. "Well, shall we get you up to the same rooms as last time?"
"We can take ourselves, Ser Cregan," Tristan said. "I'm sure you have plenty of work to do before the sun sets."
"Very well my lord," the knight replied, bowing and leaving them to head for the keep.
They made their way up to the bedchamber they had shared when coming down, with it's single large bed in the middle, and a fireplace, which they set up as soon as they got in. By the time they had gotten the wolves settled, and removed their riding clothes, it was dark outside. So Tristan and Cley got into the warm bed and were swiftly asleep.
