Author's Note
I do not own Game of Thrones.
The wolf pup, much to the hilarity of the men, did not like sea travel. Ned sympathised. It spent most of the journey huddled under the promenade of the ship, for while his men loved the irony and symbolism of the Stark Lord being chosen by a direwolf, they refused to allow it to share his quarters.
"It is still mostly feral, my Lord," Rodrik pointed out. "May the gods only know how it got on the ship."
"The gods must have sent it," Ned replied, for what other explanation could there be?
The men had nicknamed it Lordling, for it still preferred Ned's company above all, though it was slowly coming to accept Rodrik. Especially after he started offering it food.
As they neared Lannisport, debate over the wolf began again. He could tether it on the ship, but if it was here to accompany him, that could bring bad luck. Ultimately, they decided to let it do as it may.
And hope it didn't fall trying to get off the ship.
The harbour at Lannisport largely wasn't, any more. All that had been there had burned.
Robert met him on the shore with a great grin and a clasp on the back. "Ned! Gods, it's good to see you!"
"I wish it could be under better circumstances."
Robert roared with laughter. "Just like old times, eh?" He tapped his warhammer. "Ready to kill some– Seven hells, what is that!"
Ned didn't even need to turn to know what he'd noticed. "Don't mind him."
"Don't mind– Ned, is that thing yours?"
"It would appear so."
Robert shook his head, disbelief glinting in his eyes. "Only you, Ned. Only you."