Author's Note:
I do not own Game of Thrones.
In the morning the wolf remained, much to the horror of his men.
"Hold still, my Lord," called Jory, raising his bow. "I've got it."
Ned raised a hand. "Leave it be."
"My Lord..?"
"It has harmed no one. I assume it will away once we start moving. Probably he liked the shelter of the wagon."
The latter might have been true, but the former turned out to be false.
The wolf accompanied them, loping alongside Ned's horse with bouncing, eager strides. Greatjon Umber roared with laughter when he and his men joined them, naming it 'a wolf for the wolf Lord.' The Manderly men were a little more wary, but willing to allow those from Winterfell to take the lead.
"You sure you don't want to deal with that thing?" asked Rodrik. "It's not a pet, my Lord, and if he gets too used to people…"
Ned frowned. The thing did already look far too used to people. Someone's pet, perhaps. Lost, or abandoned once it got too big–
He whistled and raised his hand to halt the convoy before dismounting his horse. The wolf waited warily, its tail swishing as he approached. Ned held out his hand to it.
"My Lord!" Rodrik snapped.
The wolf jumped and scurried behind Ned. He laughed, reaching down to it. Proportioned differently to any wolf he'd ever seen, too, with longer legs and a more defined muzzle.
The Greatjon boomed with laughter. "That thing really does like you, Ned!"
Ned smiled. "How old would you say this thing is?"
Rodrik frowned. "Six months, maybe? Looks nearly fully grown."
"Aye, it does." Ned strode back to his horse. "Look at its feet."
Still too big for it, with stubby, juvenile claws. Rodrik saw it, because his eyes widened and his brow furrowed.
"The wolf is not to be harmed unless it attacks."