The sound reached the castle before the procession ever came into view, thousands of hooves struck stone and dirt in uneven rhythm.
I stayed near the back of the gathered line, between Robb and Jon, keeping still while watching the entrance. The air was crowded with scents layered over each other to the point where most of it blurred together, but a few stood out through the noise, wine, roasted meat, leather that had never seen hard use.
The King.
Robert Baratheon came through the gates like a man who had once been unstoppable and hadn't quite accepted that time had caught up with him. He still had presence, still carried himself like someone used to being followed.
Behind him, the Lannisters moved in a way that didn't match the North at all. Too polished. Too clean. Cersei's gaze passed over everything without interest, as if she'd already decided none of it mattered, while Jaime rode with an ease, his expression relaxed in a way that didn't quite reach his eyes.
I didn't move or react, just watched.
Ned stepped forward, knelt, and was immediately told to stand again, the exchange between him and Robert carrying the kind of familiarity that didn't need ceremony to prove itself.
Robert looked Ned over, a grin spreading across his face.
"And you've gotten old." he said, his voice carrying easily across the courtyard as he laughed.
Ned answered without missing a beat. "You've gotten fat,"
Robert barked out another laugh at that, clapping him on the shoulder before pulling him into a rough embrace.
His attention drifted after that, moving across the Stark children one by one before settling on me.
That pause mattered.
I could feel it before he spoke.
"And what's this supposed to be?" Robert said, stepping closer, his tone changing into something more curious than amused.
I made the adjustment before anyone else could react.
Instead of holding still the way I had been, I let my posture loosen slightly, my ears tilting forward as I stepped out just enough to be seen clearly without pushing too far. I stopped a few paces in front of him and sat, tail brushing once against the ground, not frantic, not eager, just enough to look like I belonged.
Ned answered before Robert could press further. "Found him in the Wolfswood. He's taken to the children."
Robert crouched with a grunt, the movement heavier than it should have been, and reached out a hand.
I didn't hesitate.
I leaned in, nudging his palm lightly before giving his glove a quick touch, just enough to make the interaction simple and easy to read.
He let out a short laugh. "That's a strange-looking hound."
His hand moved to my head, fingers pressing into my fur as he tested it, and I let him, keeping still without stiffening.
"Warm too," he added, more to himself than anyone else. "Feel that, Ned. Like he's got a fire in him."
Ned didn't argue, just watched.
Robert scratched behind my ears with more force than necessary, and I leaned into it just enough to sell it without overdoing the reaction.
"Good eyes on him," Robert went on. "Not stupid. I've seen enough dogs to know the difference."
For a moment, it felt like he was considering something.
"I should take him south," he said, half to Ned, half to himself. "Would make a fine hunting dog."
That landed harder than it should have.
I felt Robb tense beside me, while Bran leaned forward like he was about to say something he shouldn't.
Ned didn't raise his voice.
"He's settled here," he said simply. "Wouldn't take well to being moved."
Robert looked at me again, then back at the children, reading the reaction without needing it explained.
After a second, he snorted. "Aye. No point dragging a dog away from where he's decided to stay."
His hand came down once more on my head, firmer this time.
"Still," he added, standing up with a grunt, "he's got the look of something that knows how to track."
Then he moved on, the moment passing with him as easily as it had come.
I didn't follow.
I stepped back instead, returning to where I'd been before, and Robb's hand came down almost immediately, gripping the scruff of my neck a little tighter than usual.
"He wasn't serious," Robb muttered, though there was a question in it he didn't say out loud.
I leaned into his leg in response, giving him something solid to focus on.
The tension eased.
Not gone.
Just enough.
The courtyard slowly returned to motion as the procession moved deeper into the castle, voices picking back up as people followed, and I stayed close to the Starks until the crowd thinned.
....
The feast that night filled the Great Hall with laugher and heat, the kind that made it harder to think if you stayed out in the open too long.
I kept low, moving under the table where the light didn't reach as clearly, staying close to the Stark children while watching everything from below instead of above.
Boots told more than faces did.
Polished leather passed by without slowing, heavy steps marked the Northmen, and every now and then a softer tread cut through both, careful enough to avoid drawing attention.
Tyrion Lannister noticed me.
Not immediately, but once he did, he didn't look away as quickly as the others.
He sat near the end of the table, wine in hand, watching as I moved back and forth, picking up small things that had been dropped or nudging them toward where they needed to go.
He didn't smile.
Didn't speak.
But he paid attention.
And I settled near the edge of the hall after a while, close enough to the warmth of the fire to stay comfortable without being in the center of anything.
The noise blurred together, voices overlapping until it stopped meaning anything, and I let it fade into the background while focusing on what mattered.
Bran would climb soon.
Jaime and Cersei would find their moment.
Everything was already in motion.
I lowered myself onto the stone, keeping still while the hall carried on around me, my eyes half-closed but not resting.
[Level 7]
[Social Stealth: Active]