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Chapter Text

Theon had never liked the beasts from the moment they found them in the forest. He had been for killing them the instant he had laid eyes on their dead mother, a knife already in his hand before Lord Stark had even made a decision. Direwolves weren't natural, they didn’t belong here south of the wall. But Theon was apparently the only normal person in Winterfell, even Robb, who he looked up to with all his heart was insane enough to not see how dangerous these beasts could be. A direwolf was not a pet, you weren’t supposed to be able to train them and they weren’t supposed to be domestic enough to stay loyal to a human being. 

These feelings were why Theon hated his life that night in the courtyard. He was a busy man, and with only about a fortnight to prepare Winterfell for the arrival of the king and queen, Lord Stark had put Theon in charge of checking the supplies that moved in and out of the great hall where the feast was to be held. After a week of doing his job Theon was sure he had a headache big enough that even Maester Luwin wouldn’t be able to fix it. But when he saw a young girl racing towards him as he stood in the courtyard of Winterfell, about to take a break from working, his headache only grew. 

Arya Stark ran his way with a small grey pup right on her tail. Theon let out a sigh as she yelled his name. And before you misjudge him, you have to understand that Theon had nothing against the youngest Stark girl, on the contrary he was rather fond of her. But he had grown up with this family long enough to know that when Arya Stark sought you out, trouble was to follow. 

“Theon! Theon!” She screamed his name again as she now moved close enough for him to see the wide, mischievous smile on her face. 

“What is it?” He answered, his tone more curt than he meant to be. This had been happening a lot recently, he’d say something but his mouth would betray him by using an incorrect tone and then people misunderstood his intentions. It was not something he could control, simply something that happened. He let out a quick sigh and recovered himself.

“What do you need of me?” He said, this time focussing on conveying his message, that he was busy but not dismissive of the young girl. 

Arya didn’t seem to notice his internal struggle and gave him a big grin. Her direwolf pup who had grown faster in two weeks than a normal cub would in 6 months sat beside her, eyeing Theon in a way that made him feel like he was her next prey.

“Father said he’d take me to the black smith today but I need someone to look after Nymeria while I’m gone.” The moment she spoke her request, Theon was already shaking his head no. 

“No way I’m looking after the monster! Ask someone else.” He didn’t even bother checking his tone this time, the disgust clear. But as he looked at Arya the determination told him she was not giving up so easily.

“But Theon! I already asked Sansa and she said she can’t! And father won’t let me ask any of the servants out of principle. I promise I’ll repay you, please?” She was almost whining at the end of her speech. Theon cringed a bit at the sharpness of her tone. 

“Of course Lord Stark forbade you from asking the servants, you promised to look after her yourself. What makes you think asking me is any different?” He tried to reason with her but it seemed she was not done whining just yet.

“Please, please, please? I promise I’ll never ask you again and I’ll take care of her forever but I really want to see the blacksmith! C’mon Theon, please? It will only be a couple of hours, I promise!” Apparently Arya Stark was not above begging. Sometimes Theon wondered if she was switched as a baby with some common child. Every time he thought he had figured out how the Starks functioned, she kept him on his toes by doing something so not-Stark like his brain would quit working. Just the thought of any other Stark sibling begging for anything at all was so unrealistic it made him physically frown. Yet here she was, a Stark who was not above setting her pride aside to get what she wanted, Theon could respect her for it at least.

But that respect was not bigger then his apparent fear for the direwolf whose eyes kept studying him as if the beast was strategizing how to best dismember him. 

He was about to protest again when someone else's eyes caught his attention. Not those of the monster but those of Arya. They were intense, as if they could stare through him. As if there was another force within her looking through her fierce gaze and grey eyes, shouting at him for his wrongs. And at that moment, even though Theon Greyjoy had never truly felt like a Greyjoy, even though he had spent more time in Winterfell than in the Iron Islands, even though he had never prayed or worshiped the Drowned God of his home land, that look in her eyes reminded him of home. And for just a second, he swore it was not Arya Stark whose gaze he held but Yara Greyjoys. 

“Fine!” Before he realised what he had done, the girl before him was already weeping of joy at her victory. 

“But only for two hours! I have important duties to attend to.” Arya gave him a big smile and Theon allowed himself to replace the feeling of despair at the fact that he had essentially lost to this girl for a soft fondness at her childish joy. And maybe if he was part of the reason this girl got to enjoy her happiness like this, he kind of won too.

“Thank you! Thank you! Thank you!” And before he could prepare for it, she gave him a quick hug. 

“I won’t forget this! I swear!” Theon almost wanted to comment on her Stark honor but he didn’t get the chance to. Arya had run as quickly as she could back from where she came. He swore he could hear a quiet “Blacksmith here I come!” in the distance but he tried to divert his attention to the important uh “elephant” in the room. 

The direwolf was staring in his soul, quite like her owner had just a few minutes before. Theon sighed and accepted his faith, looking like he was going to pet sit a mythical creature of which there are only six south of the wall. Great. The only thing worse to be stuck pet sitting would be a dragon and those were like dead, dead. 

“Just be glad it’s not a dragon.” He muttered to himself. The direwolf was still staring, unimpressed like it was mentally raising an eyebrow his way. This was going to be an awkwardly long two hours if the beast was going to do nothing except stare his way. 

It was then that Theon realised that he had never actually interacted with any pet except a rider's horse before in his life. What did people even do with their dogs or pet fish? What did people do with their pet direwolves? The only thing he ever saw them do is trail after their owner like a lost puppy, and well, they essentially were lost puppies he supposed, so uh, made sense.

“You uh…” He hesitated. “You come here often?” That was the first time he’d seen the wolf blink since she had arrived with her owner. It was not a normal ‘I need to blink because otherwise my eyes don’t get hydrated’ blink but more of a ‘are you actually stupid’ blink. And yes, Theon couldn’t blame it.

Before he could say anything else and embarrass himself more the wolf took a long look at him, barked, and ran off towards the godswood of Winterfell. And as much as Theon may be scared of the beast or may not like it, he was sure that if he was to lose her Arya would never forgive him. Robb would never forgive him. So he made a helpless cry for the direwolf to stop, and took after it.

Running was not his strong suit, believe him or not. Especially not when your opponent was a mythical wolf who could outrun a herd of horses. But Theon tried his best anyway, knowing he would have to face the wrath of an angry Arya Stark if he failed to retrieve her precious pet.

He lost the beast at some point in the godswood. Panic started to rise in him, what if he really lost her? What will Arya do to him? What would Robb say? What if she told Lord Stark? No, that’s not even a what if. She would tell Lord Stark, and despite the efforts of the man to be good to him, being his ward wouldn't protect him if he hurt his daughter. Theon didn’t even want to imagine the punishment he’d get for this. 

"Nymeria!" He yelled the wolf’s name. Hoping the youngest Stark had succeeded in training her wolf so it responded to it. He tried focussing on the noises around him, trying to see if he could hear her.

“Nymeria!” He tried again, still no answer. He wondered if Lord Stark would even believe him if he told him she ran away. Maybe they’d blame him? If they thought he killed her, what would happen then?

“Nymeria! C’mon you freak! Where are you?” He hoped Arya could forgive him one day. No, who is he convincing? Of course she wouldn’t forgive him. It was her fault for leaving it with him.

“C’mon Nymeria! Arya will be worried! We have to go back!” Maybe it was hiding to kill him. Maybe it was sneaking up behind him and he’d only notice her when it’s too late. Suddenly the woods started to look darker than they were a moment ago.

“Oh please, the old gods, the new gods, the drowned god. Don’t let this be it.” He muttered a prayer while walking through the narrow trees. Stepping on a bush and falling on the dirt because of a miscalculated step.

Suddenly he heard a loud howl, and saw Nymeria appear before him. She was covered in blood, her eyes were wild and all Theon could feel was fear. When she noticed him, she did not go for his neck like he thought she would. Instead she tilted her head, came closer and dropped something at his feet. Theon muttered a thank you to whatever god had saved him in this situation and took a closer look at the rose coloured thing that lay by his side. A dead rabbit he realised. But it was not killed in the way a normal wolf would have (a bite through their neck) instead it was devoured to the point where you almost couldn’t tell it was a rabbit, the once white fur dyed red with its own blood.

Theon looked at the dead animal and then back at Nymeria, who was watching him carefully.

“Is this for me?” He hesitated again, Nymeria came closer once again and pushed the bloody carcase his way. That was a yes then.

“Thank you?” He said uncertainty as he picked the rabbit up, trying his best to keep his clothes clean. 

“I will savour it.” He told Nymeria, it felt a bit silly talking to an animal that could most likely  not understand you but he swore the direwolf nodded at him as she walked forward at a much slower pace than at their beginning of their journey in the woods.

“Do you know the way back?” He asked her as he stood, rabbit in his hand, looking around and comprehending that he had no way of knowing which way they came from. But apparently he didn’t have to worry about it because Nymeria let him out of the forest with ease. 

As they stood back  in the courtyard of Winterfell, and Theon was processing what had just happened he caught Nymeria looking at him again, only this time he sort of understood what these deadly eyes meant. 

“You want me to cook the rabbit?” The wolf made her way to the kitchens so he assumed he was right. Okay, he could do that, cooking a rabbit was easy. 

Later, after feasting on the meal Nymeria had given him, he decided that he could tolerate the beast afterall. And when Arya came back to pick her up, he was glad it was on her side.

Chapter Text

Sandor Clegane was a great knight and an even greater killer. He had found a home in Kingslanding, even though it wasn’t always fun playing dog for the king and his mother. He had found a routine here, had come to expect the weird requests and the ungrateful comments. This routine was broken though, with the arrival of the new Hand of the King and his daughters. Specifically with his oldest daughter, Sansa Stark.

Now Sandor wasn’t a bad person. Don’t get him wrong he was a bad person just not a bad person if you know what he means. Sure he killed people for a living but he had never raped, he had never stolen of (living) men, had never mutilated anyone. But he swore the Stark girl was going to change him for the worse. It hadn’t even been a full day since the royal retinue including the Starks had arrived in Kingslanding and Sandor had already had more conversations with Sansa Stark than with his own brother. Which he was not complaining about, everyone would take a talk with the oldest Stark daughter over one with the Mountain but it was not her he loathed exactly.

Normally, Sandor would be able to handle some teenage girl with an oversharing problem, but he quickly realised this was not just some teenage girl. The moment the girl had settled in Kingslanding, she had taken an immediate liking to the gardens. She had spent her entire first morning there, while he was on guard duty in the same garden. He wouldn’t have given her a second thought on a normal day, in his normal routine but Sansa Stark was not alone in the gardens of Kingslanding, she had a direwolf with her. 

Sandor wasn’t from anywhere near the north, he grew up in the Westerlands at Clegane Keep next to Casterly Rock. He had only heard of direwolfs in stories when he was young. A direwolf was to him the same as a dragon or a kraken. Extinct. Myths. Fairytails. But here he is standing only a couple footsteps from one. One that didn’t seem to like him. You see, the entire time that Sandor had stood in the same garden as Sansa Stark and her direwolf it had only growled at him. Showing its teeth, daring him to come closer. Whenever she walked the paths, looking at the southern flowers and taking in the heat, her beast was there with her, looking at him like he killed its mother. When she talked to other ladies, gossiping like she’d lived here all her life, the beast had only eyes for him. So Sandor had promised himself to steer clear of Sansa Stark and her vicious pet. It wasn’t like he was scared of the thing, as long as it wasn’t on fire he’d be fine. But there was something about it that made him feel uneasy. 

But ignoring the mythic beast came to an end when later in the evening the oldest Stark girl came his way with it. He could tell from the way her eyes were already pleading that she was going to give him a wild request (it’s the same look the queen gets when she makes him do insane stuff). He just hoped the Starks had less insanity in their blood then the Lannisters. 

“Oh Ser Clegane! My apologies for bothering you while on duty but could you perhaps look after Lady for just a moment? The queen has requested my presence and I don’t want Lady to be alone while I’m gone.” And that was the end of his plan to ignore the direwolf. He didn’t really know why she posed it like a question, it wasn't like he could refuse a request from the daughter of the hand. Well at least she was polite.

Looking at the angry direwolf on the makeshift leech sitting next to the Stark girl, he knew that even if she returned quickly he was in for a long evening. But knowing that he couldn’t refuse her he grunted and extended his hand. The girl took this as an invitation to push the leech into his hands and walk back from where she came from with a quick but polite “Thank you!”. 

So now Sandor had a deadly growling beast in his hands. A deadly growling beast named Lady, who didn’t like him. It was showing its teeth again, Sandor just hoped it was trying to intimate him and wasn’t actually going to bite him but he decided to for once settle on one of the beautiful garden benches instead of his usual post. Maybe it would calm down in the shade. Except of course it wasn’t calming down in the shade, the wolf kept growling at him.

He had honestly no idea what god he had pissed off in a past life to deserve this. Maybe the beast hated him for the same reason babies cried in his presence. He blamed his brother, Sandor used to love animals, he used to love playing with other children his age but ever since that damned day when he got that damned scar no living thing seemed to want to be around him. He was lucky there were still horses who didn’t care about his appearance.

Sitting on one of the fancy benches with a direwolf that wasn’t his own made him feel like a different man. A man he may had become if his brother hadn’t mutilated him as a child. It made him think of a world where his title as knight in the Kingsguard meant something. A world where he was Ser Sandor Clegane instead of the Hound. He wasn’t a man who got lost in hypotheticals often, but it seemed like the shade and the presence of an animal other than a horse was doing something to him.

The direwolf barked at him, but in contrast to the previous growling it wasn’t an angry bark. It almost felt like the beast knew what he was thinking of and that he needed a distraction. 

“What?” He looked at the wolf, which was currently the size of a normal grey wolf. Sandor imagined it growing beyond this size like he had heard in the stories from his childhood. He tried to imagine how the beast would look thrice this size, questioned if it would still be as domestic and loyal then. 

The direwolf barked again, tugging on the leech still in his hands. Sandor let out a loud and annoyed sigh. Of course it wouldn’t be happy to just lay in the shade until its owner returned. 

“You want to walk around?” He knew the answer before the words even left his mouth. Sandor had half the mind to just let it loose from its leech so it could run around freely but quickly changed his mind at the hypothetical comments of the queen if her gardens were trappled by a direwolf, no less if someone got injured. He didn’t actually care about the queens opinion of course but thinking about the blame and punishment made him think of an alternate option

He would have to walk this dog himself.

He tried to ignore how embarrassing it felt to be walking his dog, even if it wasn’t his, and it wasn’t a dog. The wolf, who had apparently decided to calm down- (was it only growling at him because it wanted to take a walk? Or maybe he made peace with it because he took it out?) walked ahead of him. And with a strong hand around its leech, Sandor decided to ignore everyone and everything other than Lady, and walk a full tour around the gardens. All the southern nobles mingling in the gardens had decided that avoiding the Hound walking a direwolf would be a smarter option than openly gawking at him as he originally thought they would. 

After completing his tour of the large gardens, Sandor and Lady arrived back at their original bench. The direwolf had seemingly warmed up to Sandor during the walk and had replaced her original aggression with a soft sleepy expression one might find on a domestic dog. When Sandor sat back down in the shade, Lady made her way to his feet and laid herself down while closing her eyes. 

Sandor looked at the beast and once again imagined it three times its size. He pictured Sansa Stark walking next to it, and thought about the future loyalty of the beast. For some reason he couldn’t picture it ever betraying her, and maybe that was a good thing. He couldn’t dismiss its potential in battle so maybe, even though he had no admiration for the Stark girl, he was glad she had Lady by her side.