I kept my massive paws pressed against the side of the wheelhouse. Through the open window, Sansa Stark stared into my glowing amber eyes. She was trembling, caught between the forest fire across the river and the beast looming in front of her.
I lowered my heavy head until my eyes were level with hers, and I activated the [Empathic Link].
Slowly I pushed a quiet, warm memory directly into her mind. I showed her the image of a red hound lying at the foot of her father's chair in the Great Hall of Winterfell. The kind of stubborn hound that always grumbled and turned its head away when someone tried to pet it too much, but never left its master's side.
Sansa's breath hitched as the terrified tension in her shoulders suddenly broke. The empathic projection bypassed her logic and her fear. She looked at my big frame, steaming muzzle, and the monster vanished. She only saw her father's hound.
Slowly she stood up. Sandor Clegane was still a paralyzed, hyperventilating mass of armor on the floorboards, completely broken by the roaring fire outside. Sansa didn't even look at him. She stepped right over the Hound's trembling legs and reached the open doorway of the carriage.
As she stepped out, her soft leather shoe slipped on the wet, mud-caked wood of the carriage step.
Before she could fall, I dropped my chest low to the muddy ground, pressing my thick shoulder against the carriage to catch her. Sansa didn't scream. She grabbed handfuls of my thick, cream-colored mane to steady herself. Without hesitation, she pulled herself up and settled onto my broad back, burying her freezing hands into my warm fur.
I stood up to my full height, carrying the girl safely above the mud.
As I turned my head away from the wheelhouse and looked at the Gold Cloaks. The initial shock of my sudden appearance was beginning to fade. Fifty armed men were slowly remembering their numbers. Swords were raised higher. Spears leveled in my direction. They were getting bold, realizing they stood between me and the river.
Directly in my path was Ser Meryn Trant, sitting atop his white horse.
Through the fading empathic link, a sudden spike of terror hit the back of my mind. It was coming from Sansa. She was staring at Trant. The fear she felt just by looking at the knight in the white cloak told me everything I needed to know about how she had been treated in the capital. This man had been cruel to her, even in the original.
I narrowed my eyes. I pushed one final, sharp thought into Sansa's mind: an image of her pressing her hands tightly over the sides of her head.
On my back, Sansa instantly let go of my mane and clamped both hands hard over her ears. She didn't know why she did it, but she trusted her instinct.
I pulled a massive breath into my deep chest, letting the heat inside me expand the air, and let out a roar.
Deafening, concussive blast of sheer fury that shook the damp air and rattled the weapons in the men's hands. The sound was so physically loud it felt like a heavy hammer striking an anvil right next to their heads.
The Gold Cloaks froze completely. Horses screamed and buckled, throwing riders into the mud. Men dropped their swords to clutch their bleeding ears, completely paralyzed by the sheer volume and fury of the roar.
I didn't wait for them to recover. I dug my claws deep into the riverbank and shot forward.
I was a blur of a beast. Sansa grabbed my mane, clinging for her dear life as I closed the distance to the water in seconds. Meryn Trant's white horse reared up in blind panic, turning directly into my path.
I didn't go around him. I dropped my shoulder and slammed my full weight into the side of the knight's horse.
The white horse was thrown completely off its feet. Meryn Trant was launched from the saddle, crashing violently into the hard river stones. The heavy armor couldn't absorb the blow.
I plunged into the freezing, rushing waters of the Trident, Sansa looked back over her shoulder. She watched Meryn Trant rolling in the mud, clutching his ribs and spitting dark blood onto the stones, unable to stand.
I powered through the river, my heavy legs cutting through the current with ease. Within moments, my paws hit the muddy northern bank. I walked straight past the front line of the heavy Northern lances and stopped beside Ned Stark.
Ned looked at his daughter, safe on my back, and gave a single nod. He didn't waste time on a formal exchange. Tywin Lannister had brought an army to the woods; the rules of the trade were already broken.
"Fall back!" Ned commanded, his voice ringing over the roar of the burning forest. "Leave the Kingslayer!"
The Northern vanguard wheeled their warhorses around. They left Jaime Lannister sitting slumped on the miserable palfrey right at the edge of the water, a maimed offering for the battered Crown escort to collect.
As the Northern column rode back toward the safety of the Riverlands, I turned my head. Across the rushing water, through the mist and the lingering smoke, my amber eyes met Jaime Lannister's hollow stare one last time.
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