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Chapter 8 - Chapter Eight — Shadow's Along the King's Road

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Author's Note:

This chapter is divided into sub-chapters, marked in parentheses (e.g. (Sub-Chapter Name)). Each sub-chapter focuses on a specific event or perspective, making it easier to follow multiple threads of the story.

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(A Decision and a Departure)

Eddard Stark stood beneath the shadows of the Heart Tree, snow dusting his broad shoulders as red leaves fluttered above. The old gods seemed to watch in silence as he finally spoke words he'd been resisting for days.

"I will accept Robert's command. I will go south as his Hand."

There was no joy in his voice—only resignation. A sense of foreboding lay heavy across his brow. Robert Baratheon had come all the way to Winterfell seeking his old friend, and duty was a Stark's inheritance, however bitter the cost.

Hidden in the woods beyond the godswood, Naros listened to the family's reaction. He watched Arya protest, Sansa glow at the idea of marrying a prince, and Catelyn hover between fear and pride.

Naros understood the burden in Ned Stark's words more than most.

If Eddard Stark goes south, the game begins in earnest.

He, too, knew he had to move.

Before slipping away, Naros left behind a Shadow Clone in Winter Town, perfect in mannerisms and daily routine. It served both as a stand-in for his parents and as an alibi should questions arise.

Whatever happens, Joren and Lysa must never pay for my secrets.

So as the Stark party prepared to depart, Naros melted into the shadows, leaving his true self free to follow where fate led.

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(The Kingsroad Journey)

They departed under gray skies, banners flapping and wagon wheels creaking along the Kingsroad. The royal procession stretched out like a serpent of color and sound, laughter mixing with guarded whispers.

Eddard rode beside Robert, their conversations shifting between old memories and the stark weight of ruling kingdoms.

Sansa, her cheeks flushed pink, sat close to Joffrey. Arya trailed behind, her face locked in a scowl, eyes darting over every tree and roadside.

Naros moved alongside the royal retinue, slipping in and out of the forest. Sometimes he stayed close enough to glimpse the swirl of noble cloaks; other times, he vanished entirely, invisible among common travelers and merchants.

At night, he assumed various guises—a tinker, a peddler, a wandering woodsman—and wandered the camp, listening for secrets. Whispers spread of debts, rivalries, and shadows deeper than any southern forest.

This realm stands on the edge of a knife, Naros thought. And they're too busy bickering to see it.

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(At the Crossing)

Late afternoon found them approaching the Riverlands. The sun hung low, painting the shallows of the crossing with molten gold.

Naros was moving through the trees when he saw the beginnings of chaos unfold.

Joffrey and Sansa were strolling near the riverbank, alone, without any guards trailing them. Not far away, Arya laughed as she sparred with Mycah the butcher's boy. The two of them danced and swung sticks, sweat glistening on their foreheads.

Joffrey strode forward, sneering.

"Is that how highborn girls behave? Playing swords with swineherds?"

Arya bristled. "We're just practicing!"

Joffrey scoffed. "Practicing? Fighting like boys? Here—let me show you how it's done."

He drew his sword, real steel flashing in the sunlight. Mycah stepped back, stammering.

"I don't want to fight, m'lord—"

Joffrey lunged, slashing and nicking the boy's arm. Blood welled bright red.

Arya shrieked and struck Joffrey's wrist with her stick, making him yelp and drop his sword. She kicked it away, face blazing with fury.

Joffrey lunged at her again, but Arya ducked under his swing and cracked him hard across the ribs.

The prince stumbled—and that's when a gray shape exploded from the trees.

Nymeria, Arya's direwolf, slammed into Joffrey, knocking him sprawling into the mud. Her teeth snapped inches from his throat as she snarled.

Joffrey shrieked. "Get it off me! Gods—GET IT OFF ME!"

Arya grabbed Nymeria's scruff, shouting:

"No, Nymeria! Go!"

Nymeria hesitated, eyes blazing gold, then vanished into the forest, silent as a shadow.

Moments later, Sansa arrived, crying and tugging at Joffrey's arm. He lay in the mud, trembling with rage and humiliation.

Retainers and guards came running, confusion and panic spreading. Joffrey pointed at Arya with a shaking hand.

"She set that wolf on me!"

Arya's voice wobbled. "I didn't—"

But Joffrey's accusations were already drowning out the truth. Naros, hidden in the brush, slipped away, following Mycah's trail deeper into the forest.

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(Rescue in the Woods)

Mycah had fled in blind panic, leaving behind broken branches and tiny smears of blood. Naros found him huddled under a tangle of roots beside a shallow stream, shoulders shaking with silent sobs.

Naros approached slowly. "Mycah."

The boy flinched, pressing himself against the roots. "Please don't hurt me. I didn't want to fight no prince!"

"I know," Naros said gently. "I saw what happened."

Tears pooled in Mycah's eyes. "They'll kill me. I have to keep runnin'. South, they said—"

"No." Naros knelt beside him, voice low. "That's what they'll expect. Roads south are watched. If they find you there, they'll claim you ran because you were guilty."

Mycah trembled. "Then… where do I go?"

"You're going north," Naros said. "Follow the river until you see the split-oak tree. Take the path into the hills. Travel by night. Keep quiet. Say nothing about your name."

He pressed a small pouch of coins into Mycah's hands. "This will help you survive."

Mycah stared at the pouch. "But… my mum—"

Naros squeezed his shoulder. "Live. That's the only way to win."

Mycah swallowed, then nodded. He disappeared into the dark trees, footsteps light as a frightened hare.

He deserves a chance to grow up, Naros thought grimly. Even if my own children never got that chance.

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(Aftermath)

By nightfall, the incident had rippled through the entire royal camp. Torches glowed in tense circles while Robert roared curses and Cersei demanded justice. Arya wept in her tent.

Hidden in the guise of a peddler, Naros learned the rest from one of his Shadow Clones:

"Nymeria escaped. Arya chased her off so they wouldn't kill her. Now the queen demands Lady's death instead."

Naros clenched his jaw.

Innocent beasts paying for human pride…

That night, the clone stole into the Stark wagons and freed Lady, slipping her into the trees where another clone waited. Together, they spirited her north, following Nymeria's distant trail.

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(A Hidden Offer)

Later, Naros found Arya sitting on a fallen log, hugging her knees. The stick she'd used to fight Joffrey lay forgotten in the grass.

She murmured bitterly into the dark:

"If Sansa hadn't lied… maybe they wouldn't have wanted Nymeria dead…"

Her voice cracked as she scuffed at the dirt with her boot.

"Stupid Sansa… stupid prince… I wish I'd hit him harder…"

Naros felt sorrow twist inside him. So much of Arya reminded him of Boruto—stubborn, fierce, unwilling to bend.

She wiped her eyes. "I can't even find Nymeria. She's out there all alone… and it's all my fault…"

He stepped from the shadows, transformed into a nondescript stableboy.

"Arya Stark."

She leapt to her feet, brandishing her stick. "Who are you?!"

"A friend," Naros said gently. "I've been watching. You're quick. Smart. I could teach you how to move without being seen. How to stay safe… and free."

Arya scowled. "Why would you help me? You don't look like a fighter."

Naros smirked. "No?"

She eyed him suspiciously. "You look like a stableboy."

Naros tilted his head, grinning. "Well… how about this, then?"

His body shimmered, shifting into the shape of a tall warrior in black leather, golden hair falling across a scarred cheek. Muscles rippled beneath his armor, his eyes sharp and cold.

Arya's eyes went round as moons. "Gods…!"

Naros gave a small shrug, his voice deeper now. "Better?"

Arya whispered breathlessly, "Can you teach me to do that? I want to turn into someone else!"

A hint of sadness crossed Naros' new face. "That part… can't be taught. It's something you have to be born with."

Arya's face fell. "That's not fair."

"I know." Naros hesitated, then leaned closer. "But there's something else you should know. I found Nymeria."

Arya's mouth dropped open. "You did?! Where? Is she safe?"

Naros nodded. "She's safe. I sent her north, away from the queen and Joffrey. Lady, too. I got her away before the queen's men could find her. They're together. But they have to stay hidden. If they come back, the queen and Joffrey will demand their heads again."

Tears welled in Arya's eyes. She blinked rapidly and scrubbed her face. "Thank you…" she whispered.

Naros inclined his head. "I couldn't let them pay for something that wasn't their fault. Or yours."

Arya's chin lifted, fierce resolve shining through her tears. "Then teach me. Everything. How to move, how to hide… how not to be seen."

Naros' eyes softened, haunted by distant memories. "We'll start tomorrow. And it stays between us."

A grin broke across Arya's face—a flash of the wolf she would one day become. "Good. Because I'm going to be better than any of them."

And beneath the moonlight, a silent promise passed between them—a shared understanding, and the first fragile threads of trust.

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