Chapter Two – Animals like him more
Winterfell – Great Hall, 286 AC
When Cregan Stark walked through Winterfell's gates with a living wolf in his arms, the castle reacted like a body struck in the chest—brief stillness, then murmurs echoing through the stone.
A stablehand froze mid-stride, jaw slack. A guard dropped his spear with a startled clatter. Even old Farlen, gruff and near impossible to rattle, paused in the yard, narrowing his eyes as if he were seeing something from an old tale.
Kael didn't growl. Didn't bare his teeth. He simply stared—watchful, silent, unblinking. A young wolf, too calm for his age. Too steady.
Cregan carried him with one arm, cloak dusted with snow, his face impassive. Robb and Jon trailed behind, casting glances at the reactions they passed, but Cregan paid no mind. He looked almost bored—except for the hand cradling Kael with instinctive care.
When they reached the Great Hall, Maester Luwin was already waiting beside Lord Eddard Stark beneath the looming direwolf banners. The hall was dim and flickering with hearthfire, the light dancing over stone and fur.
Ned stood with his arms folded, eyes on his son. His voice came low, unreadable.
"Tell me that isn't what it looks like."
Cregan stepped forward. "It's a wolf," he said, calm as ever.
Jon and Robb stayed behind him. The room was quiet—too quiet. Even the servants near the walls had stopped what they were doing, drawn by rumor or instinct.
"It came to you?" Ned asked, his tone shifting.
"Yes," Cregan said. "It didn't run. It didn't bite. It chose me."
Ned looked not at the wolf but at his son. Something flickered behind his eyes—not alarm. Something older. Familiar.
He sighed softly. "Of course it did."
From the far side of the hall, Ser Rodrik Cassel let out a snort as he stepped forward. "You're surprised, my lord?" he said with dry amusement. "I've seen Cregan charm a wild hawk off the godswood wall with nothing but scraps and a stare."
"And that hound the kennelmaster gave up on," added Maester Luwin. "Wouldn't let anyone near it. Then Cregan walks in and the damn thing's licking his hand like they were born together."
Ned's expression didn't change. "There was that stubborn black filly too. Refused every rider but him."
Rodrik chuckled. "Animals like him more than most people do."
Cregan raised an eyebrow but said nothing. Kael shifted slightly in his arms, nuzzling into his cloak as if sensing the attention.
A rustle behind them broke the tension. Lady Catelyn entered the hall, flanked by young Sansa and Arya. The girls peered around her skirts with wide eyes, each reacting as only they could.
"Is that a real wolf?" Sansa asked, stepping forward, her voice full of awe and wariness.
Arya pushed past her sister, eyes bright with excitement. "Can it bite someone? Like a knight? Or a Lannister?"
Catelyn moved between them swiftly. "Arya."
"What?" Arya said, defiant. "Wolves bite."
Catelyn ignored her and focused on the animal. Her voice was tight. "It's wild."
"It's not," Cregan said. "Not anymore."
Catelyn's eyes narrowed slightly. "You can't tame a wolf like a hound."
"I didn't tame him," Cregan said softly. "He just came."
Kael looked up at her, then yawned—a lazy, silent motion, as if mocking the tension in the room. Sansa let out a giggle.
"He's so soft," she whispered.
"If he allows it," Cregan said, lowering Kael just enough for them to see him better.
Sansa reached forward with practiced grace, letting him sniff her fingers before gently touching his fur. Kael didn't flinch. Arya crouched beside them, fearless.
"Can I teach him tricks?" she asked.
"You can try," Cregan said with a crooked smile. "He listens when he wants."
Arya grinned. "Just like me."
"That's enough, girls," Catelyn said quickly. "Away now."
The girls obeyed, reluctantly, and followed their mother out. Catelyn glanced back once—not at the wolf, but at Cregan.
There was no fear in her eyes. Only discomfort. A kind of wary mistrust that had nothing to do with fangs.
Ned finally stepped forward, his voice even. "This is not a pet. He is dangerous."
"So am I," Cregan said, without pride or apology.
Maester Luwin cleared his throat. "I must admit… his behavior is unnatural. Wolves don't act this way, not even the pups. It's like he understands more than he should."
"He understands who I am," Cregan replied simply.
Rodrik chuckled again. "The old blood stirs when it likes. Maybe it just found its echo."
Cregan looked up, meeting his father's eyes. "He's mine."
Ned studied him a long moment, then nodded once. "He stays with you. You care for him. Feed him. Train him. If he becomes a threat—"
"He won't," Cregan said, with quiet certainty.
There was no defiance in the boy's tone. Just truth.
Jon, silent until now, stepped forward. "It's like the gods gave him that pup. He didn't find it. It found him."
Rodrik nodded. "He walks through the woods like he's part of it. Always has."
Ned let out a breath, low and heavy.
Brandon had once tamed a wild colt no one could break—ridden it bareback through a snowstorm just to prove he could. Lyanna had calmed a crazed stallion with nothing but a touch, and danced through the godswood like a creature made of wind.
And now Cregan, silent and sure, walks into Winterfell with a wolf in his arms and barely a word.
The wolf blood, Ned thought. It runs stronger in some.
As the boys left the hall, Kael still curled comfortably in Cregan's arms, Ned remained staring into the fire.
There was no doubt in his mind. The blood of the First Men stirred in his second son more than the others.
In instinct. In presence. In the quiet way animals—beasts and men alike—trusted him without question.
The gods help the realm, Ned thought, if he ever stops pretending to be a boy.