Chapter 7 – "Wolf Blood Reflections"
The wind howled through the towers of Winterfell, carrying the chill of northern frost. Inside the solar, Lord Eddard Stark stood at the window, eyes fixed on the distant godswood where his sons often vanished into wild games and mischief.
"They're growing quickly," he muttered.
Catelyn, seated near the fire with mending in her lap, looked up. "Too quickly. I worry."
Ned turned. "About Robb?"
"About all of them," she said. "But mostly about Cregan. He's fearless. Bold. Too Wild"
Ned gave a slow nod. "He reminds me of Brandon."
"Exactly," Catelyn said, her voice tight. "And look where that led."
Ned crossed the room and poured himself a cup of watered wine. "He's not Brandon. He's still a boy. He can be guided."
"He almost burned the sept."
"He didn't," Ned replied evenly. "And Robb stopped him."
Catelyn placed her mending aside. "You see what that means? Robb's the one reining him in. Should it not be the other way around?"
"They balance each other," Ned said. "Robb has the calm of a future lord. Cregan has the instincts of a hunter. The North needs both."
She hesitated. "And Jon?"
That gave him pause. "He looks to Cregan more than to anyone."
"And you allow it? He is a bastard"
Ned growled at her. "Jon's lonely. Cregan gives him belonging. I will not break that bond. It may be the truest thing Jon has."
Catelyn lowered her eyes , but still defiant
Ned looked at her.
"I don't know " she said again. "But it's hard. Knowing what he represents."
"Jon has done no wrong. And Cregan's loyalty to him… it's a kind of justice the world rarely shows."
She gave a weary nod. "Still. His wildness unnerves me. The way animals follow him. That wolf pup. The hawks on the tower. Even the hounds in the yard."
Ned said nothing.
She looked at him, lips tight. "You've seen it too."
"I have," he said finally. "I saw it in Lyanna's eyes once. And Brandon's temper."
"You're not afraid?"
"I'm his father. I fear what all fathers fear: that the world will not be kind to boys who burn too bright."
---
In the nursery wing, Sansa sat brushing her doll's hair while Arya carved notches into the edge of her wooden practice sword.
"Cregan's going to get in trouble again," Arya said with clear admiration.
Sansa sighed. "He always does."
Arya grinned. "And he always wins."
"You mean he gets away with it."
"Because he's brave."
"He's wild," Sansa countered. "Like a wildling."
Arya shrugged. "He teaches me to climb. He said girls can fight too if they want."
Sansa looked shocked. "He said that?"
Arya nodded proudly. "He said I have more spine than half the boys in Winterfell."
Sansa giggled despite herself. "Father says he has the wolf blood."
Arya leaned back against the wall. "Then I want it too."
What Sansa didn't say aloud was how much she admired her wild brother—how the way he defied rules, stormed into danger, and protected Jon and her made her wish she could be a little wilder too. Not like Arya, not rough and sword-wielding—but brave in her own way.
---
In the tower room, Jon sat cleaning his training sword, Kael curled at his feet. Robb stood by the hearth, quiet.
"Do you think he's too much?" Jon asked.
"Cregan?" Robb looked thoughtful. "Sometimes. But he's also the reason you and I get along."
Jon smiled faintly. "He punches first, asks later."
"That's why I need to ask before punching," Robb said dryly. "He acts. I think. We balance him."
"You're going to be a great lord."
Robb looked at him. "Not without you. Or him."
Jon looked down at Kael. "He makes me feel like I matter. Like I'm not just some mistake."
"You're not," Robb said firmly. "And Cregan would burn the world to prove it."
Jon nodded. "I know."
---
Cregan was often seen with Bran riding on his shoulders, laughing wildly as they galloped down the training yard pretending to be knights and dragons. Rickon, still barely two, followed wherever he could—chubby legs wobbling and arms always reaching for his boldest brother.
Cregan would scoop him up without hesitation, letting him ride his hip like a little lordling. "He'll be climbing the walls before he talks," he joked once, Kael wagging beside him as if in agreement.
"Cregan's my favorite," Bran said once to Old Nan.
"He spoils you," she grumbled.
"He's the best," Bran declared proudly, not caring for her tone.
Cregan treated his younger siblings like treasures—protective of Arya's wildness, Sansa's quiet hopes, Bran's bright curiosity, and Rickon's innocence. He played with them, defended them, challenged them. He was chaos and comfort, storm and shelter.
In Winterfell, Cregan's wolf blood showed not just in battle, but in love.