Chapter 8 – "To Tame a Wolf"
The hall of Winterfell was cloaked in twilight, long shadows dancing along the stone walls as torches flickered. Lord Eddard Stark sat at the high table, Kael curled at the foot of his chair. Across from him, Cregan stood stiff, arms folded. Robb and Jon flanked their brother, the three of them a trio of quiet storms.
"You're sending me away," Cregan said, his voice flat.
"I am sending you to the Umbers," Ned replied calmly. "To learn. To grow."
"I am not some wild colt that needs breaking."
"No," Ned agreed. "You are a wolf—and even wolves must learn to hunt in packs. Discipline. Restraint. Command. These are not chains. They are strength."
Cregan's jaw twitched. "You think the Umbers will teach me that?"
"They are loyal men. Fierce, yes—but bound by honor. And you will not go alone. Robb and Jon will go with you. It is time you faced the world together."
Robb exchanged a glance with Jon, then stepped forward. "Father… I agree. It may be good for us."
Ned looked at him with pride. "It will harden you. Forge bonds outside these walls. The North is not just Winterfell."
Jon, quiet until now, said softly, "When do we leave?"
"In three days," Ned replied. "Lord Greatjon expects you."
Cregan turned toward the window, fists clenched. "I don't want to leave the pack."
"You're not," Ned said, standing. "You're expanding it."
---
Three days later, the boys were packed and mounted, Kael trotting beside them. Ned and Catelyn stood by the gates, flanked by retainers and guards. The household had gathered to see them off, from stable hands to old Hullen.
Catelyn looked at them, worry in her gaze, but said nothing. Her eyes lingered longest on Jon. Sansa stood beside her, hands clasped, Arya scowling as if someone had kicked her favorite pup.
Cregan approached his father and saluted with a mock bow. "Any last words, Father?"
"Don't punch any lords," Ned said dryly. "Unless they truly deserve it."
Cregan smirked. "Can't promise that."
Robb rode up beside him. "Don't forget we represent Winterfell."
"And you represent reason," Cregan teased. "I'll just be the sword."
Jon grinned quietly, glancing down at Kael. "We'll watch each other's backs."
"And you'll listen to the Umbers," Ned added, voice firm. "You are not just boys now. You are Stark sons. Let the North know it."
As they rode out, Arya chased after them, waving wildly.
"Don't let Cregan set anything on fire!" she called.
Sansa's voice was gentler. "Write to us!"
"I'll draw you a bear!" Cregan shouted back.
Bran and Rickon watched from the ramparts, Bran clutching a carved wolf figure Cregan had given him the night before.
"Will they come back?" Bran asked.
"They will," Maester Luwin said gently. "And stronger than ever."
---
The trip to Last Hearth was long and bitter. Snow fell thick and wet, and wind bit through their cloaks. But the boys were Northern born, and their spirits were high. Cregan led the way, Kael bounding ahead, barking at crows and sniffing at trees.
Jon kept close to him, his voice more open than usual, asking questions about woods, about hounds, about old stories Cregan half-remembered from the kennel masters. Robb listened and sometimes added a wry comment, content to let the others talk.
When they arrived, Last Hearth stood like a squat fortress in a sea of white, its banners snapping in the wind. The Umbers met them with bellows and bear hugs. Lord Greatjon himself clapped Cregan on the back so hard it nearly knocked him off his horse.
"You've got fire in you, boy," the Greatjon laughed. "You'll fit in well here."
"I'm not here to fit in," Cregan replied, adjusting his cloak.
"You're here to learn. And fight. And drink—eventually."
Robb laughed. Jon chuckled. Even Cregan smiled faintly.
---
Life at Last Hearth was different. Louder. Rougher. Less formal.
They woke at dawn and trained in snow-covered yards with wooden swords and iron axes. They hunted wild elk in the deep woods and tracked bear prints with grizzled old trackers who smelled of pine and ale.
Cregan took to it with wild delight. He sparred until his arms went numb, ran until his legs trembled, and roared challenges in the dining hall. Kael kept pace beside him, wrestling with the Umber hounds and nipping at the ankles of squires.
Robb adapted well, calm and thoughtful in battle exercises. He earned the respect of the older boys through strategy and patience. Jon, encouraged by Cregan, grew louder, more confident. He stopped flinching at older men's voices and began giving orders during drills.
One evening, after a brutal sparring match where Cregan left a red-faced Umber cousin flat on his back, the boys sat before the hearth in the great hall.
"You don't hold back," Jon said.
"Never," Cregan replied, nursing a bruise on his knuckles. "You can't ask the world to go easy on you."
Robb leaned back on the bench. "We're learning, I'll give Lord Stark that."
Cregan took a deep drink of water. "Still think he's trying to break me."
Robb smirked. "He's trying to shape you."
"Same thing," Cregan muttered, then grinned. "But I'm not breaking."
"You're too stubborn for that," Jon said quietly, with admiration.
---
The Umbers told tales around the fire—tales of giants, of snows that swallowed towns, of wolf packs the size of armies. Cregan listened with bright eyes, hunger and awe in every word.
He became a favorite of the Greatjon, who once declared, "If the Starks don't make you a commander, I'll bloody adopt you."
"Too late," Cregan replied. "Already promised to the wild."
That night, the boys sat outside, watching snow fall from the sky like ashes.
"We'll be different when we go back," Robb said suddenly.
"Good," Cregan replied. "Better wolves."
"I miss them," Jon whispered. "Sansa. Arya.Little Bran. Even Rickon."
"I miss Arya," Cregan grinned. "She's the only one who cheers when I get in trouble."
Robb chuckled. "Bran misses you the most. He's probably trying to ride Kael around the yard by now."
"He'll keep the pack safe. Until we return."
The stars wheeled above them. The wind howled like a song.
The boys were far from home. But they were not alone.
They were Starks.
And the North remembers.