Chapter 10 – "The Year of the Wolf"
The halls of Winterfell felt warmer, louder, and livelier in the months that followed the return of Cregan, Robb, and Jon. A full year passed, and with it came growth, new habits, and subtle shifts in the family's rhythm. The boys were thirteen now, and their days no longer followed the idle rhythms of childhood. They were brothers, yes, but also mentors, protectors, and comrades.
It began with the yard.
Cregan had taken to sparring with Arya and Sansa in the mornings. What started as playful mockery turned quickly into genuine training. He would toss a wooden sword to Arya and shout, "Let's see if the pup can bite!" or lift Sansa onto a pony and say, "Lady horsehair, ride like you mean it!"
Robb, ever the diplomat, made sure things didn't grow too rough. He coached Sansa with care and corrected Arya with patience. Jon stayed mostly silent but his presence was constant. He would adjust Arya's footing, or help Sansa down from her saddle when no one else noticed she was tiring.
Kael often watched from the shade of the trees, tail thumping, head cocked. He seemed especially watchful when Arya held a blade. More than once, he'd gently tug her sleeve with his teeth when she struck too wildly, as if reminding her of her balance.
Cregan's training wasn't limited to swords. He taught Arya how to track rabbits, how to read the wind, and how to climb rooftops without being seen. Sansa, though less enthusiastic, still absorbed his lessons about horses, wilderness, and self-reliance. Both girls found themselves drawn to their brothers in different ways, thrilled by the sense of strength and freedom they offered.
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Catelyn's Frustration
Catelyn Tully Stark watched all of this with increasing dismay. Her sons' training was expected. Encouraged, even. But her daughters?
"They're supposed to be learning needlework, dancing, the ways of the court," she told Ned one morning in the solar.
Ned gave her the same calm look he always did. "They're learning courage. Control. Balance."
"From Cregan? He teaches defiance, not discipline."
"He teaches them to defend themselves. Would you rather they be helpless if trouble comes?"
"Trouble always comes when Cregan is near," she snapped. "He mocks tradition, Ned. He mocks me."
Ned sighed. "He speaks plainly. That is not the same as mockery."
"He told Septa Mordane she should fear the trees more than the Seven."
Ned tried not to smile. "He has a point."
But the situation soon worsened.
One afternoon, Cregan overheard Septa Mordane scolding Arya for arriving late to needlework. Her voice was sharp, and she called Arya "unwomanly" and "disgraceful." Before anyone could stop him, Cregan stormed in.
"If you raise your voice at my sister again," he growled, towering over the septa, "you'll find the North has harsher gods than yours."
"Is that a threat, young lord?" the septa snapped, scandalized.
Cregan didn't flinch. "Call it what you want. But remember, the Old Gods hear everything in this hall."
Septa Mordane scurried away, pale as snow.
When Catelyn heard, she was livid.
"You threatened a woman of the Faith!" she shouted.
"I warned a bully," Cregan replied flatly. "She treats Arya like dirt. Sansa too, when she's not singing pretty enough."
"She's a septa!"
"She's a guest," Cregan corrected. "Not a ruler. This is the North."
That night, Catelyn refused to sit beside him at supper. The rift between them deepened like a canyon.
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Cregan's Disdain
Cregan noticed the looks. The coldness in Catelyn's tone. He didn't care. Or rather, he cared enough to resent it.
"She wants Arya in silks and Sansa singing love songs to lords," he grumbled one day while oiling his axe. "A Northern lady should know how to kill a boar, not curtsy to it."
Jon, sitting nearby with Kael's head in his lap, nodded slightly. "Sansa likes songs, though. And Arya likes to hit me with sticks."
"Aye," Cregan smiled faintly. "Then let them both do what they love. But don't cage them."
He was always blunt around his mother. Too blunt, perhaps. Once, at dinner, he openly remarked, "If you wanted a Southern life, you should've married a Florent."
Silence had followed, broken only by the clink of a goblet.
Cregan did not apologize.
Later, he told Jon, "She doesn't like wolves. She wants house dogs. But we're not that, and we never will be."
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Robb's Balancing Act
Robb was the one who worked hardest to maintain peace. He softened Cregan's wildness where he could, diverted Arya from sneaking into the kennels at night, and ensured Sansa had time for her embroidery after sword drills.
He talked with Jon often, sitting atop the battlements in the evening. "We're different, but we fit together," he once said. "Like three stones in a ring. Father forged us that way."
Jon only nodded, but his gaze lingered on the courtyard below, where Arya chased Cregan with a stick and Kael barked at the wind.
Robb understood that someday he would lead Winterfell. And when that day came, he knew Cregan would be his sword, and Jon his shield.
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A Year in Summary
The seasons passed. Spring melted into a brief summer, and then autumn crept in with golden leaves and smoky skies.
Cregan hunted more often, usually alone with Kael, returning with elk or wild goats slung over his shoulder. His stories grew more exaggerated by the month—wrestling bears, stealing honey from giant bees, even claiming he saw a white stag in the snows beyond the Wolfswood.
Robb trained with Ser Rodrik more frequently, preparing for command. He led hunting parties, inspected defenses, and even sat in his father's seat at court once. He listened more and spoke with growing authority.
Jon spent long hours in the godswood or in the library, though he still sparred and laughed with the others. His bond with Cregan was silent but iron-strong. He followed him into every mad scheme and helped mend the pieces when they broke.
Sansa began to blend the courtly with the practical—singing while braiding her hair and quoting love poems while cleaning her riding leathers. She no longer fainted at the sight of blood, and she rode better than most squires.
Arya wore breeches more than dresses and practiced swordplay with Jon daily. She was quick, ruthless, and often scolded by Septa Mordane. But nothing thrilled her more than Cregan telling her she was "half-wolf already."
Bran followed the older boys everywhere, climbing higher each week, and Rickon learned to ride with Cregan holding the reins.
Kael? He prowled the walls at night, slept by the hearth in the great hall, and growled at ravens. When snow fell, he played in the drifts with the younger children, letting Rickon climb on his back and Arya race him across the yard.
Winterfell had not changed, but the pack had grown stronger.
The year passed like a long breath.
And in its stillness, something stirred.
The wolves were growing up.
And the North watched with quiet pride—and a little fear.