Chapter One – "The Wolf Blood"
Winterfell, Wolfswood – 286 AC
The trees stood tall and bare, their branches like ribs stretching into a pale grey sky. Cold wind hissed through the Wolfswood, brushing over the earth with whispers of old secrets and older blood.
The boys didn't care. To them, the woods weren't ominous — they were alive with challenge.
Cregan Stark slammed his shoulder into his twin, Robb, sending both of them tumbling down a slope blanketed in dry leaves. They landed hard, laughing and cursing, a blur of tangled limbs as they wrestled for dominance.
Jon Snow, leaner and quicker, darted in from the side and tried to pin Robb's legs before Cregan rolled and dragged him into the mess as well.
"I win!" Cregan barked, breathless but smug.
"You weigh like a bloody horse," Robb growled, struggling underneath him.
"A direhorse, maybe," Jon added with a grin, pulling himself free and brushing off his cloak.
"Strong blood," Cregan said, flashing a wolfish grin. "Can't help it."
"You're strong because you're thick," Robb shot back, finally shoving him off. "And slow."
"I'm your twin," Cregan smirked, brushing pine needles from his sleeve. "That makes you thick too. You're just better at hiding it."
"You're the slower one. You came out second," Robb replied, grinning like a lordling smug with birthright.
Cregan gave a shrug. "Must've been fate. The gods wanted to save the better twin for last."
Jon rolled his eyes. "The gods must've been drunk."
They sprawled out on the forest floor, catching their breath, cheeks flushed from cold and exertion. Around them, the ancient trees whispered like old ghosts. In those moments, the boys weren't Stark heirs or a bastard—they were just a pack of young wolves, wild and free.
Cregan, ever the quietest after chaos, lay still for a moment, staring up at the sky through the branches. "Do you feel it?" he asked softly.
Robb glanced over. "Feel what?"
"That… stirring. Like something waking up under your skin when the wind cuts through your cloak."
"Maybe it's ghosts," Robb muttered. "Or giants in the woods. Maybe Old Nan's finally gotten to you."
Jon tilted his head. "I've felt it too."
Cregan grinned. "Sure. Maybe the White Walkers are next."
"Or maybe we're all mad," Robb said with a snort.
Then — a sound.
High-pitched and strange. A whimper, sharp and close.
The three froze.
Another whine, from behind a half-fallen log.
Cregan was already moving, crouched low like a hunter. He crept around the deadwood and there, half-hidden among the frozen roots, a bundle of fur trembled. Small. Grey. Its eyes far too bright for its size.
"A pup?" Robb murmured, kneeling beside him.
Jon squinted. "No… Look at the head. That's not a hound."
The creature blinked slowly, ears twitching, body shivering — cold, frightened… and alone.
"A wolf," Cregan said softly.
Robb tensed. "Careful."
"They're not supposed to be this far south," Jon whispered.
Cregan extended a gloved hand, slow and steady. The pup growled — a weak, broken sound — but didn't back away.
"Easy now," Cregan said gently. "You're lost. Cold. I know what that feels like."
The pup sniffed once, then leaned forward and pressed its head into Cregan's palm.
Jon exhaled. "Seven hells…"
"It actually likes you," Robb said, incredulous.
"Wolves recognize kin," Cregan murmured, lifting the pup into his arms. "Or maybe I just smell better than you."
Jon raised an eyebrow. "You're not seriously going to keep it?"
"He's mine," Cregan said firmly. "His name's Kael."
"Already naming it?" Robb asked. "That was fast."
Cregan looked down at the trembling creature, holding it closer. "Wouldn't you want a name, if you were lost and freezing in the dark?"
Robb hesitated. "You're going to get in trouble."
"I usually do," Cregan said, smirking.
Snow began to fall as they made their way back toward Winterfell — light, drifting flakes settling on their cloaks and in Kael's soft fur. The grey towers loomed through the trees ahead, ancient and silent.
"You'll have to feed him," Jon said. "And clean after him."
"I'll teach him to piss on your boots," Cregan replied without missing a beat.
Kael stirred in his arms, licking at his glove with a raspy tongue.
"He likes you," Robb muttered. "That's even worse."
"I think he's a Stark," Cregan said proudly. "Stubborn, cold, and hard to kill."
"Then it's lucky we found him," Jon added quietly.
As they crossed the outer gate, a shadow stepped forward from the snow-dusted arch — Maester Luwin, swaddled in wool, squinting beneath the falling snow.
"You boys have been out too long—" He stopped. Stared. "By the gods… is that a wolf pup?"
"It followed us home," Jon said immediately.
"Cregan adopted it," Robb corrected.
"I think the wolf adopted him," Jon added, deadpan.
Maester Luwin's face flickered between horror and curiosity, his scholarly instincts warring with common sense. "Lord Stark will want to see this."
Cregan just smiled. "Of course he will."
They stepped under the stone archway. The wind shifted, curling back into the woods behind them.
Kael let out a soft huff, a sound not of fear — but peace.
Cregan looked down at the pup curled against his chest. His fur was damp from melting snow, his eyes half-closed. And for a fleeting moment, the wind itself seemed to whisper through the ancient pines:
The wolf blood runs true.