Chapter 3 – " Cregan adventures part 1 "
Two years after Kael first padded into Winterfell beside Cregan Stark, the boy had only grown wilder, taller, and more fearless. And now, as Lord Eddard Stark stood atop the battlements, the weight of war looming with the Ironborn rising again in the west, his thoughts turned not to bloodshed or banners, but to his children.
More precisely—to his second-born son.
Cregan.
Ned sighed and leaned against the cold stone. The wind howled through the towers, ruffling his cloak. Below, the yard bustled with activity—squires fetching supplies, guards sharpening blades, ravens flying like anxious omens.
But even that chaos seemed less unpredictable than the storm of one Stark boy.
He looked past the castle walls toward the edge of the Wolfswood.
"He'll be there," Ned muttered to himself. "Where else would he be?"
Robb might be in the yard sparring, Jon helping the blacksmith, but Cregan... No, Cregan preferred wolves and wind, trees and birds, danger and daring. Always had.
Gods, what do I do with that boy?
It wasn't that Ned didn't love him. He did. Fiercely. Perhaps even more than he should. But love didn't mean peace. It meant worry.
Robb was reliable. A born commander. Careful in speech, firm in presence.
Jon, though a bastard in the eyes of the realm, had a quiet steadiness that would carry him through hardship.
But Cregan...
Cregan was the echo of Brandon and Lyanna both—Ned's lost siblings reborn in one boy. He had Lyanna's fierce defiance and Brandon's unbreakable will. That combination terrified Ned more than any Greyjoy longship ever could.
There were stories—gods, so many stories.
Rodrik Cassel had once caught Cregan leaping from the kennel roof with Kael at his heels, trying to see if he could land in a hay cart. He missed. Broke two ribs. Laughed through the pain. The next week, he did it again—and this time landed it.
Then there was the time he and Jon tried to "borrow" a skiff and sail the White Knife. No permission. No experience. Just a satchel of bread, a dagger, and Kael howling gleefully at the bow. They made it five miles before the current capsized them. Only Branwen's barking and Robb's sharp eyes got them pulled from the river alive.
He remembers how Farlen tried to keep Cregan out of the kennels after Kael's arrival. Lasted two days. Then Farlen gave up and said, "He's got beastblood in him, my lord. Not in a bad way, but he speaks to them. Like he knows them."
And he does.
Cregan didn't tame animals. He didn't command them. They followed him. Dogs, birds, wolves—even the guard horses nickered when he passed. He had an aura about him, something older than even the old gods. Ned had watched Kael grow from pup to a sleek, silent shadow of the boy—and the way they moved together, it unsettled him sometimes.
Like watching a man and his ghost.
Ned closed his eyes.
"You'll be a terror when you're grown," he whispered into the wind. "The North will love you, or fear you—or both."
He thought of how Cregan once climbed the broken tower barefoot in winter just to fetch a hawk's egg. Not because he wanted it. Just because it looked like it was lonely.
He remembered the other time he and Robb and Jon convinced Arya to sneak through the crypts with them—Cregan had led the way with Kael at his side and a lit torch in his hand, eyes dancing like it was all a game.
The ghost of Brandon smiled in his mind.
And Lyanna, wild on horseback, calling to him from the field.
Gods help me, they live in him.
He wished he could stay longer. Teach Cregan to control that fire without putting it out. But war called, and the North needed its lord.
He would leave Robb in charge, Jon at his side, and Cregan...
Well, Cregan would do as Cregan always did. Run with the wind. Howl with the wolves. And return, bruised and brilliant, as if fate itself feared to keep him down.
"I'll be back," Ned promised softly.
But he wasn't sure if he said it for his family—or for himself.
Some boys were born to lead.
Some to follow.
Cregan Stark?
He was born to run free.