Chapter 9 – "The Pack Returns"
Two years had passed since the gates of Winterfell had last echoed with the howls of boys departing for the wild hearth of the Umbers. Now, they opened once more, not for boys—but for young men hardened by snow, steel, and stories.
The first to see them was Maester Luwin, who squinted into the northern wind as the three riders appeared, silhouetted against the grey sky. Behind them rode several Umber men, their cloaks flapping like great wings.
"Send word to the Lord and Lady," Luwin instructed a steward, already stepping forward.
Cregan rode tall and proud, his black cloak trimmed in grey fur. Robb followed closely, more composed, but his shoulders broader and his face sterner. Jon, ever quiet, had an edge in his eyes now, calm but ready.
Winterfell had not changed. But the boys who left it had.
---
Kael's POV
The wind smelled different.
Two-legged pups smelled like home, but something was missing—until today.
Kael stood at the edge of the yard, tail twitching. He had grown larger in the past moons, his sleek grey coat a winter storm in motion. His ears perked.
Yes.
There.
He ran, bounding through the snow, ignoring the shouts of startled guards. He skidded to a stop before the gates just as Cregan dismounted. One growl—low, eager—and then Kael leapt.
Cregan caught him, staggering back as the wolf licked at his face. "You overgrown mutt!" he laughed, wrestling Kael as the direwolf huffed and yipped.
Robb chuckled. "He missed you."
Jon knelt, rubbing Kael's ears. "We also did."
Kael looked between them. His pack. His wild, two-legged pack. They were taller now, smelled of ash and cold steel—but they were still his.
He liked the quiet one. The red wolf was calm. But the dark wolf—Cregan—was his alpha.
The small ones annoyed him. Arya pulled his tail. Bran tried riding him. Rickon tried to ride him. But he tolerated them. They were pups. His pups.
The pack was whole.
---
Ned's POV
From the battlements, Ned Stark watched his sons return. He saw the way Cregan held his head high, how Robb kept his reins loose but firm, how Jon now rode with more certainty. The Umbers had done what he hoped.
"They've changed," Maester Luwin said beside him.
"They've grown," Ned corrected softly.
But his eyes lingered on Cregan longest.
Already, he saw how the boy moved differently. There was control—but barely. Like a dam holding back a flood.
"You were always your uncle's shadow," Ned murmured to the wind. "Now you're becoming your own storm."
---
Catelyn's POV
The courtyard bustled as she descended the stairs. She could barely take in the sight—how much taller Robb was, how Jon looked less a boy and more like the North itself.
And Cregan.
That boy still had wildness in his eyes.
He was all hugs and loud laughter, sweeping up Arya in one arm and Bran in the other. He spun Sansa gently before ruffling Rickon's hair.
Kael growled at anyone who got too close.
Catelyn embraced Robb warmly, ignoredJon, and hesitated before Cregan.
"You look like you brought winter back with you," she said, attempting a smile.
"Good," Cregan replied. "The South is too soft."
She laughed, though uneasily.
---
Arya's POV
She couldn't stop grinning.
They were back.
Jon let her hold his sword. Cregan promised to teach her to throw axes. Robb told her stories of snow beasts and Umber feasts.
But it was Cregan she followed around most. He let her climb trees again—even dared her to.
"You're getting slow," she teased.
"You're getting noisy," he said, tossing a pinecone at her.
Winterfell felt fun again.
---
Sansa's POV
They were taller.
Robb was so composed. So noble. She nearly curtsied when he bowed.
Jon was still quiet, but his eyes had something new.
Cregan, however, was wilder. His boots clomped. His laugh echoed. He told Bran he'd gut any boy who pulled Sansa's braid.
She didn't know whether to be embarrassed—or proud.
When he handed her a bear carving with roses etched along the back, she smiled.
"I thought you'd like flowers," he said gruffly.
She did.
---
Bran's POV
Bran had spent the last year pretending to be brave. He tried climbing, sword-fighting, even riding alone. But now Cregan was back—and he felt brave again.
"Did you fight giants?" Bran asked.
"No," Cregan grinned. "They were too scared to show up."
Bran giggled and followed him everywhere. At night, Cregan told him stories by firelight—some real, some ridiculous.
Bran didn't care.
His brothers were home.
---
Rickon's POV
Rickon didn't understand.
He knew these tall ones were brothers. They smelled familiar.
He knew Kael wouldn't let him ride him anymore.
But Cregan lifted him high and made him fly, so that was enough.
He hugged Jon's leg, fell asleep on Robb's shoulder, and tried to feed Kael pinecones.
The pack was big. And warm. And loud.
Rickon liked it.
---
That night, the hearths in Winterfell burned brighter.
At the high table, the boys sat side by side—Cregan, Robb, and Jon. Their laughter mixed with Arya's teasing, Sansa's scoffs, Bran's questions, and Rickon's babbles.
Cregan raised his cup.
"To Winterfell," he said. "To the pack."
Kael huffed under the table.
The wolves had returned.
And winter was never warmer.