Chapter 70 - The Wolf Of Winterfell (Part 1)

125 AC

The seventh day of the second moon

Cregan Pov

I walked through the echoing halls of Winterfell, the cacophony of labor and the diligent efforts of my loyal men reverberating through the ancient stone walls. The castle was undergoing a painstaking restoration, the scars left behind from the bitter conflict between my uncle and his allies on one side and my own followers on the other slowly being erased.

It had been well over a month since my uncle met his unfortunate end at the hands of the enigmatic White Knight. In the aftermath of their defeat, my uncle and his son were denied the solemnity of a proper burial. Instead, their bodies were consumed by the purifying flames, a final rejection of any honor they might have claimed, let alone the privilege of interment within Winterfell's hallowed Crypts.

Amidst the clamor of repairs, the servants, tireless in their dedication, were preparing for a momentous event. The noble houses of the North were gathering in response to my call, ready to pledge their unwavering allegiance. The very thought of the long and harrowing year I spent as a captive within my own ancestral stronghold stirred a well of anger deep within me once more.

The memories of isolation, of being powerless within the walls of my own castle, fueled the flames of resentment that smoldered within me.

I released the grip of anger that had threatened to consume me, understanding that dwelling on the past was a fruitless endeavor. As my dear friend, Ulf, had wisely reminded me, one's focus should always be on shaping the future, for it was in the realm of tomorrow that true change could be realized.

Turning my thoughts to Ulf, I found solace in his steady recovery from the grievous wounds he had sustained in what had come to be known as the Battle of Winterfell. Ulf was more than just a masterful swordsman, as the castle's whispers often portrayed him to be. He was a man of exceptional intellect and a heart brimming with compassion.

As I watched him mend, I couldn't help but admire the resilience that radiated from him, a testament to his indomitable spirit. He exemplified the qualities that made him an extraordinary individual in every sense of the word.

The selflessness Ulf had displayed in risking his life to save Sara, a moment etched in my memory as an enduring symbol of his character, was a profound demonstration of his unwavering goodness. Ulf's actions that day bore witness to a man of remarkable integrity, a moral compass that guided his every decision and endeared him to all who had the privilege of knowing him.

Ulf's valor and kind-hearted nature made it clear that he was not merely a skilled warrior, but a man of exceptional character, deserving of my trust and admiration.

As I strolled toward the training yard, a growing crowd of men gathered, their voices rising in cheers and encouragement. The atmosphere was electric, charged with anticipation.

As I reached the center of the throng, the men instinctively made way, and there before me was Sara, her form graceful and determined as she wielded a sword. Her opponent was none other than young Addam, a lad who embodied both courage and honor, qualities he undoubtedly learned from his mentor, Ulf.

The raucous banter of Ser Hugh, one of Ulf's loyal companions, sliced through the air. "Don't let a girl best you, Addam!" he bellowed, prompting laughter and teasing from the men who had gathered to witness the spectacle.

Observing Sara's skills with the sword, I couldn't help but be pleasantly surprised. After all, our uncle had vehemently forbidden her from pursuing training of this kind. However, following the events that had unfolded, I had granted her the permission to embark on the path of swordsmanship. It was none other than Ulf himself who stood on the sidelines, offering guidance and encouragement, his experienced eyes tracking every move, every thrust and parry. It was a touching sight, a testament to the bond between Ulf and Sara, as well as the mentorship that extended beyond the realm of battle.

As Sara and Addam engaged in their sparring match, a wave of nostalgia washed over me. I remembered Jonnel, my younger brother, who had tragically perished at an age not much different from Addam's. The memory of Jonnel's youthful exuberance and the void his absence had left in my life lingered, a bittersweet undercurrent beneath the present scene.

As the duel between Sara and Addam concluded, the men began to disperse, leaving Ulf to offer his wisdom to his young squire and my sister Sara. However, when he spotted me standing nearby, he couldn't resist a bit of jesting.

"Any words of advice for these budding talents, Cregan?" Ulf inquired, a mischievous glint in his eyes.

"Well," I began with a mischievous grin, "Sara, Addam, let's not take advice from a man who can barely hold a sword in his current state!" Laughter erupted from our small gathering, Ser Hugh chiming in with his boisterous mirth.

Ulf, never one to back down from a challenge, didn't miss a beat. He replied with a wink, "A valid point, Wolf Lord. Though, I dare say, when I regain my strength, toppling you won't be much of an ordeal." His response was met with a chorus of chuckles.

I eagerly accepted his challenge, declaring, "I accept the challenge, White Knight!" We shared a jovial moment, our camaraderie unbroken despite our playful banter.

"Ulf, I'd like to have a word with you," I said, and he nodded in agreement. As the others dispersed, I couldn't help but notice Sara's wistful gaze lingering on Ulf, much in the same way I had often looked at Arra.

It was evident to me that my sister had fallen in love.

I guided Ulf towards the crypts, their ancient stone passages carrying with them the whispers of generations past. As we walked deeper into the subterranean chambers, I found a moment to broach the topic of Northern culture and its people.

"Ulf," I began, curiosity driving my inquiry, "what are your thoughts on the Northerners and their ways?"

With a contemplative gaze, Ulf began to speak, his words carrying the weight of experience and wisdom. "The Northerners," he mused, "are a unique breed. They endure harsh winters and unforgiving landscapes with a resilience that's unlike any other. It's a realm that shapes character, forging strong and tenacious individuals."

He continued, "The North values honor and loyalty above all else. The bonds between families and clans run deep, and one's word is considered sacrosanct. In this land, a person's actions matter more than their birthright. It's a place where every man, woman, and child has a role to play, and they take that responsibility seriously."

Ulf's eyes gleamed with admiration as he spoke. "What I find most remarkable about the Northerners is their unyielding sense of duty. They know that they must protect their people and the North itself from the many threats that loom in the shadows. It's a solemn duty that they embrace with unwavering commitment."

He paused for a moment, his gaze drifting to the ancient stone sarcophagi that lined the crypts. "But it's not just the hardships and the sense of duty that define the Northerners. There's a warmth and camaraderie that binds them together, a shared understanding of the challenges they face. In this cold and unforgiving land, there's a unique sense of unity, a connection between people that transcends social hierarchies."

Ulf's words painted a vivid picture of the North and its people, offering a perspective that was both insightful and appreciative. As he concluded, he turned to me and said, "Cregan, the North is a land of contradictions, but it's these very contradictions that make it a place of enduring strength and character. The Northerners are a testament to resilience, honor, and unity, and it's an honor to stand among them."

I gazed at him intently, a profound admiration welling up within my chest. "You have a way with words, Ulf," I said, my voice tinged with admiration and gratitude.

He chuckled modestly, the sound a testament to his humble nature. But his humility only served to amplify the impact of his words.

We continued our journey through the crypts, our footsteps echoing softly in the dimly lit chambers. The air was heavy with the weight of history, and as we approached the statue of my father, Lord Rickon Stark, memories of the past flooded my consciousness.

I stopped before the statue, my hand reaching out to touch the cold stone, as if hoping to bridge the chasm of time that separated me from my father. "This is my father, the previous Lord of Winterfell, Lord Rickon Stark," I said, my voice tinged with nostalgia and reverence.

Ulf gazed at the statue with genuine curiosity, taking in the solemn representation of a man who had once ruled these lands. His respect for the past was evident in the way he regarded the statue, understanding the significance it held for me.

I moved my gaze to a smaller statue beside my father's, a likeness of a young boy. "And this," I continued, "is my younger brother, Jonnel. He passed away when I was just eleven namedays old. His death was a heavy blow to Father, although he carried his grief with a stoic grace."

I couldn't help but express the bitterness that had been festering within me for years. "I was weak," I admitted, "that's why my treacherous uncle usurped my position, and I was powerless to do anything."

I lowered my head, my voice laced with self-doubt. "Father must think that I'm a failure," I mumbled, my emotions raw and turbulent.

Ulf's voice cut through the haze of my self-doubt, strong and unwavering. "Cregan," he shouted, a sense of urgency in his tone. I met his eyes, my own filled with uncertainty.

"You are no failure," Ulf declared with a fierce, unwavering confidence that demanded attention. "It was thanks to you that I'm even standing here right now."

His words hung in the air, resounding with the weight of truth. Memories of our journey together, the trials we had faced, and the battles we had fought side by side flashed through my mind.

"If it weren't for you," Ulf continued, his voice unwavering, "I would have died in the Godswood. You rallied the men at Winterfell to stand against your uncle, and it's through your own efforts that you've regained your rightful position."

Ulf's words cut through my self-doubt, casting light into the darkness that had clouded my thoughts. It was as though a veil had been lifted, revealing a path that had always been there but had remained obscured by my own insecurities.

Ulf's gaze softened, and his voice took on a gentle quality. "I never knew my father," he admitted quietly, a hint of vulnerability in his tone. "But what I do know, without a doubt, is that your father would be proud of what you've achieved."

His words struck a chord deep within me, touching the heart of my fears and insecurities. I met Ulf's eyes, and it was there that I saw the unwavering belief in his heart. It was a belief in me, in my strength, and in the potential that he saw, even when I struggled to see it in myself.

Ulf flashed a sly grin and playfully prodded me. "Can I spot a tear on the wolf's face?" he teased, and I responded by shoving him gently, both of us sharing a hearty laugh.

"It's time to head back," I said, still chuckling. "Sara's going to start contemplating creative ways to exact vengeance on me if I keep you here any longer."

Ulf's curiosity was piqued, and he couldn't resist asking, "And why would she want to kick your... err, 'precious gems'?"

I leaned in with a mischievous twinkle in my eye. "Well," I began, "because, my dear pretty boy, she's head over heels in love with you."

Ulf's reaction was priceless. He stared at me, his expression a mix of shock and disbelief. "What?" he sputtered, clearly taken aback by my revelation.

The absurdity of the situation, coupled with Ulf's flabbergasted response, sent me into another fit of laughter. It was a moment of camaraderie and good-natured ribbing, a reminder that even in the midst of our responsibilities and challenges, there was always room for a shared joke and a good laugh between friends.

As we emerged from the crypts, a woman with striking, dark brown hair stood waiting for us. The moment my eyes met hers, a torrent of emotions surged within me.

"Arra," I breathed, my voice heavy with emotion.

"Creg," she responded, rushing into my open arms. I held her tightly, as if I could protect her from ever being taken away again.

"I thought I had lost you," she confessed, tears glistening in her eyes.

"Never, my love," I assured her, our gazes locked in an unspoken promise. I remembered the days of our childhood, when we played together, and how as we grew older, our friendship blossomed into love.

As we finally parted, Arra's gaze shifted toward Ulf, her inquisitive eyes studying him.

"Arra, he is..." I began to introduce Ulf, but before I could complete my sentence, she took the initiative.

"Ser Ulf, better known as the White Knight," she said, her voice brimming with recognition as she appraised him.

I couldn't help but jest, "Ulf, it seems your reputation precedes you."

Arra's response was a knowing smile. "The entire North is abuzz with tales of his valor, Creg."

Then, I introduced her properly, my tone tinged with playful annoyance, "This is Arra Norrey, daughter of Lord Norrey and the woman who has captured my heart."

In response to my gentle teasing, she playfully smacked my arm. "It's a pleasure to meet you, Lady Norrey," Ulf greeted her gallantly, taking her hand and placing a delicate kiss on it.

Arra's cheeks took on a subtle rosy hue, and I couldn't resist the opportunity for a bit of playful teasing. I donned a mock scowl, feigning mild exasperation. "Arra, you're blushing!" I exclaimed, my tone dripping with feigned offense. "You never do that for me."

In response, she playfully nudged me with her elbow, a mischievous glint in her eye. "Blame him for being too handsome," she quipped, her playful accusation drawing laughter from both of us.