Lord Rickard Stark of Winterfell rode atop his horse, leading his company away from the Wall back to his home if Winterfell. The Lord Stark was accompanied by his two sons eldest sons. His heir, Brandon, was a tall and handsome boy, quick to his sword and just as talented with a joust at only eight name days, already being called the wild wolf. Rickard's second son, Eddard, was less likely to anger, a quiet boy of seven name days, with a long face and grey eyes that gave away his every thought, the opposite of his brother, being called the quiet wolf.

Rickard had taken his sons on this trip to show them what they themselves may one day be asked to do. There had been a deserter from the Wall. And as Starks had always done, Rickard had heard the man's last words, and been the one to swing the sword. This was not the first time either boy had seen a man beheaded by their father, and both doubted it would be the last. As long as men deserted the Wall, The Lord Stark would be there to enact punishment.

It was during this ride home that they found them. The brothers had been racing home, purely for bragging rights, when they saw her.

Brandon called out to their father, bringing him over to where they found the dead Direwolf, killed by a broken antler in her throat, surrounded by five pups.

"What is it Father?" Ned asked quietly, not aware of an animal that could grow so large.

"She's a direwolf son." Rickard whispered solemnly, "They're all direwolves."

"How?" Brandon asked, his voice uncharacteristically quiet, "There haven't been direwolves south of the Wall in nearly two-hundred years."

"There are now." Rickard said, "We're looking at them."

"What should we do?" Brandon wondered, "We can't just leave the pups here."

Rickard nodded his head, they couldn't just leave the pups, after all, they are direwolves, even if they need to grow into the name. Then, Ned picked one up, "They aren't waking Father. Are they even alive?"

An urgency the boys had never seen before in their father came alive. "Won't wake? Boys, search for a sixth pup, pure white, and a runt."

They boys were confused, but did as their Lord Father bid them, searching around the wolf until Ned found a sixth pup, obviously the runt of the litter, fur as white as the snow of Winterfell. "Here Father," Ned called, the pup resting in his arms.

A look of wonder overtook The Lord Stark's face, a smile growing across his lips. "We found them." He said reverently, "we found the Hounds of the Pack of Winterfell."

Realization overcame the two boys. The legend of the Pack of Winterfell was as old as Winterfell itself. It spoke of a group of Starks who all bonded with direwolves, and it said that they would bring the North an era of prosperity never before seen. The fact that they had found the Hounds of the Pack, could only mean that they would be coming soon.

Both boys yelped in joy, celebrating together while still minding the ever sleeping pups. It all made sense now. The pups would sleep and keep from aging until they had found their bonded. And as the legend says, these bonded themselves would sleep until the entirety of their Pack was together. These pups were to be kept safe until the Pack could come together, and the House of Stark was proud to be chosen to fulfill the duty.

Rickard laughed with his sons for a bit, before calming them and telling them to grab two pups each. The Hounds of Winterfell would be coming home.

•••

Time Skip: Thirteen Years

This was not how the new Lord Stark envisioned his return home. Well, not at first at least. But now, with his bastard son, Jon Snow, in his arms as he looks to his wife, Catelyn, holding their first true born child, Robb, he truly wishes something's had turned out different.

He walked toward his wife, his Queen of the North, and watched the anger on her face grow the longer she looked at him. "I shall respect the bastard as your own," her tone was clipped, "but I shall not love him, nor shall you be forgiven for a while yet."

Ned nearly sighed in relief. This was by far the best he could ask for. At least she didn't force him to abandon the child. "As you wish, My Lady." His voice was apologetic, and it was clear to Catelyn he was willing to grovel. "May I see him?" Ned whispered, gesturing to the babe in Catelyn's arms.

She looked down to the babe in her arms, then to the babe in his. "Only if I can see him."

A large grin graced Ned's face, and he happily acquiesced to her wishes. As soon as he had his true born son in his arms, it seemed as though every wrong doing he had been forced to witness in the long war for his friend, Robert Baratheon's crown, simply vanished as he looked at his child's face.

As soon as the smile appeared, it vanished. "Catelyn, have you taken him to the pups?"

She shook her head, "I wanted to wait until your arrival so that he might know his father before he knows his wolf." Ned nodded, feeling thankful to be married to such a wonderful woman.

"Let us delay it no longer. They deserve to know their pack."

"You mean to give the bastard a wolf?" Catelyn was outraged that her husband could suggest such a thing. Not only did he have the audacity to bring home a bastard, now he claimed the child would be part of the Pack.

"I mean for a wolf to choose him, Catelyn. If I were to choose, he would get the runt, but it is up to the wolves to decide." As Ned talked, he began walking to the nursery, prompting his wife to follow.

"As you say, My Lord Husband." Catelyn said, "As you say."

They each stepped into the nursery, bringing the two boys into the room occupied by various nursemaids who cared for the direwolf pups, each pup sleeping in a crib that would be converted to beds as the pups and children grew.

Ned and Catelyn excused the young women, holding the two children close as they approached the sleeping pups. Ned turned to Catelyn, "Bring Jon to the runt first. If they are meant to be, I want the bond to form as soon as possible." Catelyn nodded and did as Ned asked. She felt the child wriggle the closer she got to the crib holding the smallest direwolf.

As Catelyn placed the child next to the runt, a soft light encompassed both, bonding them together and causing the bastard son of Ned Stark to enter a deep sleep. As Catelyn had been placing Jon next to the runt, Ned was walking amongst the three male direwolves, feeling young Robb squirm more around a male who had fur the color of smoke. As Ned placed Robb next to the pup, the same sort of light Catelyn saw with Jon surrounded Robb and his wolf, and as it dissipated, Robb too had entered a deep sleep.

"What shall we do now?" Catelyn whispered, looking upon her son with a longing known only by other mothers.

Ned wrapped an arm around her as he gazed upon his sons. "Now, we wait for the rest of the pack."

•••

Time Skip: Eleven Years

Catelyn smiled at her youngest, and most likely last, child. They named him Rickon, a strong name for the last Stark child, and for the completing member of the Pack. As Catelyn entered the nursery, she smiled at her eldest. Robb had grown into a strong looking boy of eleven name days. He had taken after her, with the Tully red-brown hair, and she hoped the blue eyes as well, though she wouldn't know until he woke. But she knew Ned was proud of the fact that the rest of him was all Stark. The large direwolf at his side had grown well, its smoke fur covering a strong body. Catelyn's second child was also her first girl, now with eight name days. They named her Sansa too took after her mother with her auburn hair and high cheek-bones. The wolf by her side was a female with grey fur. If her current size was anything to go by, this wolf would be the smallest, though Catelyn knew that size didn't always equal ferocity. In fact, it is usually the smallest who have the most to prove. Catelyn's third child was her second girl, now with six name days, was named Arya. Arya took after her father in the looks department, but Catelyn hoped she had the quiet Tully strength. Arya's direwolf was a female with a slightly darker shade of grey fur then Sansa's direwolf. Catelyn knew that she would be strong. The fourth child Catelyn had was a boy, now with four name days, named Brandon, Bran for short. Bran also took after his mother, thick auburn hair decorating his skull. Bran's direwolf had silver grey fur. Finally, Catelyn looked upon the bastard. Named Jon Snow, he was a lean boy, equal in age to her Robb. Jon's runt had grown in the past eleven years, now none would guess that the pure white wolf had ever been smaller than his pack mates.

Ned stood behind Catelyn, smiling over her shoulder to the baby Rickon. "Come my lady," Ned's breath ghosted past her ear, "let's meet our children."

Catelyn smiled as she carried the baby Rickon to the lone crib in the nursery, holding the last direwolf, a pup with pure black fur, a stark contrast with the runt's pure white. As Rickon was placed in the crib, the same light from the last five times encircled him, but instead of sleeping with his wolf, Rickon's direwolf awoke, immediately cuddling with the infant. The two eldest Starks turned toward a gasp they heard, seeing five questioning looks directed at them. "Welcome my children," Ned said, a smile on his face, "Welcome to the home of the House Stark. The home of this Pack. Welcome to Winterfell."