There was a story that Cregan had grown up on, of a princess who had fallen for a dragon and flown away on his back. He wasn't sure who had told him that story, just that it was a story he grew up on. It was always a woman that told him this story. She would put his head on her lap and tell him it, running her fingers through his hair. He could never see her face, always covered by her long brown hair. He felt safe around her like he was with his family. And every time she would finish her story, she would whisper to him three words, "Protect him, please". And then he would wake in his bed.

Iron gates slowly opened as three men on horseback entered a tunnel that connected both sides of a grand Wall. On one side was civilization, buildings of wood and iron. And on the other was nothing but vast whiteness, covered in snow. The three rode together until a certain point where they split up. One of those riders happened upon a settlement of sorts, his horse unsettled at being near it. Nobody blamed the creature, not when the settlement was littered with the dead, their bodies torn to pieces. The man took his horse and rode back with haste.

"What do you expect?" said the man's companions once he had told them about what he had seen. "They're savages. One lot steals a goat from another lot, and before you know it they're ripping each other to pieces."

"I've never seen wildlings do a thing like this," said the man who had reported the sighting, "I never seen a thing like this, not ever in my life."

The man who had spoken a moment ago, presumably the leader with how he talked and held himself, took a moment to tighten the saddle of his horse. "How close did you get?"

"Close as any man would" the reporter replied.

"We should head back to the Wall" the third finally spoke, the reporter agreeing with him.

"Do the dead frighten you?" asked the leader of the three.

"Our orders were to track the wildlings. We tracked them. They won't trouble us no more."

"You don't think he'll ask us how they died?" the leader scoffed. Receiving no replies he let out an amused huff, "get back on your horse."

"Whatever did it to them could do it to us," the reporter said, seeing the third member silently walk away. "They even killed the children."

"It's a good thing we're not children," the leader said, getting into the man's face. "You want to run away south, run away. Of course, they'll behead you as a deserter. If I don't catch you first" the words knocked the fight out of the reporter. "Get back on your horse. I won't say it again."

Frustrated the man listened to his leader and got on his horse. The three went to the settlement where the bodies were, except there were no bodies anymore. They split once more to find these dead men. Darkness and an eerie silence seemed to settle on the surroundings, broken when one of the three screamed in agony. The one that had reported the bodies froze on the spot, watching as all three horses ran off. He looked around until his eyes fell on a figure, a child from the looks of it. Slowly the child turned and his eyes met their pale blue ones. Fear gripped at his heart and he ran, away from the child, away from the settlement.

Abruptly he stopped, seeing one of his brothers. He looked frightened, beyond anything he had seen before. Then he saw a shadow, erupt from behind him and behead him with a single stroke. His brother fell, the head clutched in the shadow's hand. It moved towards him, into the light and he saw it. The thing was tall and gaunt, with flesh pale as milk. Its eyes were a cold blue, bright and crystalline compared to the ones he saw on the child, like a frozen star. The Thing threw the head of his brother at him and just stared. The man rose to his feet and ran, but the thing did not chase him. A sharp cry made the thing snap its head towards the trees, where a single crow sat and stared at it defiantly.

With a dull thud, the arrow hit, not the target but something else far from its intended mark. The boy clicked his tongue in frustration, kicking the dirt and glaring at the target. One hand clapped his shoulder while another gently gripped his bow arm.

"Go on," said his brother encouragingly, "Father's watching". The boy turned around, his eyes going up to the platform where a man and a woman stood smiling at him. "And your mother" the older boy added.

Nervously the boy nodded at them before turning to look at the target before him. He took aim once more, the bow arm unsteady, but was stopped before he could make his shot. This time by another young man who was taller than the other one.

"Your form is off," said his other brother, the oldest of the three. He walked around him and stood on the other side of where their brother stood. "Listen carefully" he knelt beside him and with gentle but firm instructions guided his brother through the process. "Plant your feet properly, your balance is off. Now hold the bow tightly, do not loosen your grip at any cost… good like that. Now when you pull on the arrow, I want you to pull it as further back as you possibly can. That's right, go till it's right beside your face" the young man stood and stepped back, "now take your shot. Focus on only your target and nothing else, just the target."

Inhaling deeply the boy fixed his focus on the target, on the darkened part at the very middle. He let his breath out slowly as the world around him dissolved to blur before he let go of the arrow. The arrow cut through the air and with a sharp thud planted itself right where the boy wanted, the centre of the target.

"I did it!" the boy cheered, turning to look at his eldest brother. "Did you see that Cregan? I hit the bull's eye! I did everything you said and it worked!"

"Good job, Bran" the young man named Cregan smiled at his younger brother, a proud glint in his eyes. Up on the platform their parents clapped as well, overcome with joy at the accomplishment of their young son. Their attention was taken away from their sons when they were approached by an older man.

"Arya I can see you behind the barrels" Cregan stated calmly.

"Liar! You're not even looking back" the girl called Arya jumped out from behind the barrels and approached him, a bow and arrow in hand.

"Then how do you think I knew you'd be there?" the older brother asked.

"I don't know" the younger sister shrugged with a sulking look on her face.

"Lads!" a lean young man with dark hair called, "Lord Stark wants you all to saddle up. There's been a deserter."

"A deserter," Jon said with thinly veiled disgust.

"Don't judge before you know the man's story" Cregan told him in a chastising tone, his lips pursed.

The mumbling deserter was brought to Lord Stark, who grimly looked at the man. In his hands was Ice, the ancestral greatsword of House Stark. The name of the sword predated its existence, dating far back as that of the Age of Heroes. The sword was spell forged in Valyria and acquired by House Stark, named in honour of that legacy. The Sword was as wide as a man's hand and six feet tall, almost the size of Cregan who was a little taller. Cregan had always found the sword to be ostentatious. With how large it was, it rarely would see use in battle, only pulled out for ceremonies or beheadings such as now.

He stopped his mumbling when he had reached Lord Stark, instead studying the faces of all those that were looking at him. "I know I broke my oath" the man finally looked at Lord Stark. "And I know I'm a deserter. I should have one to the wall and warned them, but… I saw what I saw. I saw the White Walkers. People need to know."

A moment of tense silence followed before the man looked at his feet. "If you can get word to my family… tell them I'm no coward. Tell them I'm sorry."

Lord Stark looked at his feet before he gave a nod to the men standing behind the deserter. The men brought the deserter to his knees. "In the name of Robert of the House Baratheon, first of his name…"

"Don't look away" Cregan told his younger brother smoothly. "Father will know if you do."

Bran gulped and gave a feeble nod. The boy did not look away, not even when the sword came down and the man's head was separated from his body.

"Good job" he gave a firm but comforting squeeze to the boy's shoulder. Bran went to his father while Jon walked to Cregan.

"I know his story now," the young man said, "and I don't feel any less disgusted. He's using folk tales for excuses" the boy walked away.

"Is he now" Cregan murmured, staring blankly at the pool of blood near the execution block.

The party didn't ride too far from the execution site when they had to stop. Lord Stark got off his horse and approached the obstacle that prevented their ride back home, a stag was dead on the road, its side was torn open and the insides pouring out.

"What is it?" asked Theon Greyjoy, "Mountain Lion?"

"There are no mountain lions in these woods" the Lord of Winterfell shook his head. Cregan's eyes though were not on the animal. Instead, he was following a trail of blood. He broke off from the group, going off-road into the dense forest. Not too far from the Stag's corpse, he found the killer.

"It's a freak" Theon's comment alerted Cregan that the rest had followed him.

"This 'freak' is the symbol of my house. You should be careful when you speak of it" Cregan warned him. "It's rare to see a beast such as this so far down south, father. And now we have seven of them."

"Seven?" Lord Stark asked, "I only see six here, including the dead mother."

"Five pups here and another one there" he pointed to a position far from the dead wolf. "Jon, that one's yours. Bran" he lifted a pup into the younger Stark boy's hand. "Yours, keep it safe. These two are Sansa's and Arya's. This one, this one's mine."

"Cregan," his father said calmly, "these pups won't last without their mother."

"They don't belong down here" Ser Rodrick added.

"Better a quick death" the Lord of Winterfell added. Theon pulled his blade out and went for Bran's pup, but stopped when Cregan pinned him with a glare.

"Has it been so long that a Stark had a Direwolf familiar that you have all forgotten?" the heir to Winterfell asked. "The Starks of Old, the Kings of Winter had Direwolf familiars that they rode to battle. Do you all think they lived beyond the Wall and ruled from there? There are six Stark Children, and there are six direwolf pups, one for each of us. Do not deny a Stark the chance to reunite with their roots. They belong here, they belong at our side."

Father and son clashed gazes, grey hues staring into one another, neither of them backing down. Finally, the father spoke. "You will train them yourselves. You will feed them yourselves. And if they die, you will bury them yourselves" he finished before walking away.

It was well into the night that Cregan had an opportunity to visit the Godswood. It was silent, barring from the noise of the insects of the woods. All other forms of life had retired for the night.

Cregan made his way to the Heart Tree at the centre of the wood, an old Weirwood Tree that looked like an old man crying tears of blood. He stopped before it and after a moment touched the face, eyes closed and breathing even. When he opened his eyes, his world had dissolved into darkness.

"You were right," the Heir to Winterfell said, "It's begun."

As if in reply a set of eyes opened, blood-like crimson hues glowing against the darkness.