If you recognize it, I probably don't own it. 40K belongs to Games Workshop. And GOT belongs to HBO and George RR Martin.
here are some important stuff.
"Speech"
'Thoughts'
~"AI"~
*Sound Effects*
POV/Location/Time Change.
The First Howl
281 AC, Winterfell
Eddard Stark stood in the corridor, the cold stone of Winterfell's walls pressing in on him as he faced the heavy wooden door to his bedchamber. He had ridden for days, pushing his horse nearly to the brink, his body exhausted, but his mind was far from calm. His wife's abrupt decision to have her child in Winterfell instead of Riverrun had added even more days to his journey. The war had ended, and with it, the storm of bloodshed and chaos that had claimed the lives of so many—his father, his brother, and, most painfully, his sister. All gone. Lost to the madness of the Mad King, the hubris of Rhaegar Targaryen, and the cruelty of fate.
The weight of grief settled over him like a heavy cloak, but there was no time to mourn. Not yet. His duty now was to his family, to his people, to the realm. And to the innocent babe, he had just handed to Ser Rodrik Cassel, a boy who would bear the name Snow instead of Stark. Jon. His nephew. A child who should have been cradled in the arms of a queen raised in the splendor of a Targaryen court, but who would now live as a bastard in the harsh North, his true parentage a secret that could never be spoken aloud.
Eddard clenched his jaw at the thought of Rhaegar Targaryen. That name, once spoken with awe and admiration, now tasted like ash in his mouth. He wished he had been the one to end Rhaegar's life, to drive his sword through the chest of the man who had sparked this madness. But no—Rhaegar had died on the Trident, his life taken by Robert Baratheon's hammer. Justice, perhaps, but it did little to ease the bitter ache in Eddard's heart. The cost of that justice had been too high.
Now, as he stood before the door to his wife's chamber, he found himself hesitating. On the other side of that door lay Catelyn, the woman who had given him two sons—his true joys in this bleak world—and who now cradled their newborns in her arms. She had waited for him, through the long months of war, through uncertainty and fear, and now she had given birth in his absence, bringing new life into the world.
But how could he face her now, with this lie weighing on his soul? Could he look into her eyes and tell her that he had been unfaithful, that he had fathered a bastard while she bore his sons? He had not betrayed her, but how could she believe otherwise? He could almost feel the betrayal that would burn in her eyes, the pain that would twist her heart.
The cries of the babes echoed softly through the door, and it struck him then—his family. His own family was waiting for him. Catelyn, and his twin boys. This was his light in the darkness, his reason for fighting, for enduring all the horrors of war. They were his anchor, and now he would have to shroud them in a lie, to protect Jon and Lyanna's dying wish.
But was it right? Was it fair to Catelyn, who had done nothing but remain loyal to him? Could he bear the strain it would put on their marriage, the uncertainty it would cast over the years ahead?
The thought of Jon left outside with Rodrik, brought him back to the present. He couldn't dwell on what was fair or unfair. The boy was innocent in all of this, and Ned had promised Lyanna. She had died in his arms, her voice a faint whisper as she made him swear to protect her son, to keep him safe from Robert's wrath. He couldn't break that promise, not even for Catelyn, not even for the truth.
He took a deep breath, steeling himself. This was not a choice; it was a burden he would bear for the rest of his life. He could only hope that Catelyn would forgive him in time, that their bond would withstand the weight of this unspoken truth.
With one last glance down the dimly lit corridor, Eddard pushed open the door.
Inside, the fire crackled gently, casting a soft, warm glow over the chamber. Catelyn lay in the large bed, her face pale but serene, a sheen of sweat still on her brow from the labor she had endured. In her arms, two tiny bundles stirred, the twin boys he had waited so long to meet. His heart clenched at the sight of them—Robb and Leman, so small, so fragile, but already carrying the weight of their name.
Catelyn's eyes fluttered open as she sensed his presence, a tired smile spreading across her lips. "Ned," she breathed, relief and joy mingling in her voice. "You're home."
He crossed the room in a few long strides, kneeling beside the bed and taking her hand in his. Her touch was warm, grounding him in a way nothing else could. He glanced down at the babes in her arms, their tiny fists clenched in sleep, and felt his chest swell with love and pride.
"They're beautiful," he whispered, his voice thick with emotion.
Catelyn's smile widened. "They're strong, like their father."
Eddard kissed her hand, lingering for a moment as if the simple act could ease the turmoil raging inside him. But no kiss, no comfort could erase what he carried with him. The secret of Jon Snow, the child who would grow up under his roof, but not as a Stark. As he looked into his wife's tired but loving eyes, guilt clawed at him. He had no choice but to let her believe the lie, to allow her to think he had fathered Jon in some moment of weakness during the war. It was better than the truth. Safer.
"I'm sorry I wasn't here for you," he said softly, his hand trembling slightly as it brushed a strand of hair from her forehead.
"You're here now," she replied, her voice gentle. "That's all that matters."
Catelyn Stark lay exhausted upon the bed, her face pale but serene. In her arms rested two newborns, twin boys who had entered the world under the harsh breath of the North's cold air.
One was quiet and calm, his gray eyes already reflecting his father's unyielding nature. The other had been born with a wild cry, his lungs bellowing like the roar of a beast, his eyes ice-blue, his smile Like Ned's own father's.
Eddard approached the bed slowly, his heart heavy with both joy and trepidation. He had never imagined twins—two sons, each so different from the other even in their first moments of life. The maesters had said it was rare, and that the gods both old and new had blessed House Stark with Two jewels.
"Two wolves under one moon, What should we name them dear?" He asks his wife.
"Robb and... Leman" Lady Catelyn replies, looking at her children with a serene smile.
"Leman, Dear? Quite the unusual name." Eddard asks.
"I don't know, it seems... Fitting." She answers.
Eddard furrowed his brow, the name rolling through his thoughts like a distant whisper carried by the northern wind. Leman—he couldn't place where he had heard it before, if ever. The name was ancient, strange, and carried a weight he couldn't fully understand. But as he glanced at his newborn son, the one with ice-blue eyes and that fierce cry, he couldn't deny that the name did seem fitting.
"Robb and Leman," Eddard repeated softly, almost as if testing the strength of the names in his mouth. Robb, with his quiet calm, his gray eyes like his own, and Leman, with eyes as sharp and cold as the winter skies. Two wolves under one moon, indeed.
He knelt beside Catelyn, reaching out to brush a lock of her auburn hair from her face. She looked at him with a tired smile, the exhaustion of childbirth not yet fading from her eyes but replaced with a quiet contentment.
"You've given me two sons, Cat," Ned said softly, his voice thick with emotion. "Two boys, born into the world under the gaze of the North. They will be strong, like you."
"And like you," she replied, her voice soft but steady. "They will be Stark boys, through and through."
Eddard gazed at his sons again, marveling at how different they were, even in their first hours of life. Robb seemed to embody the steady, unwavering strength of the Starks—quiet, patient, a silent storm. Leman, however, had a wildness in him. There was something untamed in those ice-blue eyes, a fierceness that seemed to defy the very cold itself.
He rose to his feet, stepping closer to the window, where the winds of winter rattled against the stone walls of Winterfell. The snow fell thick and fast outside, blanketing the world in a sea of white. Winter was here, and with it, these two sons. Ned couldn't help but feel that their birth heralded something more—something deeper, more ancient than he could yet understand.
"The winds are changing," Ned murmured to himself, as he looked out at the vast white wilderness beyond Winterfell's walls. "Two wolves… born in winter."
Catelyn stirred behind him, her voice soft. "Do you think it was fate, Ned? That they came together, in this time, with winter at our door?"
Eddard turned to face her, his face shadowed by the flickering firelight. "Fate, perhaps. Or the will of the Old Gods." He looked down at the twin boys, each nestled in their mother's arms. "But whatever it is, we will raise them to be strong. They will need to be."
Catelyn nodded, her eyes reflecting the firelight. "And what of the name Leman? Do you think it strange?"
"It is strange," Ned admitted, "but sometimes the strangest names carry the greatest weight. Leman… perhaps it is a name of the North, lost to time. Or perhaps the gods whispered it to you in the night."
Catelyn smiled, her hand resting protectively over the two boys. "Whatever the source, it feels right. And that is enough for me."
Eddard approached the bed once more, leaning down to kiss his wife's forehead. "Then Leman he shall be. Robb and Leman Stark—the North's new wolves."
He took one last look at the twins before the fire, feeling the weight of their futures settling on his shoulders. The winds howled louder, as if echoing his thoughts, and Eddard Stark couldn't shake the sense that a new chapter had begun for House Stark, one that would shape the very course of the North.
Two wolves had been born, and Winterfell would never be the same again.
~~~~~~~~XXXXX~~~~~~~~XXXXX~~~~~~~
Six years had passed since that cold winter night, and the sons of Eddard Stark had grown into their own, each embodying the strength of the North in ways that still surprised their father.
In the yard of Winterfell, the clang of steel echoed in the brisk morning air. Robb swung his practice sword with skill beyond his years, his movements precise and measured. Maester Luwin and Ser Rodrik Cassel stood to the side, watching with approving eyes as the young Stark lord trained against one of Winterfell's seasoned guards.
Robb was a natural leader, his steady hand and calm demeanor reflecting his father's influence. When he fought, there was a sense of purpose in every strike, a reflection of the responsibility he already understood as the future Lord of Winterfell. He wielded the sword with confidence, every movement fluid and efficient, and his sparring partners, despite being older and more experienced, often struggled to keep up.
Off to the side where Jon usually trained, and was unusually absent today, there was another sight, equally impressive—perhaps more so. Leman, with a wild grin on his face, was sparring against two men at once. He wielded two practice axes, one in each hand, and his movements were as fierce and unpredictable as the North's winter storms. While Robb's fighting style was calculated, Leman's was raw, aggressive, and untamed, as if there was a fire burning inside him that could never be fully controlled.
The guards he fought were larger, stronger, but Leman moved like a wolf on the hunt—swift, ferocious, and relentless. His axes clanged against their swords, the sound sharp and ringing in the cold air. He ducked under one swing, spun, and brought both axes down in a flurry of strikes that left the guards scrambling to defend.
"Leman, enough!" Ser Rodrik called out with a chuckle, stepping forward as the guards raised their hands in surrender. "You'll wear the poor men out before midday."
Leman laughed, his blue eyes gleaming with the same wild energy that had marked him from birth. "They should move faster, then!"
Robb, watching from a distance, shook his head with a smile. "You're going to scare off all Father's men if you keep that up, Leman."
Leman sheathed his practice axes, walking over to his brother with a shrug. "Better they know what's coming. We'll need strong men when winter truly comes."
Robb's smile faded at that, and he glanced up toward the towering walls of Winterfell, where the cold winds were beginning to howl once more. The Stark children had grown up with the words of their house—Winter is Coming—and now, as they grew older, the weight of those words began to settle on them.
Eddard Stark watched from a distance, standing beside Catelyn on one of the higher balconies that overlooked the yard. His heart swelled with pride as he observed his sons. Robb was every inch the leader he had hoped for, responsible, level-headed, and strong. But Leman… Leman was something else entirely.
"He fights like he was born for battle," Eddard said softly, his eyes fixed on the wild, untamed way Leman moved. "I've never seen anything like it, not even among the North's greatest warriors."
Catelyn looked down at her sons, her expression a mixture of pride and concern. "And yet, there is something… dangerous about it. He fights with a ferocity that makes me wonder if the gods have more in store for him than we can see. He needs more caution to his craft lest it come to bite him later."
Ned nodded slowly, a deep frown forming on his face. "I feel it too. There is a wildness in him that cannot be tamed. He carries a burden that I don't fully understand yet."
In the yard below, Leman had picked up one of his axes again, twirling it idly in his hand as if it were an extension of his own arm. His blue eyes flickered with excitement as he looked back at Robb. "Come on, brother, another round?"
Robb shook his head, his smile returning. "Not today, Leman. You'll have to save your strength for the next hunt."
Leman grinned, that wild grin that sent a shiver down the spines of those who saw it. "Good. The wolves are out there, and I've been waiting to hear them howl."
As the winds picked up, a low, distant howl did indeed echo through the air, carried on the cold breath of the North. Robb and Leman exchanged a look, a shared understanding passing between them. Two wolves under one moon, just as their father had once said.
~~~~~~~~XXXXX~~~~~~~~XXXXX~~~~~~~
The air was thick with the promise of adventure as Robb and Leman huddled in the shadows of Winterfell, their hearts pounding with excitement. The castle loomed behind them, its stone walls dark against the afternoon sky. It was midday, slightly cloudy, the sunlight filtering through the clouds to cast a soft, diffused glow over the snow-dusted ground. The world felt alive, full of untamed possibilities.
"Are you sure we should be doing this?" Robb asked, peering into the forest's inky depths. He felt a mix of thrill and trepidation; they were just boys after all—barely six years old—and yet today felt electric, filled with opportunity.
Leman, with his wild grin and eyes that sparkled with mischief, nodded eagerly. "Come on, Robb! We can't let fear stop us. We're Stark boys! Besides, I want to hear the wolves howl. They're out there, and so are we! Also, this was your idea in the first place brother! Take responsibility!"
With a huff and a final glance back at the castle, Robb let out a breath, his resolve firming. Together, the brothers crept through the courtyard, their bare feet whispering against the cold stone. The world around them was still, save for the occasional rustle of leaves stirred by the wind.
Once they reached the edge of the forest, Leman led the way, his eyes shining with excitement. They slipped beneath the gnarled branches, the forest alive with sounds—the distant calls of birds, the rustle of small creatures scurrying in the underbrush. The scent of pine and earth surrounded them, mingling with the crisp, cool air that made their breaths visible.
Suddenly, Leman raised his hand, motioning for Robb to stop. "Do you hear that?" he said, his voice low.
Robb listened intently. A faint rustling came from just ahead, followed by the soft crunch of hooves against the snow. "There!" he exclaimed, excitement igniting in his chest.
They crouched behind a thicket, hearts racing as they spied a lone elk, its coat a deep, rich brown, blending seamlessly with the forest. It grazed peacefully, its antlers a magnificent sight against the soft afternoon light.
"Now's our chance!" Leman whispered, his voice barely containing his enthusiasm. He hefted his twin axes, the familiar weight of the weapons filling him with confidence. Robb held his short sword tightly, its hilt cool against his palm.
They advanced slowly, hearts pounding with the thrill of the hunt. Leman moved with a grace that belied his age, every step calculated. Just as they were within striking distance, a loud crack echoed through the stillness—a branch snapping beneath Robb's foot.
The elk raised its head, startled, its large eyes reflecting the daylight. It snorted, nostrils flaring as it turned to bolt into the forest.
"Wait!" Leman shouted, but it was too late. The elk took off, its powerful legs pounding against the ground, disappearing into the shadows.
"After it!" Leman yelled, dashing after the creature. Robb followed, adrenaline coursing through him as he sprinted through the underbrush, branches whipping against his face. They chased the elk deeper into the woods, laughter mixing with the thrill of the chase, each step bringing them closer to the heart of the wilderness.
Suddenly, Leman spotted a second elk, larger and more regal, standing majestically beneath a cluster of trees. "There! That one!" he shouted, pointing, determination lighting up his features.
Robb followed his brother's gaze, awe washing over him as he beheld the creature. "We have to be quiet this time," he urged, but Leman was already moving, a blur of energy.
With agility that belied his young age, Leman crept forward, the forest floor barely making a sound beneath his feet. He was like a shadow, his eyes locked on the elk, which was still unaware of their presence.
Leman's heart raced as he crouched low, his twin axes gripped tightly in his hands. He could feel the thrill of the hunt surging through him, his instincts guiding him as he prepared to strike.
But in the split second that Leman launched himself forward, the elk turned, sensing danger. It reared back, eyes wide in alarm, and bolted straight toward Robb, who stood frozen in shock.
"Robb, move!" Leman shouted, panic flashing through him. The elk was charging, its powerful legs pounding the earth with a fury that made the ground tremble.
Robb's heart dropped as he realized the danger he was in. In an instinctive reflex, he raised his sword, though he knew it would be of little use. Just as the elk bore down on him, Leman acted with an agility that seemed almost supernatural.
With a fierce battle cry, he leaped toward his brother, swinging one of his axes with all his might. The blade connected with the elk's side, grazing it just enough to divert its path. The beast veered sharply, narrowly missing Robb, who stumbled backward in shock.
"Leman!" Robb gasped, awe-struck as he watched his brother land deftly, rolling to absorb the impact. The elk bolted into the trees, its presence replaced by the pounding of their hearts and the sounds of the forest returning to stillness.
"Are you alright?" Leman panted, scrambling to his feet, his wild grin still intact despite the close call.
Robb nodded, still in shock. "That was amazing! You saved me!"
"I told you I would!" Leman beamed, a mixture of pride and excitement flashing in his eyes. "And we're not done yet! Let's catch one for real!"
As they caught their breath, the boys could hear the rustle of hooves again. "Look!" Robb whispered, pointing to a clearing ahead. Two elks had emerged, their magnificent antlers silhouetted against the dim afternoon light.
"Now or never," Leman said, his voice steady and determined.
They crouched low, preparing for the moment. Leman led the charge, moving with a warrior's instinct. Robb stayed close, his short sword ready, heart racing as they advanced upon the unsuspecting elks.
With a sudden burst of speed, Leman lunged forward, swinging one of his axes with all his might. The blade caught one elk across the flank, stunning it momentarily. Robb followed suit, charging at the other elk, his sword raised high. He brought it down with a cry, the blade biting deep into the creature's shoulder.
The elks, startled and wounded, tried to flee, but the boys were relentless. With fierce determination, they pursued their prey, each swing of their weapons fueled by excitement and adrenaline. The first elk stumbled, its powerful legs faltering, while the second leaped forward, attempting to escape.
"Robb, I'll go for the one on the left!" Leman shouted, taking off after it. He could feel the cold air against his face, the thrill of the hunt urging him on.
"Get it!" Robb yelled back, focusing on the first elk that was struggling to regain its footing. He could feel the weight of his sword, the thrill of the hunt coursing through him like fire.
With one final surge of energy, Robb swung his sword, landing a clean blow to the elk's leg, sending it crashing into the snow. He felt a rush of triumph as he stood over the magnificent creature, panting heavily.
"Robb! We did it!" Leman's voice rang out, filled with exhilaration. He had managed to bring down his elk too, the majestic creature sprawled in the snow, its antlers a crown of nature, its breath rising in soft puffs against the chill of the afternoon.
They stood together, hearts pounding, the reality of their success sinking in. The thrill of the hunt had led them to this moment, where two boys had brought down not one, but two magnificent elks.
"This is going to be the best feast!" Robb exclaimed, laughter bubbling up within him.
"Mother and Father will be so proud!" Leman added, his eyes shining with the excitement of their triumph.
With careful hands, they began to prepare the elks, their previous fears and doubts forgotten. They worked together, their laughter echoing through the trees, filling the afternoon air with the sound of victory.
As they finally made their way back toward Winterfell, dragging their hard-earned prize on what Leman had named sleds, the clouds began to part, letting the sun shine through in brilliant rays, illuminating their path.
~~~~~~~~XXXXX~~~~~~~~XXXXX~~~~~~~
It was late afternoon, almost evening when the boys returned. The hunt had gone well, they had proudly proclaimed. And were now standing rather proudly in front of their captures. Eddard watched the scene unfold from a distance, torn between admiration and concern. He had heard the commotion at the gates—two small figures dragging the massive elks behind them, their faces flushed with triumph. His heart had leapt with pride, but that pride was quickly tempered by the grim realization of what had truly happened.
Two boys, barely six, had taken down full-grown elks, not with traps or bows, but with swords and axes, as if they were grown men seasoned in the ways of battle. And now, as Catelyn, pregnant as she was, stormed across the courtyard toward them, her face a mix of fury and fear, Eddard knew she would see only the danger they had placed themselves in.
Catelyn reached the boys, her eyes wide with panic and anger. Without hesitation, she delivered two sharp slaps, one to each of their cheeks before pulling them into her embrace. Both boys flinched but stood firm, their eyes not showing fear, but confusion at the outburst.
"What were you two thinking?!" Catelyn's voice was sharp, her hands trembling as she placed them on her hips. "Going off into the woods without telling anyone? Hunting elks, of all things? You could have been killed! You are children!"
Robb lowered his head slightly, guilt flashing across his face as he looked at his mother. "We were careful, Mother," he said, his voice small but steady. "We stayed together the whole time, and we brought them down quickly."
Leman, on the other hand, held his head high, the fierce spark still in his eyes. "We're Starks, Mother. We can handle ourselves. The elks didn't stand a chance."
Catelyn's face flushed with a mix of emotions—relief, anger, and fear all rolled into one. "You are six years old, Leman Stark! You shouldn't be hunting anything on your own, especially without an escort! What if something had happened to you? What if a wolf had come upon you, or worse?"
Leman's defiance faltered for a moment, but he quickly recovered, his expression hardening. "If a wolf had come, I'd have killed it too, it would have been a mighty fight Mother! We'd have made you Proud!" he said quietly, the wildness in his voice startling even his father. "The woods aren't dangerous to us."
Eddard stepped forward, sensing that his wife's scolding, though justified, would only stoke Leman's stubbornness further. He placed a hand gently on Catelyn's shoulder, squeezing it softly. "We are already more proud of you two than can be put into words, Leman. Both you and Robb."
Eddard smiled softly as little Sansa, still wobbly on her legs, toddled out from behind him and made her way toward her brothers. Her chubby hands reached out, and her bright eyes sparkled with innocent joy. She hadn't the faintest idea of the tension that had hung in the air just moments before. To her, Robb and Leman were her whole world—her big brothers, her protectors.
Leman's furrowed expression softened the moment he saw Sansa approach. His wildness always seemed to calm around her, as if the presence of his little sister grounded him in a way nothing else could. He crouched down, setting aside his practice axe, and opened his arms wide for her.
"Sansa!" he called out, grinning. "Come here, little wolf."
Sansa squealed with delight as she stumbled into his embrace, her laughter filling the courtyard with a warmth that cut through the lingering tension. Robb joined in, ruffling her auburn hair gently.
"You're getting faster, Sansa," Robb said, smiling at her. "Soon you'll be running circles around us."
Sansa giggled, clinging to Leman's tunic with her tiny hands. "Leman!" she chirped, her voice high-pitched with excitement. "Robb!" She looked up at both her brothers with the wide-eyed adoration only a younger sibling could have.
Catelyn, still kneeling by the boys, smiled despite herself. Seeing Sansa with her brothers always brought her peace. For all their wildness and defiance, both Robb and Leman adored their little sister, and in moments like this, they seemed like the innocent boys she longed for them to remain.
Eddard stepped closer, standing beside Catelyn now, his hand still resting on her shoulder. He watched his children with a quiet intensity, his thoughts filled with the weight of fatherhood. In Sansa's laughter, there was a reminder of the gentler moments in life—moments that could so easily be lost in the harshness of the North.
"They grow up fast, don't they?" Catelyn whispered, leaning slightly against him.
"Aye," Eddard replied softly, his gaze never leaving their children. "Faster than we can keep up."
As Sansa tried to climb onto Leman's lap, the wild boy grinned and helped her up, balancing her easily despite her squirming. "You'll be a warrior too one day, Sansa. Just like us."
Robb chuckled, shaking his head. "No, she'll be a lady of Winterfell. Father's always said so."
Leman shot his brother a mischievous grin. "She can be both. A lady who fights with axes and swords, like me."
Eddard and Catelyn exchanged a glance, a mixture of amusement and apprehension flickering between them. The idea of Sansa wielding axes and swords was almost laughable—but in Leman's eyes, there was no reason why his little sister couldn't be as fierce as he was.
"You'll be whatever you choose to be, Sansa," Eddard said gently, stepping forward to join them. "But for now, you'll be our little wolf, and that's more than enough."
Sansa beamed at her father, her tiny arms flailing excitedly as Leman lifted her up higher. "Little wolf!" she echoed with delight, her voice ringing across the courtyard.
Robb smiled up at his father. "We'll take care of her, Father. We'll make sure she's safe."
Eddard's heart swelled with pride and a touch of sadness. His sons already spoke with the weight of responsibility, so young and yet so eager to protect, to prove their worth. He looked down at Robb, then at Leman, and finally at little Sansa, her laughter still bright in the cold morning air.
"I know you will, Robb. And you too, Leman." He placed a hand on each of their heads, his voice steady and warm. "You will protect each other, all of you. That is the Stark way."
"And now we have another little brother or sister coming, so you two better take responsibility," Catelyn added.
Eddard looked over at Catelyn as she spoke, her hand resting gently on her swollen belly. Her words brought a quiet smile to his face, though the gravity of what she was saying was not lost on him. Another child. Another Stark. The family was growing, and with it, the responsibilities that would inevitably fall on Robb, Leman, and even Sansa in the years to come.
Robb's eyes widened at the mention of another sibling, and he glanced at his mother's belly with a mixture of wonder and excitement. He asked, his voice tinged with excitement. "When will they come?"
"Not too long now," Catelyn replied with a soft smile. "Soon enough for you to practice being good older brothers."
Leman, still holding Sansa in his lap, tilted his head curiously, his ice-blue eyes narrowing in thought. "Will they be like us?" he asked, his tone serious in a way that seemed far beyond his years. "Will they be strong?"
Eddard knelt down to face his sons, his expression thoughtful as he placed a hand on Leman's shoulder. "Every Stark is strong, Leman," he said, his voice low and reassuring. "But strength isn't just in battle or in hunting. It's in how we care for each other. That's where true strength lies."
Leman seemed to consider this for a moment, then nodded, though there was still that flicker of wildness in his eyes. "I'll teach them how to fight," he said, his voice firm.
Robb laughed, though it was a soft, fond laugh. "You'll have plenty of time to teach them how to fight, Leman. Maybe I'll show them how to use a sword, too."
Sansa, sensing the excitement in the air, giggled in Leman's lap and reached out to touch Catelyn's belly, her small hand pressing gently against the fabric of her mother's gown. "Baby," she murmured with a wide, innocent grin.
Catelyn chuckled, placing her hand over Sansa's. "Yes, little one. Soon, you'll have a baby brother or sister to look after."
Eddard rose back to his feet, standing tall beside his wife as the cool Northern wind swept across the courtyard. His heart was full as he looked at his growing family—the children who would carry the Stark name forward, each in their own way. But even as joy filled him, he felt the weight of the future, the challenges and dangers that awaited not only him but his children.
Winter was coming, and with it, the hardships that the North never failed to deliver. But they were Starks, and together, they would weather whatever storms came their way.
"Come," Eddard said after a moment, his voice gentle yet firm. "It's time to head inside. We've had enough excitement for one morning."
~~~~~~~~XXXXX~~~~~~~~XXXXX~~~~~~~
After the feast, the Stark family had retired to their rooms, the warmth of the fire and the heavy meal lulling them into much-needed rest. But deep into the night, Eddard was woken by a soft, persistent knock at his door. He blinked, his mind heavy with sleep, and slowly rose from the bed, careful not to disturb Catelyn.
The knocking came again—quiet, but unmistakable. Eddard sighed inwardly, already knowing who stood on the other side before he even opened the door.
When he pulled it open, there they were. Robb and Leman stood in their nightclothes, clutching their pillows. Robb, the elder by mere minutes, looked sheepish but resigned as if he had been dragged there by some unseen force. Leman, on the other hand, stood with his wild hair tousled and a determined glint in his ice-blue eyes. For all his boldness during the day, Leman had a soft spot for the comforts of his family, and tonight seemed no different.
This was one of those nights again.
Eddard sighed, rubbing a hand over his face. Leman, for all his fierce and untamed spirit, had always been a mother's boy at heart. Despite his rebellious streak and the wild energy that seemed to simmer under his skin, he would often creep to his parents' room late at night, seeking comfort. And inevitably, he would drag Robb along with him, as if he couldn't bear to face the night alone.
"Father," Leman said, his voice quiet but insistent, "can we sleep here tonight?"
Robb nodded, though his expression showed he might've preferred his own bed. But Eddard knew his sons well enough—Leman's stubbornness was infectious, and Robb always ended up following his brother's lead, even in the small hours of the night.
Eddard opened the door wider, waving them inside with a resigned smile. "Come on then, before your mother wakes."
The two boys hurried in, their feet padding softly across the stone floor. Eddard watched them settle near the hearth, their small bodies already making themselves comfortable. Leman tossed his pillow down and curled up in a familiar spot by the fire, while Robb, ever more composed, laid his pillow carefully before lying down next to his brother.
As Eddard closed the door and returned to bed, he caught Catelyn, little Sansa in her arms, stirring beside him, her hand moving instinctively to the empty space where the boys now slept.
"They're here again?" she murmured sleepily, her voice barely above a whisper.
Eddard chuckled softly, sliding under the blankets. "Leman dragged Robb along, as always."
Catelyn smiled, her eyes still closed. "That boy," she said with a sigh, but there was warmth in her tone. "For all his wildness, he can't stand being far from us at night."
"It won't last forever," Eddard replied, his voice softer now, thoughtful. "Soon enough, they'll be too grown to want this. They'll be men before we know it."
Catelyn opened her eyes, just a sliver, and looked at her husband with a knowing smile. "Let them be boys for now," she whispered, before drifting back into sleep.
Eddard lay beside her, Little Sansa clutching her mother, her sleep undisturbed, his eyes drifting to the two forms curled by the fire. Robb, already strong and steady, and Leman, fierce but tender-hearted. His sons were growing, each in their own way, and one day they would carry the weight of Winterfell on their shoulders.
But tonight, they were just boys seeking warmth and comfort in the cold North. And for now, that was enough.
Eddard closed his eyes, listening to the crackling of the fire and the steady breathing of his family. Winter may have been coming, but in this room, with his children close and his wife by his side, there was warmth enough to face it.
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1 year later,
Winterfell
The great hall of Winterfell was alive with the soft sounds of family life. Catelyn Stark sat near the warm hearth, cradling baby Arya in her arms. The flickering flames cast a warm glow around the room, but her heart felt heavy with unspoken thoughts. Her gaze drifted toward the far end of the hall, where her eldest son, Leman, was engaged in a rather unusual scene. He was seated at a sturdy wooden table, helping his older sister Sansa with her grammar lessons.
Leman had always been a unique child—an enigma wrapped in the wildness of his nature. His hair, a tousled mess, fell over his forehead as he leaned close to Sansa, demonstrating the intricacies of sentence structure with a fervor that belied his years. He was as untamed as the hounds in the training yard, his movements quick and energetic, yet at this moment, he was a picture of focus and intensity, his blue eyes shining with an intelligence that seemed far beyond his age.
"Leman," Sansa said, her voice tinged with frustration as she scratched her head, "why do you say it that way? It makes no sense!"
"It makes perfect sense," Leman replied, a sly grin tugging at the corners of his mouth, his hands gesturing animatedly as he explained the complexities of grammar. "The verb comes after the subject. You wouldn't say 'the bird flew the sky.' It has to be 'the bird flew across the sky.' You see?" His voice was patient, a testament to his innate ability to teach, despite his often rambunctious nature. "You just have to think of it like this: the subject is doing the action. So, if you say 'the dog chases the cat,' it's clear who is doing what. But if you say 'the cat is chased by the dog,' it's like flipping the whole thing upside down!"
Catelyn couldn't help but smile at the sight of her son's enthusiasm. He had inherited her sharp mind, a quality she cherished. But there was something else there, a wildness that often drew him away from his studies. Unlike Robb, who was diligent and focused, Leman had little patience for books. He would much rather be outside, exploring the woods or honing his skills with the sword and axes he favored. It frustrated her at times, but in moments like this, she felt the spark of pride—he had an innate ability to understand the world around him, even if he did choose to apply it in ways that made her heart race with concern. When focused, he could grasp concepts that many children much older than him struggled with, yet it was as if the very thought of sitting still and studying bored him to no end.
"Leman," Catelyn called softly, interrupting his lesson. "How is it that you can explain grammar so well but struggle to apply yourself in your own studies?"
He paused, a hint of mischief dancing in his eyes. "Mother, you know how hard it is to sit still. Besides, it's much more fun to be outside, training or exploring with Robb and Jon." His tone was light, but Catelyn felt a sharp pang at the mention of Jon Snow, her husband's bastard. The child had been an unwelcome presence in their home since his arrival, a constant reminder of Eddard's past and a stain on his honor and their love.
With a slight furrow of her brow, Catelyn couldn't help but express her frustration. "Leman, you have a gift. You shouldn't waste it. You are clever enough to outsmart your tutors, but your studies are just as important as your swordsmanship."
He rolled his eyes, a gesture so reminiscent of his father that it made her heart ache. "But Mother, the world isn't won through books. It's in the sword, in the hunt, in the battles fought, in the songs sung. Why should I spend hours deciphering sentences when I could be training to become a great warrior like father?" His voice was earnest, his passion for the sword evident in the way he spoke.
Sansa chimed in, her tone gentle but firm, "Because, Leman, knowledge can help you win battles too! A smart commander is better than a strong one."
Leman huffed, brushing a lock of hair from his forehead. "I'd rather be both, my little sister. Strong enough to defeat my enemies in one blow and to make them run around in circles like blind deer!"
"And how do you plan on fulfilling the smart part without studying?" Catelyn adds.
"Bah! I study enough already, Mother! More than enough to be a good commander! Why, I even beat Father at Cyvasse yesterday!" Leman said, a hint of pride leaking out.
Catelyn felt a mix of admiration and exasperation as she watched her son. He was stubborn, much like Eddard, and she knew that trying to instill the value of education in him would be an uphill battle. But the thought of Leman wasting his potential gnawed at her.
"Just promise me you'll try, Leman," she urged, her voice softening. "For my sake, if not your own. You are destined for greatness, and that requires knowledge."
He met her gaze, and for a brief moment, she saw a flicker of understanding. "I promise, Mother," he said, though the playful grin on his face suggested that he still held little regard for the books piled high on the table.
The soft sound of footsteps interrupted their reverie. Eddard Stark entered the room, his presence commanding yet calming. He approached with that familiar blend of warmth and authority, a gentle smile breaking the seriousness of his features.
"Is everything well here?" he asked, glancing at Sansa and Leman.
"Yes, just a little debate about the value of knowledge versus strength," Catelyn replied, a hint of frustration lacing her voice. "Your son believes that wielding a sword is more valuable than understanding the world around him."
Eddard chuckled softly, his gray eyes twinkling with amusement. "Leman, what have I told you? Strength and bravery are essential, but so is wisdom. A lord who only uses strength to rule is naught but a tyrant. We are Starks, wardens of the North, ours is the duty to defend against the coming of winter. A Stark must be just as wise as he is strong."
"Yes, Father. I understand." Leman replied, a hint of mischief sparkling in his gray eyes. "But anyway, I made something sweet that I think you will like! Come, come!" He suddenly seized Eddard's hand, a burst of excitement propelling him forward, nearly dragging his father toward the cellars.
"Leman, wait—" Eddard chuckled, momentarily taken aback by his son's energy. He allowed himself to be pulled along, his curiosity piqued. Leman had been working on something for quite some time, and Eddard knew better than to underestimate his son's creativity.
They descended the worn stone steps of Winterfell, the cool air of the cellars wrapping around them as they approached the heavy wooden door that led to Leman's makeshift workshop. It was a small, cluttered space filled with jars of herbs, various brewing tools, and an assortment of odd ingredients that Leman had scavenged or borrowed from the kitchens.
"Here it is!" Leman exclaimed, throwing open the door and stepping inside. The room was dimly lit by a single lantern hanging from the ceiling, casting flickering shadows on the walls. At the center of the workbench stood a large wooden barrel, filled with a golden liquid that shimmered in the light.
"What have you created this time?" Eddard asked, taking a cautious step forward.
Leman beamed with pride. "It's called Mjod! I've been working on it for half a year. I wanted to make something better than ale—something sweeter but still strong." He gestured dramatically to the barrel. "And look! I've made three more barrels to store it!"
Eddard's brow furrowed at the sight. "You've been sneaking into my ale stash, haven't you?" The concern in his voice was palpable as he examined the barrel. The aroma was sweet, with hints of honey and spices wafting up to greet him, but he couldn't ignore the fact that his six-year-old son had been experimenting with alcohol.
"Just a little! I promise!" Leman said, his voice rising slightly. "I had to make sure it was good. You wouldn't want me to serve something bad at the feast, would you?"
"No," Eddard replied firmly, "but you shouldn't be tasting it at all. This is not a game, Leman. Alcohol is not meant for children, no matter how sweet it might be."
Leman's excitement dimmed slightly, and he shifted his weight from one foot to the other. "I know, Father, but Robb and I thought it would be fun to surprise everyone! And I want to share it with you and Mother! Just think about how impressed everyone will be during the feast!"
Eddard took a deep breath, trying to steady his frustration. "You have to understand the responsibilities that come with making something like this. It's not just about impressing your brothers or making a name for yourself. It's about the well-being of those who will drink it. You need to respect what you're creating."
Leman looked down at the ground, biting his lip. "I didn't mean to upset you. I just wanted to do something special."
Eddard softened, crouching down to meet Leman's gaze. "I appreciate your effort, and I know you're trying to make something wonderful. But let's talk to Maester Luwin before we share this with anyone, including Robb. You need guidance, especially with something as serious as this. There's a lot to learn."
Leman nodded slowly, the fire of his earlier enthusiasm flickering in his eyes. "Okay, Father. But can we still have a little taste, just to see if it's ready?"
Eddard sighed, realizing the allure of the brew was too strong for a child with Leman's adventurous spirit. "Perhaps just a drop. But we will do this the right way. And you need to promise me that you'll listen to Maester Luwin. This is a matter of safety."
"Of course, Father! I promise!" Leman said, his excitement reigniting as Eddard filled a small cup with just a tiny amount from the barrel.
They both took a cautious sip. The sweet flavors danced on Eddard's tongue, the honey mingling with the fruity notes and a warm, spicy aftertaste that left him pleasantly surprised despite himself. "By the Old Gods, this is quite good," he said, genuinely impressed but still cautious.
"I told you! It's better than ale!" Leman exclaimed, his confidence returning. "Imagine it at the feast! Everyone will be talking about it—especially Robb! He'll love it!"
"Let's keep our enthusiasm in check, Leman," Eddard said, his voice steady. "Your brother may enjoy it, but we need to consider the others, too. And remember, Jon is family, just like you and Robb. Don't forget him when you think of your future plans."
Leman nodded, though Eddard could see the competitive spirit flickering in his son's eyes. "I will, Father. I just want everyone to see how great my Mjod is!"
Eddard chuckled, standing up and ruffling Leman's hair affectionately. "Then let's make sure it is great. We'll involve Maester Luwin, and together we'll refine it. I want you to learn and grow from this experience."
As they finished their small sample, Eddard felt a swell of pride for his son. Leman's intelligence and creativity were evident, and he was grateful to see his son's potential blossoming, even if it often led him astray from the books.
"Now, how about we return to Sansa and continue with your studies?" Eddard suggested, knowing it was a delicate balance they had to maintain.
"Fine, but only if you promise to help me with the next batch of Mjod!" Leman replied, a gleam of mischief in his eyes.
"Agreed," Eddard said with a chuckle as they made their way back up the steps, the golden liquid still warm in his belly, and the laughter of his children echoing in his heart. He knew that moments like these, shared over laughter and creativity, were the true essence of family, and he would cherish them forever.
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A/N
So here it is, the first chapter. I haven't decided on a release schedule, it will probably be a bi-weekly or a monthly release. This is just my attempt at a thought experiment of if one dropped a primarch into Westeros. Though I won't just be making this leman have all the powers and abilities of his 40k counterpart right away as that would make the story really really short. I'll give more details as the story goes on, as I don't wanna spoil things too much I know I cannot do justice to the wonderful world crafted mt GRR Martin or to 40K, but I will try my best. As usual, all reviews and criticisms are welcome.
Hope you enjoyed the story so far and have a great day.