Wolf's Blood

The North is cold. The North is cruel. And the North remembers.

Cregan Stark was not born to rule. He was born to bleed. The second son of Lord Eddard Stark, he has no great claim, no shining prophecy only a sword nearly as big as Ice and the storm of his blood roaring louder each day. He is not the heir. He is not the bastard. He is something else entirely: a Stark with too much fury in his heart and not enough room to bury it.

At fifteen, Cregan can outfight men twice his age, but still kneels in the shadow of his brothers. He worships Robb, envies Jon, and aches to be more than a name whispered behind their backs. But the old gods are watching, and the North has its own ways of shaping wolves.

As war whispers through the trees and winter's breath creeps down from the Wall, Cregan must decide what kind of man he will become one forged in his father's honor, or one consumed by the fire that killed his uncle. Because in the North, a boy becomes a man the day he spills blood and not always someone else's.

(Disclaimer:
I do not own Game of Thrones or any characters or settings created by George R.R. Martin. All rights belong to their respective creators. I only own the original characters introduced in this story.)