Royce

The early winter winds blew through the lands of forever winter. Three rangers rode this night- men of the Night's Watch searching for Wildling raiders by the Wall. Ser Royce of House William was a young man of Dorne. He was a tall youth of eight and ten clothed in warm leathers, chain mail, and a long sword at his hip. The sword was an exquisite craft of steel, the handle made of fine metal and wood, the end of which was shaped as the head of a cat for the sigil of House William whose proud words are "Pounce like the wild cat." This was Ser Royce's second ranger mission to the forest beyond the Wall. The brothers in black by the Shadow Tower had reported seeing Wildlings wounded from a failed raid on Bear Island. Ser Royce, along with two other rangers, Will and Grave, had been dispatched to intercept the raiders and kill them. The pursuit lasted days and now they found themselves in the haunted forest. When Will came to stand beside his lord's horse, Ser Royce peered from beneath his cloak's hood.

"Have you found them Will?" the young knight asked.

Will was a man of four and thirty. He was caught as a rapist, so when faced with the choice of castration or the Wall, he chose the frozen monstrosity. "Aye…the whole lot of them are dead, m'lord," squinted Will, his brown eyes peering from the thick red hair muddled about his face.

Grave, with his hand on his blade, looked around nervously, not liking the dark forest filled with Wildlings and gods knew what else. "If they are dead we should leave, m'lord. The winds are fierce and I would keep my fingers for another day, if I may," stated Grave as he spit on the snowy ground. Unlike the young lord clothed in his black fur coat and other fine garments that kept him warm, Grave felt the chill creep on him. He was of three and twenty, born a bastard to a whore in Winterfell. He was of Northern blood and knew that when the chill crept up on a man he must fight it.

"Do the dead scare you, Grave, that you wish to abandon the search?" Royce grinned at his black brother.

Grave scowled and his face scrunched in anger. He and Ser Royce were always men at odds. Grave had been part of the brotherhood for a good four years; Ser Royce was an upstart of noble birth with no more than two. Will, a veteran of almost twelve years and witness to the Greyjoy Rebellion, stayed away from the argument brewing. Lord Commander Mormont would castrate them both if he were here.

"Dead is dead. I see no point staying here to find our graves not by Wildlings but the chill," Grave spat.

"Hah. Will, tell me of the bodies, their position, and what killed these men?" Royce ignored Grave and addressed Will.

"Hard to say what killed them, m'lord. All of them are dead, lying on the ground as if sleeping. Mayhap the chill did end them," Will said, dreaming of his bed and a warm fire back at Castle Black now.

Leaving his horse, Ser Royce, with his right hand at his swords hilt, stepped up to look at the forest before them. "You expect me to believe that six grown men capable of making fires, shelter, and wearing furs no less, died of the cold?" Royce waved a hand before him to emphasize his point.

Biting his curled lip, Will shrugged. "No signs of a struggle, m'lord. Short swords and even a double axe were on the ground. The blades had no blood of man or animal, the men all lay on the ground as if asleep," he explained.

Royce looked at him skeptically, not quite sure what to make of this. "Seven hells, Will, you are not so craven that you would simply leave this at that?" Royce wiped his leather glove across his face and looked in the direction where the raiders had last been seen. "What could you gather of the bodies?"

"All six men's dead eyes were open, blue, and cold as this frozen hell," Will responded, determined to leave this damn place.

"Blue?" Grave did not like this one bit; his fears were realized. "Gods, we must leave this place at once. We will find only death here, if not by the cold then…the Others," Grave stuttered, fear clear and evident in his voice.

"Surely, Grave, you have gone mad. The Others have not been sighted for centuries. Recover your senses so we may investigate the death of the raiders." As he was about to mount his horse, Ser Royce saw beyond him all six Wildlings headed their way. "They attack, fools, defend yourselves!" He unsheathed his fine blade and stood at a ready stance, as did Will. Grave almost released his bowels.

"Gods the dead, they rise!" Grave yelled, the fear controlling him.

"Control yourself, Grave! Kill these Raiders so we may ride home!" the first Wildling swung his axe clumsily at Royce. The young knight parried the blow, slashed at the savage's neck, and kicked him away. He then moved towards the Wildling engaging Will and drove his blade into the Wildling's back, stopping his attack. The Wildling drove his elbow into Royce's temple, causing him to release his hold on the blade and fall back onto the snow. Recovering his senses, he looked up to see the Wildling, with the sword still through his chest, holding a small blade. Snow clung to Ser Royce as he rolled aside to dodge the Wildling's blade, just missing the blow. Standing up, he produced a curved knife and snarled at the Wildling. "Come, savage, I will gut you here!" Will came up to the Wildling and swung his blade with both hands, decapitating the man. By the Seven, it did not stop even then. It swung wildly at Royce who backed in fear and realization.

"Will!" Grave knocked away the Wildling and brought his sword down on the arm holding the blade. Kicking the Wildling body down, Royce retrieved his blade from the still moving corpse.

"They walk! The dead walk! We must leave!" Grave yelled, his eyes wide as the man with a neck tattered by Royce's slash swung his axe.

"Grave!" Will yelled in horror as his young friend's head rolled by his feet. His body flopped dead on the snowy floor, his blood sizzling on the snow as the warm liquid coated the white ground.

"Go! We must warn the Watch!" Will yelled, sprinting along the ground with Ser Royce behind him. They reached their horses where Grave's horse brought them a pang of loss. Turning his horse around, Royce turned to see that Will had not mounted his own. He was frozen on the spot with fear as a creature out of myth and nightmare approached with the 'dead' raiders. It was tall with skin like that of blue flesh and eyes cold as winter.

"The Others…gods! White Walkers! Go, m'lord I will hold them back!" Will's steel sang as it left his sheath. He slapped his and Grave's horses so they might return to the wall at a sprint.

"Will…damn the seven hells, you fool!" Turning leaving his black brother behind, Ser Royce raced to the wall. He had seen them. He had seen an actual White Walker.

Rami

Rami watched intently as Lord Stark interrogated the deserter from the Nights Watch. The man, from what Rami could see, was scared. His eyes looked haunted and he kept speaking of the dead rising. Rami's father held no love for deserters, but the man truly believed in what he spoke. Holding Ice, the ancestral sword of House Stark, a blade as wide as a man's hand and as long as a grown made forged of Valyrian steel from ancient Valyria, Lord Stark passed his sentence to the deserter of the Nights Watch.

"In the name of Robert Baratheon, first of his name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, Protector of the Realm, I, Lord Eddard Stark, Lord of Winterfell, Warden Paramount of the North, do sentence you to die…have you any last words?" Rami's lord father asked.

"I warned my family. I have done my duty to them. Go on then." Will prayed silently to the old gods. Lord Eddard Stark nodded grimly and brought Ice above his head in a mighty arc and chopped the man's head from his shoulders. Rami felt as if he should look away, but his half-brother Jon, a bastard his lord father had with another woman during Robert's Rebellion, prevented him from doing so. As the man's head rolled by, his lord father's ward, Theon Greyjoy, kicked the head away and laughed. Jon scowled in the direction of Theon; it was no secret he held little love for the young man. Theon was of nine and ten years with a clean shaven straight face and curly brown hair. Jon was well aware of Theon's love for women. He almost felt disgusted by it, but he himself was a virgin, shy and not one to talk to girls. Jon patted Rami's shoulder, whispering that he did well and their father would be proud.

"The man died bravely," said his eldest brother who had been watching from a distance. Lloyd was almost the spitting image of his mother, Cersei Lannister. His hair was golden and straight as opposed to his father's dark hair and long face. Lloyd, like most of his siblings, received the trademark Stark eye coloring: grey eyes like Valyrian steel. His sisters, Halena and Myrcella, also had a bit more Lannister than Stark, but their eyes were still steel grey. The group settled in their horses and returned to Winterfell.

"The man was riddled with fear…like he saw the dead come for him," Jon grumbled. Like their father, he was of a grim face.

Riding up next to Rami, Ned spoke to his son, who seemed deep in thought. "Do you know why I had to this, Rami?" This had been Rami's first execution; Jon and his true-born brother, Lloyd, had seen many more.

"Because he was a deserter?" Rami asked.

"Yes, but why did I have to swing the blade?"

"Because we keep the old ways and he who passes the sentence should swing the sword," Rami recited verbatim from his books. The Starks held the old ways while the southern lords had executioners.

"He died bravely, I would say. He faced Ice with a conviction, said he had done his duty," Lloyd spoke up, just slightly ahead on his horse.

"Can a man be brave when he is afraid, Father?" asked Rami, staring up with curious eyes at Ned.

His father made a humming noise, nodding to his son before speaking. "That is the only time a man can be brave, son."

"Jon, race you to the bridge!" Lloyd smirked at his half-brother.

"Done," Jon smirked back, kicking his horse into gear and riding ahead. Lloyd cursed and quickly sprang his mount into action. Rami did not try to chase them; his pony would not keep up. A few moments later, Jon rode back by himself with an excited air about him. Though he was normally as grim faced as his father, he truly looked a boy now in his excitement. "Father, come look at what we found by the bridge!"

Turning his horse and galloping back, Jory Cassel of the guard pulled up next to Ned with a wry grin on his face. "Trouble, my lord?"

"No doubt. Come, let us see what trouble my sons have unearthed now," Ned smiled thinly. Galloping ahead with Jory, Rami urged his pony forward trying to catch up to his father. Once caught up, he rode next to him as their horses slowed to a gentle trot, carefully maneuvering them around the tricky snow-covered ground. They found Jon kneeling by a mass of white and grey fur by the river. They dismounted and walked by the river's edge. Jory and Theon backed off, their hands flying to the hilt of their swords.

"What is that?" Theon growled in fear.

"It's a wolf," Jon answered.

"It's a freak!" roared Theon.

"No, it's a direwolf. They grow larger than regular ones," Lloyd explained as he leaned over a massive dead direwolf. It was about the size of Rami's pony with grey, blood-crusted, matted fur. Maggots were crawling in its eyes, eating away at the flesh. Looking at Lloyd, Rami gasped and his eyes lit up with glee as he saw the small bundle of fur that his brother held to his chest. The small pup still had its eyes closed as it nuzzled Lloyd's chest, looking for food.

"Here," Jon said, offering a pup to Rami. He held the little wolf to his chest and pet it.

"Direwolves loose in the realm after hundreds of years," Jory murmured next to his lord. "I like it not."

"It's just a dead animal, Jory. The dead can't hurt you," Lloyd grinned, petting his tiny, yelping wolf.

"What killed the beast?" asked Jory. Ned knelt by the dead beast and noticed something sticking out from its neck. Reaching for it, he pulled out about a foot of antler. Everyone stood still, a sudden uneasiness coming to the grown men. Rami could not understand but he felt their fear.

Lloyd broke the silence. "Father, may we keep them?" he asked, looking rather boyish with a grin on his face.

"Are you mad? Why would we keep these things?" asked Theon. "Leave them be, they will die soon enough," he said, gripping the hilt of his sword.

"He's right. We should end their suffering before it begins. Better they die a quick death than one of starvation and cold," Ned nodded grimly.

"Give it here, Rami," Theon said, unsheathing his sword. Rami looked horrified and pulled back from Theon as the young man advanced on him.

"Sheath your sword, Greyjoy. These pups are ours," Lloyd said with a tone that bartered no argument. Ned sighed, shaking his head.

"Father, please!" Rami begged. Ned felt his heart tug at him watching his young son plead with big eyes.

"My lord, you were meant to have these pups," Jon interrupted as Rami turned to him for help.

"Why is that?" snorted Theon sheathing his sword, knowing it would not taste blood today.

Jon glared at Theon for a moment before speaking. "There are five pups and you have five true born children, my lord," Jon said.

Ned, at this moment, never loved his son more. He omitted himself from that count and Ned felt a pang of pain at that. "What about you, Jon? Do you not want one?" he asked, watching his son carefully. He dropped the antler and cleansed his hand on the snow.

"I am not a Stark," Jon said, looking at the snowy ground for a fraction of a second.

"Fine," Ned said at length, "but I will not have you waste the servants' time with this. You will feed them, train them, and gods help you if you mistreat them. These are not dogs that will shy away from a kick; these are direwolves that will rip a man's arm off if not taught properly."

Rami cheered and Jory and Theon sighed. Grabbing pups, they returned to their horses to leave. As they mounted, Jon stopped and looked back at the dead beast.

"What is it, Jon?" asked Lloyd.

"Don't you hear that?" Jon lifted his hand asking for silence. Rami strained to hear but he only heard the babbling rush of the river. Walking back, Jon reached under the bridge and produced a direwolf pup. This one was as white as the snow with eyes as red as blood.

"An albino!" Theon smirked. "This one will die faster than the rest." He looked at Jon as if challenging him.

"No it won't. This one is mine," Jon said with determination, frowning at Theon.

Cersei

Cersei was born a Lannister. She was raised a Lannister. She would like to think herself a Lannister still, but time changes a woman. Where she once cursed the North, her lord husband, and her father, she now thanked the first two. The North made her strong, though it weakened her in her strongest area: politics. She was raised at Casterly Rock, bred to be a proper lady and queen according to her father's ambitions. His aim was to marry her to Prince Rhaegar Targaryen but his endeavors were thwarted when the mad King Aerys married his son to Elia Martel of Dorne instead. Cersei, upset at the prospect of losing her opportunity to be queen, had told her father to set his sights on Robert Baratheon after the incident with Lyanna Stark in which her good-sister was kidnapped by the prince. She believed that as far as she believed in the Others coming for her at night, but that was a story for another time. Robert Baratheon won the Iron Throne, but Cersei was still not to be queen for he took Lyanna Stark to wife rather than herself. She found herself, against her wishes, married to Eddark Stark, Lord of Winterfell.

Since then, she had learned that the people of the North were honest and honorable- not a people of politics. Politics required lying and plotting and finding allies where an honorable man would find enemies. Her lord husband was a fool. She would tell him so and he would only smile and say, "a fool, mayhap, but a fool who won your heart." She would slap his chest and smile at him as he held her in his arms.

Ned was no politician, but despite this he was a clever man . . . when he thought people would play by the rules. Her lord husband knew his way around an argument so long as people played by the rules. While he knew how to deal with treachery and men without honor when they were discovered, he was blind to them before then. So it fell to Cersei to protect her beloved lord husband and children from these unseen threats.

Cersei was in the great old castle of Winterfell as she made her way to the godswood where Northerners prayed to their old, faceless gods. She was baptized with the rainbow water under the seven point star of the new gods in a sept; she did not pretend to understand the North and its customs, though she had adopted a fair share of them, such as riding with her children and husband. She also enjoyed watching her boys sword play with Theon Greyjoy and Jon Snow. She held no hatred for her husband's bastard as they were not even betrothed when he had him. She even acted as a mother when the boy needed it most, though she mostly left Jon to his father who always thanked her for accepting Jon.

She stepped onto the ancient grounds that smelled of wet earth and old wood. Her heels that once clicked on ancient tiles were now muffled by the dirt. Lifting her skirts, she walked to find her lord husband. He sat on a mossy rock by the ancient weirwood, a massive tree with wood as white as bone and red leaves shaped as children's hands attached to branches reaching out to create a red canopy. The light filtered through the leaves, creating an ancient light in godswood. Ned had Ice across his lap and was busy cleansing it with an oil cloth. Cersei had no love for swords, but even she was fascinated by the great sword with an edge that no other blade held. Nothing cuts like Valyrian steel, she had heard from Ned.

"Ned," she called out. Ned hummed and looked at her, and the smile he sent her made him look much younger than his usual somber demeanor indicated. She had once expressed her wish for him to shave his beard altogether, but he claimed that he would look too young. She argued that any youth a clean-shaven face would give him would be counterbalanced by his grim features which aged him beyond his five and thirty years, but he still would not relent.

"Cersei, why are you here?" he asked rather formally. He knew she was not fond of the godswood; she found it dreary, and Ned supposed that to a Southerner accustomed to warmth and sunshine, it would be. She looked about the godswood and moved to his side, looking down at the mossy stone he was sitting on. Sheathing the massive blade, Ned placed it against the weirwood tree and offered her his lap. She gave him a wry smile which his eyes returned with hidden mirth. She sat on his thighs, lifting her skirts to keep them from hitting the dirty ground.

"Where are the children?" Ned asked.

"Still in the kitchens thinking up good wolf names for their pups," she said, ignoring the twisted face carved on the weirwood behind Ned.

"Really? What have they come up with?" Ned asked, curious about his children and their new pups.

"Lloyd has named his Greywind, Halena's is Lady, and Myrcella's is Fang." Cersie did not trust the wolves with her children despite Ned's assurances that, like dogs, wolves were loyal.

"What of Jon?" asked Ned. His hand wove through her soft, silky, golden locks. Cersei's hair was fashioned in a Southron style, braided with her bangs hanging to the side, framing her beautiful face. Ned enjoyed playing with her hair much like their youngest son, Rickon- named after Ned's lord father- who loved putting her hair in his mouth when she held him.

"He has named his Ghost. Rather fitting as the little beast gets around silently. It doesn't yelp as the others do," she mused.

"Rickon and Rami?" he asked, still enthralled by her golden curls.

"Rami named his Shaggydog and Rickon can't decide, though he is contemplating Summer," Cersei replied.

"I see. You could have told me this later, and I doubt that you came here to enjoy my company and that of the gods," he spoke.

Cersei straightened her features, taking on the persona of Lady Stark, the lady of the household. She was and always had been frank with Ned. She spoke her mind and let Ned know when she disagreed with him or was displeased. So her face made Ned instantly feel unease. Since there was no way to say what needed to be said, Cersei came right out with it in a cool, even voice. "Jon Arryn is dead, Eddard," she said, using his full name, which was a rarity. She mostly used the moniker he had been called from his youth.

His face twisted into one of sadness and the grip on her hip tightened slightly. Ned and his best friend, Robert Baratheon, were fostered in the Vale with Lord Jon Arryn. The old lord, who had no children of his own at the time, treated them as if they were his own blood, so when the mad King Aerys called for Ned and Robert's, heads Jon had called his bannermen to defend his two surrogate sons. Jon had been like a second father to Ned and the news grieved him dearly.

"How did he die?" asked Ned, looking about as he usually did, his eyes downcast, shifting.

"They say he was taken ill. A fever burned through the night and he died in his sleep- supposedly." Cersei knew that men in that position either died of old age or were killed. There was no such thing as 'sickness' in the snake pit that was King's Landing.

"You believe otherwise?" Ned asked, his own suspicions rising. He was well aware of his wife's knowledge of Southron politics.

"The Hand of the King is a coveted position; he is second to the king, a king himself in all but name. Southron lords will not pass up such opportunities of power." Cersei rose from Ned's lap, wiping down the skirts of her fine blue-grey dress made of thick wool and decorated with the Lannister lion and Stark direwolf shown in combat. The two battling animals had, at one point, been Cersei's show of defiance to her lord husband; now it was merely a jape. "There is more news. King Robert and Queen Lyanna ride north." She smiled as Ned's eyes lit up. Robert, his best friend and good brother- who might as well have been his blood brother- was making his way north with his sister. He rides north and wishes to take you south, no doubt. We can rule, you and I, Ned. A part of her stirred at the thought of having power; she would rule the Seven Kingdoms with Ned at her side. She shook her head, wiping the thoughts from her mind.

"When will they arrive and how many will be traveling with them?" Ned asked, missing his wife's elated face. He was thinking of the preparations necessary to meet Robert and his royal host.

"I cannot say, but I fear soon and at least a hundred for the royal host alone. Including the free riders that would join him on the Kingsroad, I would say two hundred at most." Cersei's mind was now preoccupied in household thoughts. How should she arrange her household to greet royalty? The Northerners were simple which clashed with her own Southron taste that was accustomed to silver cutlery, fine wines, and exquisite dresses. Ned had been weary, at first, but he understood he needed to make his lady wife comfortable. He went as far as having a stony sept built just for her. Even though she was not a strict adherer to the religion of the Seven, she thanked her lord husband all the same.

"Blast him! It was always his nature to leave me blind until he had done his deeds. So many preparations in such a short time! Damn him and damn my sister and their royal hides!" Ned exclaimed, but Cersei did not miss the smile on his lips as he set off to begin preparations.

Before she followed her lord husband to help prepare for the royal host, she stared at the weirwood tree. Unbidden memories of that old fortune teller from her childhood invaded her mind.

A queen you shall be five children you will have cloaked in gold and hair as golden with a crown on their heads.

The fortune teller was wrong. Cersei was no queen and Lloyd was the only one with golden hair. Despite herself, she spoke to the weirwood tree. "I prayed to my gods and asked they not marry me to Ned, yet here I am. So I ask you instead. Guard my lord husband and my children, for when I leave to King's Landing, I wish protection over my blood."

Turning with a swish of her skirts, Cersei Stark left to find her lord husband and help him prepare.

HOKAY so I finally got the balls to write a Song of Ice and Fire fic after finally being able immerse myself into the lore universe ect. I love this fantasy book and series and not too recently found myself fallen in love with Ned/Cersie. I don't know why but perhaps a little fic called "fools gold" can be credited to that. I HIGHLY recommended it is an amazing story and very faithful to characters as well and I love Cersie here in particular as she is genuianly happy with her children.

I also hope you enjoy this Story that I plan to update once every blue moon as I got other stories as priorities mainly Gundam and secondary RWBY but im like two chapters off into finishing the latter. Now then I will leave you to enjoy this story read and review and please Review! Tell me what you think and ask away questions about this world that I hope I can build x3

Edit 6/4/2014: Fixed the major glaring issues but I still need a beta reader so if anyone out there can help me please tell me ;~;

Edit 1/1/2015 Found a beta and as such please thank my lovely alwayssirius who by the way has awesome work of her own! My favorite story being her awesome work on ASOIAF called "The Realm Would Bleed" a take on Lyanna NOT going with Rheagar it's very awesome please chek her stuff out :3.

Also I know this isn't the update you wanted but me and my lovely beta are going back and fixing this whole story for you guys! I know it will delay my upate a bit but I believe this is for the beter :D.

Oh and HAPPY NEW YEAR!