Disclaimer: I do not own A Song of Ice and Fire by George RR Martin, i do however own the non-canon character(s) of this story. This is purely a work of my personal enjoyment so i ask you to not expect anything worthy of the great GRRM. I fully welcome criticism/suggestions. The story will eventually be finished (I hate leaving things unfinished) but i have no real schedule. Please review with your thoughts as i'd love the feedback.

Notes: I wanted to do something with the Starks, thought about doing a son of Benjen Stark, but just another Stark has been done before. I cannot find any fanfictions that cover Sunset Starks; the descendants of Brandon the Shipwright. As with all my works they are updated at my leisure, nobody else's.

Chapter 1: Prologue

"We made it?" The thought echoed through his head as the young prince coughed up a gallon of seawater. "We made it..." Again the words rang, behind the exhaustion and thirst the prince felt an overwhelming scene of pride and joy as he laid on the cold sand of whatever beach he'd washed up on, he had no idea where he was exactly but he'd done what his father and brothers had claimed was impossible. He was, he thought beyond all the doubt, in the fabled land of Westeros. "Or I died and this is some cruel jest..." He thought as he faded in and out of consciousness, somebody was dragging him but he was too weak to do anything but mumble incoherently and hope he wasn't being dragged off for dinner by some local cannibals. Prince Willam had a bit of an active imagination.

"Rise and shine little prince, we didn't sail all this way for you to die now." He knew that voice, that son of-

"We made it!" Willam cried with joy after tackling his brother to the floor, who quickly pushed him off and proceeded to brush the sand off his cloths. "WE FUCKING MADE IT!" Willam screamed at the top of his voice at nobody in particular, hoping somehow his family would hear his cry from across the vast ocean. "We did make it right?" He thought suddenly as doubts beset him and he decided to voice his thought rather than standing around like an idiot. "We did make it right, brother?"

"How should I know?" Cregan rolled his eyes, he was such a prick sometimes. "This shoreline stretches for miles, sit down before you hurt yourself."

"Are you not excited brother?" Willam smiled at his dour bastard of a brother, he clasped him on his shoulders and shook the prick. "We made it! We fucking made it!"

"I heard you the first hundred times."

"Why did I bring you along again?" Willam signed, taking a swig of water from the flask Cregan offered.

"Your father saw an opportunity to rid himself of the bastard and the trouble maker," Cregan continued to crudely sharpen his sword using a rock he'd found from somewhere, Willam really wasn't paying much attention. "While your celebrating you may want to know that Edwyn is with us."

"Where?" Willam gave his surroundings a quick scan for show, "I don't see him, I fear you've got a case of ocean madness..."

"I'll gut you with this sword." Cregan kept his face blank.

"You wouldn't dare," Willam called his bluff. "Farther would have your head."

"Fathers not here."

"Shit," Willam thought as he paused to think of his next play.

"Well?"

"This." Willam kicked sand in the bastards face, laughing as the crazed bastard shot up from his seat.

"I leave for a few minutes and your already trying to kill each other." Edwyn returned to find the brothers wrestling in the sand, Cregan getting the clear upper hand over the young prince. "You know this could be considered treason Snow, what would your father say if he heard of you murdering your little brother?"

"Thanks for doing me a favor?"

Willam smacked him over the back of the head and ducked under his brothers swing, "If you two are quite done there could be other survivors along the coast, we should start searching before nightfall. Or we could move inland, saw a dirt road not far from the shore that I bet will lead to something eventually."

"We search for awhile," Willam turned serious for a moment after giving his brother another slap across the head. "They came because of me, I wont abandon them."

"I grabbed this before we capsized," Edwyn held out a long sword in it's scabbard and offered it to his prince, the blade was made of strong steel mined on the Sunset Islands, a howling wolf's head of dark stone from the cliffs of home for the pommel with chips of diamond for the wolves eyes, to reflect Willam's own ghostly grey eyes. "Your father would have my head if you lost this."

"My thanks Ed," Willam drew it out far enough to read the inscription of 'Winter Is Coming' that graced the blade. It had been a departing gift from his father, his way of wishing Willam luck and expressing his love, without doing so too publicly. Willam strapped the sword belt to his waist and processed to search the shore, finding nobody, to his sorrow. "They came because I asked it of them," He thought to himself as he looked out at the sea. "They'd keep looking for me Ed, we'll do no different for them. I'll not have it said that we gave up so bloody easily."

"It'll be dark soon," Edwyn replied. "We should camp for the night, search again in the morning."

Cregan agreed as he kept an eye on the nearby dirt path. "I doubt we'll find many others, those in armor are surely lost to us. Others could have washed up anywhere along the coast, dead or alive, we could spend days looking for all we know. I would rather we follow the path and get some understanding of this land."

Willam sighed, defeated. "We camp for the night, in the morning we'll follow the road and see where it takes us."

The night was oddly warmer than they were used to, it seemed the Islands were deeper north than wherever they landed in Westeros. The words of Winter Is Coming were a reminder of the hardships that struck Willam's people, they were not called the Sunset Islands because the sun always shun, the sun would set and the cold would follow. Winter was always coming and it would show no mercy. "We're leaving little prince."

"Five more minutes..." Willam waved his hand to shoo away the annoying voice that would tear him from his dream of home. The sunset sea crashing upon the rocks outside his window, his brothers sparring in the courtyard, the naked women that laid next to-

"Wake up!" Cregan kicked him.

"Fuck!" Willam cursed, gods he hated that bastard sometimes.

"We're losing daylight my prince," Edwyn spoke sense. "I think it best we take full advantage."

"Agreed," Willam rubbed his eyes and made sure to grab his sword, having sworn last night never again to be parted with the blade.

The duo walked for awhile before they came across a small village, flying no banner that they knew from the Islands or any of the many books detailing the old Kingdom of Winter. "I think it best that we make no mention of your title, my prince." Edwyn suggested, as if Willam ever demanded he or anyone call him by his titles.

"Now is as good a time as ever for you to stop, Ed." Willam replied with a grin.

"No worries about my titles," Cregan muttered.

"Cregan Snow, Prince of being a prickly bastard." Willam shot a smile at his brother, who in turn looked like he was going to kill him.

"We've got company." Edwyn whispered, moving his hand slowly to his swords hilt.

The villager seemed harmless enough, armed with a small dagger likely used for the skinning of caught game. Hunting was a sparse trade on the Islands but not absent, the largest of the Islands boasted a large forrest with hares and other critters but in truth most of the Islands food came from the sea. "Travelers, eh?" The man spoke with an eyebrow raised and his hand hovered over his dagger. "Don't get many newcomers around here."

"We're sellswords," Edwyn was the first to come up with a story, having stupidly prepared nothing beforehand. "Just passing through."

"Fancy blade for a sellsword." The man motioned at Willams sword, likely noting diamonds in the pommel.

"A gift from a wealthy lord we fought for once, a long time ago." Willam replied with a warm smile.

"That so?" The man asked and would've asked more if not for the warning look Cregan shot his way. "We've little to offer sellswords around these parts but perhaps the lord has work for you. I honestly couldn't say, times are peaceful, little need for sellswords."

"And what lord would that be?" Willam asked, having no solid idea where they actually where.

The villager seemed shocked by Willam's lack of knowledge. "Ryswell rules these parts, not too far down the east road."

"Ryswell." Willam tired to remember the books he'd read about Westeros, mainly concerning the old Kingdom of Winter and it's many vassals. Ryswell was a cadet branch of House Ryder, Ed's house, meaning they were indeed in the Kingdom of Winter. "Ryswell," Willam laughed for effect. "How could I forget, cold must be getting to me."

The man clearly didn't believe that for a second, the cold in truth was nothing compared to the norm on the Islands and it showed on these strangers whom for the most part wore leathers. Whatever furs they had were drenched during the crash so they'd made do with what they had. "Inn's over that way, cant miss it." They gave a nod in response and headed for the inn where they used what coin they had to buy food and dry furs, the innkeep was reluctant to trade.

"What do you mean you wont accept our coin?" Willam was confused and a little insulted.

"These are not stags." The Innkeep shook his head.

Willam narrowed his eyes at the man. "It's still silver, why do you care what's engraved on it?"

"I have never even heard of this currency nor the man on it, could be fake." He continued to turn his nose up at it, smug bastard. "However, those gems on your-"

Cregan pushed Willam aside and addressed the fool. "The only way your getting that sword, old man, is if he drives it through your chest."

A silence watched across the inn before the innkeep decided that "silver was silver" and accepted the payment, quickly sending the three armed men off towards the seat of House Ryswell where Willam hoped they'd be welcomed a lot more warmly. He was wrong, as it seemed he so often found himself being. "Think this is the place?" Cregan asked as he approached some wooden walls, basic but sturdy, no doubt the seat of some lord.

"A black horse's head with a red maine upon a field of bronze," Willam echoed the words he'd read in some book a lifetime ago as he looked at the banners flying above the walls that stood before them. "Similar to House Ryders colors, can hardly tell the difference actually. This is the place."

The gates were open so they walked in without much fuss, until they were stopped at the door to the great hall. "The hall is off limits to all but family and guests." The guard spoke, suspiciously eyeing up the three armed men. "Do you have business with House Ryswell?"

"Sellswords," Edwyn replied, keeping with their previous story. "Here to offer our services to the lord."

The guard seemed hesitant but let them in, following closely behind as they walked towards the high chair at the end of the main room. "M'lord, some sellswords here to speak to you and offer their blades. I thought it best that you deal with them yourself." The guard awaited word from his lord, who quickly signaled his leave, then turned his attention to his uninvited guests.

"I have no use for sellswords," The lord spoke after quickly scanning them for potential, or perhaps threats.

"Forgive the deception, my lord." Edwyn stepped forward and gave a respectful bow. "We are not sellswords."

The guards in the hall became anxious at that as their lord leaned forward on his seat. "I see. Who are you then, to come into my house uninvited under false pretense."

"We mean no harm," Edwyn was quick to explain. "Our ship capsized not long ago, we made our way inshore and-"

"Pirates then." The lord narrowed his eyes at them, giving a signal for his guards to move in closer. "House Ryswell dose not suffer your kind."

"We're no pirates!" Cregan shouted and prepared for a fight, despite the odds being greatly against them. Say what you want about Cregan the man was no craven, he'd sooner die with the taste of blood on his lips than old and in bed. "You'd do well to learn your guests names before attacking them, my lord."

Ryswell seemed to like the boldness of that, since his guards did not draw steel. "Very well, your names then."

"Who rules the North?" Willam interrupted Ed before he could give their names.

"What?" The lord replied, not expecting such a stupid question.

"Who rules the North?" Willam repeated, this time moving his hand over the hilt of his sword. Ryswell's eyes fell on the wolf pommel for a moment before replying.

"House Stark of Winterfell." He replied to Willam's relief, giving Ed the all clear to reveal their names.

"I am Edwyn Ryder, the chap with the temper is-"

"Ryder?" Lord Ryswell turned wide-eyed at the mention of the name.

"Aye." Edwyn replied, curious as to his reaction.

"Seize the traitor!" Ryswell leap from his seat sword in hand. "Kill the others!"

The guards moved in as Edwyn and Cregan moved to protect their prince, but this was not a fight they would win, so Willam did the first thing that came to mind. "I AM WILLAM STARK!" He shouted at the top of his lungs and drew his sword in defense of his friends. "FORTH BORN SON OF PRINCE BRANDON, SEVENTH OF HIS NAME, PRINCE OF THE SUNSET SEA AND LORD OF WINTER!" Prince Willam's eyes burnt with a fury as he screamed his fathers titles at Ryswell, the guards having stopped in their tracks at the mention of Stark and the other outlandish titles, awaiting their lords word. "STRIKE ME DOWN, AND WINTER SHALL COME FOR YOU ALL!"

Summary

King Brandon the Shipwright attempted to sail across the Sunset Sea, but never returned home, his tomb in the crypts of Winterfell remaining empty. He made landfall on what would become the Sunset Islands, a large chain of islands both large and small. On the largest Brandon built his castle of Winterhold atop the high cliffs overlooking the very beach where he first landed, the city of Brandon's Landing growing in the shadow of Winterhold. Many sons of northern lords, known as The Companions, had traveled with Brandon when he set sail and they wasted no time spreading out across the Islands to begin the construction of their own castles, all sworn to Winterhold and the Princes of the Sunset Sea who in turn remained sworn to the old Kings of Winter despite the countless years that passed without any contact with the Kingdom of Winter, the Sunset Starks never forgot where they came from. More than one uprising was had over the isles fealty to absent Kings.

Now the youngest son of Brandon VII has set sail attempting to cross the Sunset Sea and return to the lands of his ancestors, a feat that the Islanders have long since dismissed as suicidal, for none have ever braved the storms and alleged sea monsters and returned to tell the tale. Prince Willam aims to make a name for himself the only way a forth born son can, by doing the impossible. Prince Brandon VII sends his bastard Cregan Snow to assist him, along with a fine long sword fit for a true Prince.

This tale begins after Willam's screw is shipwrecked, similar to how Brandon the Shipwright found the Sunset Islands in the first place. Winter Is Coming.