#nedsei

Rickard huffs, his hot breath turning to thick fog as he continues shovelling, "lazy fucking bones."

I start awake at the banging on my door.

"My lord," I recognize the voice to be Anabel, "milord, are you here?"

I groan in response and scratch my eyes. I roll over and wince as I feel the pressure in my groin.

"Your father is shovelling snow by the gates," she explains, "he's been calling for you for a while now."

My eyes immediate open, "fuck."

Anabel knocks on the door again, "Lord Ned?"

"I hear you," I groan out, pushing the fur blanket off my back, sighing in relief when the cold air caresses my burning skin, "I'll just dress, then come down."

A beat passes. "Be quick, milord. Whatever he means to talk to you about seems urgent."

I sigh, staring at the frosty window pane as I try to predict what chiding I'll get for today.

I sit by the side of my bed, nostrils flaring when my bare feet press against the cold floor. I sniffle as I look at the erection between my thighs. I grip the pulsing length in my fist and close my eyes.

Immediately, Cersei's scowl lights up behind my lids.

"Fuck," I shake the thought away as I stroke myself, gulping when I instead think about her ridiculously red dress and surprising eagerness to eat cold peas.

I shake my head a little harder and open my eyes, sighing heavily as I see the pearly bead at the tip of my cock. I tighten my grip and pump faster, moaning through an open mouth as I wonder if my betrothed would ever let me kiss her.

My nostrils flare as I finish, spilling white on my thighs and belly. I take a moment to catch my breath and regain my senses as a cold wind forces a shiver to run up my spine.

Once my wits are about me, I stand and wash my hands in the washbasin, wiping myself down before dressing myself.

Soon, I am by the gates, passing and greeting many men who are shoveling snow. It doesn't take long for me to realize my father was probably going to bark my ear off for not waking earlier to help clear the road, though wonder where Brandon and Benjen are.

I spot him, hunched over with a black cloak on his back. I sniffle, "father."

Lord Rickard looks back at me and huffs, "took you long enough."

I purse my lips, bringing my hands behind my back, "I've just roused."

"Clearly," he spears the shovel into a pile of snow, "I'm glad you sleep well while your bride wastes away in the damned cold, boy."

I clench my jaw and clench my fists behind me.

"The latch in her room was broken. Peniel fixed it for her last night."

My mouth parts, "I... did not know."

The man chuckles dryly then steps closer, "I've called five tailors to come give her a new wardrobe, thick enough to keep her warm but pretty enough for her to wear, gods will it."

I look at him in confusion.

"I'd like not to deliver a frozen corpse to the King's Hand."

My brows knit, "five?"

He stares at me, brows curling before he huffs, "aye, 5."

He is annoyed he has to clarify. I mimic his expression and let my hands fall to my sides, "don't you think that's excessive?"

"Excessive," he laughs, "I fear she will think it is not enough for her."

"Father, I-"

"You saw her garbs yesterday, Ned." He walks over to me and slaps a hand on my shoulder, "Lannister pride stands no chance against Northern snow, and yet Cersei would sooner perish for it."

Immediately, a flash of red and gold fills my mind. I lower my head when I think about the red of her lips. "We gave her clothes and she ungraciously decided she would never wear them," I look back at my father with a narrowed eye, "I would have been grateful to have warm clothes at all."

"Aye," he clutches my face, "you're a good lad."

My chest swells with pride when my father pats my cheek.

"But your southron bride is not like you— like us," he throws his arm over my shoulder and pulls me against his chest. He and I look out to the snow, to the frosty, open gates of Winterfell, "but even the proudest king she humbles, Ned; winter humbles all."

I turn to my father, seeing the pinkish tinge on his nose.

He turns to me and withdraws a deep breath.

"I will be patient with her, father."

Father shakes me against him and nods, "I know you will."

I end up helping everyone clear out the snow, and when the work is done, it is lunch time. My father and I eat outside with the servants who bring out stew and roast rabbit from the kitchens.

When I head back in, I pass the solar and see my sister made the mistake of leaving the door open as she eats something by the window, which she immediately hides behind her.

I stop in my tracks and give her a crooked, knowing grin, "where?"

Lyanna pouts and raises her brows, "hmm?"

"BRIGITA-"

"Shut up!" she snaps and immediately runs over to me, shoving her bowl into my chest.

I smile victoriously as she grabs me by the arm just as I bring the cold mix of berries and cream into my mouth. She makes a face at me and points, "you shut your fat, blabber mouth about this, Ned."

I hum and scoop a heap of burgundy sweetness into my mouth, making her whine and smack my arms repeatedly, "Ned!"

"W-h-" I nearly choke on the ice cream. I chew and swallow, "you gave it to me!"

"I didn't tell you to finish it!" she hisses, snatching her bowl back from me, "you fat fuck! Greedy block of lard!"

I laugh at her with raised brows as I try to get he bowl back.

She turns away and growls at me.

I scowl and place a hand on my hip, "now you're being a greedy block of lard."

"You finished the ice cream last time-" she scowls, "and it was made of strawberries! We never have strawberries here."

"No, because you eat them all when they arrive."

"I ought to because you'd eat them!"

"Of course I'd eat them! I'm always hungry," I beckon with a hand, "now give it here. You can just make some more fo—"

"Why don't you make something for yourself," she eats a spoonful of the wild berry dessert, "you lot always have to steal my creations!"

I make a face, "none of your brothers make ice cream like you."

She points the spoon at me, "you're all just dumb!"

"Yes," I groan then snatch the spoon from her, "now give me some!"

"NO!" She smacks me.

"Lyannaaaaa!"

She simultaneously squeals and growls before running off.

As if I couldn't catch her. I huff and chase after, immediately catching her arm, "you're being fucking ridicu—"

"What is the meaning of this?"

The both of us freeze and snap towards the door where a woman with hair like sunshine and a gaze colder than frost stood. My hold on Lyanna immediately falls as I look at the fur coat she had on. It looked to be lion skin as well, though fashioned differently to what she wore when she arrived. I wonder how more she has, and how many lions died for them.

Cersei's appearance forces my sister to straighten herself out. She dusts off her skirt and adjusts her posture, even tilting her head back a touch to match the proud Lannister look that stared us both down.

"Do you normally chase your sister down and make her squeal?" her sparkling eyes narrows.

I cannot hide how the enquiry makes my face curl. It does not sound right. It sounds rather accusing. "N-" I breathe sharply, "n- I was—"

"He wanted some of this," Lyanna stretches out her arm, offering her a look of her prized treat, "wild berry ice cream."

"Ice cream?" Cersei scoffs, her slender brows warping in both confusion and what clearly was disdain, "you eat cold wild berries in this freezing place?"

In that moment, I notice her shudder, "you're cold."

Both the girls turn to me.

I feel my eyes widen.

I can see Lyanna's brow furrow from my peripherals and I dare not see what Cersei looked like. I gulp, turning to my feet when I feel heat rise up my neck.

"Your brother is observant," Cersei says, though she does not turn to Lyanna. Her upper lip has curled.

Lyanna makes a face, "yes," then turns to her, "very."

I dare to look back at my betrothed, just in time to see her about to walk away. "Wait!" I reach out and step forward.

Cersei stops, her irritation flaring as she turns back to me.

I bring my raised hand to my side, realizing I hadn't actually expected her to stop. I open my mouth but end up choking on my spit instead.

Lyanna pulls away from me, disgusted by my cough. She steps towards her, showing her the half eaten ice cream, "do you want to try?"

Cersei's lips curl into pouty loathing. Her emerald eyes fall onto my sister's food, "I'd rather not if it makes one significantly ill."

"Don't worry about him," she draws nearer to the door, "he's just sapless. It's not the plague or anything."

"Oh, good," Cersei perks uncharacteristically. Her eyes fall back on me, "it'd be a terrible misfortune if you were to perish from the plague."

"Thank you."

"What?" mutters the golden woman.

Lyanna slaps a hand on her forehead.

"T-that-" my heart begin to race, "you would think it's a misfort-"

I shut up when Lyanna snatches the spoon back from me with a glare hotter than Cersei's.

That is, until, I actually see Cersei's face and begin to wither underneath its intensity. I gulp, hooking a finger into my collar to tug at it. I look off aimlessly.

"Do you have something to say to me, Eddard Stark?!"

The sound of my complete name upon her lips feels akin to how my parents have chided me with it, yet somehow worse. I manage to hold her gaze long enough to say, "yes."

Cersei purses her lips and sharply raises a brow. I become increasingly nervous when Lyanna turns to me and crosses her arms expectantly.

I raise my brows and turn to my sister to my betrothed. I open my mouth as I feel my armpits sweat at how comely her face is amidst even apparent and rampant irritation.

"Speak!"

"I-" I stammer and shake my head, "I- father has-"

"Father?" Lyanna's forehead curls.

"Shut up," I snap then continue, "L-Lord Rickard has summoned five tailors for you today."

Both of their mouths fall open.

"He means to have you a wardrobe of Northern wear," I clear my throat and point, "that you won't be cold."

Lyanna turns to Cersei, noticing the subtle way her lips curl in approval.

"How thoughtful," she tilts her head, the curl of golden hair by her ear brushing her coat.

The truth was, I cannot recall the exact events that happen after. All I know is that the five commissioned tailors were now here, surrounding Cersei as she stood in the middle of the room. She looked upon them all with both ease and intensity which made them hang on her every word.

Lyanna was no longer here, and I stood hidden in the corner, listening to her speak, though, truly, I couldn't really hear a word she said.

"Eddard."

I stand in attention, panicked when I realize the eyes of the room had fallen upon me now. I clear my throat and raise my brows, "yes- yes?"

Cersei is staring at me. She's no longer wearing her coat, but a black, velvet dress with a frilly hem. She clasps her hands in front of her, smiling infinitesimally as she tilts her head, "will you be watching me undress?"

My eyes nearly pop out my head and mouth make a failed attempt at forming words.

She laughs.

She laughs so hard she turns away to cover her mouth, and I swear for a moment, my ghost was given up by my body. Her giggles were rich and airy; her eyes crinkle in a way I've never seen before.

I find myself chuckling too, albeit awkwardly. My heart was pounding out of my ears.

She turns back to me, smiling a smile that reached her eyes, "I have to undress so they can measure me, you foolish thing."

"Foolish," I foolishly repeat. Was that affection in her timbre? I gulp and nod, walking towards the door.

Just as I snatch the doorknob, she stops me in my tracks by saying, "you can stay, if you wish."

My jaw falls. I see the breath escaping my lungs and morphing into fog.

"If you like," she mutters sweetly.

I do not dare to turn to her for fear my face would be redder than that her dress from the yesterday, "I-I- it would not be appropriate."

I can hear her step forward, "but we are to be married in a few days."

"T-then I see no reason not to wait for I shall look upon you for the rest of my life."

"..."

I dare to slightly turn my face, "I would not disgrace you with my lustful eye, my lady."

With that, I leave and decisively close the door.

Cersei takes a sharp breath.

I practically run to my chambers as a cold sweat arrests my body. The moment I am alone, I lock the door behind me and catch my breath. I close my eyes and I think about her: her hair, her lips, her laugh.

I snort hotly as I rip my top off and chuck it to nowhere.

I can feel my pulse in my pants. It makes me feel like I'm about to choke.

I grit my teeth, allowing my palm to brush over the echo of my heart, pressing roughly on my bulge before pulling my hand away with a hiss.

Get yourself together, Ned.

My throbbing cock responds to me.

I groan and shake my head. You shouldn't be doing this, you weak-willed ninny.

For a moment, my conscience is corrupted by a hedonistic whisper that tells me it's alright, that is was my right for we were going to be married anyway.

"No," I tell myself. My hand does not listen to me and greedily palms my arousal.

My head spins as I try to convince myself to test out the sound of her name.

I shake my head and begin to walk around the room again. The act becomes increasingly uncomfortable.

Try it, taunts an evil voice.

I find myself crumpling back into my bed, staring at the ceiling as I try to distract myself with literally anything else.

But then my lips speak.

"Cersei."

And then my breeches are undone.

My hand denies me nothing, and my mind runs rampant with thoughts I shouldn't be thinking, not outside the marriage bed. I gulp and moan, fantasizing about Cersei smiling at me and laughing with me, or laughing at me, I don't mind.

I moan and look down at my cock as I allow myself the fleeting idea of her being the one touching me there.

I come all over my fist and stomach after, much more than I did in the morning, and much, much faster.

I catch my breath; my other hand smears the semen on my skin.

Then I catche myself. "By the old gods— gods forgive me," I whine, finally releasing my cock. I sigh deeply, "fuuuuuck meeeee."

Perhaps I should not linger around Cersei Lannister.

I groan and sit up.

"No," I tell myself, "she needs me. She has no one here. I am why she is here."

I bask in my shame and guilt before cleaning myself up.

"Oh! My-" she gasps when our eyes meet, her own wide and mortified. I glare hotly at her, willing her to combust with my mind. She does nothing but stutter, "m-my la-ady Cers-sei, I—"

We both step aside for the men that exit my chambers and greet me softly.

"Is the fireplace in my room lit?" I blurt, tightening my hold on the heavy furs on me, "I am cold."

She immediately curtsies, running off while vaguely assuring me that she would see to it.

I try not to scream at her. What kind of place was this that a simple tasks was not already answered to? A fucking pig sty? I grit my teeth, thinking this will be the last day such incompetency will persist, Ward of Winterfell be damned— I am the Ward of Winterfell now.

I get to my room, snorting at the smell of dust. I rub my nose and find the servant stoking the embers in the fireplace. I make a face, "were you not aware I was coming?" I scrutinize the smallness of my chambers, spotting a cobweb in the corner of the ceiling.

The woman turns to me with a smile, "we have, all of us, been expecting you, milady! Your arrival is all anyone here has ev-"

"Then why is my room dusty?" I scowl at her, "I have ill-humors to dust."

She visibly tenses and sets down the iron tool just beside the fire. "I..." she turns to me, "am certain your room was prepared well be-"

"There's a cobweb in the corner," I point, hissing as an unwanted shiver involuntarily racks me. I approach the fire and reach out to it, "move."

She not only does that but scurries out of the room altogether. She gulps and gestures back and forth before deciding to lower her hands, "shall... shall I call someone to cl-"

"No," I snap, "I will not be disturbed," I sigh as my hands grow warm, "I had Eddard Stark have someone send me food. Once it is sent to me, let no one alive disturb me until tomorrow."

The decisiveness in the statement makes her brows raise up to her hairline.

"Do you understand me?" I snap, barely turning over my shoulder to look at her.

"Yes!" she gasps, shaking her hands, "yes, I understand."

"Excellent," I undo my cloak and finally turn to her, "and your name?"

She tightly purses her lips, "hmm?"

I sigh deeply, my breath turning to fog as I stare at her.

She can feel the hair at the back of her neck raise. She shifts, "I-" cough, "I am Diana, milady."

"Diana," I chuck my cloak haphazardly on the nearby settee, "pretty."

She chuckles, too loud, too nervous, then abruptly stops to stammer, "t-thank y—"

"You may go," I shudder and walk towards one of my trunks. I luckily open the one filled with my books and papers, and immediately pluck a page then rummage for a quill and ink.

Diana watches me for a second before awkwardly curtsying and closing the door on her way out.

When the door clicks shut, it is as if a hammer strikes my façade. It shatters at the blow and I shiver uncontrollably as sobs scratch their way out of my throat. I heave heavily and crawl towards the fireplace, dragging the trunk along with me.

The trunk thuds decisively shut and I snivel as I slam the paper atop it. I wet the tip of my quill with ink and furiously begin to write to Tywin Lannister. I am here in this wasteland, father. I hope you're happy.

When I am finished writing, I fold my letter with no care whatsoever and put it into my coat pocket. Just as I stand, intent on crying myself to sleep, I hear a knock on the door.

I immediately face the fire and pretend to warm myself. I take a moment to clear my throat and manage to clearly say, "what is it?"

"Your food, milady."

That was fast. I sigh and wipe my nose, "come in."

I hear the door open.

"Just leave it anywhere."

"Of course," the servant says. I hear her footsteps then she stops, "is there anything else, Lady Cersei?"

"No, thank you. I've told Diana I'll not be disturbed til morning."

"Of course," she walks off and the door closes the second time.

Sleep comes terribly, and when I wake the next morning, I can feel how swollen my face is from all the crying I did. I shriek angrily when I see that the window in my room was opened by the wind. I put on my leather gloves and stomp over to close it, only to quickly find the latch is broken.

I scream into my hands then grab some snow by the sill and press them to my eyes as I make my way to the fireplace.

I hear a knock on the door.

"Who is it?"

"It's Ida, my lady."

I turn to the door, "oh, thank the gods. Come in, Ida."

My handmaiden enters and curtsies at me. I make a face when I see her clothes, "what in the Mother's name are you wearing?"

Ida rubs her grey skirt and gives me a knowing look, "Northern garbs, my lady."

I scoff and place the snow on my eyes again, "it is detestable."

"It is," she sighs and closes the door. She goes to the trunk and begins looking through my clothes, "it's too cold for anything else."

"I'll not be caught dead wearing greys and rough wool, Ida," I warn as some of the snow melts down my cheek. I am so used to doing this for my swelling, I am unfazed by it, even in the cold.

Ida finds my trunk of dresses, "of course not, my lady. I have been thinking since last night that we might manage to fit you into two dresses at once."

I lower the snow, "which dresses?"

"The red, velvet one, and then under, the red and gold."

I think for a moment, "with the frilly sleeves?"

She looks at me and shakes her head, "the red and gold with the deep collar, the velvet with the high collar," she plucks out a fur scarf, "and rabbit."

I sigh in relief and walk towards my vanity, "thank gods for your sense, Ida."

Ida smiles as she watches me walk off. "Did you have no one to help you change last night, my lady?"

"There was no point in changing, it's too cold to wear anything else," I plop on the vanity chair and continue working the snow into my eyes when I see my reflection. Only part of the swelling has gone, "Thankfully, it's not as cold inside. Where is Luisa?"

"Fever."

I immediately look back at her.

Ida has now found the two dresses she mentioned and carries them over to me.

I look at her through the mirror. I realize only then its corners are frosted. "Who will do my hair?"

Ida hesitates. She clears her throat, "I asked one of the servant girls to help me."

I groan and crush the snow into my eyes.

As if on cue, there is a knock on the door.

Ida is the one who speaks, "who is it?"

There is no response.

Ida grunts and gathers her skirts to answer the door.

When it opens, a young maid gasps and curtsies.

She eyes the girl up and down, "can I help you?"

"I- I am here to help milady Cersei get ready."

"You? But you're a child."

Alerted by this, I lower the snow and see, indeed, a girl who could not be older than 3 and 10. I sigh, rolling my eyes as I resolve to my foul luck, "enter and throw this out the window, will you?" I hold out the snow, "and call for someone to fix them unless they mean for me to perish of frostbite."

The girl stares at Ida.

Ida raises a brow at her.

I roll my eyes and bark, "girl!"

She gasps and runs inside.

I hand her the snow in my gloved hands and pray she is decent at fixing hair.

When I make my way to the dining room to break my fast, the Stark chatter dies in my presence. It pleases me greatly. I momentarily stand by the entrance, looking at Rickard, Brandon, Eddard, Benjen, and finally Lyanna. They are all dressed in the same drab greys as everyone else in this drab house. The reds and golds in my clothes were much needed here. 

"Good morn, my lady," says Eddard as he stands and pulls out the chair beside him, "I pray you slept well."

"Father was worried when you did not join us for supper yesternight."

It was Brandon who spoke. I could feel him staring at me as I came to my seat but I do not spare him a glance. Instead, I look at his father and smile, "you needn't worry about me, father."

Lyanna's brows curl.

"I was merely tired from a week's travel."

Rickard, sat at the head of the table, stares at me, three seats down his right. He nods and offers a soft smile, "I am glad to hear it, daughter."

Lyanna, who was to Rickard's left, glances at Brandon, who was to Rickard's right.

Brandon holds her gaze as he pours himself wine, "Benjen."

Benjen, sat beside Lyanna, perks.

"Why don't you pour Lady Lannister some wine."

Benjen stands and leans across me, filling my cup with a soft smile, "it is a pleasure to meet you, my lady."

Benjen Stark is a lanky looking thing. His hair is the longest out of his brothers and there is a glint in his grey eyes that seem like they are ever-present. It seems he can either become a good asset or a sore pain in the arse.

"Please," I smile back at him then look around the table, gaze deliberately falling on the Lord of Winterfell last, "I shall be a Stark come a few more days. It would be better if you called me Cersei."

Rickard smiles and I turn to Eddard just as he looks away from me.

"May I call you sister then," pipes an overly-saccharine voice.

My eyes fall on Lyanna Stark. I smile at her, and her long, brown hair, her thick lashes, smooth face, and grey eyes. I, in fact, smile with my teeth as I grip my hands tightly beneath the table. This was who Rhaegar crowned?

I scoff, then catch myself, covering it up with a chuckle, "of course," I run my hands through my golden curls. I ended up not letting that servant girl do anything to my hair and left it down, "I hope you'll sometimes braid my hair like yours."

Lyanna clutches the plain braids on the side of her head. The simple-minded thing is so easily disarmed, she blooms into a smile for me. Her dimples and shining eyes make my stomach drop. "I would love that, sister."

I chuckle and squeeze my thighs tightly. I want her maimed and drowned.

"Please," Rickon motions, "help yourself, Cersei."

"Thank you, father," I nod and look at the spread.

Before I can reach out, Eddard stands and reaches, "allow me."

I look at him and nod, "thank you, lord husband."

The name makes him stop.

He turns to me, momentarily abandoning his task, "you don't-"

"Lord Husband!" Brandon exclaims beside him. He laughs and slaps his brother's shoulder, "a quaint thing I hear. I did not think my brothers would be wed before me," he leans forward to deliberately look at me, "let alone to a Lannister."

I pinch my lips into a soft smile. Eddard fills my plate for me. "Yes, where is Catelyn Tully?"

"Riverrun," he speaks with his heavy Northern accent, "she seems not to be as eager to move to Winterfell as you."

My left brow quirks. "Nonsense," I reach for my cup of wine, "surely Lady Tully does not find you loud and plain."

Benjen snorts and slaps a hand over his mouth. Lyanna snorts and looks away.

Brandon narrows his eyes at me, "what?"

He stares, as if staring could ever frighten me.

Eddard sits back down. He purposefully tries to block his older brother's stare, but Brandon merely leans forward. The latter blurts, "did you insult me?"

I tilt my head and pout, "I did nothing of the sort, good-brother."

"You said I was loud and plain."

I look at him in confusion, "I said nothing of the sort."

"She didn't," Lyanna confirms.

Eddard clears his throat before eating a spoonful of potatoes.

Brandon's jaw feathers, "you said that Lady Tully—"

"Enough," Rickard barks, glaring at his heir, "you are loud and plain to me, boy."

Benjen purses his lips tightly. Eddard clenches his jaw.

"Now, be quiet so we can all eat in peace," concludes the Warden.

I smile happily at the plate of disgusting Northern food before me. I eat a spoonful of cold peas and think they taste rather sweet. Then I remember— "oh, Eddard-"

Eddard turns to me.

Lyanna chuckles when she notices his eye twitch.

"Would you seal this and send it to my father for me?" I pull out a crumpled piece of paper from my bosom and hand it to him, "it is merely word that I have arrived to your home."

He takes it from me apprehensively.

I eat another spoonful of peas, "you may read it, if you wish."

Eddard turns to the sorry looking piece of paper then looks back to me, "I will not..." he makes an attempt at smoothening it before putting it into his trouser pocket, "but I will send it to Lord Tywin Lannister for you, my lady."

"Cersei."

"..."

"It is Cersei, lord husband."

He clears his throat and I see his nose and cheeks grow pinkish.

"W-we are not yet wed—"

"But we will be," I turn back to my plate, "I am only trying to get used to it."

Benjen chuckles, "oooh, lord husband."

"Shut it," Eddard snaps.

His two younger siblings chortle to themselves.

Tywin had laughed, "throwing you away?" He had raised a brow at her, "be serious, Cersei."

She hates him. She hates that wretched Tywin Lannister. How fucking dare he cast her to the dreariest, deadest, most dastardly place in all of the damned realms.

She hates him and she hates his son, Jaime Lannister.

She sobs at the thought— sobs harder.

How he dare stand idly as she's torn rib and hip away from him? Jaime should have whisked her away by now, and yet here she still was, weeping in a godsdamned carriage.

"Do you expect me to believe that you are exalting me by sending me that much nearer the Wall?"

Tywin had laughed again. He's always laughing at her, or chiding her, if he was not so busy using her. "I am exalting you daughter."

She screams into her fur coat.

"I am to making you a queen of the Nort—" "I don't want to be the queen of the North! I want to be queen of everything. The North, the South, the East, the West," she had managed not to scream when she said this.

Cersei looks out the window, rubbing the frosted pane with her sleeve before biffing it with her mitted hand. She thinks about how she failed to tell him not to send her away. She wonders if it would have made a difference; she thinks it more so to comfort herself because she knew that begging would've done nothing.

"I know," was all her father had said in return. Tywin had meant this as: you are my daughter, after all— but he, of course, said nothing of the sort. Instead, he had dismissed her and she had returned to her chambers with five new fur coats waiting, all of them skinned from the backs of lions.

It became increasingly obvious to her, lions were no use in the fucking snow. She could not help but shiver and chatter her teeth. She recalls the stop they had halfway to Winterfell, as neither the riders, the horses, nor the carriages could make it through the weather. They all had to be switched out.

Ironic that she was meant to brave through that very weather regardless.

What made the conditions worse were the winds. She was reassured, though never convinced, what was occurring was mere snowfall and not, in fact, a storm. 'It was just the North.' Yet the more north they got, the worse it became. Twice she wrote to her father, begging not to be fed to the hungry snow storm. Twice she was ignored.

Ned, himself, was the one who spotted the Lannister retinue amidst the snow cloaked forest. It was also he that received word from Ser Adair Maude, the head of the retinue, that they had gotten lost in their way for the ground was too white to know where the road started and ended.

Ned alerts his older brother, and it is Brandon then that leads the search party to guide them all back on the best track to Winterfell.

Cersei, of course, hears the commotion from outside her ride. The men sound relieved. She could surmise salvation came in the form of a Stark. A fucking Stark. She curses the Stranger for not reaping them all of their souls in this not-storm.

Someone pounds on her shutters, causing her to violently flinch. She ignores it, obviously. Why would she open the window? She was freezing. That said, she'd have ignored it even if she wasn't.

"LADY CERSEI!"

She makes a face and clutches her arms tighter around herself, not that it actually makes her any warmer.

No other attempt at contact is made after another round of pounding. She can tell they move much faster after this.

The men's spirits have been lifted, hers sinks deeper into hell.

She gasps when her door is so suddenly yanked open.

"Lady Cersei!" the man says louder than one normally would due to the frost winds that made his dark hair billow. He reaches a gloved hand to her, "welcome to Winterfell! Allow me to escort you inside!"

She knows her face is ruddy. She can still feel how stiff it is from her frozen tears. She has no time to comport her appearances, so she pulls her hood tighter over her head, covering much of her face. She brings her thick mitted hand into his, gasping inaudibly at how warm he feels against her.

It is a struggle to exit the carriage. She had thick, lion skin cloak atop a thick, lion skin coat. Both of which failed to keep her warm, and it's only true purpose was to weigh her down while hindering her movement.

"Let me help!" another man says, reaching out to carry her cloak that makes even him grunt.

The moment Cersei is free from her box, she feels her knees and elbows ache from the cold. She cannot help her whine, nor how quickly her tears freeze over as she realizes how far they are from the door. It would have been a brisk ten paces away, but with all the snow, it felt like it was longer than Blackwater Rush.

"I am Brandon Stark, my lady!" the second man to come to her says. He nods, "and you've met my brother, Ned!"

"I don't care!" she hisses, strangled. Her jaw is too locked by the cold for either to understand.

Neither try to decipher her words, knowing it was best to simply get her inside and warm. Cersei can hardly believe she was walking, as she was simultaneously numb and pained all at once.

She sighs in relief and blubbers a bit when the feels warmth cascade across her body once she finally takes cover. She heaves and immediately searches for a hearth, unaware the Starks were already leading her to it.

She immediately pulls away to reach out to the fire, but her knees buckle at once. Had it not been for their quick instincts, she could have fallen into the fire. She wouldn't have minded in the moment, as she was icy as hell.

They drag a heavy wooden chair for her and Ned removes his cloak, dusting the snow off, before draping it over her shoulders.

Cersei quickly wraps it around herself as she sits and finally feels her tears melt.

"Get some spiced wine for Lady Cersei," Brandon points to one of the servants. He turns to the said woman, "when you're ready, there is hot broth and bread waiting for you and your men."

Cersei resists the urge to shudder as she turns to him. Brandon Stark is bearded, his brows thick, and his nose strong. She can vaguely make out the freckles beneath his green eyes, and she thinks his eyes are quite pretty. Brandon was handsome, more handsome than Jaime, but only because she hated him presently.

"I have your servants warming up in the solar. Your things will be sent to your room shortly," says Brandon.

She cannot help her shiver, "t-thank you."

He nods and slaps his brother's shoulders, "should you need anything else, Ned will see to it. He'll stay here to keep you company."

"Can't you keep me company instead?" she raises her fair brows.

Brandon looks to Cersei, her face and hair dampened by melted frost. The corners of her face were framed by golden curls, all mussed up from the snow. Her cheeks were nearly as red as the red of her dress, peeping out from beneath her many layers of furs. Her emerald eyes were far fiercer than any of the green eyed women he'd ever met. She was exquisite.

He chuckles, slightly caught of guard by the request, "as much as I would love to get to know my soon to be good-sister, I must go back out and ensure no one else is caught in the storm."

"They told me it wasn't a storm," she scoffs, "liars, all of them."

Brandon chuckles a little louder, "well, it wasn't until you arrived."

She narrows her eyes. He smirks. "Do you mean to tell me it is my fault your home is experiencing the most Northern of weathers?"

He laughs, hearty and rich. He even clutches his belly and throws his head back.

Ned makes a face and shifts uncomfortably where he stands.

"Nay, my lady," sighs he, "I merely meant the storm happened to come at the same time you did."

Ned grunts the second time Brandon slaps his shoulder, not because it hurts, but because it was twice as irritating now.

"I'll leave you love birds to it then."

"Love birds?" Cersei mutters just as the first born walks off. She looks over her shoulder, practically shooting daggers through her eyes at this Ned person, "you are Eddard Stark?"

Ned nods as he comes directly to her side, bowing at her, "at your service, my lady."

She makes a face. Eddard Stark is weepy looking, grey-eyed, and evidently lacking of all the charms his older brother had. He was shorter and judging by how he kept his hands behind him, also weaker-willed. Cersei makes no attempt to conceal her disappointment. She's glad she'll at least much more enjoy seducing his brother.

Though Ned's lips curl into a slight frown, he is unbothered by her expression, "if you would like to change into something warmer, there are clothes prepared for you in your—"

"No," she snaps, turning back to the fire.

Cersei stretches her fingers inside her mittens, allowing them to warm before freeing them. She sighs deeply, watching her breath fog as she rubs her face for warmth.

Ned watches her, mostly for propriety. He examines her brown coat and quickly figures it is probably not lined thick enough, thus why she got as cold as she was. He could tell it was not poorly made, and even if he couldn't, he knew it wouldn't be. It belonged to a Lannister after all. Still, the southron tailor probably knew little about Northern snow.

Cersei grows warm enough that the cloaks on her person begin to bother her. Suddenly, the flash of black fabric upon her shoulders disgusted her. She shrugs it off at once. "Where did that come from?" she asks to no one in particular.

"It's mine," Ned picks up his cloak, hanging it on his forearm, "I put it on you."

Cersei looks back at him, upper lip still curled, then looks away.

He figures now what kind of woman he'll be marrying by the turn of the full moon. He sighs deeply.

She continues to rub her face, "by all means, if my presence exhausts you, free yourself from the torture."

He clears his throat and tilts his head, "I am not exhausted."

"Mmm," she quickly eyes him up and down, "that's not at all what I said."

His left eye twitches. Ned shifts in his spot and corrects himself, "I'm not exhausted by you."

Cersei notices how he clenches his jaw. She smiles, but only with her eyes; her lips do not move, save when she says, "a comforting thought, my lord."

Just as she turns back to the fire, Ned's gaze whips to the front door where a handful of men barrel through, lifting trunk after trunk after trunk of Lannister belongings.

One of the men notices his lord. He grunts as he carries the largest trunk of all with another man, "do all these go to Lady Lannister's room?"

"W-" "Yes," Cersei turns from her chair and answers for him, gasping when he sees a particular trunk she knew held her fragile belongings. She points a finger and barks, "be careful with that!"

All of the men freeze at the shrillness of the command. None of them know which was being spoken to, so all of them tread carefully with the things of Cersei Lannister.

Ned watches her watch the servants with a scrutinizing gaze. He finds himself feeling sorry for them and agrees with himself he does not want to be at the receiving end of such gaze.

Once she is satisfied by how her trunks are being handled, she turns back to the fire, only to notice the dumb look on the man beside her. Her expression curls again, "will you not help your brother find lost souls in the snow?"

"Hmm?"

Cersei rolls her eyes at his incredibly irritating noise and leans closer to the hearth.

Ned clears his throat, "my duty is to ensure your comfort, my lady."

"I am comfortable," she blurts rather impatiently, "you may go."

"..."

She clenches her teeth before regrettably turning back to him.

He involuntarily pulls his head back. That gaze is now upon him. He gulps and stammers, "but- I- I..."

"Tell me," she narrows her eyes at him, "do you have trouble understanding simple instructions?"

He is shocked by how sincerely the question sounds despite her withering glare. Ned can seem only to shake his head.

Cersei stands abruptly, causing him to flinch. She smiles.

His heart races at the sight of her rosy cheeks and her curved lips. He gulps, unable to tear his eyes away from how pleasantly she shows him her teeth.

"I have had a long day," she changes tune completely and clasps her hands together, "could you have food sent to my chambers?"

His eyes widen, "I- I—"

"I should like to take a nap," she begins to walk off, "it took us a week to get here."

Ned watches Cersei lower her hood finally. Her ears are red and her golden hair is plaited into a low bun. He follows her when he regains his sense, "I'll lead you to you—"

"I can manage," she smiles again, more impatiently this time.

He tilts his head, "Winterfell is large. I doubt you'll find your room on you—"

"I'll follow the servants," Cersei points to the men that come and go.

His mouth stays ajar. He is dumbfounded. He slowly nods.

She resists the urge to roll her eyes the second time, "have them send cake if you have any."

"We have le-"

He stops himself when Cersei walks away. She mentally imagines all of the ways she would like to murder Eddard Stark.

"Spiced wine, milord," a servant approaches Ned, bowing before she she holds out a cup of warm drink.

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