A crossover between Game of Thrones and Fate/Stay Night. I decided to write this fic as there were very few GoT and F/SN crossover fics.

Both of the works belongs to their respective authors and companies.

And I do not own neither of these.

Emiya Shirou also known as Archer smiled. This was his first pure smile in a long time and not his usual sarcastic and cynical one. He watched silently as the First King Gilgamesh was swallowed up by the grail. The golden king was like a hax character in a game. He was known as the Strongest Servant after all. With an infinite number of Noble Phantasms, the king would always be bored and let his weapons do the work. That was not counting his monstrous sword 'Ea', an anti-world Noble Phantasm. He would be impossible to defeat, if not for his arrogance.

Archer had saved Rin from the curse of the grail, but had failed his original mission. He couldn't kill his past self. He couldn't change him. Shirou was still the same self-sacrificing idiot who wanted to become an ally of justice. But now, he was confident that Rin could change his path of self-destruction. He was confident that the chance of Shirou becoming a Counter Guardian was close to zero. That was the reason for his smile. He was satisfied with his past self, still hypocritical as ever, won't abandon his ideals but would not walk down the same path as him.

He was starting to disappear, go back. His material body was starting to get transparent. "Archer!" He heard his former master calling him. "Archer…" She was panting hard. He didn't turn around to face her. "It is unfortunate. But that's how it is. Give up on the Grail this time, Rin." He slowly turned his face and saw a crestfallen Rin. A small laugh escaped from his mouth. "This is no time to me laughing you idiot." She yelled with tears in her eyes. "Archer… make a pact with me again." She said in a small voice. Archer denied that of course. He had no right to do that. His battle had ended and he had lost his goal.

Wind blew over his face making his hair fall front. "Tohsaka, take care of me." He disappeared with a smile.

Lord Eddard Stark, also known as Ned Stark, Lord of winterfell was returning to his home. He together with the other houses had crushed the Greyjoy Rebellion. It was a foolish battle by the Greyjoy's. They were outnumbered by a wide margin. Knowing that they had Rebelled against the crown. It was an attempt by house Greyjoy of the Iron Islands to break away and secure independence from the Iron Throne and revive their old ways. Balon Greyjoy had declared himself King of the Iron Islands, forged the Kingdom of the Iron Islands, and led the rebellion. It was more of a slauter than a battle.

The rebellion was crushed and Balon was forced to surrender. He was accepted back into the king's peace, keeping his lordship and titles, but only on the condition that his last surviving son Theon Greyjoy be made a ward of House Stark as hostage for his good behavior. Theon was just 8 years old. He had idealized his father with a very cocky attitude. Theon's brothers had died in the rebellion and he was still confused about everything.

His bannermen were celebrating their victory behind him. He sighed. He didn't like it. He was already tired of wars. The first was the war against Targyarians and now this. Wars only brought death and destruction but he had his duty as the head of winterfell and warden of the north.

They had nearly reached winterfell when Ned saw a boy of nearly ten and five with silver hair sitting under a tree. A Targyarian? No. Not silver, It was white. White hair was not common in westros. It was very rare. The boy looked towards their way with curiosity evident in his auburn eyes. He wore rags torn in many places. Didn't he feel any cold? 'He is not normal' was the first thought that came to Ned's mind. He didn't know why. Curiosity got better of him. He told his men to wait and he went towards the boy.

Archer didn't know what to do. He didn't know the place he had ended up to. The Grail war was over and he had expected to go back to the throne. This place was defiantly not the Throne of heroes. What concerned Archer the most was the absence of Gaia. He couldn't feel Gaia's presence like always. The mana in the air was very less. It was nearly zero. It was impossible to create high level mysteries without the abundance if mana in the atmosphere. Not that he cared. Archer wasn't capable of any other magic except Tracing.

He was happy. Very happy. Finally out of Alaya's reach. He didn't have to go against his principle anymore. He had finally escaped from his hell. He had tried almost everything and now he had succeded. How?

Because he was in an another world. That was the only explanation. He also noticed the changes to his body. Firstly, his body was made of flesh and blood and not prana. Secondly, he had somehow become younger and had an appearance of a ten year old boy. His could feel his 27 magic circuits. They were not in the prime condition but were still usable as he could feel the od flowing through them. He wasn't going to make the same mistake as before. He wasn't going to bastardize his nerves anymore. He saw that his hair was still white, while his tan on the body was gone. He just srugged it off for later. He had more important things to worry about. The third thing he noticed was that he was stark naked.

He traced his signature blades, kanshou and bakuya. The 'married' twin blades of black and white rested in his hands. Normally tracing them would take little to no prana at all. But due to his premature body and circuits he was left quite drained. He waited for some time to see what would happen. Nothing. Normally, the created object slowly fades away after being created, and Air is an allusion to the fact that said object is made out of "nothing". But the blades didn't do any such. Gaia was not present to erase the prana construct so Archer willed the swords to disappear.

He traced some clothes, but horribly. The clothes had holes all over it. Archer could copy a legendary blade to near perfection, but tracing wearable clothes was very hard for him. He stifled a sigh and wore those clothes. The clothes didn't show any sign of dispersing into prana and that was a good thing. He didn't want to roam around naked afterall.

He saw that he was in a forest. There was slight snow fall and the weather was very cold. He endured the cold and sat under a large tree. He could hear distant cries of animals. Mostly howls of wolves.

He reinforced his eyes and started looking for any human settlements. There he saw many men – presumably an army – coming in his direction. Archer saw the man leading the group. He had dark brown hair, a long face and grey eyes. He was wearing thick clothes and fur which were of medival era. Most of the men behind him were clothed similarly. He noticed Archer's gaze and turned towards him. He told something to his men and he started to come near him.

When they were face to face the man asked "What are you doing in this forest boy?" Archer didn't know how to answer that question. What would he tell the man? A lie. But what? He quickly made up something. He had centuries' worth of experience. "I don't remember how I ended up here. I can't remember anything at all." He said. Archer was surprised at his own voice. His gruff and strong voice was replaced by a soft and childish voice. He saw as many emotions like suspicion and pity passed by the man's face.

"I am Lord Eddard Stark of Winterfell. Surely you have heard my name right?" The man named Eddard asked. Archer nodded in negative. He really didn't know. How the fuck was he supposed to know people from another world. After a lot of thinking the Lord said "You can come with me to winterfell. You can work as a servant till you regain your memories. Our maester can see what has happened to you." In a commanding tone. He stayed silent for a minute and asked "What is your name again?"

Archer thought about giving him just his class a servant but thought against it. Archer was not a name and it would just make way for suspicion. "My name is Shirou. Shirou Emiya." He finally said. Using the name the had long discarded brought disqust to his mouth, but no other name flashed in his mind. The lord muttered something about a wired name. But the important thing was he had found a place to live and also a job. That was truly a blessing. If this world was anything like the medival era of his world, then there was danger everywhere. "Thank you… My lord." That was the right way to address him right?. The lord nodded again and stared walking towards his horse.

A few days had passed since they reached Winterfell. It would seem that Winterfell was the seat of the ruler of the North and the ancestral home of House Stark. It was a very large castle located at the center of the North, from where the head of House Stark rules over his or her people. Lord Stark had immediately taken Shirou to Maester Luwin, an old man with kind and warm eyes. The maester couldn't identify his problem. So they settled to think about it some other time.

He was given a small room. His only work was cleaning which he liked to do. When he had no other work to do, he would practice his magic. Slowly he started to create mundane swords and blades. He was not on a level to reproduce noble phantasms, Kanshou and Bakuya were possible but only because they were like a part of his body. Still he felt his Magic Circuits burn hot every time he tried tracing. He also did reinforcement and alteration.

During the days the maester had taught him the history of westros and a little of other countries. He was told about the major houses and the royal family. Just as he has assumed the world was struck in the same era for thousands of years. For some reason the technology of this world was not developing one bit. He read many books. He read about Dragons and their doom. The only reason, the dragons were not coming back was the lack of mana. Dragons were a kind of nature spirits and extensions of the world itself. They were beings of nature who released an ocean of prana just by breathing.

He had also met with most of the Lord Starks family. There was Robb Stark, a lively boy learning to become the heir of their house. Then there was Jon Snow, a bastard. He was always brooding and solemn, it was justified given everybody's condescending looks. The girl, Sansa Stark was still very small child. She was already being taught on 'How to be a Lady' Bullshit. He had never conversed with her. Arya was still a child of two and Bran was still a baby. Catelyn Stark, Lord Stark's wife had disliked him at first, but that soon changed after she ate his cooking.

One thing which was common among all Stark children was their eyes. Prana was slowly seeping out of their eyes. Archer's best guess was Mystic Eyes. Though he left it, as they didn't know anything about it themselves.

Another person was Theon Greyjon. Archer honestly didn't like him. He had a Higher-than-thou attitude, proclaiming himself, The Heir to the Iron Islands. He had heard about their foolish rebellion, and Theon was taken as a 'ward'. A kinder word for a hostage

After all these days, Archer had finally decided to spill out the truth. He didn't care if the truth spread far and wide. What would other people do? Nothing. There would be lots and lots of rumors, some would call it madness and that's it. But if a person of another world had fallen into his world, He would have had his organs taken out one by one for study. Moreover he quite liked Ned Stark. He understood the eldest stark's nature. Ned Stark was honorable to his end. That would certainly lead to an early grave; Archer knew but didn't say anything. He didn't want to be a hypocrite. So he had told Ned that he had something important to tell them.

Now here he was, with the whole Stark family (except Jon) eating the food he had cooked. They glanced at him with expectant eyes. Ned Stark started "You wanted to tell us something right? Did you remember anything?" He asked kindly. Archer thought about it for a moment. Telling that he had fooled them all was a really bad idea. No he thought about answering in a roundabout way.

"Yes…. Yes I have, Lord Stark." He told him politely. He would have channeled his sarcastic persona, but decided against it. Everyone at the table stopped eating and looked at him. Their eyes telling him to continue. "It may sound wired but what I am tell is the truth and I assure you I am not mad." His words were greeted with a frown but they nodded anyway. Archer took a large breath and finally said "I am from an another world." Everyone blinked and just continued to eat their breakfast. "Stop joking around in the morning Shirou. There is no way, how can there be another world?"

"*sigh* I knew that you wouldn't believe me. I have to tell you one more thing. I am a magician." Telling that he was a mage wouldn't do any good. He was pretty sure that the word 'mage' did not exist in the world. He saw everybody's reaction. Lord Stark had a big frown on his usually grim face. Lady Stark was also the same. Robb looked at him in confusion not quite understanding what was going on. Sansa was trying her lever best to eat in a proper way, while Arya was sending the food flying.

"Enough of these jokes Shirou. We have to finish our food fast. There is work for all of us to do." Catelyn Stark said. Archer sighed again. "Alright, I will prove it for you." He said while concentration on the steps of tracing.

Judging the concept of creation

Hypothesizing the basic structure

Duplicating the composition material

Imitating the skill of its making

Sympathizing with the experience of its growth

Reproducing the accumulated years

Excelling every manufacturing process

"Trace on"

After the process was over, a mundane Longsword was gripped in Archer's hand. He heard collective gasps. The lord and the lady were eying the sword with equal amount awe and wariness. Robb had stood up from his place, wonder in his eyes surrendered to his childish glee. Sansa didn't react, outwardly. Arya was jumping her place, shouting some words. Archer's usual smirk landed on his face. 'B-but th-that…. How did you do that!? " The Lord stood up, abruptly hitting his hands on the table, spilling the water.

"See I was telling the truth." Archer said with a smug look. Not wanting to degrade the situation any further he spoke again. "Don't worry my lord, I have full control over it. It will bring no harm to anyone." This seemed to calm the Stark down as he sat down slowly, not taking his eyes off the swords one bit. Archer willed the swords to disappear. Eyes widening again, The Lord asked "So… The thing about you being from an another world is true? That is also because of some knid of magic?" "Yes." Was the only reply to both questions.

Archer gave them time to calm down and take everything. "So how will you find the way back to your home? As far as I know, the whole idea of magic existing is laughed upon. So I don't think anyone can help you over here and the children of the forest have been dead for centuries." The lord asked. Archer made a very bitter face. "Go back? Never. Don't make me laugh. I would never go back there." They all looked very confused. Archer truly didn't want to go back. By some miracle he was out of Alaya's grasp and the contract was still active. If he went back there, he would have to go back to being a Counter Guardian, killing maniacs and innocents alike.

"Why? Don't you want to go to your home…To your parents?" Lady Stark asked.

"I would rather be here, than that hell. And I don't have any parents. My biological ones died in a fire and my foster father died because of a curse. If you don't want me here, it's ok. You just have to tell me and I will find another place." At this the room fell silent again. The elder Starks looked at each other with sympathy in their eyes. "I don't know what has happened to you In the past, but now you are a citizen of Winterfell. You can stay here as long as you want as long as you don't harm anyone with that 'magic' of yours." The lord said with a warm smile. Archer just nodded, his bitterness forgotten.

"What all can you do with it? Your magic I mean." Lady Stark asked expectantly. Magic would certainly reduce her work.

"Yeah, about that…. I can copy bladed weapons to near perfection. That's all." By the looks of it, they were not impressed. Of course they wouldn't be, Archer had just said that his magic was doing blacksmith work. "That's…. all."

"By copy I mean, its history and all. I can even copy the technique of the real wielder of the weapon."

"That's all and good, but I have to inform of this to the king. Knowing Robert, I don't think he would care much." Lord Stark said. Archer just shrugged. He simply didn't care about what other people would say about him OR his craft. He would never have revealed his magecraft to common people in his world, especially with Clocktower killing all the witnesses. But there was no Clocktower in this world, so what could go wrong.

Nine Years had passed since then. Archer spent his time doing some work or the other. The Stark family had taken a liking to his cooking. So they asked him to cook once in a while, much to his delight. During his free time, he practiced his magecraft, constantly tracing swords. As a Counter Guardian, he had abundance of prana to waste. But now he had to deal with his Magic Circuits. Though they were above an average of twenty but were of low quality nonetheless. He had improved, of that there was no doubt, But not as much. The atmosphere was too peaceful for a person who spent most of his time moving from different battlefields. By now all of the Winterfell knew him, giving him stupid names a like 'The Magician'.

All the Stark children had grown up. Robb had started to grow a beard. He was big and broad and growing every day, with his mother's coloring, the fair skin, red-brown hair, and blue eyes of the Tullys of Riverrun. Archer spent most of his time with Robb as he was 'appointed' as a sort of assistant. Instead of treating him as such and ordering him around, Robb saw him as a friend. Archer knew many Sword Styles which he picked up in the Holy Grail War and while being a Counter Guardian. He taught some to Robb while he was learning from Ser Rodric Cassel. While Robb was certainly good with a sword, but not as much.

But Jon was different matter entirely. Jon was very good in fighting with a sword. He had much potential. He soaked all the lessons like a sponge. They both had a good relationship with each other. Trading jokes or sparing all the time. As time went by, Jon became a very quiet and broody person, never starting a conversation. He conversed all that he wanted to say in a few words. Catelyn Stark's hatred for Jon also increased from time. They didn't even talk to each other.

Sansa had become a common noble girl who dreamed of her Knight in the shiny armour. Stupid. Archer didn't talk much with her as she considered him a lowborn. She was always polite and lady-like as she was taught to be. Like most noble girls, she would be married off to a Lord.

While Sansa was the perfect example for a Lady, Arya was the complete opposite. She was always wild, running around and behaving like a boy. She expressed her interest in fighting and had made it clear to her father that she would marry a boy of her own choice. She learned Archery from Jon and honestly, she was very good. Her mother would always scold her, but her father would say its 'wolf's blood' and leave be. Archer sometimes played with Arya so he knew her well enough.

Bran wanted to become a knight. Bran was the one with the most powerful eyes. The prana seeping out of it was very high compared to his siblings. Due to his knowledge of magic, Bran would sometime come to him and talk about his weird dreams of future. At first, Archer left it aside as normal dreams. But the dreams only became clear to the point where Archer couldn't ignore it. One of the dreams was 'A Stag killed by a lion.' And boy he didn't like those kinds of dreams.

Rickon... Rickon was still a child who liked to listen to stories of Dragons and White Walkers. Then there was the apparent dislike of maester Luwin. Who like most of the maesters of citadel, insisted that the things like magic should remain extinct.

In all these years, Archer went to the hunts with the Starks, show casing his talent as an archer. They also got to know about his techniques with swords. His appeareace had also more or less returned to normal, except the tanned skin which he didn't have anymore. He was still handsome with his white hair and auburn eyes.

The morning had dawned clear and cold, with a crispness that hinted at the end of summer. The sound of arrows flying and hitting the target rang in Archer's ears. Beside him were Robb and Jon, teaching their younger brother Bran on how to use a bow and an arrow.

Bran released the arrow but it completely missed the intended target, earning a good-natured laugh from everybody present there. "Now which one of you was a marksman at ten? " Archer raised his hands, but Lord Stark just ignored him and encouraged his younger son. "Keep practicing Bran." He said. His brothers gave him some advice as he readied for the next shot. Before Bran could let the arrow loose, another one flew right by him and landed at the centre of the target.

Arya stood proudly looking at her accomplishment. She mock curtsied at them and took off running with Bran at the back chasing her. Everyone smiled at that. "Quickly Bran, Faster!" Jon called out.

"Lord Stark!" Archer saw Ser Rodrick Cassel, Master-at-Arms calling out. He turned towards the Lord's wife and greeted her. "A guardman just rode from the hills. They have captured a deserter of the Night's Watch." The atmosphere became serious. "Get the lads to saddle their horses and Tell Bran he is coming to." the Lord said to Ser Rodrick. Lord Stark didn't waver even with his wife's oppositions. With that he left. There Archer saw as Lady Stark look down on Jon Snow with hatred evident in her eyes.

They set forth at daybreak to see a man beheaded, twenty in all, and Bran rode among them, nervous with excitement. This was the first time he had been deemed old enough to go with his lord father and his brothers to see the king's justice done. It was the ninth year of the long summer. Archer had already seen many executions. Lord Stark believed that 'The man who passes the sentence should swing the sword. If you would take a man's life, you owe it to him to look into his eyes and hear his final words. And if you cannot bear to do that, then perhaps the man does not deserve to die.' So he didn't keep an executioner. He himself would go and behead the person.

The fact that it was the ninth year of summer weirded out Archer. It would seem that the summer began when he first arrived in this world. The man had been taken outside a small holdfast in the hills. Robb thought he was a wildling, his sword sworn to Mance Rayder, the King-beyond-the-Wall. It made Bran's skin prickle to think of it. He remembered the hearth tales Old Nan told them. The wildlings were cruel men, she said, slavers and slayers and thieves. They consorted with giants and ghouls, stole girl children in the dead of night, and drank blood from polished horns. And their women lay with the Others in the Long Night to sire terrible half-human children.

But the man they found bound hand and foot to the holdfast wall awaiting the king's justice was old and scrawny, a bit shorter. He had lost both ears and a finger to frostbite, and he dressed all in black, the same as a brother of the Night's Watch, except that his furs were ragged and greasy. He was mumbling something repeatedly like a mantra. Finally the lord gave a command, and two of his guardsmen dragged the ragged man to the ironwood stump in the center of the square. They forced his head down onto the hard black wood. Lord Eddard Stark dismounted and his ward Theon Greyjoy brought forth the sword. "Ice," that sword was called. It was as wide across as a man's hand, and taller even than Robb. The blade was Valyrian steel.

Archer had already Structurally grasped the sword. The blade had hundreds of years worth history. Wielded by the previous Starks for many years, the blade was used to fight their enemies. The sword was obviously magical in nature as It hadn't rusted in years. Even after all this time, It didn't have a single scratch on it.

The man in question was still rambling. "White Walkers. I saw them. I know I broke my oath. I know I am a deserter. I should have gone back to the Watch and warned them, but….I saw what I saw." With that he finally shut up. Archer narrowed his eyes after hearing his words. Others probably thought that the man was mad, but Archer did not. There was something going on and he didn't know what. And that was not right.

Lord Stark took hold of Ice with both hands and said, "In the name of Robert of the House Baratheon, the First of his Name, King of the Andals and the Rhoynar and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms and Protector of the Realm, by the word of Eddard of the House Stark, Lord of Winterfell and Warden of the North, I do sentence you to die." He lifted the greatsword high above his head and brought it down with a mighty and clean swing. Archer sighed. Ahh, I need to check the wall. He thought

The severed head bounced off a thick root and rolled. It came up near Greyjoy's feet. Theon was a lean, dark youth of nineteen who found everything amusing. He laughed, put his boot on the head, and kicked it away.

"Ass," Jon muttered, low enough so Greyjoy did not hear. He put a hand on Bran's shoulder, and Bran looked over at his bastard brother. "You did well," Jon told him solemnly. Jon was eighteen, an old hand at justice.

It seemed colder on the long ride back to Winterfell, though the wind had died by then and the sun was higher in the sky. They saw a dead stag. Jon and Robb raced forward in their horses. Archer sighed. They were still childish.

That was when Jon reappeared on the crest of the hill before them. He waved and shouted down at them. "Father, Bran,Shirou come quickly, see what Robb has found!" Then he was gone again.

Jory Cassel, Rodrick's cousin rode up beside them. "Trouble, my lord?" "Beyond a doubt," the lord said. "Come, let us see what mischief my sons have rooted out now." He sent his horse into a trot. Jory and Bran and the rest came after.

They found Robb on the riverbank north of the bridge, with Jon still mounted beside him. The late summer snows had been heavy this moonturn. Robb stood knee-deep in white, his hood pulled back so the sun shone in his hair. He was cradling something in his arm, while the boys talked in hushed, excited voices.

The riders picked their way carefully through the drifts, groping for solid footing on the hidden, uneven ground. Jory Cassel and Theon Greyjoy were the first to reach the boys.

Greyjoy was laughing and joking as he rode. Bran heard the breath go out of him. "Gods!" he exclaimed, struggling to keep control of his horse as he reached for his sword. Jory's sword was already out. "Robb, get away from it!" he called as his horse reared under him.

Robb grinned and looked up from the bundle in his arms. "She can't hurt you," he said. "She's dead, Jory." Bran was afire with curiosity by then. He would have spurred the pony faster, but his father made them dismount beside the bridge and approach on foot. Bran jumped off and ran.

By then Archer, Jon, Jory, and Theon Greyjoy had all dismounted as well. "What in the seven hells is it?" Greyjoy was saying.

"A wolf," Robb told him.

"A freak," Greyjoy said. "Look at the size of it."

Half-buried in bloodstained snow, a huge dark shape slumped in death. Ice had formed in its shaggy grey fur, and the faint smell of corruption clung to it like a woman's perfume.

"A Direwolf." Archer added. 'This would definitely be classified as a phantasmal species.' He thought.

Archer tore his eyes away from the monster. That was when he noticed the bundle in Robb's arms. He moved closer to see. The pup was a tiny ball of grey-black fur, its eyes still closed. It nuzzled blindly against Robb's chest as he cradled it, searching for milk among his leathers, making a sad little whimpery sound. Robb gave the pup to Bran, who cradled it with affection.

"Maybe the bitch was already dead when the pups came." "Born with the dead," Hullen, the master of horses put in. "Worse luck." "No matter, they be dead soon enough too " Another said. Bran gave a wordless cry of dismay. "The sooner the better," Theon Greyjoy agreed. He drew his sword. "Give the beast here, Bran." The little thing squirmed against him, as if it heard and understood. "No!" Bran cried out fiercely. "It's mine." Archer moved to stop him but Robb acted before him."Put away your sword, Greyjoy," Robb said. For a moment he sounded as commanding as their father, like the lord he would someday be.

"We will keep these pups." "You cannot do that, boy," said Harwin, who was Hullen's son. "It be a mercy to kill them," Hullen said. Bran looked to his lord father for rescue, but got only a frown, a furrowed brow. "Hullen speaks truly, son. Better a swift death than a hard one from cold and starvation." "No!" He could feel tears welling in his eyes, and he looked away. He did not want to cry in front of his father. Robb resisted stubbornly. Their father soon relented. There were six pups, Four male and two female. One for each of the children, including Jon who got an albino.

Archer sat in the godswood, with Lord of Winterfell by his side, who was cleaninng his Sword "Ice". They sat in relative silence, sharing their stories and making crude jokes. Archer had thought that the Lord was always grim and serious. He was wrong. The Lord's sense of humor came out when he was in the absence of his smaller children and the girls. He was also a very good with a sword. Archer saw Lord Stark, continuously getting amazed at his stories of apostle hunts and near death experiences. The Lord always come here after taking a man's life, so Archer was trying to get him to loosen up.

Behind them was a giant Weirwood tree. "The heart tree," everyone called it. The weirwood's bark was white as bone, its leaves dark red, like a thousand bloodstained hands. A face had been carved in the trunk of the great tree, its features long and melancholy, the deep-cut eyes red with dried sap and strangely watchful. The tree was old. Very old. If Archer's structural grasping was right, then tree had already lived for centuries.

"Ned." He heard Lady Stark's voice. "Catelyn," Ned said. His voice was distant and formal. He looked at them and got up to leave. "It's all right. You can sit." The Lady said. So he sat.

"He was the fourth this year," Ned said grimly. "The poor man was half-mad. Something had put a fear in him so deep that my words could not reach him." He sighed. "Ben writes that the strength of the Night's Watch is down below a thousand. It's not only desertions. They are losing men on rangings as well."

"Is it the wildlings?" she asked.

"Who else?" Ned lifted Ice, looked down the cool steel length of it. "And it will only grow worse. The day may come when I will have no choice but to call the banners and ride north to deal with this King-beyond-the-Wall for good and all." That was nice. Archer had always wanted to go there. All magic had gone inside the wall, but he could have some luck outside it. Archer could sometimes feel the constant burst of prana further North. Moreover, he felt like something was going to happen and that was considering his E-Rank luck, he wouldn't take any chances.

Catelyn took her husband's hand. "There was a raven from Kingslanding, my lord. I did not wish to trouble you until you had cleansed yourself." There was no way to soften the blow, so she told him straight. "I am so sorry, my love. Jon Arryn is dead. A fever took him." Archer narrowed his eyes. Jon Arryn was the Hand of the king, answering only after the king. A fever was a good cover. A person in a high position dying of a simple fever was highly unlikely. There was a high chance that he was killed. But he kept quiet and didn't say anything. Jumping to conclusions prematurely was not good.

He saw as Ned's face slowly twisted in sadness. He had heard stories about Robert's Rebellion. He was one of the major personalities in it.

"The raven brought more news…The king is riding to Winterfell to seek you out." It took Ned a moment to comprehend her words, but when the understanding came, the darkness left his eyes. "Robert is coming here?" When she nodded, a smile broke across his face. They were brothers in all but blood. "I knew that would please you," she said. "We should send word to your brother on the Wall." "Yes, of course," he agreed. "Ben will want to be here. I shall tell Maester Luwin to send his swiftest bird." Ned rose and pulled her to her feet.

"And you." He pointed his finger towards Archer. "None of your sarcastic comments in the presence of the king. Be respectful towards them." Archer just smirked at him. Ned sighed and turned towards his wife, his smile coming back in full force. "Damnation, how many years has it been? And he gives us no more notice than this? How many in his party, did the message say?"

"I should think a hundred knights, at the least, with all their retainers, and half again as many freeriders. Cersei and the children travel with them." Archer's smirk widened. He was finally getting the chance to see these so called 'knights' of this world.

The visitors poured through the castle gates in a river of gold and silver and polished steel, three hundred strong, a pride of bannermen and knights, of sworn swords and freeriders. Over their heads a dozen golden banners whipped back and forth in the northern wind, emblazoned with the crowned stag of Baratheon. Archer didn't know any of the riders. He stood right behind Robb, and watched everyone with an impassive face.

He could only identify the people from the stories he had heard about them. There came a man with hair as bright as beaten gold who could only be Ser Jaime Lannister, and there Sandor Clegane with his terrible burned face.

A tall boy, with blond hair and green eyes rode beside Clegane. He was the supposed Crown Prince, Archer heard others say. A stunted little man behind them was surely the Imp, Tyrion Lannister.

The huge man at the head of the column, flanked by two knights in the snow-white cloaks of the Kingsguard, vaulted off the back of his warhorse with a roar, and crushed Lord Stark in a bone-crunching hug. "Ned! Ah, but it is good to see that frozen face of yours." The king looked him over top to bottom, and laughed. "You have become fat." Archer watched in amusement as the Lord Stark slowly looked at the king's stomach and raised an eyebrow. They both hugged each other and laughed away like friends they were.

Archer had heard of the king from Ned Stark, but he was surprised to say the least. He had heard him say 'The Lord of Storm's End had been clean-shaven, clear-eyed, and muscled like a maiden's fantasy. Six and a half feet tall, he towered over lesser men, and when he donned his armor and the great antlered helmet of his House, he became a veritable giant. He'd had a giant's strength too.' But all Archer could see was a fat man whose breath stank of Alcohol.

The king greeted all the members of the stark family, hugging them or ruffling their hair. His eyes turned towards Archer, he stared at him for a moment before turning for the other priorities. By then the others were dismounting as well, and grooms were coming forward for their mounts. Robert's queen, Cersei Lannister, entered on foot with her younger children. She stood before Ned extending her hands towards him. Lord stark kissed her hands, a customary practice. "My queen." Lady Stark greeted.

No sooner had those formalities of greeting been completed than the king had said to his host, "Take me down to your crypt, Ned. I would pay my respects." The queen had begun to protest." My love, You have been riding since dawn, everyone is tired and cold, and surely you should refresh yourself first. The dead would wait." She had said no more than that; the king didn't even spare her a glance, he urged the Stark to come and they both left to the crypts.

Archer came out of the hall. It was the fourth hour of the welcoming feast laid for the king. Jon's brothers and sisters had been seated with the royal children, beneath the raised platform where Lord and Lady Stark hosted the king and queen. Archer saw Jon outside, hitting a target as hard as he could. He tapped on Jon's shoulder. Jon turned around to see who it was and got back to his business.

"So why are you out here, you should be enjoying the feast." Jon asked him. "I don't like being in the presence of many people. You should already know that." Archer replied in jest but he really meant it. Rumors about him had spread wide. People in the hall would take a glance at him whenever they got the chance.

He was about to roam around for a while, before he heard the sound of a horse stopping behind him. Benjen Stark, Ned Stark's brother, came in. He chatted Jon for a while, which was mostly Jon asking him to take him to the Night's Watch. When Benjen refused, Jon went back to hitting the dummy in frustration.

Benjen looked at Jon and sighed. He moved towards Archer wearing a serious face. "You were right. Something weird is going on up there." He said. Archer had met Benjen many times. Archer had asked him about the wall. He had told him to check for anything that was weird. Benjen had agreed when he was told about Archer and his magic.

"I had gone on a journey north the wall. The wildlings there, were moving south steadily under Mance. In the forest I found many decorated Wildling bodies. I even conversed with Wildlings. They were all talking about 'Others' and 'Wights'." Archer nodded. "Black brothers are going missing and many are deserting the Watch after ranging missions. That definitely cannot be coincidence."

He sighed. "And now, I am questioning my own sanity for believing them." Now Archer really wanted to see what lied beyond the wall. "Then I and coming with you to the wall this time. I always wanted to see the wall ever since I came here anyway." Benjen went to the feast and Archer went to sleep.

Hope you enjoyed. If there are any errors in the fic, don't forget to inform. Flames will be ignored.

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