AN: Hello and welcome to my fanfiction! This is one of the only Game of Thrones/Walking Dead crossovers. I've always wondered what would happen if the characters in my two favorite shows met. This story is rated M for violence/gore as well as language. Each chapter will be split up into character perspectives from both GOT and TWD.

*** Bran ***

Bran always had a thirst for adventure. Perhaps he would one day be defending Winterfell at his brother's side, against the perfect rows of enemy lines. He imagined them clad in bold red and gold, with an elegant helmet to match. Or perhaps he would be at the Wall, fighting savage Wildlings, or White Walkers like in Old Nan's tales. All he knew was that one-day he would become a knight. A brave knight with a speedy stallion; ready to protect his friends, family or comrades from anything that threatened their lives. But today he was just Brandon Stark, a boy of seven and constant climber of Winterfell's walls and watchtowers.

It was a cool summer day at the Stark stronghold of Winterfell. Muddy as the grounds were, the soldiers, people and livestock were as busy as bees. Green boys were fighting in the yards brandishing not only swords, but also ugly blue bruises. Sheep and a fair few heifers waddled through a dirty puddle, followed by a dozen annoyed maids. Bran, Jon, and Robb practiced their marksmanship in the yard while Sansa stayed inside with Septa Mordane, fiddling with needle and thread. Arya was… anywhere and Lord Eddard and Lady Catelyn strolled to the Great Hall, ready to convene with the council.

The two sat down at the familiar Ironwood table in the Great Hall. Maester Luwin and Ser Rodrik were already there, chatting quietly.

The maester and knight stood and said, 'Lord Eddard, Lady Catelyn.'

'Good morning,' replied Lord Eddard. He took a seat at the head chair; Catelyn sat beside him. 'Now, I've called the both of you to announce that King Robert shall arrive her at Winterfell by the end of the week. We received a raven stating that not only the king, but the queen, their children, relatives and perhaps more will be tagging along as well -.'

'Within the week?' Luwin asked. 'Certainly not enough time to prepare…'

'That is true, maester, so we will have to start today.'

'I will inform the men, your grace. Are there any pressing matters that need attending?'

'Food preparation will be of utmost importance,' Catelyn said, 'King Robert will eat more than his fair share! Lord Tyrion… I hear he drinks all through the night.' The three shared a laugh. Just then a loud rapping could be heard on the oaken doors to the great hall.

'Let them in,' Eddard said.

The wooden doors creaked, and a soldier entered the hall. 'Milord, there's a deserter… a deserter of the Night's Watch.'

Eddard winced. 'I'll be there soon.' The soldier left and the doors closed with him. 'Maester, Ser,' he stood up, 'begin the preparations. Catelyn… tell Bran and the others to come along.'

'Ned… he's only seven.' She said, aghast

'He won't be a boy forever.' Lord Stark left the hall and Catelyn followed suit.

'Steady your bow arm,' Bran's half-brother Jon Snow said.

Twing. The arrows stroke the edge of the target, just barely penetrating the dense fibre. 'Ugh.'

'Don't worry Bran, you'll be an archer soon enough,' said Robb, behind small chuckles. 'Oh, look mother's come to scold you for climbing again!'

'Robb, Brandon, Jon,' she took a deep breath, 'get your cloaks on. There is to be an execution just outside the walls. And your father… wants the three of you there.' She sighed, nodded at Robb and walked away without another word.

'I father doing the execution?' Bran asked.

'Of course, the man who passes the sentence should swing the sword.'

'Let's get going then,' said Jon. 'Best not keep Lord Eddard waiting.'

The grass was covered with a thin dusting of snow. The horses' footsteps crunched with every step. Just over the hill was a small group of Stark soldiers, grim and clad in black. Eddard was convening with a soldier on horseback. The soldier soon produced, and handed over a monstrous great sword Lord Eddard had named Ice.

The King in the North looked at his sons and nodded grimly before unsheathing the weapon. Jon Snow shook Bran on the shoulder. 'Don't look away.'

Eddard lifted the weapon and sliced the soldier's head off with one slice. Blood poured endlessly from the man's neck. It made Bran wonder what Old Nan's stories of battle and heroes were really like. The soldiers from the old stories never left battle with glory and happiness, but plate and mail soaked in the blood of fellow soldiers.

Ned picked up the head and gave it to a soldier with a sack and muttered something. He sheathed his sword and walked back to his sons. 'Do you know who that was, Bran?'

'A-a deserter from the N-Night's Watch?' He answered quietly.

'Yes, he left his post. It's punishable by death all throughout Westeros. I'm afraid it becomes more and more frequent as the years go by – as winter draws closer. It's a shame, the Watch needs good men.'

'He was murmuring something, I heard.'

'White Walkers-.'

'Like in Old Nan's stories.' Bran interupted

'They've been gone for thousands of years,' said Robb as they began climb back up on their horses, 'no need to worry.'

'A man sees what he sees. Some believe their back. I'm not going to say they're wrong, but in the eyes of many they are. Always keep an open mind, Bran. You two as well Robb, Jon.'

The men rode their horses back to the Winterfell. Bran could just see the crimson leaves of the monstrous Weirwood tree that stood gallantly in the centre of the Stark city. It reminded him of White Walkers, and the children of the forest. Were they really real? Why would people make them if they didn't have at least some shred of truth?

The soldiers make a short detour through a small pack of scraggly birch and pine trees, but Lord Eddard stopped them when a large, brown mass was seen in the middle of the road. There was a violent gash underneath its muzzle, and one of its antlers was chipped off. It was an elk.

'Wonder what could have done that,' said a soldier, as they approached the beast.

'Mountain lions?' Said another.

'No mountain lions in these parts.' He paused. 'What type of animal would kill without a taste of its prey?'

'I hope it isn't a wildling ambush,' announced yet another soldier.

'I think we can trust the Watch, but,' said Ned, 'Jory, watch my back. Ser Rodrik, take Bran and his brothers back to the castle. The rest of you spread out and look for any sort of threat.'

'Father-.' Said Robb as he began to draw his castle-forged sword. 'I can hold my own.'

'Perhaps, but a wildling with a spear is more dangerous than you think. Jory will tell you himself.' Ned smiled. 'Get going.'

Robb sheathed his blade, frowned and headed towards his brothers. Ned, Jory and the other soldiers walked briskly into the bush. By the time their footsteps were quiet, Bran and his brothers were nearing the gates of Winterfell. The large gates swung open. They decided they would go back to the yard to practice.

Bran continued to miss nearly three quarters of the time, while his brothers hit the mark every time.

'I bet I could hit the thing cleaner and a lot more than you three.' Said a voice from behind a training dummy.

'You really think so?' Jon replied. 'Why don't you stop being so shy, Horseface, and show us what you're made of.'

Arya came out from behind the dummy and produced a brown ball from her pocket. She threw it at Jon, hitting him in the face and creating a disgusting explosion of acidy mush. That was no ball she threw, but a rotten apple. Robb and Bran laughed.

'I guess I can't say it was the cleanest hit!' Arya smirked, but Jon was too busy wiping his face off on his sleeve to care.

'Been laying with the pigs too long, picking up their food, eh little sister?' He said as he rubbed his eyes. Jon then sprinted to her, the crushed apple still in hand. But before he could make any distance the horn sounded.

'What is that?' Arya asked. Winterfell's gates creaked open. Stark soldiers entered, and with them a band of struggling wildlings. Their hands were bound, but they weren't dressed like any wildling they had seen before; some stayed quiet, but others shouted. It made no matter, they had already attracted the attention of everyone in the Stark capital.

'Put them in the cells for the time being,' Eddard cried, as they led them through the dreary streets of Winterfell.