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: To answer some of my reviews the Sunset Islands have all but written Willam and his companions off as dead and will not just 'show up and save the day' by sailing around the storms and beaties that plague the Sunset Sea as if that was possible they'd have done it before in the last thousands of years. No, the Starks wont be so lucky. On another matter while Brandon's Landing has 50,000 or so inhabitants, not all are fighting men, so that is not the amount of swords the Islands can raise.

Chapter 4: First Impressions

The Great Hall of Winterfell was heavy with the smell of roasted meat and fresh-baked bread all on a far greater scale than the modest family dinner Willam had experienced before. The grey stone walls were draped with banners. White, gold, crimson; the direwolf of Stark, Baratheon's crowned stag, the lion of Lannister. A singer was playing the high harp and reciting a ballad as Willam sat on the raised platform beside Lord and Lady Stark along with the King and his wife.

It was the forth hour of the welcoming feast and Willam had spent most of his time filling in King Robert of the history of the Sunset Islands and how he came to be in Westeros, to his credit the man seemed more existed by the prospect of these new lands than concerned, the latter being expressed all over his wife's face. "To His Grace," Willam held up his wine. "Here's to future relations between our two peoples!" King Robert drank deep as he'd been doing throughout the feast, while Prince Willam scanned the room. Lord Starks children were seated below the raised platform, all but the bastard Jon Snow whom sat at the far rear of the hall drinking with Cregan.

"Enough stalling Will!" Robert shouted, using the nickname he'd been using for awhile now. "You mentioned a rebellion, I want details!"

Willam smiled at the kings drunkenness, the man had taken a greater interest up when talk of war had first come up. "I fear the my homelands rebellion cannot match that of your own counties struggles, Your Gra-"

"I told you to call me Robert lad," Robert pointed at him for a moment. "Now tell us, be out with it already!" Queen Cersei looked ready to claw Willam's eyes out and in that moment he thought he'd teach her a little lesson, this direwolf had claws of it's own and Willam wished to express that as indirectly as possible. He wasn't his brothers or father but he was no stranger to prideful lords or ladies that needed to be taken down by a head.

"As you wish Robert," Willam drink the remains of his wine before continuing to address the room, that had fallen silent to hear him speak. "I'll start at the beginning. The Islands have sworn to the Kingdom of Winter ever since our arrival, for those of you that don't know, we took the title of Prince rather than King because we never forgot where we came from. There was one, a certain Lord Domeric Frost, that felt it a pointless tradition to bend for absent kings."

"Yes, yes," Robert waved his hand, spilling wine on the table and cursing under his breath. "Get to the battles lad!"

"Lord Frost rose up in rebellion," Willam continued. "The fool underestimated the loyalty of his own people however and quickly found himself outnumbered. My grandfather along with the majority of the noble houses met him in open battle and say what you like about Lord Frost, the man had balls, he stood defiantly on that field under his banner and died fighting to the last man, the singers claim he turned his sword on himself out of shame before the end."

"And that was the end of it?" Robert asked, curious.

"No," Willam shook his head. "The beginning of the end perhaps, with Frosts army shattered all that remained was his castle. His eldest son was barely ten years of age but refused to open the gates and bend the knee, having beheaded any in his fathers household that spoke of surrender. The siege lasted a month before my grandfather ran out his patience. He sent the boy a final warning saying 'Open your gates, or this castle will become your tomb'. The boy was said to have laughed at the notion and spat at my grandfathers warning.

"Ha!" Robert spat, drinking from his newly filled cup.

"House Frosts castle stood along the shoreline and the Winter Fleet had long since had the castle surrounded by sea," Willam paused to shoot a knowing smile at the Queen. "The fleet unleashed death and come the dawn nothing but rubble remained of House Frost. A lesson was taught that day, one that none of the Frosts were alive to learn."

"And what lesson was that," Queen Cersei stared at him. "Prince Willam."

"That too much pride is unhealthy," Willam kept smiling before giving a shrug. "Or perhaps the lesson was as simple as not pissing off the Winter Fleet. In the end Winter comes for us all." The obvious threat hung in the air for a time, King Robert obliviously drinking himself into what would no doubt be an early grave.

Meanwhile on the other side of the hall. "Is this one of the direwolves I've heard so much of?" Cregan heard a man in black say, a Stark by the looks of him and clearly known to Jon Snow whom Cregan had to sitting next to at this feast. When Jon asked him why a Stark Prince was sitting with him Cregan had replied with 'us bastards need to stick together' before taking a seat, he was not asking for an invitation, he'd sit wherever the bloody hell he pleased.

"Yes," Jon said after the man had ruffled his hair. "This is Ghost."

One of the squires at their table interrupted the bawdy story he'd been telling to make room at the table for the new arrival. He straddled the bench with long legs and took the wine cup from Jons hand. "Summerwine," he said after a taste. "Nothing so sweet. How many cups have you had, Jon?"

Jon smiled and Cregan replied for him. "The lads enjoying himself."

"Cregan," Jon jumped to introductions. "This is my uncle, Benjen Stark."

He held up a cup to the man, before taking a swig. "A pleasure."

Benjen took a moment to eye the stranger. "You must be this Prince Willam I've heard about."

Cregan laughed. "No," He pointed in the direction of Willam. "My dear brother is sitting up there with your King."

"Don't you usually eat at the table with your brothers?"

"Most times," Jon answered his uncle. "But tonight Lady Stark thought it might give insult to the royal family to seat a bastard among them."

"I see," Benjen glanced over his shoulder at the raised table at the far end of the hall. "Is that why your seated here, Cregan?"

"My brother would hear none of it, said I was welcome to come sit with him if I wished and threatened to start a war on my behalf." Cregan shook is head, his brother was too cocky, while he had their fathers name he had no way to back up his words. Home likely thought them dead, and how could they come to the aid of a dead man? "I prefer the company here."

Benjen accepted that for what it was, even seemed to respect him for it although that could've been Cregans imagination. "My brother dose not seem very festive tonight."

"The queen is angry too," Jon told his uncle in a low, quiet voice. "Father took the king down to the crypts this afternoon. The queen didn't want him to go."

Benjen gave Jon a careful, measuring look that reminded Cregan of the look his own father gave him before shipping him off with Willam on his fools errand. "You don't miss much, do you, Jon? We could use a man like you on the Wall."

Jon swelled with pride at that. "Robb is a stronger lance than I am, but I'm the better sword, and Hullem says I sit a horde as well as anyone in the castle."

"Notable achievements."

"Take me with you when you go back to the Wall," Jon said in a sudden rush. "Father would give me leave to go if you ask him, I know he will."

"The wall is a hard place for a boy, Jon."

"I am almost a man grown," Jon protested. "I will turn fifteen on my next nameday, and Maseter Luwin says bastards grow up faster than other children."

Cregan could agreed to that much, bastards had to grow up fast given their station in life. "That's true enough," Benjen said with a downward twist of his mouth. He took Jon's cup from the table, filling it fresh from a nearby pitcher, and drank down a long swallow."

"Daeron Targaryen was only fourteen when he conquered Dorne," Jon said. Cregan had no idea who that was but the boy seemed to admire the name.

"A conquest that lasted a summer," his uncle pointed out. "Your Boy King lost ten thousand men tasking the place, and another fifty trying to hold it. Someone should have told him that war isn't a game." He took another sip of wine. "Also," he said, wiping his mouth, "Daeron Targaryen was only eighteen when he died. Or have you forgotten that part?"

"I forget nothing," Jon boasted. Cregan smiled at that, the wine was making the boy bolder. He tried to sit very straight, likely to make himself seem taller. "I want to serve in the Night's Watch, Uncle."

"Forgive me," Cregan put down his cup. "The Nights Watch is the sworn brotherhood that mans the Wall to the far north correct? Hard to beivle she still stands after all these sits even after the Kingdom of Winter fell to those dragons Lord Stark told us about."

"Aye," Benjen replied. "She still stands."

"I am ready to swear your oath Uncle."

"Your a boy of fourteen," Benjen said. "Not a man, not yet. Until you have known a women, you cannot understand what you would be giving up."

"I don't care about that!" Jon said hotly.

"You might lad, if you knew what it meant," Benjen said. "If you knew what the oath would cost you, you might be less eager to pay the price, son."

Jon burst out in anger. "I'm not your son!"

Benjen Stark stood up. "More's the pity." He put a hand on Jon's shoulder. "Come back to me after you've fathered a few bastards of your own, and we'll see how you feel."

Jon seemed to tremble. "I will never father a bastard," he said carefully. "Never!" He spat it out like venom. The table had fallen silent at his outburst, even Cregan remained silently staring at the boy. "I must be excused," he said with the last of his dignity. He whirled and bolted before they could see him cry.

The following day Willam found himself watching a young Brandon Stark sparring with Tommen Baratheon, both of the young lads padded as though they had belted on feather beds. They were muffing and puffing and hitting at each other with padded wooden swords under the watchful eye of Winterfells master-at-arms, Ser Rodrik Cassel, a great stout keg of a man with white cheek wiskers. A dozer spectators, man and boy, were calling out encouragement, Robb's voice the loudest among them.

"You can do it Bran!" Robb shouted while Willam stood beside Edwyn, watching with amusement as young Brandon delivered a good strong whack at Prince Tommen who soon found himself rolling in the dust, trying to get up and failing. All the padding made him look like a turtule on it's back.

"Enough!" Ser Rodrik called out. He gave the young prince a hand and yanked him to his feet. "Well fought. Lew, Donnis, help them out of their armor." He looked around. "Prince Joffrey, Robb, will you go another round?"

Robb, already sweaty from a previous bout, moved forward eagerly. "Gladly."

Joffrey moved out of his corner in response to Rodrik's summons. His hair shone like gold. He looked bored. "This is a game for children, Ser Rodrik."

Theon Greyjoy gave a sudden bark of laughter. "You are children," he said derisively. Willam was included to agree.

"Robb may be a child," Joffrey said. "I am a prince. And I grow tired of swatting at Starks with a play sword."

Willam took that as a challenge, moving to draw steel before Robb put a hand on his shoulder as if to say 'I can handle this'. "You took more swats than you gave, Joff," Robb said. "Are you afraid?"

Prince Joffrey looked at him. "Oh, terrified," he said. "You're so much older." Some of the Lannister men laughed.

Ser Rodrik tugged thoughtfully at his white whiskers. "What are you suggesting?" he asked the young prince.

"Live steel."

"Done," Robb shot back. "You'll be sorry!"

The master-at-arms put a hand on Robb's shoulder to quiet him. "Live steel is too dangerous. I will permit you tourney swords, with blunted edges."

Joffrey said nothing as a large man with black hair and burn scars on his face pushed forward in front of the prince. "This is your prince. Who are you to tell him he may not have an edge on his sword, ser?"

"Master-at-arms of Winterfell, Clegane, and you would do well not to forget it."

"Are you training women here?" the burned man wanted to know.

"I am training knights," Ser Rodrik said pointedly. "They will have steel when they are ready. When they are of an age."

The burned man looked at Robb. "How old are you, boy?"

"I killed a man at twelve. You can be sure it wasn't with a blunt sword."

Robb bristled. His pride was wounded as he turned to Rodrik. "Let me do it. I can beat him."

"Beat him with a tourney blade, then," Ser Rodrik said.

Joffrey shrugged. "Come and see me when you're older, Stark. If you're not too old." There was laughter from the Lannister men. Robb's curses rang through the yard as Theon Greyjoy seized his arm to keep him away from the prince. Ser Rodrik tugged at his whiskers in dismay.

Joffrey feigned a yawn and turned to his younger brother. "Come, Tommen," he said. "The hour of play is done. Leave the children to their frolics." That brought more laughter from the Lannisters, and more curses from Robb. Ser Rodrik's face was beet-red with fury as Theon kept Robb in his iron grip. Willam had reached the end of his limited patience, for somebody to speak to a Stark in such a way was treason where he came from, it had to be answered.

"Joffrey Baratheon!" Willam shouted, bringing silence to the Lannister laughter as he pointed his blade at the young boy whom had just now seemingly browned himself at the wolves furious cry. "Where I come from you would already be dead for insulting a Stark, do so again in my presence and I will teach you to respect your betters."

"Y- You dare!" Joffrey stuttered, pointing at Willam whom now stood with his blade hovering at his side.

"Walk away," Willam stared at the boy with cold eyes. Edwyn and Cregan had since moved beside their prince, swords at the ready, along with the Stark men that had flocked to his side of the yard and now stood behind him like a small army. The Lannisters had done much the same, although they were outnumbered.

Joffrey turned scarlet red as he turned around and stormed from the courtyard to the music of all the Stark men in the yard laughing and cheering "Prince Willam" and "Stark". It was only after the little shit left that Willam noticed all the Stark men had flocked behind with, many with their blades drawn. "You shouldn't have done that," Cregan shook his head. "He'll go to his father."

"Let him," Willam smiled at his brother.

"Cregan is right." Edwyn seemed to agree, shooting a worried look as the crimson of the Lannisters vanished from the yard.

"He is royalty," Robb sighed.

"As am I." Willam growled. "Care to spar with a real prince, Robb?"

Robb smiled, shaking his head slightly. "Aye."

Willam was good with a sword although far from the most skilled of his brothers, defeated the boy Joffrey would've been beyond an easy task, defeating Robb would require he pay attention. "You rely on brute strength," Willam commented on Robb's style. "I prefer speed myself." Willam kept parrying Robb's blows and giving him the same tips his own brothers had once given him. Until a knight with a white cloak entered the yard.

"Willam Stark." The knight spoke, gaining Willam's attention.

He took a step closer and brought his sword up, warped it around Robb's then slid down the outside of his blade, jerking his own sword inward causing Robb's sword to fly out of his hand. "Feel free to use that one, courtesy of my brother." Willam left Robb is a daze, shocked and slightly impressed by the turn of events. "You called?" Willam addressed the knight.

"His Grace demands your presence." The knight spoke with grin. He was a Lannister, the golden hair was a dead giveaway.

"Lead the way, Ser-"

"Jaime," He replied. "Who taught you how to fight? You were playing with the Stark boy back there, I could tell."

"You give me too much credit, my brothers were always the swordsmen in the family."

"You've many brothers?" The knight asked, digging for information.

Willam was happy to share, within reason. "I'm the forth born, fifth if you count Cregan."

"The grumpy looking one?"

He laughed at that. "Aye, that's the one."

It was a short walk to the great hall where King Robert had taken his seat. "Your Grace," Jaime bowed to his king. "Willam Stark, as you requested."

Jaime left as the King waved him off, leaving Willam alone standing before King Robert of the House Baratheon, and his furious looking Queen. "Willam," The king nodded at his drinking buddy from the previous night. "My son tells me you threatened his life, what's all this about?"

"Your boy insulted the Heir to Winterfell," Willam began, this was clearly news to Robert. "Your son challenge him to a spar with live steel, Ser Rodrik forbade live steel and offered up tourney blades, only for the young prince to back down from his own challenge. He processed to leave the yard, but not before insulting House Stark once more."

"Are you going to sit there and listen to these lies?" Cersei demanded of her husband.

"My son claimed you called him a craven." Robert was angry at the suggestion, although it seemed a hollow anger.

"I never called the boy such," Willam turned his gaze to the queen. "Although, what do you call someone that challenges another to a fight only to flee at the first chance? Where I come from Your Grace, such an action would indeed be considered cowardly. Where I come from Your Grace, guests also know better than to insult their hosts."

"He insults our son with every breath!" Cersei fumed, pointing an accusing finger.

"He speaks his mind!" Robert bellowed, his voice like a thunder clap. "Leave us women, I will speak to him alone."

Cersei left, an act that Willam was grateful for as the women vexed him to no end. "I apologies for causing family strife, Your Grace. I however could not take an insult to my blood without answering it in kind. Prince Joffrey overstepped, he's welcome to challenge me to a duel on the matter if he wishes. I'll not flee."

Robert laughed at the notion. "You'd kill the boy and my wife would call for your head, no, there will be no duel."

"So," Willam paused. "What now?"

"I'll be leaving tomorrow after a hunt." Robert sighed, he didn't seem to eager to return to the capital. "I had hoped to invite you with me to see the capital but-"

"The queen wouldn't have it."

"No," Robert agreed. "She'd likely have you killed."

"Lord Eddard will be riding with you I assume?" Willam had since picked up a pitcher of wine and poured himself and the king a glass.

"Aye," Robert drank deeply.

"To your journey south then," Willam refilled the kings glass and held his own up for a toast.

Robert drank the wine, slamming it down on the table. "What will you do then? Planning on heading for home?"

Willam thought on it for a moment, deciding quickly. "I heard Lord Tyrion speak of traveling to the Wall. I've heard only tales of the place, would like to see if before I attempt to travel home and the dwarf seems a good traveling companion. Afterwards we'll see if I can get home at all."

"You've doubts?"

"I've a theory, if I was to sail east long enough." Willam drank his wine as he thought on the matter, it was a risk, but sailing West was just as big a risk. "At least if I sail east I'll know where I am going, while sailing west would rely entirely on an amount of luck that I don't think the gods would see fit to grant me a second time."

"If you should choose to stay," Robert suggested. "I'm certain Ned would grant you some land in this barren wasteland of his."

"I'll drink to that." Willam smiled, pouring more wine for him and the king.

Somewhere in the great stone maze of Winterfell, a wolf howled. The sound hung heavy over the castle like a flag of mourning. "He'll pull through my lady," Willam spoke to a distraught Catelyn Stark whom was sat beside her son. "He may never walk again, but a man can live a full life without the use of his leg."

"He always wanted to be a knight."

"Life is cruel," Willam sighed. "He'll not be a knight but he can grow to be a great lord some day. There is an ancestor of mine, by the name of Theon the Boneless, he was born with bones in his legs so brittle that the act of walking was practically impossible. And yet he is remembered as one of the greatest Princes the Islands ever had, not for his sword arm, but for his brain. The man was a genius and ruled his people well."

Catelyn smiled as she stroked Brandons hair, the smile died when he entered the room. "What are you doing here?"

"I came to see Bran," Jon said. "To say good-bye."

"You've said it. Now go away."

Jon looked at Willam for a moment before taking a nervous step into the room. "Please," he said.

Something cold moved in her eyes. "I told you to leave," she said. "We don't want you here."

"He's my brother," Jon said.

"Shall I call the guards?"

"Call them," Jon said, defiant. "You cant stop me from seeing him." He crossed the room, keeping the bed between them, and looked down on Bran where he lay. Catelyn was holding onto his hands. It looked like a claw. The flesh had all but gone from the poor boy, having been fed on honey and water since he wouldn't keep down anything else. "Bran," He said, "I'm sorry I didn't come before. I was afraid." Tears began to roll down Jons cheeks. "Don't die, Bran. Please. We're all waiting for you to wake up. Me and Robb and the girls, everyone..."

Lady Stark was watching him in silence and outside the window, the direwolf howled again. The wolf that Bran had not had time to name. "We need to go now lad." Willam broke the silence, walking to the door after offering Catelyn his final condolences. "Bran will be fine, he's a Stark."

"I have to go now," Jon said to his brother. "Uncle Benjen is waiting. I'm to go north to the Wall. We have to leave today, before the snows come." Jon brushed away his tears, leaned over, and kissed his brother lightly on the forehead.

"I wanted him to stay here with me," Lady Stark said softly. Jon watched her, wary. She was not even looking at him. "I prayed for it," she said dully. "He was my special boy. I went to the sept and prayed seven times to the seven faces of the gods that Ned would change his mind and leave him here with me. Sometimes prayers are answered."

"It wasn't your fault," Jon managed after an awkward silence.

Her eyes found him. They were full of poison. "I need none of your absolution, bastard."

Jon lowered his eyes. Catelyn was cradling one of Bran's hands. He took the other, squeezed it. Fingers like bones of birds. "Good-bye." He said.

He was at the when she called out to him. "Jon," she said.

"Yes?" He turned to meet her stare.

"It should have been you," she told him. Then she turned back to Bran and began to weep, her hole body shaking with the sobs.

"That was unkind." Willam stated coldly to her before leaving the room, giving her no time to reply.

It was a long walk down to the yard. Outside, everything was noise and confusion. Wagons were being loaded, men were shouting, horses were being harnessed and saddled and led from the stables. A light snow had begun to fall, and everyone was in an uproar to be off. "Uncle Benjen is looking for you two," Robb came walking up to them with his direwolf at his side. "He wanted to be gone an hour ago."

"I know," Jon said. "Leaving is harder than I thought."

"For me too," Rodd said. He had snow in his hair, melting from the heat of his body.

Willam laughed. "Try sailing away into unknown seas, everyone telling you that your going to die."

They all shared a laugh at that before Robb's face turned serious. "Did you see him?"

"He's not going to die," Willam said.

"You Starks are hard to kill," Jon agreed. His voice was flat and tired. The visit to Bran had taken all the strength from him.

Robb seemed to know something was wrong. "My mother..."

"She was... very kind," Jon told him.

Robb seemed to buy it. "Good." He smiled. "The next time I see you, you'll be all in black."

Jon smiled back. "It always was my color. How long do you think it will be?"

"Soon enough," Robb promised. He pulled Jon to him and embraced him fiercely. "Farewell, Snow."

Jon hugged him back. "And you, Stark. Take care of Bran."

"I will." They broke apart and looked at each other awkwardly. "Uncle Benjen said to send you to the stables if I saw you." Robb finally said.

"I have one more farewell to make," Jon told him.

"Then I haven't seen you," Robb replied. Jon left him standing in the snow alone, surrounded by wagons and wolves and horses. Willam left to seek out Benjen in the stables and saddle himself a horse for the road to the Wall. He looked forward to it, going to the fabled Wall was just another thing he never thought he'd get to do in his lifetime.

"Stark," Willam addressed Benjen when he found him, securing the saddle on his horse.

"Stark," Benjen replied in kind.

"Jon will be with us shortly," Willam continued to walk forward, picking a fine black destrier from the stable.

"He's a good lad."

"He'll do well on the Wall no doubt." Willam smiled for a moment as he thought how strange it all was. Here he was in Winterfell, about to ride to the Wall.

"Planning on joining yourself?" Benjen asked rather seriously, the thought was frankly hilarious to Willam the Wandering Wolf.

"Gods no," He burst out laughing and quickly realized he was being rude. "My apologies Benjen I meant no offence, but there is far too much of the world I have yet to see and I've no plans to tie myself down to a single castle. Not for many years yet if I have anything to say about it."

"I understand." Is all the black brother said as he mounted up and left the stables ahead of Willam. The ride to the Wall would be a long one and Willam prayed that Tyrion Lannister would be a more entertaining companion that of Benjen Stark, not that he had anything against the man but he reminded him too much of one of his brothers.