Author's Note:

All rights belong to GRRM and the powers that be at HBO. No infringement is intended, I'm just playing in their sandbox.

Thank you Hail King Cerion, Liz3392, TysonG, ZabuzasGirl, Darthwolf, Suppes1 and Guest for reviewing. I really appreciate it.

Warning - some explicit, sexual language

Part One

Chapter Three - 297 AC

Westeros, Kingsroad to Winterfell

One of the seven hells must be a wheelhouse, Queen Cersei mused.

The royal retinue had been on the kingsroad making the trip all the way from the capitol in King's Landing to Winterfell castle. At the beginning of the month they travelled lavishly, taking many breaks throughout the day and stopping at all the villages with grand inns. Cersei cared little for the small-folk who gawked at the teams of courtiers in their carriages and the knights and Kingsguard who passed by on horseback. She barely spared a thought for the minor lords who hosted their King and Queen - they should count themselves grateful for the privilege. It was the pageantry for Cersei. She loved to be seen and admired for her beauty and the power she possessed.

"Mother?"

Cersei turned her attentions to the sweet voice of her youngest boy, Tommen.

"Yes, sweetling," she replied to her lion cub.

Her son sat on the opposite side of their traveling wheelhouse. It had been a gift from her father to celebrate her anniversary of becoming Queen of the Seven Kingdoms. The extravagant marvel was commissioned from oiled oak and gilded in the finest Lannisport metal. The interiors were lined with luxurious Myrish velvets and silks straight from Lys. The coach was large enough for Cersei, her children — Myrcella, Tommen and Joffrey (when he wanted a break from riding horseback), the Septa and a few of Cersei's ladies-in-waiting to sit comfortably.

An adoring smile crossed her face as Tommen left the Septa's side and snuggled into her. Cersei beamed, returning the embrace. She was grateful that even at ten, her boy wasn't beyond showing her affection.

"Are we there yet?" Tommen pouted, his mossy green eyes searching her face as if she'd hung the moon.

The royal court moved on from the Crownlands, like a slow herd of large game, and made the their way through the Neck. The road became increasingly more uncomfortable. It took days, with little to no breaks, to navigate through the causeway at Moat Cailin — there was only a narrow, dry patch of land safe enough to pass the boggy swamp that was the gateway to the North.

"We're close my love," Cersei soothed as she brushed a stray golden lock out of Tommen's face.

"Mother's right, Tommen," Myrcella added, a perfect princess if there ever was one. "Remember the other day we got to see White Harbor and the river we followed? It's called the White Knife."

Cersei watched as her two youngest came to the window while Myrcella continued to play tour guide.

"Right now we're on the eastern side of the Wolfswood. They say it's the largest forest in the North. I've read that there are places deep in the woods where you can go ice fishing. Wouldn't that be fun?" The princess giggled.

Tommen surveyed the lands as they passed. "It's already cold," he gulped. "How much colder will it get to freeze the water?"

"Mother won't let us get freeze," Myrcella told him confidently. "A lioness protects her cubs. Right, mother?"

"Exactly right my dear," Cersei answered.

"When did you learn all that about the North?" Tommen wondered, as if he plucked the thought straight from Cersei's head.

Myrcella, the picture of innocence, blushed as she turned her heart shaped face away bashfully.

"Lord and Lady Stark have many sons and daughters," she explained. "I…I wanted to prepare myself with topics of conversation."

Cersei's heart bled for her only daughter. Geography wouldn't catch her a husband. "Darling, you'll make many friends wherever you go," she told her. "Of that I'm certain. You don't have to worry about impressing the Starks. You are a princess of the realm, they should be bending over backwards for your favor."

Cersei sighed, thinking back on the days of her youth. At Myrcella's age, she too spent many hours preparing herself with topics of conversation. Endless days and nights grooming herself — sharpening her wit and wardrobe, making every effort possible while anticipating her chance to attract Prince Rhaegar. She was her daughter's age when her lord father promised that she would someday become queen. Tywin was right, though not in the way either of them thought. The pale grassy planes of the North spread out before them and chill passed through her.

It's so damned cold, Cersei thought.

There was no way Cersei would allow her oaf of a husband to betroth Myrcella to Stark's heir and be sent away to this grey waste.

"Why don't you let Septa fix your hair?" Cersei suggested. "We must always look our best."

Luckily, the carriage had enough depth for the princess to sit down in front of their Septa so that her flaxen hair could be brushed and redone.

[/~/]

The wheelhouse bobbed and bounced as they continued forward on their journey, Cersei prayed that the coach wouldn't break down again before they reached the castle. Fixing it would cost them the rest of the day and if she had to camp one more night surely she'd scream.

"Ooph," she groaned.

They must have rolled over a divot in the road. The carriage rattled once more and everyone jumped in their seats, like riders being bucked by a wild horse. Cersei eyed Tommen and Myrcella, making sure they were settled, before gazing back out the window.

She could see Joffrey, her oldest son, on his brown horse. Jamie, her twin and kingsguard, riding close beside the prince on his white steed. He looked like a fantasy come to life wearing his silvery-gold uniform and white cloak.

Jamie.

Cersei stared hungrily at her brother, gnawing at her bottom lip. The sight of her lover in his resplendent armor and the turbulence of the coach had ignited her passions. She closed her eyes and pressed her thighs together as tight as she could, trying to relieve some tension.

Gods, I need to be fucked, she lamented.

Since the death of Jon Arryn, Cersei had kept her distance from her brother. It was too dangerous to be seen together. The day of the Hand's funeral was the last time she and Jaime were alone. That was weeks ago. The entire time Cersei fretted and worried about whether or not the old codger had discovered her secret, but if he had, surely Robert would have retaliated and ruined her by now.

Jaime was right, she mused. She worried too much.

Jaime had his horse cantering at a steady pace. She wished they could seat the horse together, she would happily listen to him talk nonsense for hours if it meant that she could be near him.

Cersei missed him desperately. He was the only person in this world who really knew her. It had been too long since their bodies had been pressed together. Entwined. She ached to feel Jaime's strong arms wrapped around her and have his scent ensnaring her senses. Her brother smelled like leather, musk and the sea —even now when it had been years since Jaime had seen Casterly Rock.

With her green eyes closed, she imagined her mouth searing Jaime's with a kiss. Their tongues caressing each other as they fought for dominance. Cersei's nipples pebbled under her dress. If she were alone she would have wet her fingers and wantonly massaged her breasts. She arched her back, feigning an innocent stretch. In her mind, Cersei wished her companions gone, so only she and Jaime would remain. If he were here Cersei would unlace his breeches, lift up her skirts and climb onto his lap. How her blazing sex ached, yearning to be filled. She needed Jaime to smack her bottom and pull her hair. She felt herself begin to quiver while she thought of all the filthy things he'd whisper in her ear as she begged to be taken. She could picture the sexy self-satisfied smirk on Jaime's face as she rubbed her wet core on his groin. Jaime would pepper kisses and love bites on her graceful neck. His hands would grip her hips urging her to slide down on his hard cock. She could practically feel his large hand covering her mouth as she tried to cry out in pleasure.

"Mother!"

Cersei's eyes shot open, her fantasy cut short at the sound of Tommen's voice.

"Yes, my love," she answered dreamily while at the same time Myrcella chided her brother for shouting.

"Look," Tommen said. "I can see the castle."

Thank the Gods, Cersei deadpanned. She wished she had some wine to drink.

Winterfell was nice, Cersei supposed. If dull, provincial castles were your fancy. The vast stronghold stood out proud to her even from miles away. However she found the stone palace was staunch and stoic just like the landscape. She did admire that it had a foreboding presence to match Casterly Rock, Winterfell carried none of the warmth or charm of her childhood home.

With the seat of the Warden of the North in view, the riding party harolds blared their horns announcing their impending arrival. Cersei's ladies sprung into action; they were the noble daughters from the West, the Crownlands, and Storm's End respectively. For the life of her, Cersei couldn't remember their names.

The ugly one, the Crownlander, presented a dress of red leather before her. Cersei smiled fondly at the Lannister red and took the garment. It was the wrap fashion that she usually wore, which was convenient since it slipped over her traveling clothes. The brunette from Storm's End produced a comb from Gods knew where, and tried to use it to brush the furs of Cersei's coat. Annoyed, Cersei swatted her clammy hands away. With glacial emerald eyes Cersei gave a withering look to her blonde lady-in-waiting; this one from the contagion of her lesser Lannister cousins.

"You look a vision, your grace," the young fool simpered.

Cersei rolled her eyes, not once doubting that she was still the Light of the West — nay, the whole realm.

When the wheelhouse finally came to a stop, Cersei's ladies gave her one final inspection before stepping out of the carriage. She watched the footman help her companions out before standing to her full height. It felt amazing to finally stand, they'd been in the coach for the better part of the day. Myrcella was the last to exit before Cersei went to give the footman her hand. She swiftly found her way down the steps elegantly, holding her gown so that she wouldn't trip. She made quick work of surveying her surroundings. More grey, sentries in outdated uniforms and less than thrilling fashions worn by the Stark household. When are we leaving?

Cersei prowled across the courtyard, passing Jaime and Joffrey as she made her way to her hosts. Delicately, she placed her hand out waiting for Ned Stark to receive her.

"My queen," Lord Stark murmured.

He was handsome for a Northman, Cersei observed. Nothing compared to his late brother Brandon, but acceptable.

The years had been kind to the one they called The Quiet Wolf. He was just as tall and rugged as the day she met him at Harrenhall. His grey eyes still mysterious and sharp. The last time Cersei saw him was when she married Robert all those years ago. It had been such a tumultuous time. With the Targaryens dwindling in strength, there was a power vacuum in Westeros. Many thought that it would have been Stark to take the throne. He was a battle-tested, shrewd sort of man, the polar opposite of Aryes; and his family suffered the most from the terrors of the Mad King. There was a brief moment when father contemplated offering her in marriage. Ned, honor-bound man that he was, decided to keep his alliance with the Tullys after Brandon's death anyway. Luckily for her, Robert pressed his blood claim to the iron throne — as the grandson of Princess Rhaelle Targaryen he had every right to the crown. Cersei became queen at nineteen.

"My queen," Catelyn Stark bowed.

This was Lysa's sister? The newly widowed Lady Arryn looked almost five and ten years older. Cersei stared hard at the woman curtseying deeply before her.

Lady Catelyn was more handsome than classically beautiful, by southorn standards, but she and Lord Stark had produced a lovely litter of wolf cubs. Cersei almost laughed as she peered at their five Northern children. In another life, Cersei might have been Lady of this hellscape and the lot would have been hers. She mentally swapped out the Tully red hair for shades of Lannister blonde and sapphire eyes or emeralds. What would it have been like? To be a Stark? Would she have been happy with Ned? Certainly happier than she was currently with Robert.

"Take me to your crypts, I want to pay my respects," her husband puffed in his gravely voice.

Cersei could barely cover her grimace.

"My love, we've been on the road for a month," she reasoned. "Surely the dead can wait."

If they were alone in the Red Keep Cersei would have dared to simply say that 'Lyanna could wait'. Alas, she would never willing disgrace herself in public.

Fucking Lyanna Stark, Cersei cursed.

How dare Robert embarrass her like this. He should have seen their family inside the castle first and made sure they had the best accommodations. Their party had only just arrived; he couldn't wait an hour before privately going to worship at the altar of his dead idol?

"Ned," Robert commanded, it was as if Cersei hadn't spoken.

The wolf-bitch had been dead for almost 20 years. If Cersei could let her fantasy of Rhaegar Targaryen go — the one man she never got to have — then why couldn't he? Robert never been intimate with Lyanna Stark. Why was he so obsessed with her?

Cersei watched with them go with a scornful gaze until she heard one of the little Starks inquire about Tyrion.

She made it a point to spend little time in her younger brother's presence on the journey to Winterfell. She did most of the time, but it was easier to avoid the monster with a vast castle. Cersei looked among the crowd of courtiers, her least favorite brother was nowhere to be found. Paying the Starks a final glance Cersei went to Jaime, the only man she could trust.

"Where is our brother?" She hissed. "Go and find the little beast."

[/~/]

"Is this your first time in the North, your grace?" Lady Stark asked her mere hours later.

After a brief respite they were feasted in the Great Hall. Cersei sat next to Catelyn on a dais with the banners of Stark, Baratheon and Lannister behind them. Her hair was immaculate, intricate small braids atop her head and a delicate crown holding the style all in place. She wore a gown of red and gold, the tops of her shoulders exposed modestly flirtatious.

"Yes," Cersei confessed, bored to tears. "Lovely country." We don't have to make small talk, she wished to say.

"I'm sure it's very grim after King's Landing," Catelyn pressed.

The copper hair of Stark's daughter caught her attention. Sansa, was her name. Cersei mouthed the word in her head. San-sa…it was fun to say. She liked the way it sounded with her name. San-sa. Cer-sei.

Catelyn continued on, not noticing that she was being ignored. "I remember how scared I was when Ned brought me up here for the first time."

Cersei squeezed her eyes shut, annoyed. Mostly at Lady Stark — just because they were both Southorn women, they were not friends. Secondly, because the wine here was terrible.

Thankfully Sansa approached the dais. The Stark girl curtsied, a flush of crimson on her face and the need for validation radiating out of her pores.

"Hello Little Dove," Cersei purred.

Her future good-daughter was an adorable creature. How had Lord and Lady Stark produced this? Sansa was a good mix of both Ned and Catelyn. Cersei could see Catelyn's eye color and chin, but Sansa's cheekbones and height were all Ned.

"You are a beauty," she proclaimed. "How old are you?"

Sansa's blush deepened. "Thirteen, your grace."

Just a year older than her Myrcella, Cersei thought. She couldn't bare the thought of her daughter being engaged and possibly sent away.

"You're tall, still growing?"

Sansa's eyes turned down at the table as if overwhelmed by the attention Cersei paid her. She chuckled nervously.

"I think so, your grace."

Sansa was sweet and eager to please. Cersei could tell. She decided to test her.

"Have you bled yet?"

Sansa went rigid, looking to Lady Stark for guidance. Cersei saw the girl as someone to be moulded. That she could work with.

"No, your grace," Sansa confessed, shaking her head in shame.

Cersei gave the girl a benevolent smile, diverting the conversation.

"That's a lovely dress," she praised. "Did you make it?"

Cersei was rewarded with a gleaming smile.

"Yes, your grace," Sansa beamed, standing proud.

"Such a talent, you'll have to make something for me," Cersei told her. It made her happy that Sansa realized she was being dismissed. As the Stark girl went, Cersei finally addressed Lady Catelyn in earnest.

"I hear we might share a grandchild someday."

Cersei's ire had been reignited when she learned that Robert set Joffrey's betrothal without her input. She still hadn't forgiven Robert for passing her father over as Hand of the King. Ned Stark was a terrible choice. The man had a Southorn wife and still hadn't developed a mind for politics. In the end, it would serve Cersei better that way. She could carry on as she always had and she decided that it pleased her, in the very least, that Sansa and Joff would have lovely babies. Strawberry angels with eyes of blue and green. Cersei decided that when the royal retinue returned to King's Landing, she would take Sansa Stark under her wing and shape her into the perfect consort for her son.

Catelyn Stark eyed her with a guarded expression.

"I hear the same."

It was a funny thing, the pair of them the daughters of two powerful men, the wives of arguably more powerful men and yet they had no real say in how the affairs of their families would unfold.

There was a great burst of laughter from the hall. Cersei already knew who the voice belonged to. Robert was down in the center of the hall, a pint of ale in one hand, a serving wench in the other. He was already red-faced and drunk, having the time of his life. Not caring that his indignity abashed her.

"Sansa will do well in the capitol," Cersei said optimistically to Catelyn. "Such a beauty shouldn't stay hidden up here forever."

Suddenly, there was a commotion. Sansa yelped, crying out "Arya." The youngest Stark girl grinned wickedly as many laughed at her antics. The young ladies surrounding Sansa gathered close wiping her face with napkins and throwing the arrant food on the floor.

Lady Stark flagged down her oldest boy, Lord Stark's heir, who quickly scooped his little sister up in his arms and he carried her towards the exit. When the doors to the great hall opened a large white dog came dashing into the hall circling around the Stark children. A new dark haired girl came tumbling in after it, mumbling words Cersei couldn't hear over the noise.

"Lyanna!"

The musicians stopped and no one dared to breathe.

Robert, still drunk, stumbled over to the Stark children like a sailor drawn by a siren's call.

"Oh Gods," Lady Stark muttered under her breath, her eyes never leaving the King.

Cersei watched perplexed as her husband closed in on the children. The Stark heir set his younger sister down, protectively pushing her and the dark haired girl behind him.

Lord Stark crossed the hall in quick strides.

"Your grace," he said calmly, his voice easy to make out now in the near silent banquet area. "May I present my natural-daughter, Alyssa Snow?"

She'd been so busy being queen, how had she not known about this? Cersei gobsmacked, truly engaged in what was unfolding. Ned Stark's bastard lived here with his true-born family?

The dark haired girl peered out from behind her half-brother's shoulder. She stepped forward bowing low to Robert. Cersei strained her eyes memorizing the girl's features. Alyssa Snow looked to be about her height, if not only a breath taller. She had an oval face with wide expressive eyes, full lips and her hair, a rich brown, pooled down her back in soft curls. Under the candlelight the girl's skin seemed to glow. She was stunning.

Robert looked back and forth between Ned and his daughter before bursting into his signature hearty chortle.

"Gods, Ned! You were cursed with not one beautiful daughter, but two!" He tried to get closer but the Stark children backed up closer toward the exit doors. "How will your youngest turn out?"

Ned tried and failed to produce a smile. "Please forgive the interruption, your grace. It looks like my son was escorting my daughters to their rooms."

The Stark heir tried to usher the girls away, but Robert was having none of it.

"She looks like your sister, born again, Ned," Robert said astonished.

Cersei could see her husband's eyes twinkling from here. Whether it was tears of joy and heartache or pure lust for the poor girl, Cersei wasn't sure.

"Aye, my friend I know," Ned agreed. He pat Robert on the shoulder as if he was hoping to put him in his right mind.

"She must come with us to King's Landing," Robert slurred, trying once more to get closer to Lyanna's oldest niece.

Ned Stark crossed in front of her husband, blocking Robert's path. The tension in the room building as everyone watched unsure of how to proceed.

"You honor me with such an invitation, your grace, but I must decline," Ned spoke firm, sounding more a politician than Cersei thought him capable. "It would be cruel to send my natural daughter to the capitol. I'd prefer she remain here in Winterfell."

On that, Cersei agreed. It would be one thing to send a common girl down to King's Landing. There would be more opportunities, be it working in service in some manor house or for hire in one of the brothels. If this highborn Snow had enough savvy, perhaps she could charm a merchant's son. If not, what life could she hope for? All she'd accomplish would be wasting her good years until her younger, true-born sisters married. Cersei could hardly imagine Sansa would want her bastard sister around when she became Queen as beautiful as the bastard was. No, it was best for this Alyssa Snow to be tucked away up here in the North.

Her husband's hungry eyes stayed on Ned Stark's illegitimate daughter several moments too long before he gave his oldest friend his full attention.

"What if she was natural-born no longer?" Robert pondered, his speech sobered.

Ned Stark's face turned white. "Robert," he began, rich with apprehension.

"In the morning I'll see to it," Robert vowed, taking a swig of the pint was still in his hand. With nothing left to say he suddenly marched by the Starks to leave. Those who were seated, stood up to bow to their King as he trudged passed.

"Your bastard will be a Stark!" Robert yelled over his shoulder as he pushed the oak and iron doors of the great hall open. As the doors slammed shut with a daunting thud everyone was released from their stupor. Murmurs of chatter broke out over the room and the musicians started to play as if hoping to reset the mood.

Cersei stole a glance at Catelyn Stark. The Lady of the North was holding her fork in hand, frozen just above the offering of fruit. The serving utensil was slightly bent, choking in the intense grip of Catelyn's ashen fist. Apparently Lady Stark was less then pleased by her step-daughter's change in circumstance. Grabbing her goblet of Arbor Gold, Cersei took a generous gulp.

Well fuck me.

Author's Note:

No- Robert will NOT try to have Joffrey marry Alyssa.

Alyssa Snow was legitimized by a drunk King Bobby B. She's a Stark! We'll loop back to how she feels and how the night went from her perspective in a few chapters. Remember this is an alternate history/canon divergence story so I hope you all stick with me.

How are we feeling about Cersei? I had fun looking at the world from her point of view.

Like the show, I've made most the kids older:

Robb, Alyssa, Daemon are 16 going on 17

Joffrey 14

Sansa 13

Myrcella 12

Arya 11

Bran, Tommen 10

Rickon 4

You will be hearing Part 1 from Alyssa (Female Jon), Daemon (Male Dany), Cersei and 2 others. Care to guess who's up next?

Please review, I love to hear from you — it really makes my day.