Holy crap, you guys love blowing up my notifications! I love it too, so no worries lol.

The chapters from here on out are gonna be a little longer, but the plot is going to be a little bit of a slow burn. The warm and fuzzies are coming! We all waited years for winter/the dragons, you guys can wait a few weeks for the warm and fuzzies. Anyway, hope you guys enjoy!

Drakena: I really want Cersei to be better than she is, but I'm also super against character assassination. So we'll see! :P

Honest Word Count: 1,806

Chapter Two: Cersei

'Winterfell isn't nearly as cold as I'd expected,' Cersei thought as she sat in her bed chamber.

That was one of two small blessings she'd found in her marriage to the still absent Lord Eddard Stark. The other blessing was that he was still absent, and that had given her time enough to try and regain her bearings. Benjen, for his part, was content to play at being a warrior. Day after day she could see him practicing in the training yard with Ser Rodrik Cassel, and it always gave her great joy to see how much better Jaime was by comparison.

One time, Ser Rodrik had smacked the boy squarely on the nose. It had bled sporadically in the days that followed, and every time she'd see him clutching at it with a cloth or a bandage she couldn't help but laugh. But even so, what few moments of joy there were couldn't compare to the ever-mounting grief she felt. Some days it was Casterly Rock that she missed, the rolling hills of the Westerlands that seemed to go on forever as they sprawled out over the horizon.

Other times it was Jaime that she missed. His letters from King's Landing had been few and far between when he had been a member of Aerys' Kingsguard, but now that he was a part of Robert's it was like he'd disappeared. Sometimes, although she would never admit it, she even found it within herself to miss Tywin. He had been cruel and cold, especially in the years since her Mother had died, but he was a constant presence. A port that, no matter how bad the storm, could never crumble.

The separation from her family had been bad enough, but the uprooting of her life was pushing her to the breaking point. For a start, even if it wasn't as cold as she thought it would be, it was still bloody freezing! There was no sept for her to pray in, although that also meant so Septas or Septons so that was fine. Worst of all, though, was Benjen.

Benjen Stark did not care for Cersei, and he made it as plainly known as he possibly could. His behavior at her wedding to Lord Eddard had been his first display of crass disdain, but it would not be the last. Whatever repressed lusts had kept Lord Eddard on his best behavior that day, Benjen Stark did not share them.

Instead, he allowed the wolf within himself to run rampant, being put on full display, spitting and snorting whenever she was around, sinking deep into his cups when she ate with him, and one time even going so far as to take a piss in the garden nearest to her room. She couldn't prove that last one, but she knew. Even from her seat all the way on the other side of the room from her door, she could smell it.

What few conversations they'd had were strictly regarding her father. "Lord Tywin's an ass," he told her once when he'd had a sufficient amount of liquid courage. The first time it had happened she had been quick to inform him that, coming from the snotty younger brother of an up-jumped rebel, these insults meant very little. Both to her, and to Lord Tywin.

But as time went on, the insults became cruder and less tenable. Now, given the opportunity, he would gladly tell her all about how her father was a pig fucker and her mother fat as a hog. She truly despised Benjen Stark. These insults had led her to avoid him, save for when she could hear him being beaten bloody by Ser Rodrik.

And yet for however much she liked seeing Benjen return in bandages, it didn't make her feel better. Cersei missed her family, that was the truth of it. And their letters had stopped coming altogether since she'd arrived in Winterfell. They had never seemed all that important beforehand, but now that she lacked them they were all that she wanted in the world.

Her father's letters had always been short and to the point, more intended to relay a message or to update the recipient rather than to regale them. In one of his letters to her, he recounted the food he'd been eating while he was in King's Landing. Cersei could still hear her mother Joanna reading the letter to her, the silly voices she'd use to liven the contents of the letter and fill the whole room with her and her twin brother's shrieks of laughter.

Those fond memories of Jaime brought her to his letters which, quite unlike Tywin's, were rife with subtext. Their whirlwind love affair had been worthy of stories and songs, although they would never be told or sung. It was a scandalous thing, or so she'd been told, but it had begun innocently enough. She would tell her beloved Jaime about whatever justice she'd required of him and he'd go out and take care of it, returning to her for his well-earned reward. At first, it was just little things. A kiss on the cheek, a handkerchief that she called her favor, or a sweet song were all that he required of her. But as their bodies developed, so too did their relationship.

Cersei smirked slightly at that, the heat rising from her gash to her cheeks as she imagined his strong arms and firm hands around her. She could smell his hot breath, his member prodding her entrance desperately. As the heat of the moment passed, she realized she had been touching herself.

An abrupt melancholy overcame her as she came to, the realization that it had been just her in this cold dark room snapping her out of her trance. Was this what was to become of Cersei, the pride of House Lannister? Locked away in The North with nothing but her memories to keep her company? Her smirk faded, tears threatening to leak through her eyes.

'No,' she chastised herself. 'I am a lion of Casterly Rock, a daughter of House Lannister.' She could not show weakness, not even when she was alone. She took a deep breath, stood up, and made for the door.

Wandering the halls of Winterfell was not Cersei's idea of fun, and since nobody had bothered to show her around it had fallen to her to figure it all out. The maze that lay sprawled out before her had become so confusing that, by this point, her main strategy was to go find the Maester and tell him to take her where she wanted to go.

Anywhere else in Westeros, all she would have needed to do was raise her voice and the servants would come running. Anywhere else in Westeros, she would have been waited on hand and foot by an adoring and doting husband. But she was not anywhere else in Westeros, she was in fucking Winterfell.

Knowing her way to the rookery, at least, Cersei began to make the long ascent up the perilous stone staircase. The sounds of the ravens all squawking and shitting almost deterred her, but the alternative was to sit alone with only her memories. So she persisted in her climb until eventually she reached the top and found herself face to face with the Stark maester.

Maester Luwin was by far the most civilized of these savage brutes, with Ser Rodrik coming in as a close second if only for intentionally bruising Benjen more often than not. But the relatively young maester knew his courtesies, whereas the aging knight didn't. That had put Luwin in the lead, and unless Ser Rodrik planned on actually maiming Benjen Stark she didn't think that would change for the foreseeable future.

Hearing her enter, he rose from his work and stood attentively. "My lady," he greeted her properly. She offered a practiced smile, though it was only half-hearted.

"I should very much like for us to stop meeting like this, maester," she joked. Honey would catch more flies than vinegar, she'd been told. But her father had taught her that vinegar too had its uses, and if she continued to have trouble finding her way through the castle she would put that theory to the test.

"That is very understandable, my lady," Maester Luwin replied. "But as you can see I'm already busy enough as it is. Would that Ser Rodrik, or a member of the household guard could give you a tour-"

"But they haven't," she stated matter-of-factly. "And they won't, so I fear that the responsibility falls to you maester."

He sighed, and she felt almost an inkling of pity for the poor man. It really should have been her who managed the affairs of the household, and yet it was far from reasonable to make that demand of a Southern girl who still couldn't find her way around the castle much less around the intricacies of local politics. Not that Northern politics were likely to be particularly intricate, mind you.

"I understand, my lady," Luwin said softly and respectfully. He gathered up a few things before leading her down the stairs. "Perhaps it is good that you are here, I've just received word that Lord Eddard should be returning soon."

Cersei nodded, taking in the news as stoically as she could. Her Lord husband's return should be a good thing, and if nothing else it promised relief from the terrible itch between her legs since Jaime's absence.

"How long?" She asked.

"The letter said that he was a weeks ride away by the King's Road, although, given how far behind I am-" The distant call of a horn interrupted him, announcing the arrival of someone important. Cersei, despite her best efforts to keep a level composure, narrowed her eyes at the maester who seemed to be trying to shrink himself in defense. Fortunately for him, she was beautiful without trying, and even more fortunately for him this morning had been one of the few mornings where she'd put some work into it. She would look fine when Lord Edward arrived, of that there was no doubt. Even still, she would make sure to settle this debt.

Maester Luwin quickly led her down the steps and to the castle courtyard, darting between servants and soldiers alike as he hurriedly made his way to the appropriate place for the household maester to stand. Cersei, for her part, had found her place in the procession rather quickly. It was simple if you weren't stupid and had a basic understanding of Westerosi customs and politics. Both of these traits were to be expected from a daughter of House Lannister.

But what one could expect from Lords and Ladies of noble houses was never consistent, Cersei realized, as the honorable Lord Eddard Stark rode into Winterfell carrying a wailing babe in his arms.