CERSEI

"The walls of Winterfell were grey, grey and murky and devoid of light except for the burning torches hanging on their sconces in the walls, like they always had been. What is a bright burning torch ever when compared to the light of the shining sun? The old saying from her uncle Kevan echoed in her head as a tired mockery as she adjusted her hair with the silver wolf hairpin of House Stark and an equally beautiful one, if not more so, in the shape of the lion of House Lannister. She often imagined that they fought an eternal battle against eachother, standing there so closely angled towards eachother, snarling with their paws up in the air and their hindlimbs standing on the golden fields of her hair, but that was only one thing of a hundred that she imagined herself to keep from going mad.

Winterfell was a cold and dreary place, but at least her husband was a good one. She loved him, as much as she could ever have imagined, and even more she loved all of their children fiercely. Little lions and wolves, they were, or perhaps something inbetween, and she often imagined that their bloodlines must be fighting an internal war in their veins, but perhaps it was rather harmony. Stark and Lannister had seldom mingled in the past, but why should that have stopped them, after all? For when her husband held her in his strong northern arms, she felt safe, she felt loved, and she felt well. And she held him back. She would always have a love for Jaime, of course, they were twins after all, and always would be, but Benjen was as good a husband as ever she could have hoped for. He was not even nearly as cold and stern as she had feared him to be, when she had seen the marks of his elder brother, Lord Eddard Stark, in The Red Keep all those years ago. He, now the king, was the silent wolf, but his brother had been the young pup, and grown soon after that to a man of good spirits, resonably quick to talk and joke, and most of all to show her the respect and admiration which she should have gotten from someone else.

But Prince Rhaegar was dead since long ago, killed by the warhammer of Lord Robert Baratheon, the silent wolf already had his trout lady, pregnant and prepared to become his queen, and so Cersei had followed her father Lord Tywin's orders and married Lord Benjen Stark, two years her junior, and somewhat youthful and short, certainly shorter than Jaime, but a real man no less. And he had grown on her.

All in all, she was happy, but even such a happiness had a hard time swaying the ghosts of Winterfell and the North. She imagined that any southron woman would have felt much the same in her position. It was, simply put, nothing strange to feel somewhat strange up here at times.

She thought back to yesterday.

They had talked together at some length – well, lengthy for a northman, she thought – and made plans for the coming feast and for all of the preparations that needed to be made. They would have to make sure that they had enough candles, food, ale, wine and much else...

He had spoken of Jon again. Jon. Why always Jon? The answer was obvious. Right there floating in front of her face, like some northern ghost, haunting her. It was because of her, of course.

Can't they all see how obvious it is? She had thought at least a hundred times before, digging up her qualms and thoughts from their shallow [barrows/graves/resting places beneath the soil inside her mind]. The child looks more a Stark than King Torrhen who knelt.

And she was far from any fool. Her father had taught her well, to see the true hearts of men and women alike, and where their innermost secrets lay. Benjen certainly had an old love inside himself somewhere which he at times mused on, which he went to the godswood to pray for at the great ancient weirwood tree by himself. But no matter how much he prayed, he could not have been able to somehow hide his supposed bastard son's true identity, and he could not hide the truth of his own heart from her, not behind all the red of those leaves burning on her eye like fire, nor under the snow of the ground where he lay his sword down to clean and sharpen it with a whetstone as if the sword itself were his son.

Jon was much like a sword to her mind, she thought, something long, grey, sullen and dangerous which her husband had hanging close by his side at all times save during the night, the bane to all his enemies, though something which she would never be able to hold and cherish for herself. He had his own sheath for it, she mused, and she in turn could love the sword but little for that it gave her few troubles most of the time. Her husband would have use of him some day, no doubt, but so far that day had not come. And she could only stand there in the meantime, like a helpless waiting woman, frowning with disdain, waiting for the sword to finally find a purpose other than to constantly try and overshadow her own son and children. They were not the same as her, neither Benjen nor Jon. She was gold and they were both hard winter steel. Perhaps the child would have been better off in King's Landing, she mused. Bastards were made there in the hundreds, all the time, same as in Lannisport, although some might question it of course, the same as she did. Perhaps they could have sent him off to Lord Robert, she supposed, but then she remembered herself. That was precisely the thing that they could not have done. So Winterfell it was, then, even though he was older than their own children, older than Willam by at least [eight moons?] or more, and far taller. The worst part about it, though, was the hypocrisy of it all.

Benjen and Lyanna were just the same as her and Jaime. And yet had they known they would still have looked down on her and Jaime, she was sure, though they shared in the same sin. His brother the king had been much the same when he took the throne from Jaime. He judged him on first sight, and then wrung the throne from his hands, changing his sentence from a lifetime of service in shining white to one just the same in woolen black at the Wall instead. But that had not been justice. Far from it. And Lord Robert had trusted in Lord Eddard's judgment, and let him have it. Her father had been furious, but he had to accept, or else risk the fate of being seen as a supporter to the Mad King after all. Arryn, Tully, Baratheon, Stark... What could they have put up with against all four?

At least she had had Jaime to herself for those sweet few moons after his imprisonment, that glorious, golden and eternal strange time while Lord Eddard continued down south to lift the siege of Storm's End and what much else and the city was left under the command of [lord steward/[ ]] [Parkeyn/Perkayn/Porkeyn ] Dustin, who made but little decisions, and saw and heard less. She had sneaked down into his cell, which was a suprisingly comfortably adorned one, many a night, without being seen, and they had loved eachother again, like when they were little, only now their passion was made real from the young adult hearts beating red hot in their chests. They had only love for eachother, only such sweet words and kisses, lying on red silk cushions while the bells outside the Red Keep tolled for the trials and judgments of a hundred Targaryen knights, one passing day after the other. Jaime had been glad to see her, though he was already certain of his coming fate. She adored him so much, and held him to her bosom and kissed him a thousand times, and then a thousand times more, and wept for him and what would happen to him after the judgment of the wolf, and they lay with each other, made love to each other, fucked eachother more times than she could count. At least they had had those wonderful moments together.

When Lord Eddard finally returned from Winterfell to take up his throne, with Lady Catelyn Tully, now to be queen by his side, and a young boy with them as well, Cersei had the beginnings of a pregnant belly and the timing was – for once – perfect. Her father and Lord Eddard had agreed by raven that she were to be married to his younger brother Benjen, the young pup, to try and heal the wounds and mistrust between their families, and as a sign of good trust from the new king. As she had no reason to be left in the capital after that, she begged leave from the king and her father to return to Casterly Rock in order to prepare for the wedding, which King Eddard granted. Another couple of moons passed by, while Benjen no doubt waned and worried on his part up in Winterfell. Cersei told her father about what had happened, and had Joffrey in [calm/peace and quiet/[ ]] at Casterly Rock, spending some precious time with him, their beautiful golden-haired son, before having to let go of him to another woman and before her new husband-to-be started to make the journey south.

She had wondered, and still did, whether she would ever be allowed to see him again, and watch him grow up. Then came the wedding, as she, the golden Cersei Lannister, and he, the young Benjen Stark, stood on the parapets of [Casterly Rock/Lannisport] before twenty thousand cheering lords, ladies and smallfolk from all across the Westerlands, taking their hands together by the silk cloth of the Seven in holy marriage, and all else was a song, although certainly a boring, long and dreary one at times. So much singing, so much waste of time, only for there to be peace between the lion and the wolf after the death of the dragon. If only she had been allowed to stay with Jaime, she thought, with half madness and half longing sadness in her heart.

They were all the same, Lannister and Stark, merely two sides of the same coin, and perhaps they would have been happier if the gods had not made them such that they were, and then forced them to suppress their lust and sinfulness, as it was called by the old puckered-up crones teaching the Faith. She was glad to be rid of them up here at least. She had had to bring someone, to keep up appearances, and she did pray to the Mother at times, and at other times the Crone, and one time to the Warrior when wildlings came down to the Wolfswood and tried raiding the Wintertown. That was when Willam had still been little more than a small boy. Now, however, he was tall and proud, his eyes like his father's but with a hint of her own emerald Lannister green, his hair mostly dark but lighter than Benjen, and soon to be taller than his father, she guessed, a true Stark and Lannister heir, and always so strong. He listened to his father, adored him, wanted to be like him, but also still held his innermost trust always to her. My son, my forever son, my sweet gold and silver son, my heir. He will follow me wherever I go.

Myrcella had been blonde just like her, the very mirror image of Cersei, but with more curly hair, the golden locks which made her stand out like a light of sunshine in the otherwise dreary grey image of Winterfell. She was as close to perfect as any girl could be. The only flaw she had ever found with her was that she seemed a little empty-headed, and her stitches in her embroidery were slightly crooked, as Septa Arbane had pointed out. She would have to fix that in time, before the other girls caught on to it, and then all would be well. She was kind too, more pure and good of heart than Cersei could ever have imagined coming from herself.

The same was true of their youngest boy, Tommen. He was a sweet boy, who liked more than anything else to play with all the cats and dogs and other animals of the keep. He would ask her half a hundred questions a day about which animal was which, and why it had its particular name, and what it liked to eat, where it lived and much more. Maester Luwen held close to a constant upsight over the boy of late, being far better prepared to answer all of his questions.

But the child closest in her mind as she prepared herself in her dress and hairpin decoration was her firstborn. Joffrey. I named him Joffrey, she remembered still, and father took him on and let him grow up without knowing who his mother or father had been, only that he was a Hill of Lannister blood, and since then she had not seen the sight of him. Now her father had written and said that he would be stopping by on his way to the capital. He was to go to the Red Keep to try and marry with the king's daughter, Princess Sansa. My little boy... She thought. My firstborn, little, golden boy. Mine and Jaime's little boy. Our sweet little golden boy.

She did not know whether it was a blessing or a curse that she would get to see him again before he was to be chained to another woman. Lady Reldina had surely done a decent job of bringing him up, she supposed, but she did not wish for him to get stuck inside the throes of power at the Red Keep without anyone to watch over him, to keep him safe around all those who might wish him harm. He was still a bastard, although legitimized now apparently, and people would whisper about who his parents were. The possible throwaway that he was Gerion's child had been a brilliant one, but nonetheless she feared for him. I must make sure to not show any particular emotion towards him that I do not show to anyone else, she reminded herself, though that would certainly be hard.

And she doubted but guessed that he himself did not know either, for surely her father would have seen to that much, at least. Or at least so she hoped...

She soon breathed in the fragrance of a pink scented candle which Septa Arbane had left for her in one of the wall sconces, took another swallow of wine from the table nearby and tried her best to soothe her fret. She supposed that her fears were beginning to die down, but in place of them was another feeling which was not welcome: That of anger. For her firstborn son, her and Jaime's secret firstborn golden son, the mark of their love for eachother, would still be lost in the capital, a lost Lannister in the den of the icy-eyed Wolf King, the same king who had sent Jaime to the Wall, no matter if anyone knew of his true parentage, and with noone there with him to protect him or guide his way. Noone but... Tyrion.

She cursed inside of her, wondering how her father could have chosen him out of all people. Did he want for the mission to fail? Her brother Tyrion had certain skills, no doubt, jesting and mocking, drinking too much for a man twice his size, tumbling like a court fool, and an ability for constantly annoying people with his low cunning, but he was most well-known for his short stature, hideous appearance and whoring his way wherever he went. She took another deep swallow of wine at the thought. She did not think that the king or her husband had any particularly high notions of him either. The northmen were even harder to look down on broken things and people than most. Such a child would at least not have been a blessing in days of winter, she thought to herself... Perhaps Benjen would make some dumb jape about his height, and all seven hells would break loose because of it. Or perhaps Tyrion would say something even worse back. She did not look forward to the prospect of meeting him again in the slightest. But she would have to play the gallant sister, and welcome her son and brother cordially all the same. Perhaps her old hatred of Tyrion from their youthful days would help her control her feelings for her little Joffrey. She hoped that it might.

Septa Arbane called from outside, asking if she was ready to go and put on the last of the preparations, and she replied that she was. She helped her on with them, and then that was it.

...

She was prepared, at last, to face the royal family. King Eddard, Queen Catelyn, Prince Robb, Princess Sansa and all their other children. Her husband was without, in the right wing, she in left, and together they would stream into one and start the opening of the feast.

They convened in the hall and together made their way along the corridors into the Great Hall to begin the feast. The pipers and drummers were already playing at their command, the walls were alive with tall candles and the trestle tables had begun filling with food and drink.

They sat down next to the King and Queen at the raised wooden dais, Cersei next to Catelyn to their left and Benjen by King Eddard to their right, close to where the boys would sit. The queen was wearing a red and grey dress and had her hair put up into a fleated Northern style pattern, much like Cersei herself. She seemed very dignified and calm, and somewhat austere, to be sure, but not altogether as threatening as she might have been. Cersei believed she would be able to handle her, and suddenly felt calm enough to talk at ease with her. It started as smalltalk, of course, as it would, but soon turned to greater matters of importance for both of their houses.

"Is this your first time in the North, Your Grace?" Cersei asked.

"Almost. Only my second time", the Queen replied, turning to face her. Cersei smiled back at her.

"I remember when I first came here. I dare say that it was the grimmest place I ever saw, and yet here I am, fourteen years later, and still managing to keep it all together", she laughed with a hint of self-deprecation somewhere.

The Queen only smiled a bit at that, barely giving her a reaction or reply. Of course she would not, the Tully bitch, Cersei thought to herself.

For her father having had the great idea to ally himself with the rebels before anyone else, and marry off both his daughters to their cause, even after Brandon Starks' death at the hands of the Mad King, she had been rewarded with queenhood when by all rights that should have fallen to Cersei instead. The silent wolf and his trout queen now reigned over a land which seemed to be strangely and utterly at peace, but all the same it would have been better with someone else. Nonetheless, Cersei dampened her thoughts and forced herself to be civil and endearing towards the queen. But she does enjoy her power, I can tell... She thought. The red-haired queen was staring right in front of her, into the air, and not making eye contact. Cersei did the same as soon as she noticed it. You did not come to any fool's bride, Tully. Me and my husband are prepared to meet you and greet you, but no more shall you have of me nor of the Warden of the North, if that is what you or the [ ] king thinks.

...

Princess Sansa was looking radiant in her light blue and grey dress, with her hair put up much in the same style as Cersei and her mother the queen, as she came up to the dais to present herself.

"This is my daughter, Princess Sansa", the queen said.

Cersei did a small curtsy with her eyes and greeted the princess with warm words. She was smiling, exposing a row of brilliantly glittering white pearl teeth. She seemed like a happy child bride-to-be, at least far happier than her crone mother, Cersei reflected.

"Good afternoon, Princess Sansa. We have heard so much about you these past years, and now I see that the rumours are all true, and more to it. You are indeed grown into a great beauty, my princess, just like your mother the Queen."

Sansa smiled even more at that.

"I thank you with all my heart, Lady Stark", she said. "It is wonderful to be back at my father and uncle's seat in Winterfell again."

"Tell me and remind me, if you would, Princess. How old are you? Eleven or twelve?"

"Eleven, my lady."

Cersei considered that for a while.

"Only eleven? But you are such a great beauty already", she said, smiling her best smile at the Princess.

"And you are most certainly as well, my lady. My uncle was much fortunate to get his chance to marry you. You were called the emerald of Casterly Rock in your youth, I hear."

Cersei felt annoyed at the comment, and its deliberate use of the past tense. The princess was far slyer than her age would let on, as Cersei had been herself at that age. A pretty little spoiled thing with a rapid tongue and constantly scheming mind, far from the graceful demureness of her own dear Myrcella. Either the princess had inherited her Tully mother's political scheming, or her mother had even told her exactly what to say before the meeting. The latter seemed more and more likely, simply to spite her and wave around her pride. Kneel down to the Targaryens, become lord paramounts of the Riverlands, then wait a couple of hundred years, wait for the opportunity to kneel and spread your legs to the right Stark, and then... There you have a queen, apparently.

She was forced to play along, of course, and would not sow any seeds of discontent between her husband and his brother's family. And so she smiled at the queen and asked her to introduce Myrcella. Her golden locks were already shining in the light from the chandeliers, lighting up the room with its joy and beauty from afar, as she made it closer to the dais in her grey and golden [ ] gown, with the lion and direwolf embroidered on the top part of the bodice.

"Here is my daughter, Myrcella", Cersei said, inclining towards the girl who shone with beauty like a golden candle of light. Her kind eyes were a stunning emerald green, her face ever so beautiful, just like that of a doll, and her golden locks curled themselves like a river of floating gold, catching the light which gleamed down from all across the rafters. She smiled demurely and curtsied deeply at the Queen first and then at the Princess.

The Queen finally smiled now, greeting Myrcella cordially.

"Good evening, Myrcella. I must say you look absolutely splendid in your gown. And your hair is so beautiful, golden and gleaming, just like your mother's. Do you usually wear it long?"

"Yes, mostly", Myrcella confessed. "My mother said that I should let the world see my beauty, and not hide it away."

"And how right she was. You are beaming."

And Myrcella truly did, as she emulated the queen with a large smile, then curtsied and walked over to the side, where Princess Sansa stood.

She sneagled over towards her husband and the king. They were sitting and talking in far more rapid bouts of conversation, already laughing and quite drunk. She reflected that she had never seen King Eddard Stark smile with his crown on before, but then she had barely seen him wearing it either. She had been stuck high up north all these years, while all the other ladies had no doubt visited the Red Keep time and time again, frolicking in the heat of summer and drink and much else.

She examined them discreetly, trying to hear what they were talking about. The boys were all sitting between, Willam and Prince Robb and Jon, making it hard for her to intercept more than a few words, but their faces made all the more clear to her. Her husband was holding his own in the conversation, to be sure, but when the King took his hand upon his shoulders, rustling him about with a gleeful laugh, she felt it more pressingly than ever that he was still the younger brother, merely the young pup who followed his big brother's every word. Had he even taken up the issue of the Gift yet, or was he waiting for the King to become more drunk first? He would not have to, Benjen had said; they were brothers, despite Ned having been fostered at the Vale, and could talk to each other about anything, but why then had he insisted on having everything and anything else done before? She was never let in on any of his plans. Fourteen years here, and I am still an outsider, a southron lady from far away, a golden and gleaming Lannister from the Rock, she reflected. And her lord husband and the king were toasting, raising their cups with their frosted beards already moist to dripping from wine and ale.

The Queen suddenly said something to her, lifting her attention back.

"So, I take it you are not as opposed to the taint of bastardy up here in the North?"

Cersei almost spilled her wine goblet at the comment. Was it directed at her, or at Jon? She could not be sure. Either way, Queen Catelyn did not seem to share her husband the king's enthusiasm at Jon's inclusion on the dais.

"Jon is a member of the family", she felt compelled to reply on account of her husband. "I had heard...-" She stopped herself, reformulating. Gods, I must really be drunk already myself. "I had been led to understand it to be that the King himself wanted to have him present at a seat of honour. Did he not?"

"He did", the queen confirmed. "Though perhaps my husband does not always know what is best for propriety", she said.

"Propriety and propriety...", Cersei had to chuckle slightly. "His Grace and you are the ones in charge, are you not? If not the king himself, or the queen, if not we who presume to rule, then who decides what is proper?"

"A septon, perhaps", Queen Catelyn suggested, looking out at Jon with a disapproving look on her face. Cersei almost felled compelled to take the boy in defence, though in truth she had but little care for him either. He had always been a close rival to her Willam, although they were brothers.

"I am sure that most great men in the place of such positions as our husbands have fathered more bastards than the common people – or anyone else, for that matter, would know. The difference lies mainly in their willingness to show them off to the people", she said, taking a sip of red wine from the goblet in her hand.

The queen merely gave a sullen look of disapproval at that, repeating her sentiment on the ungodly act of breaking a marriage's vows.

"Surely there are other vows which can be just as important? Those between a man and a woman? And are not the gods watching down on us at all times, not only when we are standing inside a sept? My husband certainly seems to think so. They are in the trees, in the wind, in the leaves..." She began laughing just ever so slightly. "We were married twice, you see. Once at Casterly Rock and then once here in the godswood. He had wanted it to take place before the old gods as well. And now I feel that I am glad for it. I felt... understood, somehow, when I came before them. They are not like the Seven, are they? They are more... Well, something more and less at the same time, I suppose."

Queen Catelyn held quiet for a long time at that, seemingly pondering what to say next. Then she started again, her red lips parting like cherries to reveal her [ ] sentiment.

"I cannot speak for my husband nor for his gods", she said, "but I believe in the Faith of the Seven, and that those whom they have put together in holy matrimony may not be separated from each other, nor taken astray by some burst of passion in the man, or indeed in the woman. I am sure that my husband would agree, and send his judgment in such a motion, had he not been altogether much too kind for his own good, and cared so much for all those who are close to him."

Well now that is certainly rich coming from you, thought Cersei. It was common knowledge that King Eddard Stark indeed seemed to be an honourable man, but there was also the talk which she had heard first from her chambermaidens and the washerwomen all around the castle when they had first settled down at the castle. Rumours about Eddard Stark and the beautiful Ashara Dayne of Starfall, with her charcoal black hair and haunting violet eyes... Some had even said that Jon was Ned's own bastard, but she did not know what to think about that. Though it would certainly explain why Queen Catelyn seemed to be so angered at the sight of his presence at the dais, while she had trusted in her husband to know what was the best course for action. What was certain, however, was the fact that Catelyn Tully of Riverrun was not a happy woman. She wondered whether it was the icy temperament of the king himself, or her preposterous religiosity which lay her such [ ], but no matter what the reason, she would have to do her very best not to make her any more wroth than she already was.

To lighten the mood, she decided to tell the story of how her little Tommen had almost struck the target during his bow practice earlier that day. The Queen listened with courteous intent, praising her son and asking to see his prowess on the morrow, retelling tales of her father and brother's skills in archery in their youths [ ]. This one only brags about herself, thought Cersei. She had not recalled Catelyn Tully to be of that particular sort, but then on the other hand, what had she expected from the daughter of a common quarreling river lord? Hoster Tully had wed off both of his two auburn-haired daughters to be given trust in a future alliance, one to Lord Jon Arryn, a man of more than sixty years, and the other to Eddard Stark, a man who could not be blamed for acting any younger than that in his heart himself.

She was supposedly a political master, by all accounts, having lived in the capital for all of her adult life, but when Cersei saw her in front of her now, she could not help but wonder that she would have fared far better in the Red Keep. Lord Tywin had taught her well, all the secrets about maintaining good allies and how to deal with troublesome lords. King Eddard had not been able to quell down the thirst for blood in Balon Greyjoy, though the man was an ironborn dog of course, and rebellious in nature. And that had mostly been Robert Baratheon who had done the dirty work that particular time, as she understood it. Still, she wondered whether things would have been different if she had been married to Prince Rhaegar all those years ago, as her lord father had promised. '

Instead the Mad King had denied them, telling her father that he would not marry his son to the daughter of his servant, and he had been forced to give her to the wolves instead, after the rebellion was won. It had worked out fine for them, but a fine thing could always be better, she thought to herself.

The pipers and singers, drummers and many others, musicians of Barrowton, were up and playing now, louder than before, paying tribute to her husband and the king. Their pipes played in exhilarating symphonies of battle, love making and strong hearty drink, making the blood fire up in the icy veins of the hundreds of shaggy northerners gathered. One man from the guards whom she believed was called Dacks, just like his young son, was just now measuring up against Jekken in a playfight, each circling around the other and with another man up high on his shoulders. Each pair was trying to get the other side off balance, and then preferrably pounce on them and wrestle them down in the same instant, with both stories of men still intact, or else the game had been lost, if the man on top lost his grip from his "tower" man under him. If they fell down to the ground wrestling and the pair on the bottom refused to yield they would try to disassemble the enemy pair from eachother, and the game was up when one team still held intact while the other had lost their grip on eachother. Giant's play, she had heard it referred to once, and it was a great favourite of her husband's rowdy people, but others had different names for it. Shoulder shakes, [ ] Twin tumbling and High-Wrestle. She recalled to herself that she and Jaime had done it in a similar fashion when they had just been children playing in the water outside the cliffs at Casterly Rock. Needless to say, she had not tried it since.

After that came the more southron songs, solemn and beautiful, and with words which one could actually hear properly. Though even these songs were mostly old northern favorites, with some few from the south mingled in in tribute to her and the queen. The singers from Barrowton, Torrhen's Square and White Harbor sung Are You Going to Scarbyn Fair, King Torrhen's Wars, Gendel and Gorne Digging a Hole, A Forest Star Across the Brook, The Hungry Wolf, Brothers of Bronze, Lady Neldara's Favour, Tie Me Around the Tree, The Septon's Little Crow, A Winter Rose, The Bear and the Maiden Fair, Iron Lances, Jenny of Oldstones, Pounce Spied the Shadowcat, The King of Winter, The Rains of Castamere, her own personal tribute The Golden Daughter of the Rock, written by the singer named Leyndon the Lucky from Lannisport, and finally Fear Not This Night, a new song written by a bard from Mole's Town for the people of the Gift and the men of the Night's Watch. Her husband had commanded it to be especially sung at the end, while he continued talking to the king of what needed to be done, and she saw now that it was working. Lord Stark and the King were talking silently, with grave tones and serious eyes now, their words hushed as not to hear the boys next to them hear too much. Jon had apparently ran out earlier in some bout of anger, but now he was back again, sulking next to Willam and Prince Robb. They were all drunk, but their fathers were keen in their looks as they talked about what needed to be done. Benjen talked, and the king listened intently, as the singers continued in their solace of their notes. There was a female singstress from White Harbor, a lesser lady or bastard girl of House Woolfield, named Freya Snow, daughter to the Queen's namesake Lady Catelyn Woolfield. Cersei had to laugh in her mind at the notion of the stern and disdainful queen sharing her name with a woman who had so willingly and openly raised a bastard girl and never shied away from telling the story. And the girl sang beautifully, after all, baseborn or no.

Fear not this night, you will not go astray, oh shadows fall, still the stars find their way. And you can always be strong, when you rise with the first light of dawn. Dawn is just a heartbeat away... Hope is just a sunrise away...

Cersei watched the golden locks of Myrcella once again, her gaze inexplicably drawn towards the reflection of their light, and she thought of the long harsh winter that was yet to come. She suddenly remembered about Jaime, all about Jaime, that they would try and meet on the morrow or else in two days' time, when the King and Benjen would ride out hunting in the Wolfswood, and they would finally get a chance to be together again after so long, but most of all she thought about what he had written in his letter to her from Castle Black almost a fortnight ago, and the deserter whose head her lord husband had taken.

Tommen had asked him whether it was true what the man had said, about the terrible Others, and Benjen had replied with "A madman sees what he sees".

She felt as though beginning to become a madwoman up here, and laughed scornfully at her inner folly, trying desperately to summon the scornful voice of Lord Tywin Lannister regarding such northern superstition, but she had not heard her father's voice in many years' time, and her husband's was cold, cold with the frosted accent of the Starks and their deep alware. And so she let her thoughts wander out to the godswood, closing her eyes briefly in the beautifully echoing stralamour of the song, and prayed a quick and silent prayer to the Seven and the old gods alike. Please protect my children, indeed. Let the king listen to my husband's words. Let her see the sunrise of Spring when it finally comes again."