[center][h1]WINTERFELL[/h1]
[img]http://orig10.deviantart.net/a0dc/f/2013/066/e/4/winterfell_by_feliche-d5x8ezo.jpg[/img][/center]

[i]Winter is coming. [/i]

The Stark words played over and over in her mind as she watched the thick snowflakes flutter down from a steel grey sky. Ellaine smiled gently when a few of those flakes brushed over her warm cheeks and nose.

[i]More like winter is upon us,[/i] she thought while she glanced around the courtyard. Great drifts slanted up against the surrounding walls even higher than the already ankle deep snow that covered the ground. She pulled her grey wool cloak tighter around her shoulders and felt the softness of the thick white fur that lined it brush against the exposed skin of her neck. They were Stark colors, grey and white. Colors she was always proud to display, although the gown she wore was a deep peridot that matched her Mormont eyes almost perfectly.

A middling woman of almost five and thirty, Ellaine may be a Stark, but her look was all Mormont, after her mother. Creamy skin, coarse black hair, and deep crystalline eyes only enhanced her natural and undeniable beauty. Yet that beauty was often subdued, for her clear eyes were constantly tinged with sadness and the corners of her lovely mouth almost never turned up into a smile. Only in moments of sheer contentedness, moments like these, where she could forget the heartbreaking reality she lived in nearly every day that her true radiance shown through in one of her smiles.

Enjoying her lightheartedness, Ellaine walked around the curve of the library tower in the direction of the kitchens. The noises of her home, Winterfell, danced around her like a comforting melody. It filled her with memories of a childhood spent chasing butterflies, weaving crowns of daisies with her good friend Clara, and reading tales of knights and their lady loves under the shaded trees of Bear Island. Ellaine had been born a child of summer, born in the spring, but living so far north meant that she was more than familiar with snowfalls and stormy weather. But the days of late had become much shorter, the nights colder, and wind had a particular bite to it that she had never felt before.

"Lady Ellaine!"

She turned her head towards the deep voice that called to her and allowed another small smile. Farlen, the kennel master at Winterfell, trudged forward through the snow wearing a grin that he seemed to only save for her. Directly at his heels was her direwolf, Gale. Her grey fur looked freshly groomed and bore no trace of the elements that continued to pile up all around them. Like her owner, Gale possessed a quiet grace and refinement. For a beast she had impeccable manners, which was why Farlen tolerated her presence in the kennels from time to time.

"My lady, I thought I would ensure your guardian's safe return," Farlen gave a short bow of his head before reaching up – for Gale was the size of a pony – and patting her shoulder. “That, and Lord Rickard asks for your presence in his solarium. He wishes to speak with you about the upcoming tourney.”

Ellaine's laughter was light but full, and rang like tinkling bells through the icy air. "I doubt very much that Gale is in need of any protection. I will be with our Lord momentarily."

"As you say, my lady. Out enjoying the snow, I see," he observed jovially. Gale padded over to her side and licked her hand. Her tongue was warm and wet, the roughness a contrast to Ellaine’s skin, but she welcomed the contact.

"Yes. And the peace and quiet, while it lasts." She tried not to frown.

Farlen noticed the switch in her demeanor and his eyes became sad, his smile falling from his lips. Ellaine ignored his pitying gaze and inclined her head towards him slightly. "Good day, Farlen," she whispered before gliding away, Gale at her side.

She knew she had been short with him and she honestly felt badly for it. But she knew that if she told him what she really felt about what her lord husband, Rickard Stark, was troubled that it would draw more questions that she was too personal and too depressing to answer. And she wasn't prepared to discuss those feelings with anyone, let alone the kennel master. Not that her predicament was a secret here in Winterfell. Dwelling on that fact only darkened her mood further.

The grey curtain walls of Winterfell rose about her, broken by the round crested towers. According to her husband, the Winterfell of the Five Kings had been much tinier. Now it rose as a grim reminder over the tundra of the North, as if challenging the Ironborn, or its own nobles to try to tear it down. The winds returned stronger, harsher. The horses spooked in the stables. This place was a three hundred year old grave - and she was willingly living there. It still terrified people.

She made her way back into the central keep, passing off her winter furs to the first servant she laid eyes on. The journey to her husband’s study was not a long one and Ellaine knew the route well after all these years. The torch sconces burned bright, adding to the scant warmth the castle trapped. 

It was to her surprise as she stepped into the hall to find the door locked, a single knight standing guard before it.

"My lady, you look a true northern vision."

Ellaine turned slightly and saw her husband slip from the shadows in the stairwell at the end of the hall. A smirk came to her face unbidden when she saw how startled the young knight who stood guarding the Solarium door became at his sudden appearance. Rickard ginned widely.

"I have come to escort you to your chambers, my lady." Rickard offered his arm in a playful gesture of chivalry. She took his arm, dismissing the flustered knight at his door. Rickard threw a neutral stare after the knight, before leaning in close to his wife. “Completely useless that one is. Didn’t even check to see if your Lord Husband was in the room before he stood post. Then I watched him pick the filth from his nose and scratch his arse till you arrived. I think he’s a Whitehill boy.” 

Ellain had to bite the inside of her cheek to hold back her mirth. “Why Lord Stark, I could never go with such a man who would dismiss his bannermen so easily! I may have to reconsider your offer.”

"I shall await your response eagerly, my lady. But see that you do not keep me waiting too long." With a smile he turned on his heel and strode away, pulling her along with him.

“Such a brazen rogue, pulling me from my lord’s summons!”

"Well, he certainly thinks highly of himself," Rickard remarked drily.

"He's vile," Ellaine said before she could think to stop herself. Her hand immediately shot to her mouth and she looked around her, afraid someone had heard besides them. When Rickard began to laugh uproariously she glared at him.

"This one sees people for who they truly are, I think," her husband jested, as he wrapped his arms around her waist, hugging her from behind. "The Old Ones save us all then, for we are doomed,” a rare full smile that Ellaine could not return.

Rickard walked across their room and added more wood to the dying fire as Ellaine flitted about lighting candles and lamps. The room was soon bathed in a warm orange glow as the wood hissed and popped merrily in the hearth.

“This isn’t about the tourney, is it?” she braved at last. 

There was a faint snuffling the door, before Gale and her sire, Keen, Rodrick’s own direwolf came padding into the room. Ever watchful, ever protective, they took their rest across the door's entrance way. As quiet as his own master, Keen warily watched the shuttered windows with an intelligence that betrayed its more bestial form.

"There are always wild things lurking about when we least expect it. We are never truly alone," the Warden reminded her as he began to disrobe. She knew better than to trust that none of the other Lords had no spies about this great castle, even though it was not theirs to command. 
She would not put it past her Lord Brother either.

“I wary the man who threatens this ones pups. They will be shorter a throat for it.”

"She does not have that kind of nature. She is too gentle," Ellaine disagreed as she stroked Gale's head.

"She is her mistress in animal form," Rickard concluded with a knowing nod. He gave the bitch a scratch behind the ear that she seemed to enjoy greatly. "She keeps her secrets much as you do, but her act as the tame bear belying her nature as the worried wolf," he murmured around a smile.

"I cannot help it," she confided quietly, looking around again. “It has been four months. I know not if he is well, if he is alive…”

"Guard yourself only when we are in public. I pray that you will always feel free to tell me exactly what you think. I find it extremely refreshing, if not highly entertaining at times." Rickard did not even try to dodge her hand when it struck out at his arm, lightly.

“Out with it, before the suspense turns my hairs as white as the mountains.”

Rickard's worried glance towards the chamber door confirmed her thoughts.

“Another of your secrets then?” Ellaine asked with no small degree of irritation. Rickard offered a bitter smile in reply, the man gesturing towards their bed where four pieces of parchment in tight script lay spread across. Messages brought by ravens. "By this time next week, all the realm will know."

“The King and Queen-?” she stopped her tongue just in time, the first of the parchment dropping from her fingers in shock. There was no knowing whose ears listened against the door. Rickard nodded gravely, and Ellaine snatched up the remaining messages. 

[i]A Crakehal rebellion. 

A Tyrell host to seize Kings Landing.

 A tremendous fleet of longships spotted up the coast of Cape Kraken. [/i]

The messages found themselves quickly burned in their bedroom hearth, knowing full well they had been memorized by their intended. Rickard sat upon their bed, fingers folded across his lips as he glared in concentration at a map of the North against a far wall. 

“Bring him home,” she whispered sharply. Rickard could only shake his great shaggy head.

“Even if I knew where he was, I could no-“

"RICKARD!" Ellaine shouted suddenly as she watched her husband go pale. The sudden fury of the Mormonts was something to behold, but nothing compared to the storm that raged inside of her when her eldest cub in danger. That was nothing next to the words she uttered next. “And the timbers groaned, River wind softly moaned,” she reminded him sternly. 

Her husband was silent for a few moments, before nodding in assent.  “I’ll write the ravens tonight. It has been six score years since the Patrol was last gathered. With war upon the Kingdoms… the rangers may need to march behind their First in force.”

It took a few moments before Ellain came over and placed herself across his lap. A contented sigh escaped him as she ran her fingers through his hair. They stayed in silence a while before Rickard could speak his fears.

“Do you trust me?” Rickard asked her from behind. 

She looked up at him. “With my life.”

“My love, it is not your life I ask you to entrust with me but that of our children.”

"Do not tell me what scheme runs through your mind. I cannot promise you will leave this room with your manhood were I too know." Ellaine kissed his brow and rested her smooth cheek on his bearded one.

"If there was another way," he started to say, but could not finish. There was no use in bemoaning what will be.

"First a mediocre harvest, now a southern war. Gods be good, how will be feed everyone and still be able to last the winter?" Ellaine worried aloud. "And Tomin is to marry Elwen Glover when she flowers, but that could be anytime now as she is three and ten."

"So young yet," Rickard mused. "Compared to Tomin who is nearly twenty."

"Yes, my love, but she will grow. Say prayers they both grow more before they wed," Ellaine said around a small smile.

"My prayers are of a different nature." His tone was serious again. He ran a hand through his tangled mane, frowning in thought.

"Wait until it is Evan we must make a match for," Rickard bemoaned with a tired sigh. Their youngest took as well to the idea of ruling Winterfell as his older brother did. What he would do for sons that actually [i]wanted[/i] his titles.

"May the Southron Seven save us all when that day comes. I do not think the Old Gods will hear my prayers over his objections," he replied wearily, but Ellaine laughed warmly and kissed his cheek. 

"We will need to make haste with our responses," Ellaine murmured against his cheek. “If the Ironborn do sail-“

“Fetch me my quill and ink,” The Lord of House Stark had eyes only for the fireplace where the messages had been long since reduced to ash. “And they will meet their God soon enough.”

[hider=Lord Tyget Crakehall]Lord Tyget Crakehall, Warden and Lord Paramount of the West,

I write this to inform you that I do not acknowledge any claim you possess over the Iron Throne or the Seven Kingdoms. It is entitled to you by neither lineage nor inheritance, especially with the brother of the King still alive. Nor do I acknowledge the claim of Daenys, for the Tyrells claim to sieze the throne for the 'true Targaryean heir'. 

No matter who sits upon the Iron Throne, the North shall remain untouched so long as it maintains to neutrality. A neutrality you would have me break, even if only in writing. A neutrality I am loathe, but able to break.

Centuries ago, the Westerlands wronged my family, and it is time that debt be repaid, for promises on paper are as valuable as the ink they are written with. Therefor, your navy will muster with mine, and we put an end to the Ironborn. In two month's time, your daughter Leona will present herself to the Lord of Moat Cailin with the sword named Widow's Wail, whose steel was stolen from my family's ancestral sword Ice. They will be escorted to Winterfell, where she will stay as my ward until she is wed to my youngest son. 

By doing these, I will do all you ask and more.

You will lose a sword to wield, and gain a thousand to sit on. You will lose a daughter, and gain a son and a Kingdom. And we may both sleep easier knowing the Ironborn now take their rest beneath the waves. After which, the North will maintain its neutrality once more.

Lord Rickard Stark, Warden and Lord Paramount of the North
[/hider]

[hider=Lord Garland Tyrell]Lord Garland Tyrell, Lord Paramount of The Reach, Warden of the South

The Seven Kingdoms were formed from conquest. The Baratheon Usurpers implemented by conquest. The Starks restored by conquest. May conquest decide the rightful King of the Seven Kingdoms. The North will remain as it has been since my father's time. But no Stark will leave the North for a Southron War. May your gods grant you the claim you seek.

Lord Rickard Stark, Warden and Lord Paramount of the North[/hider]