#whitetide

[jonnydoodles]

@anelalani09 Character Kale Whitetide. Free Raffle winner. Thanks so much for entering, such a fun character to work on. #furryart #anthroart

[saddayfordemocracy]

The White Tide 2020

A single cigarette butt can pollute up to 500 liters of water. Cigarette butts pollute the ocean even more than straws and plastic bags do. 

Every year, billions of them end up in the ocean, carried away by the wind, the rain, in rivers or in pipes, after having been carelessly thrown in the streets. 

On World Oceans Day, it is urgent to raise awareness on this serious matter. 

"The White Tide" is the name of Sea Shepherd’s campaign, which aims to denounce how cigarette butts are polluting and killing the oceans and their wildlife. In order to make this ecological cataclysm tangible, the association created a strong metaphorical image: a viscous & sticky tide that looks like an oil spill but whose texture and colors (white and yellow) are similar to those of cigarettes.

Print advertisement created by FCB, France for Sea Shepherd

Credits:

Advertising Agency: Brand Station Paris, Paris, France, 

Creative Director: Damien Guiol, Samy Benama, Loic Chauveau,

Art Director: Damien Guiol, Samy Benama,

Copywriter: Damien Guiol, Samy Benama,

Photographer / CGI Artist: Salamagica, 

Agent: Watch out

[whitetidecay]

Some details from my greenhouse 🌱☀️

[a-libra-writes]

Salt & Snow - Chapter 5

Ships: Ned Stark x Reader, Brandon Stark x Reader

Summary: The daughter of House Caspian begins to realize her place in a world of strict tradition and hierarchy. A tragedy strikes Winterfell, bringing her closer to the Starks.

The brush slid across the thick paper, making a beautifully straight line. The black paint was bold against the paper, which wasn’t completely white, but it was the closest she’d seen, almost as white as snow. What a wonderful birthday gift. Y/N had a thin wooden palette that she perched on her lap, allowing her to take the paper anywhere and paint what she saw. She already had ideas of what to send Ned, although transporting a painting without damaging it would be troublesome. Maybe it was best to just keep it in Winterfell until he came back? He had to return soon, he was seventeen. It had to be soon.

It’s what Lyanna talked about often, and Y/N didn’t blame her. She wanted him back too, though maybe for different reasons. She was pleased he still kept writing to her, entertaining her childish whims, although she didn’t feel childish anymore. They didn’t talk about ‘childish’ topics, either, it was always… all sorts of things. Y/N  could write to Ned about anything on her mind, and he did the same.

I hope we can talk as easily. What if he comes back and I don’t know what to say? Y/N wondered if that was a silly thought. She refocused on her painting, dabbing a small brush into the paints she’d set up beside her. There weren’t many colors to work with, but that made it an interesting challenge. The training yard was busy this late, so she had plenty of subjects to observe. Painting moving figures was a new challenge. It wouldn’t be a perfect still life, instead, she’d try her own composition of movement and action.

Y/N hummed to herself as she worked. She had only two hours before the sun would set, but she was confident she could finish the rest of it in her room.

“Don’t most girls paint flower fields and vases?”

“I’m a lady,” Y/N responded. She didn’t look up from her painting right away, wanting to finish a few more brush strokes. “You should always be gracious to a lady, especially if you’re a future ‘Lord Stark’.”

Brandon grinned. “I was going to scare you, but I decided to be nice instead. That’s very gracious, I think.”

Now you sound like your little brother. Y/N set her brush down next to the paints. She observed Brandon was still in his traveling clothes. “When did you return?”

“Just over an hour ago. It was a slow ride, Ser Roderick wouldn’t let me go ahead of the escort.”

“There’s a reason for that.” Y/N smiled at his impatience. “How was the Rills?”

“The same as always. Next week I’m going to see Lord Manderly. While I’m there, I could stop by your family’s castle. Perhaps I could bring a gift to them.”

“That would be wonderful. You know they would love to have your company, my lord.”

Brandon’s smile was infectious, Y/N had to admit. Thank the gods he was over that irritating phase he had before, acting like he was too grown-up and superior to bother with Y/N and his younger siblings. Well, he could still be irksome to Benjen and Lyanna, but they paid him back tenfold with their usual mischief. Y/N was just pleased he acted like the lord he should be around her. Pleasantries made things easier, and it really would be kind of him to bring her father a pelt or her mother a rare book.

Right now, he was leaning over to see what she was painting, as he’d often been doing the past year. She knew he had no interest in art, but he still made a point to ask about what she was working on.

It’s good for him to at least feign interest and learn about others. Maybe all those scoldings from Lord and Lady Stark are finally sinking in. Y/N thought. She showed him what she’d been working on, groups of men at swordplay. “They’re finally used to my sketching, I think. At first they gave me peculiar looks.”

“It’s because you were staring.” That charming smile turned to an amusing pout. “You shouldn’t be staring at strange men, Y/N, or drawing them.”

“They aren’t strange at all! I know their names, and they’re sworn men, besides. Are you just upset I haven’t drawn you?”

She was teasing like Lyanna and Benjen did, but he didn’t respond like she thought. Brandon actually huffed. “Better me than some old guardsman.”

“Sit down, then.” Y/N gestured to the seat next to her on the bench, the side not covered in paints and paper. “Portraits are always good practice.”

Brandon looked at the spot, only waiting a moment before taking a seat. He was still windblown from the road, smelling like horses and leather, but it wasn’t too unpleasant. Y/N fought the urge to smooth out his hair — it was such a mess, but he wasn’t a boy. Even Benjen was getting too old for her fussing.

“So you know, I’m not the sort to embellish.” Y/N said, her hand darting across a blank piece of paper. Messy sketches were fine for something like this. “So I will be drawing that unruly hair and those red ears.”

“They aren’t red,” Brandon grumbled and rubbed at the ears in question.

Y/N didn’t look up from her drawing. “They are. So are your cheeks. Are you cold?”

“I’d be a poor Stark if weather like this got me cold. Shouldn’t you be concentrating?”

“I am.” Y/N had to glance up to make sure the eye shape was right. Brandon had such an amusing expression, it was making her work difficult. “If you could be still, it would be easier.”

Brandon said nothing to that, only furrowing his brows further. It was startling how much he looked like Lord Stark, while Lyanna took after her mother. Benjen was a clear mix of the two, but all of them had that long face and dark coloring. She pictured Ned’s face in her mind, trying to remember the last time she saw him. Gods, was that three years ago? Maybe four? He must look so different now. Taller, with a proper sword and the skills to back it up - and what about those grey eyes? Would they be darker or lighter? Did he finally cut that brown hair, to better fit in with the Eyrie, or did he keep it long and Northern?

“What are you smiling about?” Brandon asked.

“Oh, nothing.” Y/N said Someone in the distance drew her attention away, which she was grateful for. She waved at him. “Ben!”

Brandon scowled at his little brother walked up. Benjen was already taller than Y/N, thanks to his spindly limbs. He looked around at the art supplies and Brandon’s awkward posture. “I hate it say it, but you’d be better off with a different subject, Y/N. There’s only so much you can do with this one.”

Benjen dodged out of the way of his older brother’s grip. His reflexes were nothing to sneeze at. “Big words from a skinny rat!” Brandon said, getting up to grab at his brother again, but Benjen was too quick. The older Stark may have been as big as his father now, but he had a certain … lack of grace. No doubt he was tired from the trip, too.

“Should I use smaller words?” Benjen easily danced around him.

“Do this somewhere else!” Y/N laughed. That was the end of the little sitting session, then. Brandon couldn’t be still after getting riled up; he was like a dog in that way. “Be careful, would you?”

“I’m just going to teach him a lesson—!” Brandon said, finally getting Benjen in his grasp. He cursed when his brother easily twisted out of his grip and hit his nose. It wasn’t a real punch, but it still hurt, and Brandon shook his head while Benjen unhooked his sword from his belt.

“Thanks!” Benjen scurried off, carrying the sword that was too heavy for him to actually wield. Y/N rolled her eyes at how Brandon predictably ran after him with a fresh new string of curses. He had only been home a few hours before he was going back to silliness with his brother. Lyanna would have joined in too, had she been here. Their latest pasttime was stealing the beautiful new sword Brandon was so proud of. Benjen just liked to stir up trouble, but Lyanna was sour she couldn’t have steel of her own.

What has she been doing today? Y/N hadn’t seen much of her friend today. Lyanna didn’t enjoy the last feast, which was a small affair - only half a dozen families were there, and not all their members - but she was still put off. Y/N hadn’t known Lyanna to retire before her, but that night, she did. It was usually the fatigued Lady Stark that was the early departure, not her fiery daughter.

Thinking about it now, Lyanna was unusually quiet through breakfast this morning, and she had been riding most of the day. Y/N considered that maybe she should have gone with her, even if being near a horse still made her shudder. She could have at least sat on the edge of the riding field and watched Lyanna. Maybe she wanted to be alone. If she really wanted me there, I know she would have dragged me.

With all her art supplies carefully packed up, Y/N returned to the castle and planned to find out what Lyanna’s mood was. I could be overthinking everything. We’re women now, four and ten years, we don’t have to cling about each other anymore.

Y/N nodded to the servants and guards when she saw them, giving a smile to those she knew well. They had long been familiar, pleasant faces that she relied upon. It recently occurred to Y/N that she knew them better than the servants of Whitetide, whose faces were rapidly disappearing from her memory. Maybe if her parents didn’t visit twice or thrice a year, and if she didn’t love them so much, she’d begin to lose their faces, too.

Their shared bedchamber was warm from a low-burning fire in the hearth. Y/N set her supplies down on her desk before shedding her thick cloak. It was fastened with a lovely silver manta ray that had a tiny pearl for an eye, a gift from Lady Stark herself. Y/N’s name day had passed a few months ago, and while her parents couldn’t visit, her second family was right there beside her. Lady Stark’s hands had become pale and thin, but she still wanted to fasten the pin herself after presenting it to Y/N. Then she patted her head like adults did to children, but Y/N couldn’t mind it.

Y/N was so caught up in turning the little manta ray in her hands, she didn’t hear the bedroom door open and close. The stomping of feet made her jump, and she swiveled to see Lyanna yanking off her riding boots and shaking the snow off them in the most unladylike way.

“So you were riding all day,” Y/N said, setting the pin into her modest jewelry box. She offered a smile. “Did you enjoy yourself?”

Lyanna didn’t respond right away. She pulled at her cloak instead, tossing it on one of the chairs by the hearth. Y/N’s smile fell. There was an obvious dark cloud around her friend. Lyanna kicked her boots aside and huffed as she sank into an overstuffed chair. She was becoming too leggy to curl up into it like a child.

“Why in the seven hells can I not wear riding trousers?” She said irritably. “I’m sure the washerwomen are sick of cleaning the smell out of my dresses.”

Y/N sat in the chair across from her, settling herself into it. “And the horsehair.”

“It itches terribly. If I had a tunic, it wouldn’t be so bothersome, nor would the branches in my way.” Lyanna picked a leaf off her sleeve. Trouble was brewing in her grey eyes. There was fire in them even without the hearth lighting her face, a natural energy that possessed her entire person. Lyanna was more wolf than any of them, and when she hunched in the chair with her long legs drawn to her chest, she looked like a trapped one.

Y/N waited for her to speak first. There was something on her friend’s mind, but she had to find the words. Once she had them, Lyanna said, “You weren’t bothered at that feast. The last one, with the Karstarks and Glovers and Cassels.”

It was strange for her to bring it up now, but Y/N had just been thinking about it as well. Overall, Y/N would dare to say she enjoyed herself, even if the Karstark boys were too blunt in their desire to dance with her.

“I wasn’t too bothered. It wasn’t as crowded as it usual; I could hear the music for once. I was able to dance for a while, and the lords and their sons behaved.” Y/N didn’t know what else to say. “You left early. You didn’t want to dance?”

“Of course not!” Lyanna responded so sharply, it startled her old friend. “Why would I? Why would you?”

Y/N had no idea what Lyanna meant by that. That embarrassing dance with Roose Bolton a year ago had made her self-conscience of how clumsy her movements were. Lady Stark was delighted that Y/N took an interest in learning grace and how to carry herself better; and didn’t it make sense to test it out? Now that she didn’t overthink the steps, she could enjoy the exercise and the music. The company was good, and when she was tired, she japed around with Benjen and little Jory.

With all those racing thoughts, Y/N simply said, “I enjoy dancing, if that’s what you mean. What’s the matter with that?”

Lyanna shook her head, her brown hair falling farther out of a braid that was already coming undone. She’d lost another set of silk hair ribbons. “I don’t know how you stand it. You’re just a prize to them, you know, a bauble. You shouldn’t even amuse them. Neither of us should.”

“Who are you talking about?”

“The men! The lords or their sons, whichever! We’re just stupid little brides to them. Didn’t you notice them looking at you? Shoving their sons at you? Lord Karstark had them all lined up! And even if they’re married, they’ll leer!”

“That’s… that’s ridiculous, Lyanna,” Y/N stammered. “Where did this come from?”

“Y/N, we’re women grown now!” Lyanna was bursting with energy and frustration that she couldn’t get out fast enough. “My mother married at six and ten! It’s nearly time for us, time for arrangements! Soon every lord will be nibbling at my father’s heels to take me off his hands, and no doubt your own lord father has received letters from all the ones you danced with.”

“Lyanna. Did someone tell you something?” Y/N asked. She was already trying to avoid thinking of the future, and Lyanna had never discussed it with her. She thought her friend didn’t think of it at all. “Before you, Brandon will marry, and that hasn’t even been discussed.”

“Of course it has! Why would they tell us? They can marry me off without finding him a bride, and without asking what I think.” Her cheeks were burning with red anger now. “I’m a Stark, so I can’t stay in the North. They’ll send me away somewhere — somewhere South, because where else? I’ll have to leave Winterfell, while my brothers and everyone I love stay!”

Y/N went to Lyanna, taking her hands in her own. She squeezed them tight. “Where did all this come from? Have your parents been talking?”

“No one needs to tell me. It’s the truth, isn’t it?” Lyanna said, looking Y/N right in the eyes. “That’s what we’ve got to look forward to, Y/N. The feasts aren’t meant to be fun for us. Maybe for the men, but not for us. We’re there to be picked and chosen, like prize fillies.”

Lyanna squeezed their hands tight, so tight it hurt right away. She stared at Y/N’s clean nails and smooth palms. Except for the occasional smudges from paint, they were always like this. Lyanna looked at her own, already becoming calloused at the palms and thumb, often edged with dirt around her nailbeds.

Y/N was at a loss. Her friend’s harsh words were true enough; she was well aware of what their duties as women were. It crossed her mind now and again, the thought of marriage and that she’d have to return home eventually so her parents could begin to plan. She’d push those thoughts away, hoping the day would come slowly. She didn’t want to leave Winterfell, or her dear friends.

Still, she said, “It… It has to happen eventually. Our parents aren’t cruel, they wouldn’t give us terrible husbands, and they’d talk to us before any arrangement. When we have to leave Winterfell —”

“You won’t.” Lyanna pulled their hands apart. “You’ll be staying here, Y/N, and I’ll be sent away.”

“What? No, when my parents are ready arrange a match, they’ll call me back to Whitetide.”

“You aren’t going back! Isn’t it obvious? You’re going to marry one of my brothers!”

After that statement, the only sound in the bedroom was the crackling of the fire. Lyanna didn’t back down. In this light, her Stark eyes weren’t grey at all, only hot steel.

“How do you know that?” Y/N said. With the loss of Lyanna’s hands, she nervously tugged at end of her long sleeves. “Did … did someone say —?”

“No one has to! I thought you knew! You’re fourteen, a woman grown, and my parents haven’t sent you back, nor have your’s asked for you. When they meet, they’re always whispering and glancing around. Brandon will marry outside the North, as the oldest son, and Ned will marry inside, as the second. Benjen will serve Winterfell. It’s how these matters are done, Y/N.”

Y/N’s throat closed as she choked up. Her blood was rushing in discomfort. She didn’t want to fight, she wished they could just change the subject. What brought this on? She’d never seen Lyanna in a mood like this. “You don’t — you don’t know that. Maybe my parents will send for me in a month. We don’t know.”

“Maybe they will, but when it’s time for you to leave, they’ll send me away, too. There’s a reason mother doesn’t care if I spurn the lordlings here.”

Lyanna’s anger had broken again, now it was just frustration and sadness. The two girls stood in silence. The flames of the fire made shadows in the room, and that was the only thing that moved for some time. The shadows seemed to grasp at the two of them, little fingers reaching for their dresses and hair. Y/N was the one who stepped forward, wanting to make it better.

“We’ll always be friends,” Y/N said, trying to keep her own choked up voice steady. “No matter what. I won’t ever forget you. I’ll write you a dozen letters a month if you get sent to the south.”

Lyanna was tired. She couldn’t attempt a smile, but she said, “That’s more than you write to Ned. If he ended up in a green field instead of a mountain, would you have sent more?”

“No, the dozen is only for you.” Y/N said, even if she cursed the slowness of her letters to the Eyrie so many times, it felt like a mantra. She touched Lyanna’s shoulder. “Let’s ready for supper, Lyanna. You’ve been riding a long time.”

Lyanna only reluctantly went along with her. After dinner, they changed into their nightgowns and brushed each other’s hair, as usual, but there was no laughter and joking this time. When they huddled under the furs, Lyanna faced away, still deep in her thoughts. Y/N didn’t know what else to say, if anything at all would help, so she closed her eyes.

“What are you reading?” Benjen’s long hair swung back and forth as he hung upside down.  Y/N looked up, wondering when he managed to scramble right above her. Just a few minutes ago he was struggling to get on the first branch.

“A letter,” Y/N said, “Although I think you already knew that.”

Benjen grinned. “I did, and I know who it’s from.” He swung back up on the branch and easily moved himself to a standing position. He reached for another branch and lifted himself with ease, starting his disappearance into the leaves. With each branch he climbed, a few leaves fell down. Y/N pulled one from her hair.

She rested against the trunk and returned to her letter. Ned was writing about Robert’s attempt at jousting. He much preferred the melee, but ladies preferred the jousting, he said. Y/N was pleased Ned stayed out of all that. He also tried to doodle a little manta ray, in response to the direwolves and cats and deer she often drew on the margins of her letters. They were… arrow-y looking. Close enough.

I’ll have to pick up some skills from you the next time we meet. I don’t think I’d be a good student, but just watching you paint with my own eyes would be enough. You’ve written about it before, but I think hearing you talk about it would be much different. I want to you to tell me.

Y/N closed the letter hastily, wondering if her beating heart and sweaty palms were showing on her face. She glanced around and caught eyes with Brandon. She kept noticing his staring in the past hour, even though he was across the training yard trying to practice. It was a little strange. Are there leaves in my hair again? She touched her hair from the top of her head to her pearl. Brandon seemed annoyed, so she’d prefer he kept his gaze to himself.

The tree branches shook above her, and she heard feet scuffling around. “Ben, be careful!” Y/N called upward. “You shouldn’t climb so high!”

Benjen either didn’t hear her, or was pretending to not hear. Y/N sighed, folding her letter, stashing it in her belt and standing up. She craned her head, trying to spy the wiry boy through the leaves. He may have been a year younger, but she fretted over him from time to time, thinking of her little brothers back in Whitetide.

“Maybe he’ll climb high enough to catch a cloud and float away.” Brandon was beside her before she knew it, and Y/N was glad he didn’t seem as bothered as she thought. On the contrary, he was amused.

“Maybe,” Y/N giggled. She heard more rattling, but it didn’t sound like leaves. It was metal chains, and coming from a different direction. Behind the two of them, the maester approached them as fast as he could, the old man breathing hard as the chains swayed around his neck. He didn’t seem to care about the mud dirtying the end of his robes.

“What’s happened?” Brandon asked while the maester tried to catch his breath. In all the years she’d been here, Y/N had never seen the man so harried, and it seemed neither had Brandon. For a panicked, irrational moment, Y/N thought there was a raven from Whitetide. Dark wings, dark words.

“Lady… Lady Stark has … a … an illness.” The maester took a deep breath, attempting to compose himself. “She has been … weak, as you know, but … it’s far worse than I thought. She needs to be kept apart from everyone else at the Keep. When was the last time you spoke with her, children?”

Brandon took a moment to respond. “This morning, I talked with her, she— she hugged me, but —”

The maester shook his head. “And you, Lady Y/N?”

“Last night, at dinner,” Y/N said quietly. “She took my hand…”

She remembered the kind gesture, and now weary and pale Lady Stark looked. That night, her eyes looked especially tired. She’d begun to hold onto her husband or one of the servants when she walked to and from her room, the place she stayed in the most nowadays. No one seemed to want to talk about her worsening condition, not even the Lady herself. Out of respect to her, no one mentioned it openly.

The leaves danced around them as Benjen swooped down from a low branch. “Can’t we see her?”

“I just said you cannot,” The maester said. “She will be kept away from here on, and we will burn her things and anything she has come in contact with. Now, if the three of you will come with me, I’ve already spoken with Lord Stark and Lyanna…”

Lady Lyarra Stark died within a week. The children heard of the passing suddenly, as her husband was the only one who could visit her through her last days. No amount of guards or a maester’s lecturing would keep Lord Stark from her bedside.

Y/N stood next to Lyanna at the funeral, allowing her friend to clutch her as they all prayed in the godswood. Lady Stark’s bones had been kept in a beautifully engraved wooden chest, and they would be moved to a place of honor in the crypts, but that was little comfort to the children she left behind.

Y/N said some prayers aloud, mouthed others, but kept her head down the entire time. She heard the servants of Winterfell crying and praying, and clearer than that, Lyanna’s crying into the fur draped around Y/N’s shoulder. Her voice was muffled, but Y/N could still feel her body shaking. Y/N herself was trying to keep her tears from rolling down her face. The warmth of them stung her cold cheeks terribly.

Benjen was quiet on the other side of her, staring up at the red leaves like he was in a daze. Brandon seethed beside his father, who was as old as the stone lords in the crypts. Y/N was anxious to see Lord Stark’s expression, knowing it would either scare her or make her tears come faster.

The Starks stayed behind to keep vigil while the servants and guards returned to the keep. Y/N didn’t know how long she stayed kneeling in the snow. She listened to Lyanna’s quieting tears and remembering the kindnesses Lady Stark had given her. Anytime Y/N missed her own mother, Lady Stark was ready to speak with her, to teach her something, or hold her for a while. Y/N couldn’t imagine how the others felt. She thought of her mother now, safe in Whitetide, and desperately wished she could see her.

“Return to the keep,” Lord Stark said after some time. Y/N still didn’t know how long they’d been outside. “All of you.”

“Father —” Brandon started.

“Go.”

Their lord father’s voice was hoarse and hard. He didn’t look at any of his children as they slowly stood around him. Y/N’s legs had gone completely numb from both the cold and kneeling. She wobbled, and Lyanna tried to help her stay upright, no doubt just as weak-legged herself. Benjen found his way to his sister’s side, holding onto her like she held onto Y/N. It reminded Y/N of when he was younger, tagging alongside the two of them.

Y/N glanced back, noticing that Brandon was still trying to linger by his father. She didn’t know if they exchanged words, but eventually Brandon caught up to them as they walked back to the keep.

They all walked slowly, and the Winterfell that greeted them was eerily quiet. The kitchen staff worked with no cheer or haste, the smith’s anvil was quiet, there were no carts or wagons being pulled through the gate. At the feast hall, the candles were burning low, and there was only one servant tending to the cleaning the floors. Her scrubbing was interrupted by intermittent sniffling.

Ned couldn’t be here, Y/N thought not for the first time. Her heart sunk into her gut, making her feel sick. She knew the others were thinking the same. What could I say? What could I possibly say?

She mechanically walked to the main parlor, sitting down at the windowsill. Lyanna sat by the hearth, Benjen sat beside his sister, and Brandon had split off from them quickly. Y/N looked out the window, glad it faced away from the Godswood. She had a feeling if it did, she’d see Lord Stark still kneeling in the snow. She recalled Ned told her the Eyrie’s godswood was more of a little forest, and her heart ached even further. It almost made her cry again. How are the gods supposed to watch over him? Or hear him when he’s in trouble?

She would wait for Lord Stark to send word, if it hadn’t already been done, then she’d send a letter to Ned herself. She’d paint something, too, something special. She’d do anything, if only she knew what that was. Why couldn’t he be here? Y/N rubbed at her raw eyes and rested her head against the cool glass of the window, letting the chill hit her dizzying, exhausted head.

Y/N stirred and sat up slowly. Her head was aching from the awkward angle she fell asleep at. She squinted out the window, but there was only darkness. Across the room, the fire was low, and a chill was settling in the room. Y/N pulled her fur cloak closer around her and shivered. Where was everyone?

She slipped off the windowsill and wandered the halls. If it was dinnertime, no one woke her up, and she didn’t smell meats cooking as she entered the great hall. Y/N stepped outside into the fresh snow, wondering if the day had all been a terrible dream.

It wasn’t, though, and she couldn’t hide from it. People died all the time, especially women and children. If it wasn’t this sickness, Lady Stark may have died in childbirth. That was a far more common fate, something Y/N would have to worry about herself one day. Some day soon.

She sighed heavily and hesitated at the edge of the godswood. The darkness was all around her, with the warmth and light of Winterfell far behind. She took a step forward, letting her boot sink into the snow. The moon was waning, giving off the slightest light. The white bark of the trees and the snow glowed on a full moon, but tonight, they disappeared.

One foot in front of the other, the snow crunched below Y/N’s feet. She kept thinking about Ned, imagining his expression, what he would say — she would never know, of course, and that made it worse. She could only write and draw, there was no holding and comforting. The thought of holding him hit her so strongly, her body ached. Lady Stark held her when she worried about her uncle at sea, when she caught sick or when she hurt herself. Y/N wanted to hold Ned like that, even if he was far bigger than she. Maybe this was a stupid, girlish, childish thought. Maybe it was, but stupid words on paper didn’t seem like enough.

There was a clear path that let to the heart tree, but the darkness didn’t help her navigate, a strange noise did. It made her jump at first, but there were no wolves in these woods. She listened carefully. There was the distinct sound of someone shuffling around in the snow, like they were standing up. Y/N anxiously wondered if it was Lord Stark. No, he can’t be here still. It’s been half a day …

She jumped out of her skin when she heard a voice call out, echoing off the snow and the trees. “Who goes there?!”

“I-It’s only me,” Y/N started, ready to apologize to Lord Stark, but the voice sounded off. Too young, too angry. “…Brandon? Is that you?”

The person didn’t respond, but she heard boots trudging clumsily through the snow. She felt a presence next to her, and finally she could see his outline. Y/N reached forward and was surprised to not touch a fur cloak or thick surcoat, but a fairly thin tunic that was frigid cold, and the stiff muscles underneath it. Brandon didn’t flinch away from her, so she kept her hold on his forearms.

“Brandon, come inside.” Y/N said. Her own voice was weak, she realized, and she was already shivering. “It’ll get colder, and it’s already so dark. How long have you been here?”

Brandon sniffled, both from the cold and the tears, she assumed. “Father hasn’t come in. I was waiting …”

Y/N shook her head. He must have come right outside after realizing it was dark and Lord Stark still hadn’t returned to the keep. “You can’t stay out here all night. Come inside. Please?”

Brandon didn’t seem easy on his feet, and he was trying to keep his teeth from chattering. “I-I have a vigil to keep. I have to — father is, s-so I should at least try…”

“You’re cold, and exhausted, besides. You ran out here without anything, you fool. Why aren’t you wearing a cloak?”

He mumbled something in return. Y/N pulled the tall boy toward her, wanting to urge him toward the light in the distance. She was ready to give him her modest cloak, just enough to serve until they reached the warmth of Winterfell, but then he wrapped his arms around her. Y/N let out a noise of surprise as his head slumped on her shoulder. Brandon was heavy, but she kept steady. For a moment, it was all still: The godswood around them, Brandon in her arms, the night above them.

Y/N was about to speak, but then she heard a noise, like a deep gasp. Brandon shook from the cold and his own emotion. Y/N wrapped her arms around his shoulders and let him cry.

Robert shook his leg impatiently, causing the thick heel of his boot to tap against the floor again and again. Normally Lord Arryn would chastise him for his restlessness, but the two of them had been quiet for days. Robert didn’t like quiet, or gloominess. He didn’t want to stay like this a minute longer.

“Has he left his room yet?” Robert asked for the third time.

“Be patient, Robert.” Lord Arryn replied expectedly. “Recall that terrible day you endured.”

He didn’t have to recall his own parents’ demise. Robert thought about it often, a wound that was still fresh, and it only closed up when he drank enough or when a pretty girl sat by him. It’d come back afterward, though, and then he had Ned to talk to.

He shouldn’t have to go through the same thing, Robert thought irritably. The worst part is, he knew Ned wouldn’t want a drink or a pretty girl, or a fight, or a new horse. He would just sit in his own sorrow, brooding in that way he did. The young Baratheon huffed, shifting his restless energy to tapping his fingers on the table. Ned was always talking him out of trouble and listening to his worries — the only person he’d ever spoken to about them. But what did Robert ever do for him?

The Baratheon heir growled in frustration and stood from his seat abruptly. Lord Arryn only glanced up a moment, but Robert was already gone.

He barged into Ned’s room, and was half disappointed Ned wasn’t there — he’d been sitting vigil at the Eyrie’s godswood for too damned long, but that made this next part easier. Ned had several of his girl’s paintings up around his desk, where anyone could see them, but Robert knew where he kept the letters. He opened the bottom drawer and in a wooden box with the direwolf sigil, and there they were.

Robert had read some before. Sometimes Ned would read things aloud, sometimes Robert snuck in here, but they were never that exciting. Always talking about Winterfell or what the horses were doing, nothing salacious like a proper love letter should be. Still, they made Ned happy. Robert picked a few out and tucked them carefully in his doublet.

The grass crunched under his boots as he entered the godswood. The fiery red leaves and snow-white bark looked out of place amongst the rocky Eyrie, he always thought, especially when there was bright green grass and regular trees around the weirwoods. He spotted Ned at the same place he’d been for hours, kneeling. His head was lowered slightly, some of his long brown hair falling around him, and Robert wondered if he was asleep. Then Ned raised his head and turned it.

“Robert?”

“Brought you something.” Robert said. Ned wasn’t getting up, so he awkwardly knelt beside him. Gods, it was murder on the knees, and even in that position he was far taller than Ned. Robert retrieved the letters from his doublet and handed them over.

Ned looked at them with hope, then confusion.

“They aren’t new,” Robert said, chuckling. “I just … I remembered you liked these ones. Y/N was writing something about a festival? And Lyanna stole a sword off your brother. Y/N wrote about her dress, and something about a horse…”

He trailed off, wondering if this was a stupid idea. He was terrible at this. These were the letters with the most pictures, giving life to what Y/N wrote about, as clear as any maester’s history book. Ned stared at the papers in his hands, lightly touching a rare self-portrait Y/N had done of her new gown.

I worked on it for two weeks, although your lady mother helped me several times over. It’s the first one I’ve sewn by myself, and I hope I do it justice. This may not be interesting to you, but I’m proud. It’s cerulean and white.

Lyanna wanted me to draw her with Brandon’s sword. She thinks it’s very funny. ‘How can he call himself a lord when he can’t keep hold of his own sword?’ I thought Benjen was the thief, but Lyanna can be just as clever. It took him all day to realize she’d replaced his with a dull training sword.

Do you remember when you found my pearl? You couldn’t forget, I know, but I still think about it when remove it to brush my hair. I’ll never forget that kindness, Ned.

He smiled for the first time in a week. To Robert’s excitement, he made an expression for the first time in days.

“You can go back home,” Robert offered, wanting to keep the mood up. “Even if it’s just for a short time.”

They were men grown, ten and seven years old. If anything, they should have left the Eyrie by now. Both of them knew it was only a matter of time, though Robert didn’t want to go back to Storm’s End after all these years, having to finally take his lordly duties seriously. Ned was a second son, his duty would be commanding the household guard or visiting with minor houses.

Robert had a feeling if Ned left now, he wouldn’t come back to the Eyrie.

“Perhaps.” The Stark said quietly.

Their easy days had to end eventually. Why did it have to be on such a damned sad note?

Robert looked up at the heart tree. Its eerie, foreign face stared down at him. He had no prayers to give, only a quiet request that when Ned returned to Winterfell, it would be safely. The only noise for a long time was the wind rustling the branches of the white trees and the shuffling of the letters as Ned re-read them.

[passionato70hit]

Según el #gobierno del #pp "solo han sido #1500 #ciudadanos y #ciudadanas en #madrid y otros tantos en el resto". La #mareablanca grita en toda #españa a todos los gobernantes #hablemos #parlem #dialogo #elkarrizketa #falamos #sentitcomú #sentidocomun NO LO OLVIDEMOS HOY #domingo EN #barcelona #catalunya #marea #blanca #whitetide #dialogue #dialoge #pau #paz #peace

[whitetidecay]

Some progress shots of Whitetide

Mushrooms and fairy rings are by @goldblvms and the stone pathways are a mix of designs by @goldblvms and @iltacatact!

[whitetidecay]

After bulldozing my island, the redesign is still very much a WIP but so far these are a few of my favorite spots

[whitetidecay]

took a walk up to an old, forgotten graveyard and decided to water the wildflowers still growing there.

[whitetidecay]

Stormy night

[whitetidecay]

Some progress shots of my little woodland cottage! I’m still on the hunt for better furniture, especially for the kitchen

[a-libra-writes]

SALT & SNOW - CHAPTER 3

Ships: Ned Stark x Reader, Brandon Stark x Reader

Summary: Ned returns to Winterfell from the Vale for a short visit with his family, while Y/N gets some disappointing news about her’s ... and just generally has a bad time. Hope yall like fluff.

Want to see your name in this fic? Use this fantastic extension for chrome!

✨🐺For mobile users, here’s my masterlist 🐺✨

For a time, Y/N felt guilty for how quickly the days began to pass and how she lost track of them. She always wrote to her mother and didn’t miss a letter, but sometimes the septa had to remind her, and sometimes she was so eager to write about what she was doing, she forgot to inquire after her family. She’d make it up by sending a lovely embroidery she was proud of, or a quick painting of some part in Winterfell she thought the boys would find interesting. They especially liked the ruined towers and horses, so she did her best to oblige them.

In the morning Lady Stark would give her a smile at breakfast, asking after her lessons like her mother did. Lord Stark was very different from her father and uncle, but he’d help her up on her horse if he was passing by, and he’d pat her head like they did. Even Brandon would have his moments of chivalry with her - between his immature japes - and of course, Lyanna and Benjen were her near constant companions. For as many days as she spent with just Lyanna, they were just as many days with Benjen joining them.

It was difficult to feel homesick in such happy circumstances, but Y/N would still feel it, especially at night when she’d awaken suddenly, hearing the wind hit against the window. She’d creep out of bed and open it, letting just a little cold air in, and her heart felt heavy when she smelled no salt in it, nor did she hear any waves in the distance. In the first weeks, that was enough to make a few tears run down her cheeks as she laid down to sleep.

She hadn’t cried from homesickness in some time, nor had she seen her family. It felt like it had been a very long time.

At dinner one evening, Y/N asked, “Lady Stark, how long has it been since I came to Winterfell?”

“It’s been nearly a year, perhaps a moon more.” Lady Stark said. She was still pale, but now Y/N was used to it. She often rested during the day, but always came to dinner. “Poor dear, you must want to see your family.”

“I do, but I’m happy to be here!” Y/N said quickly. “I love being at Winterfell.”

Lady Stark smiled. She patted Y/N’s cheek, and although the girl felt she was getting a bit old for that, the warm hand was comforting. “I do, too.”

“Couldn’t Y/N’s mother and father come to the feast this year?” Lyanna asked.

Lord Stark spoke like a man who had never lowered his voice for anything. “They will, don’t you girls worry about that. There’s someone else coming, though, someone you all will be very interested to see.”

Lady Stark grinned, and that got Brandon and Benjen’s attention. Brandon leaned in his seat impatiently. “Who?”

“Ned is coming home!” Lady Stark said, and immediately had to hush the outcry of happiness from the children and the teenager around her. She clapped her hands sharply. “Listen! He is only visiting, sweetlings, but he will stay for a fortnight. I asked Lord Arryn for it especially, since he is getting older, and will have to learn to travel during —”

Lyanna burst out. “He’s staying a whole fortnight?”

“Is he coming with some Vale knights? They have to show us how they fight in the South.” Brandon’s eyes had that fire Y/N noticed whenever he was sparring. He used real steel now. “I hope Lord Arryn taught Ned some interesting tricks.”

“Is the Baratheon boy coming too?” Benjen asked.

Her children clamored over one another. Lady Stark clapped again and sighed. “Enough! You can ask your questions when Ned gets here. If the gods are willing, he’ll be here a few days before the feast. I want you all to pray for his safe journey.”

Y/N, Lyanna and Benjen nodded obediently at this — neither of them neglected to visit the godswood each morning, even if Lyanna often yawned and fidgeted during the prayers — but Brandon decided to redirect his chattering to his father. Lately they were often together, and Y/N began to notice how much they resembled each other. Brandon wouldn’t stop growing, either, she overheard the maids sigh over how often they had to alter his clothing. He certainly ate like he was growing overnight.

Y/N felt much the same, even if much time had passed, although she did notice she could look over Benjen’s head now. Lyanna was still just a little taller, as usual, but the maids were also letting out their dresses … just not as often as Brandon’s tunics and trousers. Lyanna had begun to steal some of his old ones and roll up the pants legs to fit better, although her mother had become less patient with her blatant disregard of dresses.

They had gotten word from Jon Arryn when Ned left the Vale, and another one the day after he passed the Bloody Gate. A third raven was sent when he was within a day’s ride of Winterfell, and Lyanna was determined to stand vigil by the gate, as if she’d miss him completely if she wasn’t there to greet him. Benjen eventually got tired of the waiting, but it was easy for Y/N to wait patiently with her friend. She brought embroidery with her.

Lyanna leaned on Y/N as she looked down at the work. “Isn’t it boring? Doing the same thing again and again?”

“There isn’t much else for us to do. Don’t you ride to the same places on your horse?”

“It’s not the same thing at all!” Lyanna was aghast. “Well, it looks pretty. How do you know what a whale looks like?”

“My father showed me pictures in books, and they’re on my uncle’s maps. I’ve seen sharks and krakens, too.” Y/N would have embroidered those, but her uncle said krakens were cursed things, and a dainty, threaded shark didn’t match it’s fearsome reputation. Lyanna was going to say more, but both their heads snapped up as they heard the racket of horses and men.

“He’s here! He’s here!” She sprung up from the crate they were sitting on. Y/N shoved her work in her reticule and ran alongside her, although a Winterfell guard politely asked the girls to stand away from the gate while the horses came in.

Y/N expected a carriage and looked for one, but Lyanna pointed to one of the men on a horse — no, that wasn’t a grown man, but he wasn’t a boy, either. Y/N blinked once, then twice, and it was the soft grey eyes that hit her first. The rest of Ned followed behind that recognition. She couldn’t believe she had almost forgotten what he looked like, and that thought startled her. How could she forget those eyes?

He rode away from the small column and dismounted. Lyanna swung her arms around him at once. “Brother! You’re home!”

Ned was smiling, and it was such a good thing to see, but even better was how happy Lyanna was. Y/N’s heart swelled at the sight, knowing she missed Ned the most out of anyone, but then his grey eyes found hers. Y/N shivered, but not from the chill. She felt shy, which was silly, they’d met before, but …

Y/N looked down at her shoes and clasped her hands. She heard him step closer, and when she glanced up, those grey eyes were the first thing she saw.

She hastily looked elsewhere.

That’s how she noticed Benjen and Brandon heading toward them, looking just as excited as Lyanna. She knew Brandon had especially been wanting to see his brother again, maybe more than Lyanna. Y/N made room for them as the siblings made a little half-circle around their brother. It struck her how alike they all looked. They had their differences and little arguments, but they always protected one another.

Just like a pack.

“What are you doing?” Brandon asked her suddenly. Before Y/N could answer, the lordling took her hand and gently pulled her into the circle. “Ned, Y/N’s been living with us. You knew that, right? I almost wish they sent Lyanna to Whitetide.”

He didn’t have time to dodge the slap Lyanna gave the back of his head. Y/N watched Ned’s smile grow to a grin, and the sight of it made her stomach flip so much worse. It was best to stick to his eyes, or better, look at someone else. She was so distracted she hadn’t noticed that Brandon still had the light grip on her hand, even after Lyanna had hit him, and she carefully slipped out of it.

To Lyanna’s annoyance, Brandon was always taking Ned with him to go riding or practice in the training yard. As she and Y/N would cross the yard to etiquette lessons or worse - dancing - Lyanna would have a palpable impatience as she tried to get through the hours. Once they were finished, she’d sprint out to join her brothers, calling for Y/N to catch up. Sometimes it was annoying, but Y/N could understand. She was antsy to see her parents and Willam, and maybe even little Rickard, if they decided to bring him.

Y/N had a feeling Lyanna was going to change into riding clothes and saddle up her favorite horse, and once she was on a horse … Well, Y/N absolutely wasn’t going to gallop off with the speed and ferocity Lyanna  was used to.

She hadn’t even stepped outside for more than a few moments before she heard someone trying to catch up to her. She turned as Lady Stark caught up with her, her breathing a little more than strained. Y/N was worried about the color of her face, pale in spite of her quick gait. She had a letter in her hand.

“Y/N, sweetling,” She called, stopping to catch her breath. Y/N wasted no time in walking to her so Lady Stark didn’t have to go any further. Before the young girl could ask if she was alright, Lady Stark continued with some difficulty. “I’m so sorry, dear, I just received word from Whitetide. Your parents cannot come to the feast.”

Y/N forgot about Lady Stark’s pallor. She blinked. “What?”

“Your brothers and uncle are abed with terrible colds, and your parents are worried about bringing the sickness here. It wouldn’t be safe with the feast and my - my own health,” Lady Stark explained. “As soon as your brothers are feeling better, they can come here to see you.”

Y/N couldn’t remember Willam ever being sick, and she herself had only had a handful of colds in her life. Her uncle said the sea air was the best for one’s body. How could he be ill, too? Worry began to form in her stomach, especially with Lady Stark’s obvious fatigue right in front of her. “Are you ill too, Lady Stark? Are you going to have to leave?”

Why was she surprised by the questions? She must have noticed. “I am well enough to greet our guests and eat a few courses. It’s nothing you need worry about, Y/N. Why don’t you write a letter to your brothers and wish them well?”

Baby Rickon can’t read yet, and Willam is so stubborn about his letters. Y/N didn’t argue, though. She’d write to her mother and ask if they were going to be alright, as well as her uncle. She had these awful, anxious feelings biting at her stomach and pulling at her heart.

“They will recover quickly, I’m sure of it.” Lady Stark patted Y/N on the hair, and for once, the gesture bothered her. She felt like she wasn’t being told everything, like she was a child - she was nearly a woman (well, she would be once she flowered). Still, for all the time she spent at Winterfell, she felt she couldn’t possibly overstep her bounds like that.

So, she simply said, “I’ll go to the godswood and pray for their health.”

Lady Stark beamed in approval. She put the letter in her sleeve, excused herself, and slowly walked back into the keep. Y/N watched her go, recalling the straight, elegant poise the woman used to walk with. She decided to pray for Lady Stark, too.

“You don’t have to go to the feast if you aren’t feeling well.” Lyanna insisted. “I’ll stay with you.”

It was a sweet thing to say, because Y/N knew Lyanna had been looking forward to the event as much as her. As much as she wanted to stay in their shared room and sigh over the absence of her family, it wouldn’t do any good, and Lyanna would just be a bundle of energy, urging her every few minutes if she felt better and wanting to distract her. Here at the party, Y/N could glide along the feast hall, avoiding conversation easily, while Lyanna jumped to whatever took her attention. Expecting a she-wolf to be still was asking too much.

Y/N assured her friend, “Your mother has been making us practice our manners and courtesies for occasions like this. Besides, I think I smelled chocolate in the kitchen.”

“I did, too!” Lyanna grinned. “I haven’t had chocolate in so long! I wonder if they made it into a cake or a drink! Father said we’d have to wait and see. Oh, let me braid your hair. It’ll be easier.”

Y/N handed her the brush and sat patiently while Lyanna chattered about the different banners she saw at the gates. In the past year Lyanna had become very adept at styling braids, considering how often she tied her hair back for riding. When she was finished, Y/N helped lace up her gown, and turned around so Lyanna could do the same for her. It was a familiar routine now, and they walked to the feast hall with linked arms.

Y/N sat on the dais with the Starks, an honored place, and by now she was used to how her seafoam and white dress stuck out amongst the Starks’ shades of grey, white and black. Only Lyanna and her mother afforded splashes of pretty blues. From Y/N’s seat, she could gaze over the entire hall. It used to be uncomfortable to have guests glance at the clearly odd one out, but by now most knew her and her situation. More pressing to Y/N’s attention was the seat Ned occupied, usually reserved for Benjen.

The youngest Stark had no problem giving up his seat, Lord Stark was humored by his children all trying to shuffle their seats to talk to Ned. Brandon just had to lean forward or back to yell, so finally Lady Stark told her children to stop shouting over each other and go mingle with the guests.

Y/N wanted to talk to Ned, but it seemed everyone did. She kept trying to meet his grey eyes, and the few times she succeeded, she couldn’t look for long without becoming bashful. I feel so foolish. I should be more direct like Lyanna, but what would I even say? He must have seen so many amazing things at the Vale, I want to know what it was like ... 

Worse than her stupid thoughts was the loneliness that kept biting at her. Anytime she heard a young boy laugh, she turned, expecting Willam. Northern men drinking and arguing reminded her of her father and uncle, and the women gliding around with long, trailing hair was similar to her mother. Even now, she had no one to speak with. Ned, Brandon and Benjen were wandering off with the other lordlings, and Lyanna was chatting away with the Ryswell sisters.

Y/N figured she may as well join that conversation. Lyanna eagerly pulled her into the circle. “Barbrey, you’ve met Y/N, haven’t you?”

“Several months ago, but I didn’t have my sister with me.” Barbrey was a tall and pretty girl, three years older than them. Back then and now, she spoke to Y/N and Lyanna like equals. It helped she and Lyanna shared a love of riding, and Lyanna could talk over adults about that subject. She glanced to her younger sister. “Well, say hello.”

Her sister was slighter and paler, with dark hair that looked very soft. She was almost hiding behind Bethany. “Um. It’s good to meet you. My name is Lady Bethany.”

“It’s good to meet you. My name is Lady Y/N of House Caspian.” Y/N said, and Lyanna bowed with her. Instantly, Lyanna asked, “Do you ride, Bethany?”

“Oh, some… Barbrey’s been teaching me.”

“She’s getting there.” Barbrey smiled. She had honey-brown hair that was tied back, and dark eyes that Y/N rather liked. They wore simple dark red and brown gowns that were lightly trimmed with fur. Bethany was pointedly looking at Y/N’s own gown, decorating in swimming rays instead of galloping horses, and she shyly smiled when Y/N held up the sleeve so she could look closer.

“The white silk is so pretty,” She said softly. “When it’s with the green like that, it makes me think of a spring day.”

“Thank you, that is a pretty thing to say,” Y/N beamed. “I especially like how it matches the pearl my father —”

Her fingers froze as she touched her braid. The familiar, round pearl wasn’t there.

Bethany gave Y/N a questioning look, but Y/N didn’t notice. Her heart seized in her chest and panic spread through every inch of her body. Air left her lungs, and she released a very steady breath, desperately willing away the tears that instantly sprang to her eyes.

Barbrey and Lyanna had been discussing stallions the entire time, and weren’t paying the other two any mind. Bethany asked, “Um … Lady Y/N, are you well …?”

“I…” No. My pearl is gone. My pearl is gone. The pearl my father gave me, the silver strings aren’t even there — Did it fall? Did it break?

Y/N swallowed her racing thoughts and her words. She realized she had a death grip on her braid, and she lowered her hand. Instead, she gripped the sides of her skirts and attempted a curtsy. “Excuse me, I … I feel too warm.”

She quickly turned away from Bethany’s big, concerned eyes. Y/N tapped Lyanna on the shoulder. “I’m stepping out for a moment. It’s too hot.”

“Truly? But —”

Y/N swept past her.

Did Lyanna braid it into my hair? She must have, she always does, I showed her how to carefully tie the silver strings. She’d never be careless — we were talking, but she wasn’t that distracted — what if it’s on the dais? Or our room? Or … gods, what if it fell in the snow?

Y/N’s heart froze as she recalled how badly Lyanna wanted to walk through the open courtyard, even though Y/N warned her about dirtying their gowns. No, not the snow. Anything but that. Finding a pearl in the stone feast hall or our bedroom can be done, but an entire snowy courtyard at night …

She tried to fight the tears springing to her eyes, but as she replayed her memories, she couldn’t recall touching her braid or looking at it. All she could think about was the vast courtyard, and how quickly she and Lyanna ran through it. It was stupid, she should have secured the pearl before they left the bedroom, or better, not run at all. She never wore it while riding, she always carefully tucked it away at bedtime — she couldn’t lose it. She just couldn’t.

The tears were warm and she rubbed at her eyes, trying to stop them, but she couldn’t keep her sobs down. She retreated to an empty hall with large, lonely windows. It was completely dark out. It may not have been snowing, but servants and horses and men were moving through the courtyard from now to morning. Her pearl would be trampled on and buried.

It was bad enough she couldn’t hear the waves anymore, or chase after Willam or listen to her Uncle’s stories or sit with her parents by the hearth and fall asleep on her mother’s lap as they talked.

Y/N took in a deep breath, trying to just stop and decide what to do, but her thoughts were racing and fighting each other, none of them helpful. Her pounding heart froze all over again when she heard someone behind her.

“I’m fine,” Y/N blubbered before they could say anything, or before she even knew who it was. She looked up from her long sleeves and blinked several times, trying to see through her tears.

Two hands touched her shoulders, and she could feel their warmth through her silk gown. It would have made her flinch away if it wasn’t Ned standing before her. She blinked again, and before any more tears could run to her chin and drop on the floor, Ned wiped at her cheeks with the sleeve of his grey and black tunic.

“Lyanna said you hurried away. Did something happen?” He asked quietly. Y/N almost had to strain to hear him over her heart hammering in her chest and the blood rushing in her ears.

She wanted to tell him, but where could she start? It was all a jumble in her head. She felt lonely, angry, hopeless and foolish all at once. It should have been icing on the cake to have Ned find her like this, crying like a child over a lost bauble, but …

He was truly worried, and he carefully wiped the other side of her face. Y/N felt just a little better. She sniffled. “I lost my pearl.”

“The one you always wear?”

She nodded. “M-my father gave it to me. I … I don’t know where it could be. I thought about the courtyard, but it’s big, and has so much snow and mud, I can’t …”

The tears threatened to come again, and she clenched her eyes tight. The hand that remained on her shoulder squeezed her gently. What could he do? What could anyone do? Y/N hated the thought of everyone stopping everything to look for the pearl, though she’d gladly crawl through mud for it.

“I could find it myself,” Y/N said suddenly. “If I had a torch … I-I just need a torch and I’ll go looking…”

“There’s no need for that.” Ned shook his head. His hair was longer than she remembered, but it was the Northern way. She was glad the Eyrie didn’t change that. “I’ll take you back to your room, maybe it slipped out of your hair while you dressed.”

Y/N deflated. “I don’t think it’s there.”

“It doesn’t hurt to look. While you do that, I’ll ask the servants to look around the feast hall.”

“What about the courtyard?”

Ned glanced aside as he considered something, then said, “Search around your chambers and see if it’s there. I’ll worry about what’s outside.”

“But…” Y/N tried to argue, but she was tired, and she could only resist so much. She wanted to hope. She allowed Ned to hook his arm in her’s and escort her back to her room. She could hear distant revelry as they walked, and she asked, “Aren’t you  missing the feast? Won’t your father look for you?”

“Well …” Ned smiled bashfully. “I’m afraid he challenged Lord Umber to a drinking contest.”

“Oh.” Y/N recalled Lord Umber and his staggering height. “Oh dear.”

“Benjen will keep Brandon from joining, hopefully.” Ned stopped at her bedroom door and opened it, making a point not to look inside. “After you look, get some rest, Y/N. You shouldn’t fret.”

She was well beyond fretting. Y/N said, “If I end up finding it here, I’ll come and tell you. I don’t want the servants looking on my behalf, I … Maybe, I can help them look tomorrow? Or, I can do it myself… I don’t want to impose, it’s my mistake …”

As she trailed off, Ned gave her another one of those small smiles. He touched her shoulder again, and she appreciated the touch all over again. “If you do find it, you can come find me, but if not, you ought to sleep.”

Y/N wished him a goodnight, shut the door, and took a deep breath before tearing into the room. She pulled up the fur rugs, searched around the hearth, looked under the bed, around the vanity, into all the drawers, under the fur blankets, in her trunk … By the time she finished, she was sweating and muttering unladylike things as she pulled open her gown’s delicate lacings.

Y/N slipped into bed with her hair a mess and her heart still hammering painfully. She felt like there was a hole in her heart without the pearl, which was a silly and stupid thing to think of, but she kept feeling it. As she closed her eyes and touched her messy braid, she willed herself to sleep, just sleep. Silent tears fell on her pillow as she drifted off slowly.

She dreamed about warm sand between her toes, seagulls circling above her head, and a tall boy in a grey tunic pulling at her arm. At some point, the dream was interrupted by Lyanna’s voice, but that quickly faded. When she returned to that beach, it was night time, and all she could hear was waves crashing hard against the docks. This time, she was alone.

Y/N rolled onto her side and opened her bleary eyes to the window in front of her. The sky was lightening, but the sun wasn’t yet up. She so rarely woke up this early, but her sleep had been restless. She closed her eyes and snuggled back under the furs.

Tap tap. There was the noise again.

Again? When did I hear it the first time? Y/N sat up slightly, scanning the room with a little worry. Embers were crackling quietly in the hearth, almost extinguished, and Lyanna was snoozing softly beside her. There was no wind hitting the window, nor was there a bird outside of it …

Tap tap.

The door. Y/N hesitated, then pushed off the fur blanket and carefully slipped out of bed. She shivered as she pattered her way to the door. The servants didn’t knock if they were just stepping in to stoke the hearth. She carefully unlatched the door, opened it just a few inches, then threw it open once she saw the visitor.

“Ned!” Y/N at least had the state of mind to whisper, although it was still too loud. The older boy gestured for her to lower her voice, so she did. “What are you doing?”

Ned didn’t say anything, he just held out his hand. Even in the almost darkness, Y/N could make out a perfectly white, glittering object.

“Oh!” She threw her hands to her mouth, then quickly held the pearl. It was as cold as ice, and Ned’s hands were no warmer. She just noticed he was trembling. “Where did you —? How? Wait, how late is it?”

“Y-You mentioned th-the courtyard.” Ned sniffled. She stepped closer to him, over the threshold, and saw he had a thick cloak thrown over his clothes.

Y/N squinted, her eyes adjusting to the dark, and she reached for him. She grabbed hold of his arm, and from there, she took his hand. It seemed colder than the pearl, and she shivered. “Ned, you’re almost frozen!”

“I’m not that cold,” He mumbled, squeezing her hand and obviously relishing in the warmth. Their fingers entwined, and his body shook of its own volition. Y/N wanted to pull away, he was far too cold, but she held there for a few moments.

“Thank you so much. I… I can’t begin to thank you,” She said, trying to keep up the whispering, but the relief was too much. She clutched the pearl tight as she untangled from Ned’s hand and wrapped her arms around his chest. He was sixteen now, and far taller, so he bent down awkwardly to meet her. When he did, Y/N pressed her lips to his cold cheek. Ned shivered and jerked instantly.

He’s really in a terrible state! Y/N couldn’t believe it. He couldn’t have been out all night in that cold, could he? She pulled away and said, “You need to find a hearth, a blazing one, right away! Your blood is going to turn to ice!”

She couldn’t believe the soft laugh that came from him. She wouldn’t have blamed him if he warmed himself before finding her, or waited until the morning. What an irresponsible thing to do! Y/N impatiently pushed him. “Right now! You’ll catch your death!”

“F-frozen blood or death, which is it?” Ned teased, but he allowed himself to be pushed away. The slightest light was beginning to come in from the many windows that dotted the walls, and Y/N saw how his face was flushed pink, especially his nose and ears. His long hair was a mess in all directions too, just like his siblings after a long day of training or riding. She sighed.

“You Starks really are a bunch of wolves.”

“You seem to like it here,” Ned said, his voice raising above a whisper, yet still gentle. It was always so gentle. “Even if it’s a strange place for a ray.”

“It is different, but I do love Winterfell. And… ” Y/N searched for her words. She was still so sleepy, and so happy and grateful. She looked at the precious pearl in her hand, the silver strands strung through it glittering in what little light there was. “And you found the little piece of ocean I brought. I can’t thank you enough for that, Ned.”

His whole face looked dangerously red, and as adorable as his next sniffle was, Y/N thought of her ill brothers and grew worried. She gently pushed at him again, directing him to the opposite end of the hall. “Go back to your room! Change out of those clothes and get some sleep!”

He finally heeded her. They traded quick good nights (or rather, good mornings) and she watched him shuffle down the hall for just a few moments before returning to the open doorway. Y/N was pleased that Lyanna hadn’t stirred at all, and was mindful of the door’s creak as she closed it.

Her steps were light and a smile was stuck on her face. She could twirl around the room and start her morning routine, but no, she really ought to get a few more hours of sleep. Y/N climbed into bed and finally released her pearl from her iron grip. It had all but one of its silver strings, but she didn’t mind at all. Y/N gave it a kiss before setting it in an overturned seashell on her bedside table. The dreams were shorter this time, but they were full of Whitetide and her family.

At breakfast, Y/N and Lyanna were only joined by Benjen and Lady Stark. She thought just Ned would be absent, but apparently the drinking competition went a little too far. Neither Lord Stark nor his oldest son were terribly victorious, and Lady Stark had plenty to say on the subject as she irritably hacked through the sausage on her plate. Y/N glanced over at Lyanna, who was stabbing innocent slices of pork.

Lyanna asked, “Mother, could I ride with Barbrey and Bethany today? They’re leaving tomorrow.”

Lady Stark considered it. She seemed weary, as she often did. “Very well, but your usual lessons will continue the day after tomorrow. Y/N, will you be riding, too?”

Lyanna looked to her expectantly, but Y/N hedged. “Um … I’m still not feeling well from yesterday…”

“You did leave the feast early.” Lyanna frowned. “I tried to wake you last night, but you were fast asleep. Are you sick?”

“I had a stomachache.” The lie came easily. Ned must have not told anyone what he was doing, which Y/N was grateful for. “It still hurts a little, I don’t think I should ride.”

“Indeed not.” Lady Stark said. “I’m sorry I didn’t notice before, sweetling. I’ll have the maester brew you a peppermint and ginger tea, that always soothes me.”

Y/N nodded, trying not to grimace at the thought of the tea. “Thank you, Lady Stark.”

Having successfully escaped a terrifying riding session, Y/N decided to spend her time in one of the private sitting rooms meant only for the Starks and certain guests. She often retreated here when Winterfell became too bustling and full of strangers, and its large window had lighting that was perfect for sketching. She sat at the windowsill, watching the servants and guards go about their business below. There were about a dozen washerwomen cleaning, all sizes of buckets around them, all sorts of children and dogs running around them. Y/N studied the scene and began to sketch.

Lady Stark and the septa were further away at the hearth, stitching and talking quietly. She had been doing this often, staying indoors by the warmth of the fire, even when there were guests to check up on and entertain. Lord Stark and Brandon did most of that now, even if they could be … not the most diplomatic.

The door opened, but Y/N was too focused on her drawing to look up. She stayed at her task until she saw someone move in her peripheral vision, someone who … sniffled.

Y/N quickly looked up. “Oh, you’re finally awake.”

Ned smiled bashfully. His nose was still a bit red, and he had obvious circles under her eyes, and Y/N felt bad all over again. She set her sketchbook aside and patted the spot next to her on the window seat. Ned hesitated for a moment, then took it.

“It’s not that late,” He said, but then he looked out the window and blinked at the sky. “Or perhaps it is.”

“If it makes you feel better, I think Brandon is still abed.”

“He’s awake, and as sour as a wet cat.” Ned grinned. “Take my advice and whisper around him today.”

Y/N smiled and put her sketchbook back in her lap. Ned glanced over her shoulder, and while people watching her draw usually made her nervous, this wasn’t so bad. She really only shared her drawings with Lyanna and Benjen, but she felt Ned would like them, too. He watched her draw the tufts of fur on the dogs, the folds of the washerwoman’s clothes as they bent over their work, and the little sudsy bubbles in the buckets. She added little details, like flowers around their feet and a cat sitting up on one of the boxes.

They sat in a peaceful, easy silence. Ned fit in with the coziness of the room, and he seemed to enjoy it. He really did look tired, and even before last night, he’d been dragged around by his father and older brother and all the guests for days. A thought occurred to Y/N.

“You’re leaving soon, aren’t you?” She asked.

“I am.”

He didn’t seem happy about it, either. Y/N dated her drawing, then flipped to a new page. Several pages had been removed already, drawings she’d sent to her family to show them things she liked about Winterfell. An idea came to her, and before she could stop herself, she asked, “Could I write to you when you go back to the Eyrie?”

Ned blinked, and Y/N quickly added, “Only if I can. If you want to. Um, I write to my parents, and … sometimes I send them drawings…”

She tugged at her long sleeve and glanced away to the window.

“You would want to write to me?”

Y/N fiddled with her pencil. “I’d like to. I don’t get to see you as often, and um, the Vale is so far… I know you have the Baratheon lord, and Lord Arryn, and everyone in court, but …”

“I’d like you to — to write to me, and send whatever fancies you,” Ned said, stumbling and talking a little too quick. He hesitated again, trying to think about his words before speaking again. “The Eyrie is a great place, but I miss Winterfell.”

Y/N smiled, and now it was Ned’s turn to fiddle with his sleeve and look at the window, or his shoes, or anywhere else. Her eyes turned to the fire, where Lady Stark was staring right at her. It startled the both of them.

Lady Stark quickly caught the needle that fell from her hand. She tilted her head and raised her voice so they could hear her across the room. “What are you two plotting over there?”

“Could Y/N write to me?” “Could I write to Ned?”

They both stopped, fumbled their words, waiting for the other to speak first, but neither would budge. Lady Stark arched her eyebrows.

“Do you mean… when Ned returns to the Eyrie?” Before either could answer, Lady Stark quickly said, “Yes, yes you may! Y/N, you can draw those darling pictures you send to your parents.”

Y/N blushed from embarrassment. It felt a little silly when she said it that way, but she was glad Lady Stark agreed so easily. She looked delighted, in fact, and was much more animated than she had been recently. Ned’s cheeks were getting as red as his nose, and Y/N was glad she wasn’t the only one feeling a little embarrassed.

Y/N thought that she’d mention Lyanna could write more too, or the other two boys, as they rarely did, usually only adding a few words of encouragement to the end of Lord Stark’s letters. But she didn’t. Lady Stark instead turned to the septa, whispering something, forgetting her needlework entirely. The needle and thread fell to the floor.

There was an odd silence between Y/N and Ned now, neither of them sure of what to say. So, Y/N turned to the front of her sketchbook. “Um, do you want to see what I’ve drawn already? It’s mostly buildings and trees, but there’s some animals …”

Ned nodded, and even if he was just being polite, Y/N was glad. She felt like she’d improved quite a bit, so she started at the beginning and chatted about each piece. After several minutes, the comfort of the room returned, and it didn’t take long for them to lean against each other as Y/N turned the pages.

[a-libra-writes]

Salt & Snow - Chapter 2

Ships: Ned Stark x Reader, Brandon Stark x Reader

Summary: House Caspian’s only daughter returns to Winterfell, with her family in tow. She’s delighted to see her friends again, but with the end of the visit comes very startling news.

Want to see your name in this fic? Use this fantastic extension for chrome!

✨🐺For mobile users, here’s my masterlist 🐺✨

Only two weeks passed before Y/N got her first letter from Lyanna. It was a long one, full of enthusiasm and clumsy penmanship, asking after Y/N, her family and full of questions about Ramsgate and their keep, Whitetide. Why are your lands called Ramsgate? Are there lots of goats when you move away from the sea? How big is Whitetide? Is it really right on top of the beach?

Y/N eagerly wrote back, and her mother gave her the idea to include some seashells, a starfish and a sand dollar, all little treasures that Y/N collected on her many walks on the beach. She couldn’t wait for Lyanna’s response, asking the guard who watched for deliveries every day if there was something for her. Lady Talia finally had to ask her to leave the poor man alone.

But the next correspondence was by raven, of all things, a little message with a cute drawing of a direwolf and a big thank you from Lyanna and Benjen. The maester handed it to her parents with great confusion, and they in turn blinked at it before giving it to Y/N. She gladly kept it safe in her sketchbook.

The next letter detailed the great scolding Lyanna received for using one of Winterfell’s ravens. She worried her mother wouldn’t let her send any letters at all, but instead she was forced to stay inside for two weeks helping Nan knit and practicing her penmanship with the maester. Y/N giggled at the thought, and made a point to compliment Lyanna’s handwriting. She could already imagine the girl’s grimace and cramped hand.

The letters became a staple in the next year. It was towards the end of the ninth moon when Lyanna sent an especially long one. Y/N read it halfway before she was jumping on top of her bed in excitement.

She ran down the steps, nearly crashing into a washerwoman and narrowly avoiding a guard. Lady Talia frowned at her daughter arriving in the great hall in such a breathless flurry. “Y/N, you’ll trip over your skirts and break open your head if you carry on like that —”

“Mother! Are we going back to Winterfell?”

Lady Talia almost dropped baby Rickard. She recovered herself and sighed. “Oh, it was supposed to be a surprise! Did your father tell you?”

“No, Lyanna did!” Y/N waved the letter at her mother, too fast for the woman to actually look at it’s contents. “When are we going? Is it soon? Is it tomorrow?”

“Yes, soon, sweetling. Think about what things you want to pack. It will be a long stay, so bring all your dresses and some books.”

Y/N almost didn’t hear her. She was buzzing. How long was a long stay? How soon was soon? She would’ve asked a dozen more questions if her mother hadn’t shooed her out.

Two maids helped her pack. Y/N expected to use the small wooden trunk she and Willam shared last time. It was colorfully painted and had manta rays carved into the sides, so she especially liked it. Instead, the maids brought in two large trunks, the ones grown-up ladies used to transport their fine gowns and furs. She gaped at all the space on the inside, and how finely it was lined. A whole person could fit in there, or at least both her and Willam!

She already pulled dresses from the armoire — it was easy, she only had so many — but the maid was taking everything out of her closet, even her long winter socks that probably didn’t fit anymore. The other maid was neatly stacking all of her books.

“Oh, um, I was only taking four,” Y/N said to her.

The maid smiled. “You’ll want all of them, milady.”

No, I only wanted four, Y/N thought, but the maids listened to her lady mother, not her. It would be useless to argue with them. If the men who packed up the carts complained about the weight of her trunks, she’d know what to tell them.

At dinner, her father asked, “All excited for the trip, little ray?” and he was delighted with his daughter’s enthusiastic response. She hadn’t noticed her mother looking less excited, but Lady Talia still gave Y/N a smile when she looked her way.

“I’m going too!” Willam declared, as if he worried he was going to be left behind. Lord Gareth tousled his hair and promised he could ride along with the knights and guards.

Seeing Winterfell for the second time was just like the first;  breathtaking and no less a marvel. It was still hard to believe that a castle that big existed, and it was so close to Ramsgate, and she had a friend waiting inside. She was buzzing to get out of the carriage and just run up to the gates herself, but her mother was far less permissive than her uncle. She fretted over Y/N’s hair and tried to smooth her dress as they rode through the gate, and Y/N used every fiber of self-control not to squirm away. Her mother’s eyes said she was not in the mood to be disobeyed.

Finally, finally, the carriage door opened. Before the Winterfell guard could even greet her, she was flying down the steps.

Y/N heard her mother calling, but she pretended not to hear. The cold, saltless air blew through her hair, and she took a deep breath. It smelled like the dirt of the yard, the savory smoke from the kitchens and the distant pine of the forests. She only had a few moments to take it all in before the wind was thrown right out of her lungs.

Y/N choked as arms were thrown around her. She very nearly teetered over, the only thing stopped her was Lyanna yanking her back. The girl had a frightening grip. “Y/N! You’re here! It’s been forever!”

“I-I am!” Y/N coughed. “My mother is here this time, and Willam is back, and I have some things for you, and —”

“Lyanna, unhand the poor girl.” Lady Stark’s voice was familiar, but her appearance was a surprise again. Y/N realized she’d somewhat forgotten what the Lady looked like, but she remembered the pretty, long hair and grey eyes. “Y/N, it’s good to see you again, sweetling.”

Y/N was able to do a proper curtsy once she was unhanded, but she still felt a little dizzy. “Thank you for having me again, Lady Stark.”

“Where’s your lady mother, and lord father? Goodness, did you run ahead of them?” Lady Stark shook her head, but she didn’t seem truly upset. Had she always been so pale, though? Y/N couldn’t recall, and her friend easily took her attention away.

“Y/N, we have some new horses! You haven’t seen them yet, they’re so pretty. I’ve gotten to ride them already.” Lyanna just realized something. “Mother, can I show her?”

Y/N was expecting Lady Stark to put up a fuss, as her mother might have, but the woman looked too tired. She simply nodded and waved the two girls away. Y/N wondered if it was truly okay, even as Lyanna pulled on her hand. Y/N went along, figuring she’d see her parents and the Lord and Lady Stark at dinner tonight, anyhow. She could do her proper courtesies then.

To Lyanna’s disappointment, the new horses she was so proud of had been taken out on a hunt, so the next stop was the library of Winterfell, which surprised Y/N. She hadn’t taken Lyanna for the type to read these huge, dusty things, but it wasn’t a huge or dusty book that Lyanna pulled out. There was an old chest at the bottom of one of the bookshelves, and when she opened it, a collection of rolled-up parchment was inside. 

Y/N’s nose wrinkled at the smell. “Are we allowed to look at these?”

“They’re here for the Starks.” Lyanna replied. Y/N felt like her friend could have unrolled the old parchment a little neater.

Lyanna set two heavy inkpots in either side of the parchment to keep it from rolling back. The beautiful drawings unfurled before her, and Y/N realized it was a stylistic, detailed map of Westeros. She gasped in delight. “Oh, it’s so pretty!”

The linework was so fine and detailed, each little mountain, tree and even tiny ships on waves were drawn out. She immediately looked for Ramsgate, and it saddened her that the Caspian ray was not there. It was still the merman of Manderly. This must have been a very old map, then.

“Your manta ray isn’t here!” Lyanna realized it as well, perhaps for the first time. “Hmph. They should update these dusty old things.”

“I don’t think that’s possible ... It’s still beautiful.” Y/N said. She sat in the chair with Lyanna; it was so wide, both of them could sit in it with just a little discomfort. Lyanna was skinny for her age, but she was already taller than Y/N. Y/N could swear they were the same height last year. “I love how they painted Winterfell. There’s even direwolves around it, and look here, each castle has its Godswood drawn, too. You can even see some of the Godswoods in the Southern castles, but they’re not as good as the one in Winterfell.”

Lyanna was proud of that. She pointed out some of her favorite parts of the map: The kraken encircling the Iron Islands, the collection of trouts running down Riverrun, the beautiful flowers and crops that covered most of the Reach. She and Y/N shivered as they saw the detailed flayed man of the Boltons, and they admired the horses of the Ryswells.

Lyanna pointed toward the Vale, where the Eyrie was drawn in splendid detail, its white, blue and dark grey ink only slightly faded. A beautiful sky-blue falcon perched on top of it. She tapped it with her finger and sighed. “Ned’s here.”

Y/N didn’t quite understand. She floated her own finger above the parchment, tracing from Winterfell all the way to the Eyrie. “But why? It’s so far away,” She said. “It takes days to get from Whitetide to Winterfell, and only if the weather is good. That’s what my father said.”

“I don’t know.” Lyanna crossed her arms. “I didn’t want him to go. He didn’t, either! But mother and father said it was important for young lords to learn … whatever they said. Hmph. Why couldn’t our maester just teach him?”

“And Brandon is the oldest. Shouldn’t he learn all the important things?”

“He should! He’s thick as an aurochs, though. That doesn’t mean I want him to go away to a big, stupid mountain, too. Even if he deserves it.” Lyanna huffed. “Ned writes sometimes, but letters take too long to go up and down the Eyrie, he said so. He said you have to take a donkey to go up, or ride in a basket of turnips!”

“A basket…?”

“They use a rope to pull you up, like getting water from the well.”

That didn’t seem right, but Y/N didn’t know anything about the Eyrie. Lyanna continued with a huff. “The last letter he sent was all about some lord he’s friends with, a boy named Robert. He’s a Baratheon from Storm’s End. He’s the first son of that house, so why did Ned have to go?”

Y/N knew where Storm’s End was. She was familiar with most coastal cities and keeps, like Oldtown and Lannisport, and Storm’s End was no different. It’s two great walls that looked like big drums, her Uncle said, and she was delighted to see it painted just as he described. There was a rearing black stag sitting atop it, and it was just as far from the Eyrie as the direwolf was.

“It must be very sad to be so far from home,” Y/N said. She couldn’t imagine.

Lyanna frowned. “Ned should come home so I don’t have to hear about stupid Robert anymore.”

“Who’s Robert?”

The sudden voice made Y/N yelp and jump almost a foot in the air, and that reaction made Lyanna fall right out of the chair and onto the floor. She scrambled back to her feet. “Benjen! Don’t sneak up on people!”

“It’s not my fault you don’t pay attention. Who’s Robert?”

“The boy from Ned’s letter, remember? We read it together!”

“Are you allowed to take these maps out?” Benjen asked.

“Ugh, we’re done with it, anyway. You really do sneak around like a shadowcat.” Lyanna removed the inkpots and Y/N took charge of carefully rolling the map. Maybe I can look at it later? The pictures are so pretty … Even if it doesn’t have a manta ray.

“I’m bored.” Benjen said. He clearly expected his sister and Y/N to do something about it.

“We can play a game?” Y/N offered. She watched with some concern as Lyanna closed the trunk and tried to shove it back on the shelves. She couldn’t remember if that’s how it looked when they found it.

After much discussion and debate, hide and seek was declared the game of choice… with some rules. Lyanna made it very clear that they were only hiding inside the living area of the keep, and only in rooms they were allowed inside, and only in rooms with no adults. She looked directly to Benjen as she said all of this. Lyanna was declared “it”, and Benjen wasted little time in grabbing Y/N’s sleeve when she began counting.

“Where should I hide?” Y/N asked. “I don’t know the castle. I could get lost.”

“Just keep going down that hall until you see a big window, and choose any of those rooms,” Benjen pointed. “There’s lots of tables to hide under. Oh, if you find a blue yarn ball anywhere, that’s Nan’s. Tell her I didn’t take it.”

Before Y/N could question that, Benjen shoved her in the direction of the long hallway and went scurrying off. Y/N could only faintly hear Lyanna counting in the library, so she hurried, trying to decide which room to dart into. Lyanna would expect her to hide in one of these rooms. After all, Benjen went somewhere else, somewhere that was actually difficult to find.

She noticed one of the rooms was being occupied. The door was closed, but there was light and warmth coming from under it. Y/N suddenly felt she was intruding, so she walked carefully past it. The voices from inside were feminine, and very familiar. She stopped suddenly when she heard her mother’s familiar laugh.

Her mother’s voice drifted behind the wooden door. Y/N leaned against the door, assuming she’d hear her brother or father, but instead there was another lady’s voice. Lady Stark. They were probably doing needlework by the hearth. She was ready to move on, but she heard her name.

“Y/N is a very dear girl, I think she’ll be happy …”

I’ll be what? Y/N pressed her ear against the wood. She remembered the keyhole, and while it was too small to peek, she could put her ear to it.

“You cannot consider the offer,” That was Lady Stark’s voice that sounded so stern, like when she scolded her children. “You musn’t, Talia.”

“I told Gareth about it, but he said …”

“ … Men are foolish about these things, you shall not …”

It was hard to catch the conversation, and Y/N worried about leaning on the door too hard - it might creak - but her curiosity was burning a hole in her. She couldn’t help but pick up several morsels as  she listened in.

“If they think … my only daughter …”

“… We could always … She’s young, but a good child …”

“… It was supposed to be in a few years, Lyarra …”

A pair of hands grasped Y/N’s shoulders, and she screamed as Lyanna tackled her. “YOU’RE IT!”

There was exclamations and the sound of something breaking inside. Lady Stark swung the door open and was greeted to two girls sprawled on the floor. They were promptly dragged inside and forced to sit and participate in the needlework that the two women were doing. Y/N glanced at both Lady Stark and her mother, both peeved, both not picking up whatever conversation they were having earlier … because it was about her.

Y/N tried to focus on threading the needle. I heard my name, there’s no mistaking it. Am I in trouble?

Thirty minutes into the forced needlework, Lyanna gasped and realized they were supposed to find Benjen. Lady Stark sharply told her to sit. Benjen walked past the open doorway a few minutes later anyway, tying some blue yarn into complicated knots. He stuck his tongue out at Lyanna while his mother’s head was down, and Y/N pulled back Lyanna’s arm to keep her from tossing her embroidery hoop.

Y/N enjoyed an entire week at Winterfell, and she didn’t have a moment without the Stark children. Lyanna was an almost constant presence, of course. They had lessons in the day and ate together in the evening, and at night they even shared a room. They’d whisper and chatter under the furs until one of them finally fell asleep, usually Y/N. Benjen often joined in their more lively activities, and even Brandon would come along now and again, although it was usually just to annoy them. He fancied himself an important “man” of fourteen, and didn’t think much of silly girls.

Lyanna didn’t want Y/N to leave, so she tried not to think about how short a week really was. She hated having to waste time doing embroidery and staying inside, even if Y/N made such beautiful drawings on her canvas, and even if she was a surprisingly elegant dancer at her young age.

It was the seventh day, and Lyanna and Y/N groggily went through their morning routine. The septa helped them lace their clothes and braid their hair. Y/N looked over at her chest, still open and … empty?

“Septa Alys, where are my things?” She asked with some concern.

The septa was not terribly old. She had a sweet disposition and was more prone to wringing her hands instead of scolding whenever Lyanna acted up. “They were put away yesterday, dear. Did you not notice?”

“But why? I’m leaving today.”

Septa Alys was more occupied with Lyanna’s hair. “You’ll have to ask your lady mother and lord father, dear.”

“Maybe the servants were mistaken? I’ll help you put it back.” Lyanna offered, but she didn’t sound happy about it. Now that she was properly awake, she was sullen. She spent most of the previous night sulking.

Septa Alys helped Y/N secure the pearl and silver string in her hair, complimenting how lovely it looked with her pretty hair. Y/N didn’t completely hear her. She walked down the hall with Lyanna, who let out another sigh.

“We can still write,” Y/N said. She wasn’t happy, either, but she didn’t want their last day to be so gloomy. “I’ll send you things again, too.”

Thankfully, Lyanna was willing to be cheered. “I want to send you things too, but we don’t have seashells or anything like that here… I’ll think of something. I’ll send you blue rose petals! You wanted to paint them, right?”

“Oh, yes, I’d love that. Weirwood leaves, too. The ones at your Godswood are so big!”

The girls fell into an easy chatter as they entered the great hall for breakfast. The four parents were there, as Y/N expected, but there was no food on the table - they weren’t even sitting yet. Brandon, Benjen and Willam were nowhere to be seen, nor was Ser Roderick or the maester or any of the other staff that were slowly becoming familiar. Lyanna sensed the strangeness, too.

“Mother, what’s going on?” She asked.

“Girls, we have something important to tell you.” Lady Stark beckoned them. She didn’t look as tired this morning, in fact, she seemed like she was trying to keep from smiling too much. Y/N instantly looked to her mother, who was beaming, and her father, who had a smile with tension behind it. Lord Stark looked thoroughly amused.

“Y/N, do you like it here?” Her mother asked.

Y/N thought it was a silly question, and not what it seemed, but she didn’t know how to answer. “Yes, I like Winterfell very much.”

It was Lord Stark’s voice that boomed, and Y/N didn’t expect it. She startled a little. “Would you like to stay here for a longer time, little Y/N?”

She looked to Lyanna, who was just as confused, then to the parents again. “For how much longer, my lord?”

“Well,” Her mother tried to sound excited, but she was using the same voice she reserved for carefully explaining something to Willam, especially after he was about to cry about something. “Until you’re a woman grown, Y/N. In Winterfell you’ll learn to be a proper lady and wife, doing the same lessons as Lyanna. You’ll be like sisters.”

“Sisters?” Lyanna gaped.

“She’ll live with us for a few years, not as a guest, but as family.” Lady Stark said to her daughter. She didn’t speak to them like they were Willam. “You have heard that Ned is fostering in the Eyrie? It is like that, my dear.”

“Oh.”

She couldn’t believe it. Y/N was struck with absolute disbelief, like she was still walking around in a dream and she’d wake to Lyanna’s arm hitting her in the face again. Happiness hit her, excitement, but also nervousness, and then —

“But - Willam is not staying? Mother and father aren’t …?”

“Just you, little ray,” Her father finally spoke. He bent down to her level, still in light armor in spite of the early hour. “With Lady Stark and the septa, you can get a proper education here. You’re our only daughter, and we want you to be taken care of.”

He sounded sad, and his eyes didn’t meet her’s completely, but he took her hand. Y/N felt like she shouldn’t be excited anymore. Could her family not take care of her? Was baby Rickard really so fussy, was Willam really so much more important?

No, Willam might foster in a few years, too, but not here. He’ll be a page or a squire. It’s an important thing for lords to do, especially first-born ... Mother and Father must expect a lot from me ... 

Even if they had another daughter, Y/N was the oldest by far. She was always responsible for Willam, and she’d already helped plenty with baby Rickard. Her septa and maester were also often pleased with how she progressed in her lessons. A sense of duty and pride filled Y/N, combined with all the other swirling emotions. She’d miss her family very much, but her mother had told her many times about the duties of a grown lady. Wasn’t this part of that?

She felt Lyanna take her hand and squeeze it. Y/N could have been sent anywhere else in the North, or like Ned, far away to some mountain keep — to a place where she had no friends, and no familiar faces.

It must have been very hard for him, Y/N thought suddenly, but she shook those thoughts free when she realized everyone wanted a reaction from her. She nodded, looking toward her father first, because addressing everyone felt frightening. She might start crying.

“I’m very happy,” She said, hoping she sounded as such. She wasn’t sure how she felt; too many emotions were buzzing about and not staying still. “I’ll miss you, and mother, and my brothers … will you still visit? Can I visit?”

“Of course! Especially during the harvest season and the melees.” Lord Stark said.

Her mother added, “You’ll write me weekly, I want to read about all the things you’re doing. Time will pass before you know it.”

“It will be so nice to have lessons with you!” Lyanna blurted. Y/N was surprised how still and quiet she was being up until now. “It’s fine enough with Benjen, but he doesn’t do the lady things I have to. Oh! Mother, will we still share a room?”

“Yes, especially when winter comes, it will be too cold —”

The situation had fully sunk into Lyanna’s mind, and now she couldn’t stop. “You could have a horse of your own! Can you ride? No, you told me, so you’ll learn! I’ll teach you! We can watch the fighters spar, and we can walk in the Godswood, and sometimes when father goes to Winter Town —”

“Lyanna.”

She was hardly discouraged by her mother’s sharp tone. Y/N noticed her father looked much happier, and he kissed her brow before standing back up.

“Let’s break our fast, then!” Lord Stark went to his old friend and slapped his back. “I’ll call the rest in, the Others know where Brandon ran off to, though. Lyarra, where’s that son of your’s?”

“Your son is in the yard, swinging that new sword about. Sit beside us on the dais, sweetling.” Lady Stark patted Y/N on the head as she walked past her. Y/N’s mother smiled approvingly, and pulled her soft braid forward. The pearl glinted in the morning light.

“I’ll send you many more things, so you don’t feel so homesick, little ray.” She said. Then she turned to Lyanna. “It will be nice to have a sister for once, won’t it?”

“Yes, thank the gods.” Lyanna said bluntly, and the adults laughed to themselves, even Lady Stark, who was failing to look embarrassed. While the servants poured in to serve the food, and men at arms entered, and finally Benjen, Brandon and Willam, Y/N was quiet. She filled her plate, but much of it was untouched. Her stomach and her chest were fluttering at the same time, and if maybe one of them would settle, she could eat something more.

Lyanna was excited, too excited, enough to make Y/N feel uneasy. Her parents and Lyanna’s parents were pleased, her friend was delighted, the various members of Winterfell expressed their well-wishes.

Winterfell is big and beautiful, and Lyanna is my very best friend, and her brothers are nice, too. Lady Stark, Lord Stark, the maester, Septa Alys… No one has been unkind to me.

Y/N wanted to excuse herself. The hall was noisy, so she could have slipped away, if only they weren’t on the dais. Benjen was beside her, and he leaned in so their shoulders touched. “What’s the matter?”

She glanced up at his big, wondering eyes, and quickly said, “Nothing.”

Very little escaped Benjen, she knew. He was a year younger, but sometimes Y/N felt like he was older - only sometimes, when he wasn’t teasing them or playing a stupid prank. “It’s okay to be unhappy.”

Y/N wasn’t sure what to make of that statement. “I’m not. I like it here. … I’ll just miss home sometimes, I think.”

“It’d be strange to not miss home, right?” Benjen said. “You said you can’t smell the sea here.”

Y/N deflated. Now she truly wanted to cry, but she held it in, and touched her pearl. There were no pearls in Winterfell, no seashells, no sunsets making the water glitter, no giant ships with their billowing sails. There was no smell of salt or sound of waves.

“I’m sorry,” Benjen said quickly. He touched her hand where she left it, under the table, and squeezed her fingers. It was much gentler than the way Lyanna grasped it. “We should go to Whitetide one day.”

“You’d want to go?”

“I’ve never seen the ocean or a manta ray. Not even a ship.” Benjen looked on the other side of Y/N, where Lyanna was sitting. “Lyanna! Let’s go to Ramsgate.”

“What? When?” She stared at Y/N, as if that was who gave the suggestion.

“Um, some day,” Y/N said. “Maybe some day soon. Our castle isn’t big as Winterfell, or Lord Manderly’s keep, but I’ll show you the  beach and the ships.”

She smiled as she thought of that. She could already see Lyanna building sand castles and getting completely dirty, and Benjen would sneak behind her and dump sand down her tunic. Brandon could come, too. He’d watch the ships with her uncle, or even board one, because he was a lordling and a man now. Maybe, somehow, Ned could come, too. She wondered what he’d like to do on the beach. Perhaps he’d just watch the waves hit the rocks, but that was fine in and of itself - because at night, you could see the stars the sailors navigated with. Y/N knew almost all of them.

This is what she said to Lyanna and Benjen, who listened with rapt attention. As she thought, Lyanna loved the idea of sandcastles, but she wanted to feel the waves crash against her legs, too. Benjen wanted to see a ‘tide pool’, and the little crabs that sat inside them - Y/N couldn’t imagine why he wanted to catch one of the mean things. Even Brandon overheard them, and chimed in. He couldn’t hide his own curiosity as he asked questions about House Caspian’s flagship.

When she returned to Lyanna’s room, her trunk had been stowed away somewhere, and her clothes were in Lyanna’s armoire. Her books were on a small shelf, and her other few belongings were with them. I need to ask mother and father to send my paints. She cared more about that than her cloak and riding boots.

It wasn’t long after that her parents and Willam had to leave for Whitetide. As Y/N expected, Willam cried. She hugged him and promised he could visit, or maybe she’d visit, and she’d write letters, although that meant nothing to him. Sometimes he was more like baby Rickard than Benjen. Still, she was glad her little brother had so much affection for her, and she ended up crying herself as she hugged her mother and father. It pained her that she couldn’t give a proper goodbye to Uncle Cole.

All of the Starks and Y/N watched as the carriage, horses and few men-at-arms disappeared. Eventually Lord and Lady Stark returned to the castle, but the children stayed by her side. Lyanna was holding her hand, Benjen slightly leaned on her other side, and behind her was Brandon’s strong presence. He was already so much taller than any of them.

Y/N thought her tears would have dried eventually, but they kept silently falling. She got tired of rubbing at her face with her sleeves, and she was glad no one was bringing attention to it, even if it was making Lyanna sniff at rub at her own eyes.

Y/N felt Brandon’s hand on her head, and while the gesture would normally annoy her, he wasn’t trying to tease her this time. As she looked up at him, Brandon almost looked sad.

“Manta rays shouldn’t be away from the sea for so long,” He said. “So you’ll have to be a wolf for now.”

“She’s too nice and pretty to be a she-wolf,” Benjen said.

Lyanna quickly asked, “What does that make me?”

“It won’t be for long.” Brandon said. Y/N couldn’t help but notice that for once, he seemed unsure with his words. He was usually so self-assured. The lordling gently touched her hair, where the pearl was tied in. “You’ll always have that to remember.”

Y/N looked down at the iridescent pearl, and while the silver glinted prettily in the sunlight, the pearl’s beauty was something else. It was a little bigger than  her thumb. It wouldn’t be her only pearl, but it was her first, and her father did away with several before finding this one for her. It was almost a perfect sphere, almost.

Brandon seemed done with sentiment for the day. He didn’t wait for an answer as he turned away. “I’m going to practice. Lyanna, your face is going to stick like that if you keep making a stupid face.”

“Your face is already stuck with stupid, Bran!” Lyanna retorted hotly, then added, “And use your sword like a sword when you practice today, yesterday you flailed it like a reed!”

Y/N laughed as she rubbed the last of the tears from her eyes. Benjen said, “There’s some snow up on the walls, want to make snowballs?”

“Yes, and throw them!”

“At what?” Y/N asked. “Each other? Our dresses will get wet.”

“So we’ll throw them at someone not in a dress.” Lyanna looked at Brandon’s retreating figure pointedly. She pulled up her skirt to her calves, always the one who had to get a head start, even if it wasn’t a race. “Come on! I know the fastest way!”