Part One

I

The west was getting out of gold,
The breath of air had died of cold,
When shoeing home across the white,
I thought I saw a bird alight.

- Looking for a Sunset Bird in Winter, Robert Frost

The air was cold. That was the first thing she noticed about the North. It seeped through one's skin in settled in one's bones. The others didn't seem to notice the cold, or if they did, they didn't mind it. But Ella - the cold unnerved her. It was gradual, she knew - warm didn't simply become cold. But when she woke up, exited her tent to greet the frigid morning, it hit her all at once.

Above, the sky was bleak and grey. There were no birds singing in the branches of the trees. The North was strange. It was different, and she wasn't quite sure if she liked it. But, then again, when did it truly matter what she did and did not like? It wasn't like anyone asked her if she wanted to leave her home, leave its warmth and its blue skies and its singing birds. No, no one asked her if she wanted to leave her life behind and marry a stranger and live in a place she'd never seen.

But then, when had she ever gotten what she wanted?

"Saddle up, Lady Ellanor," Ser Josiah bowed sharply. "We will arrive in Winterfell by sundown if we leave now."

She didn't say anything, only nodded and turned to lace up her riding boots and wait to be assisted onto her horse. Once the camp was packed up and away, Ser Josiah got on one knee, took one of her feet, and boosted her onto the mare's back. Ella grabbed the reins numbly, fingers freezing despite her leather gloves. Her horse would be the only thing that would be left of her home when she lived in Winterfell. Her brother and the small party of guards they had brought would stay for only a week, and then they would saddle up and return to Coldocean Cove the day after the wedding.

Olin and Ser Josiah and all of the men would go back to the warm air and the smell of the sea and the comforts of their home.

Ella would be left with her horse and a cold ring on her finger and a stranger for a husband.

It was a little like being a slave, she thought, but never did the thought leave her mouth. Her maidservant, Penelope, had been left at Coldocean. "You'll get another one in Winterfell," Olin said. She didn't want another one, she wanted Penelope, with her sandy curls pulled back in a braid and the smattering of freckles over her nose like breadcrumbs on a porcelain plate.

But, again, what Ella wanted and what Ella got were two entirely different things.

Her bum was sore now from the saddle. They'd been riding for days - she'd lost count now. Olin had said that it would be a fortnight's ride. In the back of her mind, she thought perhaps she should have taken him up on his offer to ride in a carriage. But still she did not complain. If she was going to have the rest of her life decided for her, she'd make her own decisions whenever she could, even if it was something as trivial as riding horseback or in a carriage.

Winterfell would have been lovely if she wasn't dreading it. When they came up on the hill and saw the castle in the distance like stones in a pile, there was a twist in her stomach that made her want to retch. She kept her head bowed the rest of the way there. She didn't look up when the castle loomed before her, she didn't look up when they passed through the town and people gawked at the newcomers, and she certainly didn't look up when the entire Stark family was lined up in a row to greet her.

"Lord Olin," Lord Stark greeted, and Ella could hear the smile in his voice. "I'm sorry to hear about your father. He and I were good friends when we were younger."

Part of her wanted to look up and see what he looked like - if he looked as kind as his voice sounded. But she didn't. She kept her head adamantly bowed. Olin was walking towards her - she could hear the familiar pattern of his wonky gait in the terse silence. He came to her and tugged on her hand.

"Ella, come on. You have to come down now."

She wanted to scowl and pout like a little girl, and childishly state, "I don't want to come down!"

But she didn't. She followed orders like she was taught to - let him take her waist and help her slip off Amia's back. With one hand, she held her skirts, not quite wanting to face the inevitable truth that they'd get muddy on the ground. Olin took her hand and lead her forward. When they paused, she finally forced herself to look up.

Lord Stark, she learned right away, was not as imposing as some made him out to be. He smiled at her kindly and inclined his head just so.

"It's good to see you again, Lady Ellanor," he said as she dipped down in a slight curtsy. "You were this tall when I last saw you." He gestured to about halfway up his chest. He reminded her of her father, and she couldn't help but allow a chuckle to brush past her lips. Indeed, it had been years since Lord Stark had come to visit her parents in Coldocean. She had only seen him once, to greet him, before deciding that she was rather intimidated by him and scampered off to spend the rest of his stay at the beach or in the woods.

"This is my wife, Catelyn," he introduced, gesturing to his left, and Ella was brought out of her thoughts by his voice. Lady Stark looked kind as well. Ella was sure she spotted a spark of sympathy in her eyes, and upon reflection, wondered if there was also some understanding there, too.

"And my son, Robb."

No. Ella didn't want to look. What if he was horribly ugly? It was a shallow thought, she knew, but if she was going to be forced to spend the rest of her life with him, surely the gods would be kind enough to give him good features? Lord and Lady Stark seemed to be rather good-looking, or were when they were younger, and so Ella hoped that perhaps Robb Stark wasn't so bad, but she had seen before two beautiful people make a less-than-beautiful child.

But she had to look. Curiosity and duty both forced her to turn her head towards him.

Oh, thank the Seven.

Robb Stark wasn't bad looking at all. But she saw that he was nervous, too, by his tensed shoulders and the way that his lips were set in a firm line. Somehow that comforted her, made her feel less alone. When she gathered up the courage to look him straight in the eye, she saw him relax, and wondered if maybe he thought she wasn't so bad-looking either. He reached for her hand and something possessed her to allow him to take it. All the while keeping his eyes on hers, he pressed his lips to the back of her hand and said, "My Lady."

And then she lost her courage and looked to the next child just as Lord Stark introduced her. Sansa was pretty. Young and tall and pale, with orange hair like the leaves on the trees when summer turned to autumn. The young Stark girl reminded her of the young ladies of the court in Coldocean Cove that she was always jealous of. Arya was next, and Ella could see that she would have a rather peculiar beauty about her - that she would grow up to be one of those women who should not, in any way, be beautiful, but somehow made all the jaws drop as she walked by. Bran was beside her, young and fresh-faced, with a look of innocence and an air of mischievousness. To Catelyn's left was Rickon, the youngest, who made her laugh right away when he puffed out his chest and put his fists on his hips.

They were lead indoors, and Ella was thankful to be out of the cold. Winterfell was warm, and felt very much like a home. The warmth in the keep banished the cold and let a good feeling settle inside her. A petite little maid came forward and curtsied low, keeping her head down.

"This is Analysa," Lady Stark said. "She will be your lady's maid. She's very sweet, I'm sure she'll be to your liking."

Analysa looked up to offer her a smile, and Ella could inspect her for the first time. Her hair was red as well, a dark color that reminded her vaguely of blood. Her skin was pale, her eyes a fiery amber and her lips thin and drawn. Her limbs were gangly and she was short and skinny. Ella thought that she would rather have Penelope serve her still, but gave both Analysa and Lady Stark approving smiles.

"Thank you," she said to Catelyn. Lady Stark smiled.

"Winterfell will be your home now," she said. "I'll do all I can to help you feel like it is."

Ella remembered just then that Catelyn must have known how she was feeling. Lady Stark was born a Tully of the Riverlands, brought to Winterfell to make it her home and leave her life behind.

"Thank you," she said again, and was shown to her room.

It wasn't until she arrived in her room that she realized how hot she was. The room was small but spacious, with a sturdy four poster bed and a fire already roaring in the hearth. Hesitantly, Ella removed the heavy cloak from her shoulders and deposited it on the living chair by the fireplace.

"Is there anything you would like, Lady Reems?" Analysa asked from the doorway. Ella twisted around to face her.

"Yes," she decided after a moment. "I should like to bathe before I dine with the Starks tonight."

Analysa bowed her head and scurried away. Turning back to the room, Ella took a moment to further examine her surroundings. She moved to the bed and ran her hand over the soft furs, then around to pull the shutters away from the windows. She could see out to the fields and forests of the North, the sky blue and gray all at once, full with clouds that would never bring rain.

Ser Josiah brought her luggage in, a small chest that held four dresses; one for the dinner that night, one for riding in, one for during the day, and one for sleeping in. Then there was a ribbon for her hair - black, because it went with everything - and a pair of boots.

And that was all. None of her nice hair pins or jewelry. All of her dresses, light and silky, were still hanging in her old wardrobe. Everything she owned was back at Coldocean Cove, and not one part of her thought that she'd see them again. Analysa prepared her bath, and when the young maid left, Ella locked her door and undressed herself slowly, stepping into the tub and sinking under the water.


Ella was waiting when Olin came knocking on her door. She called for him to enter and turned to face him when he did. He smiled at her.

"You look lovely," he complimented, holding his arm out for her to take. She offered him a halfhearted smile and gently took his arm, smoothing out any wrinkles in her long grey dress. It had a pretty design on the bodice and around the hemline, and the sleeves were gathered just so. She quite liked it, but did not approve of the lack of color. All of her dresses back home were vividly colored, bright like the flowers that grew like vines along the walls of the castle.

When they entered the great hall, she could practically feel each and every eye on her. Ella kept her head down, always far too shy for her own good. Her mother was a social butterfly, always with every eye on her at feasts and gatherings. Ella was never like that. She preferred to stay by herself or in the company of a small group of friends. When she was younger, the shyness was crippling. When addressed by a stranger, she'd seize up and stutter incoherently. A Lady could only live so long being shy - she grew out of her nervousness eventually, but would still rather spend her time alone painting than out mingling.

She tried to ignore the stares as she sat down between Olin and Robb, imagining that the people staring at her were people she knew from home. The first part of her meal was eaten in silence. Olin would make comments to her every so often, and she would acknowledge them, but never reply. A part of her wanted to speak to Robb, to get to know the man who would be her husband in just a few short days. The rest of her didn't want to touch him with a ten foot pole.

The room was alive with chatter and pipers played their music in a corner. Ella finished her food quickly. It was tough and chewy but warm, and Ella was so hungry that she found that she didn't mind what it was so long as it was food. When she was done, she folded her hands in her lap and looked around at the people. There was something about the Northerners that made them different than the people back home. She couldn't quite put her finger on it - they looked, for the most part, the same - perhaps rougher and more untamed than people down South, but still somehow graceful and beautiful all the same.

Robb cleared his throat beside her. "Are you enjoying your stay so far, Lady Reems?" he asked politely, examining her from the corner of his eye. She cocked her head just slightly towards him, to show that she acknowledged his question, and paused to make it seem as if she were truly considering his words.

"I am," she responded. "The North is different than my home, but I think I quite like it." A moment of silence passed between the two, before she added, "And you may call me Ella, Lord Stark."

"If I am to call you Ella, then you are to call me Robb," he returned. She smiled softly, but before anymore words could be said between the two, Josiah cut in.

"I'm sorry to interrupt, Lord Stark. Lady Reems, your brother inquires of your health. You must be tired. Do you wish to retire?"

She thought for a moment. This was her first chance to speak properly with Robb, to get to know what he was like. If she had to be stuck with him for the rest of her life, she wanted to know what he was like. On the other hand, she thought, she had spent two weeks sleeping on the cold ground and was aching (literally) for the comforts of a proper bed.

"No," she declined politely, smiling slightly at the knight. "I think I might enjoy Lord Stark's company a bit longer."

Ser Josiah bowed sharply to the pair, then turned and marched away to return to Olin. As he left, Ella thought that perhaps she should have gone with him as an awkward silence settled over she and Robb.

"What do you like to do?" he asked. Startled at his sudden question, she blinked in surprise at him.

"I beg your pardon?" she gaped.

"In your spare time," he elaborated. She nodded in understanding, then shrugged.

"Paint, sing..." she trailed off, then lowered her voice significantly. "I love to practice archery as well," she admitted, then, with a chuckle, continued, "it used to drive my mother mad."

Robb smiled. "Are you any good?" he inquired. She shrugged again.

"My brother always seems rather impressed, but perhaps he doesn't realize that women can be good at things that aren't knitting and sewing." Robb laughed, and Ella turned in her seat to face him. "And you? What do you enjoy?"

He seemed rather surprised at her question and shrugged his shoulders dumbly, stumped. "Hunt, spar," he listed. "The usual, I suppose." As he reached for his goblet of ale, she pressed a hand to her mouth to stifle a yawn.

"Perhaps I should have taken up Ser Josiah's offer to retire," she sighed, eyelids drooping. Robb chuckled.

"Would you like me to escort you to your room, Lady Reems?"

Ella looked playfully perturbed at the use of her formal name, but nodded nonetheless. "That would be delightful, Lord Stark," she returned. He stood and held his hand out to her. She gripped it only to heave herself onto her feet, then let his hand fall away from hers once she was standing. They exchanged meaningless, idle comments as they traversed the halls, eventually falling into a companionable silence. When they reached her door, the silence became awkward.

"Goodnight, then," Ella said, clearing her throat. Robb nodded to acknowledge her, and she slipped into her room.


When she woke up, she didn't know where she was. The comfort of the warm bed initially made her think that she was at home, that the two solid weeks of sleeping on the ground in the cold were just a twisted nightmare, but then she opened her eyes and found that where she was was nothing like her home, and that was when she remembered that she was in Winterfell. Heaving a sigh and pulling herself out of bed, Ella brought a fur blanket to wrap around herself and moved to the window to look outside.

Winterfell was nice in the morning, she thought. The sky was a brighter blue that day, less grey and certainly less daunting.

"Good morning, Milady," Analysa greeted from behind her. Ella smiled faintly at the maid.

"Good morning," she returned, then stood and tossed the blanket on the bed so Analysa could help her into her dress. It was long and warm, made of a thick fabric dyed in dark green. When the dress was on and tied, the little maid pushed Ella into a chair and pulled the two front sections of her hair back, twisting them and tying them and leaving the rest of her hair to hang down in a mass of waves around her shoulders.

"There," Analysa proclaimed, and looked proud with her hands on her hips. "Now you look like a real Northern woman."

"I've not been here a day and already you're trying to make me look the part?" Ella chuckled disapprovingly. Analysa shrugged.

"It will help you to get used to your new home. I hear that in Coldocean you wore thin dresses and piled your hair on top of your head. If you dressed like that here in the North, you'd freeze to death before you stepped outside."

Ella nodded. "I suppose you're right."

Analysa accompanied her down to the Great Hall, and there they found Olin seated and eating. Ella sat herself next to him, asking for a plate of sausage from a kitchen servant and waiting for her brother to speak up.

"Good morning," he greeted, still chewing on a mouthful of toast. She nodded.

"I suppose."

Olin turned to her, wiping his mouth. "Now, what's that supposed to mean?"

Ella cast a glance Analysa's way, spotting the girl across the room giggling with another maid. "Look at me," she hissed, "they've already made me to look Northern."

"It's a good look on you," he pointed out, perhaps thinking it would quell her worries.

"I don't want it to look good on me!" she cried. "I want to go home!"

Olin sighed, turning completely towards her. "Ella, listen - you're sixteen now, a grown woman. It's your duty to marry the Stark boy. Now that Father is dead, we need to strengthen our ties with other houses. We're not the richest family, you know that. Father was an intimidating man, and I need to uphold his reputation, all the while carving one for myself. You should be glad that Lord and Lady Stark ever accepted the proposal in the first place. They're the Wardens of the North, Ella. It's like if you were marrying Edmure Tully, only further away from home. I was worried I'd have to marry you to a Frey." Ella choked on her drink. Seven hells. Olin sighed. "If it makes you feel any better, I'm to marry a Bracken girl a week after I return home."

"It doesn't make me feel better," Ella said softly. "It just means that there will be another girl like me."


I don't know what's happening. I'm walking blindly in the dark with this story. A few days ago I just got this surge of inspiration and I couldn't stop writing. No planning, no plot, just words.

This is probably a bad thing. I have a feeling that this story might be bad for my health.

...review anyway?


Title and verse at the beginning are from Looking For a Sunset Bird in Winter by Robert Frost.

Trust me, if I owned Game of Thrones, you'd know.