Hearts Distance

277 AC

Hearts Distance

Meet me by the godswood.

Ellena watched Brandon leave through the double doors of the Great Hall, his head not turning once, his tall stature fading into the darkness of outside. He had slipped a note on her lap as he left, she reread it, meet me by the godswood. Insufferable oaf, a please would have done plenty.

Ellena sat in her silence for a while, looking around the lord's table to ensure no one had noticed the interaction. Rickard was already on to them, as a wolf would be onto the innocent rabbits of the forests, but he would not make a show of it here. When she was sure that it had been long enough since Brandon had left, she excused herself from the table and left through the gallery – so not too look as if she were following after him.

Her light steps skipped from the gallery and the cold Northern air hit her warmed face. It was far too cold to be in the godswood's at this hour without some sort of protection. So, she quickly went to her rooms and took a thick coat made of expensive warm furs and leather. With the coat around her shoulders tightly, Ellena made for the godswood.

She felt her heartbeat, it so loud that she thought her heart would jump from her chest. It was raining lightly, the water fluffing her hair in the slightest, a genetic trait Ellena was sure to have inherited from her unknown mother.

There he was, Brandon stood by the weirwood tree with one arm leaning on the solemn-faced tree. The rain made it seem as if the tree were truly weeping, with red streaks glistening in the dark moonlight. Ellena wondered exactly why Brandon had called her, but she was no fool. Brandon, from what she could remember of his other visits and before he left to ward, always had an ulterior motive for his actions. Even the smallest of ones.

Brandon shifted, moving his palm to the weirwood tree and gently pressing on the tree's trunk as if he were praying. An act they both knew he never partook in.

She tapped his shoulder as she neared him, "Is everything alright? Your note was a little cryptic."

Brandon turned, his cheeks and nose were coloured pink from the cold, "what took you so long?" he asked, rubbing his hands together and stepping from the shade of the tree towards her.

"Are you telling me the wild-wolf cannot take a little cold?" Ellena mocked him. She felt the cold on her own hands and tucked them back into her coat.

"Shut up," Brandon huffed, far too proud to admit that tonight had been especially cold. They stood in silence as Brandon gathered his thoughts, unsure of how to come to her with his proposition. He was never one to become tongue-tied, not that he was, nor was he one to miss an opportunity. Brandon was neither a coward nor loser, that much he knew for sure, so he was not afraid of rejection. No, what did worry him was the prospect of Ellena running to their father with his words – especially after he had slapped them as punishment for a small kiss earlier that day. "Do you ... did you feel anything Ellena? When we kissed?"

She was taken aback by his words, having counted for the flutter in her stomach to just being a part of kissing someone else. Now, she thought Brandon's words might have held some weight. She shrugged, "no," Ellena lied, not wanting Lyanna's words to be the words of others.

Disgusting. Wrong.

It was wrong and looked down upon by all the faith to harbour feelings for one's own brother. The Targaryen's got away with it because they once had dragons to bring naysayers to their feet. Everyone else had their heads hung high for treason and the crime of incest.

Brandon took her hand into his, "are you sure?"

No wonder the girls of Barrowton and Wintertown alike had fawned over him any chance they got; he had a way with words that made one feel dominated. Or perhaps that was his size.

She looked up at him, with those eyes that set her apart from all of her family. The eyes that had first started whispers of origin from Lys, or Dorne. Rickard was quick to shut them down, telling those who whispered to have some respect for her late mother and for his daughter.

"It's wrong Brandon. We shouldn't even be talking about this."

"So ... you did?" Brandon assumed her by words that she was feeling very similar to him. He didn't have control over who he liked, and nor did she see. If it so happened that they like each other, it was fated to him.

"Brandon," Ellena started, wanting to rid of the knots and churns her stomach was making. This was not at all how she imagined her first kiss, her first affections to go like. She had imagined meeting a Knight, one that was respected and feared. She had stared at her reflection many times after Old Nan had told stories of jousts and tourney's where lovers met, wondering when it would be her turn. "We can't."

"Says who?" Brandon whispered, moving closer to her.

"Says me," Ellena responded, though she did not move as he closed the gap between their bodies.

He smiled, Brandon Stark had always gotten his way, and it would be like that for all his years. He nudged his head closer to hers and pulled her into his own body, warming the both of them. Her lips called him, and he wanted desperately to answer. His grey eyes met her own lilac ones for the second time that day, staring at each other in apprehension and waiting for her to accept his movements.

Ellena, who did not know what came over her, drew Brandon's freshly shaven face closer and his cold nose bumped against hers. Their breaths on each other's now, Brandon let out a deep chuckle, kissing her feverishly.

They had found themselves on the soft floor beneath the weirwood tree, snow falling lightly as night took over day and the moon in the sky rose high. A thought jolted her from her movements. They were committing a sin right there, on the tree that had seen the weddings, baptisms, funerals and knightings of all Stark's before them, and would see those of all Stark's after them. Ellena pushed herself from Brandon's body.

"Good night Brandon," she whispered, leaving him in the darkness once more.

Brandon grinned, touching his lips as he watched her leave. He stood up, brushed his back and practically ran to his rooms. Once he had undressed and gotten into his nightshirt, he lay on his bed. Hand behind his head, Brandon smiled to himself. Sleep overtook him, and his last thought was; gods, the Targaryen's are lucky.

He woke the next morning to the sounds of Winterfell rising, laying in his bed from some time and not wanting to leave the warm comforts of an heir's room. There was a knock on his door, "who is it?" Brandon called out. He wasn't in the mood for a bath, nor was he in the mood for Benjen to question him on every last detail of his day to day activities as a ward, again. There was no audible answer and the door opened, it was Rickard. He closed the door after he had entered, and Brandon sat up in his bed. "Lord father," he said, wondering what called for his presence.

"You are to return to Lord Dustin as soon as you have broken your fast," Rickard said, standing over his bed with his arms crossed over his chest.

Brandon looked up at the tall man, "has he called me back?" His father had his full attention now. Lord Dustin had allowed him to leave for a sennight, so why was he to return so abruptly?

Rickard pursed his lips, "no, I am telling you to go back."

"What for!?" Brandon exclaimed. Of all people, he thought his father would be happy to have him back at Winterfell. He was the heir and the heir was supposed to eventually mirror the current Lord.

"Because," Rickard tapped Brandon's perched knee, "kissing a sister once is innocent. Kissing a sister twice by the sacred weirwood tree is purposeful and a slight on the old gods." Brandon had no response. Had his father seen them the night before? Well, he must have to know what they had been doing. Brandon felt his face grow red as his father continued the verbal tirade that he was giving him. They had been told off once, and Brandon knew that his father did not like giving punishments for the same mistake, especially when it was done purposefully. He had told them it was not to happen again and the two hadn't even listened to his words for a day! "Ellena is ..." his words trailed, "she is delicate and," he wasn't sure how to say his daughter was impressionable, but she was and as of late, Brandon was not having a good effect on her.

"I can't help my feelings father," Brandon blurted. He was never one to go down without a fight, even if it was against his own father.

"She is your sister. I raised you to be the next Warden of Winterfell Brandon, and I will continue to do so. If that means sending Ellena to Oldtown for her training as a Septa or finding her a suitable marriage, then I will do it. This is treason and if it were to go any further you would leave me no choice but to do so," Rickard told his son, turning back to the door.

Rickard felt his actions were justified; they could not be left alone to continue whatever it was they started. He wanted to tell Brandon it was revolting and had caused bile to form at his throat, but he was never one to cuss unnecessarily. His instructions were laid out, and that was that.

"You will have her sent away or sold off to some ... fourth son or baker," Brandon couldn't imagine Winterfell without Ellena. He couldn't imagine coming home from Barrowton to not have her here. His feelings were premature, but they were real, and he would acknowledge them.

Rickard ignored his words and opened the door. "Your horse is being readied, break your fast and I shall see you out."

...

The two younger Starks and younger Snow were perplexed as to why Brandon was leaving so soon, each hugging him goodbye as he returned to ward for the Dustin's. This would probably be the last they saw of him for a while as his wardship would end with his final return. Though it was custom for great and small Houses alike to exchange sons and daughters for training and aid, it was still bittersweet.

"Bring me back a sword this time. You promised before and you did not bring one back," Lyanna complained to Brandon, hugging with one arm and ruffling his neatly brushed hair with the other.

Brandon slapped her hand away, "you wouldn't be able to carry it let alone swing it," he jested, moving onto Benjen. "But for you, I'll bring back one as big as Ice." Brandon smiled, mentioning their father's great sword, the very same one that would one day pass down to Brandon and then his sons after. Benjen cried with joy, jumping up and down at his words.

"Bye Brandon," Ellena smiled stiffly, hugging him for what she believed to be the last time in a long time. After Rickard had gone to Brandon, he had marched straight to Ellena's room – asking if she'd prefer Septa or wife. She had chosen neither, telling her father she was too young, and he was being hasty for naught. Rickard had huffed and puffed, promising to return to the conversation.

"I will see you soon," Brandon whispered to her, avoiding his father's watchful gaze from next to Ellena. He wanted to feel her lips just once more but knew that his father would not be happy at their public display of affection, nor would anyone else. Instead, he kissed her cheek, something that seemed sweet enough. "I will write to you."

Ellena's hand lingered on his own and she nodded, "as I write to Ned every moon, I will write back to you."

Rickard bit the inside of his cheek, the gull of those two. He took Brandon's hands from her own and led him to his horse. He didn't know what they had whispered to each other, nor did her care. "Send my regards to Lord Dustin," Brandon nodded, as Rickard patted his eldest on his back. "And as always, remember, you are a Stark-,"

"And a Stark you forever shall be," Brandon's words copied those of Rickard's, they had been the first words he had told him when he was sent off to Barrowton.

"So, make me and your name proud. No fighting, no whoring."

Brandon laughed, "that one's new."

"Yes well, you can never be too careful," Rickard nodded, watching as Brandon mounted his horse. The horse moved from here to there impatiently. He wanted to say something else, but he was not raised to be a doting father – and though he did not show it – he was extremely annoyed at both Brandon and Ellena. Annoyed, revolted and aware. It was not lost on him that Ellena might have shown traits of loving one's own, but he had not expected it from Brandon.

Rickard patted the horse on its hind, sending it running through the open gates.

Lyanna and Benjen left their spots, off to do whatever it was they did when they weren't cornered by their Septa or Maester. Ellena watched longingly as Brandon's figure faded into a small speck, the large gates of Winterfell lurching to a close as he vanished.

She did not know that liking someone meant thinking of them during the days and dreaming of them at night, but that was precisely what she was doing.

Rickard had strongly suggested to Lord Dustin that Brandon was not to return to Winterfell until his full wardship had been completed when he was eight and ten. Lord Dustin heeded his words, disallowing his ward from leaving Barrowton from that moment on.

For the next two years, the letters Ellena and Brandon had promised to exchange grew longer, and as they both grew, they became more passionate. Rickard had taken back his words of turning his daughter into a Septa, regarding Maester Walys' words to having her bastardly status legitimised when the time came to marry her.

"She is still young my lord, don't you think sending her to Oldtown at the height of her youth is ... a little ... cold-hearted?" Maester Walys had said, sticking up for the young girl. She was no harm around the household, and Rickard was the one who had insisted she live with them, so why not allow her home at least for a few more years until she made her own choice to make something of herself. If she did not, then she could be married. "Why not legitimise her?"

It would make her happy, that much Rickard knew. And her marriage prospects would be improved if he had. "I will, when the time is right," Rickard nodded in response, coming to understand the Maestars' words.

She had been happy at the news, hugging her father and kissing his cheeks a hundred times over. Though she would not gain the name Stark, she'd be recognised by her father and the realm as one of his own. Now there was the small matter of requesting an audience with King Aerys to have the appeal made.

When Brandon was almost returning home at the eve of his eight and ten name day and Ellena five and ten in the year 279 AC, he had written to her telling her of taking Lady Barbrey Ryswell's maidenhood and how the girl had grown even more infatuated with him that he couldn't find a moment alone most days. He had also proclaimed a bloody sword was a sight to behold. Ellena had thrown the letter into the fires of her room before she even finished it. Growing jealous his changed affections. In Brandon's defence, Barbrey had been infatuated with him since he had met her – having taken her maidenhood when he was six and ten, he was only telling Ellena now but as his leaving date neared, Barbrey seemed to follow him around like a child would their mother.

He wrote to her once more in the same moon, wondering why she hadn't responded and assured her that she had no reason to be envious.

Do not be jealous Ellena. Barbrey is infatuated with me and I wanted to put the poor girl's pain at ease. She speaks of wanting to be a Stark, wanting to become the Lady of Winterfell ... my lady. I was stupid enough to ask father to consider it once, but that was before I knew I wanted you most. Besides, even if I do marry Catelyn Tully, there will only be one woman for me. Catelyn might be my wife, but you will forever be my lady. I will take yours if that is what you desire when I come home. It is soon now. Are you as excited as I am? We will spend all day and night together, and there is not one thing father can do to keep us apart.

And her heart eased, sleeping in a wonderland after she had read those words.

...