Arrangements

279 AC

Arrangements

Rickard had plans to announce his daughter's official betrothal to Robert Baratheon, the soon to be Lord Paramount. Once Robert grew comfortable in his role, and once Lyanna had grown from being three and ten to being six and ten, Rickard was more than happy to see her wed, that would be in 283 AC. He also wanted to celebrate the year that his second youngest son turned six and ten, almost a man full grown and the return of Winterfell's heir from his wardship in Barrowton with the Dustin's.

Ned, who was riding home from the Vale, was known to be shy and quiet, never liking too much attention. But Rickard knew that he would appreciate the efforts gone into the feast. It wasn't just Ned's name day celebration; it was the celebration of the Stark's coming together at last. After years of being separated from his family, he too was almost close to finishing his wardship in the Vale with Lord Arryn and would be home to wed a girl of his choosing.

It seemed the only child not receiving a special moment during the feast would be Benjen. As Rickard sought to find a match for Ellena that day, presenting her as his daughter – though not yet fully legitimised.

Mormont ... Rickard thought to himself. How would Ellena fare in Bear Island? The island that lay in the Bay of Ice, had a number of bears and was growingly improvised. Rickard thought on it. The heir to the island, Jorah Mormont, had a first wife who had died or so Rickard had heard. Most recently at that. Granted he was ten years older than Ellena and as the heir had every right to reject the proposal. Rickard made a note to discuss it with Jeor Mormont, the father of Jorah.

It would be suitable had Ellena married to a vassal house, as that would keep her close enough to Rickard and from preying eyes of those in the South.

He pondered for another little while, the Master of Deepwood Motte – Galbart Glover. The Glover's were his people and resided in the North. He was unwed as of yet and from what Rickard had heard he was a loyal and good man. Deepwood Motte was also closer to Winterfell, unlike Bear Island, which required a ship to bring one to land. Mormont, Glover, who else was there to consider? It wasn't as if he hadn't planned the guests that would be arriving, no he wanted Ellena to choose and her match to choose her in turn, but also a fatherly nudge would not hurt anyone.

Maester Walys had suggested that they branched out from the North, as they had done so for Brandon and Lyanna. "There are Benjen and Eddard to continue a Northern hold here. And the houses are under your protection, they are your vassals. What use marrying your children to them if they are already loyal to you my lord?" Walys reminded him, standing opposite of Rickard's desk.

That is where they were now, discussing the matter of Ellena's match and how they would go about marrying her off.

"Benjen wishes to become a Knight, a sworn brother. He is too young now but when he is ready, he speaks of wanting to take the Black of the Watch or the White of the Kingsguard – whichever he chooses will honour me," Rickard sighed, patting his stomach. "I just need to have her legitimised so that the question of her birthright is not brought up. She will have a bride price, not as large as Lyanna's but she is mine to call daughter, so I owe her that much."

Walys huffed, his obesity getting the best of him. He was rather comfortable for a Maester, so he rummaged through Rickard's maps and lists of families. "I know you are thinking Mormont or Glover-,"

"Or Bolton, should he have her," Rickard added, Walys gave him a wary glance, "I do not believe fisher wives tales Maester." He said, noting the Maester had been judgemental of the Lord of the Dreadfort, Roose Bolton's reputation. "He has no heir and his wife has since passed trying to give him one. His last died in the cradle, Ellena can be a breath of fresh air for him."

Walys ignored his words, the lists, that were regularly updated by the Maester himself, were scrambled. He found the two he was looking for. "Ah see," he looked closely, "The Reach ... hmm ... the brother of Lord Luthor Tyrell, Moryn Tyrell ... a ... the Lord Commander of the City Watch of Oldtown, respectable, has a son – second son – unmarried, Leo Tyrell."

"Leo Tyrell," Rickard repeated, looking at his Maester in thought. "A Tyrell." Sure, the Tyrell's were rich and had grain that would provide the North should they fall short. "No, I'd rather marry Ned to a Tyrell. A true Tyrell and not the son of the Lord's brother. There is no security in that." Besides, the Reach was far too far away for Rickard's liking.

"But my lord, she will be legitimised, and a connection is a connection."

"Who else is there?" Rickard asked him.

Walys sighed, unsure if anyone he suggested would be good enough for Rickard. "And the next, I was thinking ... yes, I remember writing him down ... where is he?" Walys looked down the list titled, Riverlands, with the Reach's list still in hand in, did a small skip as he found it. "Lord Darry has a son, three actually, all unmarried," he noticed Rickard's impatient gaze and stuttered. "An Otto Darry the first, Edmund the second and Harold the third.

Rickard played with his hands, it was the perfect time to arrange a marriage for Ellena now, so he had to be quick whilst she was young and still had her innocence about her. She'd be six and ten in the coming year, so a betrothal now would suit very well. A raven to both houses. And if they considered her, they would travel to whoever agreed and offered the best proposal. The Northern lords would be offered the same chance, bar the raven as he would see them soon anyway. "Write to them both," Walys nodded, fixing the mess he had made with the papers. As he made to leave, Rickard called him. "Maester, have a small tapestry of Ellena's face made. We will send them each one, as a way to show them the beauty she offers."

"Yes, my lord-,"

"She is five and ten," Rickard stood from his seat, growing excited and pleased for his bastard daughter – he hadn't thought she'd have a life outside of Septa or maid – thank the gods for Maester Walys. "She is black of hair and lilac of eyes. Her mother was no whore, has had her blood, tell them I make sure she has not fallen privy to young love – she is innocent and soft." Walys scrambled to make note of what Rickard was saying, "thin but has hips growing, she can sing a pretty tune, writes well, reads well, has been educated a lady's education. Oh, and tell them she can sew as well. Very well at that," Rickard looked down at the tunic she had made him not too long ago. It was thin as the girls weren't given good material to practice on, but Rickard wanted to show her he was pleased with her improvements.

"Yes, my lord," Walys said, a freshly written scroll in hand before he left the room he hesitated. "Will that be all my lord?"

Rickard thought for a moment, pursing his lips. "Yes, that will be all. We will let her beauty speak for itself when they agree to meet her. Make her seem irresistible Maester. Like her bastardly has no matter, understood?"

The Maester nodded, finally leaving the room. Rickard sat back down, unable to focus on his work anymore. This was very good, very good indeed.

...

Ellena stared intently at the gates of Winterfell from her seat on a stool. She was currently sat by the household's washer, Milly, who was singing a sweet tune as she wrung a dress shirt dry. Something about summer birds and winter flowers. Ellena couldn't focus on it as she was trying to perfect her stitching skills; having grown to love sewing and dressmaking.

She couldn't focus on that either, as she was waiting for both Ned and Brandon's arrivals for the feast. She felt giddy knowing this time, Brandon would come home, and he would stay home.

Many vassal houses of the Starks had arrived, she noticed some house banners, Mormont, Umber, Hornwood; the newest one to arrive, House Manderly. The richest of all their vassal houses, through their fish, grain and overseas trade. Ellena wondered what it would be like gloating that one was richer than all of the North.

She was growing tired of introductions, having to stand from her seat every moment or so to greet each arriving house, and wanted the next horse to trot through the gates to be Brandon's or Ned's.

Ned, who she had also been in close communication with, not as close as Brandon, had written to her just before he left the Vale of Arryn writing;

I cannot wait to leave the Vale and return home to Winterfell, I have missed the snow, the rain, the cold and howls of wolves at night. I have missed my father and all my brothers and sisters.

She had smiled at his words, knowing that a raven back would be futile as Ned would already be on his way.

Ellena sat in front of the gates for what felt like hours, Milly having returned from her other household duties to bring down the dry dress shirts.

"They'll be 'ere soon," the maid called to Ellena, smiling at the girl's impatience.

"Aye, soon is not soon enough," Ellena responded, standing from the stool and stretching. Her backside had grown numb from the sitting and so she thought a walk would help in relaxing her muscles. The gates called for her to pass them.

I'll only be a short while. Ellena thought to herself. Lyanna did it all the time since she was two and ten and had been gifted a horse.

She bit her bottom lip, never having left the gates without her father, siblings or someone else. All she'd do is walk around, and then she'd come right back.

Ellena put down her embroidery hoop and needle on the stool she had been sat at, marched up to the East Gates of Winterfell and walked right out. She shut her eyes, there was no loud booming cry of Rickard's voice, no screams of a lost bastard, just chatter. There was not a soul in sight, apart from the guards who seemed far too interested in drinking ale, who had seen her leave as she passed the gates.

No one had questioned her, leaving Ellena to her own devices. She gathered her dress and jumped over a puddle that stood in her way. She was acting as children did, but she did not mind it one bit.

She had passed Wintertown, taking the Kingsroad, and nodded to those with open stalls. It was a perfect time for them to be open with many household servants milling around and looking for pelts, livestock and workers for their lords. Some had called her to look at their products, but she was not interested in leather or meat or potatoes, she just wanted to feel what it meant to venture out alone. A luxury Lyanna had been afforded, one she knew would be given to all but her. Her father had thought her a delicate egg not to be broken by the words of those outside the walls of Winterfell – but not one soul had said an offensive phrase to the lilac-eyed bastard.

Ellena came to a stop once she had reached the trail that led into thick woods, knowing better than to pass by it. She had a second to rethink, a little look wouldn't hurt. Besides this is where the Kingsroad was leading here, and the Kingsroad was safe. She walked ahead, feeling at peace by the forest's quiet splendour. The same forest that held beasts of beauty and danger alike. Lost in her own world, she had not noticed the man approaching her. His footsteps were like, leaving not a trace of his being behind.

Ellena's throat hitched as her body made contact with his pale eyes that seemed to glare down at her.

"What is a pretty little thing like you doing out here, alone?"

...