Hello lovely readers! I am so glad to be back in town able to write more for you! I like to update my stories weekly, but I missed last week due to a hectic impromptu road trip, but I am back to stay, and just in time for the holidays. this story lines up rather well for the holidays, so that is quite wonderful and exciting.
a few notes before this next installment of A Search for Solace: Winterfell in this story is fashioned after the summer mansions of the gilded age. Winterfell's interior is modeled after The Elms in Newport, RI. It's exterior is a bit more like Pemberly from Pride and Prejudice or even Winterfell from ASOIAF in the way that it is cohesive to the landscape and breathtaking in the winter time. I will put notes like these before certain chapters if there are historical notes or traditions, slag, etc. specific to the time era so you don't feel lost :) I may even try to post references on my tumblr, but no promises. that may be too much for me to handle with my current schedule. I hope you enjoy this next chapter!
Much love,
Flaming Rose
December 24th, 1916 Christmas Eve
"Sansa! Sansa! Oh Sansa, wake up!" Arya was vigorously shaking her awake as the train slowed to a stop. It had lulled her asleep. She'd been dreaming of tinsel and glittering garlands and a knight in soot covered armor. Sansa looked out the window to be faced with blankets of glittering snow that sparkled in the late morning sun. They were here. Father was right. It was breath taking here in the winter. She couldn't wait to see what Winterfell looked like now.
"Isn't it incredible?" Arya gushed, never once looking away from the window.
"Yes," Sansa replied, also transfixed by the scenic winter landscape.
"This was a wonderful idea, Mother." Bran said, his far off look transformed into one full of admiration for the present landscape.
"Yes, absolutely wonderful!" Arya exclaimed as she nearly bounced out of her seat. Catelyn smiled, and Sansa thought her mother seemed to be happier away from the city; free. The trunks, Catelyn, and the children went towards the house with Ned, Robb, Benjen, and Jon close behind. Once they arrived at the house, Sansa nearly cried at how everything shined. We should come here more often in the winter, she thought, it's breathtaking in the winter.
"Welcome back Missus Stark," The housekeeper, Septa Mordane, greeted, "Your rooms are ready upstairs."
"Thank you, Septa; we'll have tea in the upstairs parlor, and a cup of coffee for Mister Stark."
"Very well ma'am." They made their wat into the house and Arya wasted no time running through the downstairs parlor to the French doors that opened out into the grounds of Winterfell.
"Arya, please," Catelyn called behind her, "A girl of your age should not be running through the house like a wild thing."
"Fourteen is no fun," Arya muttered as she slowed down for a few seconds before running out even faster towards the large snow covered trees at the edge of the property. Catelyn sighed as she watched Arya and Rickon running through the snow.
"Where's Bran?" Catelyn asked Sansa as she looked about.
"He's probably in the library, selecting his preferred reading material for the day."
"That boy will soon be a walking encyclopedia," Catelyn commented as she went back into the house to see that everything had been prepared as she had instructed. Sansa said nothing. She stood still marveling at nature. Never had she seen something so beautiful.
Jon had been silent ever since arriving in Newport. The beautiful scene had robbed him of speech. It must have snowed overnight because the snow must have been untouched for it to glisten so. There was uninterrupted snow for miles. He couldn't wait till he saw Winterfell.
Jon knew the story of how it was called Winterfell—it amused Benjen so much that he told it to Jon every summer on the train ride to Winterfell. Uncle Ned and Aunt Catelyn had the home built. Ned was reluctant, but Catelyn insisted that it was expected of a family like theirs at the turn of the century. Catelyn wanted a fitting name for the summer home. After weeks of Ned rejecting name after name, Catelyn threw her hands up and told Ned that if he wanted to be so stubborn then he should name the summer home himself. Ned, being facetious and too clever for his own good, named the house Winterfell.
"Dear husband, if you insist on such a dreary name, then I insist on spending at least one winter at Winterfell, societal consequences be dammed! And you will have to deal with the wind off the coast and the snow that is bound to cover the lawn."
"As you wish, dear wife,' he'd said. Now it finally happened, and Benjen was more than tickled. He'd taken every opportunity he could on this trip to tease his brother.
"At least she is true to her word," he said with a laugh.
As they came up to the house, Jon was in awe. His Uncle Ned may have been playing a joke when he called his summer home Winterfell, but it was clear to Jon seeing it now that no other name could be more appropriate for the marvel in front of him. It was like nothing else he had ever seen.
"Welcome Mister Stark," Rodrik Cassell greeted Ned, "Missus Mordane has set out tea and coffee for the family in the upstairs parlor. I believe your wife is there now."
"Thank you Rodrick. We will make our way there now. Robb, Jon, round up my other children. I'm sure Arya and Rickon have wreaked havoc already."
"Yes Father," Robb replied, "come on, Jon." They walked into the house and followed the sound of laughter to the back terrace. The grandeur of the Stark summer home still hypnotized Jon. Tall, vaulting ceilings, massive tapestries, and paintings brought over from Italy, well-functioning electricity in every room! It was like something out of a dream, and he was living in it. It was almost too good to be true. Robb ran ahead calling out for Arya and Rickon. Jon peaked into the library and smiled to see Bran pouring over one of Ned Stark's many tomes. Bran had become ill when he was very young. Everyone was afraid that he wouldn't pull through, but somehow he did. However, the sickness had left its effect on him, and he wasn't always able to climb as much as he used to without getting winded or feeling aches in his legs. Bran was frustrated at first until Ned taught him how he could experience adventure through books. After that, Bran was rarely seen without one. He grew pensive as he grew older, and he was wise beyond his years. Benjen said it was because he nearly met death as a child, and that will always age a person. Jon thought it might also be in part to how many books he read and how much of their information Bran retained. If Bran kept at it, he'd know everything by the time he was Jon's age. At eighteen, Jon still felt like Bran knew more than him, even though he was five years younger than Jon. He made his way into the downstairs parlor. There with her back to him stood Sansa. Her red hair cut through the scene of whites, blues, and greys. She stood so still. If it weren't for the color of her hair she could be mistaken for one of the statues. Slowly, carefully, as if not to ruin the pretty picture before him, he approached his cousin.
'Sansa?" he said carefully. She turned and smiled when she saw him approaching.
'Hello, Jon," she greeted, "how are you?"
"I'm well. Wonderful, actually. Winterfell is beautiful in the winter."
"It is," she agreed, "I'm glad you and Uncle Benjen could join us here this year. I know it's a little different than what we usually do for Christmas."
"It was an excellent idea," he assured her, "your mother made an excellent decision."
"Thank you again for what you did last night."
"It was nothing," Jon said as he looked at his feet.
"no, it was important," Sansa insisted, "If Joffrey had asked me to dance…"
"You would have accepted to keep up appearances, and Robb would have beat him to a pulp."
"Yes," she said, relieved he was the one that vocalized the thought and not her. They stood quietly looking out at the grounds. Their silences were becoming less and less awkward, and for this they were both glad. Jon hoped this Christmas would be an opportunity to get to know Sansa, and for her to know him. He wanted her to know she could trust him, that she was safe with him.
"Jon!" Arya called as she ran towards him. The hem of her skirt was wet from the snow and her cheeks were flush from the cold and the exertion. Following close behind was Robb with Rickon sitting on his shoulders. Arya launched herself in his arms. He laughed as she tried spitting her hair out of her mouth. As usual her hair would not behave.
"How are you, wild thing?"
"Wonderful. The snow is everywhere!" She spun in circles as her coat and skirt belled out about her shins sending water droplets flying onto her siblings.
"Come on now, Arya," Robb huffed, "Father sent us to fetch all of you. Consider yourselves fetched!" Robb surged ahead with Arya close behind calling for Bran to join the family upstairs. Sansa closed the French doors to the terrace behind her as she came back into the house. Jon offered her his arm. She smiled curiously as she took it and let him lead her to the parlor upstairs. Paintings taller than them surrounded them on the marble staircase. Jon usually admired them as he climbed the stairs, but today he found himself admiring Sansa. She'd grown into a beautiful young woman, and strong. And smart. Goodness she was smart. People didn't give Sansa enough credit for her brains, and Jon included himself in the long list of fools who had underestimated her strength and intellect. Ever since June, he'd been trying to take every opportunity he could to rectify that mistake. He didn't see her much considering he spent most of the year at school. By his calculations, and he hoped they were wrong, the mistake would be rectified, at the earliest, in twenty five years.
"Jon?" Sansa said, bringing him back to the present.
"Hmm?"
"Is everything alright? My hair isn't a mess from the cold outside, is it?"
"Fine. Everything is fine," he said collecting his wits, "You're lovely. You look lovely." he quickly corrected himself. Sansa caught his slip in words, but she said nothing. It would be their little secret.
"Shall we then?" Sansa asked. He looked about and noticed they'd reached the second floor parlor. Too soon, he thought, either that or just in time.
"Yes, of course," he said clearing his throat and opening the door for her. She released his arm in order to walk into the room. He felt her absence immediately. Careful Jon, he told himself, careful.
Ned, Catelyn, and Benjen all watched the looks that passed between their children. They all exchanged meaningful glances over their cups of hot tea and coffee.
"It could be nothing," Ned remarked.
"Or it could be something," Catelyn countered.
'They're children." Ned continued, taking a sip of his coffee.
"They are grown. And from grown children come other children." Ned choked on his coffee. Catelyn sat unperturbed by the facts of life.
"They're young," Ned managed to say between coughs.
"We were young once," Catelyn said as she gazed at her husband. He returned her gaze, glad to see her smiles were making a more frequent appearance. Benjen stayed quiet and instead observed his son and his niece as they sat down apart from the rest of the Stark children, speaking to each other and smiling. He watched and recognized the looks between them, as they discovered each other for what seemed like the first time. He hoped that if anything came of these fleeting glances and kindred conversations, that it wouldn't end in too much heartache. Jon had enough of that for one lifetime, as young as he was.
"Benjen, you are awful quiet sitting there with your cup," Ned commented, bringing Benjen out of his reverie.
"I didn't want to share in the intimate glances occurring between man and wife," he said, "it is too odd a thing for a brother to exchange such glances with his siblings." Ned flushed red, but Catelyn laughed a hearty laugh, one Benjen hadn't heard since before word came to them that Lysa lost her husband in the war.
"Do join us though," Catelyn said, "we promise to keep the glances at a minimum."
"You are very kind, but please don't stop on my account. I enjoy love as long as I am a distant observer."
"A bachelor through and through," Ned teased.
"Yes, well, someone has to keep a level head. Just think, Ned. Catelyn could go absolutely mad for a taste of Parisian macaroons, and you would hop on a boat to France to fetch them for her. Then who would manage the company in your absence? That is why you have me."
"He has a point,' Catelyn agreed, "Though I would much rather you fetch me a custard dessert from Spain. That is more to my liking than macaroons."
"As you wish, dear wife," Ned remarked with a pat to her hand.
"My point exactly," Benjen declared.
"I have been thinking of that recently," Ned said, suddenly sober, "if you and I are absent, the logical choice would be Robb, wouldn't it?"
"And Jon," Benjen added, "would play second to Robb as I play second to you, helping you in business negotiations and the like."
"If you weren't as dedicated to the military as a young man maybe I would be playing second to you," Ned teased, "but we are getting older. Either of us could fall ill at any time." Catelyn squeezed her husband's hand in response.
"This damn war is coming closer and closer to our side of the Atlantic. And with such hostile sentiments towards the Germans I don't know if we will avoid it much longer. And I know Jon. He is growing to be a fine young man, but a man too much like myself. I am sure he would enlist if the war came to our coastlines." Benjen glanced at Jon as he and Sansa conversed with more and more animation.
"In fact, I would not be surprised if Jon would enlist just to keep the war from reaching our coastlines, to ensure those he cared about were safe from harm."
"Robb would follow suit," Ned remarked, "it's not like Robb and Jon do anything separately anymore. They are nearly joined at the hip."
"Enough," Catelyn interjected, "all this talk of war and duty. I don't want to hear any more of this, whether it relates to business or not. You can talk about it after Christmas, but I don't want to hear anymore before then." Benjen and Ned shared a look before putting their hands over Catelyn's.
"I'm sorry sister," Benjen said, "I promise not to say a word more about it until after Christmas."
"As do I," Ned promised, "but we will have to speak on the subject again eventually."
"I know,' Catelyn said softly, "just not now." Ned brought his wife's hand up to him lips before interlacing his fingers with hers. Benjen sat back in his seat watching a second becoming pair laughing uncontrollably as Rickon pranced about them pretending to have antlers like a reindeer. He looked once more at his son's eyes and noticed the shining twinkle he had when Sansa laughed. Careful Jon, he thought to himself, careful.