Whispers of Winter

- The Mirror and the Mist -

WHISPERS OF WINTER

Chapter Five

Nearly a week and a half has passed since her encounter with Jamie and life at Winterfell has resumed with its guests. The early autumn air is crisp, carrying the faint scene of pine and earthy richness of the North. Elara, in her typical quiet way, has slipped back into her routines, though her mind still wanders as easily as ever.

Today, she finds herself in the godswood, sitting beneath the towering weirwood tree, watching Bran and Rickon. The two brothers are playing a game of chase around the tree trunks, Rickon's high-pitched laughter ringing out while Bran, older and slightly more serious, pursues him with a determined scowl.

Elara rests against the roots of the weirwood, her raven-dark hair tumbling over her shoulders like a cascade of night. Her ice-blue eyes, unfocused and dreamy, follow the boys but are only half-present. Her thoughts drift with the rustling of the leaves and she finds herself smiling absently at nothing in particular.

"Elara! Watch this!" Rickon shouts, darting toward her, his little legs kicking up leaves as he tries to outrun Bran.

Bran, not far behind, rolls his eyes but keeps up the chase. "He's been doing that all morning," he says as he comes to a stop near her, panting slightly. "He thinks he's faster than he is."

Elara tilts her head slightly, blinking as she tunes back into the present moment. "He has the heart of a direwolf, though," she says softly, her voice lilting like she's half in a daydream. "Doesn't that count for something?"

Bran's lips twitch into a small, amused smile. "Maybe but heart doesn't stop him from tripping over his own feet."

Rickon finally catches up, huffing and puffing as he collapses dramatically at Elara's side. "I'm not tripping! I'm practicing!" He protests, his face scrunched up.

Elara reaches out gently and ruffles Rickon's hair, her smile as soft as the breeze. "You'll be as fast as the wind one day, Rickon. Just keep practicing."

Rickon beams at her, his mood instantly lifted, while Bran leans against a nearby tree, crossing his arms with a thoughtful look.

"Elara, how come you're always out here?" Bran asks suddenly, "you spend more time in the godswood than anyone else. Don't you ever get bored?"

Elara's gaze drifts again, her fingers absentmindedly brushing the grass at her feet. "Bored? No never," she says, "there's so much to see if you look closely enough. The way the light filters through the leaves, the stories the wind tells...it's like there's magic in the air but only if you listen quietly."

Bran frowns, clearly trying to make sense of her words. He's always been the practical one, interested in facts and stories that make sense. "Magic?" He repeats.

Elara looks at him, her eyes bright with a secret she doesn't even fully understand. "Not the kind you read about in books. It's something else. Something older. Maybe it's just in my head."

Rickon, lying with his back to the grass, stares up at the sky with wide eyes. "Can I hear it too?" he asks earnestly.

Elara smiles down at him, brushing a lock of hair away from his forehead. "Maybe one day, little one. When you're still enough to hear the world's whispers."

"I guess...if anyone could hear it, it'd be you," Bran says, almost to himself.

Rickon, still full of energy despite his earlier sprint, tugs at Elara's sleeve. "Elara! Come play with us!" He says, his small face lighting up with excitement. "You can be the wolf and we'll try to catch you!"