@accidentalss
It had been almost four hours since she had left the last place she took shelter in and she was still riding as fast and hard as the wind. The Northern gale was far more fiercer and bitingly colder than she had anticipated and Myrcella felt frozen to the bone as she spurred on Tempest to go on even faster in order to reach their destination quicker. The North was a harsh hostess and for a moment, Myrcella wondered how long it would take for her to acclimate to the weather. She had to do so if she was to survive the rest of her life here.
Upon finally sighting the gates of Winterfell, Myrcella finally let out a breath of great relief, finally slowly down her beloved courser. The Durrandon was bone-tired, famished and shaking slightly from the wintry cold. Despite this, she maintained as composed as she could as she told the sentries that she was the bride of Maeric Stark and lied smoothly that he was expecting her. Whilst waiting for the guards to report to their ruling lord to seek permission to let her in, Myrcella prayed hard that Maeric would not be too upset at turning up completely unannounced and would hear her out. Thankfully, the ruling lord Stark was as kind as she had hoped and she was ushered in to meet with him, clinging onto her small luggage she had packed. As she stood before him, she shredded off her heavy and wet cloak and gratefully handed it off to the servant. Wrapping her arms around her shivering body as an attempt to warm herself up for the gown she had purchased in the Vale was still not warm enough to protect her from the freezing coldness of the North, Myrcella then parted her lips she had believed have gotten half-numb from the cold and spoke as calmly and in a rather pleading tone, rare for her to be sure, " May I please have a private word with you, my lord?"