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Winterfell was a grand keep, far more so than Widow's Watch, but it was as grim and grey as the rest of the North. Especially compared to the East, where even the poorest parts at least had some colour to them. Still, the land was green and open.
She had taken great care in how she would present herself to her liege lord, braiding her dark hair in the Northern style, with a simple white dress without the opulence of the South. Except for the necklace hanging on her throat, a black cord with a red gem. It was the only thing she owned of her mother's.
Lord Stark was a rather plain and serious man, though Roderick had told her as much, whilst his wife maintained her southern beauty and grace. It was their mother's colluding that the children had inherited, except for one of the daughters who had the dark hair and the grey eyes of the Starks.
"It is a pleasure to meet you, my lady," Lord Stark greeted, after she curtsied to both him and his wife, "My condolences for your husband, he was a good man."
"Thank you, my lord." She replied, "I am glad I could finally meet you, Roderick did speak so highly of you." She said, before extending out her hand, "These are Roderick's sons, Willam and Rickard."
"My lord." Willam bowed, his brother following him
"This is my wife, Catelyn," Lord Stark said, "And out children, Robb, Sansa, Arya, Bran and Rickon."
The family is as large as my own, she thought, though these siblings had all managed to be raised alongside each other.
Robb was a handsome young lord, and Sansa a growing beauty, especially when compared to her younger sister, who looked decidedly more boyish, though she was still too young to tell.
The boy they tried to hide at the back, who looked so like her liege lord, must have been his bastard son. Jon Snow was his name, at least that's what she had been told. It was an exceedingly common name in Westeros she had found, that decidedly not common in the East. My brother's name, she thought, it was why we once thought our father to be a Westerosi. Though, whatever their father was they had never learned, for their mother would not speak of the man, and any mention of him sent her into hysterics.
Perhaps this bastard boy would understand her strife, as no one could seem to give her an answer as to who his mother was. Maybe he did not know himself. A cruel fate for a child, she would know. But perhaps Lord Stark weeps for his lost love as my mother does.
"You are welcome to share on the hospitality of our home," Lady Stark said, "For as long as you stay."
"Many thanks."
It had not been her own idea to visit Winterfell, but that of Lord Manderly, who had thought it wise for her to meet her liege lord if she was to rule for her step-son. And it was a wise thought indeed, though she was sure Manderly had his own motivations. What these were she had yet to uncover, for he did not stand to gain anything for his own family.
Especially not if he expected her to charm the lord's son, since she was the widow of a lesser lord than Manderly. Though, perhaps he hoped she would favour him if she were to become the Lady of Winterfell.
Lady Layla Stark, she thought, it has a certain ring to it. But it was a foolish dream of her youth. There was no prestige in her hand in marriage, there never had been. And she could not keep her promise to Roderick if she run off with another lord.
I will keep this promise, she told herself, I will not break my word.
This is a continuation of my series of one-shots, and will itself by a collection of one-shots of Layla's time at Winterfell