Disclaimer: Everything belongs to its rightful owners.
This is a part of a series of one-shots, the order of which you can find on my profile. This will itself be a series of one-shots of Layla's time at the wall
It had been nearly two years since Jon had laid eyes on her, in the courtyard of Winterfell. Her eyes were sad that day, and still looked to be sorrowful. Perhaps when she looked at him, she was reminded of Robb. Maybe she wished it was Robb standing before her instead.
When his name fell from her lips, he was pulled from his memory, and forced to properly take her in. She looked paler than he remembered, skinnier even though her stomach swelled with a child. With his niece or nephew, the heir to the North. Clearly, the months since Robb's death had not been kind to her.
Without warning she had crossed the courtyard, much faster than he had expected her to be capable of in such a state, stopping within arm's reach of him. For a second, all they did was stare at one another, before she practically flung herself into his chest, as much as her belly would allow. It was a moment before he reacted, wrapping his own arms around her.
"I didn't think I'd ever see you again," she whispered into his shirt
"Neither did I."
It seemed that theirs was not the only reunion, for the two wolves had leapt at each other, tussling together. Jon was glad that at least Ghost could see his sibling, and even more grateful for the wolf's survival. For he knew that Greywind would protect her just as fiercely as his master.
The embrace did not last long, being interrupted by the arrival of one of Stannis' knights to inform them the king required her presence. Demanded more like it, he thought, though he obliged, leading the group to the quarters of the king.
The group that Layla had arrived with was an odd mix. Many were Northern knights pledged to House Flint, others were servants and small folk that had fled the Bolton's retribution, but it was the rest of the group that interested Jon.
Behind Layla stood two women, both which much darker skin than any he had ever seen. One had long hair in tight braids, which flowed over her red cape stitched with feathers, whilst the other's hair was closely cropped in a boyish style, her own cape stitched with green feathers.
"This is Lady Layla of House Stark," the knight announced, "Lady Layla, this is,"
"I know who he is," Layla interrupted, mustering her most courteous smile as she stepped forward, "It is an honour to meet you, Your Grace. I would kneel, but my current status does not allow for such movement."
"I am to take it the child is your husband's?"
"Yes." She answered, though Jon knew that even the question pained her, "This child is Robb Stark's trueborn heir."
"And do you plan to crown the child once it is born?" Stannis asked, "Because I will not allow it."
"My child's birthright is to the Northern seat," she said, "I care not for a crown."
"And who are your companions?" Stannis demanded
"I am Zosa Daxas, of the Summer Isles, captain of the swan ship The Hawk." Said the woman with braids, stepping forward with utter confindence, extending a hand out to the other woman, "This is Taralla Xaros, my second mate."
"And why are you here?"
The woman, Zosa, did not seem to enjoy the questions. Though her hardened expression gave the impression she enjoyed very little. She was taller than Layla, though Jon could not get a clear view of her build as she was hidden under many furs. He supposed the Wall must seem awfully cold compared to her home.
"Layla asked for safe passage to the Wall."
"Then why did you not simply drop her at Eastwatch?" Stannis asked, "Why come to Castle Black?"
"To fight." Zosa replied, casually, turning towards Layla, "We will help take back the North for your child."
This profession of loyalty seemed to conflict Layla, and trouble Stannis, for neither seemed at ease with the situation. Why these women were so loyal to Layla, Jon knew not, just as he knew very little about her past.
"And how many men can you give me?" Stannis asked, to which Zosa raised an eyebrow, and Jon thought she would not have been so polite in her response had Layla not cast her a warning glance
"I have twenty archers on my ship docked at Eastwatch, my brother has thirty."
"I was told there was five ships docked," Stannis said, "Was I misinformed?"
"No, Your Grace." Layla finally spoke, "The other thre are Braavosi ships under the command of Jorello Nahaenor. He has brought with him a hundred fighting men, as well as supplies."
"And how many men do you have with you?"
"A hundred men that fled Riverrun with me," she replied, "And another hundred from Widow's Watch."
"Am I to assume you wish to pledge your men to my cause?"
"If your cause is to retake the North for the Starks, then my swords are yours." She said, "I pledge the loyalty of House Stark to you, King Stannis Baratheon."
This seemed to placate Stannis, who no longer looked at her with such harsh suspicion, though his gaze was still hardened.
"And who holds Widow's Watch now?"
"Harrion, my step-sons uncle." She said, "He has bent the knee to the Boltons,"
"A traitor." Stannis interrupted, "I will return it to your step-son."
"He is no traitor." She retorted, "He is merely pretending to keep Widow's Watch out of the Bolton's hands, for the Flints have ties to the Hornwood's and Ramsey could make a claim." She explained, "Roose has forced him to send men to fight you, but it is a small number, who will turn to our cause at the nearest chance."
"Is there anything else I need to know?"
"No," she answered, "Your Grace."
But Jon had the distinct feeling that this was not in anyway the truth. Not that he was much surprised, his brother's wife had always lived too comfortably among secrets.
The King jerked his head, and Layla muse have understood that to be her dismissal, for she offered him a quick curtsy before exiting the room, her entourage following closely. But when Jon made to leave, Stannis called out to him.
"My offer to you has changed with the arrival of Lady Stark," Stannis said, "I will legitimise you, and you can wed her, rule the North in her child's name until they come of age."
It was the fulfilment of every dream he had ever had. And he wanted it, even more now. They had both changed since they last saw each other, but Jon still cared deeply for the woman his brother had wedded. Robb would be glad for it, for him looking after his wife and child. Or he would hate me, Jon thought, for benefitting from his death.
"I, I cannot." Jon replied, unable to meet the king's hard gaze, "She is my brother's wife."
"She's a widow." Stannis corrected, "And it is most likely she will have to marry again. She's comely enough, I'm sure one of my knights would oblige to sealing that alliance."
"With all due respect, Your Grace," Jon said, "The North would never submit to a Southron as their liege lord."
"It will be difficult to find a Northern lord to wed her to," Stannis pointed out, "Many died for your brother. Most of the lords left are very young or very old. Do you think she would prefer that?"
For a moment Jon almost laughed at the king's stringent belief that Layla would meekly submit to whatever betrothal he arranged. She may not be of the Free Folk, but Stannis would suffer a rude awakening if he attempted to force Layla to do anything she did not want. And even if she agreed to a marriage, if the husband was not to her liking she would kill him in his sleep, and return to widowhood.
"I can't speak to what she wants." Was all Jon said, "If that is all, Your Grace."
Stannis merely grunted, but Jon did not need any further encouragement to scurry from the room. He would be lying if he said this offer was not even more tempting than the last, but there was still no reality in his dreams. It was his brother that she had married, and his brother's child she carried inside her. Jon was nothing but family to her now.
By the time he reached the courtyard four new women had now gathered around Layla, and it was clear by their looks that not were Westerosi. One was tall, much taller than any man, with straight black hair, pale skin and large golden eyes. The second tallest, though around the same height as the average man, with brown skin, and eyes and hair of the darkest black. The one standing closest to Layla was fair, with long silvery blonde hair, blue eyes and delicate features. Jon had never seen a Targaryen, but he imagined they looked much like this woman. The last woman had an unnatural coupling of blonde hair and olive skin, with brown eyes, and scars on each of her cheeks.
It was the one with silver hair that noticed him staring, her eyes locking with his, causing him to blush and avert his eyes. But she had already leaned over to whisper something into Layla's ear, causing her to turn and look at him as well. He would have made to leave, if Layla had not moved to meet him first.
"I bet you've never seen many women that look like them," she said as she reached him, "I'm afraid the cold may get to them, it is a very foreign thing to them indeed."
"Who are they?" He blurted out, not that she seemed to mind him intruding on her friend's privacy
"The tall one's Cai, she's a Lengii warrior. Nesora, the dark one, is Sarnori. They joined Zosa's ship to defend it from slavers." Layla explained, "Mashoni used to be a Volantian slave, that's what the scars are from, she cut the tattoos when she was freed." She continued, "Taenella was also a slave, in Lys. I bought her from her master to free her, but not before she poisoned him."
She did not lie when she said they would look foreign to me, he thought, for they sure were an anomaly in the North. They even looked out of place, with their excess of furs and constant shivers. Evidently the cold plagued them more than it did their lady, who had taken quickly to the snows, especially for a southerner. She was a Queen of Winter once, he reminded herself, and she needed to play her part.
"How long will you stay?" Jon asked, "Until Stannis leaves?"
"Probably longer." She answered, "Even if the babe comes before his departure, I will not be well enough to travel yet."
"I will make sure you're protected until then," he said, "You have my word."
It was a sweet smile she gave him. One of relief. As if a weight was lifting from her shoulders, and he supposed it was. She had spent so long fighting for the survival of her and others, he supposed she relished in having another to rely upon.
Please review, I'd love to hear your thoughts, and you can vote on your favourite love interest on the poll which you can find on my profile