Thank you to those who F&F and thanks to Frozen862 and JayMars also to my wonderful Beta dancewithdragons they are amazing so heres the next chapter enjoy please give me feed back for it :)
The journey to Winterfell was short, not that Ayla cared. Her thoughts were only of her brother, of Rodrick. Ser Thom would glance at her worriedly as she fell further into her grief. Anyone who didn't know her would think her cold, but those around her knew her to be broken. Still, she continued on with her head held high and put on a front for the world to see. She could have no weaknesses. This was not the south, where one might mourn openly; this was the north, and she could not seem weak. Ironwood would always survive the coming winter, their roots were strong and ran deep, deeper than any tree in the Wolfswood.
Wintermen in shining armor came to meet her and her convoy upon their arrival to what was to be her new home. She took in the sight of Winterfell, wrapping her heavy fur cloak closer to her as a chilling wind rustled through the woods. It were freezing cold, as though it had traveled from north of the Wall, where her maternal grandfather, Jeor Mormont, lived. She bared through it bravely, then let the cloak fall back into place as she continued under the portcullis and entered Winterfell's courtyard. She dismounted her bloodbay mare, then fell into a sweeping curtsy as she was greeted by Lord Eddard Stark.
"Lady Forrester, my condolences," he murmured, then extended a hand for her. He spoke softly, and she took his hand, allowing him to help her rise.
When she truly saw him, truly looked at the wolf, she saw a subtle handsomeness in his features, though found his rough, windshaken hair and coloring not to her tastes. Still yet, he had a wild sort of beauty.
"Lord Stark, thank you for you kind words," she replied, bowing her head respectfully. When Eddard noticed the way that she held herself, he thought of her strong brother Rodrick. Pity panged in his heart, for he thought no child should feel such pain as she had.
"Eddard, if you please. You are to be part of my family, after all. This is my son, Robb, and my daughter, Sansa." He gestured to a boy about eight with auburn hair and blue eyes, and a girl about four with the same coloring. She gave them a small smile as she greeted them.
"My youngest, Arya, is asleep, or should be. I'm afraid my wife cannot join us either, as she is heavy with child. This is my natural son, Jon." He gestured to a quiet boy with curly black hair and grey eyes, so much like his father.
"That is understandable Lord Eddard," she replied, then looked upon the boy. "Hello, Jon," she greeted. Jon's head snapped up at her addressing him, wide grey eyes blinking slowly. Ayla took an instant liking to Jon Snow, the bastard of Winterfell. She gave him a genuine smile, which he responded to with a small shy one of his own.
"Hello, Lady Forrester." He spoke softly, as his father has, and was not blind to Sansa's eyes on him, her mouth frowning.
"Please, call me Ayla. I'd prefer if everyone called me that," she said aloud.
"Does that include me?" A voice behind her asked.
She whipped around to meet the eyes of Theon Greyjoy. He was dark haired and near an age with her, with narrowed eyes on hers.
"Greyjoy," Ayla spat, wishing she had Iron Frost with her, so she might pull it from its sheath and cut the boy down.
"Ayla," Ser Thom interjected, putting a hand on her shoulder.
"His father killed Rodrick, yet he lives. Why should I not take vengeance?" she hissed.
"Because Balon being parted from his son is a much crueler fate," Lord Stark said quietly, his voice sounding eerily through the yard. "Killing him won't bring your brother back, my lady… I mean, Ayla."
Ayla considered it for a moment before nodded reluctantly. Still, she stepped forward and whispered to Theon a threat.
"Watch your back, Greyjoy, or you might find a dagger in there one day."
He laughed and mocked her words, causing Ayla to boil with rage.
"Theon, enough. Be respectful to Ayla, she is the Lady of House Forrester, and I will not see her mocked in my own halls," Lord Stark said levelly. Theon bowed his head to Lord Eddard out of respect and backed away. Ayla ignored him when he attempted to apologize, and instead followed Lord Stark into Winterfell.
She was shocked at the warmth that emanated from the stone castle walls, and could not help but compare it to Ironwrath, which was considered a cold keep until one stepped inside. A mix of continuous hearths and the torches that hung high on the walls kept it warm and cozy. The feeling of Winterfell was very similar, though the warmth here was credited to hotspring it was built on. A maester had told her that once, and she was proud to have remembered.
"The wintermen of old were smart to build here," she said, observing the furnishings and tapestries that hung on the walls.
Eddard laughed, as well as Jon and Robb. "Yes, they did. If my memory serves, Ironwrath is as warm," he replied, and Ayla smiled at his remembrance. They stopped short at a tall wooden door, her new chamber, and she suddenly felt like her throat was tightening, her stomach flipping.
"How are you really, Ayla?" Lord Stark inquired before he opened the door, eying her with those sullen grey orbs.
She did not answer, and Eddard took her silence as her plea for him to leave, so he and the boys continued on, leaving her to her own.
Ayla looked about room, her home for the upcoming years. There was a bed, a vanity, a wardrobe, a desk, and a hearth that already roared with a fire. She sat at the desk took out some parchment and ink, then began to write a letter to Willas Tyrell who she had met a tourney about a year ago.
The pair had become fast friends, and her brother and Mace Tyrell had considered the match betwixt them, but Rodrick did not want his sister so far south and so far away from him. That didn't matter now. Whoever her husband would be, he be would be chosen by Lord Stark or the King, perhaps. She silently prayed that she would find love, just as her parents had. Whenever she asked, Rodrick would describe their life together for her, as her memories of Ethan and Malaya where few or nonexistent. They were all sweet and tender visions, and she could see her brother leaning in as he shared the tales with her.
Her mother had died days after her birth, and her father was killed eight years ago, at the Battle of the Trident. Rodrick had been her only family… Grief finally broke through her barriers, and inaudible weeping caused her to cover her face with her hands. Her dear brother, her ironwood brother, whose roots had invaded her heart. Those roots were gone now, and the void was a dreadful thing to behold. She crumpled up the letter and tossed it across the room before climbing into her bed. She opened the gate of her grief and allowed its cold, dark waters to consume her until she fell into a dreamless sleep.