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It was a dreary day when they set out to Mole's Town, with Jon even more bad-tempered than usual. He had not wanted her to come, but had not stopped her since they first argued over it. It was a battle he would not win, and he knew that, though that did not mean he could not still be unpleasant about it.
The Free Folk looked a sorry lot, but they were slowly warming to her. She spoke to the mothers, and played with the children. When Greywind accompanied her she even picked them up, placing them on his back. She was sure if anyone else did that to him, the wolf would not be so accomodating, but all he ever did was shoot her a glance if what she assumed was annoyance. For her first visit she had brought along Maester Corren, who had so dutifully followed her from Widow's Watch, to heal their wounded. And now many of them, if not outright smiled at her, no longer looked at her with suspicion.
Though not all of them. The Magnar of Thenn still watched her with his cautious gaze, as she watched him with interest. His receding hairline aged him, though she doubted living beyond the Wall promoted youthful looks. She had once thought to speak to him, but he knew little of the Common Tongue, and despite the lessons she had contracted from Val she had not thought herself proficient enough to risk the embarrassment of failing.
Her friendship, however, did little to ease their plight. And she was little surprised when shouting broke out among them, only ending with one of the Night Watchmen blowing the horn, the silence soon filled by Jon. It was a good speech, she had to admit. He may be overly melancholic, she thought, but he has his moments of charisma.
It was seemingly enough to convince many, as by the end over seventy of the wildlings were shoved together in the carts, set to return to the Wall. A quick count put it at seventy eight, possibly even more.
"That was a good thing you did, Jon," she said, as they loaded up the rest of the new recruits, "But the Watch will not thank you for it."
"You can't please everyone." He shrugged, "They like you."
And they might've fought for me, she thought, had Stannis not promised them to you. But she could not begrudge Jon for the actions of the king. One could not, after all, control everything others did.
"What you said, about the blushing maidens," she said, "Did you say that because you only want those who can defend themselves?"
"I said that because I need warriors," Jon retorted, "Not fragile ladies who can't look after themselves."
By the look of concern on his face, he certainly has not expected the barking laughter that came from her.
"You truly don't know anything, if you think a woman's worth is based on the weapon in her hands." She mocked, "In this case, yes, fighters are needed. But strength goes far deeper than that. And you need not know how to fight to look after yourself."
The pair did not speak again for the rest of the journey back to Castle Black, and she continued to ignore him upon their arrival. Not that he seemed to mind, for he ignored her all the same.
It had grown lonely at the Wall since the king's departure, not for lack of his presence though. Harlon had gone with him, as well as Zosa and her all her fighters, and though almost a hundred Northmen had remained for her protection, some of them she had offered to for Jon to put to work throughout the day. Taenella was the only friend who remained to her at the Wall, and so she even found herself missing the ever-smiling Ser Justin Massey. Jon had put them up in the King's Fort, filling the space that Stannis had left, and she knew he would be far from pleased if he returned.
No, not if, she scolded herself, when. He will come back. He will win.
Taenella had insisted upon acting as her ladies maid, and had taken to doing her hair each morning and night. There wasn't much else for her to do, seeing that all her dresses were far too simple to require assistance.
"The Lord Commander still avoiding you?" Taenella asked, as she brushed through Layla's hair
"How do you know?"
"Only men make you this sullen." Taenella explained, "You shouldn't worry. He wants you. Seducing him would not be difficult."
"I do not want to seduce him, Nella," she replied, "That won't get me anywhere, and it won't make either of us happy."
"Staying apart won't make you happy either," Taenella pointed out, "But,"
The words died in her mouth at the sound of a sharp knock on the door, and Layla bid them entry. Some may judge her too trusting for not asking the identity of her visitor first, but if anyone had managed to arrive at her door, disposing of all her guards without making a sound, then they deserved their attempt on her life.
"Excuse me, my lady," Jon greeted, pushing the door open, "I wish to speak to you."
"Of course," Layla replied, nodding towards Taenella to give her leave, the girl curtsying before walking out. She was quickly learning how to survive amongst nobility. "What is it that you wished to speak about?"
"I wanted to apologise for today," he said, "If I offended you, that was not my intent."
"It seems all you've been doing lately is apologising to me." She pointed out, "But never for avoiding me, which I take to mean you will not stop."
"I just thought it would be easier," he explained, "If we kept to our separate ways."
"Easier for who?" She demanded, "What do you think I will do if we spend time together?" She asked, "Trick you into my bed?"
"No my lady." He replied, sheepishly, "I,"
"Oh for God's sake, don't you dare say you're sorry again." She said, exasperated, "Let us be friends, Jon, that's all I want."
"I want that too."
"Well then," she said, "How are things going here?"
"As best as they can be, I suppose." Jon answered, "At least with Stannis gone we have less men to feed."
"It might do to set up trade with the Free Cities," she suggested, "You could sell wood to Braavos in exchange for food."
"Wood?"
"Trees don't grow in Braavos," she explained, "And with winter coming, firewood will be in high demand."
If she had been of no use to Stannis, at least she could be of some use to Jon.
"Was Zosa the one to give you your bow?" Jon asked, "You said it was from the Summer Isles."
"Yes, it was a gift when we parted." Layla replied, "She had wanted me to stay on as an archer on her ship, but I declined the offer. Though I think it was an excuse, for I'm not that great of an archer."
She had declined a great many offers during her travels, many of which she would come to regret. She could have become a trader with Zosa, or a sellsword with Jorello, or married Ser Daemon Sand. But she had done none of those things, always looking for her next adventure, and this path of always wanting more had led her to war.
"Was Zosa the one that taught you archery?"
"I knew the basics, just in case." She replied, "A woman travelling alone must learn to defend herself, after all."
And learn to never be unarmed, she thought, a habit she had long kept. Even now, there was a knife tucked into each of her boots, another dozen hidden around her room, some of which had also been gifts from her time in Dorne. It seemed the only gifts she could manage to hold on to were weapons, the others lacking practicality in times of war, serving only the purpose of being sold off.
Still, not all of her belongings had been traded for supplies. The crown that Robb had made for her lay in her case, hidden away from any who might deem fit to take it from her. It was all she had left of him, and she'd be damned if she let anyone rob her of it.
"Oh," she winced, and Jon's eyes immediately widened, "No, I'm okay, the babe's kicking is all."
"Kicking?"
"Yes," she nodded, "Would you like to feel it?"
Once he nodded in affirmation, she reached out to take his hand, pressing it against her stomach. Laying her hand over his, she eagerly watched his eyes light up with joy, smiling along with her.
"The babe's strong." He said, "Like its mother."