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She was a mystery to the most, an unknown soul trapped in a beautiful, even stunning body, hidden from the world, quiet and calm. Her personality was strong - it was seen, but she hid it away, trusted only a few, even none at all. Her father used to say that she had a strong backbone even as a child.
She knew how to play games, how to hide her true personality and then use her advantages. The world was cruel, and soft girls died in it. They were raped, beaten and whored. She was none of those, she had learned from the people that came before her, who lost their lives in the cunning world.
She would use her skills - now and in the future, thinking of the consequences her actions would cause. She had decided it as she had to know what was her big step in Winterfell - the place she had wanted to be in, that she needed to be in, where her mind and loyalty took her, where the small, beige envelope had requested her to head.
"My Lady?" Her maid spoke from the other end of the chambers.
"Yes, Alianor?" She responded.
"If you feel well enough, the Lord would like to give you a visit. " Alianor said moving her hand lightly along the wooden engraving of the foot of the Lady's bed.
"Tell him that I'm still frail, but would like to meet him properly. As I don't remember the man that saved me and I would like to say my thank-you to him personally." After all those years of living without a title, she did still remember her courtesies.
Alianor, the maid, nodded and swiftly moved out of the chambers, closing the doors with a light bump, her dark hair gently flowing against her back.
The girl then took a deep breath, moving away a layer of the furs that covered her body. She was a mess - just recovered from a fever, still with a fresh wound. She looked like a mess, with bed hair and clothing that wasn't even hers, a nightgown, in a matter of fact. There were bruises on her face, as well, over her eyebrow and on her cheekbone.
She then took the shiniest object she could lay her eyes on nearby - a silver spoon that sat on the bedside table, looking at her tiny reflection in it. She couldn't see herself well but got a glimpse good enough to brush her hair trough with her fingers.
*
"Good evening, my Lady." His voice ringed in the four walls, and she immediately noticed the northern accent, once again. It was something that she had forgotten was a part of the winter lands, as she was for years grown used to the southern accents, even gain one of her own.
"My Lord." She said shortly, without a hesitation, taking a good look at him.
She had to admit that she had imagined him a bit different, taller, younger. He wasn't old, for sure, but the beard and many scars that embellished his face made him look like a married man with few heirs, daughters, and a noble family.
