01 Old Friends

For years every day had been colored in the same shade of grey. Clouds darkened the sky as if they knew what was coming. Snowflakes kept falling as if they tried to soften the ground for falling cropses. The snow was ready to be soaked with blood of the innocent and the sinners. Everyone could see it. Winter was coming. Now more than ever.

The Winter had been closing in on Clara's heart since she left him. Sometimes she was afraid she would forget what his face looked like.. his dangerous eyes, blue like the ice cold ocean, his wicked smile that never held promise for a happy ending. The sound of his voice had slipped away shortly after they were seperated. Only his laugh echoed in her dreams. It echoed like it had through the walls of the Dreadfort when they were still children.

Clara let out a short sigh, shook her head and turned away from the window she had been starring out for so long. It felt odd to begin thinking about him again so frequently. She was certrain she had forgotten about him, but time often showed her how wrong she was. In the most peculiar moments he creeped into her mind -and for no reason whatsoever.

Did he even remember her? Or had he forgotten about her completeley? Was he still alive? The blonde girl giggled to herself. Of course he was alive. They had been children when she saw him last but even then she knew that no one would mess with him. If someone were to survive these horrible time, it would surely him. Yet, deep down inside, she begged that he was dead rather than turn into a cruel monster. She had seen too many good men turn into merciless creatures only surviving the God of death.

She'd foolishly believed she had perfected the art of pushing thoughts of him aside upon leaving the Dreadfort many years ago. It was silly and naive to think about these old memories. What lay before her was important. Surviving was important. Dwelling on old memories was not what she should be doing and so she pushed the memories away as she did so often.

She needed to focus on the important matters at hand. Tywinn Lannister was dead, Tyrion Lannister was missing, war conflicts escalated day by day and her house – her family – was shortly before falling. They should've chosen a side to fight for after Ned Stark died but her father rather went even more into hiding further isolating his house from society.

Clara would call him a coward, pathetic even, if she hadn't known he was doing it for her. Her father was an old man now but she was no longer the sick, weak girl she used to be when they left the a change of climate was the reason why her lungs weren't giving up on her, but right now she just wanted to be home. These cold walls had never been her home. The mountains that served as the perfect hiding place, had never been her home. Moving to this lonely place might have saved her life but there wasn't a day that she didn't wonder what was out there. The only places she had ever seen was the Dreadfort and this stupid place, that didn't even have a name. Her family wasn't the noblest by far.

Yet they had a name once. But their name was long forgotten now. It was what kept them safe. No one knew their family still existed and Clara was sure even their old friends had forgotten about them by now.

She left her room in the tower to get her mind off things. In the past weeks sad thoughts were on her mind way too much. But her moroseness was not entirely her fault. These cold days always brought an ill humor to those that resided within the castle.

Just as she had reached the last steps of the stairs, she was nearly run over by two of her handmaidens. One of them-Analina, a brown-haired and usually very quiet girl- tripped, but managed to hold herself up by the walls.

„What's going on? Why are you running through the floors like hysterical children?" Clara asked, clearly not in the mood for the silly games of her handmaidens. They have been her friends since she arrived here but today Clara would've rather be left alone. Analina was the first to find her voice again.

„There's someone coming, Mylady. Unexpected visitors."

They never had visitors. No one even knew they lived up here in the mountains. It was her family secret escape – or so they had thought.

„Who?" Clara demanded.

„I.. I don't know, Mylady. No one does. However, I did notice that hey have a flayed man on their banner." she astuttered. „But your Ser father must know them. They've already come through the gates, My Lady." Otilia, her second handmaiden, interrupted.

Clara wasn't listening anymore. A flayed man. Could it really be...?

„Why did no one inform me about this?",Clara almost shouted while she stormed past them. Her fast walk turned into running. Her thoughts wouldn't stop spinning and she gave up on keeping a straight face. For too long she had needed to act like nothing ever mattered to her. To hold in her emotions and act passively, properly. But this, today, mattered to her.

She stormed out of the building, already seeing more soldiers and horses than she had seen in the last years altogether. She couldn't even count them.

Swiftly she passed through the crowd to the front of the circle of soldiers. A hand held her back before she could take one more step.

„You'll stay here." her father ordered coldly. He never sounded like that. Suddenly he looked ten years older. Why was he so afraid all of a sudden?

„What's going on?" Clara asked but she didn't really expect an answer.

Instead her eyes started looking for someone among the strangers. There were so many faces she didn't know. Terrifying men she had never met before. Some of them covered in blood and dirt. Even the horses looked like the had just come straight from battle.

Her eyes met with someone else's and suddenly her heart skipped a beat.

Roose Bolton. He was much older with a lot of more grey hair but it was him. It was really them.

Did that mean he was here too?

She searched frantically, and stood up on her toes scanning the crowd . Desperately she tried to gcatch a glimpse of him. Clara was giving up hope but then the crowd parted and that was when her heart felt like it'd jump out of her chest.

There he was.

Seemingly out of nowhere he was there, within her reach again.

It had been years since she had seen him but she would never forget these eyes. They were all she needed to recognize him as he sat so proudly on his horse with an expression of arrogance on his face that she had never seen before. He got off his horse and handed the reins to a terrified looking boy next to him. No. It wasn't a boy. It was a men but his scared face and empty eyes made him look like an intimidated boy. He kept his eyes on the ground and didn't dare to look up. Clara wasn't paying him much attention though.

Eventually she got freed herself of her father's grib and stepped out of the crowd. She simply stared at him with her big, green eyes. He hadn't seen her yet which gave her enough time to really look over him. His black hair was curled up and wet from the rain. He was all dressed in black leather that appeared like armor, yet, was akin to noble clothing all the same.

Finally he looked her way and then she couldn't hold herself back anymore. Without hesitating she bolted to him. When he laid his eyes on her, she was already standing right in front of him, looking into this eyes – eyes that seemed so much colder than she remembered them.

„Ramsay..",she whispered - still in utter disbelieve that it was actually him.

Relief flooded her body as she wrapped her arms around his neck. It had been such a natural thing for her to do when they were children. They were friends after all and she was happy to see him alive and well. She closed her eyes, waiting for his arms to be wrapped around her like they used to be, when they said their goodbyes.

Instead she felt the cold leather of a glove grabbing her neck and then ripping her away. The gesture was so rough, and the grip so tight that it nearly took her breath away in shock. It was Ramsay himself holding her like he wanted to cut her throat open.

„Is that how you greet the son of the Warden of the North?" he whispered dangerously. His voice sounding raspier than she would've expected it to. The entire crowd had grown silent watching them. Clara could barely breathe. Not only because of the way his fingers dug into her neck, but because of his words that cut through her skin like a knife. Ramsay didn't remember her. How could he have forgotten?

„Ramsay, let her go!" Roose Bolton said sharply before Clara found the strength to speak again. „We don't have time for your games."

Ramsay obeyed his father and let go immediately.. Did she really see fear flash across his face? Did his father still terrify him? Without another word Ramsay passed by her, following his father into the castle.

Clara was left standing there, wondering what just happened. Son of the Warden of the North. The old Bolton had not accepted Ramsay as a true son- she knew that much. But what had changed? As she kept looking after them, she felt her father's gaze boring holes into the side of her head-and she met it. He just shook his head, an expression of grave disappointment twisting his features. In that moment she knew.. all this time, her father kept secrets from her. A few things about what was going in the world she knew, but now, for the first time, she realized her father never told her everything. He knew exactly what was going on and she wasn't sure if she was ready to find out.


Thanks to my beta reader: HimmelreichLYNX