The Half Princess and the Bastard

298 AL.

'Aileen!'

As I see my beloved friend Alfie walk fast towards me, I can't help wiping out my discomfort with a spontaneous smile. I was extremely reluctant to follow his advice and set for the Dreadfort to serve the Boltons and yet, now that I see him, I think things could even work out well.

This might also be due to the fact that I have never played the part of the damsel in distress: I always face life without crying over myself, even when things don't go as I wish. And obviously, becoming a maid at the Dreadfort is so not what I wished.

Well, how could anyone, anyone who hasn't completely lost his marbles, possibly wish for that?

It's such a cold, depressing place: if the fact that it was founded near the so called Weeping River wasn't depressing enough, bear in mind that they have a flayed man on their coat of arms!

Long story short, if I am here it's basically because I don't think I have another option to save my family from starving, so this will be good enough of a motivation to face their threatening symbol.

'Alfie,' I breath out in a joyful whisper, hugging him. He looks more mature than last time I have seen him: shorter blond hair, more muscles.

'I'm glad you are here.'

'I'd be more glad if the welcoming sign was slightly friendlier,' I spit out, eyeing the red coat of arms.

'I know, and I won't hide that here I have seen a few…real ones,' he admits, putting a finger on my mouth before I can express my shock, 'But!', he adds promptly, 'if you behave, you'll be fine. Look at me.'

'But you are a good chef.' And he really is: he has been serving the Boltons for over a year, I seem to remember. 'Myself… I don't even know how a maid is supposed to act.'

He smiles. 'Not like you usually do, to be honest.'

'Very encouraging.'

We start walking on the narrow bridge towards the magnificent entrance, plunged in thin cold mist.

'Well, you'll have to look less…proud, I guess. And I know it's unlike you, but you will have to do what they say, accept orders, look humble, walk with elegance and not run everywhere like a child.'

'This doesn't sound like me at all,' I sigh.

Alfie knows me too well: we grew up screaming around, jumping in the river, running through the woods, waking up in the middle of the night to stare at the moon in the dark, improvising dialogues inspired by the stories we heard in the village. I have never been ladylike, let's say. Luckily, I have never needed to be, at least until this very moment: Alfie and I were free to be ourselves. I have never envied ladies and princesses, stuck in the conventions and stupid rules of their class.

'I know,' he smiles, 'This doesn't sound like you, but that's what you need to do to survive here without going crazy. Take it… take it as a show! You used to like acting, didn't you?'

I laugh. Yeah, he really knows me well. 'Alright, what part am I acting, exactly?'

'You are acting the part', he begins theatrically, 'of a young maid, polite, elegant, respectful of her masters, and invisible.'

'Invisible?'

'Yes. People who stay in their place, here, are usually going to be fine. Roose and family are not the best people, as you know. So don't cause troubles, don't try and be noticed. Just stay in the background: do what they ask, and disappear. Beware of his son, especially.'

'You mean his bastard?'

'Don't!' he opens his dark eyes wide, raising a hand. 'Rule number one: don't-call-Ramsay-a bastard.'

I shrug my shoulders. 'That's what he is. That's what I am. I don't make a scene if someone calls me for what I am.'

'Well, he doesn't make a scene either. He does much worse.'

'Are you trying to scare me?' raising my eyes to the ceiling. 'Like when we used to meet up by night and you jumped out of the least predictable corners just to laugh at me shaking?'

'No,' he nods, holding back a smile but going back to his serious face. 'I am just trying to explain to you how to survive here. So, rule number one?'

I make a grimace, mocking his tone in a childish way. 'Never call Ramsay a bastard. But wasn't it being invisible?'

'They are equally important.' He swipes the grey, opaque cloth of my humble dress with his thumb. 'This is a good start.' Then he raises my chin, turning my face to look at the reflection in the mirror: my green eyes are staring back at me and a sunray from the window adds red shadings to my fair brown hair and underlines the freckles on my nose that everyone describes as delicious, despite me hating them. 'This is not,' he adds, frowning a bit.

'What's wrong with my face?' I laugh, hands on my hips, pretending to be offended. 'I am not pretty enough to work here?'

'On the contrary. But too many pretty girls here have been playing with fire and…'

'They got burnt!' pressing my hands on the cheeks and faking fear.

Alfie ruffled my hair. 'Worse,' again, 'but-' he stops talking as soon as we hear footsteps approaching. 'I'll explain to you soon,' he promises in a whisper, stepping back from me.

I catch a glimpse of –I guess- Roose Bolton, about to leave the castle, but when he sees us out of the corner of his little eyes he stops.

'Is it her?' to Alfie.

'Yes, my Lord.'

Roose is slightly smaller than I imagined, with short greyish hair and a worn out, fierce face. He stands in front of us like a statue.

'What's your name?'

I quickly force myself to use Alfie's attitude. 'Aileen, my Lord,' I answer humbly with a quick bow.

He nods. 'Helàna will show you to your room.'

'Thank you, my Lord, you are very kind,' I add as he leaves. Then, smiling at Alfie, 'How did it go?'

'You are still a good actress,' he says, so I mockingly bow, but he grabs me by an elbow, 'Don't push it,' he adds.

Then I follow Helàna, the eldest maid: she looks like a sweet grandmother, with her long white hair held in a loose bun and a tender but too wise smile. She asks me about my story and, even if she seems trustworthy, I lie, of course.

Some people know the story of this little girl raised in a village in the North. Some people have seen a little girl at Winterfell, Ned Stark's bastard. Very few know that we are the same person.

First of all, my surname doesn't give it away: I am not a Snow, unlike my half-brother Jon, and I haven't been raised as Ned's daughter, but that's fine. It was actually our choice.

It had already happened with Jon about a year before, and now what, another bastard? That would have been too much of a scandal for the Seven Kingdoms. Furthermore, my mother fell in love with Jeremy, shortly before I was born, and they decided to raise me as actual parents.

They told me the truth only when I was seven: I was half noble.

It was a big shock at first, but I didn't allow a mistake from the past to ruin my happy life.

Mum explained that Eddard was reluctant to be involved in our situation, at first: yet when he saw me –I can't remember, since I was barely one year old- he smiled and told her I had the eyes of a princess –he was wrong, I am so not a princess, even though I was known as "the half princess of the North". He held me for a few minutes, she said. And after that, he decided to help her and Jeremy with my bringing up. He used to send some coins every once in a while and he welcomed me at Winterfell whenever I wanted. We were afraid of scandals, though: sure, a lot of people in the North knew, but they kept it inside their walls. We didn't want the whole Westeros to find out: we preferred our quiet life, me, mum and Jeremy –the one I actually call Dad-, all blessed with freedom and no political involvement.

Anyway, since I had no brothers nor sisters, I used to go to Winterfell once every few months to play with my half-brothers. Less with my half-sisters, to tell the truth: I really liked Arya, because she was free like me, whereas I didn't get along with Sansa. I couldn't stand her fake manners and rituals, her dreaming of becoming a perfect princess and blah blah blah. Brann and Rickon weren't even born at first. Robb, yes, he has always been nice with me: he could always find a way to make me laugh even more than I did by myself. But he spent most of his time with his friend Theon, Theon Greyjoy, also known as my very first crush –I swear on all the old gods and the new ones, people could see me blush from the other side of a room each time I saw him-. Jon… Jon is my favourite. It's probably because we are both bastards, but we do feel like actual brother and sister. He is the one who taught me and Arya how to use the sword –I will never forget how sorry he was when he cut my left cheek by mistake, leaving me this small scar next to the eye… He was nearly in tears, and didn't stop saying he was sorry until I threatened to never speak to him again if he had said it once more. Catelyn hates me, of course. Almost as much as she hates Jon. I really like her, though: she is still a beautiful woman and she seems so strong. I don't blame her for hating me, even though it's one of the reasons why my visits at Winterfell started to decrease. That, and the preference for a completely normal life, without rules, without too many problems.

Last year, I spent most of my time with Alfie. When he left to serve the Boltons, I felt a bit lonely at first, but I kept myself occupied helping mum and dad with their cow and pigs.

And then, Sansa's cruel love –King Joffrey- had my natural father beheaded.

I couldn't believe it, at first. He wasn't really a father, he felt more like an uncle to me, but I did love him… and I believed he was somehow immortal: he looked so strong and powerful, and yet now he is gone. Sliced by a sword.

Of course, no more money came into our pockets and, when I realised that my parents where barely touching food to leave it to me, I decided I had to do something about it.

Alfie had mentioned in a letter that the Boltons might have needed another maid, since one had disappeared.

So here I am, I think, bouncing on my new, hard bed and closing my eyes.

I don't trust the Boltons: they have flayed many Starks in the past. Now they look like they are on their side, though. I don't know. Maybe they are. Anyway, I am not a Stark, I am not a Snow: I am just myself and I don't want anyone to suspect otherwise, especially now that we are in war.

I will just do my best to follow Alfie's stupid rules: behave, be invisible –whatever that actually means- and beware of the bastard.

What was the other one?

Oh yeah. Never call the bastard a bastard.

Hello everyone!
I am new on the website and this is my very first GoT fiction.
English is not my original language so I hope I haven't made any big mistake… sorry if I did (feel free to point it out).
It would be really good for me if you gave me some feedback, good or bad, to improve, to tell me you like the story or even to tell me what the hell is this?! Never know haha

Ramsay will appear veeery soon.

Thanks for reading xx
Sunshine