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280 AC

The first thing I noticed was the sensation, the blurry sight, the bad smell, and the cold...

281 AC

It is a year, and I finally know where I'm and what happened to me, I had doubts, at first, I thought I just dreamed, but the first year was challenging...

Nobody ever should experience the life of a newly born baby, it wasn't horrible, at least I was pretty well taken care of, if not, then I can't even imagine the experience, as even now, I still have doubts about this being a bad dream, the blurriness, the inability even to move as I wished, for a man who was twenty-five years old, this was a nightmare being made...

I realized I was reincarnated. Inserted into this world in the first month, before that, I spent most of my time being asleep, or everything was too blurry and strange for me to recognize anything useful, maybe it was because my body was just being accustomed to the fact I was no longer in the womb of a woman?

In short, the life of a baby was horror, and I'm glad that I didn't remember my first birth, even if I had a bad promotion, I will remember this one, still, to the facts, the first clue of where I'm was when I saw one of the banners, even my lousy baby eyes, could recognize the image, no matter how blurry, and the fact that I was in some kind of wooden crib and not those from IKEA or better ones, and that all walls were either from stone, the kind of old stone you see just in films and serials or on some visit of old castles...

The sigil of flayed man...

What I felt at that time could be described just in the number of women, now that I knew where I was, I knew they were either septa, maids, or nurse women, that changed from exhaustion as my cry just didn't stop...

And my hysterics would probably continue if not for the man who visited me after the fifth woman was about to change her place with another, the first thing I saw even with my blurry eyes was the blue, a fucking cold blue that was even colder than this fucking castle in this fucking wastelands Bolton call their land.

What kind of fucker look with such eyes on his own son?

Because I fucking knew I was his son, even if I couldn't understand him, not well, even if I did catch some of the words and started to translate them to my tongue, from the very fact that I was so well taken care of, that the women who took care of me could shit from fear the moment they saw me even little sick, and from the fracking cold hands that took me into HIS arms, as HE took me closer...

Now that I thought about it... HE never visited me, or at least not when I was awake, for I would remember such fucking cold eyes, this was the first time I saw him, even if blurry, he did look like his serial actor...

Come to think of it... Where is my mother? Or was I just a bastard... Fuck, I almost forgot about that faggot Ramsey or Ramsay or something...

"Ahawer hsndjre." What the fuck did he say? I didn't know, but somehow, I knew the meaning, as I calmed down, and looked at him, my eyes, which were probably of the same color as his, looked into his blue eyes, and even if I didn't know what to do, any choice was taken from me as HE nodded his head at me and laid me down back to my crib, and as he turned around, and said something to the maid, I watched how he walked away, not sparing me another look...

Oh, this fucker...

As you wish, game FUCKING ON!

282 AC

"Adget my son?" My father, the fuckin Roose Bolton, probably asks, Adget is How? I need to add it to my dictionary...

Still, it was another year, probably, and months, probably, it was fucking hard counting time when you were a baby and didn't have any help, still, I tried, as now my crib was mostly in Roose's, my father's office or just room where he gone through his documents, how did I get there?

It was easy, I just needed to cry enough for that bald fucker to come and stop once he came, and repeat it until some fucker realized that I was calm, at least in a day, as I didn't want to make one someone nuts from lack of sleep, when my father was in the vicinity, there were words, a lot of them, until my crib was showed to this room that was an almost small library with hearth, and just like my father is, this fucking place was plain, well, most of the rooms I saw were fucking plain...

Still, I could already walk and speak some words, not many, as I was still learning westerosi language, something that seemed to be a miracle. Or relatively rare, as once I showed signs of above average intelligence, the maids and most people started to look at me differently, and not many in a kind way, and my father?

That fucker just nodded his head each time I showed something baby shouldn't be capable of, as if he expected this from his son...

"Father," I said, as Roose looked at me from his papers with disapproving glace, something I learned about is that my father doesn't like when I interrupt him in work, well, bad for you fucker.

"Yes?" Roose asked, his piercing blue eyes set on my small frame, I had already started to be accustomed to these dead eyes that almost never shoved any happy or positive emotion.

"I, das, want. r. Read." I fumbled, and not even on purpose, baby mouth just wasn't made for proper conversations, still, the more I spoke, the more I found it easier, so repetitive for the win...

"Hmm..." Father made a thinking sound as he looked at me as if expecting me to say, Its Prank Bro, not seeing my acting or moving, another thing I needed to learn was to be absolute poker-faced when speaking to my father, as that shoved the best result, it was good that my progress in becoming like him, at least on the surface, because I refused to be like him, was noticed both by father, and the people in the castle, as now that I asked for something with the same poker face, no matter how ridiculous it must look on my baby face, made people listen to me...

Probably it was a perk of being a member of fucking Bolton family, who were ruthless as fucks, how they weren't rebelled against or poisoned is beyond me, maybe they just took good care of their people? Well, Ramsy couldn't by count, that fucker would not live long if I could do something about it...

"There, read this," Father said as he stood up from his desk and took some kind of book, no matter how ridiculous the even idea of reading, baby, I didn't know if father wanted to humor me or make me shut up, or just thinking I will do another miracle...

All I wanted was to see if I could recognize the letters, and if not, just to familiarize myself with them, as I knew my time with Maester of Bolton house was coming if logic worked right in this world...

I watched how father came back to his work as the book he gave me lay on the mattress of my crib, I could walk from the crib, but why should I? The floor was fucking cold, and anything other than my crib was hard as fucking rock, so no, thank you, I will use this somehow plush surface as long as I can, still, as I tried to open the book, I noticed something...

It was fucking HARD, EVEN TO MOVE IT!

Fucking pudgy baby arms...