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isn't it funny how day by day nothing changes but when you look back everything is different?
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LADY CLARA TATHAM OF CAMELOT was well in her right to forget the likes of Winterfell's frigid weather. Even when the sun was at its highest peak, the cold wind was a brutal masochist (Though, compared to the Reach everything seemed brutal). One would've thought, the way she clutched her thick fur around her body, that this was her first visit North.
Inhaling the crisp air, she tried to revive the memories of her girlhood. Much like the stranger sitting across from her, Clara had been coming north for as long as she could remember. Her mother, Lady Olenna, tried (and failed) to have her betrothed to the late-Rickard Stark's oldest son. "Since you spend all your bloody time with those brutes you might as well marry one." The Queen of Thorns told her once her daughter outwardly rejected the match. Despite her efforts, Clara found not even the slightest interest in the brooding, brawny boy, even when she aged from girl to young woman and his interests suddenly began to peak. Instead, she'd come away from her time at Winterfell with a friend.
Her and Lyanna would do everything from exploring to riding and hunting together, but time, the cruel mistress had ravaged it all. From the speeding carriage, Clara took in the sprawling green land speckled with white snow. All the colors of the north were now a dulled hue from what it used to be. Another reason she'd become such an infrequent visitor.
