The snowfall was light and gentle, and a young boy sleeping in an alleyway could barely feel it tickling his nose and fingertips. He was only nine years old, and this young boy's name was Ramsay Snow.

Morning light crept into the alley he slept in, the sun hitting his icy eyes and causing him to squint as he awoke. He never understood why his father wouldn't let him stay in the Dreadfort with him. He knew he was a bastard, but he never understood why it made him any less worthy of a family. The boy shakily got up, looking around at the common people setting up shop around him. Bakers, tailors, servants to Roose Bolton- the father who never acknowledged him.

Ramsay sighed and sat back down. He'd sneak into the castle and steal some scraps later, if he wasn't shooed away by castle staff first. He sat on the ground, sharpening a small flint knife he had been working on for a while. The various other bastards and orphans living around here were not exactly a friendly bunch.

That's when he noticed a commotion, as his hateful father walked out of the castle with his wife he had recently wed- a fat woman he hadn't ever gotten the chance to meet. He couldn't help but wonder what they were doing there- until he noticed another group enter the courtyard. A family with a wolf sigil- the Starks. He couldn't help but be curious, so he snuck out of his alleyway in order to get a view of the Starks. He just felt drawn to them; he didn't know why and didn't bother to put a finger on it.

He stealthily slipped through the crowds, and there they were. Ned Stark, his wife, and his children. Five, and she was pregnant with another. Two older boys, though one was a bastard like Ramsay himself and therefore not as acknowledged as his other siblings. A younger girl who looked as scrappy as a boy, a little baby being carried by a nurse...and an older girl, only maybe a year or two younger than Ramsay. She had fire red hair, and eyes as blue as Catelyn Stark. The little lady certainly had some Tully in her.

Ramsay thought this girl was absolutely beautiful. At his age, most girls were icky, but the fire-haired girl was a different story. He'd caught a crush on her, though he knew a poor bastard like him would never have a chance to even be his friend. He decided to return to sitting by a merchant's cart, plotting to steal something from it. Maybe he could keep a little warmer with a scarf, or he could find himself entertained with a little book, or maybe someone would pity him and give him something.

"Mother...the Boltons scare me…" Sansa spoke softly, clinging to her mother. "Why do they have a dead man as their sigil?"

Catelyn sighed, stroking her eldest daughter's red locks. Though she was older than Arya, she seemed more fragile and sweet- like a princess, where as Arya was a little lady knight.

"Oh Sansa, when they catch their enemies, that's what they do to them." Catelyn explained calmly. "Don't worry, it isn't like they would try to do that do father and I. We're their friends"

Sansa didn't feel much better about it. The Dreadfort itself was dark, and just eerie. She never felt fearful in any other castle. Neither Riverunn or Pyke created the same sickening atmosphere that the Dreadfort did. For now, the young girl began to grow curious. She saw other people wandering about, common people, naturally. Still, she was curious about their lives, having lived as noble girl all her life. Seeing she had a coin or two in her pocket, she looked at some merchants' wares.

That's when she spotted a boy sitting by the cart, maybe a year or two older than she, trying to take a journal from the cart without getting caught. She walked over and took the journal, buying it off of the vendor.

The raven-haired boy looked at her with frustration, crossing his arms. Sansa giggled, handing him the book.

"Consider it a gift!" She said, handing him the leatherbound journal. She didn't think much of it, just that it was a present for a young boy in need. She was a kind person, and knowing she was a lady, she wanted commonfolk to like her and think of her as generous.

Ramsay looked at her in surprise, his icy eyes widening.

"A gift? For me?" The young boy had never received one before, and was deeply grateful. This fire haired girl had changed his life. She'd shown him kindness like never before. The Gods must have willed them to meet. He felt like he had to know more, he had to get to know her.

"Thank you, my lady" He said, standing up. "My name is Ramsay Snow-"

"Sansa Stark, what are you doing?" An elder male voice asked, looking down at her and grabbing her arm.

"I'm sorry Robb..." She said, her head down. "I just wanted to help him and be his friend."

Robb sighed. "Ladies don't talk to bastards" He explained, taking her away. Sansa gave one last wave to her friend before walking away with her brother. She didn't understand what a bastard was, much less why she shouldn't be friends with one.

"Robbie, everyone deserves friends. Even bastards" Sansa said to the boy of fourteen, who simply rolled his eyes in response.

"Mother and father would never stand for that. It's dishonourable to interact with those sorts of people. Someday you'll understand" Robb explained, taking her back to their parents.

Ramsay watched Sansa and her brother depart, still seeing her beautiful face in his mind. She was the sweetest person he had ever interacted with. She gave him a gift, something nobody had ever even considered doing before. The Gods have willed it so. She was meant for him.