When he woke up, his head felt like it was going to explode. A headache that ran so deep and when he tried to open his eyes it only got worse. Groaning slightly and rolling over so he was flat on his stomach to avoid the light streaming in through the window. Thoughts were running through his mind, and he was certain that the second he got off the bed he would be racing for a chamber pot to wretch what little food that was still within his body out. Instead he pushed his face hard into the feather pillow and letting out a loud groan as the pain got worse. Outside, he could hear people running around. From voices of people walking through the corridors, to the soft taps of footsteps and occasional stomps from those wearing heavy boots.

Then it clicked.

Jon slowly raised his head and tried not to wince as the pain set in once again. His entire body was screaming at him to go back to sleep, but he knew he could not do so. Rolling over and carefully sitting up, ignoring the sharp pain between his temples and slowly opened his eyes. Light streaming in from the window adjacent the bed as he had forgotten to close the curtains the night before, the brightness being amplified as the sun reflected off the white snow surrounding the grounds. At first, he was confused. Wholly expecting to see his quarters at Castle Black. Then he had expected to see the camp they'd set up whilst moving towards Winterfell in preparation for the attack. Finally, fear clicked into place as he remembered where he was and what had happened.

Had it happened? That was the first thing that came to his mind. After the victory had been secured, they had drunk themselves silly on ale, wine, and some on sour goats milk on a dare from Tormund. Whilst he himself did not recall taking some, his head was saying otherwise. Remembering the horrific hangover he'd experienced the only time he remembered trying the truly vile concoction. Soon, his eyes came into focus and he knew then that he was not imagining things. He knew these quarters well, both he and Arya used to lurk around here to prank some of the workers in the castle. The bed larger than the Lord's and Lady's, with the frame being adorned with gold paint in an intricate manner. Deep purple curtains which would normally cover the bed fully but he had not done so. The King's quarters. Which meant only one thing. Four words circling in his mind like a catchy song a bard would sing at feasts to entertain those in attendance. Four words shouted repeatedly by dozens of people he had always secretly hoped would see him as something other than Eddard Stark's bastard as he desperately tried to keep a stern face.

King in the North.

Why him? That was the first thing that came to his mind. They had named Robb as such and he had failed, butchered by Roose Bolton alongside his pregnant wife and his mother. By succession, Bran was next in line. But then he remembered with a heavy heart that no one had seen or heard from his little brother since Theon Greyjoy sacked Winterfell. This then made Rickon heir but he had been struck down by a single arrow right before the battle had begun. Leaving himself and his sisters as those in line. His head began pounding even more at this but he fought it off as he got out of the bed and changing into the clothes that had been left for him by one of the servants. Deep grey in colouring as were much of the Stark's clothing, but plenty of black too.

A massive weight fell on him once he was dressed, the difference in layers being what caught his attention. At the Wall, they all had to wear numerous layers. Yet here, he only had to wear two. Summer had long gone by now, and he was dreading the winter that was coming. There was a jug of water nearby which he quickly downed, only realising now just how dry his mouth was. He had work to do. After checking himself in the looking glass, he left the room and started heading for the Lord's solar. Desperately trying to ignore the numerous calls of 'Your Grace' directed at him. It didn't seem real, it felt like a dream he had woken from and was desperately trying to remember. But it was real.

The solar was vacant when he stepped inside, walking behind the desk his father spent much of his time at. How often had he stood in this very room with his brothers and sisters? How often had he wished to be able to speak up about something but his status preventing him doing so to avoid punishment? How often had he had a fleeting thought that he could perhaps become a Lord? Too many times to count, but it was something he had never dared hope for. All it ever was, was a thought.

It wasn't a thought anymore. Now he had a title, one which made him the figurehead of not only his family but of the North as a whole. Jon hated responsibility, remembering the words Maester Aemon had given him when he was elected Lord Commander. He would take little joy in the position, and he assumed it would carry on to his new title. There was a lot of paperwork strewn over the desk, clearly Ramsay Bolton did not care much for order. Scanning through them all and beginning to organise them into specific piles to go through later. First thing he needs to do is to get a stock report, and afterwards, they need to deal with traitors. The latter being something he was not looking forward to in the slightest. There was a light knocking on the door and he called to whoever it was, Davos walking in. This immediately calmed him. He'd known the man for a couple of years now. From the months Stannis Baratheon had spent at Castle Black trying to convince him to leave his post to when he was ordered to remain behind as he marched on Winterfell only to fall.

"A crown suits you, your Grace. Even though you don't have one yet."

Jon rolled his eyes a little in annoyance, catching the amused tone the Knight was using. He wouldn't have if he had not known the man well, but he did now. If it weren't for him he would be ashes. Davos took a massive risk in entrusting Melisandre to bring him back from death despise his known hatred of the Priestess.

"Ser Davos, please call me Jon-"

"Your Grace, it would not be proper-"

"I don't give a rats arse about what is and isn't proper. You knew me before I was even Lord Commander never mind King in the North. But if it pacifies you, I will allow you to refer to me as such in public which we currently are not."

The Knight opened his mouth to retaliate but with a single glare from the King, he relented. Jon nodded to the chair directly in front of the desk, sitting down in what was once his fathers and was temporarily Robb's and even Bran's when his older brother had left. Whilst there had been barely a moon between himself and Robb, he was still older, and he carried the House name unlike he did. He was a Snow, a bastard.

"I am surprised you have yet to leave and board a ship for the Stormland's, Ser Davos."

The elderly man snorted a little at the question which confused him a little bit. Jon had wholly expected for him to leave as soon as the battle was won to go back to his own castle to be with what remained of his family. A wife he had not seen in years, and three sons remaining out of seven.

"There is nothing for me in the Stormland's other than my family. Whilst it would be wonderful to see them again and to try and make up for everything, I fear I cannot look my Marya in the eye again. She trusted me to keep our boys safe, and four of them ended up perishing in wildfire in the battle of Blackwater. I am sure you will understand one day, but there is nothing more terrifying than a furious wife over the death of her children."

No, it was something he would never understand. Ever since he was old enough to grasp what bastard meant, he had sworn he would never have a child of his own. It was one of the reasons he had accepted his oaths so easily compared to many other brothers of the Night's Watch. Never would he knowingly bring another child into the world with the name of Snow. He had it good compared to the thousands more there was running around what was now his Kingdom, and even he felt the isolation that came with it.

"What do you plan on doing then, Ser? If you aren't going back to the Stormland's to be with your family, and I can't imagine you going to Kings Landing where the Lannister's will undoubtedly have your head for being by Stannis' side, you have few options."

It went quiet for a few moments before he began speaking.

"Your- sorry, Jon. My best traits lay with my words and with smuggling. Right now, the smuggling trade is stupid considering everything that is going on in the realm. Therefore, I would like to remain. Whilst I don't know how you Northerner's can live in this freezing weather, I quite like it here."

"It would be an honour to have you serve me. But I will be doing things differently than in the South. The North is now an independent Kingdom and my people trust me to hold it as such. Back before Aegon and his sister wives launched their invasion, we did not have Hand's. The Kings of Winter had multiple advisors surrounding them from different walks of life. Some lowborn, some high up. Of course, I will need to discuss this heavily with my sister as she is the one with the Stark name, but I shall get back to you in due time. Speaking of my sister, would you be so kind as to let her know I would like to speak with her? The sooner we get ahead of everything, the better. Also, if you see Maester Wolkan, send him this way too."

It felt strange, giving orders. Whilst he'd given many at Castle Black in his short tenure of being Lord Commander, giving orders in Winterfell did not sit right with him. By now, he had organised the paperwork and began to file it away, pulling numerous documents out of the drawers in the desk to begin sorting through these as well. Surprisingly, it only took a few minutes for his sister to appear, closing the door behind her so it was just the two of them.

"How can I assist, your Grace?"

Now, Jon rolled his eyes in annoyance.

"Fuck sake, not you too. Call me Jon, Sansa. We're family."

The redhead had a bright smile on her face which told him she was simply mocking him before sitting down with all the poise a Lady should.

"I'm surprised you were able to get out of bed this morning, you were heavily in your cups last night brother."

"I didn't want to, but work needs to be done. What can we expect from the South once we send the ravens?"

She went quiet at this, her eyes darting around the room in wonder. This only set his worry off even deeper. Since they'd been reunited she had never broken her gaze when discussing something. Whilst they were still on rocky terms, especially her lack of trying to save Rickon, they were family. Arya hadn't been seen in years, Bran hadn't been seen in years. Rickon, Robb, and their father were all dead. It was only them left, and pack sticks together. They had been separated for far too long now.

"Everything."

He expected it, but hearing it only made it worse. He remembered Cersei Lannister well, her bored expression as she sat at the high table looking down on everyone who wasn't seated there like they were dog shit on her shoes.

"You know her best out of the two of us, how can we get her to allow us to remain independent?"

Sansa reached over to help him sort through the paperwork, calculating blue eyes scanning them in case she spotted anything.

"She won't ever allow it. She will stop at nothing. Whilst Tommen is King, everyone knows he is not Robert's son. And he's a child. Too young to handle everything himself meaning she is his regent. Queen in all but name. When Tywin was alive, he was able to rein her in. But he isn't, there is nothing stopping her. Therefore, we need to prepare for the worst. To do so you need to secure your rule and the North as a whole. The easiest way to do so is with marriage-"

"No. I will not marry-"

"Jon, you're King-"

"Aye I'm King. A title I never asked for nor is it one I want. But for some reason the Northern Lord's have chosen me. But I'm still a bastard, I will not allow a woman to be stained with having a bastard for a husband. Even if said bastard is a King."

She closed her mouth at this, a fleeting expression of guilt covering her features. He had never spoken up much on it to her, and it was obvious she was surprised by him doing so.

"Then we need to do something else. Close off all avenues so the South cannot ally easily with the North. There aren't many Lord's and Lady's to choose from, Many died in Robb's war and numerous others died under Bolton rule. The sooner we tie up loose ends, the lesser opportunities they have-"

"You're the expert on politics out of us, so I will leave that portion to yourself. When are the other Lord's expected to arrive?"

Sansa reached into a pocket within the cloak she was covering herself with from the cold. To him, it wasn't cold at all. But he remembered she had spent multiple years in the South and she likely would've acclimated to a warmer climate in that time. Pulling out a stack of letters and laying them on the desk. He noticed a few of the sigils from his lessons and a small pit of anger licked at his insides at seeing the Karstark one. The Karstark's were distant kin to themselves going back hundreds of years and there were numerous marriages between the two House's throughout those years. They had the blood of Kings running through their veins much like he and Sansa did. Yet they had refused the call and opted to side with the Bolton's. Cracking the seal open and noticing the neat cursive writing. Alys, asking for asylum as her cousin and uncle were plotting to wed her to take Karhold off of her. Jon pinched his nose for a little before turning to his sister.

"Have the servants prepare a room for Alys-"

"You can't be serious-"

"Sansa, as much as I hate the Karstark's for what happened, Alys is not at fault. She's a little girl-"

For a moment, his sisters face flashed as red as her hair but she composed herself quickly.

"A little girl who didn't do anything as her family betrayed us-"

"Like what you done when you were of an age with her?"

The second the words fell from his lips, regret washed over him. Especially when the anger adorning her face turned to a troubled look and she shuffled backwards just slightly. He let out a long breath at this before reaching over to grasp her hand tightly.

"Sans, I'm sorry. I'm still really overwhelmed with what has happened. Why me of all people?"

"You haven't called me Sans since Arya was just beginning to walk."

He smiled fondly at this but it disappeared not long after as he remembered why he had stopped calling her so. It was when she was deemed old enough to start lessons that her mother began to mould her into despising him because he was a bastard.

"And to answer your question, because you're a good leader-"

"There's a difference between being a leader and being a King-"

"Actually, there isn't. Aye, there are differences between the two positions but when you break them down and compare them side by side, there is much more in common than not. Without question you put yourself on the front lines. Without question you step in to help out. And before you get all noble on me and talk down on yourself, this is from the Freefolk I heard this from on our travels down here. You're the best candidate. Even if Bran by some miracle is still alive out there wherever he went, I can see him stepping aside. Whilst our baby brother loved attention when we were children, he hated the burden of being someone to look over others. Any kind of function we had where we had to be seen, he was always off with Arya up a tree somewhere or running along the roof of the castle."

Her voice cracked a little at the end but whether it was from regret or from missing their siblings who were almost certainly dead.

"Then why not yourself? Wasn't it always a dream of yours to be a Queen?"

Sansa paused for a moment before looking to him directly in the eye. Despite the cold expression she now continuously wore on her face, he could see it was simply a mask. A veil covering her.

"At one point it was. When my head was still in the clouds and I believed everything was just a song like Jenny of Oldstones or Jonquil and Florian. But the second Joffrey executed father right in front of me after promising mercy, that has not been the case. As in why they did not name me, that is something else entirely. I don't know the ins and outs of it unfortunately, but I do know that Robb acted quickly when Tywin forcefully had me wed to Tyrion. In his will, he stripped me of all inheritance that comes with the North. I know about it because I was in the courtroom when we received word of it. Tywin and especially Cersei were not pleased about it in the slightest."

This shocked Jon. Whilst he had received little to no communication from the south after he took his vows in front of the Heart Tree, he never would've thought Robb would do something as drastic as that.

"So basically-"

"In the Northerner's eyes I'm a little more than a bastard myself, even more so after being forcefully wed to Ramsay-"

"You never told me what you done with him last night, care to elaborate?"

Something danced in her features then, something he had never seen on her before. He remembered Ygritte had a similar look whenever she was planning something but he got rid of such thoughts immediately. Her lips pulled into a tight line but the corners turned up ever so slightly in what could only be considered satisfaction.

"Let's just say he found out that dogs much like wolves, when they are hungry for something, they will stop at nothing to get it."

It took a few seconds for the words to dissect in his mind, but when they did he let out a small laugh. A fitting end.

"Did you do it yourself?"

"And watched."

Now, he couldn't hold in his laughter.

"Where did my little sister who used to scream bloody murder when she saw a tiny spider go?"

"She shed her dove wings, of course."

Their back and forth did not continue for long though before there was a soft knock on the door, Jon calling to give permission for whoever it was to come in. He had a faint idea from the loud clinking but this was confirmed as Maester Wolkan walked in, links on his heavy Maester's chain hitting against one another with every step he took.

"How can I assist, your Grace?"

He wanted to roll his eyes but he managed to stop himself. Leaning back straight and looking towards the elderly man.

"I would like a report of all stock, accounts, and supplies. This needs to be accurate to now and none of it embellished. Also have some drafts written up of letters to send confirming that Winterfell is once again in the Stark's name and that House Bolton is now extinct. Once you have done so, bring these to myself and if for whatever reason I am unavailable, run them by my sister."

The man nodded at the order and left the room, closing the door tightly behind him.

"That's something else that needs to be addressed, the Maester situation. Whilst Wolkan is one of few good people, he was ordered to be at the Dreadfort by the Citadel. He only came here because he was terrified of Ramsay and for good reason. But once it gets out that Ramsay is nothing more than a skeleton in the kennels, he will be expected to go back-"

"We're Northerner's, we keep to the Old Gods. Or do you still follow the Seven-"

"It's not about that, Jon. It's about keeping the faith happy. As you'll know because your head is buried in the dirt if you don't, Cersei reinstated the Faith Militant and they are not a group to be trifled with. They will stop at nothing until everyone is a follower of the Seven and even the tiniest sin in the Seven Pointed Star will have a person be executed."

Jon leaned forward and rested his hands against his face, thinking it all through carefully. Whilst she had not answered his second question, she had answered the first and it caused an uneasy knot to form in his gut. He loathed to admit it because he hated politics as is, but mixing politics and religion whilst fighting a war? But he had promised his people he would lead them to the best of his ability, and he rarely backed down on his word.

"What suggestions do you have about tying up loose ends within the North to make it harder for the south to ally? Marriage or trades?"

"Both preferably. And if the Free Folk decide to remain they will need to be integrated too. Perhaps look there? Who are the big names in their terms? And are there any who are similar to us with ideals? We could try the Wull's and the Norrey's, perhaps even the Flint's. They are family to us and not too far back in our own tree meaning they are likely to be incredibly loyal still."

"The Thenn's are the most like us-"

Sansa recoiled in horror at this but before she could get a word in he calmed her down.

"Before you ask, there are two different groups of Thenn's. Aye, there is one tribe who feast on the dead. I don't agree with it nor do many of the other clans that were previously north of the Wall. But the other group have laws, and have leaders much like we do with Heads of Houses. The only thing that sets them apart is the language as they speak the old tongue solely."

"Do you speak it?"

He shook his head and confirmed he had picked up a bit here and there, but that he would never be able to hold a conversation.

"So we would need to find someone who is fluent in both the old tongue and the common tongue-"

Her words were cut off from a loud rapping on the door, Maester Wolkan shuffling inside with a long roll of parchment with the information that was asked. Eyebrows raising ever so slightly at the quickness. Bidding the man leave again as he unrolled it and placed something on the corners to keep it from ravelling back up. He had expected stocks to be low, but seeing the number only confirmed how bad it really was. Quickly doing the calculations in his head. If they were careful enough, they had enough for a year max. Building materials were in abundance, but that was expected due to the numerous forests there was in the Kingdom. No drafts had been written up yet but he knew to expect these later in the day. The accounts section caused him to wince slightly.

"Of course Ramsay took the little Stannis had left over from the Iron Bank."

"Does it matter as both are dead?"

"Oh it matters. I've dealt with the Iron Bank before when I was Lord Commander. They always get their due, and no debt is ever forgiven. With Ramsay killing Stannis, it was Ramsay's debt, and since you killed Ramsay-"

Sansa noticeably gulped as she understood what he was implying.

"It's my debt."

It went quiet after this, the redhead stunned into silence as she stared at the large sum written on the parchment. Neither Stannis nor Ramsay had made a payment towards it which means the interest would make it much larger.

"We will work something out, until then we will carry on as normal or until we receive further news from the south. The Northern House's should be arriving within the next couple of weeks. Let's focus on that and work on reversing the chaos that has been caused here the last few years."