Note: I do not own song of Fire and ice or game of thrones. I claim nothing nor ask for anything but to play in the sandbox that Martin created.

275AC

The Dreadfort

Seven years before Robert's Rebellion

The sturdy wooden door opened to the chamber letting the screaming cry of the newborn spill out into the corridor. The maester stepped out looking almost as pale as his liege lord with blood on his sleeves. He visibly gulped when he met the pale blue eyes of the leach lord.

"Well?" The single word came from the quiet man as his eyes stayed locked onto the man.

"You have a son my lord. Your heir is healthy and strong. But your lady is weak and I do not know if she shall recover. You may see them shortly once I clean up." The man bowed his head as he completed his words breaking his eye contact.

The young Lord Roose Bolton simply replied, "Very well."

The maester returned to the chamber and left the young lord to his thoughts. A few minutes later the chamber opened and he stepped forward to look at his wife.

The Ryswell woman was made of stern stuff after the long birthing but it had taken something out of her. She was barely awake but her eyes stared down at the baby in her arms not letting him out of her sight.

In truth if asked Roose did feel something looking at his heir. He was not a warm man, no Bolton was as they were as harsh as their land. But, this was his child and heir.

The child had chubby cheeks on it's pale face. He had a tuff of black hair taking after his Ryswell mother. It opened his eyes dark grey as hard as steel. Those eyes he knew, his grandmother had those same eyes. She had been a lady of House Karstark. After centuries most of the houses of the North had intermarried. But this was as close a pairing as House Stark and House Bolton had ever had together.

It was the eyes of the boy that drew him in. Most babies he had been told seemed always tired and not quiet aware of their surroundings. But, this boy seemed to know what was around him and stared back directly to Roose expectantly.

A clearing of a throat brought the Lord of Dreadfort out to his thoughts. His pale blue eyes swiveled and latched onto the maester expectantly after he interrupted his thoughts.

"My Lord, your lady wife wished for you to name your heir. She felt it should be your choice fully my lord." The man bowed his head hiding his eyes from Roose after his words.

Damn rats could help but rub through the Lord's mind as he stared hard at the man. He turned his hard gaze back upon the woman but saw she had passed out from the ordeal that had taken a full day from morning till twilight.

While he may not have married his wife for love, he had come to respect her. She was strong first man stock and fought to give them a worthy heir. The name came east to his lips, "Domeric, Domeric Bolton. The future Lord of Dreadfort."

The name was after his grandfather. The man had been a strong man and a renown warrior. It would be a fitting name for the next of his house's legacy as long if he proved himself.

Roose met the eyes of the child barely awake. The eyes were uncanny in their ability to stare at him almost in understanding. But after moments the child's eyes dropped close and it passed to rest.

"See that my wife lives Maester." The words or else did not needed to added to the command as he turned to leave from the chamber.

--

278AC

Dreadfort

Roose Bolton

Roose stared out the window of his solar. The table was filled with paperwork ranging from taxes to letters from minor lords for assistance as the winter had been ongoing for two years. It was quite ironic that the white raven had arrived from Oldtown the night of Domeric's birth.

Some who were superstitious might call it an ill omen or perhaps a last gasp of happiness before winter. But Roose was above such nonsense as concerns of the smallfolk like that. The fact that the child and his wife lived was good news that had come of that day. His wife had failed to carry to term another child which may have to be dealt with in the future. Yet, the child she had gifted him had become exceptional.

In the three years since his birth Domeric had shown himself to be an exceptional boy. He was smart, so intelligent that the maester raved about him knowing his letters and basic numbers at only three years old. Roose was not superstitious like the smallfolk but if word had spread it could make tales grow about the child. They were not the Starks that everyone would assume the child would be a gift from the old gods or some nonsense.

Roose was fully understanding what other houses often thought of his family. What was whispered in dark corners and expected they might do at night. The Umbers whom Roose knew still practiced the first night were known for their honor. Or the Mormonts whose women mated around with commoners yet their bastards were considered noble and took their name just because they came from bears.

No, they were the House of Bolton, the Red Kings of old, the only house strong enough to challenge the Starks in the past thousand years. Yet, they had not challenged them. His family had supported them and the North despite the North falling into weakness. Now Lord Rickard seemed to recognize and respect them as one of their chief banner-men. Still they were now as favored as others always seemed to be.

Hence Roose had forced the maester to not report the skills of his child. He would not let it leak even to his kin the Ryswell on his wife's side of the Redfort from his own mothers the potential of the boy. The fact was the child soaked up knowledge fast as it was put before him. He had potential to change the future if the Starks would falter.

For now he would let his son be a child. The boy would be out to the test soon enough and if he was not worthy of the title of his family other alternatives would have to be created.

--

Life moves pretty fast. You don't stop and look around you might miss it. Ferris Bueller was an excellent movie. Truly one of my favorite growing up as a child of the 1980s and 1990s. Funny enough it was that quote that came to my mind at the moment of my death.

You see the world is shit. Not just shot but blown to shit right at this moment. Politics and wars, greed and death. These are constants to us humans for as long as we had been about. But it seems that even our determination to grow and develop can be defeated by our desire to slaughter each other.

I loved a fun life, living by the motto of Ferris Bueller. I worked hard and had fun hard so maybe I had few regrets the day the bombs fell. I was actually on a Florida beach relaxing with a margarita in my hand sipping it and sunning myself when the mushroom cloud rose up into the air from Miami.

While I would like to say my life passed before my eyes, honestly it didn't. I didn't see much from my youth growing up or time in the navy before my retirement. I didn't even see my work career in engineering before I struck out to do consulting work. Maybe I should have cashed in that nest egg from buying apple stock and went on a splurge but who can say they knew the end of the world was coming for us all?

Instead of seeing any vision of my family showing up I simply sipped my margarita and enjoyed my last few moments. The sun still was in the sky shining warming rays of joy down on my naked chest. The wind was beautiful as it kissed off my skin giving a tingle to my body. The breeze had the green palm trees flow in the wind. The smell of the ocean filled my nostrils with a longing to be out on a yacht. The salt on the rim of the margarita enhanced the flavor tequila.

The world around me was peaceful was the wave of death from the mushroom cloud rising over what was once Miami spread outwards to me. I saw birds flying away even though I knew there was no home. Folks on the beach were trying to run, but you can't outrun death. Instead I simply sipped my drink and spoke my last words, "What a wonderful world."

Author Note: This was something in my head. I considered skipping the Jon Snow story for it. Since Winter Game is a Stark Wank to be honest. This would be a story about a SI Bolton. Someone with perhaps a little less morales and wanting to see his family survive and succeed in the upcoming future. I am not sure if folks would be interested in it though.