A/N: Longclaw here. All of you are amazing! Our plan is threefold with this story's plot: 1) do a unique version of Jon's character arc that still is an in character portrayal, 2) expand on Stannis' backstory, since his death at Winterfell was kinda rushed and weak for such an important character, and 3) do a unique version of how Jonerys comes to be. We're both really excited and eager to see what all y'all think!

BRuh4 here. This was a fun one to write. This kinda a hallmark chapter, it got some really important moments in it. See if you can pick them out after you read it. There are two things, in particular, I think.

We're really excited about all the things we're gonna do with this. We even talked about some specific moments coming up that we are super pumped to share with you all. It's gonna be epic.

Anyhoo, enjoy this one.

Follow, fav, and review!

Trigger warning btw, you'll know it when you see it (cough, Ramsay, cough).

Chapter 3: Lord Stark

"Jon Snow? Ned Stark's bastard?"

Roose Bolton, Lord of Winterfell, grumbled with a nod, "That what the report says."

"Legitimized, and riding with Stannis Baratheon?" Ramsay Bolton - formally Ramsay Snow - half-laughed. "A bastard leading southerners from the Stormlands. Quite pathetic."

"As opposed to northerners being led by a bastard?" Ramsay's lips pursed at the acidic comment. Roose Bolton may have been considered as cold as the ocean gales that slammed against the Dreadfort in winter, but there was a cruel streak underneath those haunting eyes. "Never forget your place. You are my son, but born a bastard nonetheless. If you can rise, he can rise."

Crossing his arms, Ramsay spat on the floor. "Stannis is a usurper. A failed one at that. No one will recognize Jon Snow's legitimacy." His disgust is apparent about his countenance.

"House Mormont did, as did the mountain clans. House Manderly and Glover have declared neutrality." Roose sighed, leaning back in his chair. "Southern Kings matter not in the North, they are interchangeable. Tommen isn't here, while Stannis is. That means more to the Northern houses."

"Doesn't matter, we still have Karstark and Umber," Ramsay retorted. "And most importantly…" He opened his arms, "Winterfell is ours."

Roose didn't share his optimism. "Now we just have to keep it."

"Their army is a Southern one… ours has fought in the North their entire lives. They don't stand a chance."

"This… Jon Snow troubles me," Roose shook his head. "The Northern houses may cling to him, and all I have heard from the Wall have described him as an excellent fighter."

"Wildlings are not our elite Bolton hoplites, father. How hard is it to defend a massive fortification against savages?" He placed his arms on the table. "Give me full command, and I'll build our defenses impregnable to any southern assault."

While he valued thinking cautiously, Roose seemed to admire his former bastard's tenacity. "You know what they say about defense, my son? That the best is a good offense."

A malevolent grin spread across Ramsay's face. "Who said anything about staying on the defensive?" He leaned back. "Our blades are sharp. We should use them."

"You think less of Stannis Baratheon," Roose pointed out. "The man is a seasoned military commander. Yes, I know he lost at Blackwater Bay, but his record shows more victories than losses. Your confidence might be misplaced."

"Just wait, Father. I'll show you."

Roose waved his hand at his son, "We have to be smart, cunning. If not our reign over the North may be short."

"Don't worry, Father. I'll-"

"Just listen for starters," Roose cut in. "Your new wife, Sansa, she spent years with this Jon Snow. I want to know everything there is to know about him."

A crooked smile came upon Ramsay's face, knowing exactly what his father was inferring. "Oh… That I can do."

"We'll know more about Stannis' movements soon, but Jon Snow… is unexpected," Roose frowned.

"I'll take care of it."

"See that you do. My lady wife is pregnant, just so you know the consequences of displeasing me."

Something dark flashed in Ramsay's eyes, before he offered a small smile. "I understand... crystal clear, father."

"Go see about your wife," Roose sighed. "Just keep her alive and breathing, she does have to produce a baby still." He stood up and left.

Once upon a time, Winterfell represented nothing but safety and warmth. King's Landing represented brutality. Agony. Death. Long had dreams of returning to Winterfell had been her salvation. What she had longed for every day of every year. Oh, how wrong she had been. Instead of her childhood home being a safe haven it's a place of paranoia. She has to be careful, like walking on shells. Any wrong move and her skin may become bloody. Not something she ever imagined she'd experience in Winterfell.

The life of Sansa Stark had only gotten worse and worse over time. She was forced into a marriage with a monster. Ramsay treated her worse than trash, taking her whenever he pleased and not caring what she thought - no, he did care. He preferred it when she hated it. When her body reacted to him with revulsion, which it now did. Every single time.

Fighting became a worthless endeavor - it only made him angry. Therefore making it worse for her. He beat her, abused her, and raped her. More times than she could count, or even try to remember. The type of experiences either utterly destroyed a person or strengthened their resolve. At that point, lying in the bed and feeling her heart thump out of her chest at every creak in the floorboards, Sansa wasn't sure which would come to pass for her.

Existence was pain. Death was relief.

She didn't want to die… At least that was one point toward strengthening resolve. Now, she just felt numb. In a way that was better, being able to tune it out, but sometimes that didn't work. After each encounter finally finished, when he had his fill after entering her over and over, he took a piece of her. Repeating thing every other day or so for a month, Sansa wasn't sure how of her is left.

Ramsay took pleasure in it.

Any little thing can set him off. Sometimes he'll just hit because she's being too quiet or too sullen. Even doing nothing can get her in trouble.

Thud. Thud. Thud.

Her eyes widened, each resounding thump of booted feet on the wooden floors sending a stab of fear through her very soul. Part of her wanted to hide, but that would only make it worse. The less she resisted, the sooner it would finish. She murmured to herself so quietly, praying the Gods would protect her, it was almost a silent plea. Not that the Gods had ever protected her before, she's just resorting to anything to shield herself. She'd do anything to spare herself any more pain.

She almost let out a sigh of relief as it was only Theon that opened the door. Sansa wanted to hate him, but there was some comfort in having someone that was familiar - even if Ramsay had broken him as well. Looking up to say something, she stilled at the fear in his eyes. And remorse… apology.

"Hello, lady wife!" Lips curled in a wide grin, Ramsay appeared from behind Theon, sounding quite cheery. This was not going to be good. "I hope you are relaxing well this fine afternoon." Still grinning, he took a chair, turned it around, and sat with his hands leaning on the back. "How about we have a chat?" This was not at all going to be good.

"And what would you like to talk about, husband?" She would not give him the satisfaction of showing her fear. Theon hung his head, closing the door behind him, remaining there to be called upon by his master.

Normally, Ramsay would play games with her… but he was in a hurry, so he got to the meat of the matter. "We received word from Castle Black." Sansa's face was impassive. "Seems your brother has been making waves."

Inwardly, Sansa did a double take. She hadn't heard much about her dear brother. Only that he was up at Castle Black doing whatever it is men of the Night's Watch do. She decided to feign ignorance.

"Oh? I forgot he existed."

Ramsay laughed, he's far too smart, seeing right through her lie. "I doubt that, but that's not important. My father's sources told us of him bending the knee to Stannis Baratheon… and rising as Jon Stark."

Now that surprised her, it was physically impossible not to have physically reaction. Though she tried in vain, her bottom lip involuntarily twitched into a smirk. Her mind swirling with memories of being awful to Jon, largely following her mother's lead. It all seemed so alien to her now. Why would she act so horribly to him? He didn't do a thing to her.

She wished she could take it all back.

She just wanted to be like her mother. Earn her approval and be the perfect Tully lady. Wanting such different things back then, it was so ironic now. Before she would've done anything to just be in Joffery's presence. Now, she just wanted some safety… some semblance of it.

All of this flashed in her mind in a split second… and after that moment passed, it was time to reap the whirlwind.

"That amuses you, wife?" Ramsay asked, lowering his tone. Apparently, he had noticed her smirk. Typically this meant in the next few seconds he would hit her. She was rarely allowed to smile, not that she ever felt the need to anymore.

As quick as she could, she buried any and all emotion, reverting back to her broken self. The shortness of that smile gave her some life though, wishing it could've been longer. In truth, she was quite happy for Jon. Being a Stark was something he'd always wanted. Her other siblings always treated him that way anyway - she hoped that was enough for him then.

The knowledge excited her a little, though unaware of the implications of it. What were Jon's plans now?

She wondered if he'd come to rescue her. The thought was pleasant but fleeting.

"No… Of course not," she said, hanging her head in an attempt to her hind her evident excitement.

"Oh, I see," Ramsay chuckled. Sansa heard the chair he sat in skid away against the stone floor.

He was coming over to her.

Her head stays down as Ramsay's fingers loop through her locks, pulling her head up to meet his gaze. She closed her eyes as the tears began to form. "Look at me." He commanded, but she refused. His hand collided with her cheek, "Look at me!"

Reluctantly, Sansa's lids rose up to see his intense glare, her cheek heating up. His hand pulled harder on her hair. Instinctively her hands go up to grip his, trying to loosen his grasp. Ramsay took offense to this, thus slapping her again. Forcing her hands to fall to her sides, forgetting the fruitlessness of fighting back.

Ramsay will do whatever he wants to her and she's can do nothing to stop him.

Alone, at least.

He growled at her, "You think that your bastard brother is going to come to save you? Rescue you?" He laughed darkly. "You hear that Reek?" Ramsay asked the man formerly known as Theon Greyjoy. "She thinks Jon fucking Snow is coming down from the Wall like a knight in shining armor. Don't get your hopes up, sweet wife." His other hand goes to her neck, forcing her to face him directly, "I'll make sure he dies right in front of you. Would you like that?"

Sansa attempted to rise from her chair, but Ramsay reacted by kicking her knee. Making her go back down to a sitting position, with his fist wrapping tighter and tighter in her tresses. Tears fully flowing now, Sansa had no control over them. Her eyes expelled the emotion like a running stream. Ramsay enjoyed watching her cry, it's just fuel to his ire. That's kind of reaction is what he wants… exactly what he needs from her. So, he started to pull even harder on her hair, he wanted her scalp to bleed.

"I own you… you understand that?" Ramsay gritted his teeth. "You're mine. Never forget that."

For some reason, Sansa decided to retort, "You… don't. You never have, you never will." A gasp of strength - she was Sansa Stark, a wolf of Winterfell. One that even the highest-born Bolton would bow to.

Ramsay scoffed, somewhat surprised at her sudden confidence. Still, he punched her in the stomach for her outburst. Knocking the wind out of her, all the air retreating from her lungs. She wheezed, trying to remember how to breathe.

"Tell me about your brother." He ordered, no more room for outbursts or disobedience.

In all honesty, she didn't quite know what to say because she really doesn't know all that much about Jon. They really never spent that much time together. She heard glimpses from Robb and Arya, she never experienced anything worth remembering herself.

They weren't close.

That doesn't mean if he was here right now she wouldn't hug him until he couldn't breathe. Sort of like herself after being punched by Ramsay Bolton.

"Tell me!" He repeated himself, giving her another firm slap to the face. She forgot he really doesn't like having to say things twice. "His weaknesses, what he hates, what he loves. Anything."

"I… don't know."

"You don't know?" Ramsay snarled. Now his hand goes to her neck, tightening his grip, her windpipe closed. "You don't know?" Her eyes roll back, yet her hands attached to his wrist. She tries to get him to let go, after it became apparent that he isn't letting up her hands fall away. In fact, she seems at peace, even serene. Her eyes fall fully closed and she stopped fighting. Both her husband's hands went to her throat now, with so much force Sansa is brought to her knees. His statue towering over her as it all blacked out for her. If Ramsay hadn't needed something from her he may have choked her to death. After a few moments, he released her completely.

Sansa fell on her back, coughing, gasping for air.

Ramsay turns around to the table, grabbing a goblet and the flagon of wine. He poured himself a healthy portion and drank it down eagerly. Preparing to repeat the process as Sansa gets to her feet. Her face is reddened, eyes bloodshot for the lack of oxygen. She was literally seconds away from falling completely into darkness, never to return. It almost seemed like mercy given the circumstances and she welcomed it. It just so happened that her damn husband didn't feel like it.

Theon still stood by the door, having seen these things happen time and time again. And every time he'd stand by the door, and do nothing. A part of him wished he could surge forward and do something. Help Sansa somehow. But the other part was far too scared. The other part of him had it's way most of the time.

Ramsay swallowed some wine down, staring at his wife, "Tell me about your brother." He said when he's finished.

Instead of responding right away, Sansa rubbed her neck, feeling the red marks that resided there and would stay for days to come. Still having trouble breathing, she sat back down.

"Wife," Ramsay sighed heavily. "I do grow tired of this."

"My brother," she finally spoke up, through ragged breathing. "Was always quiet… reserved to himself. I was always cruel to him, he never returned my hatred. Honestly, I never knew all that much about him. Though I do know this… if he knows I'm here… he will come for me. It doesn't matter how I treated him, that's the kind of person Jon is."

Sighing again, Ramsay banged the goblet against the table a few times. Saying, "What a nice sentiment, dear wife." Then he tossed the cup across the room, wine spraying against the wall. He came directing at Sansa, he slapped her again. She fell to the floor but he picked her right back up immediately. He held her close to his face, "Why is that you always feel the need to defy me? I'm your husband, can't you give me what I want? Be loyal to me?"

"I'll never," Sansa growled with some tenacity, an air of finality. "You're a monster."

He grinned, "Oh… yes. I know." Ramsay looked back. "Reek, watch this. It's gonna be quite the show."

With that, he threw her onto the bed. Knowing what was coming, Sansa tried to scamper away, but he grabbed her by the legs and pulled her back to him. When she continued to fight, he delivered a fist to her face. A blow with so much force her ears began to ring, head falling back. Surely, her eye would swell up. Even now her vision blurred as he laid her on her back. It's clear that she won't remember all that comes next, that may be a good thing. It's nothing new to her, apparently, this is normal now.

As his weight fell on her, she passed out.

Theon, as he had been for weeks now, watched a girl he knew his entire life be ravaged savagely. Even though Sansa's mind is knocked out, her body is awake. Her small cries will be stuck in his ears for hours to come, just like the image will be burned into his eyes.

Under the ever-present and watchful gaze of the newly anointed Lord Commander, Jon Stark prepared to leave Castle Black with Stannis and his people in the morning. The Stag King had shared some choice words about coming back through the Wall with the Wildlings in the coming weeks that left no room for discussion. Lord Commander Thorne only gave a short nod as confirmation, thoughts swirling through his brain if he were to refuse. He remembered Mance Rayder burning just as much as anyone else.

As they spoke, Jon stood by his horse, stuffing what little possessions he had into the saddlebags. He felt the presence of someone approaching him from behind. He turned to see the ever solemn expression of Edd.

"Come to see me off?" Jon asked, raising his eyebrows.

Edd shrugged, "Something like that." Though he smirked when Jon came over to embrace him.

"Same old Edd," Jon laughed. Patting his friend on the back before he backed up. "Never change, my friend."

"I haven't yet, why start now?"

Jon sighed, the one thing always enjoyed being at Castle Black being the camaraderie with his brothers. He would miss them. All of them, even if a few of them didn't particularly like him. Had Stannis never arrived at Castle Black, he imagined he would've stayed here until he was as old as Maester Aemon.

Perhaps, deep down, he was glad for Stannis' offer.

"Where's your cloak?" Edd inquired, frowning. "It's cold out here."

Chuckling, Jon raised his hands in the air, appearing comfortable, "I took it off. Being as I don't much need it anymore. I'm sure I get another one at some point."

"That doesn't change the fact that it's fucking cold." Edd jeered.

"Somehow, I don't much feel it." Jon replied, climbing on his horse, looking down at Edd, "Don't worry Edd, hopefully, I'll see you again in a few weeks."

His good friend's expression darkened slightly, Edd's eyes glanced away from Jon for a moment, unable to hide his disgust with the thought of Wildlings coming through the Wall. Something the Night's Watch had fought to prevent for thousands of years. It didn't seem right to him. Finally, he looked up at Jon, "Aye, maybe I will." Then, he turned and walked away from Jon.

The new Stark's frowned at Edd's sudden exit, then gazed scanned around Castle Black, a place he had called home for years now. Looking over the ramparts, he saw Sam had helped Maester Aemon on to the ramp, also next to them was Gilly and Little Sam. He waved, all of them gave a wave in response.

His horse wavered as something came up next to it. Jon looks over to see Ghost padding over, the wolf reaching the horse's shoulder. His trusted direwolf peered up at his master, red eyes full of affection.

"That's my boy," Jon said, smiling at his wolf as he reached down to pat its head. Stannis looked over his shoulder at the massive direwolf, but only shrugged, looking as dour as ever. With the apparent approval of the King, the direwolf fell beside Jon's horse as the party began its journey.

Hours later, they'd made significant progress towards Eastwatch. For the first time in his young life, Jon felt like he commanded respect. People had started calling him a Lord. Which felt utterly alien to him.

'Lord Stark'

A Baratheon soldier had called him that as they passed him on a horse and those two words sent him for a tailspin.

It's everything he ever wanted, now he truly felt the choice he made.

He rode up in front of the company with King Stannis, and Ser Davos. The King's family rode inside a carriage behind them, Jon hadn't had the pleasure of meeting them yet. But surely he would soon.

It was quiet around them. For once it had stopped snowing, sunlight streaming through the canopy of the forest they were traveling through. A cursory glance revealed the Lady Melisandre, who also rode near him. Her eyes never felt like they leave him. Searching, inspecting. Jon couldn't help but feel unsettled whenever she's around.

Thankfully, Davos came to his rescue, slowing his pace to block the Red Woman's view of him. He smirked at Jon like did it on purpose.

"How are you, Lord Stark?" Davos asked him.

Those two words disarmed Jon again. He wondered if he'd ever get used to hearing them. Nothing seemed truly real for him now. Catching the look of the Onion Knight, he shook his head in an attempt to regain his composure. "I'm fine, Ser Davos."

The older man glanced between Jon and Melisandre, narrowing his gaze. The Red Woman stared at Davos like she could see through him to Jon. "I've been around her for a while now," Davos sighed, returning his eyes to Jon. "I'd tell you that you'll get used to her… but you never really do."

Jon smirked, "Good to know."

The two rode in silence for a moment, Davos taking in the sheer height of the wall to their north, thinking of something to say. "So how's it feel?" he finally asked. "Being a Stark?"

Frowning, Jon replied, "I thought I'd feel different. But I don't. People treat me differently already, but on the inside, I feel exactly the same."

"You've only been a Stark for less than a day," Davos chuckled. "Probably hasn't set in yet."

"This is what I've always wanted, yet now that I have it… I'm happy for sure, but I still feel like there's something missing," Jon explained. Mind wondering what that 'something' is.

"Hmm... I'm not sure," Davos said, stroking his hairy chin. "At least it isn't identification with your sigil." He gestured to Ghost, who seemed to be having the time of his life - trotting alongside Jon with his tongue trailing from his mouth.

Jon laughed, reaching down to pet him again. "This guy's been with me since before I left Winterfell, reminding me of my home, I guess. Was the runt of the litter of pups my father found, now look at him." There was a tinge of pride in his voice.

Davos smirked. "Reminds me of you. The runt who grows up into the strongest among them all." The brief moment of levity passed, seriousness returning. "I can't say I have any context for your situation."

"I understand." Jon looked ahead to King Stannis, his new King. The man he swore he'd follow. Ironic because he really doesn't know anything about the man aside from his reputation. He inclined his chin to him, "Tell me about him." He asked Davos.

"Stannis?" Davos furrowed his brows.

"Aye. What's he like?"

Nodding, Davos looked up to where the King rode, alone but for two bodyguards. Guess that described him better than anyone ever could. "Well, I've known the man a long time, and he's been the only man I've ever known worth following. He's honorable, just, and principled. I've never been around anyone as smart as Stannis Baratheon. His military mind is unheard of," Davos talked like he's a proud father speaking of his son. Jon realized Davos thought very highly of his King, like he could do nothing wrong. "Stannis is the greatest man I've ever known. I'm honored to be his Hand… and his friend."

"So he's a good ruler then?" Jon asked.

"Of course," Davos said like it's common sense. "You made the right choice, Jon. Stannis will be a great King. Commands respect, honor, loyalty…"

"Love?" Jon didn't know why he asked that. Genuine curiosity, he figured.

Davos narrowed his eyes, thinking. "Well… not really." He sighed. "I don't speak ill of him, as you know, but I think that's the one thing he seems to lack. He prefers to be feared… No one is perfect, I suppose. Stannis comes the closest though, no doubt about that."

Pondering that over, Jon looked to Stannis and then back to Davos. "Maester Aemon said to me once that love is the death of duty. He was right, considering that the closest point I came to abandoning my vows before His Grace arrived was when I fell for a wildling girl."

"Young love is a powerful thing," Davos laughed. Mind harkening back to his own time, when he was young and in love.

"It is," Jon couldn't help but smile. "Perhaps love was what persuaded me now, to avenge my family." He shrugged.

"Your family? Ah… Yes, your sister-"

"Sansa," Jon nodded, cutting in. "The Boltons have her."

With a furrowed brow, Davos reached over and clasped Jon's shoulder, "You'll save her, Jon." He tried to reassure.

Nodding slowly, Jon replied, "I know. If it's the last thing I do."

"You will… and I doubt it'll be the last thing you do."

"I don't know," Jon sighed. "But I think I got the right help. The right ruler."

"You did," Davos agreed. "I can't speak more highly about Stannis."

"From what I've seen, I think Stannis is a fine choice. Though perhaps he could be a bit more compassionate… like you said, he lacks the love and affection. Part of me thinks that no ruler could ever truly love, but I don't think I could ever be completely cold, if you understand."

"I get it, Lord Stark. A monarch that can properly balance both love and duty would be formidable indeed." There was a pregnant pause. "Seven Hells, I wonder if we'd ever see that happen."

Jon couldn't respond to that, not knowing the answer himself.

"Perhaps in your lifetime, young Stark," Davos added with a sigh. "I'm an old man. I don't know if I'll get the chance to see something like that."

"Who knows?" Jon smiled. "Maybe we'll both to see someone like that."

Davos laughed, "Maybe, just maybe."

She dreamed of snow.

Never once had snow ever graced her vision, but Daenerys Targaryen still dreamt of it. Of cold. Of gusts of wind that chilled her to the bone. Invading her mind so thoroughly until her eyes exploded open - shooting out of bed into the stifling heat of Slaver's Bay… shivering. Feeling the ice draping over her while the last tendrils of sleep hadn't yet left.

Daario said it was of glory. Telling her in their bedroom rendezvous that they heralded her desire to reconquer the land her family once had ruled.

Missandei figured it was a reaction to the arrival of the Lannister dwarf. That the presence of such a prominent individual from the Seven Kingdoms naturally caused one to think of the land she so desired to rule.

Daenerys mused that it was the arrival of Jorah Mormont back in her life - at first. Seeing the Bear of the north, a land her brother had often said was draped in snow and ice as far as the eye could see, would cause her mind to focus on snow. To conflate it with the swirl of emotions she felt after seeing him again.

But lying in bed alone, having awoken once more in the middle of the night, the Dragon Queen pondered something new. A puzzling aspect of her dreams that had only appeared that night. Something nestled in the middle of the snow. One that blended in… but one she just simply noticed. As if she knew it was there.

A wolf. A large, white wolf, collapsed in the middle of a blizzard. A sword rested beside it, caked with dried blood of battles long fought. She could hear it whimper in pain. A pain that made her want to reach out and comfort the poor beast, but when Daenerys had waded through the snow, it vanished. A white light spreading through its chest.

Waking left her cold as usual, but with an empty feeling this time. A feeling of loss. Of grief. Sighing, Daenerys rose. No sense dwelling on it now.

It was only a dream. Although something told her to remember this one.

Sometimes her dreams came true.

A/N: And Dany makes her first appearance! It's a small teaser, but one that sets up a lot coming up. She'll be back :)

Davos and Jon are fast friends no matter what.

Alright, so the two moments I think are really important to remember moving forward is Jon leaving Castle Black and kinda that feeling he had. The other is most definitely the tiny section at the end.

Next up we do have Hardhome, I'll go ahead and tell you that. One of the things that were so cool about this story is all the things that would be different with just Jon becoming a Stark. One of those was Stannis at Hardhome, we knew that he'd go, and it sounded fucking crazy and we had to do it. So that's coming up, it's gonna be epic.

We do hope you are enjoying this as much as we are. I personally don't know if I've enjoyed thinking about a story as much as this one. Which is crazy because I've written a whole bunch of shit over the years. Know that we pretty much fully committed to this despite our other stories because all the shit we're gonna do is too damn cool to not bring to life. Also, we need closure that the show didn't provide.

Yes, this is Jonerys. We are planning a bunch of scenes with them, but remember, it's only season 5 so much too early. have patience, cause we are just as pissed about season 8 and want a better resolution. Jumping into Jonerys now makes no sense, but it will happen.

Stannis fans, strap in. Plenty more Stannis coming.

Poor Sansa. Ramsay is a little bitch and you bet Jon is prepared to Bring Winter to House Bolton.

We will update as often as we can. Both of us are busy.

Be sure to check out our other stories: An Empire of Ice and Fire for Longclaw and To Catch a Dream (on Ao3) by BRuh4.

Thanks again for checking this out, we really appreciate it.

Leave your reviews, follows, favs.

Tell your friends.