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Two Bastard Snow's

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Ever since the rebellion the Northern Lords had made an agreement. Every three years all Lords would hold a meeting on their lands. Not only to discuss trade and business, but to make partnerships between families. Already three betrothal's had been agreed upon because of these meetings.

This year the meeting was held at the Dreadfort, Roose Bolton preparing for the other Northern Lords arrival.

He had to make sure none suspected or found anything incriminating, it wouldn't do for the others to find out what he had been doing.

He had already sealed the entrances to many of the rooms he didn't want opened, telling many of his men to not, under any circumstances, go in any of them. Not until the Lords left at least.

Which led him to his sons rooms. Telling the guards and blocking all the rooms of would all be for nought if his sons revealed something without thinking.

Domeric was simple. He told the boy to watch his tongue and that was that. Ramsay on the other hand was more difficult. The boy near whining. But when Roose threatened to let the dogs at him he quieted, not wanting his father's anger on him.

And so the meeting grew closer and closer, until all the Northern Lords and Ladies arrived, many bringing their children with them.

One of which was the Warden of the Norths son- or sons, though most forget about the bastard.

As Lord Stark and his trueborn son were welcomed Ramsay saw the little bastard boy hidden away from the other Lords eyes, the sullen bastard looking more Stark than his brother.

As Lord Stark and his heir greeted his father and the other Lords Ramsay watched as the bastard looked around, excitement evident on his face.

Then the bastards eyes drifted to where Ramsay was hidden- his father said it would insult some Lords if he where seen- and the boy froze.

Grey-blue met violet-blue eyes.


The Lords feasted that night. All of them cheering as music was played loudly, ale and other drinks sloshing out of their cups as the Lords and Ladies of the North made around in a drunken dance. Even the heirs were cheery- even if some were to young to drink- they celebrated for the sake of celebrating. 

Of course, Jon wasn't apart of said celebration. He knew the only reason he was here was because Lady Catelyn wouldn't have him in Winterfell, not when he could far away and burden someone else, at least.

Jon was nine name-days old, and this was his first annual Northern Meeting. He was currently attacking a straw dummy, taking all of his pent up anger out on it.

Jon wasn't dumb, no matter what some people thought. He knew why he wasn't allowed to come to previous meetings, or why he wasn't allowed in the hall to feast with the rest.


He hit the dummy again- right across the face, his blunted sword slicing through it's cheek.

His own ached numbly.

He continued his attacks. The cheers from the hall as another song begun fulling him.

Why should it matter? So what if he was a bastard? A Snow?

Did that just make him worse? Did it make him a murderer? A raper? Did it just inherently make him a walking sin?

No. No it didn't. But the rest of the world thought so. And Jon couldn't care less.

Jon was better than everyone else, trueborn or bastard, Prince, Lord or commoner.

He could do things no one else could, things no other Stark could do.

He absorbed knowledge like a cloth absorbed water. He took to weaponry and fighting like a duck to water. But most of all- and in his opinion the best - he could do magic.

Not anything like the so called 'Dark magic' the Septa and other idiotic Southerners talked about, no no, what Jon did wasn't like that.

It was natural. It was powerful.

And it was his.

Jon felt a smirk come on his face, which probably made him look demonic.

Jon was always pale, even for a Northerner, his hair didn't help, either. His hair was black. Compared to his other siblings he quite literally looked like the black sheep of the family- or the black wolf.

His father's hair was a dark brown, his uncle Benjen's even darker, but Jon's hair was black, not some dark brown.

Coming the pale skin with his dark hair and he would look like a true Stark King, but it was his eyes that truly made him demonic -at least according to Lady Catelyn and the Septa.

They were the perfect mix between steel-grey and violet-blue.

Normally his eyes were grey, until he started to use his magicks.

They would light up. Unnaturally so. Not quite violet but not quite the unnatural blue- like they were fighting between what colour it should be. And Jon wouldn't have it any other way. It made him unique, afterall.

But enough about that- Jon slashed again, this time making a dent in the metal plate the dummy wore.

Jon stopped, barely panting. It was more fun when he had a partner.

Jon's ears twitched at hearing to loud cheers, before rolling his eyes. He swore that the wildlings beyond the Wall could he them with how loud they were.

Jon huffed, turning on his heel to go to his room which was- you guessed it- far away from the trueborn.

Jon took two steps before stopping.

There in front of him stood an odd looking boy.

Dark hair- though not as dark as his-, grey eyes that seemed to shine in the moonlight and an odd face. The boy was neither pretty or ugly. Jon decided he was cute.

Jon raised an eyebrow, "Can I help you?"

The boy smiled, an atrocious thing really, his tongue coming out to lick his lips.

"I doubt you can help me," he said, smile never dimming. Jon never broke his stare with him.

"Then why are you out here?" Jon gestured to the training yard, the boy breaking there staring contest to look at the halls doors.

"They don't like our kind in there," the boy said, a dark look in his eyes.

Jon stilled. Our kind.

"You're a bastard to then?"

The boy looked back at him, eyes still hard. He managed to ground out a "yes".

Jon cocked his head, "You don't like being called bastard, do you?"

He scoffed, "And you do?"

Jon shrugged, surprising the boy. "It's what we are, isn't it? If I hate what I am then the others will use it against me, and you too."

The boy slowly nodded, eyes softening. Jon grinned, "Besides, I prefer to wear it like armor, that way it can never be used against me."

Now the boys wormy lips widened, showing off his sharp canines. Jon thought he looked adorable when he smiled.

He lifted his hand, "Jon Snow, bastard of Winterfell. "

The boy grinned, grasping Jon's cold hand in his own clammy one, "Ramsay Snow, bastard of the Dreadfort. "

Jon believed this was the start of a beautiful friendship.


And it was.

Jon and Ramsay had never felt such a connection before, not with their siblings or otherwise.

For such an odd reason Jon's father had looked worried when he found about their friendship, Roose had a cold, calculating in his eyes when he found out.

Though he to began to worry when he realised just how much trouble they got into, not to mention his worry that Ramsay would slip up and reveal something. But for now he let it go- though he made sure to tell the boy what would happen should he let slip what they did.

The boys did near everything together. They trained, ate, played, and when Jon said he missed sharing a room and- subsequently a bed- with Robb, they slept together as well.

Ramsay showed Jon all the secrets of the Dreadfort (that he was allowed to) which led to them finding some Ramsay was sure even his father didn't know about.

One of which was crawl spaces that led to important places- what they were made for neither cared for. They sure as hell didn't tell Roose about them, that was for sure.

Ramsay would prefer his father not know about the hidden areas where one could -theoretically- listen and watch the Lords private meetings, or look into the Lords solar, if they so wanted.

Which they didn't do.

(Though Domeric did wonder why his younger brother and his new friend kept looking at him to one of Meage Mormonts girls)

Nor did they know about the super secret meeting between Lord Manderly and Lord Karstark about a betrothal. Nope, they knew nothing about such a thing. None, really!

And for nearly two weeks they were friends, and it was at that point Jon was willing to show his new best friend (Robb was his best-brother friend) about his magic powers.

So after another hour in the library (Jon prayed to the Gods that he could come here more often, the Bolton's had so many books on things- specifically darker, gore-er things) that he pulled Ramsay to the hidden room deep within the library.

The secret room was small, connecting to many hidden corridors leading all over the place. One place being the room in which the ravens were.

Once they stood in the corridor right in front of the door Jon turned to Ramsey.

Ramsay wondered what his friend had dragged him here for, he had said it was important, and if anything, he trusted Jon.

Jon's face turned serious, "What I am about to tell you stays between us, okay? No one can know."

Ramsay nodded, eyes widening. Jon was trusting him with something serious, he wouldn't break his trust.

Jon smiled.

He lifted his palm to the torch on the wall and- besides a brief moment of panic and fear- Ramsay watched in awe as his friend put his hand into the flames, pulling his hand out, a tendril of fire followed.

Ramsay watched awe as the fire changed shapes. A wolf, then a soldier, the a raven. Then it changed colour. From orange to blood red, to green then to blue, from purple to a bright yellow the colours shifted.

Ramsay looked at Jon, awe and amazement written all across his face.

Jon chuckled softly, "You liked it?"

Ramsay grabbed the hand unoccupied by fire.

"I loved it"

Jon's grin widened, "Well, I think you'll like some of the other stuff I can do"

Ramsay's eyes widened. "You can do more?"

Jon's eyes shined brightly, "Much more."


Ramsay had never seen- nay, never heard of such things, such powers before!

Of course, there were the old tales. Of wargs and skinchangers, of seers and the tales of Asshai and it's shadowbinders, but it all paled in comparison to Jon.

He watched as Jon warged into a dozen ravens. As he manipulated water to his whims, watched as he used the wind to slow his descent when he jumped from a tower late at night, Jon using his powers to do the same to him when Ramsay asked if he could do so.

He watched as Jon made an entire lake freeze up, watched him makes plants grow, make the earth move to his whims.

Ramsay watched as he healed a wound Ramsay had gotten when he tripped. As he made the shadows do his bidding and- this was apparently a new one- turn the both of them invisible. They had been in a room going through things they shouldn't when heard someone coming, with no way out Jon had panicked and grabbed, willing to make his magic help them.

So far Jon had elemental magicks (he preferred calling it magic, as most of the world hated it- like they hated bastards) and invisibility.

They sat down and grabbed a journal no one was using, using it to write down what Jon could do, making sure not to write any names.

So far Jon could use/control:

Light (?) [Making a room less dark, blinding someone, ...]
Good memory  [that isn't a power - it is if I say so ]
Metal (?) [Finding metals in the ground, able to bend or break it easily ]
Able to tame animals easily  [might be a warg thing]

"So?" Ramsay asked, sharpening a dagger.

Jon looked over the journal. He stopped at one sentence, "Ram, I told you, good memory isn't a power."

Ramsay rolled his eyes, "You sure? I'm pretty sure it's a little odd to be able to remember a book you read three years ago word for word!"

Jon shrugged, "It was a good book!"

"Sure it was" Ramsay mumbled, going back to sharpening his dagger.


"Hey, Jon?"

"Yes, Ram?"

"Do you think-"

"No Ramsay, for the last time, I don't know how to make Valyrian steel!"



One moment they were running around the village, playing a game, and then Jon ran into a woman.

Tall and far to skinny, with and pinched face and ugly brown eyes, she sneered.

Jon tried apologise, but the women wouldn't have it.

It was then Ramsay realised what she was wearing.

The Septa sneered at them, "What are bastards like you doing here?" She asked snidely.

Ramsay was about to ask the same, wondering what a Septa was doing on his father's land.

Jon looked angry at her tone. "Playing. What's a false God's whore doing here?"

The woman's eyes snapped up from where she was looking at the bastard insignia, a gasp escaping her.

Ramsay would have cheered his friend on, neither liking the faith, if not for the Septa slapping his friend.

The Septa tried to grab Jon's ear but Ramsay tackled her.

He heard the sound of horses. Finally, he thought.

The men his father assigned to him did as told, forgetting Jon was there.

What luck, Ramsay thought. That no one was around to witness the Septa being carted away. No one-


Jon stared as the men tied the annoying bitch up.

Oh his father wasn't going to like this.


Ramsay waited for it. For Jon to break their friendship off, to tell Lord Stark about what happened

It never did. When he crawled into bed with Jon the boy pulled him close.

When asked, Jon laughed.

"This is the Dreadfort, plus there are a shit ton of books about torture, Ram. Plus I may or may have not found the secret rooms."

Oh, Ramsay thought.

The next day Ramsay realised that warging can, in fact, work on people.

The Septa did scream quite nicely, though.


Jon and Ramsay both asked their fathers to let them foster.

At first Eddard Stark wanted to say no. He wasn't going to have his son- his sisters son- stay at the Dreadfort. But he also didn't want to separate both boys.

After meeting with Roose (neither men knew their sons were watching from a secret area) they came to an agreement.

For three years he would foster Ramsay, and after that Jon would be fostered at the Dreadfort.

When told both boys thanked their fathers, rushing always to pack- even though they were still days away from leaving.

Ned just hoped Catelyn understood and kept her opinions to herself.