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Ramsay wasn't a monster. Not in her eyes. She knew a side of him unknown to the rest of the world. Unknown even to his father. The world has not given Ramsay a chance, tracing his path for him from his first breath. A bastard of noble birth might have a better way of life, but at the end of the day it'll still be a bastard. A child, doomed to wear the name of his father's one night mistake forever. They’ll be the embarrassment of their fathers, despised by the rest of their families, they’ll be the black sheep of the lot. In society’s eyes they don’t matter more than a servant. The respect they’ll get is earned not owed.
Ramsay grew up without family love. He was to fight his own battles from birth. His father’s only son he was the heir, although illegitimate, until the birth of a true born son. He therefore had duties and responsibilities. But no love, no kindness, no tenderness, no forgiveness. No love. And no name; he was a Snow and always will be.
He had (Y/N) tough. Daughter of noble birth, they would have been of the same rank if he was not a bastard. She was sweet. Sweet, sweet (Y/N). Always a kind word, a warm gesture. She was his sun in the storm. She was also cunningly sharp and smart without doubt. The pride and joy of her parents. And everything he ever wanted.
Truth was, around her he didn't feel like he had to behave the way he usually did. He didn't feel like a bastard. He felt whole. He felt good about himself. Hell, he'll even dare say he felt happy. But happiness is subjective, it comes and goes as the wind. It only takes one misplaced stone to make the whole tower fall apart. (Y/N) was announced to be married. Not to him. To a cunt of a Lord more South. Promised to another man. He would rather have her dead. No, he thinks, that's not true. But he can't bear the thought of her being paraded around on the arm of some shithead. That girl has been his best friend for as long as he can remember. His only friend if he was being honest. It feels like they went to Hell and back together, and if he’d ever have to go through that again she’ll be the only person he’ll do it for, for he knew she would do it for him as well.
(Y/N) of house Karstark, daughter of Lord Karstark was wandering around the cold walls of the castle. Since the announcement of her betrothal, she has been in a state of constant daze. She didn't know this southern Lord she was promised to. But it'll be good to have allies in the south, her father had told her. With Winter coming they couldn't take any risks. To be a strong union match and to bear heir, those were the only tasks required of a Lady. But wasn't she allowed to dream of Love? Was there no place for tenderness in the relationships of the more noble house? She grew up being taught there wasn't. If she was lucky, she’d like her husband and even, maybe, fall in love with him. But this was not a guarantee, her own parents weren't in love. They had slept together to bear children for the legacy of the House but now her father's bed is warmed only by his many mistresses. Was she doomed to live the same life her mother had? Will her husband leave her side as soon as she gives him a son?
Her worries however are cut short as her father, much to his regret, announce to her the sudden death of her promised. Lord Karstark’s upset behavior is not one of grieving nature, but more of that one of dreams cut short. His daughter is once again a burden to him and of what use is a daughter if not of useful transaction?
It has not even been two fortnights since the announcement of her betrothal and already the man she was supposed to marry is underground. Faith is an amusing thing, isn’t it? Then the strangest thing happens; her father announces the prospect of another suitor : Lord Ramsay Bolton. Bolton. Not Snow. So, he had finally been made heir, she notices. His dearest dream came true alas. Now that he is finally considered of noble birth, he is a good marriage prospect for her house. The even stranger thing is that the offer coms from Ramsey’s father; Roose. This man is best to be left alone, (Y/N)’s father once told her, and yet now, in the most crucial decision of her life, her father happily obliges to wed his only daughter to the son of the man he fears? There is irony in her father’s actions. The young woman isn’t against the weeding, she likes Ramsay. She used to at least, they grew up together, they were friends. But Ramsay is unstable, unpredictable, dangerous. He had never laid a hand on her true, but what tells her he never will? And so, in her cold, northerner’s room, the Karstark daughter let her thoughts wander about Ramsay.
Further north, Roose Bolton announces the same news to his son. No need to say that said son is pleased about it. “How utterly odd that her previous fiancé just happens to disappear” the father commented. “Odd indeed” Ramsay smiles wickedly.
The wedding is set a fortnight later. The faster, the better. At least for one of you. Here you stand in your white dress, a lovely bride truly, so pretty with your flushed cheeks from the cold and covered with snow hair. As you’re walking down the aisle, ready to be passed from your father’s arm to the one of your husband’s to be you cannot help but feel utter excitement about the prospect of a life with Ramsay. The look in his eyes is so tender and, what you dare think, filled with love you just feel yourself melt into his kiss when he swirls you around now that you’re his wife. Your laugh fills the air and Ramsay’s heart.
Surprisingly that night Ramsay is the nervous one. Sure, he had had experiences, a lot, with lots of whores, willing and unwilling ones. But never ones he loved. There was no one he loved apart from his sweet childhood friend. And now customs wanted that he fucks her rough and plants his seed in her. Make an heir as fast as possible. That meant take her virginity. It wasn’t his first time, far from it. But it was his wife’s. HIS wife. He couldn’t actually believe it. It sounded surreal. But there she was, sitting in the bed, waiting for him. Nervously he approaches the bed, climbing on it until he hovers over the young woman. She looks up at him, waiting for him to proceed, lips slightly parted. Ramsay finds himself stuck, it’s like his body forgets how to move, he just stare at her startled. A light chuckle escapes the bride’s lips, and, with a cold hand, she gently cups his cheek and brings him down for a kiss. Her lips are warm and soft and immediately Ramsay takes control again. He is now desperate for her touch, grabbing her waist to bring her even closer to him, deepening the kiss. And so it starts.
When all is finished and both of them are sweaty, panting messes Ramsay knows that he never really felt as peaceful as he does right now. He feels happy. That is a strange sentiment. But one he could get used to. He is laying on top of Lady Bolton, weighing on her with his whole body. But she doesn’t mind it, she finds it comforting. Absently she is playing with his hair, and it drives him crazy. The good kind of crazy. He can feel himself falling asleep but can’t resist the urge to kiss her one more time so looking up at her he is met with a tender smile and a little surprise.
The kiss she places on his forehead is so gentle he feels as if the love in the entire world has been dropped in his arms. She hums him to sleep and nothing has ever tasted so sweet.