Ramsay Bolton’s Widow • Jon snow
Winter was no longer a threat — it had arrived. The walls stood, but they bore the scars. In the courtyard, men worked in heavy silence, rebuilding broken gates, patching the stone of the keep, collecting the nameless dead, and burning what was left of both ruin and victory. Blood from the Battle of the Bastards still stained the snow, mixed with dirt and smoke — reminders of the price paid to reclaim this home.
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