"Check the dungeons!"
You lifted your head up and felt a shiver rolling down your spine. You had not gotten anything to eat for at least three days and you knew there was one thing worse than being remembered by Ramsay Bolton.
"Miss (Y/N)?"
You lifted your arm up to cover your eyes. You had grown used to the darkness over time and even the light of that one single candle already hurt.
"Lord Snow?"
You closed your eyes and felt the tears rolling down your cold and pale cheeks. You only noticed now that the air had gotten chilly and as someone who had always lived with the Starks you knew all too well what that meant. Winter was coming, but it seemed that you wouldn't be around long enough to actually witness it. You had clearly already started to hallucinate and if you remembered correctly that was the last phase before dying.
"(Y/N)?" A well known voice made you smile through your tears, but you only dared to open your eyes when two familiar arms lifted you up from the cold and dirty floor. "How long have you been here already?" Jon still wore the frown on his forehead he had gotten for as long as you could remember, but he had clearly gotten years and years older.
"How long has Ramsay been the master of Winterfell?" You whispered and you hesitated while you lifted up your hand in an attempt to touch his bearded cheek. You had to admit that you had imagined the hallucinations right before your death to be a lot less pleasant.
"What did he do to you?" Jon's voice sounded firm, a lot firmer than you had ever heard in real life. It seemed that your mind had decided that life at the night's watch would change him into a much stronger and much more confident man.
"Well, you can better ask what he didn't do..." You grinned and exhaled until there was hardly any air left in your lungs. "He didn't feed me all too well." You spoke softly and moaned. "And I might have some complaints about the clothes he's forcing me to wear." You rolled your eyes and wondered how long it would take until the eternal sleep would come over you. "I didn't really like the bedroom either..."
"This is not a time for jokes, (Y/N)!" Jon raised his voice and you held your breath when you could feel the warmth of his hand when he touched your cheek. "Are you ill? Are you hurt?"
You shook your head and for the first time in years you felt something in your heart called hope again. "I'm fine, Jon." You eventually managed to say. "A little hungry and a little tired, but I'm fine, I promise."
"You can lie to yourself, but don't lie to me." Jon used his knee to push the door to his old bedroom open.
Even though Ramsay Bolton had changed Winterfell for the worst, Jon's room seemed untouched and undamaged. Maybe deep down there had been a part of Ramsay that had been afraid of what would happen if the bastard son of Ned would come to chase him out of his father's home.
"Is he dead?" You looked straight into Jon's worried eyes and your lips curled up into a smile when he nodded. "In that case I'm not lying." You paused for a moment. "I need sleep, I need food and I need my best friend to talk to and to help me forget."
"You shall have it." Jon placed you on his old bed and even though they were slightly cold and dusty the sheets were already a lot more comfortable than the floor of the dungeon had been. "You shall have all of it and everyone who allowed him to do this to you will pay the highest possible price. I promise."