Brandon the builder founder of house Stark razed Winterfell with Giants a thousand years ago or so nursemaids tell all the children of the north. The children nod wide eyed unaware of the lesson forced on them that even Giants obey the Starks so too should they. But like every other castle Winterfell was built in pieces over thousands of years. The first men settled there because of the hot springs that bubbled through the ground. The water and the heat helped them survive the northern winters. And they built defenses to keep it for themselves. Nobody raised a castle all at once. Probably no body meant to raise a castle at all.

But the greatest rival to winterfell was always the dreadfort and my ancestors the red kings of house bolton. If tales can be believed we fought until the long night until the Andals came. Because of us Winterfell raised its first walls when we took and burned the castle anyway. Winterfell built more keeps, more walls, more guard towers. They expanded the granaries and larders to survive our sieges. They tended the godswood to win favor with the old gods against us. As the castle grew more farmers and villagers flocked every winter from across the north to huddle under its walls raising the winter town. In the spring these villagers would find themselves marching in the stark armies to fight against us. The greatness of winterfell is as much our doing as the Starks. But in the end neither its stone walls nor its toll keeps an iron gates could save winterfell. At its height it could've lasted a year under heavy siege. But a handful of iron born seized it in the night while the king was playing in the south. My fathers dagger ended his reign, and now house Bolton knows the castle of out ancient enemies. The direwolf no longer flies the battlements above me, no guards the doors and cornices of Winterfell against me. Below me miles of long dead starks fade into darkness and obscurity. Some northerners whisper that they wait for the day there house will rise again. They will wait forever.