AN: Welcome to a crossover fanfiction! At least, I think it counts as a crossover. In this story, the Forresters from Telltale's Game of Thrones(you know, the protagonists who get beaten up so much they make the Starks look unbruised) actually have the balls to stand up to the Whitehills(the jerks trying to kill them). How, you ask? Well, that's why this is a crossover. Because in another world, a certain New York property mogul has been whisked using the dark arts of Forrester magic to head their house. This is how Telltale's Game of Thrones should have ended… if Donald Trump were heading House Forrester.

Game of Thrones Chapter 1 – Your Lord…

"I want you to knock nicely, I want you to knock nicely!" the self-proclaimed smart guy shouted back at the Whitehill troops and an increasingly incensed Lord Ludd Whitehill. A Whitehill swore vengeance and that spurred his comrades' belligerence up, nearly causing a riot at the gate before Ludd's voice rang out once more.

"I'll give yer one last chance," Ludd threatened, "open the gate for me and my men to judge yours and we'll have a deal."

"No no no no no, excuse me, excuse me," muttered the fat orange-haired man with small hands and the funniest accent all of Ironrath had ever seen, "you had one little boy, trapped between three men with swords and a horse, and you're telling me he killed two of your men?"

Put that way, the shouting from the Whitehills died down. What came next rejuvenated it.

"You think you're big eh, punk?"

More Whitehills headbutting the ironwood gate ensued before Ludd restored order. The Whitehills looked incensed, but the facts were that a gate made of the strongest wood in all Westeros stood between them and this upstart that the Forresters had somehow acquired to represent them in making all their business.

"I want that boy, and I want justice to be done on him, or I'll tear Ironrath to the ground!" Ludd repeated for the thirtieth time that afternoon. Nobody bothered reminding him that the only thing he had torn in recent days was his pants, on account of his increasing waistline.

"Oh yeah? Well come on in then, Gared Tuttle!" replied Donald Trump, and a worried-looking Gared stumbled into view, still clutching his wounded leg. To the horror of the watching Duncan Tuttle, Royland Degore, and Lady Elissa Forrester, Trump ordered Gared to take on the Whitehills all on his own, with only his crutch as a weapon. Gared raised his crutch and thrusted at the Whitehills…

…All through the safety of the gate, of course. The Whitehills screamed and hollered, but it was obvious that the Forresters' new leader wasn't going to give up a thing. As afternoon turned to night and their sworn enemies turned tail back to Highpoint, Lady Elissa Forrester felt just the slightest ease of relief in her heart. Perhaps they could recover from the deaths of Rodrik and Gregor after all.

The council meeting following the raven warning of Ramsay Snow's imminent arrival:

"My lady, Ramsay Snow will be here in less than a week!" cries the Maester. The small council goes into "oohs" and "ahhhs" before Trump bangs his fist against the table.

"We need just one thing, you know that, and you know what that one thing is? Hmph. Hmm. Yes, just one thing to be beating snow and bolting and white'ills. It's called, what was it, what was it… MAKE AMERICA GREAT AGAIN! – um no no wait, I mean, it's called a wall."

The small council all looked rather oddly at Trump, except for Lady Forrester, who placidly put her hand together as if she were conducting some form of prayer.

He continued, "We have a madman who kills women and children and is a bastard trying to come to us and kill our women and our children and make us bastards. He's gonna make our bastards our women(here, the council wondered if Trump had intended to pause between "bastards" and "our") and be chopping off heads and it's going to be bad. But l, I, have a plan and it's gonna be great, I mean it already is but,"

"Sorry to interrupt, but perhaps Lord Ethan should be hearing about this plan," Lady Forrester suggested. This time, it was her turn to have everyone stare at her. It was as if she had invited a preadolescent to discuss murdering the most infamous serial killer in all the North, which of course wasn't quite what they had in mind, was it?

"Alright, you hear me Royland," Trump continued, "you tell everyone here in this castle, that the next time they take a poo or a shit or a crap or whatever you call it, they do it right outside the gate. That'll tell him he's not welcome. That'll tell him he's not welcome!" Everyone in the small council was stunned, as if they had just found the best way to repel a visit by Ramsay Snow.

Less than a week later

"Clearly, your shithole of a holdfast is too much for you to keep! I hereby make Ludd Whitehill the owner of all your Ironwood forests!

Signed,

Ramsay Snow" read the letter left outside the gate. It was noticeably brown from, cough unknown origins cough, but the footprints outside the gate made it clear that the Boltons were not very happy with the Forresters.

Lady Forrester, Royland Degore, and Duncan Tuttle spent half the day weeping and moaning before Donald Trump awoke and saw to the matter.

"Wait wait wait, a guy who is the bastard of the lord who killed House Forrester's old lord gets to do that? You know, I really don't think his daddy's gonna like him messing around with us. I really don't think daddy bolting's gonna be happy. Let's send a raven to check!" said Trump as he gave a black bird the same letter, albeit with a few minor amendments made.

"Who are you sending that too?" cried the Maester but it was too late, the raven having flown away without its usually courtesy call of "nevermore".

"His daddy, who else?" Trump replied, before settling down to eat lunch.

The letter now read:

"Clearly, your shithole of a holdfast is too much for you to keep! I hereby make Ludd Whitehill the owner of all your Ironwood forests!

Signed,

Ramsay Snow"=Hey bolting, you sure this is your son? Why's he getting to take Forrester ironwood from only the best crafters of ironwood shields? I'm telling you, if we're not happy we're gonna send our shields to the wrong people, and you won't be happy when our shields get to bad people. You wanna stop that? Give us back our wood. All of it.

The jubilant sounds of cheering in the great hall of Ironrath when the raven returned with the letter was all it took to know that the Ironwood forest was firmly in Forrester hands.

As Donald Trump ate another piece of stale Northern bread and was patted on the back by every member of the Forrester household, and cheered on by the excited smallfolk outside the great hall, he decided now would be a good time to start learning how business in Westeros worked.

AN: Next chapter should be out soon! Discover how Trump takes his deal-making to King's Landing as he tries acquiring Highpoint as rental property in Games of Thrones Chapter 2: Has Made a Great Deal!