The night after the Dreadfort raid was quiet, but the tension hung in the air like a noose. Jon Snow sat in his tent, staring at a flame flickering in a small iron brazier. His mind was sharp, running through the events of the raid, but his body ached from the tension, the strain of leadership weighing heavily on him. They had achieved what they set out to do—the Dreadfort lay crippled, its supplies burned, and the garrison in disarray. Yet, Jon knew this was only a small victory in a much larger war.
The Boltons would retaliate. Ramsay was not the type to sit idle while his hold on the North was chipped away, and Jon knew that the real challenge lay ahead.
"Snow," Tormund's voice grunted from outside the tent.
"Come in," Jon called, his voice steady.
Tormund entered, ducking under the flap. His face was flushed from the cold, but there was a gleam in his eyes. He tossed a piece of salted meat onto the table, then folded his arms over his chest.
"That was a clean hit, Jon," Tormund said, his voice filled with satisfaction. "Bolton's probably still pissin' himself trying to figure out what happened."
Jon gave a small nod but didn't smile. "It's a good start. But Ramsay's not going to run. He's going to come at us harder, more vicious than before."
Tormund scratched his beard, shrugging. "Let him come. We'll cut him down."
Jon looked up at him, his gaze steady. "We can't afford to think like that. Ramsay isn't going to fight fair. We hurt him, but now he knows we're close. He'll want to draw us out."
Tormund tilted his head, studying Jon's expression. "So, what's next? We sit and wait?"
"No," Jon said, standing and moving to the map laid out on the table. He ran his finger along the northern edge, past Winterfell, toward Karhold. "We move faster. Hit his allies before he can call them to his side."
Tormund's eyes narrowed. "You mean Karstarks?"
Jon nodded. "Aye. Lord Harald Karstark's been one of Ramsay's staunchest supporters since he executed his own kin for siding with Robb. The Karstarks are dangerous. If we can turn them or take them out of the fight, Ramsay loses more men. More importantly, it sends a message to the other houses still wavering."
Tormund scratched his chin thoughtfully. "You're thinkin' like a schemer now. I like it."
Jon didn't feel proud of that compliment. His father had always warned him against such thinking—schemes and backstabbing weren't the Stark way. But Jon had learned hard lessons at the Wall and after. This wasn't about honor anymore. It was about survival.
"What's your plan then?" Tormund asked, pulling up a stool to sit across from Jon. "We can't do to Karhold what we did to the Dreadfort. They'll be ready for us now."
Jon nodded. "We won't. We'll split the forces. I'll take a small group and meet with Harald Karstark personally. If we can convince him to turn on Ramsay, we might win this war without more bloodshed. If not… we'll hit them in a way they don't expect."
"Turn him?" Tormund raised an eyebrow. "You think he'll betray Ramsay?"
"I don't know," Jon admitted. "But Karstark fought for Robb once. His father died for it. There's still honor in him, somewhere. If we can reach that part of him, we might turn him. Ramsay's loyalty is built on fear. If Harald thinks Ramsay is losing control of the North, he might choose survival over fear."
Tormund snorted. "Or he'll try to gut you the moment you walk into his hall."
Jon met his gaze with steely resolve. "That's why I'll have you and the others with me."
---
The journey to Karhold was short, but the tension grew with every mile. Jon had left a portion of his forces behind, trusting the Mormonts and Umbers to defend their camp if Ramsay retaliated quickly. He rode north with Tormund, Sansa, and a small group of loyal men. Sansa had insisted on coming, her knowledge of the North's politics invaluable in dealing with the Karstarks. She had changed since fleeing Ramsay's clutches—there was a fierceness in her eyes now, a determination Jon hadn't seen before.
The cold wind whipped across the snow-covered landscape, and Karhold loomed ahead, a stark fortress rising from the frozen ground. Jon's mind raced with possibilities. Harald Karstark was an unpredictable man, but if there was any chance of convincing him to abandon the Boltons, Jon had to take it.
They reached the gates of Karhold just as the sun was setting, casting long shadows across the courtyard. The castle's guards eyed them warily but allowed them entry after some tense negotiation.
"Jon Snow," came a deep, gravelly voice as they entered the great hall. Lord Harald Karstark stood before them, tall and broad-shouldered, his face lined with age and bitterness. His dark eyes flicked over Jon, then rested on Sansa with a flash of recognition. "The Bastard of Winterfell, and Lady Stark. I should have expected you."
Jon stepped forward, his voice calm but firm. "We've come to talk, Lord Harald. There's still time to end this war without more bloodshed."
Harald's lips twisted into a grim smile. "Is that so? You burned the Dreadfort, killed my allies, and now you come to me asking for peace?"
"We didn't come for peace," Sansa said coldly, stepping up beside Jon. Her voice was sharp, like the edge of a blade. "We came to give you a choice."
Harald's gaze flicked between them, his expression darkening. "A choice?"
"You can stand with Ramsay Bolton, a man who skins his enemies and tortures his own kin," Sansa said, her voice steady, "or you can stand with the Starks. You fought for my brother once. Your father died for his honor. Do you think Ramsay Bolton would do the same for you?"
The hall fell silent. Jon watched as Harald's face tightened, his jaw clenched. He could see the conflict in the older man's eyes—the loyalty to his house, the fear of Ramsay, and the weight of past decisions.
"You speak of honor," Harald growled. "But my father died because of Robb Stark's failure. Because your family betrayed the North."
"Robb made mistakes," Jon said quietly, his voice carrying the weight of hard truths. "But we all have. I know you've had to make choices too, Harald. But look around you—Ramsay is losing control. His grip on the North weakens by the day. You can stand with him and fall, or you can stand with the North and live."
Harald stared at him for a long moment, the tension thick in the air. Jon held his gaze, refusing to back down. This wasn't just a gamble—it was a calculated risk. Harald Karstark had always been a man who valued survival over blind loyalty.
Finally, Harald's shoulders slumped slightly, a bitter sigh escaping him. "And if I choose to stand with you? What then?"
"Then we take back the North together," Jon said, his voice firm. "And you'll be remembered as the man who stood with the Starks, not the man who died for a Bolton."
For a long moment, the room was silent. Harald's eyes flicked to Sansa, then back to Jon. He was weighing his options, considering the risks. Finally, he gave a slow nod, his expression grim.
"I'll need time to gather my men," Harald said, his voice heavy with resignation. "But if you're right about Ramsay… I won't stand in his shadow any longer."
Jon let out a quiet breath of relief, but he didn't relax. This was just one step in a much larger war. Harald Karstark's loyalty was tenuous, at best. Jon knew he couldn't fully trust him, but for now, he had to believe they had swayed him to their side.
"Good," Jon said, giving a curt nod. "We leave in the morning."
---
As they prepared to leave Karhold, Jon found Sansa standing on the battlements, looking out over the frozen landscape. The wind tugged at her hair, but she stood still, her face unreadable.
"You did well in there," Jon said, stepping beside her. "He wouldn't have listened to me alone."
Sansa didn't turn to look at him, her voice distant. "I know how to talk to men like him now. Men like Ramsay."
Jon frowned, hearing the pain in her voice, but he didn't press. Sansa had been through more than he could ever imagine, and she had changed because of it. There was a strength in her now, but also a hardness that worried him.
"You did what needed to be done," Jon said softly. "That's all we can do."
Sansa finally turned to him, her eyes piercing. "This isn't over, Jon. Harald may have agreed to stand with us, but Ramsay won't give up that easily. He'll come for us."
Jon met her gaze, his expression grim but resolute. "Let him