The Boltons betrayed my brother to take the North for themselves. Before that, Theon Greyjoy betrayed him to take Winterfell for the Ironborn. When we took it back... no one I’d known there as a child still lived, other than Sansa. Not even the cook or the smith.

[He’s already spoken on this a little, back when he tried to explain why the Northerners were done with southron rulers. But this is more personal, now.]

We rode through the North looking for support and found it lacking... some because they regretted supporting Robb, some because the bulk of the force was made up of wildlings. They didn’t hate Bolton as much — at least he was a Northman, even if he’d sold the Starks out to the Lannisters for his own gain.

Even so, we nearly lost. We would have lost, if it hadn’t been for the support of my sister’s cousin in the Vale. Bolton was executed, I gave him to Sansa to kill, but then there is always the matter of how many lords there are to please at a time when I can’t await on their pleasure; even a normal winter would be troublesome, would have required preparation that’s been set aside while people fought amongst themselves, but this won’t be a normal winter. And then there is the fact of so many changes. The Boltons did considerable rebuilding. It’s the home I remember, but it’s changed. And I was only in it for a few moons before I left it.