If Jon Stark thought the preparation for the retaking of White Harbor had been time consuming the work load he now faced was unfathomable. He had been deep in council with his advisers, generals, his foreign allies and Roth. The young man had proven invaluable in the strategic planning of taking on his fathers loyalist forces. Roth sought to minimize bloodshed where ever he could, these were his people they were fighting after all but he was wise enough to see that there would be more fighting before The North was fully liberated and his father was captured. Jon did not envy Roth, the concept of having to decide what punishment to dole out to ones own father was not something to be taken lightly and Jon did not push Roth on the subject. They both rarely liked to speak of Wanhope. Roth and Jon both knew where the other stood. Jon wanted him dead and Roth, he was still his father.
So they busied themselves with less stressful avenues of the war effort. Supply lines, reinforcing of captured cities, refugee camps, triage set up and more. Anything to keep them from discussing what to do with Wanhope when the war was done. Jon now sat in his office, pouring over maps and scrolls. Northerners had flooded into the city once the dire wolf banner had been raised. Those who sought to flee the tortures of Khalidorian rule rushed back to the safety of Stark rule. Once the city was full there was more than enough new duties for Jon to fret over. Reinstating the city watch and swelling the ranks with his own men were the start. The city needed order, especially with Roth and what forces he still had with him in the city. The Northerners did not want them there and it was everything Jon could do to keep them from butchering Roth's men every time they stepped out into the street. Jon had allowed Roth and his personal guard to remain in New Castle as his guests as a precaution from reprisals.
Then there was the issue of Robb. From what he'd heard he had been unable to handle Robyn's death and rode off after the battle, believing she had been kidnapped. Da'Karro had assured him he'd seen her charred body. She was truly gone but grief had a way of blinding men. He had sent men after Robb, hoping to bring him back but they'd never found him. He prayed to the old gods that he was alright and would return soon.
For the first day in a long while he now was excited for news. He awaited impatiently as he tried to keep his mind on his work knowing at any second Podrick would run in alerting him that the convoy had entered the city. He had sent for the remnants of his house from Castle Black, leaving only a skeleton force to maintain the keep. His aunt, cousins and betrothed should be arriving any moment now. He longed to see her again, to touch her silver hair, to gaze into her emerald eyes and to kiss her soft lips. His dragon queen, his fire, Amelia Targaryen was close.
There was a soft but urgent knock on the door and Jon nearly leapt to his feet.
"Your, Grace?"
"Yes?"
Jon asked the young squire, trying to appear as calm as possible.
"They're here."
The snow had begun to fall softly as the hulking dire wolf pawed through the forest. His keen nose sniffed the frigid air for the scent of his quarry. With a low snarl he alerted his fellow hunter that they were on the right track. Robb appeared beside grey wind and knelt in the snow, his gloved hand brushing aside from fresh snow fall over where Grey Wind had been sniffing earlier. There was dried blood, long since frozen in the snow. She had been through hear. Judging by the dark color of the frozen blood he was not but a day or so behind her. He picked up a bit of the bloody snow and rubbed it between his fingers, the warmth of his hand melted the snow and the blood was sticky on his leather gloves. She was alive, and he would find her. He wasn't far now.
Robb knew the area well, he'd hunted these woods many times. There were a few hunting cabins and lodges in the immediate area and even a small inn just off a peddlers trail but Robb had already begun to piece together who took her and where she was. He needed to be certain, he needed to know. He could not afford to guess wrong and rush off. Should he be wrong it could mean her death, he didn't know how much longer she had but he'd rather choose right the first time then race to every potential lead with certainty. If he was right however, his instincts proved accurate he would not stop until every member of the offenders house was dead, every last one.