The Dread Fort, the ancient seat of House Bolton. There was a time when House Bolton was the bane of The North, brutal, savage, violent killers who enjoyed blood and torture. They once had the greatest power base in the country beside the Starks of Winterfell. There were tales of the Bolton's cruelty. Stories, whispered in hushed tones about the torment they dealt to those they captured. Such horrors they inflicted on the poor souls who fell into their clutches it is said they would break your mind and leaving nothing more than a drooling thrall, and this is if they were feeling merciful. If they were not they flay you living and leave your body for the crows, only after they made your skin into a cloak. Their reign of chaos only came to an end when the Starks led their host against them and defeated them. The Boltons were given a simple choice, bend the knee or face the ruin of their house and name. They wisely surrendered but Bolton's have long memories and were always seen as fair weather friends at best since then.
Robb now stood, staring at the ancient Dread Fort with murder in his heart. Grey Wind had tracked Robyns scent here. She was here, he knew it. He could almost feel the closeness to her. There was a flicker, a brief moment in his resolve where he thought it was his own madness driving him, making feel and believe falsehoods. Then he'd look to his heart and knew he was right in his course. She lived, he would save her or die in the process. Either way, they would be together again.
Robb made his way down through the tree line towards the Dread Fort, he scouted the sentries first, the walls were lightly manned. The arrogant bastards thought themselves safe behind their high walls. No where was safe from the vengeance of The Wild Wolf. Robb moved like a beast in the night, little more than a shadow. He reached the walls quickly and began his ascent, he would scale the walls and bleed anyone he encountered. He wasn't far from her now, every second brought her nearer.
"Pup..."
She peeped,
"Tell me it isn't true...that this is a mistake...The Captian isn't--"
She could barely stand.
"Please, Pup..."
She whimpered. The joy left Jon's eyes. He had been so elated to see Amelia again, to hold her in his arms, to hear her voice and taste her kiss. The darkness of war, of loss had faded from the light of her fire. He could breathe again and he breathed deep. Then Clara walked in, tears in her eyes with weak knees. She'd heard of the Captains death, damn whoever told her. He had wanted to be the one, he had needed to be the one. It would have been better, easier coming from him. He knew how to talk to her better than anyone, he could have broke the news and helped her through the grief yet this. Clara seemed ready to faint.
"Clara..."
Jon's voice was soft and husky, as it so often was when emotion took him. He pulled away from Amelia as she put a hand to her mouth in shock. She had not been prepared for this either. Robyn Sheva was one of the strongest women she had ever met, to learn of her death was difficult to believe.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry."
Jon said as he reached out to Clara and took her hands in his, ready to support her should she fall. Yet like when he told of of Winterfell he knew Clara was not the child she once was, she was a woman grown and deserved the truth, all of the truth.
"She fell in the battle. She had snuck into the city with a strike force to open the gates for Robb's vanguard. By the time he breached the gates... she was already dead. I am so sorry Clara. She was special to us all but I know how much she meant to you."