It had been a long, grueling campaign for king Robb. After his decisive victory at the Whispering Wood and the rout of the Lannister forces at the Battle of the Camps, his forces were flush with triumph. But victory brought its own set of challenges—decisions needed to be made, and the next step in this war had to be planned carefully.

In the dimly lit war tent, Robb sat, his brow furrowed as he pored over maps and letters. Rose Bolton stood by the tent's entrance, her pale eyes scanning the room, a ghostly figure in the candlelight. Her presence was as quiet and still as ever, but the weight of her intellect and experience was palpable. She had advised Robb more than once, offering counsel on strategy that kept his enemies on their heels.

"You've won the battles, your grace, but this war is far from over," Rose said softly, her voice cutting through the tense silence. She stepped closer, pointing on the map of the Riverlands on the table before him, her pale eyes fixed on the fortress marked with a deep red ink stain. "Let me take Harrenhal. They say it is the key to controlling the Riverlands."