The old Frey knew his decision had come too late, so he took a boat at his advanced age to Harrenhal Castle. The journey nearly broke him. It felt as though every bone in his body had a mind of its own.
When he entered the vast, warehouse-like hall of Harrenhal with his few equally aged sons, the weight of their years seemed to fill the room. As soon as they stepped inside, they saw the yellow dragon lying behind Viserys. It appeared to be asleep—its eyes closed, its tail draped down the steps, and only its chest and belly rising and falling with each breath.
The hall of Harrenhal was enormous, one of the few "indoor spaces" large enough to house a dragon.
"So big," was the first thought that crossed old Frey's mind as he gazed at the yellow dragon. He imagined the beast could lash out with its tail and easily smash the large carriage he'd arrived in.
As old Frey had sailed along the Trident, observing what lay on the riverbanks, regret had weighed heavily on him. I should have joined the war sooner. He had seen thousands of brand-new warships, a well-equipped and loyal army, a growing dragon, and giants standing outside the halls as an honor guard. Viserys was far more powerful than he'd anticipated, his strength growing rapidly toward the might of House Targaryen at its peak—the eve of the Dance of the Dragons.
And when Walder Frey realized that Viserys was not yet twenty years old, he knew that the Targaryens' return to glory was inevitable. In thirty years—at most—Westeros and Essos will bow once more to the Dragonlord's roar, he thought.
With the support of his sons, old Walder stepped forward and spoke:
"Walder Frey, Lord of the Twins, greets Your Grace, Viserys!"
Viserys had been watching Walder since the moment he entered. The old man was hunched and frail, and even a brief bow seemed almost more than he could bear. Yet this was the same man who had recently impregnated his young wife. Pycelle has nothing on him when it comes to staying vigorous, Viserys mused. And at his age, with no notable achievements to his name, he's kept his children and grandchildren submissive, even fawning. He's a master of family management. Unlike Aerys, who had failed to control his adult son Rhaegar, Frey's sons and many grandchildren all showed him respect.
"Lord Frey is old. Grant him a seat," Viserys commanded. A servant quickly brought a chair and placed it behind Frey.
"Thank you, Your Grace, for your kindness." Even the short walk from the gates of Harrenhal to the hall had been a struggle for Walder, and he was certainly grateful to sit down at last.
"Congratulations on Your Grace's revenge for Prince Rhaegar. I have brought 3,000 troops to aid Your Grace."
Three thousand troops. Viserys couldn't help but reflect on the number. In the original timeline, Robb had managed to gather only 2,000 troops thanks to his alliances influence. But here, without lifting a finger, old Frey had delivered 3,000 men right into his hands. It was likely all Frey had to offer.
"I feel Lord Frey's loyalty," Viserys's voice echoed through the hall, resonating off the stone walls. The sound made old Frey's aching bones feel slightly more at ease. But Viserys wasn't done. "However, I cannot ignore the fact that you chose to betray the Targaryens. You are well aware that Rhaegar died not far from The Twins, and yet you stood by and did nothing."
Viserys deliberately emphasized the word "you," causing the Freys to visibly tremble. Old Frey knew all too well that the second half of what people said was usually the most important. Viserys's mention of 'digging up the past' made his muscles tense once again.
Robert Baratheon's claim to the throne had never been particularly strong, and he had needed to stabilize the Seven Kingdoms quickly. For that reason, Robert had turned a blind eye to old Frey's decision to join forces only after Rhaegar's death. But Viserys was different. He couldn't afford such leniency. If he failed to punish House Frey in some way, it would be an insult to the loyalists who had remained true to the Targaryens.
Old Frey understood the precariousness of his situation. He no longer had the courage—or the strength—to pull off another betrayal, like the infamous Red Wedding. All he could do now was pray that Viserys's punishment would be something he could bear.
"Your Grace," old Frey said, his voice trembling, "House Frey is willing to accept your punishment."
Viserys had already decided on a punishment long before this meeting. He gazed at the miserable-looking Walder Frey and pronounced, "Since you have brought 3,000 men, you may stay for now. I have great plans for Harrenhal, and your men will remain to repair the castle. The cost of the repairs will be borne entirely by House Frey."
Old Frey felt a wave of relief wash over him. This punishment seems bearable, he thought, as long as it didn't involve losing his lands or title. But he had underestimated Viserys and the situation entirely.
"House Frey has a large population, and I believe there are many talented individuals among them," Viserys began. "For the renovation of Harrenhal, I will reward progress and quality. Those who excel in their work will be granted titles—Sers or perhaps even Lords."
Old Frey's first thought was, Hey, this isn't bad. I could use some money to buy a few titles. But the next moment, his face paled.
"As for the fiefdoms," Viserys continued, "let the old Lords prepare them."
This... This will tear House Frey apart! Old Frey looked at Viserys, alarmed. Just then, the dragon stirred, opening its golden eyes. Its gaze met his, and any argument he had died in his throat. Is he going to kill me here? No... he won't.
Old Frey tried to steady himself mentally, but the fear was too great. He didn't dare defy Viserys. After a few tense breaths, he gave in.
"I... I understand. Thank you, Your Grace, for your kindness."
Old Frey knew the reason he had maintained control over his large family for so long: he had never formally named an heir. Though everyone assumed his eldest son would inherit, the old man constantly assigned tasks to his other sons, keeping their ambitions alive. But with Viserys offering new titles, the allure of the Lord title was fading.
My later years are going to be far less comfortable, he realized. At the very least, I won't be able to take another wife.
He glanced back at his sons. All but the eldest wore eager expressions. They're not going to stay loyal to me, he thought bitterly. They'll take my money and land to curry favor with Viserys instead. In the end, they'll become his most loyal supporters... and it's all my own doing.