To say that their arrival at the Twins was a bit frosty was to understate things dramatically. The Freys had withdrawn the bulk of their troops after Robb's marriage to Jeyne had come to light, which translated to a loss of just under 4,000 men. A sizable amount, by any stretch of the imagination. At least before Theon turned traitor they could count on a steady trickle of reinforcements from Moat Cailin. With the Ironborn now controlling the North's critical points, that was now an impossibility. Just as the war was coming to a decisive stage.
Wonderful.
They were quickly ushered into the great hall, where Walder Frey was waiting for them. Impressively, both King Steffon and Arya maintained their impassive looks as they entered. Cat couldn't help but notice that there was still a lack of decoration for either of them; not even a crown. Such things would have to wait for after the war she supposed. If there was one thing she knew about wars, it's that they were expensive.
They were welcomed with bread and salt, as per the ancient rules. At least the old man hadn;t forgotten that part. Try as she might, she culdn;t just entirely dismiss her father's reasons for dismissing Frey as untrustworthy. After all, he had only shown up at the Trident when the battle was well and truly over. Not to mention her own reasons for disliking the man, such as the way he was looking at Jeyne.
"My, she is a pretty one." He said.
"Lord Walder, I have come to give my apologies, and beg your forgiveness." Robb began, though she could tell that his words were a bit stilted. Robb had evidently not shaken off the King's dressing down of him earlier.
"Don't beg my forgiveness, My Lord. It was my daughters you spurned, not me." Walder said. As if on cue, several of the Frey women stepped out. "One of them was to be Lady of Winterfell. Now none of them will be."
Robb said his apology. Truth be told, Cat was only half-looking to see Walder's reactions. The man was skilled at betraying no emotion, given the fact that he was over ninety and very much looked like the decrepit man he was. Walder spoke up as soon as Robb was finished.
"I can hardly blame you. I'd have broken fifty vows to get into something like that. No matter, I've enough room in the hall for you all. We'll set up tents for the rest of your men outside with food and ale." There was something to Walder's words. He was never this kind or forgiving of slights, at least not in the time that Catelyn had known him. The man had a long memory, and never forgot insults or wrongdoings against him. Maybe part of him was still smarting over how her father had never consented to a marriage between any of their children.
Very few families wanted to be associated with House Frey, if Cat was honest with herself. The only time the Freys had managed to secure an advantageous marriage was when Walder managed to get Tytos Lannister to grant the hand of one of his daughters to a Frey. By all accounts, it was not a happy marriage.
"And I can finally lay eyes upon my King." The Lord of the Crossing said, casting his gaze towards King Steffon. Frey was not a man given to show many emotions, and he let nothing betray him as he surveyed the boy.
"I have not had the pleasure of visiting the Riverlands, Lord Frey." The King said.
"Yes, I noticed your father did not deem it appropriate to visit when you first headed to Winterfell." Frey said. Catelyn could see King Steffon and her daughter stiffen at the comment. "Well, enough of that. Let's get ready. The wine will flow red and the music will play loud and we'll put all this mess behind us."
Edric had known that getting to Harrenhal would be the easy part, but getting into Harrenhal had been even easier. As soon as he had put the Tully armour on, he stuck out like a sore thumb and was easily picked up by a Lannister patrol, who'd escorted him to Harrenhal immediately. Once they'd confiscated his hammer of course.
The first thing that had hit Edric about the place was the stench. He knew that Harrenhal wasn't exactly well-maintained, so his first thought was that the sewage system was obviously in disrepair too. It wasn't until he saw familiar shapes piled high that he realised what the actual stench was. He tried to breathe through his mouth only after that as they escorted him to one of the pens; thankfully it was under cover. Almost immediately, he bumped into a great big fat boy.
"Oh, I . . . um . . ." The boy stammered.
"Sorry." Edric replied. "I'm . . . Tom"
"Just Tom?"
"Yeah. What's your name?"
"Hot Pie." The boy replied. Edric arched an eyebrow. "Well, that's what everyone calls me anyway."
"Why?"
"Because I like hot pie." The boy replied. Edric just shook his head at that. He was about to ask the boy how he was still fat after being held here, until he felt a pair of rough hands grab him by his shirt and haul him off. There was little doubt in his mind that he was about to be interrogated, though given what he had heard about the Lannisters, it was more likely to be torture than actual interrogation.
He was strapped to a chair as one soldier knelt down to face him. "You're the Tully man they just brought in, aren't ya?"
Edric stayed silent, fixing the man with a glare.
"Not a talker, eh? Not much of a problem for me; if you don't wanna talk, I can make you scream instead."
"Sorry, mate," Edric said, "You're not my type."
The man's face turned into an ugly snarl. Well, now it would start, Edric thought. They'd heard enough reports of torture from the place form him to guess the truth of them, though he wasn't prepared for how brutal it could be.
It started slowly of course. Some hard punches to the face here and there. A kick in the side. Maybe they'd been ordered to slacken off the torture methods slightly, otherwise the man surely would've taken a thumbscrew to him right now. Edric had to admit, part of him was disappointed at the lack of creativity about the whole thing.
"What's the matter? Out of breath?" He asked, after what must have been the hundredth punch from the man left Edric tasting copper.
"That's fucking it." The soldier said, drawing a dagger and pressing it to his throat. "Not gonna talk are ya? Then you're not much fucking-"
"What is this?" A voice boomed across the courtyard. Edric looked up to see an older man in full armour dismount his horse and march up to them. Unlike the Harrenhal guards, the man and the soldiers with him were well armed and armoured, and seemed pretty well-disciplined. Obviously some important Lannister man.
"Ser Kevan, we were just-"
"Are we so well off that you can afford to beat prisoners?!" The man said. Edric put two and tow together and realised the man was Kevan Lannister, Tywin's brother and probably his second in command as well.
"He was wearing Tully armour-"
"I don't much care." Kevan said icily before turning to Edric. "What's your name, boy?"
"Thomas, Ser."
"And you fought for House Tully?"
"I was on a scouting mission, Ser." Edric said. It was a story he'd rehearsed on the way over.
Kevan looked him over. "He seems strong. Tell me, do you have enough water carriers?"
"I-"
"No matter. Boy, you will work as a water carrier, and maybe you will live to see the end of the war." Kevan looked him over again. "You have a surgeon, soldier?" he asked, turning to the torturer.
"Yes, but-"
"Then get this boy seen to. He'll find it hard to carry water after the working-over you've given him."
Reluctantly, two men untied Edric and hauled him over to the far corner of the courtyard. Stretchers adorned the place, with soldiers clutching at wounds and passed out. Or asleep; Edric found it difficult to tell the difference after so many fights.
"Ser Kevan wanted you to look at this one." A soldier said before throwing him on the ground.
"Well throwing him won't help him!" Edric heard a woman protest. Clearly that was a foreign accent too. No Westerosi woman sounded like that.
"Shut up and do it before I take care of him meself." The soldier said before leaving. Edric looked up to see that the woman had a slightly darker skin tone. So he was right; a foreigner bearing the markings of a surgeon.
"Are you alright?" The woman asked, though it was more businesslike than actually caring.
"They roughed me up, pretty good." Edric replied.
"I can see that." The woman replied before taking a wet cloth to his face.
"I think he chipped one of my teeth."
"More likely knocked it out."
Edric looked at the woman. She was definitely pretty; her dark hair was tied back and her eyes were the deepest brown he had ever seen in his life. "I'm . . . Thomas." He said, taking a moment to make sure he didn;t say his real name.
"Talisa." The woman replied simply. "Now stop talking; I need to make sure there's no lasting damage.
The night was less than enjoyable so far. Despite efforts from both the Freys and Northerners to make it less uncomfortable, it certainly was not working in the slightest. There was still tension in the way the two groups interacted. Even the other Riverlanders were treating the Freys with some sort of suspicion. Maybe he had underestimated how poor a reputation the Freys had? They weren't exactly his father's favourite family, that was for sure.
"Are you alright, Steffon?" Arya asked. Walder Frey had insisted on giving them a place of honour near the front of the hall as his King and Queen. Steffon would've preferred to be walking out with the camp than sitting near Walder Frey and his wife, who looked like she was the same age as Arya.
"I'd rather be in the camp." Steffon replied, squeezing her hand.
"We can go out there in a few minutes." Arya replied. "You just need to keep up appearances."
He was starting to notice the irony of Arya being the one to encourage him keeping up appearances; there was a time she loathed it even more than he did. He was too valuable to be anywhere near the frontlines, but simultaneously could never be too far back that it would impact morale. It was getting stupid; how could he expect to be a king for everyone if he was kept shut away.
"How's Robb?" He asked simply.
"He's still smarting over the fight you two had." She replied. "You were right, he did undermine you, but... well, us Northerners are prideful. I'm sure you've learnt that."
"More intimately than most." Steffon replied, smirking. Arya laughed and playfully smacked his thigh, exclaiming that talk like that was hardly appropriate for a wedding feast.
"You should try to fix things with him." She continued. "Putting everything else aside, having your goodbrother disapprove of your marriage would not be a good thing."
Steffon had to concede the logic of that. Even with Robb accepting him as King, having him disapprove of him personally wouldn't do his rule any favours. "Agreed. I think we need to start planning for after the war as well. If we win the war, I don't intend to lose the peace." He said. It might be premature, sure, but it paid to be prepared for a future that was increasing in probability with each day. And it would probably pay to start by talking with Robb first. He kissed Arya briefly before going to talk with him.
Robb was sitting with Jeyne Westerling, along with Lady Catelyn and Brynden Tully. Sucking in a breath, Steffon approached them.
"Lord Stark, I wanted to apologise. What happened was-"
"It broke all the laws of Westeros." Robb said curtly. "And forced a marriage before the end of the war."
"And how is that any different to how you married Lady Westerling here?" Steffon asked. "It may have broken the laws of Westeros, but my oath remains intact. Can you say the same?"
His only answer was a thunderous look from the Lord of Winterfell. Catelyn and Ser Brynden tactfully looked away. Steffon threw up his hands and stormed off. He had to get out of this damn hall before he and Robb had another fight and caused a major diplomatic incident. The Frey soldier guarding the door had been about to close the locking bar, evidently.
"Let me out." Steffon ordered. The soldier looked uncertain. "I said, 'let me out'."
"Your Grace, I-"
"Are you refusing your King?" He asked. The soldier shook his head hastily and the oak door groaned loudly as he pushed it open. Steffon was about to storm outside and into the camp when he felt a familiar hand take his.
"I'm going with you." Arya said. Steffon just nodded as the two began their walk through the camp. The Northern and Riverlands soldiers were clearly enjoying the night, at least. Some of them were even singing drunkenly; some bawdy song about a trout and towers. Steffon didn't want to think of the implications for that.
"Well, they're enjoying the night." Arya said, averting her eyes as one soldier chased a laughing half-naked woman across their front.
"So it would seem." Steffon just arched an eyebrow at the whole thing.
"Are you alright, love?" Arya asked, gently caressing his arm. "Because I can think of some ways to-"
"What's that?" Steffon said, cutting her off. The sound was faint, but there was no mistaking it.
The Rains of Castamere.
"Bowen, we have to go!" He heard a distinctly Northern voice say in an urgent voice. He and Arya looked over to see two Northerners who were perhaps a year or so older than them. The brown-haired Northerner pulled the black-haired one away. The black-haired boy was still carrying a flagon full of wine, judging by the way he was struggling with it.
Steffon took Arya by the hand and quickly walked over to the two Northerners. "What was that about?" He asked. The brown-haired boy turned to him, eyes widening. "They've got weapons, Your Grace!"
"Who brings weapons to a wedding, Gared?" The black-haired one said. Bowen, Steffon reminded himself. The black-haired one is Bowen; the brown-haired one is Gared.
Not that it made much of a difference. By the time they got away from the small group of Frey men, all hell had broken loose.
Frey and Bolton soldiers were lobbing torches onto tents, loosing crossbow bolts into packs of men, and slitting the throats of others with daggers, swords and axes. It was like a scene from one of the Seven Hells itself. Steffon and Arya drew their swords, but it wouldn't do them much good when they were this outnumbered.
"Hey! It's that fuckin' traitor king and his Stark bitch!" He heard one man shout. The two Northern boys were long-gone, doubtless trying to find their House's camp.
Four Frey soldiers charged at them with axes and longswords. Even in their ill-fitting skullcaps and boiled leather, they'd be hard to kill. One of the soldiers swung his sword in a vicious downwards cut that would have likely lopped off Steffon's arm if it wasn't for his gambeson. Steffon was able to wedge his sword into the man's unprotected neck and cut deeply enough to put the man on the ground.
Unfortunately another soldier had taken this chance to deliver a cut to Steffon's hand. Steffon dropped his sword with a stunned cry, before drawing his dagger with his left hand. The soldier swung at him again, but let out his own cry of pain when a sword protruded from his neck before falling to the ground, revealing a tall, well-built Northerner with a sword and a shield bearing the Ironwood tree of House Forrester.
"Your Grace!" His saviour shouted. Two other Northern soldiers finished off the last Frey, Arya having already killed one.
"We have to go now!" She shouted as another squad of Freys charged at them Steffon picked up his sword with his left hand; his right was useless.
"RODRIK!" Another voice shouted. Steffon turned to see that it was Gared. The man, Rodrik, lifted his shield for barely a second, but it was enough for one Frey soldier to thrust his sword through Rodrik's leg. Arya pulled Steffon out of the way as a horse fell on the man.
"We're with you then!" Steffon shouted at Gared, handing the Northern boy his sword and picking up an axe for himself. The three ran as fast as they could through the slaughter; unable to do anything to prevent the Frey and Bolton soldiers from massacring the Stark loyalists. They knew they would be cut down where they stood if they stopped, so the royal couple followed Gared's lead back to what they assumed was the Forrester camp.
Thankfully, it seemed to be a relatively safe area. A tall man with a greatsword that Steffon recognised as Lord Gregor Forrester opened a man's chest with a mighty swing, cutting straight through the man's armour.
"Seven Hells, is that the King and Queen, Gared?!" One Forrester soldier asked.
"Y-yes. Rodrik, he…"
"Rodrik gave his life to save us." Steffon said.
"The Freys slaughtered him, m'lord." Gared added.
"We have to get out of here." Arya said.
"Arya, I can't just abandon-"
"And you think I want to?!" She shouted. "Steffon, my brother and mother are in that fucking hall right now! Gods only know what's happening to them! I can't lose everyone I care about!"
"She's right." Lord Forrester said. "They cannot capture you, Your Grace."
They were interrupted by another squad of Frey soldiers, but this time, they were prepared. The Forrester soldier swung his axe into the head of one, while Lord Forrester and Gared killed two more. Arya killed another as Bowen managed to slash the thigh of the final soldier, sending him to the ground. Steffon quickly leapt on the man, stabbing him with the dagger.
"Walder Frey . . ." Steffon looked around himself. Everything was on fire. The bodies of Northern soldiers were all over the place, and no doubt Robb, Catelyn and the others would be having their throats cut right now inside the hall. He looked back up at the Twins, his face twisting into a snarl. "You… YOU FUCKING TRAITOR!"
"Go, My Lord." The soldier said. "While there's still time."
Lord Forrester nodded grimly. "Your Grace," he turned to Steffon. "That traitor must not capture you or Queen Arya."
"He's right, Your Grace." The soldier said. "Don't let that bastard hand you over to Tywin Lannister."
Steffon wanted to go back, but he knew they were right. And if he was suffering through this, there was no way he could imagine how Arya was feeling right now. She had to be wishing she could go back as well, but she was making the argument to flee.
He sighed, but nodded. The four of them; Steffon, Arya, Gared, and Lord Forrester, fled into the forest outside the camp until Gregor fell to one knee.
"Seven Hells . . ." He groaned.
"We have to keep moving, m'lord." Gared urged.
"I'll never make it . . . Gared, take this." Lord Forrester said, holding the sword out for him. "Guard it with your life. Return it to Ironrath where it belongs . . . I'll be damned if it falls into the hands of those traitors."
"I . . . I won't leave you, m'lord!"
"Gared, listen to me! Ironbreaker cannot fall into those bastards' hands! And you must keep the King and Queen safe. On your honour, you must do this for your House, now go!" He ordered. Steffon could see the reluctance in Gared's eyes.
"We have to go!" Arya shouted. That seemed to snap Gared out of his trance. He took the sword from Lord Forrester, and the three teenagers ran into the forest. They turned around one last time, only to see a sword thrust through the chest of Lord Forrester. There was nothing for it but to flee before they were killed too.
It's gone.
It's all gone
Whelp, there it is folks, the Red Wedding.