The Twins. This hereditary stronghold, painstakingly built up by House Frey over six hundred years, was once famous across the Riverlands for its deep moats, heavy oak-and-iron gates, and stone walls that scraped the sky. It was supposed to be an insurmountable checkpoint on the Green Fork, a symbol of the family's power and wealth.
Now, the once-deep moat water was dyed a dark, murky red with blood and corpses. The heavy gates were reduced to scattered, charred wood and twisted iron bars. The towering stone walls were scarred with terrifying cracks and breaches left by the impact of a giant beast. The twin castles, symbols of six centuries of glory, were now nothing but broken walls and rising black smoke.
The once-bustling halls had become a slaughterhouse, the family sigil trampled into the bloody mud. This fortress, which had witnessed generations of Frey inheritance, had fallen from the pinnacle of glory to a ruin soaked in death and despair in a single day.
Standing amidst the wreckage of the Twins, the smoke of battle had not yet cleared.
Euron Greyjoy swept a cold, indifferent gaze over the ruins he had helped create. His voice held no ripple of emotion. "This is a choice. Old Walder chose to be our enemy, so he chose his own ending with his own hand."
Beside him, Eddard Stark's face was pale. He looked at the gathered survivors—women and children huddled together, shivering—with eyes full of unresolved pain and deep self-blame. "But those women and children... they shouldn't have to bear this ending."
Though both he and Euron had tried to restrain their men, once the tide of war was unleashed, innocent lives were inevitably swallowed by the wave.
Euron merely let out a dismissive, low chuckle. "We do what we can and leave the rest to fate. Mercy is necessary, Lord Eddard, but you cannot let mercy interfere with necessary decisions. That only brings greater disaster."
Euron walked over to Ned and clapped a calloused hand heavily on the young Duke's shoulder, though his gaze was fixed on the distant southern horizon. "Put away your guilt. Only when we drag that Mad King off the Iron Throne, only when the fires of war are completely extinguished, can anyone in the Seven Kingdoms—from the lowest smallfolk to the highest lord—truly have the right to live in peace."
His words were like cold stone—cruel, yet containing undeniable logic.
Ned's eyes dimmed for a moment, then he nodded, his gaze firming up. Certain convictions in his heart grew stronger.
Euron's cold eyes swept over the huddled, trembling women and children. Suddenly, his gaze froze on a pale, familiar face among them.
It was Bethany Rosby, Walder Frey's sixth wife.
It was during the fateful Tourney at Harrenhal that the old man had secured the alliance with House Rosby and brought this noble girl back to the Twins. Yet, after only a year, Bethany's belly was already noticeably swollen, her loose gown unable to hide the signs of new life.
"Heh." Euron's mouth twitched into an arc that was half-mockery, half-admiration. "That old geezer's energy... is actually impressive."
He looked only once, then shifted his gaze away with a lack of interest. He didn't care about the fate of these women and children, nor could he be bothered to ask. He turned to the grim-faced Eddard Stark and waved his hand casually. "These people are yours. With your code of honor and morality, I'm sure you'll find a way for them to live."
With that, he didn't look back. He walked straight toward the depths of the broken castle, as if the weeping and the fates behind him had nothing to do with him.
Euron was far more interested in the wealth House Frey had hoarded for centuries.
When the Twins' fortified vault was forcibly cracked open by the coalition forces, even the worldly Euron Greyjoy felt a flicker of surprise in his eyes. The wealth accumulated by House Frey over six hundred years, controlling the only crossing on the Green Fork, was like a sleeping dragon's hoard seeing the sun for the first time.
Most striking was the mountain of Gold Dragons. According to a rough estimate by the Northern army's maester, the total could be as high as a million—equivalent to several years of the Crown's revenue.
Beyond the gold, there was more:
Foreign Currency: piles of iron coins from Braavos and gold honors from Pentos were mixed in, evidence of House Frey's close trade ties with the Free Cities. These were perfect for daily military pay and small rewards.
Precious Metal Reserves: Unminted gold and silver bars were stacked neatly. This form was easy to store and held its value. They were likely tribute from vassals or plunder from forgotten wars.
Jewelry and Dowries: Countless necklaces and brooches encrusted with sapphires and rubies glittered in the torchlight. Most were rich dowries brought by Walder Frey's many wives, or gifts from lesser Riverlands houses seeking favor.
The Scepter: A scepter cast in pure silver, the "Lord of the Crossing," was particularly eye-catching. The top was shaped like the twin towers and bridge, symbolizing absolute control over the Green Fork.
Historical Charters: A well-preserved parchment scroll with gold leaf and a wax seal, recording the bridge charter granted to the Freys by the Targaryen kings around 200 AC—the legal foundation of their wealth and status.
Ostentatious Arms: Piles of weapons and armor, all engraved with the Frey sigil. Though beautifully made, their combat value was low, revealing a nouveau riche mentality of showing off.
Strategic Reserves: Deep in the underground granaries, vast quantities of aged wheat were perfectly preserved—a vital strategic resource for the coming campaign.
Euron scanned this staggering wealth roughly and turned to Ned. "Leave the counting to the maesters and your steward. Load the transportable wealth and grain onto wagons as fast as possible. The grain will feed our armies. The treasure... we split fifty-fifty."
When all the obvious treasures had been moved out, the massive vault suddenly seemed empty and eerie. Only the flickering light of the torches cast long, dancing shadows on the walls.
Euron Greyjoy didn't leave with the others. He paced slowly alone in the empty stone chamber, the tip of his long blade occasionally tapping against the walls and floor, making a crisp, lonely ding sound.
Seeing this, Eddard Stark stopped and frowned. "Euron, is something wrong?"
Euron didn't answer immediately. He put a finger to his lips, signaling silence. He continued to tap with focus, his ears keenly catching the subtle differences in every echo.
Finally, when the tip of his blade scraped across a flagstone near the corner, the sound that came back wasn't a dull, solid thud, but a hollow, vibrating tremor.
Euron stopped instantly. He crouched down and tapped the stone specifically with the hilt of his sword again—confirming it.
He looked up at Ned. A glint of "I knew it" flashed in his bottomless eyes, and his lips curled into a knowing smile.
"Lord Eddard, it seems our old Late Lord Frey kept a card up his sleeve. There is... a secret chamber down here."