Everyone left the hall, leaving only the heir to House Piper and the aged weasel lord, Walder.
"They're all waiting for me to die. Stevron has been waiting for forty years already, but I mean to disappoint him. Why should I hurry off to the heavens just so he can inherit my title?"
"I sincerely hope you live to be a hundred."
"That would make them furious, it certainly would. Now then, let's talk about these troops. What have you brought me?"
"I brought a personal letter from Great Lord Hoster, asking House Frey to send men," Ser Marq pleaded, pulling the letter from his robes.
"Oh, let me hear poor old Hoster's wailing." Lord Walder opened the letter with obvious delight. Sure enough, it was a personal plea for aid in Great Lord Hoster's own hand, with House Tully's sigil of Riverrun beneath it, a silver trout above rippling water.
"Lord Walder, it truly is a personal letter. If you still remember your sacred oath, then send your troops quickly!"
"Send troops?" Lord Walder folded the letter shut. "I never thought I'd live to see the day Hoster came begging to me, but sending troops takes proper preparation. The Kingslayer has ten thousand men outside Riverrun. Am I supposed to send my few thousand there just to drown with them?"
"Not at all!" Ser Marq shouted. "The Starks will send men. The Arryns will send men. But you are the last great lord of the Riverlands still standing, second to none in soldiers and wealth. You must send aid first!"
"Ser, I advise you to calm yourself. Stark is in the black cells beneath the Red Keep for treason. Hoster is bedridden and nearly out of breath already. As for the Kingslayer having taken your dear friend Ser Edmure captive, are you trying to frighten me into marching?" Old Walder refused to yield in the slightest.
"You swore fealty to Great Lord Hoster," Ser Marq reminded him.
Lord Walder shook his head from side to side and gave a faint snort. "That I did, but I also swore fealty to the king. Since Joffrey is king, Riverrun is in rebellion now. And you expect me to save you? I ought to side with the Lannisters and slaughter every last one of you."
"Then why don't you help the Lannisters?" Ser Marq asked coldly.
"Hmph." Lord Walder sneered. "Lord Tywin. A very great man, Warden of the West, Hand of the King, such a grand fellow. Gold here, lion there, proud as can be. I'd wager if he ate too many beans, he'd fart just the same. What's he so arrogant about? He's got two sons. One Kingslayer, one twisted little monkey. I could trade sons with him. Even after losing two, I've still got nineteen and a half left." Walder burst out laughing. "If Lord Tywin wants my help, the least he could do is bloody ask."
"But that's not even the key of it. Tywin will have troubles of his own soon enough. Three Storms. You've heard of that, surely. So many people want his grandson's Iron Throne. King Robert's brothers, oh, and that vicious bastard of his, the little blacksmith across the Narrow Sea. A bastard is a bastard. That boy is ambitious to the bone."
"My lord, I am asking for your help now," Ser Marq said. "On behalf of Riverrun. On behalf of House Tully."
"I have soldiers, men, and many sons. But why should I send them out now? Riverrun hasn't fallen yet. I think they can hold a while longer."
"My lord." Ser Marq's eyes widened. "Riverrun cannot wait that long!"
"Ser, you are young. Young men should not be so impatient." Lord Walder stretched out a withered finger. "Do you see my wife there? She's only sixteen, and her honey is for me alone. I'd wager that by this time next year, she'll have given me another son. So tell me, why should I leave my soft feather bed and warm embrace to go running off to the chaos at Riverrun?"
Ser Marq's throat tightened. House Frey truly would not send a single man.
"Hmph. Hoster begging me. What a sweet sound that is. But he knows me. I am always late." Lord Walder began rambling on, as he always did when nursing a grudge.
"Hoster didn't come to my wedding. Even if he's dying now, that insult still stands. And don't forget, he didn't come to my last wedding either. Called me the Late Lord Frey, did he? Hmph, the whole Riverlands knows it. And there's more. I'll outlive Hoster yet. House Tully has always looked down on me."
"Years ago, I went to Hoster and proposed that Edmure marry one of my daughters. What was wrong with that? I have daughters to spare. That one was only a few years older than Edmure, and I've plenty more besides. Young ones, older ones, widows. But Hoster fed me a heap of sweet words and refused all the same. Excuses, all of it."
"And Hoster's daughter, Lysa, hmph, she had the same nasty turn of mind. I remember it clearly... about a year ago, when Jon was still Hand of the King, I went to King's Landing to watch my son compete in the tourney... I proposed that two of my grandsons be taken into court as fosterlings, while their boy would come to The Twins for a time... Hmph, were my grandsons so shameful to look at, so unfit to be seen at court? In the end, Lord Arryn refused both, and for that I can only blame Lady Lysa. And that child. Lord Arryn tried to smooth things over by saying the boy would be sent to Dragonstone, to the Lord of Dragonstone, and Lady Lysa ran straight out the door... hmph, hmph, hmph..."
Ser Marq grew more and more irritated listening to him, until at last he could not help cutting in. "My lord, if that is the case, then I ask leave to depart. I still need to ride north to Winterfell."
"No need to rush. Unless I see favorable terms, I must gather my strength first. You speak of Stark men and Tully men, but where are they?" Lord Walder laughed loudly. "You may not be Edmure, but you're still a knight. I've many daughters yet unwed. Surely one of them would suit your taste."
"You..." Ser Marq's face twitched. So this was it. He was going to be kept at The Twins as well.
"That will not do." Ser Marq's face went pale. "Then surely I can leave with my men?"
"Leave? The lands around Riverrun are full of war and chaos. What place is safer than mine? I can even arrange a marriage for you. As for those Sellswords, money is money wherever it's earned, and The Twins needs soldiers too."
"You will regret this, Lord Walder. Send your troops at once. Riverrun cannot hold much longer!"
"Hmph, regret? The only regret I know is moving too soon. I won't act until the outcome is certain."
Ser Marq stood frozen where he was until the ringing of bells sounded out. A great crowd of Freys came pouring back into the hall, and he was swept along into the feast.
The Bluebeard Sellswords had indeed already joined up with Black Walder. Those starving mercenaries, as if they had not eaten in days, were already mixing with the sons and daughters of House Frey like brothers.
Ser Marq came to the Freys' feast with the air of a defeated man. There was steak, roast suckling pig, grilled fish, and all the rest, along with fine wine. Ser Marq was being forced to stay here, and Walder was clearly planning to slowly introduce him to the girls of House Frey.
Ser Marq and all his men were scattered into different places. They may well have brought fewer men than House Frey had children. Only Ser Marq was kept on the high dais. The rest were left on the benches below.
In the end, those mercenaries, the rough Sellswords Marq had brought, seemed to be even more welcome among the Freys. In times of war and chaos, blades were needed everywhere.
...
Under the cover of night, The Twins sank into a kind of quiet. The noise of the feast had long since faded. Lord Walder was too old to stay up long, while the others were still drinking with their guests here and there. As for poor Riverrun, what did that have to do with House Frey? The twin castles standing above the river looked like some mirrored spell, their reflections perfectly duplicated in the dark water.
In both castles of The Twins and atop the Water Tower, sentries still stood watch, but the beast of war had not yet awakened. Beneath the night and the lingering laughter, the guards showed none of the tension of men expecting battle. If anything, they were growing slack. The Twins held a strong position, after all, close to the North, and the war around Riverrun had not yet spread this far.
Bluebeard, reeking of drink, carried a bottle of pear brandy. Compared with the chaos at Riverrun, The Twins was almost paradise.
"Want a drink?" Bluebeard asked in his clumsy accent. "Pear brandy. We Tyroshi can't do without it."
The two soldiers standing watch at the inner gate of the western castle hesitated, then accepted the wine. They glanced behind him and saw no one there.
"Come to think of it, you're one of the mercenaries who arrived today, right? Looks like they haven't assigned you posts yet. You'll probably be sent to the big camp on the eastern side of the river."
"Even if we're selling our lives, brother, we still have to eat our fill first." Bluebeard gave a sly grin.
"But you have to admit, Lord Frey has far too many children."
"That he does..." The Frey soldier lowered his voice. "Not something other men can imitate."
"But aren't we going out to fight?"
"Fight? I haven't heard anything about that."
"All right then. I did see a few young lords beside Lord Walder today. They looked like warriors."
"You mean them?" The soldiers suddenly understood. "Jared, Hosteen, Danwell, and the bastard Raymun. They do command men, sure enough. But who's going off to fight lions? Word is the lord even has ties to the lions."
"So that's how it is. Then I came to the right place. I'm here to make money, not die."
"What a slippery mercenary."
"Heh."
"That's how mercenaries are. You have to stay alive to collect your pay. But if by some good luck I get assigned here too, whose orders would I be following?"
"The western castle? Dream on. Though since you were hired over from the Lannisters, maybe you really could end up alongside us. Lannister mercenaries do get paid well." The soldier gave Bluebeard a careful look.
"Hosteen commands the western castle, Danwell the eastern castle, and the bastard has the tower. The lord saves money even on commanders' wages. As for the eldest son, he's too old now. He doesn't have the energy for this sort of thing."
Bluebeard carefully stored away every scrap of that talk. The men around Frey were likely the family commanders. Jared oversaw the whole picture, Hosteen held the western castle, Danwell the eastern castle, and the bastard the tower.
As for the oldest weasel of them all, he was the heir.
Bluebeard weighed things in his mind. There were many favorable conditions tonight. Because they were entertaining honored guests, Frey himself was staying in the western castle. The bad part was that Ser Marq was effectively under house arrest. Frey meant to arrange a marriage for him, and Marq's men had suddenly been left without their head. As for mercenaries, it was only natural for them to shift with the wind. All they needed was a little performance.
They waited until the hour of the wolf, the darkest part of the night, when everyone was at their most exhausted. The Frey soldiers changed shifts at that hour, and their defenses were much weaker by night than by day.
Ser Marq could not make an appearance, but a few bold knights still managed to slip over to Bluebeard's quarters.
"The western gate, the drawbridge, and the inner gate. The one that leads to the arch bridge." Bluebeard had thought it through carefully. They could not take every gate, so they could only open the drawbridge first. "Get the drawbridge down first. The lord's men will attack the central bridge."
"But what about Ser Marq?" one of the Pipers could not help asking.
"There's no time. Ser Marq ought to be clever enough. Move now."
The moon hung low, and all things were quiet. The soldiers of Seagard had put away their banners and were rowing in silence, with only the waves and the cold for company.
Jason Mallister stood at the prow, feeling like a hunting hawk about to seize its prey in a single strike.
Seagard and The Twins had a long-standing grudge. Fool Frey, Late Frey, upstart Frey. House Frey's rise had eaten away at much of House Mallister's interests.
"The Green Fork runs deep and fast. Once we get close, get onto the bridge as quickly as possible. There will be men in the western castle to receive us," Lord Jason repeated in a low voice once more. Every boat and every squad of warriors understood the plan. They were Seagard's best watermen, and this was Seagard's great gamble.
The small boats cut swiftly across the water, leaving only faint ripples behind. By now House Frey's defenses had grown lax. The North had no navy, no ships. Everyone knew that. Even their vigilance along the great river slackened from time to time.
Small catapults were being moved slowly through the forest on the western bank near The Twins. For a lord, without forests there could be no hunting and no display of knightly virtue. Yet tonight, that still forest and the rushing river did an excellent job of concealing the engines. Behind the catapults, soldiers rolled barrels of oil and hauled round stones as large as a man's head.
Ser Patrek oversaw Seagard's preparations. All five of Seagard's small catapults had been brought out, and that was the absolute limit of the house's resources. He wore indigo armor with silver inlay, and his helm was adorned with eagle wings, just like his father Jason's. This battle was for Seagard's future, to shatter House Frey's pride once and for all.
Gendry rode at the very front with Ser Barristan, Anguy, Bronze Yohn, and Ser Boggs. Behind them, the soldiers had already formed up and were ready. Gendry's helm bore a pair of outward-leaping beasts. A black stag crowned with an iron hammer, and a red three-headed dragon with wings spread. They looked like branching antlers in black and red.
Behind them stood the silent knights. Five hundred Gold Cloaks, two thousand Crackclaw cavalry, with a small portion left at Riverrun, one thousand Vale riders, and another five hundred horsemen from Seagard rode with them, while five hundred more stayed behind to guard the catapults.
Spears stood like a forest, banners burned like fire, and the elite troops were like tigers. Pride and defiance were written across every soldier's face. That was the spirit of an army that never lost. All they had to do was follow their commander's will, take The Twins, and claim victory. Their eyes burned with fire, heat, and hunger for triumph.
The horses' hooves had all been wrapped, and their mouths were muffled as well. Moonlight fell over the forest and the low hills, casting a dim sheen over the armor. House Frey was likely asleep. Lord Walder was surely delighted by Great Lord Hoster's defeat and pleas. To the old man, that was humiliation enough to savor.
Bluebeard had his men put on the gray robes they had been issued that day and rush the outer gate first. They had not been given House Frey's blue armor, only robes to blend in, but that was enough.
"Shoot the fire bolts! Aim at the torches and the guards!"
"What are you doing?" The officer at the drawbridge gate froze for a moment. All he saw was Bluebeard, wrapped in a gray robe, smiling at him as he drew near. The officer did not understand until he saw the gleam of the dagger.
"Enemy. En..." But the dagger was faster than his words. His mouth was clamped shut, and he was killed on the spot.
"Now!" Bluebeard's men cast off their disguises and drew short axes, crossbows, and short swords.
Boom.
A sudden burst of light tore through the stillness of the night sky.
Then came the heavy crash of something falling. The drawbridge of The Twins suddenly dropped.
"Charge!"