Walder Frey was coming up to him, and Jaime had to suppress a groan.
He had encouraged Bronn to leave him in pursuit of more women and wine, because Bronn was being an annoying ass, as he often could be. That's not completely true, a little voice inside him whispered, you're just in a foul state.
Jaime sighed. He had been moody for a while now, though he wasn't quite sure what it was that set it off. Of course, he hadn't been happy for a long time, not since, for a moment, his daughter had accepted him and called him father.
Right before she died in his arms, that is.
But there were other things on his mind. He was worried about Cersei, who was growing more and more unstable, and of course meeting Brienne – of all people – at Riverrun had thrown him off. Sitting in the hall of the Freys hadn't helped. This was where the Starks were slaughtered at the wedding, after being promised hospitality, he thought. We have also been…promised hospitality.
Walder Frey was coming to him, and Jaime had to suppress a groan.
"This came together rather well," the old man remarked, pulling up a chair next to Jaime. "Your father would be pleased."
Jaime shuddered a bit at the thought of his father. He was dead now, but Jaime hadn't forgotten that it was he who conspired with the Freys for the Red Wedding.
"I'm sure he would be," he replied calmly.
"Edmure's back in the cell," continued Walder Frey, "can't go killing my son by law, wouldn't be right – give the family a bad name." Jaime had to suppress a snicker at this. The name Frey had already been dragged in the mud after the sacrilege of the Red Wedding. "The famous Blackfish, killed by foot soldiers, a 'legendary warrior' everyone said," Frey droned on.
"Have you done much fighting yourself?" Jaime suddenly asked with a touch of indignance. If he was going to listen to the old man's conquests, he wanted to hear about battles and wars, not political machinations and betrayal, which he so despised.
Now, despising betrayal was somewhat ironic for Jaime – for the Kingslayer. But who was to say he didn't despise his own self?
"No, I'm a bit old for all that," Frey replied, cutting off Jaime's thoughts.
"No, but – back in your day," Jaime pressed on.
"The purpose of fighting is defeating your enemies, isn't it?" Walder responded with a bit of a scowl. "I've defeated mine. Riverrun belonged to House Tully for a thousand years, now it's mine – what d'you call that? Victory," he boasted, a crooked gold-toothed sneer slowly emerging.
"Yes. You're a great conqueror," Jaime replied. His patience was wearing thin, as he could no longer hide his distaste for the old man sitting next to him.
"Go on, mock me boy, d'you think I mind? The Tullys mocked me for years, the Starks mocked me – where are they now?" Frey grinned. Jaime sighed inwardly, forcing his mind to drift from the endless ramblings of the old man. He noticed that the servant girl from before had come out, her eyes flashing at that last line from Walder Frey. There's definitely something up with her, Jaime thought. At least he had this girl's stare to occupy his mind for a while, before it would be consumed by darker thoughts.
-o-o-o-
Walder Frey was sitting right there, and Arya had to suppress a menacing glare.
She had left the room to prepare the rest of the meat, which was now stuffed into a crust of dough, baking in the oven. Deciding that it would sit there for a while now, Arya returned to the hall, hoping to hear and see more of her enemies.
The girl looked around, scanning the room for the head of the Freys. Not finding him, she turned her eyes to where the Kingslayer had been sitting. He was still there, though his facial expression was rather frosty now. Seems like he's having a miserable time, she thought, I wonder who he's talking to that makes him grimace in disgust. She walked to the side a bit in an attempt to get a glimpse of the man next to him.
Walder Frey was sitting right there, and Arya had to suppress a menacing glare.
It took all of her efforts to keep walking naturally, closer and closer to the two men in question. But she couldn't keep her eyes from widening at the sharp, grating sound of her family name from the mouth of the vile old man.
"—the Starks mocked me – where are they now?" Frey grinned. "You talk about war as if you're an expert but the one battle I remember you fighting you were captured by Robb Stark, the young wolf," he scoffed to the Kingslayer. Arya turned her eyes back to Jaime Lannister, who was clearly annoyed with the old Frey, though Arya wasn't sure why.
Maybe he has changed, a little voice told her, maybe he's trying to be more honorable. Arya scoffed at herself. The Kingslayer? An honorable knight? A Lannister being an honorable knight? Hardly possible.
She gasped suddenly and turned around. Jaime Lannister had noticed her, and they had made eye contact again. Not good, she thought, not good! I can't let him get suspicious of me. Arya quietly retreated to a corner to hear out the rest of the conversation, never daring to turn back towards the pair in case the Kingslayer still had his eyes on her.
"You talk about war as if you're an expert but the one battle I remember you fighting you were captured by Robb Stark, the young wolf," Frey scoffed, perhaps baiting the man across from him. But Jaime didn't reply, so the old man went on. "It doesn't matter. Here we are now, two Kingslayers," he paused. "We know what it's like to have them grovel at our faces and snigger behind our backs. We don't mind, do we?" he chuckled. "Fear," the old Frey finished, "is a marvelous thing."
"They don't fear the Freys, though, they fear the Lannisters," she heard an icy reply from the Lannister. "We gave you the Riverlands to hold the Riverlands. If we have to ride north and take them back for you every time you lose them, why do we need you?" he added. She heard a chair squeak across the floor – Jaime Lannister had left the table.
Did the Kingslayer just threaten Walder Frey?
Maybe he really has changed.
