Towers and Wolves
Brandon spends the rest of the morning walking along the swiftly forming earthworks around the camp and exchanging idle talk with his men. He knows that even if there is no fighting to be had at the Twins it is not likely that he will be able to take them all back to Stonekeep's lands. Every few steps he glances at the jagged edifice of the Twin's southern fortress for any sign of an envoy being sent out to meet him. The archers, all expert shots after years of training every fifth day of the week with their longbows, have shot down no fewer than six ravens. The first was an expression of outrage to Riverrun demanding that Lord Tully marches with the full strength of the Riverlands to break the "terrible siege being waged against his lands. To cease the endless raping and looting being visited upon his people."
The Knights of Stonekeep had a good laugh at that seeing as the one man who tried to swindle an old man of his silver was gifted twenty lashes instead. Lord Stel might be young but he is no fool. This is the land of his people and to treat it otherwise is folly. His outriders are ever watchful for the hosts of Frey's banners that might come at any time should they discover what is happening. A messenger riding hard from home delivered the message that Robb Stark has departed from Moat Cailin four days ago making him just two days away from the Twins with the entirety of the Northern host at his back.
Lord Brandon smiles grimly at the panic that must be gripping the Weasel in his keep. A true siege hasn't even begun yet as there are no engines being constructed nor are trenches being dug ever closer to the walls, but it will only take a word before it becomes such. And the men under the banners of the Twins know it too. The sound of beating drums and stamping feet calls to him as he rounds the corner of the camp. Two blocks of men five deep and twenty across drill under the watchful eyes of Ser Ronley and a quartet of other veterans.
Steel spear tips bristle from the moving wall of interlocked tower shields giving the impression of some spined and scaled serpent moving as one. Steel nasal helms peek over the rims of their round shields revealing only their eyes. By and large, they are armored in gambesons worn over mail hauberks with the only plate pieces being the helm, and iron greaves. Each footman is armed with a spear, a dagger, and either an axe or a short arming sword. Relentless drilling over the course of a campaign can hone them into a capable fighting force, though right now they are green as grass. Brandon chuckles to himself. Isn't he just as green?
"Left! Left! Left wheel!" Ser Ronley barks the cadence and then snarls as the formation falls apart. Spears dip and gaps between shields yawn wide.
"No, no, no! You sorry sons of whores! We will run this drill until I am tired if we have too! If you buckle like that against the Freys or, Gods forbid, the Lannisters then you are all dead! The Mountain will rape your wives and daughters and crush their skulls! Your lands will burn! Sergeants reset them!" the Knight thunders with all the fury of King Robert at the Trident.
"How are they doing Ser?" Brandon inquires quietly as he comes even with his second.
"As well as can be expected for farm hands doing their first lot of soldiering my Lord. Most are too busy fantasizing about becoming the next Ser Duncan the Tall than how to properly guide to the fucking right you sorry slobs!" Brandon discreetly rubs one ear to free it of the ringing induced by Ser Ronley's furious roar. He can almost sympathize with the levies knowing how harsh of a teacher he can be firsthand. A shiver runs down his spine at the memory of the hundreds of blows to his shins and ribs at the hands of the Knight's tourney blade when first learning the axe.
"Apologies my Lord. I'll have them ready to take on the best of the Westerlands in less than a fortnight if we can drill them like this often enough. Ironically the archers are the most stable of the bunch. I think it's more of the fact that they will be behind the lines, and are older for the most part. Some of them even fought with your father in the Iron Islands so they're not too green."
"I trust you Ser Ronley. I have faith in the men...it's only Lord Weasel that I worry about."
"Aye, nothing good comes of letting a shit like him do nothing but plot…"
Lord Walder Frey sits on his black oak chair and stews while his get argue with an ever increasing intensity. And still the boy sits outside his castle on his land...and he can do nothing about it. He now recognizes their situation for what it is. A power play and a threat. For all his life Walder has thought only of the advancement of his family and by extension himself. All of the other lords look down on him and his house. The Late Walder Frey they call him for withholding his men from the battle on the Trident until the outcome was well and truly decided. His Liege Lord, Hoster Tully, hates him for that.
The same boy of six and ten years sitting outside his wall playing soldier denies all of the offers of marriage from House Frey. As if a little frog fucker like him is to good for the Freys and the Lord of the Twins. Bah! They'll all learn once Tywin Lannister butchers them all and rewards the Freys for delaying the pup. Stevron, his son and heir, arrives from his walk on the walls to see the boy's host.
"Well? Any wise insights on the mind of this boy?" Stevron scowls.
"They are not making it a siege. Yet. They have formed their camp beyond bow range and are beginning to drill their green levies. And worse several of our northern vassals are with their army."
"Which ones?" They'll all pay for betraying their betters!
"Ser Brenard of Black House, Ser Drenner of Dwelnen Tower, and Ser Jon of Green Tree Tower at least. They brought their sworn swords and retinues with them I think as well, and perhaps some score of hedge knights have joined to bolster their numbers. Around a thousand men all told, maybe a hundred or so more." More than twice the fighting men of the Twins. Lord Walder grunts to himself and sips his watered wine with a sneer fixed on his lips.
"I want you to treat with this boy, find out what he wants and try and get him to come to me. I will not seem the weaker party." Stevron nods and flees the hall.
'If only the rest were as competent as him...my family might have a future after me. Ah well. At least I still have a pretty wife.'
Stevron keeps his misgivings to himself as he organizes a small party as escort. He thinks his father is wrong: this isn't a challenge or a threat. It's a reminder. He knew, he knew, that the decision to wait at the Trident was a terrible one. It has set a precedent of Freys being unreliable and self-serving. His father's decision cost them much in the way of influence and what little good will their family possessed among the other nobles thanks to his father's attitude towards anyone. Constant brooding and a penchant for holding grudges do him no favors and his pride is near permanently bruised.
But for all his faults and all his mistakes throughout the years he is still his father. And family is all. His hand falls to rest on the pommel of his sword in thought as horses are swiftly saddled. Banners bearing the twin towers of his family catch his eye fluttering from long poles along the battlements and hanging from the walls beside the gate, stained and sodden from light rains the night before and years of exposure to the elements as they are they still bring him pride. His family is one of the strongest banners of House Tully and as such can exert their will on many of the lesser houses as well.
This boy outside their gates, however, proves that their opportunism will not go unpunished by the rest of the world. Stevron sighs heavily and pulls himself up in the saddle of his horse. Men in the guardhouse crank the winch that raises the portcullis and others with crossbows tense on the battlements. With a deep breath to steady himself and focus his wandering thoughts Stevron Frey rides through the gates. He casts an appraising eye over the rapidly forming camp. The boy picked his ground well.
While pressing forward and beginning the construction of the siege lines would be contested, the slight slope leading to the camp will assist in defending it. A sally would have to rapidly close the distance without stopping which with full arms and armor up a slope, even one as gentle as this, would tire the attackers nicely. The camp itself forms a slight half moon with the inward curve facing the Twins and the outward towards the distant ridge and woods.
No doubt there are watchers set there to warn them of any approaching relief force. A force which both sides know will not be coming. All eyes are fixed south where the Old Lion and the Mountain are no doubt beginning to set the Riverlands aflame. The last raven that arrived at the Twins brought word of an early Lannister victory against Lords Vance and Piper. Not a good start to this war for the Riverlands. With a Lannister army marching on Riverrun there is no one to keep the Mountain and his raiders in check or better yet rid the kingdoms of their filth.
Stevron glances down the river bank and takes note of the few archers that he can see. In spite of himself he can't help but be impressed. The boy has sense for one so green. He must have an experienced advisor. The Twins are isolated with Stel on one side and Stark approaching on the other. Wolves and axes all waiting for their chance at the necks of Freys.
Stevron brings his escort to a halt beyond the earthworks. The men standing guard eye his party from beneath their nasal helms spears held upright and shields held across their chests. Blue batters with the crossed axes and skull standards of House Stel flutter at regular intervals along the earthworks announcing to the world who commands this force. A party of men lead by a boy of six and ten emerge from the small gap in the fortifications. Stevron stares down at the young Lord making no move to dismount. A threat and a message.
The Lordling is rather unimpressive to his eyes. A stocky build; wide at the shoulders and narrow at the waist with strong arms used to hours of practice with the axe looped through his belt. His mail is clean yet not overly polished so as to shine like many Lords and Knights prefer and the brigandine worn over it is rather plain. The cloak at his shoulders is lined with brown fur and finely made yet not overly ostentatious as one might have expected from a young man with money and power.
Black eyes like obsidian peer out from under a somewhat heavy brow. His straight black hair is tied back by a length of leather cord so as to keep it out of his way. His face is a mask of stone as he stares at the older man while resting a hand on his axe. The message is clear: you are not welcome. The men behind him perform similar actions while keeping a respectful distance between the two men.
"You did not answer the call of Riverrun." The blunt statement catches the older man off guard for a breath. As does the following question, as expected as it is.
"Why?" Stevron glances around at the knights behind the boy and his teeth begin to grind at the approval in their eyes.
"My Lord father bids you to enter the Twins so that we might resolve this dispute in peace."
"Dispute? No this is not a dispute: this is your Lord father not keeping to his oaths. He was bid to call his banners and yet every one of the knights sworn to the Twins received no such message, only that they were to be ready to march at a moments notice. And as for entering the Twins? No. If your father wishes to treat with me he will have to leave his precious chair or the bed he sleeps in with whatever girl was unfortunate enough to be sold to him. I will not kowtow to an Oathbreaker!" the boy snarls as he finishes his rant. Stevron can feel the blood rushing to his face in rage at the audacity of this child to insult the Lord of the Twins within sight of his own keep and before his son and heir. With a great exertion of will and grinding of his teeth Stevron reigns in his temper. He is not the hard headed fool like Black Walder, or a lack wit like Aegon.
The older man stares hard at the Lordling and then swings himself from his saddle.
"I would treat with you on my father's behalf, he is not as spry as he once was."
"Yet still spry enough to bed everything in sight...it would seem." With a final parting shot the boy Lord Stel turns on his heel and leads the Freys through his camp.
The tent used by Lord Stel and his knights is colored in the same dull grey as the rest of the camp though it is twice the size to admit all the most powerful knights to his council. The center of the tent is taken up by a large camp table with a map of the Riverlands pinned to the surface. There are no chairs as Brandon believes that thinking is done best when standing and there are no banners or other decorations within. A servant makes his rounds through the nobles with a jug of river cooled wine and another follows with sweetmeats and cheese.
Lord Stevron is placed with his back to the tent flap as a subtle attempt to set him on edge by not being able to see who might enter from behind him. His frustration is evident when he looks at the map and sees no totems from which he might get news of the war's state. Brandon forms his face into a stone mask and waits for the servants to leave before beginning their talks.
"My Lord father bids you to take your men from his lands and to release the knights sworn to the Twins from your service. These are not your lands, Lord Stel."
"Aye they are not. And if Lord Tully gets word of your betrayal, for this cannot be anything but, then they will not be yours either."
"You would dare accuse my family of being traitors to the Crown—"
"No! I accuse your House of failing to come to their Lord's aid when called as you have sworn! We are not at war with the Crown, we are at war with the Lannisters that burn our lands and slaughter our people! Gregor Clegane is raiding the southern Riverlands and putting whole houses to the torch while Tywin fucking Lannister turns the lands to ash behind him!" Brandon booms making the Frey guards that accompanied Stevron flinch back and rest their hands on their blades.
"To war with the Lannisters is to war with the Crown!" Stevron retorts as if lecturing a child. The Queen Regent is a Lannister, the Royal children are more Lannister than Baratheon in looks as is the new King Joffrey. Tywin Lannister is well known for valuing his precious legacy more than anything else, only calling his banners in response to Lady Catelyn capturing Tyrion Lannister and taking him to the Eyrie. Whatever madness took her mind to do so is beyond them at this moment and they must deal with the consequences.
"That may be...but the Crown is not burning our lands when winter is right around the bend, dooming our people to starvation and death. And not answering your lord's call is considered a betrayal which you have yet to deny."
'How can I? All of our allies and neighbours will see it as such. Our House is already despised despite the marriages we have managed to secure. With this force here and Robb Stark soon to arrive on the other side we are in a weak position. Too reliant on the loyalty of our banners for protection.'
"What is it you wan't Lord Brandon? What are you after?" The young Lord smiles sadly, rests his fists on the table and leans on them. His eyes convey his grief for a moment before they hide it.
"I want your father to hold true to his oaths without expecting anything in return, as it should be. When Robb Stark arrives he's going to try and marry off one of his daughters, and if the deal is not taken then he will deny passage. If he does that then I will attack. And every man in your family will be put to the sword, excluding the children and the Frey Daughters. Your father will not demand a price for the passage of the Starks. I don't wish to do this but it needs to be done: you need to be reminded of your oaths through steel."
Stevron stares numbly at the young man in front of him. The threat implicit in the way he stands, the way his eyes burn with the vitality and resolve that has seen his house remain standing for all these centuries. Their words are taken into the core of their being: Oaths and Steel. They are molded around them and hold them in the highest regard. It has only been the strength of the Twins that has kept them at bay for all these years and now that they have the Freys all hemmed in Brandon Stel holds the power. They both know it: it might cost him most of his force but they will take the Twins and they will end their line.
Family is all. His father taught him that...and now he must go against the wishes of his father to do the same. Ever since word was spread of the happenings to the South his father knew that the Stark boy would come with his father's banners and they would have to cross the Twins. Freys have always collected their tolls, and the marriages that would have been negotiated would have seen House Frey rise higher than ever before. And with one, brutal stroke Brandon Stel has cut the legs from under House Frey and made them seem weak before their own banners. He doesn't play the Game of Thrones like the other players.
He has remained in the shadows quietly making moves that strengthen his House slowly over time while attracting no attention beyond his bachelor status. This sudden stroke is blunt and straightforward like a bull charging a damaged fence. Like an axe to a limb. Stevron can respect the move even if he rages against it internally. He keeps his inner turmoil from his face and meets the black eyes of Lord Stel with his own grey orbs.
"I will convey your terms to my father. May his decision keep our houses from conflict." Lord Stel smirks and straightens. One hand falls to the axe at his belt and rests easy on the head.
"Indeed."
For two days the Twins remain silent but for the few ravens that are set free at twilight and at dawn. Five are downed by archers and a further three are hunted down by the hawks brought for just this purpose. For two days the green levies drill under the stern gaze of Ser Ronley at the edge of the camp for two hours in the morning and evening. The earthworks are completed after the first day and the supply trains are tucked neatly into the center of the camp. For two days Brandon plans with his advisors and listens to the news brought by the messengers from the Frey banners.
Jaime Lannister routed the forces of the Riverlands outside Riverrun itself and captured Ser Edmure Tully along with other Riverlords and knights. No gentle rage grips Brandon when he hears the news knowing that if Frey had called his banners and marched for Riverrun as he should have the outcome could have very well been different. As the sun was approaching midday a runner came with the news that Direwolf banners were spotted cresting the ridge opposite the Twins. For the first time in two days Brandon relaxes. When next the gates of the Twins open there are Direwolf banners and burly Northmen marching through them.
