Walder Frey was absolutely positive that siding with the Lannisters was the best move he could make in this war.

That was until Danearys Targaryen waltzed into his keep as an honoured guest of Robb Stark, complete with army and large, scaly, fire breathing pets.

Shit.

He saw the alarm written all over Bolton's face when their eyes met. He could also see the victory in Catelyn Stark's. Tully bitch knew he would try something. Damn her. Frey knew he would have to back track a fair bit, get his men to stand down, pray to whatever the fuck god was up there that his guests would figure nothing out. The ceremony went off without a hitch, dinner was going well, and the happy couple had just been Bedded. Frey finally began to let himself believe that he had gotten away with his hastily avoided deception.

Then he noticed some of his would-be soldiers had gotten exceptionally drunk and were sitting with the Dragon Princess. Said Dragon Princess did not seem very happy at what she was hearing. Frey entertained the faint hope that they were merely being uncouth as drunks were. This hope was quickly snuffed out when the Targaryen's face went from the epitome of rage to a picture of calm in a moment and she whispered something in her knight-bitch's ear (what was his name? Started with a J…) who then quite urgently made his way over to the Wolf Boy and whispered something in his ear.

Frey watched as a grin slowly slid off Robb's face. He had been caught.

The old lord noticed Bolton sneaking glances at the door from where he sat next to Catelyn (fuck no, if I'm going down I'm dragging him down with me) as Robb stood up. The young king's face radiated a kind of controlled anger that that spoke of lines being crossed and serious retribution. The hall fell quiet and Robb addressed his host.

"It would appear that you had some rather unique… entertainment planned for us tonight, Lord Frey. I do wonder what made you cancel it?" The Stark was going to give Frey this one chance to confess for leniency.

"I figured it would be inappropriate for the lady, Your Grace." Frey nodded toward the Targaryen. "Didn't want to be offending the new Southern Queen," A pause, one that lasted a beat too long. "Or the Northern one."

Robb understood that Frey's mind was sorting through every possible scenario, trying to find a way out of this. So he turned toward his next best source of information: the drunken soldiers. Before he had the chance to get them talking, however, a resounding slap echoed through the hall. Bolton, a bright red hand print on his cheek, gave in to his fears and made a beeline from Catylen's rage to the door.

The door which was very quickly blocked by an angry red dragon.

Bolton made a desperate snap decision, turning on a dime, pointing at Frey, and screamed "It was his idea! His idea!"

Frey stood and began to make his way around the table, grimacing as Bolton's hysteria pretty much sold them both out. They were both going to be sworn to aid this brat until they all keeled over for this treachery. He was momentarily saved when the doors banged open and the most unlikely pair walked in.

"Sorry to crash the party," said the Hound, not looking sorry at all. "But I think I have something of Stark's." At this point 'something' had already taken off running and all but leaped into Robb's arms.

Arya had finally come home.

"Well isn't that precious?" Frey was known throughout Westoros for his sarcasm and lack of tact, especially in situations that required special handling. Situations like this. Robb put his sister down.

"Don't think I haven't forgotten you, Lord Frey. There is still a lot you have to atone for here. That also applies to you too, Bolton."

"I'm telling you, it was Frey's idea!" Bolton was quite adamantly throwing his accomplice in the fire. The youngest Stark blinked at the conflict she had interrupted before walking over to the older lord.

Arya looked up at the man. "Were you about to betray my brother?"

Frey glared down at the girl. "I was about to rip his cock off and watch him bleed out."

Arya nodded at this and with a casual "Very well," pulled a dagger out (from where-?) and shoved it up between Frey legs. Repeatedly.

One of the stupider Frey bannermen ran at Arya, drawing his sword as he went. He was swiftly clothes lined and subsequently decapitated by Sandor's blade. The burned man looked around and saw all other potential assailants sit back down. He wiped off and sheathed his sword and turned to Arya, whom had been watching Frey as he passed out from blood loss. "Where did you get the knife?"

Not turning around, the girl offered the short blade to her defender from over her shoulder. "From you." After hastily checking his boot, where said blade would have been stashed, Sandor snatched it back from her, grumbling about how she should have warned him, stupid girl.

"My thanks, Ser," Catelyn approached the burned warrior. "For protecting my daughter." The Hound snorted.

"Can't get anything for a dead girl, now can I?" Arya had spent enough time in the Hound's company to know that he knew how easily his question could be misconstrued. She rolled her eyes at his obsession with his reputation and spoke up to soothe her family's ire.

"He wants to ransom me back to Robb. Preferably for enough to drown himself in wine." Robb raised his eyebrows.

"Well, if it's wine he wants," he reached for an empty cup and filled it. His eyes slid over to Frey's most recent wife. "Unless, of course, the Lady Frey has some objection?"

The poor girl's face couldn't get any paler as every eye in the room zeroed in on her. "M-Me, Your Grace? Why would any objection of mine matter?" Robb smiled at her.

"With the Lord Frey… indisposed, the Twins and its welfare fall to you. You make the decisions now."

The girl blinked, and sat up a little straighter in her seat as the realization set in that she was not 'Lord Frey's seventh wife' but 'Lady Frey of the Twins' now. "Very well, Your Grace," Her voice was less frightened but still shaky. "Let the Hound drink his fill. And would someone, um, escort my lord husband to the Maester's for some, er, bandages?" A few servants stepped forward. Judging by the way they dragged Frey off, they must not have been treated all that well. Robb turned to Bolton whom had finally shut up when Arya took the knife to Frey.

"Ser Bryndan, would you show Lord Bolton to the dungeon? He can have the night to figure out how to save his own life." Blackfish nodded and took Bolton by the arm. Bolton went quietly, very grateful that Robb hadn't set the youngest Stark to carve out his balls.

And with that, everything abruptly calmed down. Sandor accepted the goblet from Robb and sat down and the emptier end of the table. Catelyn moved to sit next to the young Lady Frey, whom had apparently run out of authority and needed some guidance from an older Lady. Robb introduced Arya to Talisa and Dany, the Queens of the North and South respectively. Arya was guarded with the women, which worried Robb, but she seemed to like them well enough. When she was finally given the go ahead to eat, she promptly started to stuff her face, which was so like Arya that Robb had to laugh out of pure relief.

The next morning the group discovered Bolton had strangled himself with his own shirt and Frey hadn't survived his wounds. Looking upon Frey's pale corpse, Sandor asks Arya if he was the first man she'd killed. She said yes, not wanting to think about the stable boy she'd gutted by accident a lifetime ago in Kings Landing.

That afternoon Tywin Lannister received a letter from the Twins. Certain of its contents, he didn't bother to open it until his daughter and grandson arrived at the Tower of the Hand. However, when he finally unfolded the letter, the patriarch was caught off guard in the most unfortunate way at the message.

'Winter Is Coming and it's bringing Fire And Blood.'

Sept. 8, 2014: I've been trying, really I have, but I can't do the fourth season justice with my changes. So... two-shot this shall be. Much apologies, but there you have it.