For Jess who requested Edmure/Roslin. Walder Frey jumps on the shippers wagon, for reasons not entirely moral (but amusing). Revenge is sweet, after all...


Walder Frey rubbed his palms together in the universally acknowledged, well-worn way of wicked masterminds who had set their mind aplotting. To his right his latest spouse cradled her bulging stomach with a care that belied her unconcerned appearance. Walder snorted. As if he would call her to ask about the whelp she carried.

"I have devised a suitable chastisement for that insolent pup," he spoke, spittle spraying past his lips. "I shall give his uncle my most beautiful daughter. And I shall rub it in the King's face, see if I don't."

"Don't distress yourself, my lord. I am certain once the King realises the gravity of his error, he shall beg our pardon," Joyeouse managed, her eyes wide and calf-like.

"I don't care for his apologies." Lord Frey cackled, rubbing his hands together some more, presumably for warmth and proper blood circulation this time around. "I want him to live the rest of life with the knowledge that sweet, er, Roslin – I think – could have been his. I want him to remember when Roslin has Tully's first strong son, that the boy might have been his. I want him to suffer knowing that Rolsin has given beautiful daughters to Edmure, not to him."