ROBB

The army was rapidly marching back to the north, but first there was an obstacle Robb dreaded. He did not want to lose any time, none at all. He had to save Bran and Rickon. But here, right before him, was a castle, or rather, two castles that had stopped him before. But he did not fear the castles, it was just that he couldn't stand the man inside them, who still did not have the decency to die of his tremendous age. Walder Frey, the man whose daughter he will have to wed. And whose son was going to wed his sister. But that son has died, killed by the dead.

It still was strange to think about them. Throughout his youth he had been told stories of wights, serving the Others. But now there were wights he had made peace with. He had seen them march, he had seen them kill, and he had seen the fallen rise again, in their service. But they were no Others. He had even spoken with their leader, a pale lady who had saved his sister. She had been friendly, constantly smiling and seemingly honest. But the strangest thing was that Arya said that she was from a faraway land, brought here by some sort of magic. Her castle had just appeared in Harrenhal, and she had sallied forth immediately.

It seemed impossible, and anyone telling him such a tale would have been called an idiot and a fool. But he knew that it was true, he had seen it with his own eyes. He had seen men crumble to the ground, aged within mere moments. He had seen skeletons, completely fleshless, walk. It was impossible in many ways, unless it was magic. But the countess was a mage, Arya had said as much. She had seen her weave spells, killing, letting the dead rise again. And she never ate or drank, no one had ever seen her do such a thing. Only Arya had seen her once bite a man, but that was it. He knew that he was allying himself with witches, forbidden by the old gods and the new, but there had been no choice. It was that or be betrayed by the Lannisters, and he had already seen what they did in the Riverlands.

But now he was approaching the Twins, where the gates were closed. He knew that he could take the castle, should he want it, but that would take time. And time was limited. But now there was no one threatening him directly, so he rode up to the gates, at the head of his army. He even had several of lord Frey's sons with him. There was a man calling out, probably one of the many Freys: "Your grace! My grandfather, lord Walder Frey, invites you and your companions to speak to him! He offers his apologies for not greeting you in person, but his age stops him!"

Robb thought for a few moments. He needed to pass by here, but he did not trust Walder Frey, his mother had told him as much. Everyone told him that. Never trust him. But speed was of the essence, Theon might move his brothers away, to the Iron Islands. And then he would need a fleet, while he had hardly enough ships to hit them back. Only the southern lords had such fleets, and they would never help him. He did not like it, but he still needed Walder Frey and his bridge. And now there were no Lannisters moving close by. If the old man tried anything, his castles would be razed and he would be dead. That should be enough to keep him trustworthy. That, and the swords of those around the young king.

Accompanied by the sons of the greatest lords of the Trident and the North he rode forwards, and the gates opened to grant entrance to this small group. He had left command of the army to lord Umber, who had sworn that he would tear the gates apart with his own hands should anything happen. But nothing happened, no crossbow bolts flew at them, no hot sand. They were admitted freely. The small group dismounted and were led to the great hall, where their ancient host was waiting. The old man nodded: "Your grace."

Of course he did not kneel, or bow, or even stand up. He was too old for that, but still had the energy to father children, as the woman next to him proved. She was obviously with child, and then there were the others, all clearly his descendants, crowding up the hall. And he would have to wed one of them. The sooner this was over the better. "Lord Walder Frey. I want to use your bridge for my army."

"Please, your grace, spare some time for a worried old man. I have many children, and they need to marry. I am grieving my son Elmar, who died fighting for you, like many of mine have. He was to be married to your sister."

"I grieve with you, we all have lost much, but soon the war will be over, and I will marry one of your lovely daughters.", he lied through his teeth, he did not fancy the prospect at all.

"That is an event that we all look forwards to greatly. But still, it pains me that none of my sons will wed your sister."

"She will not be married until she is sixteen. She will be fostered at Harrenhal, with lady von Carstein."

"Will she? That is most peculiar. But your other sister, is she betrothed yet? Or your younger brothers heh! who are cruelly held prisoner by your former friend?"

Robb wanted nothing more than to cut down this man where he stood, but he controlled his anger. It was clear to him now what he wanted, one of his foul brood married to his relatives. But he would not give in to him. Never. "My sister and brothers are still to be liberated, and only when peace has been restored will we see to such matters."

"Truly your grace? It would seem wiser to secure alliances while there still is a war. The North is held by your enemies, and wisdom would say to secure the bridges behind you, heh."

Was he threatening him? Of course he was. He wished that his mother was here, she would know how to deal with this old weasel. But he had some ideas as well. "That is why I trust on you, lord Frey, I will wed your daughter when the North has been retaken, my army has sufficient strength to take any castle."