A headsman's block had been set up before the heart tree. Rain and leaves fell all around them as Randy Marsh's men led Bud Gleeful through the press, hands still bound. His men already hung from Riverrun's high walls, slumping at the end of long ropes as the rain washed down their darkening faces.

Randy waited beside the block, but Chris took the poleaxe from his hand and ordered him to step aside. "This is my work," he said. "He dies at my word. He must die at my hand."

Bud dipped his head stiffly. "For that much, I thank ya. But for nothin' else. The gods will judge ya, as you have judged me." He laid his head upon the block.

"Lord Bud Gleeful." Chris lifted the heavy axe with both hands. "Here in sight of gods and men, I judge you guilty of murder and high treason. In my own name I condemn you. With my own hand I take your life. Do you have any final words?"

"Fuck you, kid. You ain't no king. Couldn't even make yore high school football team from what I heard."

The axe crashed down. Heavy and well honed, it killed at a single blow, but it took three to sever the man's head from his body, and by the time it was done both living and dead were drenched in blood.

XXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXXX

That night two of Walder's sons, Lothar Frey and his half brother Walder Rivers, came over for supper. Lothar was the model of courtesy, reminiscing warmly about Lord Carter, offering Lois gentle condolences on the loss of Stewie, praising Patrick for his recent victory at Stone Mill, and thanking Chris for the "swift sure justice" he had meted out to Lord Gleeful. Walder Rivers was another matter. A harsh sour man with old Lord Walder's suspicious face, he spoke but seldom and devoted most of his attention to the meat and mead that was set before him.

After the meal, Lothar said, "Before we turn to the business that brings us here, there is another matter. A grave matter, I fear. I had hoped it would not fall to me to bring you these tidings, but it seems I must. My lord father has had a letter from Ramsay Snow."

"Did Ramsay take back Winterfell?" Chris asked.

"When he got to Winterfell, Theon Greyjoy had already burned it to the ground. I guess when he saw that his prize was lost, he put the castle to the torch."

Stan Pines leaped from his seat. "What about Dipper an' Mabel?"

Lothar got a sad look on his face. "The ironmen put many of the inhabitants of Winterfell to the sword, I fear. Your niece and nephew may have been among them."

"NOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOOO!" Stan shouted.

"Theon," Chris said suddenly. "What happened to Theon Greyjoy? Was he killed?"

Lothar spread his hands. "That I cannot say, your grace. Ramsay made no mention of his fate. Perhaps Lord Bolton might know."

Patrick said, "We will be certain to ask him, next time we see him."

"You are all distraught, I see. I am sorry to have brought you such fresh grief. Perhaps we should adjourn until the morrow. Our business can wait until you have composed yourselves…"

"No," said Chris. "I want this settled."

Patrick nodded. "Me too. Do you have an answer to our offer, my lord?"

"I do." Lothar smiled. "My lord father bids me tell your grace that he will agree to this new marriage alliance between our houses and renew his fealty to the king in the north, upon the condition that Chris apologizes for the insult done to House Frey, in his royal person, face to face."

"Okay," said Chris. "I'll apologize to him as soon as I see him."

"You are too kind, your grace. As you accept these terms, I am then instructed to offer Lord Patrick the hand of my sister, the Lady Roslin, a maid of sixteen years. Roslin is my lord father's youngest daughter by Lady Bethany of House Rosby, his sixth wife. She has a gentle nature and a gift for music."

Patrick shifted in his seat. "Can I meet this girl first?"

"You'll meet when you're wed," said Walder Rivers curtly. "Unless you feel a need to count her teeth first?"

Patrick kept his temper. "I will take your word so far as her teeth are concerned, but it would be pleasant if I might gaze upon her face before I married her."

"You must accept her now, my lord," said Walder. "Else my father's offer is withdrawn."

Lothar spread his hands again. "My brother has a soldier's bluntness, but what he says is true. It is my lord father's wish that this marriage take place at once."

"At once?" Patrick sounded so unhappy that Chris and Lois wondered if perhaps he had been entertaining notions of breaking the betrothal after the fighting was done.

"Has Lord Walder forgotten that we're fightin' a war?" Lois asked.

"Scarcely," said Lothar. "That is why he insists that the marriage take place now. Men die in war. What would become of our alliance should Patrick fall before he took Roslin to bride? And there is my father's age to consider as well. He is past ninety and not likely to see the end of this struggle. It would put his noble heart at peace if he could see his dear Roslin safely wed before the gods take him, so he might die with the knowledge that the girl had a strong husband to cherish and protect her. We all want Lord Walder to die happy, right?"

Lois was growing less and less comfortable with this arrangement. "My brother has just lost his own father. He needs time to mourn."

"Roslin is a cheerful girl," said Lothar. "She may be the very thing Patrick needs to help him through his grief."

"And Lord Walder has come to mislike lengthy betrothals," Walder Rivers added, looking at Chris. "I cannot imagine why."

"That was uncalled for," Chris said.

"It's okay," said Patrick. "I'll marry Roslin right away, if that's what her father wants."