A/N: It has come to my attention that this story has its own page on tvtropes. It was a humbling discovery, and I just wanted to say thank you to everyone who contributed to that. I appreciate all the effort and time you put into it. It was fantastic. I'm also flattered that you thought this story worthy of inclusion. So thank you. And if you have the time check it out.
Our Blades Are Sharp
By Spectre4hire
45: Sansa
The Twins, the seat of House Frey, the Lords of the Crossing.
Even at a glance and with no knowledge of siege warfare, Sansa thought it unwise to try to besiege such a structure. She looked away from the formidable bridge that the Freys had constructed which was the reason for their title and their wealth where Robb, Domeric, and her Uncle, Ser Brynden had gathered.
He was her great uncle, but he felt more a stranger to her than kin. She had rarely spoken to him since he joined their cause, but she remembered his disappointment at Robb's decision to send his niece, their mother back to Winterfell. Regardless of his thoughts on that matter, he stayed with them, and had proven a valuable adviser for Robb.
Theon was walking towards them in a confident stride, a dead raven dangling in one hand, his bow in the other. Looking pleased with himself when he presented the dead bird to them like a cat would of a freshly killed mouse.
"It was carrying a note." Theon declared proudly.
Domeric took it, unrolling the parchment, his eyes scanning the contents of the letter.
"What does it say?" Robb asked, a note of impatience in his tone.
"Congratulations, Theon," Domeric folded the note, "You stopped Lord Frey's happy name day letter to his grandniece."
"It could be a code," Theon bristled.
"Keep shooting them down."
Theon smirked, believing Robb was agreeing with him.
"He's grandfather's bannermen," Robb said in frustration, "He should be supporting us, not barring us."
"Expect nothing of Walder Frey and you'll never be surprised," Uncle Brynden put in gruffly.
"Father rots in a dungeon," Robb shot her a glance, "We need to cross the Trident," he stamped his foot. "And we need to do it now."
"And we will, brother," Sansa put a hand on his shoulder to calm him. Aware of the burdens that were unfairly put on him. "Together," She thought she needed to remind him that he wasn't alone in this struggle.
He gave her a sheepish smile, and a thankful nod.
"Riders are approaching," Domeric pointed towards them. There were two of them, and they were riding under the banner of peace.
"Just march up to the gates and tell him you're crossing," Theon suggested, "We have five times his number. You can take the Twins if you have to."
Domeric snorted, "That would be folly."
"What do you suggest?"
"A better strategy then that," Domeric looked unaffected by Theon's anger. "We'd lose too much time and men if we carelessly threw ourselves at the castle."
"Bolton is right," Ser Brynden put in, "The Lannister forces are marching."
"The Freys have ruled the Crossing for six hundred years," Sansa remembered her lessons, "And in all that time they have never failed to exact their toll."
"I'll pay their toll," Robb was determined.
"You don't mean to treat with them?" Domeric looked surprised, "Lord Frey could make you his prisoner and give you to the Lannisters."
"Or throw you in a dungeon," Theon added, "Or slit your throat."
"Father would do whatever it took to secure our crossing," Robb would hear none of the valid arguments that told him not to go through with his plan. "Whatever it took," he clenched his jaw, eyes watching as the riders came closer to them.
It returned, she spotted it at once in her brother's stance. The conflict that plagued him. He cared so much for all of them and was willing to do it all himself because he believed he had to. He was the older brother, and thought it was his role and his alone. He was wrong, and she'd prove it to him.
"I'll go," Sansa volunteered.
"You?" Theon's tone was insulting. His expression incredulous.
"Yes, me," Sansa responded with steel in her voice.
"Sansa is more than capable of the task," Domeric observed quietly. "Her time in the capital has had her come up against far more powerful players than Lord Frey and she has handled them deftly."
She smiled at him. Thankful, but not surprised by his show of support. "I can speak to Lord Frey."
Robb didn't hide his feelings on the suggestion. "Sansa, I am the one leading these forces. It should be me."
"It's our father, we're saving, Robb," She would not let Robb turn her down. "I'll speak with him, and I'll get our forces across." She didn't wait for him to reply or give him any choice. She moved towards the approaching riders to let them know that it would be her who would treat with the Lord of the Crossing.
Sansa was escorted to the great hall of the east castle , where she found herself surrounded by more than a dozen living sons of Lord Frey, thirty six grandsons, nineteen great-grand sons and numerous daughters, granddaughters and bastards and grand bastards.
It was more than she thought possible one person could sire, but looking up at the faces of dozens of Frey progeny made her realize the mistake with that particular judgment.
Lord Frey himself arrived on a litter, she had been told age and gout had made it impossible for him to make the walk himself. It was then that Sansa got her first look at the man who had not just fathered so many children, but at the obstacle who stood between her and Robb at freeing their father.
He looked like a wrinkled weasel. His head was hairless but spotted due to his old age. He had a long pink neck, and a receding chin, the combination of which showed dangling loose skin.
"Lord Frey," She curtseyed when he settled himself upon his chair. It was a massive seat of black oak with the back of it carved to resemble the shape of two towers joined by an arched bridge. "It is an honor to meet you."
"Is it?" He squinted at her, "Where were you when I was to remarry," He licked his lips, "Heh," smiling as he looked her over, uncaring of his wife's presence who sat beside him. A girl who looked to be Sansa's age, an observation that made her nauseous, but she didn't show it.
"Father," Ser Stevron was reproachful. He was Walder's eldest son and heir, and had been one of the two riders who had ridden out to meet them under the peace banner. The second had been Ser Perwyn, Lord Walder's fifteenth son, who had stayed at their camp to vouch for the Freys' good faith in negotiations.
"Quiet," Lord Frey was quick and caustic in his response. "You're not Lord Frey yet."
Sansa decided to step in before he could be further rebuked, "I am betrothed, Lord Frey."
"That's a pity," he muttered, but that didn't stop his eyes from lingering on her. "Then why are you here?"
"To ask you to open your gates, my lord."
"Since you asked so politely, I won't have you wait for my answer," He leaned forward, "No," he rocked back with a hoarse laugh, "Heh, I'm too old to have my time wasted, girl." He made a dismissing gesture, "Be on your way and tell your brother my answer."
She didn't move. "We have twenty thousand men outside your walls, my lord."
The threat didn't seem to bother or worry him. "They'll be twenty thousand corpses when Tywin Lannister arrives."
"And what will you get when our forces are dead?" Sansa wouldn't be deterred. "Will Lord Tywin thank you for your leal service?" She noticed him perk at the thought, his eyes showing his doubt that he'd get anything with their defeat. "The Lannisters are not here, my lord." She reminded him, "We are, and we want to cross."
"You would've made a great Lady Frey," He smiled down towards her, "Far better than my current wife." He moved his head to his quiet and pale wife beside her, making the loose skin under his neck jiggle.
"You honor me," Her smiling façade would not crack under his lewd remarks or unwelcomed gaze.
"Among other things, heh."
"I've come to bargain on behalf of my brother," she pushed down the disgust that bubbled in her tummy, ignoring the way his words and looks made her skin crawl. He wasn't the first to act in this manner towards her, and she wouldn't allow his behavior affect her. She was here for Robb, for father, for the north, and she could not fail them.
He didn't answer her right away, looking her over, eyes staying on her chest before moving down to her hips before he chuckled, "Leave us," he announced to the room, including a pointed look at his young wife.
His crowd of sons, grandsons, daughters, and granddaughters, nieces, nephews, bastards did not dare to object. A chorus of noise as they shuffled away towards the exists, a few looked back between her and Lord Frey, the expression varied while others murmured and whispered at what was to happen, but soon they were gone. There was no more noise. It was only him and her.
"I have my price, but I'm not sure you'll like to hear it."
This was a test, she understood that she was being measured. "So do we."
"Heh," His mouth puckered at that, "Here I thought my young wife had the sweetest honey, heh," his gaze was on her chest, "Your betrothal won't help you here, girl. Mayhaps, you'll allow me a taste and then I'd consider letting your soldiers pass."
Revulsion churned within, but she wouldn't let it show. Her smile didn't falter. "That's hardly a fair trade," she dismissed in a tone that conveyed she was flattered and not how she truly felt-disgusted.
"My betrothal to Domeric Bolton brings more swords then your house can muster, Lord Frey," She observed politely, "Swords that can be trusted since they've answered my brother's call."
He rankled at her rebuke. "You're all the same. Starks, Lannisters, Baratheons, Tullys," he spat out the names, "Think you're better than me," he pointed a wrinkly finger at her. "Your grandfather insults me. Always pissing on my family, well now it seems its my family that your uncle and grandfather need, heh."
Sansa kept quiet during his rant, knowing it would be unwise to try to object. She could sense his frustration at the slights he felt were given to his family, real or imagined, and understood it would be foolish to try to argue against him. They seemed embedded in his mind, and to try to say otherwise would only make him angrier and less amendable to a discussion. So she did what he wouldn't expect.
"You're right." Her admission caught by surprise, so she seized the advantage,"My family has disrespected yours, a mistake on their part. You're my grandfather's strongest bannermen," she noticed the pleased slimy looking smile that came to his face at that acknowledgment. "By now you've heard what's happened to my uncle."
"I have," He looked satisfied, "Got himself captured, heh," sounding more pleased than a bannermen should at his liege lord's predicament. "Such a pity, as I was just gathering my forces to answer his call."
"An unfortunate and unforeseen predicament," Sansa feigned understanding, looking to believe his words. "However, imagine this, my lord," Sansa knew she needed to be careful and ply the right words to him.
"Imagine my uncle's expression when he sees the siege of Riverrun being lifted, and there in front of the forces, are the proud grey towers of House Frey," she put forward. "His castle saved. His life freed. He'll witness who it was who tipped the scales. Frey men, who risked and died to protect their liege lord. I imagine he'd be grateful."
"How grateful?" Lord Frey's eyes gleamed greedily.
"Very," she sensed she was close, "And then he sees some of your pretty and clever daughters and granddaughters that you allowed to accompany me as companions. They'd be helping his household, tending to the injured, dining with the men and lords. All the while, I'll be there to sing the praises of my new friends and to gently remind my uncle that his capture could've led to terrible ramifications for our family since he unwisely remains unwed and without an heir."
"You're giving me promises," He sounded agitated, but his expression betrayed his interest, "Possible promises," he shook his head, "That isn't enough."
"No, you're right. It isn't." She saw her victory all that was left was to secure it.
"He will let us cross," Sansa announced to the waiting retinue of her brother, Domeric, Theon, and her uncle Brynden. She saw the relief flicker over Robb's face, the surprise from Theon, and the proud look from Domeric that made her smile back at him.
"And his swords are yours," she saw her uncle's expression shift from relief to suspicion.
"For what?" The Blackfish asked, "Lord Frey is not one to be so charitable."
"No, he is not," she admitted, "He wanted betrothals between our families, but some of us are already betrothed so that protected us," She saw Robb stiffen and then relax upon learning that his match with the princess wasn't in jeopardy or replaced with a Frey girl.
"Well done," Brynden sounded impressed, "Lord Frey is always trying to get rid of his brood especially his daughters."
"He succeeded in that regard. A few of his daughters and granddaughters will travel with me as my companions," Sansa corrected her uncle. "He was keen to the idea when I suggested the perks of them possibly catching the eyes of certain northern and Riverlands knights and lords and heirs who travel with us."
"Who'd want a Frey?" Theon sneered.
"Mayhaps, you'll find your future wife among the Freys, Greyjoy," Domeric smirked.
Sansa pressed forward before an argument was started between the two. "I also implied that Uncle Edmure would seriously consider one of his daughters as a wife."
Brynden made a dismissal noise from the back of his throat, "Unlikely."
"He will consider one, Uncle," She said sternly, "and you all will help me to remind him," she looked expectantly at her brother and uncle.
"Aye, we will," Robb agreed, "What else, Sansa?"
"He'll be sending two of his sons to Winterfell as wards to be fostered."
"He can send ten if it means we get to cross," Robb shrugged.
"Don't give him ideas," Domeric muttered.
"You will take one of his sons as your squire, Robb," she turned to Domeric, "as will you. And he expects to see them knighted."
Domeric frowned. "We're not knights."
"Fine," Robb didn't care about that particular detail, "We can have Uncle Brynden knight them when they prove themselves."
"I'm more tempted to run them through then knight them," The Blackfish grumbled. "Forcing us to haggle to secure what they already promised my family."
"Is that it?" It was clear Robb's patience was waning. He wanted to cross and quickly.
"I did not have the authority to promise any of our siblings in betrothals," Sansa revealed, "But I did agree to bring the matter to my father once we rescued him."
"Who?" Robb's face betrayed that he already knew.
"Arya."
It hurt just to repeat what she had done. Sansa hated herself for having to include Arya. Her sister didn't deserve anything to do with the Freys, but he had been insistent on some match between his family and the Starks.
"Arya won't like that," Robb stated the obvious.
"No, she won't." Will she understand? Can she forgive me? Sansa worried at the answers that came to her, fearing that her sister would see this as a betrayal.
"It is only a promise that it'll be considered. Nothing more," Domeric put his arms around her. His touch and words were a needed reprieve to banish the doubt and guilt that was festering within.
"That's it?" Robb bluntly broke the mood between the two of them.
"Yes," Sansa looked over Domeric's shoulder, "Do you accept?"
"I do."
A few minutes later she found herself being escorted back to their camp by Domeric. Ser Perwyn rode back to the Twins to give his father their answer. While Robb, Uncle Brynden, and Theon began discussing their next step.
"What did I do?"
"What was necessary."
"What if he's an ill man? What if he has his father's vices?" She shuddered.
"You needn't worry about him," Domeric said simply.
Sansa couldn't understand why he was so calm about the possible life she condemned Arya to. "Do you not care about her?"
That broke his stoicism. "Arya is my sister," he said quietly. "And if I detect this Frey is a poor match for her, then I assure you no marriage between them will ever be consummated." Domeric's voice was calm and measured, "Afterall, the battlefield can be a dangerous place."
"They're ready."
"Thank you, Colmar." Domeric dismissed his newly acquired Frey squire.
Arya's betrothed, Sansa felt a coil of guilt wrap around her heart as she watched the young man, bow and scurry off. Awkward and quiet, was how she would describe him. She knew little of him, but that didn't stop her from letting a betrothal happen between her sister and this stranger.
"At least he doesn't look like his lord father."
The sudden jape surprised Sansa, puncturing her thoughts to see that Domeric was watching her. "Dom," she murmured, feeling a smile twitch on her lips despite the melancholy that bloomed in her chest.
"You are too harsh on yourself, my lady," Domeric was there beside her. "It is only an offer and one that must meet with your father's approval."
"Thank you," Sansa grabbed his hand, feeling reassured when he squeezed hers.
"You shouldn't keep your brother waiting."
The reminder brought fresh worry to gnaw at her. She had won the allegiance of the Freys, but she was losing Domeric. While Robb would march nine tenths of their horses over the Crossing among others, the larger northern host would be staying on the East Bank under the command of Lord Greatjon. Robb had given the Lord of the Last Hearth orders to march south and confront the coming army led by Lord Tywin Lannister.
"I don't want you to go alone," she babbled, feeling a cold tingle beneath her skin as she tried to recall the last time she was separated from her betrothed in these past few years.
"I'll have my men," Domeric reminded her, "My father will make sure of that."
He marches off into battle, into uncertainty, she shook her head, "T-that won't due," She couldn't lose him. She wouldn't. "Lady," she breathed the name out as if dispelling some of the fear that was bubbling within. "You will take Lady with you."
Lady obediently padded over to them when she heard her name called. She wasn't as large as Ghost or Grey Wind, but she was still an intimidating creature that would inspire fear in their enemies and offer protection for her betrothed.
"Lady should be with you."
"No," She wouldn't let him refuse, "I-I won't be in b-battles," It hurt just to admit what was awaiting him on the horizon, "Robb will protect me," She and her brother had already made arrangements, "Take Lady with you," she insisted, seeing the uncertainty in his expression, "P-please," her voice cracking in her pleading.
"Very well."
He pressed a kiss to her lips, a brief touch that caused her tummy to flutter, but when it ended, she kept hold of him. Her hands on his arms, holding tightly, suddenly afraid of what was to come next.
"Dom," she felt the icy claw of fear wrap its fingers around her heart, "Come back to me."
"I will, my lady," His voice was deathly quiet, "Always."
A/N: Important note that Catelyn's absence leads to two interesting ripples that will be seen moving forward, not counting the Frey negotiation.
1) There is no personal guard for Robb made up of noble lords and heirs as that was Cat's idea and insistence that sparked its creation.
2) It'll be the Greatjon not Bolton leading the forces at the Green Fork. It was Catelyn who suggested a different leader to handle that task and helped Robb in selecting and realizing it should be Lord Bolton.
Thanks for your support,
-Spectre4hire