Still, there are key differences between these two men. While both arose from outside of the Andal core of Westeros, Aegon was of the blood of Old Valyria, his House Targaryen the last of the mighty dragonlords. Robb owed his provenance to the unconquered First Men of the North, House Stark the crowned Kings of Winter before his own ancestor Torrhen Stark knelt to Aegon himself.

THE SINGER

"Lord Royce, I am quite surprised to see you here. Do tell us all the reason for this most unexpected visit." Lady Lysa looked down from the carved weirwood throne of House Arryn, the highest seat in the Eyrie's high hall.

The Lord of Runestone stood stiffly at the centre of the hall, just in front of that frightful moon door from which dear young Lord Robert was so frightfully fond of having men flung to certain death.

The singer didn't much care, in any case. All these assorted lords and the much vaunted knights of the Vale were all the same to him, dreadfully dull and much too proud. It was great fun to make sport of them, of course. Ser Marwyn, the captain of the guard he'd dubbed Ser Ding-Dong, was the unwilling subject of many of his japes and songs. No doubt the boneheaded warrior would love to rip his tongue out, if only their Lady did not so favour him for his soothing voice.

It wasn't their fault, he supposed. They did live in such a bleak country.

The Lord was surrounded by only two of his household guards, each of them in the same dull bronze armour as their liege. He'd come with a greater number, as many as thirty, but they'd not been permitted to make the final part of the ascent. Much of the nobility of the Vale was represented in the assemblage, a whole parade of fools ready to praise Lady Lysa's endless virtues for the slightest chance of ruling the Vale through her sickly son.

"My lady, what is the true extent of your relations with Lord Petyr Baelish?" A couple of gasps went up from the crowd.

"My… what? Relations? Have you taken leave of your senses?" The lady shrieked back. She appeared rattled, even fearful. Not her usual crazed and ever-present fear, brought forth by her all-encompassing paranoia, but a more genuine and honest terror. "Why do you dare to ask this, my lord?"

"I derive no pleasure to confront you like this, my lady. Your nephew, the young but dutiful Robb Stark of Winterfell, has sent me a most unsettling missive. His sense of honour compelled him to break the bonds of familial affection, just as mine compels me to confront you in this fashion.

He writes to me of you, and of Lord Baelish. Of your relations with him, both subsequent to and preceding the death of our dearly beloved Lord Jon."

Well, that was unexpected. The singer heard another gasp, and observed the looks of shock and disbelief from the gathered highborn. Ser Ding-Dong in particular looked ready to smite the Bronze Lord's head straight off, the dim man ready to defend the honour of his dim lady.

The Lady Lysa seemed to vacillate between abject terror and righteous fury in but a single moment. She stuttered, making to interrupt, but Lord Royce was not finished and went on heedless of any courtly propriety.

"That is not all of which he wrote to me, my lady. Your good-brother Lord Eddard Stark, lately the Hand of the King, is imprisoned in King's Landing by our young king. His son believes these charges to be affected, fabricated for a nefarious purpose. I happen to agree with him.

Young Robb wrote of his last communication with his lord father, in which Lord Eddard took a tremendous risk to disclose that he was now certain Lord Jon's death was not a natural expiration but a result of some evil act. Only a short time later, Lord Baelish acted in concert with the Lannisters to ambush the Stark men in the capital and orchestrate the arrest of Lord Eddard.

Given the connection with Baelish of which I have already spoken, I cannot help but feel that I and the other good lords and ladies of the Vale present deserve an explanation from you."

A dreadful silence took hold of the hall, none daring to speak as the Lady Regent of the Vale struggled to retain her composure. Lord Robert chose this moment to enter the fray with his usual dignity, distracted from his earlier suckling by the words of Lord Royce. "LIAR! Bad man! Make him fly, mummy!"

The singer could observe the disgust and embarrassment. It was easier to pretend young Robert wasn't a snivelling, foolish and ill-raised brat when he kept his mouth shut.

Strangely, her son's outburst seemed to restore the Lady Lysa's composure. She even smiled, a great ugly grin. "Yes, my sweet Robin. You may have the right of it. Lord Royce has shown himself to be a traitor, and you're a very clever boy. You know what we do with traitors here in the Vale of Arryn."

"MAKE THEM FLY!" screamed the boy, near wetting himself in excitement.

"Hush, hush now, my love. It's all clear to me now, so very clear. The Royces have always been schemers, resenting our rightful rule and seeking power for themselves. Now Lord Yohn here has concocted this foul scheme, to tear us down from our place. He wants the Vale for himself." she spat, looking ever more deranged.

The Bronze Lord made to interrupt, but he scarcely had time before she vaulted to her feet in a sudden fit of mad determination. "SEIZE HIM, SER MARWYN! SEIZE THE TRAITOR!"

Everything began to spin rapidly out of control. That damn fool Ser Ding-Dong came charging at the first of the Bronze guardsmen, but Lord Yohn himself had his sword out of its scabbard and slicing across his unarmoured neck with the speed of a man half his age.

There was screaming now. It took the singer a moment to realise it was from himself. There was so much blood now. Gods, he hated blood.

The Arryn men-at-arms came rushing forward, a dozen of them in their blue falcon emblazoned chest plates. The Bronze men gave a ferocious account of themselves, outnumbered as they were. Lord Yohn felled one, and then another, but his companions were swamped by foes. One fell to ground, slashed across his cheek. The other took a sword straight through his neck.

Lord Yohn was a fearsome fighter, more skilled than a man of his years had any right to be, but he was so far outnumbered and there was no help at hand. He took a slash across the back of his knee, and fell down in agony. He swung his sword wildly from prone, taking another slash across his arm. Still he swung with one arm, but he had no chance. One of the guardsmen ran their sword straight across his throat. The Bronze Lord collapsed, felled.

The high hall was now embroiled in carnage, a scene from the deepest of the seven hells. Bodies strewn all over, the screams of wounded men. The galleries too had descended into chaos. One man was pummelling another with armoured fists, screaming in fury. Another man, some noble wearing the black broken wheel of House Waynwood, stood completely frozen in horror and disbelief. Someone was still shrieking.

From their high seat, mother and son looked down upon their work. The boy looked overtaken with glee, an exciting spectacle having unfolded before his eyes. The Lady Lysa twitched. For a moment she seemed almost stunned, unable to fathom the scene before her.

CATELYN

The Twins stood before her. Two identical stone castles either side of the fast flowing Green Fork, linked by the bridge that provided the only major crossing point for hundreds of miles. High, strong walls and deep moats gave the two castles of House Frey a fearsome disposition. It would be a nightmare to take such a fortress by storm.

Yet it appeared no such storm would be needed. Her son was greeted at the castle gates by none other than old Lord Walder himself, borne by palanquin from his dreary grey tower. A half dozen Frey men accompanied him, no doubt a small fraction of his motley of relations. Certainly nothing significant for the only man in Westeros who could field an army out of his breeches.

"Well, I am honoured. It's not everyday that our simple abode is graced with such distinguished company. Why, I do believe that there is the Stark lordling himself. And that there is his mother, if my aging eyes don't deceive me. A lovely woman, I always thought, and it seems so many years in the North have done her no harm. Heh heh." The ancient Lord of the Crossing smirked wickedly, amused with himself.

She armoured herself in courtesy, as she always did. "It is a great pleasure to see you again after so many years, Lord Walder."

"Oh, I'm sure it is. A very great pleasure indeed." The old lord turned to her son. "Well, young Stark, I have most enjoyed our recent correspondence. Your concern for the affairs of my House has warmed my frozen old heart."

That confused her. What correspondence? Robb had mentioned nothing of the kind. Her son spoke up. "I am glad to hear that, my lord. I hope I am able to be of some help to you." He sounded outwardly normal, but Catelyn sensed he was more nervous than he let on.

"Heh. Alright, Stark. No need to woo me further, I'm not your lady love. Still, I'll meet you on your terms. At least you showed us some courtesy, not like that Tywin Lannister or your bloody grandfather. All I ever get from him is demands. We're not as ancient as you Starks, we Freys, but we have our pride."

"I understand you then, my lord? One of your younger sons to squire for me, and 3 more of your boys for other Northern lords. Another son of my choosing to wed my lady sister Arya when she comes of age, and I am to arrange marriages for at least 5 of your daughters to men of good standing, at least 2 of them to either lords or direct heirs to lordship."

"And the title."

Robb seemed to restrain himself from irritation. "Yes, the title. I shall ensure my lord grandfather grants you the title Warden of the Green Fork, with all the privileges that entails. I'll have your troops, though."

Old Walder grinned. "Yes, alright. That'll be a deal then. My troops are yours to command. Talk to my sons about that. Stevron, Aenys and so on. Not that fool Emmon, he's ran off to wipe Tywin's backside. Fancies himself a lion, I suppose. I'm far too old for battle, I'm afraid, and have much better occupations besides. Heh."

Catelyn was much relieved, and it would not trouble her to admit as much. She'd worried incessantly about Walder Frey and the obstacle he could present since Lord Umber had helped her grasp the military implications of crossing the Green Fork. She needn't have, it seemed. Her son had it well in hand.

It was jarring to her to see Robb, now. To see her little boy go toe to toe with the likes of Walder Frey, trading and dealing like a far older man. He looked every inch the lord. She felt a swell of pride for him.

As darkness fell that night, and the Frey soldiery began to form up to march, she found herself observing her son with all his lead bannermen gathered in the army's command tent.

Ser Stevron Frey was reporting the whereabouts of the Lannister forces that had invaded her homeland. "We know that Ser Jaimie's forces lay siege to Riverrun, the exact condition of which is unknown. About 15,000 men, presumably having taken some losses at the Golden Tooth and in the battle against the Tully forces beneath the walls.

Lord Tywin commands a greater force of about 25,000 at Harrenhall. He's burned his way clear across the southern Riverlands, defeating the Riverlords piecemeal. Raventree Hall, fallen. Castle Darry also fallen. Stone Hedge besieged, possibly fallen. Much other lands devastated besides, their lords unable to offer any effectual resistance."

Robb interjected. "We must engage one of the Lannister armies and utterly destroy them. That alone offers us a chance of true victory in this war."

"Aye, but which one?" questioned the Greatjon.

"We will relieve Riverrun and destroy the Kingslayer's force. We cannot leave Riverrun indefinitely besieged and hope to rally the Riverlands to our side." Robb looked at his assembled men, his eyes falling on her for only a moment.

He continued. "Soon enough Lord Tywin will learn of our crossing here, and of our new alliance with House Frey. Lord Walder will sent ravens claiming we are still safely on the other side of the Green Fork, appealing for Lannister assistance. I do not expect this will fool the Lannisters for long, but it is a small effort for a few extra days of lethargy on their part.

The army will divide. Lord Karstark will take command of 5,000 men and march down toward Harrenhall as if to engage Lord Tywin's army. Form up with any allied forces and make a nuisance of yourselves. On no account are you to actually give battle, your purpose will be to alarm the Lannisters sufficiently to prevent Lord Tywin from moving west in sufficient time."

The gaunt, stern-faced man nodded. "And the rest of the army, my lord?"

"We will forced march straight for Riverrun. I mean to relieve the castle and teach the Lannisters a lesson they will not soon forget. We will come straight around their encampments and ram our swords straight through them. As for the Kingslayer, he will either be dead, or he will wish that he were."