Beric Frey's long face reminded her of the stoic face of the bastard king, but the eyes held something deeper, something darker that his mother had ever seen. When his father had passed Beric looked at her, his lips a tight line on his face giving nothing as he looked to his lady mother.

"He accomplished nothing," He paused, as if considering some trifling matter of coin, "He was a good man, and a better father."

The boy had learned that weakness was to be quashed as he lived through the dance of twins as the singers had begun to call it. The boy had been a frail youth, but with each passing day he seemed more robust, and as much as she hated to admit it the Dayne girl was helping him far more than she was. The Dayne girl's smiling face came to haunt the quiet moments, what was she laughing at. Lady Maryan Frey was suddenly brought out of her thoughts as the septon stepped forward from the amassed figures, and bowed once to her before turning to her son. The boy, not the man that stood next to her, had barely reached his 17th name day, but with his prodigious height he looked every bit the lord. His face sported a scrappy mess of a beard with only his mustache growing to any sizable length. The near black hair gave the vibrant blue of his eyes an intensity that reminded her with a shiver of the young wolf who had died in this very hall. When he had grown up she wondered as the man knelt, even kneeling the old shriveled septon struggled to reach high enough to get the chain over Beric's head. One boy some lordling of Harrenhall guffawed audibly, but was quickly silenced by an older brother's elbow. Her son took the chain from the septon, patting the older man's hands amiably, and whispering some comforting word to him. The septon, a grim faced man of nearly 80 allowed himself a small smile before turning to the crowd holding her son's hand.

"And he stands as lord of the crossing, and bannerman to Edmure Tully.." The words went in one ear, and out the other, as the dreams and fears of the past 20 years melted away. Her son was alive, and the lord of the twins, in her wildest dreams she never imagined that it would be them, so much death, and blood-shed. She smiled dreamily, now it was on his shoulders to make it mean something. Once more, however her thoughts were interrupted by the septon.

"So if no one contests the right of Beric Frey to ascend the seat then…" He was cut off by the booming voice of Olyvar Frey

"My good lords of the riverlands, you all know me well, but my son is the rightful heir to the twins after my late father, I will make no claim, but this seat belongs to my boy." A murmur went through the crowd as they looked to Olyvar, and his youth of barely 15 who seemed far too small for his sword, and shield. She had been expecting Olyvar to pull something like this, but her son had insisted that the man be allowed to try to oppose his claim. She could see his stern eyes as he told her how if he tried to silence the man he'd only be giving credence to his argument, but all she was occupied wondering how her boy who had broken his arm trying to catch a butterfly on horseback had turned into the person before her. The other half looked up to Beric waiting for his response.

Methodically the not quite lord Frey reached over his shoulder making a show of detaching the long cape embroidered with the two towers of the twins, and taking off the chain of Targaryen dragon, and the Tully fish underneath. The chain he tossed to Raesel Dayne who smiled impishly back, when Beric reached Olyvar he stuck his hand as if to shake it.

"Olyvar I respect you, and though I've never met him I've only heard sweet words spoken of your son. We both know the late Walder Frey disinherited you before he died." He smiled wearily at the child who seemed like a dwarf by comparison, "Besides the last thing I want is any more Frey blood spilled in these halls. Mine or his." Olyvar let out a breath before accepting the hand in front of him.

"Neither of us thought we would be anywhere near the seat of the twins, eh?" He released the young man's arm. "My son has the stronger claim, I might be disinherited, but Emmon reinstated my son's honors. We will present this to the king and let him decide." The last sentence was said in desperation as he knew what the other option was.

"I am sorry Olyvar, I will let this go no further, no one witnessed this reinstallation except yourself, and the Black Walder, who is dead." Olyvar was a handsome man deep into his 30's, but he was forced to look up to Beric. "I will give you a chance, a trial by combat, if you have the stomach for it we will let the god's decide." Every man and woman would swear when this was said, the gleaming eyes of Beric turned a few shades darker. To Olyvar's credit he didn't quake where smaller men might under the icy stare of Beric.

"I am sorry too." He seemed to deflate as he finished his thought. "Ser Beric Frey I challenge you to single combat on behalf of my son, for the seat of the twins." How clever he thought himself, if Beric declined his position would never truly recover, not in the eyes of surrounding lords, but if he accepted the claim it suddenly seemed much more legitimate.

"Father you said you'd let me fight him for it." The boy, Robb Frey, suddenly seemed to turn back into a child, his gleaming armor, and well made leather suddenly meant naught. Olyvar kneeled in front of his son, looked as if he was about to say something, but thought better, and pulled him into a hug that said more than Olyvar could ever say. Kevan Bracken touched Olyvar's shoulder gently.

"I will second you if you'll have me, I have long respected your faith in the face of opposition." Olyvar nodded, and shook the young lord Bracken's hand firmly. Turning finally back to the tall boy in front of him.

"Name your champion let's get this done on the morrow, I will represent my son." He turned to leave with a few guards who had come in with him, but he was forced to pause as Beric spoke. His words rang through the silent hall, and the only breath heard in the hall was the fire in the hearth.

"I will fight you myself my lord. What was your wolf lord fond of saying. The man who passes the sentence…" He trailed off. Olyvar didn't even so much as turn around. The door closing ushered in a new silence somehow quieter than before. After a time Beric spoke once more.

"My lords and ladies. It seems I have wasted your time, the meat and mead of the twins is at your disposal if you wish to see what happens tomorrow." When the doors closed, and Beric had gone the spell broke. The hall became a cacophony of chatter, as everyone turned to the closest person to pinch them. As the lady of the twins followed her son out she heard the high voice of Raesel Dayne.

"Lords, and Ladies I will take your bets, let us start with the odds at 4 to 1 for Ser Olyvar, the wolf's shadow!"