At the Twins…
King Daveth I Baratheon, Lord Edmure Tully and Ser Brynden Tully stood before the head of House Frey and Lord of the Crossing, Lord Walder Frey. An old man having recently celebrated his ninety-second nameday, Walder is considered to be the second oldest man in Westeros with a bald head spotted with age and loose skin, looking a little like a vulture but mostly a sniveling weasel; his seemingly endless legion of children have each inherited his weasel-like appearance. Over the years, Lord Walder was married more than seven times and always had an eye for younger, beautiful women. The woman standing beside him picking her teeth, Lady Joyeuse of House Erenford, is the Lord of the Crossing's eighth wife now.
The Young Stag examined Walder just as closely as Lord Frey was watching him. He knew the brittle, prickly ill-tempered old man had a sharp tongue, yet his mannerisms were rather blunt—each only having increased with age. As such, Walder Frey is a cautious man, but he is also an ambitious one—lending his aid to whoever is on the winning side; yet he also has a long memory.
During Robert's Rebellion, he and his levies sided with the rebels after they won the Battle of the Trident. Because of his late arrival until the outcome was decided, Lord Hoster Tully called him "The Late Lord Frey", a name Walder has never forgotten. But because he ruled over a strategically important crossing of the Green Fork, Daveth had to deal with Walder Frey in order to cross.
The Young Stag could feel the eyes of Walder's twenty-one sons, thirty-six grandsons, nineteen great-grandsons and numerous daughters, granddaughters, bastards and grandbastards staring at him, mostly the women. Walder remained seated in his raised chair as he eyed Daveth up and down.
"Well, well. Isn't this quite a surprise?" Walder exclaimed, squinting his eyes. "His Grace honors me with his presence, unlike so many who've come before him. It's not every day that the Oathkeeper himself pays a personal visit to the Twins."
'He acts as if he's above his station. Senile old man,' thought Daveth, but kept his composure. He was, after all, a guest. "It is a pleasure to finally meet you in person, Lord Frey," he spoke politely.
"To what do I owe the pleasure?"
Daveth looked as Walder steadily groped his wife Joyeuse's buttocks in circular motion, the young lady giving a brief shudder as the old man touched her.
"I seek to lift the ironborn occupation of Moat Cailin north of here," he politely answered, "but to do that my men and I need to cross the Trident. As you can see, we are in a bit of a hurry. Anxious, some would say."
"Sounds like the Oathkeeper's in a bit of a pickle, and he needs my help to make this sort of problem go away."
"Mind your manners, Lord Frey!" Edmure chastised him. "You're speaking to the King!"
Sitting above to Walder's right stood his eldest son and heir, Ser Stevron Frey. A man of sixty-two years with grandchildren of his own, Stevron looked like an especially old and tired weasel, yet polite enough to speak up in Daveth's defense and sided with their liege lord Edmure Tully.
"Father," he said reproachfully, "I fear that you have forgotten yourself. The King is here at your invitation. It's beneath you to assume—"
Walder glared at his son. "Who asked you? You're not Lord Frey yet, not until I die. Do I look dead to you?"
"Father, please," said Ryder Rivers, one of his younger bastard sons. "This is no way to speak in front of our King—"
"I need lessons in courtesy from you, bastard? I'll speak any way I like, damn you. I've had three kings to guest in my life, and queens as well; do you think I require lessons from the likes of you? Your mother would still be a milkmaid if I hadn't squirted you into her belly!"
'Charming, to say the least. Seven hells, why have the Gods cursed me for having to deal with such a man?' the Young Stag thought. He could already feel a headache coming on, but kept his posture and hid his growing discomfort.
"Lord Walder Frey," Edmure chastised again. "Need I remind you that you are still one of my bannermen?"
Lord Walder groaned and complained as he moved to shift himself in his seat. "Beh, pardon my manners, Your Grace," he gestured, a noise halfway between a laugh and a grunt. "When you're as old as I am, moving around can be rather difficult."
"So I see," Daveth observed.
"Now with that out of the way, perhaps my sons will do me the honor of shutting their mouths."
"Perhaps it is best if we speak privately?"
"We're talking right now, aren't we?" Walder complained.
Daveth was starting to feel his patience beginning to wear thin. An overwhelmingly intimidating atmosphere began to press down on those in the main hall, Frey and Tully alike. The Young Stag looked back and motioned for Ser Brynden. The Blackfish nodded at the gesture.
"Come on, lad," Brynden told his nephew.
Edmure looked a bit confused and tried to speak, but the Lord of Riverrun shifted his posture once he saw Daveth's eyes piercing him. Not wanting to resist the Oathkeeper, Lord Edmure simply followed his uncle out of the room. The Freys exchanged glances between the King and their father, each of them wondering what will happen next. Seemingly getting the hint, Lord Walder stared up at his very large family.
"Fine," he conceded. "Out! All of you! His Grace wants to speak to me in private. Go find something useful to do!" As his sons and grandsons and daughters and bastards and nieces and nephews streamed from the hall, Walder leaned close and taps his wife on the bottom. "Oh! Yes, you too, woman. Out, out, out."
Joyeuse uncomfortably lifted her skirt and marched out, accompanying her husband's large horde of family members. Walder looked at her as he whispered into Daveth's ear whilst they both moved in front of the fireplace, licking his lips slowly.
"You see that? Seventeen, she is. A little flower. And her honey's all mine."
"I trust that she's been giving you children, my lord?"
"Bah! Depends on who you ask; though the prospect only boils my sons and daughters these past forty years. In the end, they all just wait for me to die. Now, what do you want to say, Your Grace?"
"As I said, I need to cross the Trident and I need to do so now," Daveth reminded him.
"Quite the demanding one, aren't you, boy? How blunt of you."
For a moment, Daveth leaned in to whisper. "I can be rather 'blunt' when the situation calls for it, Lord Frey, but you will not use that sort of tone like that again. Not with me. You swore an oath to House Tully and the crown. Now, I've got another rebellion to put down, and I do not appreciate being delayed over such trivial matters."
Walder snorted. "That's the Baratheon in you talking. Huh. Fine, you asked for my help. But I want something from you in return. Give me your word and I'll let you pass."
"And tell me what it is that you want so badly?" Daveth asked, already knowing the answer.
"The fine Lord Hoster Tully's family has always pissed on me. He didn't come to my wedding before he dropped dead, nor did he come to the last one or the one before that. I outlived him as I outlived his father. He would never marry any of his children to mine. I need to get rid of sons and daughters. You saw them all just now, Your Grace. You see how they pile up?"
'And here I thought only my father and Prince Oberyn Martell could have so many children popping out left and right,' the King didn't need to be reminded. "Let me guess: you wish to marry them off before the Twins get overcrowded?"
"That's one way of putting it."
"I regret that the royal family is already spoken for."
"Yes, yes, I know. You married a Stark girl, your sister's set to marry a Martell and your brother's set to marry a Tyrell," Walder scowled irritably, his face wrinkled up as he turned to face Daveth directly. "Years ago, I went to Tully and suggested a match between his son and my daughter. Why not? I had a daughter in mind, sweet girl, only a few years older than Edmure. I had others he might have had: young ones, old ones, virgins, widows, whatever he wanted. No, Hoster would not hear of it."
"And for that you feel you've been slighted; insulted, even."
"Bah! Call it what you will, boy. I know when I've been slighted," he threw his hands up in exasperation as he sat down. "The Seven Kingdoms won't stop singing songs about you, and my house has been laughed at by everyone else. What makes you different than any of them?"
Daveth leaned in, staring Walder Frey in the eyes. "Because unlike some houses that puts the whims of its sons and daughters first, I put the needs of my family ahead of my own. As the King, the Great Houses and lesser houses are like one, very big family. Their safety and well-being is of utmost paramount. And unlike many lords, when I make a promise, I keep it. On that, Lord Frey, you have my word."
Lord Walder glared back at the King, crossing his arms as he smirked. "Pulling out that card on me, Your Grace? Who'd be a fool to deny the legendary Oathkeeper when he says that? 'You have my word.' Sounds like you mirror the Lannisters and their debts," he cackled. "All right, then. You have my attention, Your Grace."
With that, Daveth leaned back and played his cards. "You mentioned about wanting to marry off one of your daughters?"
"Aye, I did. What of it?"
"I believe I might have found a solution to your problems, Lord Frey, one that should resolve most of your problems. And more… if you're interested."
Walder raised an eyebrow and slowly leaned in. "What do you have in mind?"
The rest of the day involved a lot of haggling. A swollen red sun hung low against the western hills. It was going to be a lot of negotiation, but Daveth remained confident that he'll get what he wants in the end.
######
Outside…
The swollen red sun was starting to hang low against the western hills the large royal army stood outside the gates of the Twins, waiting for their King to return. When they saw Edmure and the Blackfish emerge from outside rather early, it left many people rather curious. What was going on in there? Why was the Lord of Riverrun kicked out? Did something go wrong? If so, they believe they might have to storm the castle and take the Twins by force—but Sers Barristan Selmy and Jaime Lannister told them to stay put.
"Something's rather odd," a Baratheon soldier quipped. "The King's been in there quite a long time."
A Riverland militiaman chimed in. "I agree. Something doesn't seem right."
"Cut the chatter, you two," Jaime interrupted. "Trust in the King's judgment. Believe me, he'll pull through."
"Why should the Kingslayer have a say in ordering us when his own father ordered attacks on our land? Such a disgrace!"
Jaime frowned at being called that, though Ser Lucius Blackmyre stepped in.
"That's enough, boys! What happened occurred two years ago. Hanging onto old wounds like this resolves nothing but breed further resentment and suspicion. We are at war! We cannot fight amongst ourselves when the enemy is at our gates."
As the back and forth squabbling were traded, all talks soon ceased when they saw the gates of the Twins opening up and the drawbridge itself creaking down, the portcullis winched up. The royal forces looked on as they saw King Daveth riding out with Walder Rivers and Lothar Frey. Judging by the look on his face, the negotiations were rather successful. Behind the Young Stag was a long column of pikemen, rank on rank of shuffling men in blue steel ringmail and silvery grey cloaks.
Edmure and the Blackfish galloped out to meet Daveth, stopping in front of him.
"Well?" the Lord of Riverrun beseeched. "What did he say?"
"It is done," Daveth announced.
Lothar rode up beside the King. "Our father has instructed us to tell you that he has granted your crossing. Our men are at your disposal."
"1,100 infantrymen and archers," Black Walder told them. "The remaining 400 will stay here to guard your rear flanks should the ironborn pursue you."
Ser Brynden scratched his chin. "I'm rather surprised that the Late Lord Walder Frey decided to cooperate. What exactly did you say to him, Your Grace?"
Before any could open their mouths to speak, they looked behind the King and noticed a younger Frey carrying a large set of baggage jogging towards them, being rather careful so as not to drop exactly what he was carrying. By the look on his face, he was rather anxious but rather excited and prideful.
"I will be taking on Lord Walder's eighteenth son Olyvar Frey as my personal squire and will foster him at King's Landing. He will be coming with us," Daveth announced. "If he serves well, he will be knighted as a reward for his loyal service. All in good time, of course."
Olyvar Frey excitedly looked at the Young Stag. "Words alone can't express how honored I am to be picked, Your Grace. I swear I won't disappoint you."
"See to it that you don't."
By that time, Jaime approached his nephew. "A squire, hmm? Fine, that's fine. What else did the old man say?"
At that, Daveth turned to look at Edmure. The Lord of Riverrun turned and saw all eyes are glued on him now.
"What?" he asked.
Daveth looked at Black Walder and motioned him forward. The Frey bastard leaned into the Lord of Riverrun's face and delivered the ultimatum.
"When the fighting is done, Lord Edmure Tully is to marry one of Lord Frey's daughters. Roslin."
Gasps and a few chuckles were heard among the royal forces. Here he was, Lord Edmure Tully—son of the deceased Lord Hoster Tully, Lord of Riverrun and ruler of the Riverlands—being forced into arranged marriage without his knowledge or his consent. His sights were still glued to the lowered down drawbridge and opened gates.
"His Grace examined each of our sisters rather thoroughly to see which of them would be a suitable match for the Lord of Riverrun," Lothar explained. "It would put father's heart at peace if he could see her wed to a good husband. And he is wary of long engagements."
"Father is old," Black Walder stated plainly.
Edmure felt himself stuttering. "Uh, no I will not, Your Grace," he bluntly refuses.
Lothar and Black Walder frowned.
"Yes, you will," Daveth insisted.
"Why should I have to marry one of that old ferret's daughters? At the very least, I should've been consulted about this. Seven hells, I'm his liege lord for crying out loud!" he complained before looking at Lothar and Black Walder. "How old is Roslin?"
"Our sister is 19," they answered.
"Could I see her first?"
"You want to count her teeth?" Black Walder countered.
Lothar pressed the issue. "Our father needs an answer; otherwise he will not permit the Tully forces from crossing."
'And that would be an exorbitant waste of soldiers, lost because one man stubbornly refuses to obey his king,' thought Daveth as his eyes remained set on Edmure.
"I must say I'm very insulted by this act, Your Grace," he continued complaining. "The laws of gods and men are very clear. No man can compel another man to marry!"
His uncle Ser Brynden grabbed Edmure by his collar and got right in his face. "The laws of my fist are about to compel your teeth in a minute, boy."
"He's wanted me for one of his daughters since I was 12!"
"Now you listen to me very carefully, Lord Edmure," Daveth chimed in, his voice once again being calm, flat and uncaring as his grandfather's. "We are in the middle of a war. The best way of making formal alliance isn't by force. The best way is through marriage. And it is past time you were wed. And personally, I am getting this close to losing my patience. The ironborn continue to hold onto Moat Cailin and Balon Greyjoy keeps us locked in a stranglehold. I'm done haggling for the day, I'm tired and I will not go back and forth and keep our forces standing around like a mob of headless chicken."
"I had hoped for something less… permanent, Your Grace…"
"'Family. Duty. Honor,'" the Young Stag recited.
Edmure was silenced as he looked at the King; his uncle, the Blackfish, on the other hand, briefly nodded his head as he knew what those words meant.
"These are the words of your house, one that every Tully child understands. Your own sister Catelyn knows that. Do you mean to tell me that family, duty and honor mean absolutely nothing to you? What would your father say if he were still alive?" Daveth questioned.
The Lord of Riverrun looked back and forth, exchanging glances between the King, his uncle and the Freys. All eyes were on him, and the pressure was mounting.
"Do you consent?" asked Lother and Black Walder.
Edmure hated being backed into a corner and he hated that King Daveth went behind his back to arrange a match for him. Hell, Daveth's a Baratheon not a Tully! But somewhere Edmure knew exactly what his deceased father would say if he ever learned of his son and heir's stubborn refusal. Ser Brynden knew as well, for it caused him to be labeled 'Blackfish' for several decades following the War of the Ninepenny Kings. Feeling out of options, Edmure threw his hands in the air.
"Fine, I consent. I'll marry her…"
The answer seemed to satisfy Lothar and Black Walder.
"Excellent," they smiled. "We'll go inform our father. You may now cross and march to battle."
Daveth nodded and watched them return to the Twins.
"I know it doesn't seem fair, but you'll thank me for this in the end, Lord Edmure," he simply told him. "You have my word."
Edmure said nothing, instead choosing to follow from behind. The assembled army was once again on the move. They crossed as the sun's reflection floated upon the Green Fork of the Trident. The double column wound its way through the gate of the eastern twin like a great steel snake, slithering across the courtyard, into the keep and over the bridge, to issue forth once more from the second castle on the west bank.
Daveth rode with the vanguard, with his uncle Ser Jaime Lannister, the Lord Commander of the Kingsguard Ser Barristan Selmy and his newly-attained squire Olyvar Frey. Behind him followed an army of 89,100 men: infantrymen, knights, cavalry, and archers. Some were mounted on their horses, other marched on foot. It took hours for them all to cross the Trident. Afterward, the Young Stag would remember the clatter of countless hooves on the drawbridge, the sight of Lord Walder Frey in his litter watching them pass, the glitter of eyes peering down through the slats of the murder holes in the ceiling as they rode through the Water Tower.
For good or ill, the Young Stag had played his cards and was now more than ready to fight.
'Be ready to reap what you sow, Greyjoys,' he thought to himself. 'For this stag has teeth and claws to go with his sharp antlers.'
######
Author's Note: Kind of a tense moment at the Twins, wasn't it? Having to deal with stubborn people and running on a scheduled timesheet and not wanting to waste any energy unnecessarily with constant bickering. Was the decision Daveth made the right one? How do you think this will affect the relationship he has with the men under his command and the lords who follow him? Thoughts? Let me know.
Hakujngomi: I honestly can't see why any of the great Lords of Westeros would tolerate for even one second the humiliation cascade Edmure endures in this chapter from Brynden, the Freys and Daveth.
—They normally don't, not unless if they plan on crossing the Hand of the King Lord Tywin Lannister or something.
BioHazard82: Another great chapter.
—Thanks.
Felon GT: Hope ya do something to iron born. No mercy or prisoners. Ya can do what they did during Tokugawa war after battle of Osaka castle. Mount pike heads of all enemies that stretch miles long. Romans crucify. I know he won't be as cruel to do what Dracula did.
—And now the rains weep o'er his halls; And not a soul to hear.
kaiokenkaizer: Remove the distractions and get to the juicy parts of fighting! I can't wait to see how the war progresses.
Good Day
—Gotta build up each chapter for further development.
ZabuzasGirl: Edmure is an idiot!
Wonderful ;)
Update immediately, please!
—Part of his Tully charm, right? I'll keep writing more chapters, but I got to give my brain a bit of a rest first or I'll burn out.
Guest #1: great story
—Thanks.
kira444: You manic! I just read 47 four hours ago! SNGFOGNORNOREIGE you're awesome!
—You're welcome.
Patty 4577: And then they all get killed at the wedding. Seriously though, nice chapter. Although i'm surprised that Walder didn't bring up that Robb had renegaded on his own oath.
—Anything I don't mention will be included in other chapters as flashbacks. Just keep a sharp lookout for the "ooOoo".