Robb was staring at the map of the Seven Kingdoms, studying it intently. He had placed direwolf markers – symbolising the Northern army – around Casterly Rock. With the direwolf markers, he had set markers signifying the sigils of the Freys and the Boltons. The Bolton's flayed man and the Frey's twin towers. And they had the Lannister markers – the lions – surrounded.

Rumplestiltskin looked down at the map with Robb. "Are you sure about this, dearie?" he asked. "There is no turning back in this."

Robb looked over at Rumplestiltskin. "No," he answered.

"This is a dangerous plan," Catelyn told her son, who was also with them.

"I understand the risks," Robb told them both. "But if we can take Tywin's castle from him, the lords of Westeros will realise he is not invincible. We'll take him home, take his gold, take his power."

"Why are you telling us this?"

Robb looked over at Catelyn. "You begged me not to send Theon to negotiate with his father, and I ignored your advice," he told her, then he looked over at Rumplestiltskin. "If you hadn't come when you did, it would have been burned to the ground by now. My father trusted you, Rumple. He had a good reason to. And I must trust you, too. So, Casterly Rock … I am asking for your advice. Both of your advice."

Rumplestiltskin stroked his chin. "Well, dearie, you're right about one thing: challenging Tywin Lannister head-on would certainly send shockwaves throughout the Seven Kingdoms. The lion's den is well fortified, and its resources are vast. But the real question is, do we have enough men?"

Robb picked up a twin tower of the Freys. "Only if Walder Frey cooperates."

Catelyn's heart sunk deep into her chest. "If Walder Frey cooperates," she repeated, then looked down at the map again. "If reinforcements arrive from King's Landing before we take the castle, we will be caught between Tywin's army and the sea."

"Then we will lose the war and die the way Father died. Or worse."

"Not if I can use my magic on Tywin before his scouts tell him what is happening," Rumplestiltskin told him. "There are spells I can use that will cloud the minds of the Lannisters, making it impossible to track our movements. And then, we will show them how it feels to lose what they love."


The following day, the Northern army arrived at the Twins, and Robb's host entered the main hall, where they were greeted by Walder Frey and his many children and grandchildren. Robb was standing in front of the Northern assembly, next to Catelyn and Talisa, and behind him were Edmure, Brynden and Rumplestiltskin.

A wench brought over a tray with a bowl of meat and a bowl of salt. Handing it to Robb, he picked up a handful of meat and dabbed it in the salt, eating it before giving it to his mother.

"My honoured guests," Walder began. "Be welcome within my walls and at my table. I extend my hospitality and protection in the light of the Seven."

"We thank you for your hospitality, my Lord," Robb said and stepped forward. "I have come to apologise, my Lord, and beg your forgiveness."

"Don't beg my forgiveness, Your Grace. It wasn't me you spurned. It was my girls." Walder gestured around him, and his young daughters and granddaughters stepped before them. "One of them was supposed to be queen. Now none of them are. This is Arwyn, my daughter. My daughter Walda, my daughter Derwa, and my daughter Waldra. My eldest granddaughters Ginia and Neila. Serra and Sarra, granddaughters, twins. You could have had either. Could have had both, for all I care.

"My granddaughter Marianne. My granddaughter Freya. My granddaughter …" He paused momentarily as he tried to recall her name. "Wertha … Waldra … Waldina," he said, but the granddaughter shook her head each time.

"I'm Merry," she corrected.

Walder sighed. "Fine. And here's my youngest daughter Shirei, though she hasn't bled yet. Clearly, you don't have the patience for all that."

Robb looked over at the daughters and granddaughters of Walder Frey. "My ladies. All men should keep their word, kings most of all. I was pledged to marry one of you, and I broke that vow. The fault is not with you. Any man would be lucky to have any one of you. I did what I did not to slight you but because I loved another. I know these words cannot set right the wrong I have done to you and your house. I beg your forgiveness and pledge to do all I can to make amends so the Freys of the Crossing and the Starks of Winterfell may once again be friends."

Walder stared at Robb before clapping his hands slowly, and his daughters and granddaughters moved off to the sides of the main hall. "Very good," he said before noticing Talisa standing by Robb. "There she is. Come closer. Let me have a look at you."

Talisa stepped forward, and Walder leaned forward in his chair. "Still can't see you," he said. "Old eyes."

Talisa looked back at Robb, who nodded, and she stepped forward some more.

Walder leaned back. "Love. That's what the Starks of Winterfell call it, eh?" He laughed. "Very honourable. I call it a pretty face. Hmmm. Very pretty. Prettier than this lot, that's for sure. Very shapely as well. Oh, you try to hide her under that dress. If you wanted to hide her, you shouldn't have brought her here in the first place."

Walder stared at Talisa again and leaned forward once again. "I can always see what's going on beneath a dress. I have been at this a long time. I bet everything stays right where it is when you take that dress off. Doesn't drop an inch. Your king says he betrayed me for love. I say he betrayed me for firm tits and a tight fit."

Robb was going to step forward as he heard Walder's crude comments about Talisa, but Catelyn reached a hand out to stop him.

"And I can respect that," Walder continued. "When I was your age, I would have broken 50 oaths to get into that without a second thought. Well, I've enough room in the hall for you lot. We'll set up tents outside with food and ale for the rest of your men."

"Thank you, my Lord," Robb grudgingly said.

Walder stood from his seat and clapped his hands together. "Well, let's get ready. The wine will flow red, and the music will play loud, and we'll put this mess behind us."


On the outskirts of Yunkai, in the far east, Daenerys was looking at a map of the city, surrounded by the Professor, Barristan, Daario and Grey Worm, as they formed a plan to take the city and free the slaves.

She furrowed her brows as she looked at the parchment. "Where?" she asked.

"There," Daario pointed towards the edge of the parchment. "It's a back gate. My men use it when they visit Yunkai's bed slaves."

The Professor looked over at him. "But not you?"

Daario shook his head. "I have no interest in slaves. A man cannot make love to property." He looked down at the map again. "This is where we enter the city. Very few guards. They know me. They will let me inside …"

"We're not gonna sneak an army through a back gate," retorted Barristan.

"I will kill the guards," replied Daario. "I will take your two best men and lead them through the back streets, which I know well, and open the front gates. Then comes the army. Once the walls are breached, the city will fall in hours."

Daenerys leaned over the map, letting her violet eyes trace the paths and possibilities. She then turned to the Professor. "What do you think?"

"I think it's a bold plan. It's swift and unexpected, and if it goes well, it will give us the element of surprise," he told her.

Daenerys nodded, and then she turned to Grey Worm. "You are the leader now," she told him in Valyrian. "What do you think?"

Grey Worm looked over at Daenerys, then at Daario. "I trust him."

"Very well," Daenerys said. "You leave tonight." She turned to the Professor. "I want you to go with Daario. I know what you can do. Use your unique abilities and knowledge to help coordinate the attack and help gain control of the city."

The Professor nodded, kissing her forehead before leaving the tent with Daario and Grey Worm, and the three of them waited til nightfall to launch their plan. Grey Worm stayed behind with the other Unsullied and waited for the command to attack the city through the front gates, while the Professor, Daario and two other Unsullied men that they took with them to the back gates and waited.

When it was dark, that is when Daario launched his plan. "When you hear a songbird's whistle, you come," Daario told the Professor and the two Unsullied. "I'm a great whistler. The greatest in the land." Giving them a nod, he turned and walked towards the back gate, where he was greeted y two of Yunkai's guards.

"Valar Morghulis!" one of the guards shouted.

"Daario Naharis," Daario told the guard, who nodded and turned to open the gates. Daario stepped inside and everything was quiet for a moment. But just a moment, before Daario whistled for the Professor and the two Unsullied.

The Time Lord and Unsullied moved from their hiding place and crept towards the city. They entered through the back gate, which was ajar, and along the back streets, where they saw the two guards that were guarding the back gate. But they were dead.

"That one was quick," Daario told them, pointing to one of the now deceased guards. He was sitting on a stack of crates, cleaning the blood of his arakh.

"There'll bound to be more," the Professor said, glancing around.

"I doubt it. The Yunkish prefer to let their slaves do their fighting for them," Daario said, as a group of Yunkish soldiers leapt out from the streets and surrounded them.

They lunged into their attacks with swift and deadly precision, but the Professor's magic – combined with Daario's combat prowess – allowed then to fight back with equal ferocity. With a sword in one hand, the Professor blocked the Yunkish soldiers advances towards him, before sending out bursts of magic and energy to push them back against the wall with a loud thud.

Behind him, Daario spun and danced. His arakh and dagger sliced through the opposition with a mesmerising fluidity, but it was also lethal as well. He timed his attacks and moves with such precision that he managed to slice at the soldiers, killing them every time.

The two Unsullied warriors fought alongside the Professor and Darrio, and their expertise and prowess proved to be invaluable to them. Despite the four of them being outnumbered, the small group of four managed to hold their ground, cutting down the Yunkish soldiers one by one until there were none left.

"A few guards, you said?" the Professor asked, looking around the now empty streets, before more soldiers arrived and encircled them completely. More than what they had fought before. He eyed them carefully, looking down at their weapons, wondering who would attack first.


Night had fallen over the Crossing. The moon hung high in the sky, casting a silvery glow upon the stronghold and the tents of the Northern army. Inside the stronghold, everyone was gathered in the sept, lit by candles, with flames flickering like stars.

Lord Walder Frey walked down the aisle with his daughter, Roslin. A thick veil covered her face, which wasn't to be removed until she was at the altar, where Edmure would be the first to gaze upon her. All eyes were on her and her father, but none were more eager than Edmure Tully. He stood near the altar, his heart hammering within his chest as he awaited the unveiling of his betrothed and who she was, of course.

As Lord Walder guided Roslin down the aisle, the soft rustle of her gown's fabric seemed to echo in the quiet sept. Each step she took was a step closer to Edmure, and he found himself holding his breath. When they finally reached the altar, Lord Walder gently raised the veil, unveiling his daughter's face to the world and Edmure.

For a moment, time seemed to stand still. She was not who Edmure was expecting. The depth of emotion took him aback in her eyes. The veil had been lifted not just from her face but from the enigma of her being, and Edmure was captivated by the revelation.

Lord Walder retreated to his seat, leaving Edmure and Roslin standing face-to-face for the first time. Roslin, now unburdened by the veil, knelt gracefully before Edmure. "Lord Edmure," she began in a whisper. "I hope I'm not a disappointment to you."

A warm smile tugged at the corners of Edmure's lips. "You're a delight to me, my lady," he told her, extending his hand towards hers. Gently, he helped her up, and they moved to stand before the septon.

"You may now cloak the bride and bring her under your protection," the Septon intoned.

Edmure removed his cloak and moved slightly to drape it over Roslin's shoulders. Then he moved to stand beside Roslin again, and they both placed their hands on each other's as the septon began to tie their hand with a strip of white ribbon.

"In the sight of the Seven, I hereby seal these two souls, binding them as one for eternity," he declared. "Look upon each other and say the words."

Edmure and Roslin turned towards each other, their eyes locking with each other's once more. "Father, Smith, Warrior, Mother, Maiden, Crone, Stranger," they chanted together.

"I am hers, and she is mine," Edmure declared.

"I am his, and he is mine," Roslin echoed.

"From this day until the end of my days," they proclaimed together, sealing their words and souls in the sacred bond of matrimony.


Daenerys was in her tent while she waited for the others to return from Yunkai. With her were her handmaidens, Missandei and Barristan Selmy. She always found waiting to be the hardest part. To sit in her tent with idle hands while her battle was being fought without her made Daenerys feel like a child again.

The hours crept by on turtle feet. Even after Jhiqui rubbed the knots from her shoulders, Daenerys was too restless for sleep. Missandei offered to sing her a song of the Peaceful People, but Daenerys shook her head.

"Ser Barristan," she called out, and he approached her. "I cannot sleep when men are dying for me," she told him. "Tell me more of my brother Rhaegar, if you would. I liked the tale you told me on the ship of how he decided that he must be a warrior."

"Your Grace is kind to say so."

"Viserys said that our brother won many tourneys."

Barristan bowed his white head respectfully. "It is not meet for me to deny His Grace's words . . . "

"But?" Daenerys asked sharply. "Tell me. I command it."

"Prince Rhaegar's prowess was unquestioned, but he seldom entered the lists. He never loved the song of swords the way that Robert did or Jaime Lannister. He had to do it, a task the world had set him. He did it well, for he did everything well. That was his nature. But he took no joy in it. Men said that he loved his harp much better than his lance."

"He won some tourneys, surely," said Daenerys, disappointed.

"When he was young, His Grace rode brilliantly in a tourney at Storm's End, defeating Lord Steffon Baratheon, Lord Jason Mallister, the Red Viper of Dorne, and a mystery knight who proved to be the infamous Simon Toyne, chief of the Kingswood outlaws. He broke twelve lances against Ser Arthur Dayne that day."

"Was he the champion, then?"

"No, Your Grace. That honour went to another knight of the Kingsguard, who unhorsed Prince Rhaegar in the final tilt."

Daenerys did not want to hear about Rhaegar being unhorsed. "But what tourneys did my brother win?"

"Your Grace." Barristan hesitated. "He won the greatest tourney of them all."

"Which was that?" Daenerys demanded.

"The tourney Lord Whent staged at Harrenhal beside the Gods Eye, in the year of the false spring—a notable event. Besides the jousting, there was a mêlée in the old style fought between seven teams of knights, as well as archery and axe-throwing, a horse race, a tournament of singers, a mummer show, and many feasts and frolics. Lord Whent was as open-handed as he was rich. The lavish purses he proclaimed drew hundreds of challengers. Even your royal father came to Harrenhal when he had not left the Red Keep for years. The greatest lords and mightiest champions of the Seven Kingdoms rode in that tourney, and the Prince of Dragonstone bested them all."

"But that was the tourney when he crowned Lyanna Stark as queen of love and beauty!" said Daenerys. "Princess Elia was there, his wife, and yet my brother gave the crown to the Stark girl and later stole her away from her betrothed. How could he do that? Did the Dornish woman treat him so ill?"

"It is not for such as me to say what might have been in your brother's heart, Your Grace. Even though her health was delicate, Princess Elia was a good and gracious lady."

Daenerys frowned. "Viserys said once that it was my fault for being born too late." She had denied it hotly, she remembered, going so far as to tell Viserys that it was his fault for not being born a girl. He beat her cruelly for that insolence. "If I had been born more timely, he said, Rhaegar would have married me instead of Elia, and it would all have come out different. If Rhaegar had been happy in his wife, he would not have needed the Stark girl."

"Perhaps so, Your Grace." Barristan paused a moment. "But I am not certain it was in Rhaegar to be happy."

"You make him sound so sour," Daenerys protested.

"Not sour, no, but . . . there was a melancholy to Prince Rhaegar, a sense . . . " The old man hesitated again.

"Say it," she urged. "A sense . . . ?"

" . . . of doom. My queen, he was born in grief, and that shadow hung over him all his days."

Viserys had spoken of Rhaegar's birth only once. Perhaps the tale saddened him too much. "It was the shadow of Summerhall that haunted him, was it not?"

"Yes. And yet Summerhall was the place the prince loved best. He would go there from time to time, with only his harp for company. Even the knights of the Kingsguard did not attend him there. He liked to sleep in the ruined hall beneath the moon and stars, and whenever he returned, he would bring a song. When you heard him play his high harp with the silver strings and sing of twilights and tears and the death of kings, you could not but feel that he was singing of himself and those he loved."

"What of the Usurper? Did he play sad songs as well?"

Barristan chuckled. "Robert? Robert liked songs that made him laugh; the bawdier, the better. He only sang when he was drunk, and then it was like to be 'A Cask of Ale' or 'Fifty-Four Tuns' or 'The Bear and the Maiden Fair.' Robert was much—"

As one, her dragons lifted their heads and roared.

"Horses!" Daenerys leapt to her feet. Outside, she heard voices and the sounds of many horses. "Irri, go see who …"

The tent flap pushed open, and the Professor entered first, followed by Grey Worm and Daario. He was dusty and spattered with blood, but otherwise, none worse for battle. When he first saw Daenerys, he rushed over to her. He placed his hands upon her cheeks and kissed her. "They didn't believe until it was too late," he told her. "Their soldiers threw down their spears and surrendered." He smiled at her. "The city is yours."


After the wedding ceremony, everyone moved to the main dining hall, where they feasted on food and danced to the music played by the band up in the gallows.

Lord Walder Frey sat at the head of his table, accompanied by his wife and Roslin and Edmure Tully – the two newlyweds, while they watched everyone have a good time.

Catelyn Stark sat at a table with Rumplestiltskin, Roose Bolton and her uncle, Brynden. She leaned towards Brynden. "He complained about this marriage the entire ride from Riverrun," she said about her brother. "Now look at him."

"The Gods love to reward a fool."

Catelyn laughed. "Uncle."

"What? He's my nephew. I love him, but he's a damned fool."

A server came up to the table and was about to pour a drink into Roose Bolton's cup, but he placed a hand over it and shook his head, causing the server to walk away. Rumplestiltskin looked over at him. "Don't you drink, dearie?"

"I never do. It dulls the senses," Roose replied.

"That's the point," Brynden told him, raising his cup. "Didn't you marry one of these Frey girls?"

"Aye. Lord Walder let me choose any of his granddaughters and promised me the girl's weight in silver as a dowry. So I have a fat young bride." Roose laughed.

Rumplestiltskin looked over at him. "Well, dearie, at least you have a prosperous future ahead with all that silver."

Roose nodded. "True. And this alliance will secure the future of House Bolton. I can assure you of that."

Brynden looked over at the three of them. "Pardon, my Lords, my lady. I need to find a tree to piss on," he said, getting up from his seat and leaving the hall.

From another table, Robb looked on, watching as Brynden left the table and made his way out. "My mother's alone with Roose Bolton. I should rescue her," he said to Talisa.

"She still has Rumplestiltskin with her," Talisa pointed out.

"True. My father trusted him a great deal back in King's Landing."

"Besides, your mother needs rescue less than any woman I've ever met."

"Be kind," Robb told her. "She's finally starting to like you."

"And I like her. But if she had her way, I would be back in Volantis playing my harp, and you would be sitting over there, eating blackberries out of Roslin Frey's hand."

"Perhaps I've made a terrible mistake."

Talisa let out a playful gasp and moved her hand to slap Robb. But he caught her hand before she could make contact. "Striking your king is an act of treason," Robb continued. But seeing Talisa act all playful made him want to kiss her.

Talisa stopped him. "No, don't. Don't insult them," she said of the Freys. But mainly of Walder. She stroked his cheek before Lord Walder stood up at his table.

"Your Grace," he exclaimed, and the room quietened down. "The Septon has prayed his prayers, some words were said, and Lord Edmure has wrapped my daughter in a cloak. But, they are not yet man and wife. A sword needs a sheath." Most of the room laughed at Lord Walder's crude joke, and he joined in. "And a wedding needs a bedding," he then continued. "What does my sire say?"

The room erupted in a cheer. "To bed! To bed! To bed!" they chanted.

Robb stood up and approached the table that Walder Frey was sitting at. "If you think the time is right, Lord Walder, by all means." He smiled wider. "Let us bed them." And upon hearing those words, the crowd cheered and roared with excitement.

The band up in the gallows began playing a lively tune as the room erupted in the chant again: "To bed! To bed! To bed!"

A group of men walked towards the main table, helped Roslin up from her seat, and began carrying her through the banquet hall. A group of women did the same with Edmure, dragging and pushing him along in the same direction while everyone in the room watched.

Rumplestiltskin watched from where he was seated before getting up and walking over to where Catelyn and Roose were standing.

"Poor girl," commented Catelyn.

"Every bride suffers the same," Roose told her. "I'm sure you endured with grace."

"Oh, Ned forbade it. He said it wouldn't be right if he broke a man's jaw on our wedding night."

Rumplestiltskin chuckled. "Now that sounds like him," he said with a nod, watching as Roose walked away and towards another group.

Meanwhile, Talisa walked towards Robb and leaned into him. "That is a very strange custom," she told him.

"I suppose it does seem strange from a foreigner's perspective," Robb told her.

"It seems normal to you?"

"It's tradition. Without the bedding ceremony, there's no real proof the lord and lady consummated their marriage."

Talisa chuckled. "No. But there are other ways of providing proof." Slowly, she took Robb's hands and placed them on her stomach.

Robb smiled. He still couldn't believe he would be a father one day. "Boy or girl?"

"I don't know," Talisa told him. "But if it's a boy, I know what we should name him."

Robb began to laugh. "Oh, do you? It seems the father should have some say in his son's naming."

"Eddard," she told him.

Robb's eyes softened as he gazed back at his wife. "Eddard," he repeated, almost in a whisper. The name held particular weight for him. It was a way to honour his father's memory and keep his legacy alive and everything he stood for. "Eddard Stark."

Talisa smiled at him. "Wouldn't you want to teach little Ned Stark how to ride horses?"

"I do," Robb told her, kissing her deeply.

Behind them, Catelyn and Rumplestiltskin watched them with joy. "They're happy together," Rumplestiltskin said, but Catelyn's eyes were elsewhere. Her eyes followed a Frey guard approaching the banquet hall's wooden doors and closing them. Then, the band above stopped playing their lively tune, and the next one they played sent chills down her spine. She knew the song well—the Rains of Castamere.

And who are you, the proud lord said,

That I must bow so low?

Only a cat of a different coat,

That's all the truth, I know.

Everyone moved back to their seats, and Rumplestiltskin joined Catelyn Stark and Lord Roose Bolton once more at the wooden table, where he sat across from them, watching as Lord Walder Frey raised his hand to let the musicians stop playing their instruments.

"Your Grace," Walder Frey began, watching Robb move over to the middle of the room. "I feel I've been remiss in my duties. I've given you mean and wine and music, but I haven't shown you the hospitality you deserve. My king has married, and I owe my new queen a wedding gift."

Meanwhile, while Walder spoke, Catelyn Stark looked at Roose Bolton. Something about the way he was sitting didn't feel right to her. She looked over at his left arm, leaning against the table. She slowly moved her hand to it and uncovered part of the sleeve. And when she did, the sight shocked her.

Chainmail!

Who wore chainmail to a wedding? Unless … It wasn't a wedding at all. It was a trap! Roose looked over at Catelyn and smirked. Of course. It all made sense now. How he never wanted any mead. The Rains of Castamere playing, and now, the chainmail he was wearing. She stood from her seat and slapped Roose's cheek. Hard.

Rumplestiltskin looked over at Catelyn. His eyes narrowed as he watched Roose run off quickly. "What's going on?" he asked.

Catelyn ignored him. "Robb!" she called out.

Robb turned around towards his mother and Rumplestiltskin before Lothar Frey approached behind Talisa. Lothar unsheathed a small dagger and began to stab Talisa in the stomach repeatedly. Her pained cries filled the air, and the room erupted into chaos.

Archers from the rafters soon took their shots. They fired their crossbows down at the room below. One arrow shot into Robb's shoulder. Another into his back. They were trying to keep him down.

The Stark guards rose from their tables to help their king, but the archers from above them fired at them. Then, Frey men leapt into action and slashed at the Stark army.

An arrow landed on Catelyn's back, and she collapsed. She crawled under a table to hide and cower from the chaos around her.

Rumplestiltskin looked around, and he unsheathed his sword, Excalibur. The sword that he had reforged from his own dagger and the broken half of Excalibur and made it whole again. He looked around in disbelief before feeling an arrow land into his body.

Despite the searing pain, Rumplestiltskin refused to let himself fall. He clutched the arrow lodged in his side, pulled it out of his body, and made it disappear in a cloud of purple smoke. Then, with sheer determination, he pushed through the agony and focused on the task. He knew he couldn't save everyone but could ensure the Freys paid for their betrayal.

With a surge of magic flowing deep within him (and the Darkness, too), Rumplestiltskin let it amplify his strength and movements. He was swift and precise, with each swing of Excalibur striking down his foes. Blood splattered across the room as he fought, his eyes burning with an unyielding rage.

He turned around and saw Walder Frey sitting at his table, watching with sadistic glee. Then, he turned around and saw Catelyn under the table. He moved over to her and knelt beside her. He waved his hand over her back, making the arrow disappear and closing the wound.

Catelyn gasped, her eyes fluttering open as she looked up at him with gratitude and confusion. Then she looked over at Robb, who slowly crawled over to where Talisa lay. Talisa had her hand over her stomach; blood was seeping out over her hand. She wouldn't last the night. Nor would the unborn child.

Robb slowly stood and stumbled over to his wife. His eyes burned with a mix of pain, grief, and determination.

"The King in the North arises," Walder Frey said mockingly, watching Robb fall back to the ground in pain.

Robb looked down at his wife. He placed his hand over hers and felt her blood gush out. She was to be the mother of his child, and now, she was gone.

Catelyn and Rumplestiltskin looked at him. Then Catelyn's eyes moved to someone underneath Walder's table—his wife.

Picking up a small dagger, she raced over to Walder's table, dragged out his wife from under it, and forced her up. "Lord Walder!" she said, holding the dagger against Walder's wife's throat. "Lord Walder, enough! Let it end! Please. He is my son. My first son. Let him go, and I swear that we will forget this. I swear it by the old Gods and the New. We will take no vengeance."

Rumplestiltskin looked over at Catelyn. His eyes flickered with curiosity and caution as he observed Catelyn Stark's desperate plea. He had seen the depths of human pain and the lengths people would go to protect their loved ones. Catelyn's plea was one born out of a mother's agony. It was a plea that resonated with his own experiences and regrets.

He approached Catelyn. "No. I beg to differ," he said, his eyes darting from Catelyn to Walder. From what he had seen unfold, he promised himself there would be vengeance. He would take it upon himself to bring vengeance.

Walder looked over at Catelyn. "You already swore me one oath right here in my castle," he told her. "You swore by all the Gods your son would marry my daughter!"

"Take me for a hostage, then," Catelyn begged. "But let Robb go." She turned to look at Robb, still hovering over Talisa's dead body. "Robb, get up. Get up and walk out. Please! Please!"

"And why would I let him do that?" Walder asked.

Rumplestiltskin looked over at Walder, then pressed the tip of his blade against his wife's chest, and Catelyn pressed the dagger against her throat. "Then you will lose everything you care about," he said. "Starting with your wife."

"Then I'll find a way to get everything back," Walder replied, clearly unfazed by the threat. "I always do."

Robb slowly began to stand up. He turned to look at both Catelyn and Rumplestiltskin. "Mother …" he said weakly.

But before he could join Catelyn and Rumplestiltskin, Roose moved towards him. He held him close and plunged his dagger into Robb's heart. "The Lannisters send their regards," he told him, then pulled out the dagger and moved away. Blood poured out from his chest before his body collapsed to the ground.

Catelyn let out a piercing scream as she watched her son fall lifeless to the ground. Her heart shattered into a million pieces. She was consumed by grief and fury. With tears streaming down her face, she pressed the dagger harder against Walder's wife's throat and ran the blade deep into her throat. Blood gushed out, and Walder's wife fell to the ground.

Catelyn stared at her son's lifeless body. She didn't see Walder Rivers – Walder Frey's bastard son – walk towards her, a dagger in his hand, with all intention to slit her throat.

But Rumplestiltskin sprang into action. He swung Excalibur at Walder Rivers, causing him to drop the dagger before plunging his sword into his chest. He glanced over at Catelyn. "Catelyn Stark, it is not your time to die," he said, pulling Excalibur from Walder River's body.

Catelyn turned to Rumplestiltskin and nodded. She clung to him for stability, her grief and pain still raw and overwhelming. The room had fallen into an eerie silence, and the chaos was replaced by a heavy atmosphere of death and loss.

"We must go," Rumplestiltskin whispered. "There's nothing left for us here."

Catelyn nodded slowly, but she could hardly think as she gazed at Robb's lifeless body. Her firstborn son's lifeless body. First, she had lost her husband and now her son. Her heart felt like it was breaking with every passing second.

Rumplestiltskin took one last glance at the banquet hall before waving his hand. He engulfed the two of them in a cloud of maroon smoke, and when the smoke dissipated, they were gone.