Chapter 44: The Twins

300 AC

*Disclaimer: this chapter contains clear references to rape and other kinds of sexual assault.

Robett Glover

He sat on a wooden log in his camp, as he overlooked the Twins. They had been here for nine days and his troops were getting bored. Understandably so, as they sat here all day doing nothing.

They had marched from Moat Cailin seventeen days ago. It had taken them seven days to cross the Neck, due to late autumn snows. Luckily, they had had help from House Reed. Jammos Reed, Lord Howland's cousin had been ordered to help them pass when the time came.

He had helped them pick out spots to set up camp at night. He had also provided intel and fresh lizard meat. It definitely wasn't his favorite, but it was a welcome change from salted beef or stale bread.

They had immediately left after he had received word from the king to move south. The letter had existed of three important pieces of information. Firstly, his brother had been killed and he was now Lord Glover. Secondly, he had been killed by the Freys, who had betrayed them all. Thirdly, he had to move south and kill Freys before joining the main army.

When he had received the letter, he had raged and screamed. He had cursed every living Frey on the planet and the Gods knew they were many. Luckily for him, the army had been ready for months. As such, they had been able to leave the next morning and now they were sitting here.

Although it didn't seem like it, things were finally happening. This morning, the last of the Riverlander forces had finally arrived on the western bank. Some six hundred men, he guessed, from Houses Blackwood, Mallister and Paege had assembled there. He had already sent word that he wished to speak to them an hour before dusk.

The Paeges had been so kind as to bring some of their barges up the river, which made communication between the two forces much easier. He had already planned the attack and would explain the idea to the Riverlords tonight.

With some luck, he might feast on that weasel traitor's wine tomorrow evening. For now, he had to wait, just like he had done the past few days. Yet, he didn't let his army slack off. Young Lord Cley Cerwyn was drilling a regiment of men at the moment. While Ser Rodrik Cassel was making the rounds off the camp.

Those commanders were an interesting duo. The first one was a young highborn noble, who had just come into his lordship after the death of his father. He was energetic, optimistic and talented, although inexperienced. The second was an old and chiseled knight. He had been born into a lower masterly house and had served House Stark loyally for over four decades. He didn't think it possible to find a more veteran commander than that one. The Cassel knight had served in every war of the last half a century.

Still, the two of them shared a bond of some sort. Lord Cley's older sister had married Ser Rodrik's nephew and because of that they had seen much of each other these past few years. Even after Jory Cassel died, the families had continued their great relations. It was clear from the way they spoke that both doted on Jonelle Cassel and her three small children.

The children were of interesting stock too. Although they technically belonged to a small masterly house, their mother had belonged to the lordly House Cerwyn. Even more impressive was the fact that both Lady Cassel and her children were practically inseparable from House Stark. Young Prince Rickon and Princess Eddara seemed glued together with those kids.

He had long made a mental note about House Cassel. The next generation of the house would rise far above their station he was sure of it. The children were of an age with his own son and daughter, maybe he could offer to foster one in the future. If his feeling was right, it would earn him favor of not only House Cerwyn, but House Stark and some of the North's rising stars as well.

Lastly there was Torrghen Flint, third son of Lord Flint of Flint's Finger. The twenty-year-old man was loud and more than a little wild, but solid as a rock. Now he was briefing their scouts on what they had seen. He wasn't taking any risks and had send out many. They were still in enemy territory and had to behave as such.

Whatever the case may be, he could be in worse company. They were good men. All of them had lost family to the Lannisters and were determined to get their revenge. That revenge had personified itself into the wrinkled old face of Walder Frey, or at least it had for him.

He picked up his whetstone and started sharpening his sword, while thinking about his brother and how it had come to pass that he was suddenly named head of their house. Since his brother hadn't had any children yet, he had considered the fact that his son might inherit Deepwood Motte one day. Before the battle, it had also seemed as his brother Galbart had been playfully raising Gawen to that end. Yet, he had never considered getting the title for himself.

He had quickly realized the amount of responsibility that had fallen on his shoulders had been great. His house was down to only him and his son and daughter with the death of his brother. His father and cousin Ethan had died in the Rebellion and his sister had died in the birthing bed. Now the three of them were all that was left. The only real alliances they had was with the Lockes through his wife and the Hornwoods through the fostering of Larence Snow. Not a horrible position to be in, but not a great one either.

Their lands had also suffered massively from the ironborn. Thankfully, their keep hadn't fallen, but it would have still taken some damage. He imagined many of the villages around it, as well as parts of the Wolfswood, had been destroyed. It would time to rebuild those. Hopefully, most of the smallfolk had managed to survive. Many of his men had family there and he wouldn't wish it on any one to lose their family. More pragmatically, rebuilding a smallfolk population was a task that could take many years and cost them a lot. House Glover couldn't afford that.

Suddenly, his thoughts were disrupted with shouts coming from the east side of the camp. He immediately stood up and clasped his sword in his right hand as he strode over to the source of the commotion.

As he arrived at the border of their camp, he could see a few dozen were running around, while Torrghen Flint was shouting orders. He walked over to his commander and shouted. "Flint, in the name of the Gods, what is going on here?"

The man looked over to him. "My scouts have seen an enemy force three hundred strong marching on us through the woods. They will be upon us soon!" His ominous reply came.

He immediately jumped into action. "Soldiers armor up! Spear- and swordsmen to the front, archers in behind! The enemy is upon us!" He called, as he himself walked forward onto the plain next to the camp. "You there! Run as fast as you can to my command tent and get Benjicot Woods to saddle up the cavalry and right it here immediately! Shout at everyone you pass to pick their weapons and assemble here!" He called towards some soldier, who immediately ran off.

"You, run to the hornblowers and get them to signal that we're being attacked!" He shouted at another.

On the plain, their men started arriving piecemeal and he did his best to organize them in a makeshift spearwall, while Torrghen organized the archers behind. A few minutes later, they heard the horns blow the signal and he sighed a sound of relief. That feeling was cut short however, as less than a minute later the sounds were answered by hostile trumpets.

Out of the woods in front of them dozens of men started charging. Those dozens soon became hundreds. He looked around him, some two hundred men had formed up around them in all kinds of stages of ready. Some only wore boiled leather with a sword, others had their chainmail and shields with them. It didn't matter, they would have to hold.

"Archers, knock!" He shouted, as the enemy came closer. "Loose, now!" He finished a few seconds later and some three dozen arrows flew in the air. He saw a few men fall, but they were mere drops in a sea of enemies. "Archer, fire at will!"

He took place in the line, after one of his men gave him his shield. "We kill these sons of bitches now, men! Tonight, we feast in their halls upon their own wine and women!"

A roar of approval came, as he lifted his sword and looked around. Still, men were running from the camp to reinforce them. They outnumbered them greatly, they just had to hold until their whole army arrived.

"We charge!" He roared and he started running towards the enemy. He saw two enemy soldiers go down to his archers, as he ran and then he was upon them. He immediately ducked under the swing of an axe coming towards his head. Without looking back, he swung his sword to the side. The roar of pain told him he had his target and hamstrung his opponent.

He charged on, deflecting a spear with his shield and a mace with his sword in the progress. He was suddenly stopped, as a man-at-arms hit his shield against his. The blow pushed him back a couple of steps, but he still remained on his feet. He sidestepped the blow of another footman, as he blocked a sword swing of the enemy with the shield. Two opponents, it had been a while since he had fought two enemies at the same time.

He ducked under another swing and used it step inside the man-at-arms' guard. He hit the pommel of his sword in his face and heard his nose break. On instinct, he turned around and caught the mace of the footman on his shield. He counterattacked and stuck his sword in the man's belly. Before he could pull it out, he heard a roar behind him. He turned around again, just in time. The sword came down with incredible force and his shield only just managed to catch the blow.

Even then, the power behind it made him loose his footing. He fell on the ground hard but had no time to contemplate the pain in his back. He deflected another overhead swing with his shield from upon the ground. Another came, this time he rolled away from it. Leaving his shield in the dirt, he pulled out his dagger and charged the footman. The man, surprised by his sudden charge, reacted too late and he tackled him to the ground.

He managed to get on top of him and hit the man in the face twice, before deciding he was stunned enough to use his dagger. He turned the point towards his enemy and pushed it deep inside his neck. He pulled it out and quickly got up, the gurgling sound of the man choking on his own blood in the background.

He picked his sword out of the first one's belly, using it immediately to deflect an enemy blow to his head. He glanced around and realized he had charged in too deep. He was surrounded by enemy soldiers and the few men that managed to follow him were being cut down. He slowly fought his way back to the line, knocking an enemy spearman into the dirt on his way there.

Suddenly, he saw two Flint men struggling against five enemies. He knocked away the sword of the Haigh swordsman, he was currently fighting, and ran towards them. He managed to run his sword through one of them, before the others realized he was there. He let the lifeless body fall to the ground, as he started fighting two of them at once with his dagger and sword at the same time.

He managed to hold them off but couldn't find the time to deal a blow himself. He kicked one back and sidestepped the other's swing and threw his dagger in the leg of one of the enemies still assailing the Flint men. "Get your friend out of here!" He shouted towards the one who didn't seem wounded.

The Flint man obeyed and pulled the other under his arm as he deflected a blow towards them. He himself deflected three more swings meant to kill him, before walking back and shielding the Flint men's retreat.

He didn't know how many he was fighting at once, as he just kept deflecting swords, spears and axes on instinct. Two managed to get past his guard. One caught his left arm and the pain there indicated nothing good, the other one just glanced of his chainmail at his shoulder. He was getting tired and feared he couldn't hold on much longer, but suddenly he was surrounded by men wearing his house's colors.

"My lord, we had feared you lost!" A man shouted, as he pulled him towards him. To his surprise he recognized him as Cregan Bole, one of his vassals and lifelong companions. His vassal deflected a blow aimed towards him and shouted for some foot soldiers to take their place in the line, as he pulled him out of the fighting.

"Robett, you are wounded!" Cregan gasped in surprise. He looked over to his left arm and remembered the blow that had went past his guard. "I'll be fine.' He grunted.

"No, you need help! Come with me, now." His friend insisted. "No, we need to win this fight first!" He replied. However, just then Benjicot woods rode out of the camps with dozens of riders. They smashed into the right side of the enemy and suddenly the battle changed. "Onwards men, fucking kill them!" He heard Ser Rodrik Cassel scream from somewhere.

Slowly, but surely, he saw they started pushing the enemy back as fresh soldiers from inside the camp kept reinforcing their line. The battle would soon be over, he recognized. He had nothing to contribute here anymore, so he went willingly back to the camp with his friend.

The son of Lord Bole put him down in front of a tent and started helping him with pulling off his leather and chainmail armor. After all the leather straps were undone, he helped pull the chainmail over his head and the effort greatly stung in his arm. His friend picked up a wine sack from around the campfire and handed it to him against the pain. He drunk deeply, as he gritted his teeth against the pain.

Cregan cut of the sleeve of his undergarments and looked upon the wound. "It looks worse than it is, my lord." He finally said, after inspecting the wound for a while. He looked over towards it and saw fresh blood was still flowing out. The blood looked clean, which was at least a good sign.

Without any hesitation, the man cut off a piece of what looked like some soldier's blanket and started binding it over the wound. After a while, he seemed satisfied and got up. "The wound looks clean and this will stop the bleeding. It will leave a scar, but otherwise you'll be fine." His friend said. "You lost some blood though, maybe some rest will do you good."

"I can rest after this mess is dealt with." He grunted, as he got up. Without a word, he started to walk back towards the plain where the fighting had taken place.

As he moved across it. Lord Cerwyn stopped him. "Where are you coming from Robett? Got scared and ran away from the battle?" The young noble laughed, although it was clear he was joking.

"That mad man running away from the fight, you dumb Cerwyn?" He heard Torrghen Flint shout, before he could answer. The noble walked over towards them, as he kept shouting. "That crazy suicidal maniac over here charged through the enemy lines at the start of the battle. While most of us were immediately stopped in our tracks, that fucker just kept going! It was as if the sea of enemies split open to let him through and swallow him up afterwards. Everyone thought him lost, until he suddenly popped op out of nowhere, helping two of my men to safety! What happened and how the fuck did you manage that Glover?" He finally finished, clear astonishment in his eyes and voice.

"I don't know." He just shrugged. "We had to stall them until the rest of the army could join us, so I just charged. I fought off more than a few enemy soldiers there, before I realized I had charged in too deep. As I tried to manage a fighting retreat, I stumbled upon those men of yours and tried taking them back with me. It got me this though." He explained, as he gestured towards the bloodied cloth bound around his arm.

Both nobles looked upon his wound. "Is it any bad?" Young Lord Cerwyn asked. "Nay, the wound is clean. It hurts like a bitch, though." He answered. Torrghen laughed aloud at that. "All the more reason to drink tonight, good man!" He said as he clasped his good shoulder.

"Not tonight, Flint. I have a meeting with the Riverlords across the river tonight. You are free to join me for it." He replied to his commander.

"Really? You are no fun, are you Glover? You are already the main commander of the force and the king isn't here to impress. You just won a battle, live and celebrate a little." Torrghen scoffed.

"I will celebrate only when I have the blood of Walder Frey running through my fingers, Flint. I will drink you all senseless after we take the Twins' wine cellar and I have a cup, made out of its traitorous lord's scalp, in my hand. Not before that, do you understand?" He replied grimly.

"Aye", both young nobles replied. "Good, now I expect you to join me tonight Flint. Earn yourselves the wine we'll be drinking soon." He said as he walked away to find Ser Rodrik for a full analysis of the fight.

(Two days later)

They had had to postpone his plans for a day because of the attack from Houses Haigh and Erenford. Now they were all ready.

His army had been secretly assembled in the dark, as they were waiting for the force on the other bank to make their move. They had ladders, grappling hooks and even a battering ram at the ready, but for now they were crouched in the dark behind the border of their camp.

After a while, a lot of torches could be seen across the river, as the Riverlords started their attack. Still, they remained silent. They wanted to pull away most of the Frey garrison to the western castle, after which they would storm and take the eastern one.

Soon, the sounds of fighting could be heard on the western bank. He knew the Riverlords could not sustain the attack, yet he had to wait a little longer to give the Freys from the eastern castle the ability to reinforce their western counterparts.

After some ten to fifteen minutes had passed, he got up and shouted for his men to attack. In the blink of an eye, dozens of torches were lit all around him as the battering ram started moving. They crossed the distance between the camp and the castle with speed. Once they were close to the walls, dozens of men quickly pulled large wooden panels and planks over the moat, as planned. After judging at least part of the makeshift bridges stable, the siege ladders moved up. Soon all six of them were put to the walls, as dozens of grappling hooks were swung over the walls.

He could only see a few archers and men-at-arms on the walls, but they certainly wouldn't be able to stop the eighteen hundred men charging at them. Due to his wound, climbing the ladders wasn't an option. As such, he stayed with the siege ram. Torrghen and Lord Cerwyn would storm the walls in his place. All the while, Ser Rodrik stayed back with four hundred heavy infantrymen. The moment the gates were opened, these fresh men would storm through and charge right towards the keep to block reinforcements from the other castle getting here. The path towards the bridge ran through the keep so that was their first priority.

Some minutes passed and the fighting on the walls was coming closer and closer towards the gatehouse, as more of his men climbed the ropes and ladders every second. In the meantime, they kept pounding on the gates, but it wouldn't budge. The longer they did so, the higher their casualties were mounting. He imagined more and more Frey soldiers were reinforcing the gatehouse, as could be seen by the increased number of projectiles coming through the murder holes.

He waited and waited, but the gate was very slowly started deteriorating. Suddenly, he saw the Frey flags on the gatehouse being torn down and fighting was heard behind the gate. He signaled for Ser Rodrik and his detachment to move closer and true enough, the gate was opened moments late.

The heavy infantry charged as ordered, simply pushing many of the remaining Freys to the ground for him and his men behind to finish off afterwards. He saw how a few dozen men from the walls had been holding off a larger group of Freys in the courtyard, long enough to open the gates. Now, Ser Rodrik was just charging through both groups right towards the keep and the courtyard turned into a chaotic melee.

He led his men forward against the scattered Freys, trying as best to occupy them so Ser Rodrik's group could advance. He cut of a Frey knight's sword hand, as he stabbed a footman in the leg from behind. He had to hold back in this battle, as his wound bothered him and didn't allow him to wield a shield.

They had more than enough men to make up for that though and he concentrated on leading them. He ordered his men to spread out and overwhelm the enemies left in the courtyard. The disciplined and loyal Northmen immediately followed his orders and got to work.

After parrying another spearman, that had run at him, and pushing him in the hands of three of his men-at-arms, he looked around once more. It looked like Ser Rodrik had managed to force his way into the keep, while Flint and Cerwyn had secured the walls. He shouted towards Torrghen, who had come down from the walls, to take care of the handful of Freys remaining.

Gathering dozens of men around him, he charged inside the keep. Ser Rodrik would have to hold the bridge, while he would clear out the castle. He ran past the bodies of the Freys, who had tried to hold here, and told his soldiers to spread out. They had received orders to kill every male Frey on sight, all but one. Lord Walder was his. All women and children were to be brought to the Great Hall.

He ran towards the Great Hall to secure it and quickly disposed himself of the two men he met in the halls. He knocked open the doors and what he found didn't disappoint. There sat Lord Walder, surrounded by dozens of his breed. Most of those were women and children, but some fighting men remained.

One approached him and his men. He held a sword in hand, although it didn't look like he knew how to use it. "I am Ser Edwyn Frey, heir to the Twins. We hereby surrender in your custody, Lord Glover. We hope you will threat us …" He started to say, he just laughed in response. He remembered this prick from all the months he had stayed here. Killing him would be a pleasure.

He stepped forward and viciously slashed his sword across the man's neck. While Ser Edwyn, or whatever his name was, chocked to death on the floor beside him, he turned towards the other Freys. "You killed my brother by stabbing him in the back and almost lost us this war. Surrender will not help you now." It felt good to stab Black Walder's brother. An eye for an eye and a tooth for a tooth like the saying went.

He turned towards his soldiers. "Get rid of the men, take the women and children into custody." Dozens of his soldiers started moving forward as he walked towards Lord Walder, sitting in his massive black oaken chair.

The old weasel looked down at him in horror, as he simply swatted away a young Frey that tried to stop him from reaching the Lord of the Crossing. He had first thought of letting the young boy, who couldn't be older than fifteen years of age, lay there but thought better of it. He picked the boy up at his neck, as he dragged him in front of Lord Frey.

"See, the end you brought to House Frey, Old Walder." He spit at him as he cut the boy's throat.

"R-Robert, how? Why? You monster!" The once so proud Lord Walder proclaimed. His inevitable end seemed to finally tone down the old man.

"That boy wasn't the first and won't be the last Frey to die today. Your line of upstart toll collectors is at an end, Walder. The only good thing making so many sons did you, is that you will get to see them all die in front you, old man. Look around you, tell me what you see." He called back.

Both glanced around and could see how multiple Freys were being killed around them. Others had already turned into nothing more than opened bodies on the floor. All men and older boys were cut down, while his men were hoarding the women together. A few looking greedily upon some of the prettier ones.

"This is all people will ever remember of House Frey. A pile of bodies inside two castles next to a bridge. That's all people will speak of in a hundred years." He grinned. "They might even speak of me, who did it. The lord, who was never supposed to be one in the first place. The Glover lord avenging his betrayed brother. I hope they'll sing of how I enjoyed this." He laughed as he walked up to the Old Frey lord.

Having spotted the dagger, Lord Walder held his hand behind his back, from miles away, he quickly twisted the man's arm to make it fall to the floor. After that, he dragged the old man from his seat by his hair and threw him upon the ground in the middle of the hall. "You can't do this! I am a lord! I have rights!" The scared weasel screamed out.

"Oh, you haven't heard? King Robb has stripped you and all Freys from all of your lands and titles. All your holdings and belongings are to be confiscated. You are nothing more than a treasonous old beggar. You are no lord and have no rights. No one will come to save you and if they do, they meet the same fate as your family will." He laughed and some of his men joined in, now they had finished their killing. Many of his sworn houses had lost kin with his brother in Atranta. It was not only about his revenge. It was the whole of the army that thirsted for it, they all wanted it.

He looked around the women and children gathered. He remembered the king's letter had mentioned to not harm any of the children or women who had originally come from loyal houses from the Riverlands or the Vale. He had also specifically mentioned a Roslin Frey and that she wasn't to be harmed. He wasn't the one to question his king's commands, so he would do as ordered. Besides, there were more than enough Freys left for all of their revenge after he got all of those out.

The women kept screaming him to spare them and their children. He had ignored it before, but now he turned to them. He called out. "None of the small children will be harmed. You have my word." In response an older woman spit at him. "Your word, you just slit the throat of a fourteen-year-old boy and we have to believe your word?"

He walked over to her. "Even after splitting the throats of a hundred fourteen-year-old boys, my word will still be worth a dozen times more than that of a Frey. I remember your men arriving too late at the Trident. I heard how your old lord here refused to rally to Riverrun at his liege lord's command at the start of this war. I was here when he demanded conditions for joining our army, even if it was being led by the grandson of his liege with the objective of freeing Riverrun. I was there when Ser Stevron and his son swore their oaths to King Robb. My brother was killed because the Freys broke their word and stabbed the King's army in the back. Don't you ever dare to lecture me on my word, Frey! That goes for any of you!" He shouted as he looked over the scared faces of the Frey woman.

The one who had spoken had the decency to look ashamed and somewhat scared, so he left it at that.

"As I was saying, none of the children will be harmed. Now, is there a Roslin Frey in the room?" He asked aloud, as some of his soldiers were coming in with more women and children in tow.

"Here she is!" A woman in her mid-twenties said in a vile tone as she pushed a shy and comely maid forward. The woman who had pushed her had the unmistakable weasel expression of a Frey and he disliked her already. This family really was disgusting. She gave up her kinswoman, for no reason at all.

He signaled to two of Glover men standing to the side. "You two, you make sure she remains unharmed. Anyone put a hand on her, they lose it. Orders from the king himself." The two soldiers nodded dutifully, as they led Lady Roslin to a corner of the hall.

"Now keep everyone here unharmed until I return, I have a few more Freys to kill." He called out and his men laughed in reply.

All in all, it took less than half an hour to finish off the last hundred or so Freys that were left when he returned. They managed to hold the bridge for a while, but when the Riverlanders managed to take control of the western castle it was over. Around fifty had surrendered, all of those belonging to Houses Frey, Haigh or Erenford would be executed tomorrow. The others would be sent to the Wall.

The Riverlanders had already started raiding the western castle under Lord Brynden Blackwood, who had lost his father at Atranta because of the Freys. He let them to it, as he knew the Frey family lived in the eastern castle. He tried his best to ignore the screams of the women coming out of the castle, as he walked back over the bridge. Most of those would have been innocent serving women, but that was war.

When he got back in the Great Hall, he saw the group of women and children had more than doubled since his arrival. "Has the whole castle been searched?" He asked Benjicot Woods, one of his vassals. "Aye, my lord. Some were even found hiding in the stables beneath piles of hay."

He nodded in response, before slowly walking over the dark oak wooden chair of the Lord of the Crossing and he sat himself down to the shock of most of the Freys in attendance.

"Now, my king ordered me to keep all of the children and the wives, who once belonged to loyal houses, safe. So, anyone here, who was born into one of those houses, step forward. I will not ask again." He ordered.

Many women stepped forward, too many. He immediately recognized some of the liars. He pointed them out, while others helped. Most of his men had stayed at the Twins with him before taking Moat Cailin, so most of his commanders knew a lot of the noble members of the family.

After a while they had split the women into two groups. The children were brought with the wives to one side. "What will happen to us?" A Frey girl asked, who he recognized as "Gatehouse Ami". This was in turn supported by the beautiful girl next him, Fair Walda as he remembered, and many others.

"You know," He started speaking, as he stood up. "the great boon of lingering around this dreadful castle for months is the fact that I heard many rumors about your family. I heard all about you, Gatehouse Ami, or you Fair Walda. Some of the rumors you share together, not exclusively. No, others have done it too." He said as he walked down into the Great Hall.

"The rumors I heard about you were that the both of you have slept with your cousin 'Black' Walder on more than one occasion, isn't that right?" He said slowly, but loud enough for the whole of the room to hear. The booming laughter and crude remarks that rose up from the room proved that they had indeed all heard it.

The girls' color on their cheeks changed to a flaming red, as the room amused themselves with their fate. "Your reaction tells me those rumors were true." He chuckled. "Can I tell you another secret? This one you may not know."

He looked at the girls, both either too ashamed or afraid to respond this time. "My brother was stabbed to death by 'Black' Walder Frey." He explained, as his tone turned grim. At this revelation, more than a few women's faces fell. "Now the fact that none of you were shy about opening your legs to your murderous cousin, tells me you won't mind doing the same for my men, right? I think they deserve it, as a reward, after a long day of fighting."

Now, the whole room turned grim. Almost all men were making lecherous comments, as the boldest among them tried to grab ahold of one of the women already. "You, you can't do this! We're noblewomen!" Fair Walda shouted. "Oh, we can and we will. Look around you, my lady." He responded, mockingly emphasizing the noble title. "All of these men lost friends or kin at Atranta, all of them want revenge. I will not deny it to them, nor will I deny them some fun with the daughters and sisters of the men that slew their brothers and fathers."

"You, you can't do this! Please spare me. I will tell you who orchestrated it, I will tell you everything! I'm innocent, please!" A woman, sporting the Frey features, begged, as she went to her knees.

"Innocent, huh? Let me tell you another story. I received word from a vassal of mine. After the battle, they found letters. Some stupid Frey, forgotten to history, thought it was a good idea to write about was going to happen with his wife and daughter. Of course, those letters weren't sent by raven, so you could speak openly, right? A lot of damning evidence was in there. About who thought what and who all knew. A lot of names were in those letters apparently. Half of you knew what was going to happen and none of you said a damn word. You are all traitors to your liege lord and to your king in my eyes and you will be treated as such, am I clear?" He responded.

He saw most of the women cower away, as others started to cry or scream. He ignored them all, as he looked over to Lord Walder. He walked over to him and dragged the old weasel back up to his high seat. Afterwards, he pushed a piece of cloth into his mouth, to make him shut up. He bound his hands and feet to the chair, before turning around to the hall.

"The lord of the castle is sitting in his seat, so I think the feast can begin now! Wine from Lord Walder's cellar is already being brought up for all of you and more will be brought into the courtyard later. Enjoy yourselves, you have all earned it! I only ask one thing of you. If any of you want to take one of these lovely ladies with you to show them a good time, don't do it in one of the halls. I heard many feather beds have recently become available in this castle so I would urge you to make the most of it!" He proclaimed and he was met with a roar of approval.

Almost immediately, some of the men jumped into action. While most looked extremely pleased, some like young Lord Cerwyn looked at him in disgust. He was young, he would get used to the realities of war soon enough. Ser Rodrik just looked stoically in front of him, as he left the hall alone.

Most of the other nobles did partake in his offerings. Torrghen threw Fair Walda over his shoulder, while he held a goblet of wine in his other hand and walked out of the hall towards the Frey's sleeping quarters. Cregan Bole managed to procure himself Gatehouse Ami, while Benjicot Woods carried brownhaired Alyx Frey off in his arms. He wasn't surprised that his captains had taken some of the better looking Freys for themselves.

After getting a cup of wine, he walked over towards the bound form of Lord Walder and whispered in his ear. "Behold the glory that awaits House Frey, my lord."

It was midday and a beautiful cool autumn sun shone on the twin castles. All of his important men had gathered around him, while hundreds of soldiers wanted to see it too. The whole of the courtyard and all of the walls were lined up with armed men who wanted to see the death of Lord Walder and the last of his adult sons and grandsons. If it had been his to decide, he would have killed all males in the castle from the youngest baby to old Walder. However, it wasn't his. His king had made it clear that no child was to be harmed and so it would be.

The nine traitors were lined up for him to see. Six of them were Freys, two were Erenfords and one was a Haigh. They would all die today. He would personally make sure of that.

The Riverlords had looked at him with big eyes an hour ago when he had told them he would swing the axe himself. These Andals didn't know their ways of course. The only one that seemed to understand somewhat was the new Lord Blackwood, Brynden he was called. In the eldest son of Lord Tytos, like in all Blackwoods, the blood of the First Men still flowed.

He swung the axe around a few times in his hands to get used to the weapon, before the first traitor was brought up. "What's your name?" He asked.

"Steffon Frey", the man replied. He nodded. "Steffon Frey, you are hereby convicted of high treason against the king by betraying his army and colluding with the enemy. I, Robett Glover the lord of Deepwood Motte, sentence you to death in the name of His Grace, King Robb Stark. Do you have any last words?"

"I-I had nothing to do with this I swear, I swear! Please spare me, please! I beg you to let me go!" The man cried. He looked upon him with disdain. These Freys were even shit at dying, it seemed. So be it. He nodded to the guard standing next to the Frey and he pushed his head down on the block.

"Please, no. No! Please let me go, let me go!" The man cried out, as he tried to struggle away, but it had no use. The guard pinned him in his back, so he couldn't leave the tree trunk that made its use as an executioner block today.

He took a deep breath and raised the axe in the sky. He quickly glanced over to old Lord Walder, before breathing out while he swung the axe with all his might. The pain in his arm flared, but it had been enough. He saw how the crying man's head was rolling in the dirt across the yard and let out a sigh.

"Next!", he called stoically. So, it went on for a while, until only Lord Walder was left. Some had screamed, some had cried, while others had stayed silent. The only memorable death had been from the lame Frey, Lother he thought he was called. He had cursed his family and laughed with his brother's death, saying he would be glad to kill him again in the afterlife. At least one Frey who knew how to die, he supposed. It had made the swing of his axe all the more satisfying.

At last, Lord Walder was brought up. He looked like he could die of a heart attack any second, but he wouldn't let that happen. This morning, more evidence had been found against the old Lord of the Twins. His correspondence with the Lannisters had just been laying around his solar.

He couldn't resist saying something, when he looked at the bitter old man. "Don't worry, Frey. Where you'll be going you won't be alone. Half your family will be waiting there for you."

Those old eyes just looked up at him, devoid of any emotion. It seemed like the feast from the day before had finally broken the old man. Good, that was what he deserved.

"Walder Frey, you are hereby convicted of high treason against the king by betraying his army and colluding with the enemy. You are also convicted of the treasonous murder of dozens of nobles from both the North and the Riverlands. I, Robett Glover the lord of Deepwood Motte, sentence you to death in the name of His Grace, King Robb Stark. Do you, as the last Lord of the Twins, have any last words?"

The old man lifted his head a little, as it was mentioned he would be the last lord of his house, but said nothing. "Very well", he said and lifted his axe. He closed his eyes a little and when he opened them again, he inhaled and whispered. "This one's for you, brother."

Then the axe came down. Moments later, Lord Walder Frey was no more.

This is it for this chapter!

A new POV, as the vengeful new Lord of Deepwood Motte settles his affairs with House Frey. He doesn't have it easy. He is first ambushed by some of the Frey's vassals and afterwards he has to take the Twins by force.

The aftermath is brutal, but most of the men were out on revenge. The contingents of Houses Glover and Flint were hit very hard in Atranta by the Freys/Vyprens and the Cerwyns lost a lot because of the Lannisters. All males ages 13-14 and up are put to the sword or executed. The females, although still alive, also suffer a horrible fate.

Lord Robett's bloodthirst is clearly visible, while still obeying Robb's commands. If you wonder why Roslin Frey is kept safe, it is because Olyvar asked Robb for the safety of his sister.

Hope you could stomach this brutal chapter. It was very weird to write it, but a very harsh response had to be done.

Fannic

Reviews:

Kingmanaena: Thank you!

Mlcoolc86: Glad you like it! I have plans like these for almost every region, but I try to spread them out in the story when possible to make sure it's not too much at the same time.

OneDocToHealThemAll: Thank you! Glad you enjoyed it! The Tyrells are interesting. Tarly could still win it all and they know it. The questions they will ask themselves will be: can we fight the Starks and the Greyjoys at the same time and is it worth it?

Kuman: Over half the names were pure canon and I have to assume everyone knows them. Only the characters at the end for marriages and two or so others weren't (or were previously mentioned in my story). I remember the first time reading the books and I had to go check constantly who all those people were, but I liked Asoiaf like that. It makes the world bigger more realistic in my opinion. It was one of the things I always missed in the show. Littlefinger will be heard of, if he were to die it will surely be mentioned.

Iacopo Passerini: Jaime's secrets will die with him. I did this intentionally, as it is often the same in the real world. Thank you for the kind words!

Jmknz777: Thanks!

Wolflord456: Yes, they do. It is a much easier to journey by ship to Eastwatch anyway, so they'll bring them like that. Yes, you're right about Allyria Dayne, I'm sorry!

George Christian810: You'll have to wait and see, but none of the victorious lords will defect when they have to gain so much and are on the brink of victory. I don't like plot armor, as you know (E.g. Rickard Karstark, Jaime & Tyrion Lannister, …). Some people are cockroaches that seem to survive things, but no obvious plot armor here (or not intentionally anyway).

Alfil94: Thank you! Along the story, the other regions will try to do this as well. Yes, I am always really annoyed when people don't take morale into account. Most battles are won through the other side running away, not by overpowering everyone.

Well, Littlefinger stands to lose everything in the Vale, not all of his belongings. However, as he is from the Vale a big portion of his wealth is concentrated there with another big part in the Crownlands I would think. Smaller investments in the Riverlands, Reach, … etc. seem entirely possible, but I'll have to think about that. He didn't really take much of the money, he mostly took contracts and secrets with him. He might flee to Essos or he might be caught, we'll see.

The Manderlys are joined by House Locke and House Flint of Widowswatch, not by the Skagosi. The latter are on their way to reinforce the Wall, more on them later.

The Sisters could only go to the North, if they had fought against each other. Taking them now would alienate all of the Vale lords. Although some special privileges could be negotiated, you'll have to see.