Author's Notes: Hey everyone, sorry it took me so long to update. Here we go.
The next day the whole of the keep was abuzz with what had happened the night before. Rumors were flying throughout the Twins as to whom or what had caused the death of Lord Frey. The one that Sansa liked the most was the one that said that he had been killed by the ghosts of those who had died during the Red Wedding. Those who said this pointed to the howling of the wolves, the symbol of the Starks, when Lord Walder died.
Also of interest to her, though she was careful to hide it, was the fact that there seemed to be no clear heir. Walder's oldest son had died fighting alongside her brother and he had not named a definite heir. According to her husband the Freys would all be at each other's throats over Walder's titles as soon as the funeral was done. And, as he explained it, the winner would be the one who gained the Lannisters support.
Though everyone knew she had no sorrow in her heart over his death Sansa, as the wife of one of the Small Council, was expected to show an appropriate level of decorum. Not having foreseen a funeral she had no mourning cloths so some had to be made for her. As she waited for the seamstress to come to her two men entered.
Both were tall men but one was far burlier than the other. The thinner one was the older with a stringy gray beard and a face that made her think of a rat. The younger one had a protruding jaw and a slightly dim expression.
The older one looked at her and sneered. "You, wolf-girl, where is your lord?"
Sansa flushed at the remark but quickly rallied. She refused to be intimidated. She decided to take pride in what he had called her. I am a wolf; she thought viciously, the wolf that tore the throat from your lord.
Drawing herself up to her full height she looked him in the eye and tried to put on a look as haughty and disdainful as the Queen. "My husband is not here, you shall have to wait; or if you prefer I shall give him your petition."
"My petition?" He asked, a confused look on his face.
"Yes, your petition. It's clear that you, like the rest of your brood, are here sniffing around for the Lannisters support for Walder's titles, in the same way he begged for them in the first place."
Their faces twisted in anger. "You will not speak of my father like that. Your brother did not respect him either and see where that got him."
The words stung like a lash but she refused to show pain to them. "Yes, my brother dishonored your family. But you could not have had much honor to begin with or my husband's father would not have been able to buy so many of you so cheaply!"
"You dare…" The larger one began.
"I do dare," Sansa interrupted; "Because I am now of the Lannister family and the Lannisters own you. Lord Tywin bought you like so many slaves. So I and any other Lannister may speak to you, or of you, as we please. And you will take it, smile while you do it and like the dung from our shoes when we command it because you have no choice.
"You have no honor now and no other lord will have you. Your wealth, lands and titles are all yours do to the good grace of the Lannisters. Oh, one more thing for your considerations Frey. My brother is dead and the North subdued, the Lannisters don't really need you anymore and associating with you does their reputation little good. Lord Tywin might very well decide that House Lannister would be better served by replacing you with someone…less tainted by treachery."
They both stared at her. Both had looks of rage on their faces but the older one seemed disturbed by her words, though he was clearly trying to hide it. Before he could say anything the other one pushed him aside and rushed at her. She had half expected this and was prepared. It would hurt; he was bigger than any of the King's Guard save the Hound. However, he had no mail gauntlet on so maybe it would not hurt as much. Besides, a bruise or two might be useful.
"What is the meaning of this!?" Tyrion demanded as he entered the room, Sir Bronn in tow.
"Why dear husband," Sansa said in a polite voice before either of the Frey could speak; "These gentlemen came to see you. As they were waiting we were discussing the line of succession. I fear the issue became rather heated. I fear I may have inadvertently give offence, as the Queen has said, I am rather stupid regarding such matters."
"Why you lying little…" The larger one growled advancing toward her.
In a movement that seemed almost casual Sir Bronn was between them, his had casually falling to rest near his knife hilt. "Careful now," he said jovially; "We're not wedding guests here after all."
The older Frey placed a hand on the others shoulder restraining him. He turned to shoot Tyrion a poisonous look. "Your father shall hear of this Imp." With that they stormed from the room.
Tyrion looked after them for a moment. "Well, that was rather disappointing."
"What was?" Sir Bronn asked, his confusion mimicking Sansa's.
"Calling me 'Imp' and threatening to tattle on me to Papa. I have always heard that Aenys Frey was both cruel and clever, frankly I was hoping for more. Well, his father did just die so I suppose allowances have to be made."
Author's Notes: Hey everyone sorry I have not updated sooner. I hope you all liked it easy on blood and gore but as I have said before I want her to win more by cunning than brute force. I want to know for those of my readers who are only watching the show how liberal do you want me to be with spoilers, please let me know in the reviews. That's it for now please pray for the kidnapped Americans off of Nigeria, the earthquake in the Philippines, the missing hiker in Washington, the families of the recent shootings, the family of Andy Lopez, who was shot by police who thought he was armed and all others who need prayers. Bye for now and may Jesus bless you all.