HEy my lovely ones! I'm super super excited for this next chapter! Thank you guys for all the support and comments, and alerts and favs and I hope you enjoy this chapter as much as I enjoyed writing it

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P.s-soooo who else is excited for Sunday? I am :'O

Chapter 29: The Crossing

Theon's arrow hit the raven with a distant 'thwack' and the bird fell to the earth, black wings fluttering before it struck down, a limp black mass of feathers. Sylvia watched with strange curiosity as it's wing twitched a little before the Greyjoy took it up by the shaft of the bolt.

Their party stood a fair distance from the Twins, the bridge-castle seat of House Frey. They had only arrived a few hours before, and Old Walder Frey had yet to send out riders. Sylvia could feel the impatience rolling off Robb in waves the longer the gates stayed shut to them. The castle showed no sign of life at all, apart from the ravens sent out from the towers every so often. Each one was shot down as soon as it came into range.

"It's a message for his grandniece, Walda." Robb said, crumbling the message in his hands. He turned to his mother, meeting her eyes.

"Or so Old Walder would have you believe." Theon voiced, tossing the dead bird away. Sylvia followed it's form, watching it drop limply to the dry grass. She felt sorry for the poor creature. It had only been doing it's duty and had died for it.

The birds were meant to taunt them, a reminder of the power Old Walder held.

"Freys aren't clever enough for codes so delicate." Sylvia murmured, eyes flickering back up to the castle. She would not say, but once or twice she had heard her grandfather speak poorly of the Freys, her great-aunt Genna's husband in particular. If the man were of great stock, her grandfather would have no need to lament his sisters marriage. Looking at the bridge now, Sylvia could not say she was unimpressed. The river was wide and the waters were rough, but the seat of House Frey stood tall and firm, the only way to cross the river safely through their gates. "But in any case, keep shooting them down."

Robb had ten times the numbers of what Walder Frey had. He could take the castle if he willed it, charge the castle with one of the northern lords and continue on.

"Yes. We can't risk him getting word of your movements to the Lannisters." Lady Stark spoke to her son.

"He's grandfather's bannerman. We can't rely on him for support?" her husband spoke to his mother, sounding perplexed.

"He's not sent out an emissary, and we've been here for hours. Likely, he wants something." Sylvia said softly, feeling a little like an intruder. And yet, Robb hadn't ordered her to keep back. Rather, he'd pulled her with him to the front when they came across the lifeless, dreary little castle.

"My lady is right," came the gruff voice of Lord Umber. Sylvia would always be grateful to him for his loyalty, especially since he showed no unease around her. "Expect nothing from Walder Frey and you will never be disappointed." Good advice, Sylvia supposed. But Walder Frey was a subservient of the Tully's and should be compliant and accommodating.

Suddenly, the thrum of hooves broke through the air, and just at the base of the hill, emerging from the gates, were Frey knights, riding with a white banner.

She felt Robb stir beside her, like a wolf pacing in it's cage, wanting so badly to break into a sprint, and catch something meaty and squirming in its jaws. He wanted to take the castle, she realized, pleased that he wanted the same as she did, though he had to exercise far more restraint.

"Father rots in a dungeon." He murmured. "How long is it until they take his head?"

Her eyes flickered towards him, watching his face as he glared out at the approaching riders. "They won't." she assured softly, her words for him alone. She did not want to make such a promise to all his men, it was too intimate. If he heard her, he did not show it. Almost at once, Theon voiced his reply.

"Then march up and demand the old man let you pass. You have at least five times their men. You can take his castle if you have to." Theon's voice sounded reasonable, without the tinge of hunger that came when a man wanted a good fight. For a moment, Sylvia found herself trying to dissect Theon's motives. Was he a battle hungry boy? Trying his hand at astute council? She had never fully trusted the son of the would-be king of the Iron Islands, but time had softened her some, and she found herself agreeing with him. Eagerly.

"I agree." She chirped, wondering if her voice sounded as keen to other ears as it did to hers.

"There isn't enough time," Lord Glover replied. "Tywin Lannister marches north as we speak. By the time you're finished with them, we'll be too exhausted to meet them head-on."

Catelyn put an end to the hasty battle plans, and Sylvia was thankful. "The Freys always collect their toll, as they have for the last six hundred years." The price, however, remained to be seen. Until the old man sat with one of Robb's generals and negotiated a settlement.

But Robb did not hesitate. "Have my horse saddled and ready." He ordered Theon. His orders silenced them for a moment, and even Theon did not move. Sylvia swallowed dryly. She wanted to protest, but she swallowed down her words like bitter bile. It was not her place to refute him first, as his wife. Instead, the ladylike thing was to wait for his men to voice their opinions and then offer her own.

"Enter the Twins alone and he'll sell you to the Lannisters as he likes." Lord Umber warned.

"Or throw you in a dungeon." Theon said. Their lord was silent as he thought of his options, all of them watching as the knight rode closer, no doubt coming to collect who would have an audience with Lord Frey. She hated that the old man was in such a powerful position at present.

"They're right," she spoke softly to her husband. His head turned slightly in her direction, acknowledging he'd heard her. "Within their walls, you're surrounded and they can do as they wish." For a moment, Sylvia thought of going herself. The old man did not know her, likely did not trust her. She could be sweet, flattering, building him so high that he took whatever measly promises she made to make him let Robb pass. But the old man knew her name, her mother's name. Mother would have him and his entire family flogged if they dared take her prisoner…But mother was all the way in Kings Landing, and Robb would be delayed. She worried her lips.

"I will go." Catelyn said suddenly, reserved and determined. At once, the men around them refused, while Sylvia watched her good-mother carefully. The lady was resolute. "I have known Lord Walder since I was a girl. He would never harm me."

"Unless there was a profit in it." Lord Umber grumbled lowly. Finally, the riders came to a halt, looking at Robb with faces set in stone.

"Lord Robb." One of them, a brown bearded man with a nose too wide for his face. "Lord Walder Frey requests an audience, to discuss the terms of a crossing."

"A man loyal to his liege lord would let us cross without demanding a toll." Lord Umber the bold griped.

"You march on the Lannisters," Wide Nose pointed out.

"We march to free my husband and bring my daughters home." Lady Stark replied, impassioned but with a kindness that Sylvia knew made people listen and believe her. Her mouth twitched up in a grin. Angry as she was with Catelyn, she still had a tender spot in her heart.

Wide Nose paused, "In any case, please saddle your horse and be ready, Lord Robb."

"I will not be going." Lord Robb's voice was cold as steel, and threateningly sharp. "I've entrusted this task with my mother, Lady Catelyn Stark, daughter of Hoster Tully. I'm sure Lord Walder will be pleased to treat her, after so many years." There was a challenge there, daring the men to deny him and prove their lord a plotter.

Wide Nose cast his eyes to the auburn haired lady, mouth tightening. "Very well. My Lady please, come, I will ride with you back to the Twins."

"My mother will ride herself." He would not have them treat his mother as though she were incapable, lest they start believing she was weak or inept. Catelyn would ride to the Twins just as he would have done. She would be his voice, and his ears until she returned back from the Twins.

Robb was a higher lord than Lord Frey could ever hope to be, and he could not deny it was also a matter of pride that his mother would ride. As they made him wait, so Robb would make them wait.

Lady Stark bowed her head at her son, gripping her dress, preparing to take her leave.

"I will help my Lady prepare." Sylvia murmured lowly, wanting to be away and mounted on the back of her horse. Together, the two women traveled the short distance towards their horses, walking side by side through the throngs of men.

Sylvia reached for Catelyn's cloak, adjusting the furs around her while the elder woman took a drink from her waterskin.

"You've not told him yet." Catelyn murmured, her words halting her good-daughter's hands. For a moment, Sylvia stroked her thumb over the trout clasp of her good-mother's cloak. "He might have told me if he knew, unless you asked him not to." She continued, keeping her voice low enough so that only the two of them could hear.

"Not yet." Her reply was near a whisper. The wolfs fur was cool and smoother than silk when Sylvia ran her fingers over it, straightening it on her good-mother's shoulders. She would be the most beautiful woman within the keep, Sylvia was sure.

Lady Stark scoffed softly, a ladylike sound that was full of irritation. "I told you to tell him soon. The longer you delay it, the harder the journey home will be for you." And the babe.

"I understand your concern, my Lady. But it is my own business when I choose to tell my husband I will make him a father twice over." Sylvia's hands dropped, defiantly staring into Catelyn's face.

"This is not a game."

"Of course it isn't. Do you think I am an idiot and think as much?" The idea burned her, and ignited her. Renly thought her stupid and meek, and so Catelyn did as well? Why did the ones she held so dear, the ones she held so high think her so witless?

"Then don't act like a child playing a game of secrets and tell Robb." Catelyn pleaded, shoving the waterskin back into her saddlebag.

"What exactly happens if I don't?" Sylvia challenged, mouth tightening in fury. "It will be harder to be rid of me, of course. Are you afraid I might sway Robb into a peaceful negotiation? They I might convince him to sue for peace with my family? You have been working towards a war ever since you stole my uncle." A child, Catelyn thought. A child full of indignance and anger. She pitied her good-daughter, for her naivety and her love for that wretched family she'd come from. "Why else would you want me away so desperately."

"Robb will have to protect you and a child." When the battles came, her son would think of the wife and child he left behind, exposed and vulnerable in the middle of a war camp, rather than safe behind high, sturdy walls. "Surely you know you're in as much danger as the rest of us. He does not need a distraction so heady, not when our lives are at stake."

Sylvia stopped short at that, her eyes widening, pulling her lip into her mouth. "My family would never harm me." Her voice was sure and firm. "They would never…never harm Robb." Now there was doubt, the faintest sliver of it, but still there. "Not ever. I'm his wife. It would be a sin to hurt him." She was desperate now, Catelyn realized. Desperately afraid, looking to assure herself.

"Not even you believe that." Catelyn said, her voice gentle. "Your grandfather had the Targaryen babes slaughtered in their beds. Worse than animals."

"They were Targaryens." She countered, shifting on her feet. Father had said they were dragonspawn. He hardly spoke of them, but she had come to know early in life that Targaryen blood was filthy and tainted beyond redemption in King Robert's eyes. She'd never met a Targaryen, and so never had reason to question her father further.

"They were babes. Onehardlyolder than yours." Minisa flashed through her min, her sweet little smile and her bright blue eyes staring up at her. Suddenly, her child was in place of little Prince Aegon's, her beautiful head dashed against the wall of Elia's royal chambers.

"Stop it." She begged suddenly. She shook her head, willing the ugly vision away. "Like it as not, the Queen Regent is my mother, my brother is king. My grandfather rides north to halt Robb's march." She paused a moment, shifting again. "We are not Targaryens." She said finally, as though that absolved their treasons, for surely nothing could be as treacherous as the blood of the dragon.

Catelyn sighed, sensing a vulnerability in her good-daughter that cracked at her heart.

"One more day, Sylvia. Tell him, and be done with it, and whatever is decided, we must both live with it."

Sylvia sighed, looking away into the distance, out at the hills of northmen, wanting to cross the river to bring them farther south. Her good-mother was not unreasonable, she found. Only very insistent. Concerned, perhaps. She liked the idea better than Catelyn wanting her to be sent away like a disobedient child.

When she looked back at her, Catelyn saw something soft in her eyes, something which reminded her of that girl who had blamed herself for the pains of labour coming too soon. Suddenly, she wrapped Catelyn in a hug, her arms coiled tight. "I want to go home." She mumbled into Catelyn's auburn hair. "But not without Robb."

"On that, we can agree." She whispered back, pressing her hands to her good-daughter's back.

A moment passed, and Sylvia pulled away. "Luck." She wished her good-mother, stepping away to give the guard room to help Lady Stark mount her horse

Back in her tent, a short ride from the Twins, Sylvia sat at her table, deep in thought. She'd lied to Catelyn when she said she had only suspected her condition upon leaving Winterfell. In truth, she'd known for quite a while.

Her blood had not come when it was meant too, and there was little else in her mind she knew of that could stop the red flower blooming. Yet it was hardly real, as she thought of it. Before Mini, she'd started to worry that there was something wrong with her. She and Robb had been married a year and nothing came of it, that when Maester Luwin told her she carried a child, a burst of joy rose up inside, along with some tears.

But at the start of the march, she'd nearly forgotten her suspicions. With her child away from her, and her husband planning battles against her grandfather, it had been easy to forget. Then, one evening, a squire had delivered some cooked beef stew for her supper. With only the smell of it, her stomach rolled and she was sick in her chamber pot. Grey Wind took her meal that night, and she'd sustained on vegetables, cheese and bread ever since.

Most peculiar of all was the dream she'd had a fortnight after they set off from Winterfell. As Robb planned his march, Sylvia laid curled around Grey Wind. She soaked up his presence happily, like a cat in the sun, hoping it kept her through the night and into the dawn, until Robb returned. Her life had quickly become lonely—odd in a camp of thousands. Soon, Grey's gentle breaths lulled her to sleep, his still growing body curled against her middle.

In her dream, her belly was round—absurdly round as though there might be two or three babes inside. The child inside moved so violently, she'd fallen to her knees, her skin distorting with each kick and roll. She'd wept at the movement, though she was not sure why. It hadn't hurt. Suddenly, her dream shifted, and legs were drawn up and the people mulling around her were faceless and voiceless. It took only a second to realize this was the birthing bed, her memories of Minisa's entrance still fresh. There was a wet slipping between her thighs, but no pain.

Then, a tiny black wolf pup laid against her breasts, the dark, wet fur felt so soft against her skin, she held the pup closer. The animal—her child, she supposed—nuzzled against her breast, in search of milk, and when it found her nipple, it bit down harshly and ripped it off, blood painting down her chest.

Sylvia awoke from that dream, half expecting to still see the blood all over her, to smell it clinging to her skin. But there was no blood, and there hadn't been any since.

She tapped her nails on her table, deep in thought. After that, the symptoms were harder to ignore, and each day that passed without her moon blood heightened her disquiet. Still, she refused to see a master, knowing the man would likely tell her husband. There was no trusted Maester Luwin in this camp. If they were loyal, they would report directly to Robb whatever affected her.

Reaching into her bodice, she retrieved the pouch her husband had gifted her the night of their journey. She tipped the lock of hair into her waiting palm, and a smile pulled over her lips at the sight of the dark curl. She pressed a kiss to it.

She wanted to tell him right. The first time she'd blurted it out. Her heart was bursting, her mind having only one singular thought: to tell Robb. This time, it had to be planned. A time of uncertainty and strife, and another child was upon them. This news required tact.

Catelyn returned back to the camp after sunset and found Robb's war tent at once.

She told him the good news first.

"Lord Walder has granted your crossing." A soft sigh went through the northmen at news of their victory, and she watched her son's shoulders fall with relief. "His men are yours as well, less the four hundred that will remain here to hold the Crossing off from any who would pursue you."

"And what does he want in return?" Robb asked, eager now to pack up their camp and cross the Twins at once.

Catelyn explained to him quickly about the squire he would take on, the promise of a knighthood made very clear. That had been the easiest information to relay, the rest having left a bitter taste in her mouth.

With growing reluctance, she told him about Arya and Rickon—her children who were made pawns in this great and terrible game. Arya would wed one of Walder's younger sons, a young boy of twelve once they were both of age. Rickon would be fostered at the Twins when his time came, and he would learn the lessons of manhood from the dusty, lecherous creature. Thankfully, it would only be for a year.

Yet after she told him the fate of his sister and brother, his mother's eyes flickered up to his, uneasy.

"And?" Robb frowned, more worry seeping into his eyes.

"And…" Catelyn began with a sigh. "When the fighting is done, and she is of age, your daughter will wed one of his great-grandsons." Robb's face remained impassive, but something cold frosted over his blue eyes. Catelyn caught sight of his fist clenching.

"I see." He said. "Which one does he propose?"

"Olyver, his eldest true-born son's grandson." Robb refrained from grimacing. The child was the heir three times over, far too low for his daughter.

"Did you get a look at him?"

"I did. A little boy of five." Little Olyver Frey was not a beautiful child, in Catelyn's opinion. Rather plain of face with a mess of brown hair atop his freckled head. He had three baby teeth missing and when he spoke, he stuttered terribly. Perhaps he was only nervous after his grizzled old great-grandfather shouted for him to come, but Lady Stark suspected the child stuttered most oft. She would make no mention of these things to Robb, knowing he'd deny the match outright. He was a father after all, and all fathers wanted the best match possible for their daughters.

The tent was silent for a long moment, only the sound of the burning torches and the passing horses remaining.

"Do you consent?" She asked at length.

"Do I have any choice?" He asked at once.

"Not if you wish to cross." His mother replied, holding his eyes.

A short second passed. "Then I consent." Lord Robb's voice was sharp and final. Their meeting ended shortly thereafter, the stewards and squires quickly starting to pack away the tent so they could start the crossing before morning light.

"Lady Sylvia won't be pleased with a Frey boy." Theon muttered lowly to his friend as a young man packed away a chest. It was rather amusing, the princess' fury was hot and wild and often soothed after a short time of rage. There had been a time when it had amused Robb as well, when they were all children and teasing out that Baratheon temper had been a fun game. Robb had started to outgrow it, especially as of late.

After Sylvia's drunken blunder, something seemed to shift inside Robb, in Theon's view. There was now a step of caution to Robb when he spoke of his southern wife. He must see her differently, must see she was not the perfect, passionate girl he'd thought she was. It was far overdue, in Theon's opinion.

Robb sighed. "No. She won't."

A grin tweaked up the Greyjoy's lips. "I'll say a prayer. It wouldn't save you, but it might make the end a little quicker." Theon teased mildly. It earned him a wry smile and a quick punch to his shoulder.

To be sure, when Sylvia learned of the agreement at the Twins later that evening, she was furious.

"Our daughter—Minisa Stark's marriage prospects wasted on a thing like Walder Frey?" She cried, jumping to her feet. For a moment, she stood in silence, hardly able to comprehend such an absurd thought. What in the name of the Seven had Catelyn negotiated? "W-with the way the old goat clings to life, she won't be Lady Frey until she's forty!" Oh, and even then, Walder's son would be Lord Frey, and then his son, and then finally the boy who was to wed her daughter. This phantom, ugly weasel named Frey.

She thought suddenly of all the bastards that Walder Frey was said to have fathered, the illegitimates he'd housed in his bloody castle like a sort of testament to his virility. Robb had sold their daughter off to that?

"It was the only way to cross." Her husband replied.

"What?" she spluttered. "Y-you could have done at least three other things before selling her off. You could have held a sword to his frail old neck and made him surrender." Or at least you should have before suffering our sweet little Mini with some rat faced weasel boy.

Her husband's eyes burned into hers, his jaw working. "I am not a monster who would slaughter a castle of innocent people. Would you rather have me do that than look to pass peacefully? You forget, Sylvia, that they could be hung for treason in letting us pass?"

Sylvia pursed her lips, her hands twisting around each other. "I never said slaughter. I meant threaten." But that made her feel wretched, Robb's eyes igniting shame inside her.

"What would have stopped them from sending information to Tywin or Joffrey about our movements once we were crossed? They could have just as easily ambushed us within their own walls. Like it or not, Sylvia, it was the only sure way to cross."

Sylvia's lips turned red with the bite of her teeth into them. She shook her head. "You could have refused him Mini." She insisted, mind still filled with images of ugly grandchildren, and a weeping daughter telling her of her husband's infidelities. "The old man had Arya for one of his grandsons, Rickon as a ward, one of his younger male relations as your squire…He didn't need Mini."

Robb shook his head, coming closer. When she didn't retreat, he dared to lay his hands on her shoulders. "Arya will be a Frey, without a castle or lands of her own. Bran can never have any children and Rickon will never be Lord of Winterfell. Sansa is still to wed Joffrey." He took her chin in his fingers, tilting her head up to meet his eyes. "Mini was…preferable, since we have no sons to wed to his granddaughters." Sylvia felt ill.

"So at least one of our children is doomed to wed a Frey? To cross a bridge?" Robb nodded solemnly, not catching anything strange about her words. Sylvia did not know if she should be relieved by it.

"I hate this." She murmured, lowering her eyes. "Damn you Joffrey to the pits." Her voice was a whisper, hoping the Seven didn't hear her vile, wicked prayer.

A beat passed. "I'll maim him for you, somehow, when he reach the Capitol." He promised her. Sylvia grinned at the terrible (impossible) promise. He knew so well what she liked, and promised it even though they both knew harming the king would never come to pass without impunity.

With a sigh, she sat back on the cot, patting the space next to her in invitation. Robb joined her a short moment later.

"Who is this boy who will wed our girl? What's his name?" If this would be her good-son one day, she would know him and know him well.

"Olyver."

"Olyver." She tested the name. In truth, it was a very handsome name to Sylvia. "How old is he?"

"Five." Sylvia considered this a moment. Five was not too much older than their daughter. He was little still, innocent and undeserving or her ire. No, she'd give all of that to his great-grandfather, who'd demanded the match at all. And one day, he would be the Lord of the Twins, a backwoods, lump of a castle, sworn to serve the Tullys of Riverrun.

She shifted on the cot. Perhaps this little Olyver would not be so shy of his duty as his great grandfather is, and perhaps the Freys will rise high when Old Walder finally died and when Minisa was made a Frey.

Sylvia frowned. Mini was far too little to be betrothed, and far too high born for the likes of Olyver Frey. But if this was the match Robb had agreed on for their daughter, she had to hope it would be a good one for it could not be broken without dishonouring both families.

Great-aunt Genna flashed through her mind, unhappily married to a Frey, and her hopes dimmed. Robb must have seen her deflate and spoke again, his hand reaching for hers and lacing their fingers together tight. She laid her head on his shoulder.

"He's a boy yet. He still has much to learn." He assured her. "He might surprise us with his courage and honour."

"Aye." She agreed, tugging his hand into her lap. "We should foster him. Walder can't deny it would be a privilege for his grandson." He said nothing, and wrapped his arm around his wife's shoulders, tugging her close.

When Walder's grandson and Robb's new squire—Danwell Frey, or Danny as he liked to be called—had arrived into the camp seeking out Robb, Sylvia found him first and gave him his first task as a squire. He'd tried to protest, saying that he served Lord Robb only.

"And I am Lord Robb's wife and Lord Robb is otherwise occupied and will be for the foreseeable future. Now do you want to stand about doing nothing or do you want to be useful to me?" A moment of silence passed, and she raised a brow, awaiting his answer. But once he started opening his mouth, she cut him off with a mirthless laugh. "Oh wait," she laughed. "I don't care about what you wish to do." Whatever ease there was on Danny's face melted away. "Now get moving."

Sylvia had her husband's new squire collect the fallen ravens himself and place each corpse into a sack. As they crossed the bridge, she untied the sack from her horse. When she spied a few remaining Frey soldiers, she threw the sack at their feet.

"Your birds." She said, riding on.

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