The morning after his mother, Lady Catelyn, and great-uncle, Ser Brynden Tully, joined his forces, Torrhen Stark made a strategic decision to split his army. Half of his men remained stationed along the King's Road. Their position was chosen not for a direct assault but to mislead any Lannister scouts, creating the illusion that Torrhen intended to march southward to face the enemy head-on. The other half, numbering ten thousand men and led by Torrhen himself, made a swift and purposeful journey westward toward the Twins. Torrhen had an audacious plan: to negotiate passage with the notoriously fickle and self-serving Lord Walder Frey.

Torrhen had assessed Walder Frey's reputation and gambled on it. The Lord of the Crossing was infamous for his opportunism and lack of discipline. Torrhen surmised that if Frey's leadership mirrored his character, his defenses would be equally lax. He was not wrong.

As Torrhen's forces approached the Twins, they encountered no patrols or scouts to warn the castle of their advance. The path was almost invitingly unguarded. By the time his banners could be seen from the walls of the castle, it was already too late for Frey to muster a meaningful response. A few ravens were sent aloft, but Torrhen's archers proved swift and precise. One by one, the black birds fell from the sky before they could deliver their messages.

When they reached the Twins, Torrhen wasted no time. His bannermen urged caution, reminding him of Walder Frey's reputation for betrayal and cunning. Despite their warnings, Torrhen sent a formal request for an audience with the Lord of the Crossing. He knew he had to present himself as both resolute and respectful; with Walder Frey, pride and perception were everything.

The great hall of the Twins reflected its lord. It was cold, oppressive, and adorned with faded banners that spoke more of quantity than quality. Walder Frey himself sat on a high seat at the end of the room, flanked by a handful of his many children and grandchildren. Even in his advanced age, his pale blue eyes glimmered with sharpness. His grin was a mix of mockery and curiosity as Torrhen approached.

"Lord Frey," Torrhen began, his tone calm and measured. "I'll be brief. I request safe passage for my men and me across your bridge."

Walder Frey leaned back in his chair, stroking his thin beard as he studied the young Stark. "Safe passage, you say? Aye, I could grant it. But why should I? What's in it for me?"

"If it's gold you desire, gold will be yours," Torrhen replied plainly.

Frey chuckled, shaking his head. "Gold? My sons and bastards have plenty of that to squander. No, Lord Stark, I need more than coin. What else can you offer?"

Torrhen held his ground, unfazed. "What is it you seek, then?"

Frey tilted his head, feigning thoughtfulness. "Tell me this: why should I risk my neck for you? Why should I care about the Starks, the Tullys, or anyone else? What loyalty does my house owe yours?"

"For pride, honor, and legacy," Torrhen answered.

Frey snorted, leaning forward. "Legacy? What does legacy matter to an old man like me? My days are numbered, Stark. I don't need your talk of honor."

"One decision defines a man's legacy," Torrhen said calmly. "Take Robert's Rebellion as an example. Your hesitation during the war earned you the name 'Late Lord Frey.' That's how the realm remembers you. Do you agree?"

Frey's grin faded slightly, and his expression darkened. "Aye," he muttered reluctantly, the sting of the insult clear in his voice.

Torrhen pressed on, seizing the moment. "If you side with the Lannisters now, will it change your reputation? Will they honor your name or elevate your house?"

Walder Frey leaned back, his frown deepening. "No, I suppose not," he admitted bitterly.

"Exactly," Torrhen continued. "The Lannisters care only for themselves. To them, a marriage to the Freys is a stain, not a blessing. Look at the marriage of Emmon Frey and Genna Lannister. How do they view it? As a downgrade, a humiliation for their house. That's what you are to them."

Frey's jaw tightened at the reminder of his son's diminished standing in the eyes of the Lannisters.

"Then let me offer you something better," Torrhen said. "A marriage pact that will strengthen your house and change your legacy. My younger brother, Robb, will marry one of your daughters. He will choose his bride, and she will receive a holdfast in the North, near our border. A new beginning for your line."

Walder Frey raised a skeptical eyebrow. "Robb Stark is a second son. That's not enough for my house."

Torrhen nodded, prepared for this objection. "Then consider this: my uncle, Edmure Tully, will also marry one of your daughters."

Frey's eyes narrowed with intrigue. "A match to the Tullys? That would raise my house, but you're not lord of Riverrun. What makes you think you can promise this?"

"I may not rule Riverrun," Torrhen replied, his voice steady, "but I am Catelyn Tully's son. My mother and my uncle Brynden are with me. They see the value in this alliance and will convince my grandfather and uncle. Family, Duty, Honor—those are our words. My family will do what's needed to protect our house."

Walder Frey tapped his fingers on the armrest of his chair, his expression unreadable. "Words are wind, Stark. I need guarantees, not promises."

Torrhen stepped closer, his voice firm and commanding. "The last time you hesitated, you were branded the 'Late Lord Frey.' That's how the realm remembers you—not as a man of wealth or a patriarch of many children, but as a coward. Are you willing to make the same mistake again?"

The hall grew silent. Frey's sharp gaze locked on Torrhen, his expression sour as the weight of the young Stark's words settled over him.

Torrhen continued, unwavering. "Play your hand wisely, and you'll leave this room with alliances to both Winterfell and Riverrun. Or side with the Lannisters, and they'll use you as a tool—nothing more. So, what will it be?"

Walder Frey leaned forward, his fingers steepled. After a long moment, he spoke. "If I agree, I want my son Olyvar to squire for you and be knighted."

"Done," Torrhen replied without hesitation.

Frey smirked, though his tone remained cautious. "Then we have a deal, Lord Stark. May the gods watch over you—you'll need it."

Torrhen inclined his head. "And may they watch over you, Lord Frey. You've made a wise choice."

As Torrhen's party exited the hall, his bannermen exchanged wary glances. The Freys were not a family to be trusted, and everyone knew it. But Torrhen also knew that securing the passage across the Twins had shifted the tide in his favor.

For better or worse, the die was cast. Walder Frey's bridge would serve as the stepping stone for Torrhen Stark's campaign, though the young wolf understood all too well that alliances forged with men like Frey came with a price—and sometimes a dagger in the back.