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The dungeons of the Twins.
Damper than the Black Cells beneath the Red Keep.
Cold beads of moisture seeped through the cracks in the stone and pooled across the floor in stagnant puddles that reeked of mildew.
The back of Edmure's skull throbbed with blinding pain. Every heartbeat sent a fresh pulse of agony through the nerves there. Like someone working at it with a warhammer, over and over.
He was locked in a narrow cell, hands and feet bound in heavy iron chains.
"Awake?"
An old voice drifted through the bars.
Walder Frey's face was pressed against the iron , a mask of dried skin and deep-cut wrinkles, like something wind-cured and left out too long. His small, clouded eyes gleamed with undisguised malice and open delight at Edmure's suffering.
"How are you feeling, my future good son-in-law?"
The title turned Edmure's stomach.
"Lord Walder. What exactly did my sister promise you, to make you this eager?"
"Whatever she can offer — I, a Duke, can offer the same."
Old Walder shook his head slowly.
"No, boy. You can't."
"Can you give me Lysa's body?"
"Will you move against House Tully yourself, out of hatred for Hoster?"
"Can you father an heir with a claim to the Vale?"
"Do you actually think you're a Duke?" A thin pause. "You're one in name only. The King's decree hasn't even been issued yet."
"If you cooperate, the Riverlands won't be the only thing I take. I'll have a hand in Lysa's Vale as well. And all it costs is moving against that little whelp Lynn. His wildlings don't even have proper weapons , nothing to fear. And Balon of the Iron Islands is already preparing."
"The Iron Islands. The Vale. The Riverlands. Three fronts at once. I don't believe any man alive can hold against that."
"So, my good son-in-law — be obedient, and everything ends peacefully."
"But if you won't..." Old Walder's lips split into a wet, thin smile. "Hehe..."
"I wonder if the bones of the Duke of Riverrun are harder than a common man's."
"Shall we find out?"
Edmure turned his head away and said nothing.
He understood now. He finally understood why old Walder had thrown his lot in with Lysa.
Because Edmure couldn't give him a single one of those things.
He wasn't a woman , he couldn't satisfy old Walder's appetite for breeding, or his twisted hunger to conquer the Lady of the Vale. He couldn't father children with a claim to the Vale. And if he was controlled, the Riverlands would belong to this old dog anyway.
Gold couldn't buy Walder Frey. Words were useless. The only thing left was action.
"Oh ho. Hehe. Quite the backbone."
Old Frey didn't seem bothered. He clapped his hands, and two broad, vicious-looking men stepped through the cell door as it swung open , both of them Freys, unmistakably.
One of them was among Walder Frey's most infamous sons.
Black Walder.
"Father sent me to teach you some manners."
Black Walder grinned, drawing a barbed leather whip from his belt.
CRACK!
The whip split the air and bit into Edmure's back. His prison garb tore open instantly. A bloody welt rose across the skin.
The pain arched his body like a bow. He clamped his jaw shut. Not a sound.
"Well." Black Walder's eyes lit up. "You can take it."
CRACK. CRACK. CRACK.
Each stroke raised a spray of blood. Edmure's back became a ruin of torn flesh, and his mind began to slip.
He thought of his father. His uncle. The trout banner of Riverrun snapping in the wind.
"Family. Duty. Honor."
He mouthed the words over and over, barely a whisper. Only for himself.
His last pillars.
"Still mumbling that ridiculous motto?"
Black Walder sounded like he'd just heard a decent joke.
He stopped. Crouched down. Grabbed a fistful of Edmure's hair and wrenched his head up.
"Your family?"
"Your sister will be flat on her back in my father's bed, wagging her tail like a dog, just to buy Frey support."
"Your honor?"
Black Walder spat directly in Edmure's face.
"Your honor is under my boot. It's worth nothing."
Edmure's eyes snapped wide open. Red flooded the whites.
"You — liar!"
"Liar?" Black Walder's smile sharpened. "Sounds like you still don't understand your situation."
"Let me show you whether I'm lying."
He stood, and gave a look to the other Frey.
The man brought something in from outside.
A banner.
The trout of House Tully.
Black Walder took it and held it up in front of Edmure's face, letting it hang there for a long moment.
Then he unlaced his trousers.
And used the banner , that banner, the symbol of everything House Tully had ever been , to wipe himself clean.
"No —!"
The sound that tore out of Edmure wasn't a shout. It was something rawer than that.
He thrashed against the chains with everything he had. Iron links screamed and rattled. He wanted to get up. Wanted to close his hands around their throats and tear them apart with his bare hands.
But the chains held.
He could only watch. Watch as the banner was dropped to the floor. Watch as it was ground into the filthy, muddy water beneath their boots.
The last of Edmure's pillars came down.
...
In the woods along the riverbank, a fine tent had been hastily erected.
Incense burned inside. It wasn't enough. Nothing could cover the smell that clung to Walder Frey , the rot of old age and want, layered together into something that turned the stomach.
Lysa lay bare, eyes closed, letting that withered hand, thin and clawed as a chicken's foot, move across her skin.
Behind her closed eyelids, she saw Petyr's face. Handsome. Hungry. Ambitious.
"Hehe... never would've thought that old bastard Hoster could produce a daughter like you..."
Walder Frey's voice came from just above her ear, breathless.
"Women from Riverrun are something else..."
"Is Catelyn the same as you?"
Lysa's body went rigid for a moment. Then she relaxed.
She opened her eyes.
She looked up at the old face above her, and something flickered in her gaze , disgust, quick and faint, gone before it could take hold.
Her mouth curved into a soft, practiced smile.
"Lord Frey. As long as you're pleased."
Her voice was sweet enough to ache.
"As long as you help me hold the Riverlands , forget me. If it's my sister you want, I'll deliver her to you myself."
"She'll come to Riverrun. She will."
"Hahahaha!"
Old Walder's laugh came out high and sharp with triumph.
"Good! Now that is a sensible woman!"
"Don't worry. As long as that useless brother of yours cooperates and announces his marriage to my daughter , I guarantee that in the entire Riverlands, not one soul will dare speak against you. Not one."
"A Duke of House Tully, becoming my live-in son-in-law..." He wheezed with pleasure. "Hehe. If that old bastard Hoster ever found out, he'd be so furious he'd swim back from the grave!"
A flicker of cold satisfaction crossed Lysa's eyes.
"His bones have been eaten by fish. There's nothing left to swim."
Her thoughts drifted.
Father. Can you see this?
The Freys , the family you despised most , are now my strongest allies.
The son you were so proud of is about to become a laughingstock across all Seven Kingdoms.
The Tully name you spent your life protecting will soon give way to Arryn. Or Frey.
This is what you get for forcing my hand.
If you had simply agreed, none of this would have happened.
All of it is your fault.
You deserve it.
...
Edmure didn't know how much time had passed before he came back to himself.
He had been pulled from the dungeon and dressed in clean clothes. Now he sat in the Twins' great banquet hall , renowned across the Seven Kingdoms , staring at nothing.
The hall blazed with torchlight. The long tables were loaded with food and wine. Frey descendants packed the benches alongside Tully bannermen summoned through the night. Every face wore a smile. The mood was warm. Festive, even.
Edmure sat in the seat of honor like a marionette, his expression empty.
On one side of him: Walder Frey. On the other: his sister, Lysa Arryn.
His back still burned.
But the physical pain was nothing compared to what sat beneath it.
Yes. He had broken. After a full night of it, he had finally put his name to the document Lysa and Walder Frey had drafted together.
In his capacity as Duke of Riverrun, he would announce an alliance with the Vale , to stand against the "tyranny" of King's Landing, and to destroy Lynn, the upstart who had supposedly "framed" Petyr Baelish.
He would also marry Walder Frey's youngest daughter. Roslin Frey.
Look but don't touch, of course. That much had been made clear.
His worth right now was less than a dog's.
And old Walder held the document.
They called it an alliance. It was a confession. It detailed, in careful language, how Edmure had "murdered" his own father to seize power.
If he refused to cooperate, Lysa would destroy House Tully. Without Tully support, that would only cost her a little extra effort , he understood that now better than anyone.
So his task was simple: keep House Tully intact. Then find the right moment to tell the truth.
He had tampered with the letter sent to Winterfell. Catelyn would feel it. She would sense something was wrong, and when she came, she would bring soldiers.
That would be his moment.
He could endure this. He would endure it.
And when the time came, he would make sure Lysa understood exactly what his wrath felt like.
"Everyone! Everyone!"
Walder Frey rose unsteadily to his feet and lifted his cup.
The hall went quiet.
"Today is a good day!"
His voice was sharp, almost giddy.
"Not only do we welcome the new lord of Riverrun — Duke Edmure!"
"We will also witness House Tully and House Frey, the two oldest families in the Riverlands, forge an unbreakable bond of blood!"
The bannermen responded with warm cheers and applause.
Most of them had no idea what had happened on the riverbank the night before. As far as they could tell, this was the newly installed Duke Edmure making a smart political play , pulling the powerful Freys into his corner before his seat was even warm.
Reasonable.
Shrewd, even.
With the Freys behind him, anyone thinking about causing trouble would have to think twice.
The Frey daughters were famously hard to look at, of course. But that was a separate matter.
"Duke Edmure will marry my most beloved daughter — Roslin!"
"Together, our two houses will stand as one, to guard the peace and honor of the Riverlands!"
The applause swelled.
Roslin.
The one who was different. Naturally delicate, fair-skinned, fine-featured , deep chestnut hair, warm brown eyes. The one Frey daughter who didn't make people wince.
Nobody in the hall thought old Walder was performing now. This was the only daughter he could have offered without embarrassing himself. Paired with a Duke, it made sense.
Edmure looked out at those familiar faces.
Tully bannermen. Men whose grandfathers had bled beside his grandfather.
And they were clapping for his humiliation.
Something metallic rose in the back of his throat. He swallowed it down.
He knew what this moment meant. From here, he was no longer the Duke of Riverrun.
He was a puppet. Nothing more.
Everything now rested on Catelyn.
...
The North. Winterfell.
A raven cut through the grey sky and landed on the highest watchtower.
The letter was brought to Robb Stark.
When Catelyn Tully saw the wax seal, her heart dropped.
Riverrun.
Her hands trembled as she tore the envelope open. Her blue eyes moved fast across the page.
Then her body swayed. She nearly went down.
"Mother!"
Robb caught her before she fell.
"What is it?"
"My father... he..."
Her voice broke apart. The grief in it was beyond control. Tears came flooding down.
"He's gone."
A sound rang through Robb's head. A hollow, distant buzz.
Lord Hoster. He hadn't seen him many times , but he was still his grandfather.
He took the letter and read it through.
It was in Edmure's hand. Messy as always, chaotic, barely legible.
The letter said: Hoster Tully had died of illness. Lysa Arryn had already arrived at Riverrun for the funeral. And Edmure Tully, as the new Duke of Riverrun, had decided to secure the Riverlands' stability through a marriage alliance with House Frey.
The letter closed with a warm invitation.
Fifteen days from now.
As the eldest daughter of House Tully, Catelyn was urged to return to Riverrun without delay , to attend her father's memorial, and to witness her brother's wedding.
Everything about it was perfectly reasonable.
Robb smelled something rotten underneath every word.
"Mother. You cannot go back."
His voice left no room for argument.
Catelyn's head snapped up. She stared at him like he'd struck her.
"That is my father. Riverrun is my home."
"Mother, wait — this is too fast. Think."
Robb slapped the letter down on the table.
"Grandfather has been ill for years. Four or five, at least. And if I remember right, he was actually doing better last year. He shouldn't have died suddenly. Not like this."
"Why did he die the moment Aunt Lysa arrived?"
"And Uncle Edmure , he just inherited the title. His position isn't solid. Why is he rushing to tie himself to the Freys?"
"Everyone in Westeros knows what Walder Frey is. A greedy, cunning old fox who never makes a deal unless he profits from it. If there's nothing in it for him, he doesn't agree. So what did Edmure promise him?"
"This letter is wrong. Every part of it."
"Robb!"
Catelyn's voice cracked upward. Grief and fury had burned through whatever calm she'd had left.
"Those are my family. My father is dead. My brother is getting married. I am going back."
"It's a trap!"
Robb nearly shouted it.
"If you walk back into Riverrun right now, you're walking into a net. Let me be direct with you, Mother , something is very wrong here."
"I don't care."
Catelyn pulled the letter from his hands. Her eyes were set.
"I am a daughter of House Tully. I'm going back. Even if it's a trap, I'll walk through it."
They pulled at the letter between them as they argued, and the paper tore.
A small folded note slipped out from inside the lining and fell onto the table between them.
Robb read it first.
"What , Edmure's been taken? He's under their control?"
"That settles it. I have to go."
If anything, the hidden note made Catelyn worse. She was past reasoning with now.
Robb watched her and felt something hollow open in his chest.
House Tully. They always led with their hearts.
This is so foolish.
He thought of Lynn.
If Lynn were here, he'd find a way. He always did.
But three days ago, a letter had arrived saying that his father and Lynn were heading back to Winterfell as quickly as they could, to plan their next move. Even at their fastest, they couldn't make it in fifteen days.
Should I just... hold her here?
The thought arrived and wouldn't leave.
Take a beating, fine. That was better than watching his mother walk headfirst into a trap.
Robb's jaw set.
If she wouldn't listen, he would lock her in her chambers and wait for his father. Simple as that. He'd already decided.
He could take the punishment.
He paced the room, restless, needing to think , needing someone to think with. Someone who could read a situation and help him work through it.
Theon.
The name surfaced first.
Robb spun on his heel and strode out the door.
"Theon! Where is Theon Greyjoy?!"
The guards outside exchanged glances.
One of them hesitated before answering, carefully.
"My lord... Lord Theon rode out early this morning. Said he was going hunting in the woods..."
"Alone?"
"...Yes, my lord. Alone."
Robb's stomach dropped.
Now? At a time like this?
He crossed to Theon's tent in quick strides and pushed inside.
Empty. The bed was made up neat and clean.
But the dagger Theon never went without , the one engraved with the kraken sigil , was gone from the table.
The map of the Iron Islands that had always hung on the wall was gone too.
Theon Greyjoy had run.
Damn.
Theon running , Robb knew exactly what it meant. Better than anyone.
He was the Iron Islands' ward. Their hostage.
Which meant the Iron Islands were already in this.
Robb's voice came out like a whipcrack.
"All of you , go after him! Now!"
"Do not let Theon Greyjoy leave!"
And at that same moment, across the continent in King's Landing, word was spreading of something no one had seen coming.
King Robert had broken his leg. Gored by a boar during the hunt. He was at death's door.
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