ʙʀᴏᴛʜᴇʀꜱ ʙʏ ʙʟᴏᴏᴅ

03

✎All rights belong to GRRM.✎

Catelyn I

Walder Frey, the Lord of the Crossing, was nearing ninety name days and had sired nearly as many children. He was bald, his head spotted with age. His features made him look like a mixture between a vulture and a weasel, but the latter features were more predominant and usually passed on to his children. He was a thin scrawny man with a long pink neck and loose skin dangling from under his chin. He had clouded eyes and a toothless mouth. Because of his age, the old man had developed gout and was now unable to walk unassisted.

However, his age did not erode the man's ill-tempered manner. He had a sharp tongue and was rudely blunt to everyone he met, a trait of his that had grown with his age. Besides his tongue, he was a proud man who always felt that his house didn't get the respect it deserved. He held on to slights, no matter how small, and allowed them to fester in his mind until the day he could finally repay the insult.

He had always been an ambitious man, but an overly cautious one. He only gave aid to the winning side, which hadn't given the man many friends, especially among his fellow Lords of the Riverlands when his forces arrived after the telling battle at the Trident. That particular event would earn him a name that he would loath for the rest of his days; the 'Late' Lord Frey. A mocking name that was given by his liege lord, Hoster Tully.

Catelyn stood alone in the hall of the Crossing, a dark and desolate place. As a girl, she had heard her father and his bannermen speak about how the Crossing had changed under Walder Frey. She had heard stories of how the unique stronghold had been home to a noble house, allowing trade between the north and south, requiring only a fair fee from merchants and traders to use the bridge. Back in those days, the hall she now stood in was full of light, and less Frey's, and allowed the businessmen that were the lords of the Crossing to grow rich with ease.

Those days were long gone. Now, the hall was shuttered and closed, with only a few candles to dimly illuminate the hall. It was a depressing and oppressive place to be, made even more so by the lord of said hall. In the corners of the room, the children of Walder Frey huddle together like rats on a ship, most bearing the same weasel-like face and pale eyes of their father. They watched silently as the Lady of Winterfell faced down the 'Late' Lord Frey.

"So, the Stark whelp sent his mother to speak for him, did he? How pathetic." Lord Frey sneered. "Is the son of Eddard Stark too good to speak with a fellow lord of the realm?"

"My son has other tasks to attend to," Catelyn replied easily. "I have come to speak for him."

Walder raised an eyebrow. "Have you now? And what does the boy want from me?"

Catelyn held back a sigh. "I believe you know what my son requires. He has already sent a messenger to you about it."

Frey scoffed. "Ah yes, he wants my bride so he can save his precious father. I gave the boy my answer. If he does not like it, then he can find another way into the Riverlands!"

"I was sent here to change your mind," Catelyn replied calmly.

Walder Frey chuckled darkly. "If you wanted to do that, you should've sent someone pretty. Maybe one of those mormont wenches. I hear they have some nice curves."

Catelyn briefly imagined Maege Mormont bashing the old man in the head with her mace, taking slight pleasure in the image before she shook her head, clearing those thoughts away. "I am the only one my son sent, my lord," she said.