The Songs of Winter | Robb Stark

Chapter 26

Lady Catelyn, Lord Edmure, The Blackfish, Robb, and I sit across the table from two of Lord Walder Frey's sons. The tension in the room is palpable, each of us acutely aware of the stakes. Robb speaks first, his voice steady but urgent. "Thank you for riding here so quickly. I know travel isn't easy in these times."

One of the Frey sons nods solemnly. "The roads are crawling with cutthroats and bandits. But when the King in the North summons us, we come."

The other son chimes in, his tone businesslike. "Our father has instructed us to tell you that his alliance with the North can continue if his terms are met."

I can't hold back my frustration. "Lord Frey already has the betrothal of Arya Stark, one of his own as a squire for us, and our future heir is to be betrothed to one of his grandchildren." My voice rises with each point, my annoyance clear. "What else does he possibly need?"

"Not what, whom," one of the sons replies, turning his gaze to Lord Edmure. Everyone's eyes follow, realization dawning.

"What?" Edmure looks around, bewildered. As understanding hits, he shakes his head vehemently. "No."

"Our father insists that Lord Edmure marry one of his daughters—Roslin," the Frey son states plainly, his expression devoid of any emotion.

Edmure's brow furrows. "How old is she?"

"She's nineteen," one of the Freys replies, his voice almost indifferent. I can't help but grimace. A girl that young, barely out of girlhood, shouldn't be wed to someone of Edmure's age.

"Could I see her first?" Edmure asks, a note of desperation creeping into his voice.

One of the Frey sons chuckles, a hint of mockery in his tone. "Do you wish to count her teeth?" He then shifts his gaze to Robb. "We depart for the Twins in the morning. We need an answer before we leave, and the wedding must take place within a fortnight, or this alliance is over."

The Blackfish, always blunt, interjects with a disbelieving snort. "Your father does realize we're in the midst of a war?"

The Frey son shrugs, his face a mask of indifference. "Father is old. It would bring him peace to see her married to a good husband."

I can't help but let a sarcastic smile curl my lips. "How convenient for us—a father's wishes for his daughter," I remark, my voice dripping with irony.

Robb, ever the diplomat, nods at the two men. "Please excuse us while we discuss it."

The Frey sons exchange wary glances, clearly uneasy about leaving the matter unresolved. Nevertheless, they nod slightly to Robb and rise to leave. As they exit, the tension in the room seems to grow thicker, the weight of the impending decision pressing down on us all.

As soon as the double doors close, Lord Edmure erupts, "Why should I let that old ferret choose my bride for me?"

"We need him," Robb replies simply, his voice steady.

Edmure rises from his seat and strides towards the windows, staring out as if seeking an escape. "Well, I don't," he retorts, turning to face Robb. "My answer is no."

The Blackfish stands abruptly, his posture reminiscent of a parent about to discipline a defiant child. He moves toward Edmure with purpose. "Listen to me, and listen very carefully. You—"