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While her father travelled to Winterfell, Jeremy and Giselle sat in the great hall, listening to the pleas of the people and strategizing the war. The doors slammed open and Timothy rushed into the room, out of breath.
"Ma'lady, a guard of the Twins is here. He wishes to speak to you directly," Timothy announced, standing before her.
"One of Frey's men?" Giselle asked, furrowing her brow.
"Yes, ma'lady," he replied.
"Did he say why he came?" Giselle asked.
"No," Timothy answered.
"Bring him in," Giselle ordered. Timothy nodded, leaving the room for a moment and returning with Jeremy. They dragged a third man in behind them.
"The lady who wished to be a Stark. I've waited a long time to lay eyes on you," the man said slowly, licking his lips hungrily.
"Have you come to rub salt in the wound? Tell me a tale of the beautiful wedding of Robb Stark and a Frey?" Giselle hissed.
"Robb Stark refused to marry Rosalin Frey. His uncle has taken his place," the man sneered.
"Well then?" Giselle sighed.
"Robb Stark is dead," the man said, a malicious smile creeping onto his face.
"You're lying," Giselle scoffed disbelievingly.
"Am I?" The man prompted.
"Bring him in, boys!" The man called.
Two men came around the corner and entered the hall, dragging a body with them. And that's all it was-- a body. A headless body. A headless body with the head of a dire wolf staked in the place where a neck once connected to a jaw.
Her knees gave out and she feared she would collapse. It felt as though a sword had plunged itself into her gut. A thousand daggers were thrust into her heart and twisted mercilessly. She let out a shrill scream-- a noise filled with so much pain and rage it could shatter the souls of million men. All Frey's guardsmen could do was laugh.
"Oh and there's one more thing-- Lady Stark-- I'd show you, but we threw her body in the river," the guardsman added, smiling cruelly.
"Give me your blade," Giselle ordered, her voice shaking and broken.
