The Banquet Hall of Twin River City blazed with light. Dozens of torches flickered along the stone walls, their flames dancing in the cold draft that crept through the high windows. Never in its history had the hall been so brilliantly illuminated, and Old Frey, carried in from the black dungeon by two soldiers, could only think how extravagant—and shameful—the display was.
As he sniffed the northern air, the pungent odor of alcohol mixed with sweat struck him, a stench that reminded him of crude barbarians: rough, filthy, and unrefined. Old Frey's lips curled in disdain, but his eyes, slightly clouded with age, were sharp and calculating.
At the head of the hall, on a raised ebony platform, sat Robb Stark. The sixteen-year-old king bore a solemn expression, half in shadow and half in torchlight, his chin propped on his hand. The weight of the iconic sword-shaped crown pressed down heavily, making him seem older than his years. Beside him, the king's wolf squatted tall and alert, its yellow eyes glowing dangerously in the torchlight.
Old Frey's lip curled in contempt. Beasts were for children; the king's display meant nothing to him. Around the hall, Northern lords filled the benches, identifiable by their rugged faces, tall frames, and animal-hide cloaks. Some he recognized, others he did not, but all shared the aura of authority and unyielding resolve.
Eddard Karstark, whom Old Frey hated with every fiber of his being, stood below the platform, holding a small wooden gavel. Tapping it methodically against the table—"tap, tap, tap"—he called the hall to order. Murmurs died instantly.
"Two soldiers, please help Marquis Walder to his seat. Thank you," Eddard announced, his voice firm.
The soldiers escorted Old Frey to a chair in the center of the hall, exposed from every angle. Any man of lesser fortitude would have felt the oppressive weight of hundreds of eyes. Yet Old Frey laughed toothlessly, his sinister chuckle echoing off the stone walls.
"Ha! Eddard Karstark, and all you lords from the North," he began, his tone dripping with mockery. "Are you planning to judge me here, in Twin River City, ruled by House Frey for six hundred years, in this Banquet Hall where I've spent my entire life?" He paused, letting the words sink in. "Right here, where I entertained you courteously? And you, young King, sitting high above, letting me cross your river, will judge me here?"
A murmur of outrage rippled through the hall. Eddard's voice cut through the tension like a blade:
"Marquis Walder, no matter what you have done in the past, it cannot absolve you of the crime of betraying your liege lord. Furthermore, you never entertained me. You merely sat high above and allowed my entry into Twin River City. Before your capture, I had not eaten a single thing from House Frey."
He then produced two well-preserved parchment scrolls, holding them aloft. "Here are letters from Roose Bolton and Tywin Lannister, proving your guilt."
The letters were handed to Abel, who passed them among the Northern lords. Shock and disbelief flashed across faces as they read. Earl Glover cursed, his voice booming:
"Damn it, you son of a—are we to be treated like wild boars led to slaughter?"
Greatjon, beside him, rolled up his sleeves, fists clenched, ready to strike. Only Smalljon restrained him. Lady Maege, after reading, passed the letter to Sir Willis, her gray eyes cold and dangerous.
"Seven Gods, what an insidious and treacherous scheme! Sacred pacts violated, lives used as bait—this is unforgivable!"
Marquis Walder, toothless mouth agape, chuckled. "It matters little. You all stand alive, unharmed, in this hall. What else is there to complain about?" He raised his frail arm, shaking his heavy shackles. "This is nothing but two letters from enemies, used to fabricate charges against House Frey!"
"Eddard Karstark, I do not accept these accusations! I have done nothing!"
He believed the silence of the dungeon and his meticulous planning could shield him. A Faceless Man had been hired, letters sent, schemes woven. No one knew the extent of his manipulations—at least, he thought.
But here, he faced straightforward Northerners. Simple, honest men who despised deception.
"Your toothless mouth spouts only nonsense," Greatjon growled. "Without bait, even the dumbest prey won't step into a trap. Did you think Tywin Lannister would crawl into your bed willingly? Do you take us for fools?"
Walder Frey's eyes flicked toward Robb Stark, unwavering despite his fear. But Eddard's gaze was sharper. He tapped the gavel, summoning a witness.
"Go invite the Scholar of Twin River City."
Scholar Bennet entered cautiously, his robe still streaked with bird droppings, eyes wide at the assembly of nobles. Most were Northern lords with centuries-old lineage, their emblems a testament to history and power.
"Scholar Bennet," Eddard said, his voice commanding yet encouraging, "regarding House Frey's conspiracy against the King of the North and King of the Trident, please tell all that you know."
Bennet swallowed, voice trembling. "Yes… Your Grace. I've served House Frey for twenty years. I saw letters sent to King's Landing, from both the Marquis and correspondences from Tywin Lannister. Marquis Walder planned Riverrun for his son, Aemon, and coveted the governorship of the Trident. He was angry when denied."
"Lies!" Walder Frey roared, but his voice was weak. "Scholars are like whores! Anyone can bribe them!"
"Be silent," Eddard said, calm but icy.
Robb's patient voice broke in. "You will hear the witness, Marquis. Fair trial requires listening, not interruptions."
Bennet continued, detailing the schemes of Walder Frey, each revelation adding to the hall's mounting outrage. The aged Marquis grew frantic, cursing incoherently. Eddard, observing his agitation, cast a subtle spell of weakness. Walder's remaining strength ebbed, and he collapsed into his chair, comically face down. Soldiers helped him upright.
"Your Majesty," Eddard said, turning to Robb, "shall we hear from Sir Lyman Frey?"
The younger Frey, trembling, confessed all he knew. Eddard had promised life at The Wall for honesty, and prudence won over pride.
The hall erupted with cries for justice:
"Hang them! Behead them! Send them to The Wall!"
Eddard nodded, satisfied. Turning to Robb, he said, "The matter is clear. House Frey's crimes are undeniable."
Robb Stark rose, his voice echoing: "House Frey has violated sacred law, insulted my alliances, and harmed my respect for the Lord of River Crossing. Their title is revoked. All active conspirators shall be executed; passive participants shall wear black and go to The Wall. Sir Lyman Frey is spared execution, allowed to don the black robes."
Marquis Walder could only glare, powerless. Even his grandson, Sir Lyman, had nothing to add. Soldiers escorted them from the hall.
Robb, removing his crown, held it tightly, weariness in his posture. "Return to your rooms to rest. More matters await tomorrow."
Eddard paused at the hall's edge, only to hear a summons:
"Eddard Karstark, stay. I have something to discuss with you."
He found a chair, and sat, ready to listen.
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