"So the Blackfish surrendered just like that?"
Edwyn Frey and Walder Rivers followed Tyrion into Riverrun.
"Exactly. Their stores were nowhere near what they claimed." Tyrion rode at the front. "With the food nearly gone and the people on the brink of starvation, the Blackfish opened the gates. It was the sensible choice."
Five hundred Lannister soldiers entered first; the rest stayed behind in the siege camp. Daven and Perwyn Frey kept order.
"This was my father's study," Edmure Tully said proudly from the window. "He ruled the Riverlands from here, wise and stern. He loved working by the window for the light, and with just a lift of his head, he could look out at the river."
"Now it's my study," Edwyn Frey said. "I'm the castellan of Riverrun, just as Black Walder holds Seagard. A pity I'm only half his match."
"And Black Walder?" Walder Rivers asked.
"He ignored my orders, but under my authority he owned up to it," Tyrion said, gazing at the river. "He swore he'd treat Lord Mallister well, so I let him stay in Seagard."
"He should've been arrested," Edwyn muttered. "Otherwise I can't shake the feeling someone's breathing down my neck."
"And the Blackfish?" Walder Rivers asked.
"Fish swim. The Blackfish swims very fast," Tyrion said. "If this were the Eyrie, he'd have flown out."
"Tell the truth," the Frey bastard growled, fist raised at Edmure. "How did he get away?"
"He really did swim out," Edmure said, blinking. "We opened the sluice gate's iron grates, but only a little—about three feet—leaving a gap underwater that looked unchanged from above. My uncle's a powerful swimmer. After dark he slipped through the spikes beneath the water."
Sometimes Edmure could be clever, Tyrion thought, as long as you spelled out exactly what he needed to do.
"We have to catch him," the Frey bastard insisted.
"Daven will see to that," Tyrion said as he took a seat. "We should send a letter to the Twins."
"What do you need, my lord?" Edwyn asked.
"Food." Tyrion still meant to keep draining the Twins. "Riverrun's stores are empty, and we still have to settle the quarrel between the Brackens and the Blackwoods. Without supplies, the army must be disbanded. Do you want to dismiss your men? You have two thousand guards. Far too many for a single castle."
"He could come back at the head of a bandit gang. The Blackfish's fighting spirit isn't in doubt," Rivers said.
"Ser Brynden caused us enough trouble," Tyrion replied. "I doubt he'll walk back into our hands. Either way, we don't need two thousand."
"Lord Vance's men could all go home," Edwyn said, unwilling to give up his troops—his lifeblood. "If Black Walder can feed eight hundred at Seagard, then I can feed two thousand here at Riverrun. I'll write to the Twins."
"Good." Tyrion rose. "I'm going to see Robb Stark's wife."
...
Tyrion brushed past the Blackfish in the corridor. Dressed in Lannister armor, he drew no attention at all. A knight? He looked more like a killer. The Blackfish lurking in the shadows was far more dangerous than Bronn. Let the Freys pray for luck.
Compared with the Blackfish, she was no threat at all. Jeyne was a slender girl of fifteen or sixteen, moving with an awkwardness that was far from graceful. Her hips and chest were unremarkable, her chestnut curls soft, her gentle brown eyes like those of a young doe. Pretty enough for a girl her age, but hardly worth the loss of a kingdom.
Her face was swollen, and a scrape on her forehead was half-hidden under a curl of brown hair.
"What happened?" Tyrion asked.
The girl turned her head away.
"Nothing," her mother said. Sybell Spicer wore a green velvet gown and held herself with rigid dignity, a gold conch-shell necklace hanging from her long, thin neck. "She refused to take off the little crown that traitor gave her. I went to remove it myself, and the willful child actually fought back."
"It's mine!" Jeyne cried. "How dare you take it? Robb had it made just for me. I love him!"
Her mother raised a hand to strike, but Tyrion stepped between them.
"Enough."
The last who struck a girl in front of him had lost his hand.
"Your father, Lord, once promised he would find good matches for Jeyne and her sister. Lords or their heirs, he wrote plainly—never a second son, a younger son, or some vassal knight to fob us off with."
"I will not marry anyone else." Jeyne shook her head violently.
Of course. With the chance to marry a king, who would look at anyone else? Sweet poison, Tyrion thought. "You shall have the betrothal, but first let Jeyne wait two years. If she marries too quickly and bears a child, people will whisper that the Young Wolf is the true father."
"I have two sons," Lady Westerling reminded the captain of the Kingsguard. "Rollam is with me, but Raynald is a knight and rode with the rebels to The Twins. Had I known what arrangements were being made there, I would never have allowed him to go." There was reproach in her voice. "Raynald knows nothing of my… my understanding with your father. He may still be imprisoned in The Twins."
Poor lady. Her eldest son was dead, and if she learned that, House Frey would earn another lifelong enemy.
The Westerlings were old and proud, but Sybell Spicer had been born into a family of upjumped merchants, her grandmother rumored to be a half-mad Eastern witch. The family was broke besides. Ordinarily, Sybell Spicer's daughter would be lucky to wed a lord's second son. But gold opened doors, and Lannister gold could make a traitor's widow as desirable as any highborn maid.
"Sadly, my lady, Rollam will likely be your heir," Tyrion said with genuine regret. "I'll find him a respectable house."
"Damn Walder Frey, that weasel." She clenched her teeth. "What sort of noble is he? And my brother, Rolph Spicer—your father promised him a castle."
"If he had agreed to marry Amerei Frey, Darry would be the Spicer seat."
"Gatehouse Ami?" She frowned. "Darry is tempting, but the women of House Frey…"
"If that match displeases you, Oldstones is another option." A chameleon whore scorning a weasel, Tyrion thought, nearly smiling. "The place lies in ruins, but it sits on the edge of the Blue Fork, and given time it could flourish again. You may think it over."
"And if Robb Stark left behind any documents or letters, please give them to me."
"Yes, my lord." Lady Sybell Spicer curtsied. "May we return to The Crag?"
"As you wish. But before you leave, remember to tell me your decision—and bring me the letters."