The Lannister army made camp a mile south of The Twins, cutting the road to the castle clean in half.
Frey soldiers peered down from the battlements, whispering among themselves, and only when Tyrion ordered catapults built did a messenger finally emerge from the gates.
"Lord Walder invites you into the city as his guest," the messenger stammered.
"Listen to that," Greatjon growled as he ground his axe against a whetstone, the scraping loud and sharp. "After all this, the old weasel still thinks anyone would walk into his stinking nest?"
"Entering the city would be foolish," Blackfish said, studying the weasel's messenger. "But we should give him terms of surrender."
"Surrender?" Greatjon spat. "Only his shriveled head could quench this hatred."
"Enough," Tyrion cut in. He didn't want the messenger witnessing them bickering. "Cut off his ears, and tell Walder Frey we'll meet beneath the walls tomorrow morning."
The messenger broke down crying, begging desperately. Greatjon rose, dragged him outside, and returned less than a minute later with blood on his hands.
"We should smash the walls and storm the castle," Greatjon said. "If you allow it, I'll lead the charge myself."
"The Twins is no ordinary castle," Tyrion said. "Certainly not in the usual sense of being easy to defend. A direct assault would accomplish nothing."
Blackfish nodded.
"Even if they lose the fortress on the south bank, all they have to do is break the stone bridge and hole up on the north bank," Tyrion continued.
"Then what do we do?" Greatjon asked.
"Starve them," Blackfish answered for him. "And old Walder Frey will offer terms soon enough. He'll do whatever it takes to save himself."
"Starve them? How?" Greatjon demanded. "The Twins is a bridge fortress. We've only blocked one side."
Tyrion pulled out three letters. "These were seized at Seagard—messages sent from The Twins to Black Walder." He tapped one. "The Kingsroad north of the Green Fork of the Trident, the foothills of the Mountains of the Moon, and everything up to The Neck are crawling with bandits and mountain raiders."
"Meaning they can't get supplies from the north," Brynden Tully said, pointing at the map. "The lands near the Green Fork and the Mountains of the Moon are poor to begin with. The wealthiest parts of the Riverlands lie at the mouths of the rivers at Riverrun and Harrenhal."
"So what? The old weasel could buy them off."
"They're my men," Tyrion said. "Bronn and the mountain clans are sweeping the Kingsroad. And from the numbers Walder Frey mentions, the Burned Men are involved as well. To wipe them out, they'd need at least a thousand men."
"And Roose Bolton? That bastard…"
"He can barely look after himself," Tyrion said.
"Hmph. Then let's see what you can talk him into!"
...
The next morning the sky hung low and gray. Tyrion rode out, stopping two hundred paces from the gates of The Twins. His attendants, Payne and Dayne, kept a few steps behind.
As the gates opened, the rising sun glimmered over the eastern river. The drawbridge groaned downward, the portcullis lifted, and a litter carried by four men emerged from within.
It was more stretcher than litter. Tyrion watched it approach. Lord Walder, now ninety, looked like a withered pink weasel. His head was bald and freckled with age spots. Gout made it impossible for him to stand without help.
The steward of The Twins, the lame Lame Lothar Frey, followed behind him. After him came a pale, frail girl of sixteen who walked beside the stretcher. She was the eighth Lady Frey.
Lord Walder lay on his back until they reached Tyrion. Lame Lothar helped the old man sit upright.
"Lord Walder, your reputation precedes you," Tyrion said politely.
"Ah, the golden Lannister," the old man muttered, squinting at him, anger and fear mingling in his eyes. "Lannisters are all liars."
I should ride up and cut him down right now, Tyrion thought.
"So? Lannister, what is it you want me to do?" Walder Frey demanded. "Hide in my castle, feasting while I wait for you to fall apart? Or take you prisoner and trade you to Lord Tywin for your weight in gold? I'd make sure you were nice and plump."
Tyrion burst out laughing, his horse pawing the air. "Lord Walder, have you gone senile? Let me spell it out. Open your gates, surrender at once, punish those who broke guest right. I'll show mercy."
"Mercy," Walder Frey scoffed. "If I refuse to open my gates, winter will come and you'll die."
"No. When winter comes, we'll withdraw. We'll fall back to Seagard, Riverrun, Harrenhal. We've stockpiled grain—thanks to your sons and grandsons. We'll sit by our hearths drinking ale while your people trudge through the snow, scavenging for grains we dropped. Then you won't be a weasel. You'll be a sparrow."
Walder Frey said nothing.
"Roose Bolton won't save you. The northern winter hits faster, and his stores won't last. If I'm not mistaken, it was you who kept the northerners fed. Did he mention Stannis's fleet sailing north?" Tyrion continued. "Bandits and raiders have blocked the southern road past Moat Cailin. The Riverlords swear allegiance to the Warden—oh yes, I almost forgot that I'm the Warden of the Riverlands. But guess what? Even if you were Warden, no one would come to save you. That's the truth of it."
"Open the gates, kneel, confess your crimes. I promise everyone will receive a fair judgment."
"A fair judgment," old Frey spat. "Go to hell, Lannister brat."
"I'll give you three days," Tyrion said with a smile. "By then the catapults will be finished. Did Black Walder tell you my rule? No mercy for those who surrender after a siege."
Lame Lothar flinched.
"Remember—three days. If you haven't surrendered by then, I'll fire Edwyn into the city with a catapult. He is your heir, after all. And by then you'll get no mercy. Except you, my lady." Tyrion nodded to Frey's sixteen-year-old wife. "I don't slaughter women."
"He'll take you, pass you from soldier to soldier!" Walder Frey shrieked. "Lannisters are all liars! We're leaving! Back inside!"
The servants lifted the litter. The girl glanced back at Tyrion. The cripple hobbled behind them.
"A Lannister always pays his debts!" Tyrion called out. "Kneel and live. Resist and die."