The massive black oak chair stood at the highest point of the great hall—Walder Frey's seat.
Now Tyrion sat in it. He had never visited The Twins before and had never wanted to. People said Lord Walder was foul-tempered, sharp-tongued, and utterly without courtesy. Sitting in his place now, Tyrion felt an inexplicable irritation settle over him.
Sansa and Emmon Frey sat to either side of him. Lord Emmon looked ready to burst from his skin with excitement, unable to contain himself at the thought of becoming Lord of the Crossing. As a second son, he had never dared dream of inheriting his family seat and title.
Behind Sansa stood the others—Brienne, Brynden, and the various Riverlands lords. The moment they entered the city, they had sent messengers to the other Riverlands houses, inviting them to The Twins for the wedding. Bronn waited in the far corner with Timett, chief of the mountain clans. They had slipped in from the north as soon as the Lannisters seized control of the castle's defenses.
The Frey family members lined the sides of the hall, while all who had taken up arms during the Red Wedding knelt in the center.
"Gentlemen, a pleasure to meet you," Tyrion began. Hear me roar, he thought. "No need for worry. I will honor the terms of surrender. First, regarding Lord Walder Frey… I will personally carry out his execution. But before that—regarding the fate of The Twins."
"My lord, please," Walton Frey said, face drained of all color. "My lord, this is the ancestral seat of House Frey. You cannot—"
"I did not say I would strip the Freys of their rule over the Crossing." Tyrion lifted a brow. "Though the idea has crossed my mind. House Frey—second in power in the Riverlands only to the Wardens. Bracken and Blackwood both fall short of you."
Emmon Frey opened his mouth to speak—likely to remind Tyrion of his promise to give him The Twins—but Aunt Genna twisted his arm sharply, silencing her foolish husband.
"But what does that matter?" Tyrion continued. "My father wiped out the Tarbecks and the Reynes with only five hundred men. When I left King's Landing, I had no more than five hundred myself. Yet here, nearly two thousand stand assembled."
"My lord, you are the most celebrated commander in all the Seven Kingdoms." The flattery poured from Walton Frey's trembling lips.
"Yes, and I am also a man of my word." Tyrion rose to his feet. "I promised that those who did not take part in the Red Wedding will be safe. And I will not harm the women."
Walton Frey exhaled with visible relief.
"Ser Lothar," Tyrion said, turning his gaze. "What did you do during the wedding?"
Lothar Frey stepped forward, looking less anxious than the rest. "My lord, I am the steward. I prepare meals, assign chambers—that is all."
"I noticed you standing among the crowd," Tyrion said, pointing to the groups on either side. "That space is for children and ladies—those who did not participate in the massacre."
"My lord, I am a cripple," Roso Frey protested, opening his hands. "I cannot lift a sword, nor stand on a battlefield."
"But you can wield schemes well enough," Tyrion replied. "You were one of the principal architects of the massacre, responsible for proposing and arranging many of the wedding's most critical details with Roose Bolton. Isn't that true?"
Lothar froze.
"Using 'The Rains of Castamere' as the signal to begin the slaughter—that was your idea, too," Tyrion said. "What right do you have to kneel and beg? Bring him to the battlements and hang him."
"My lord—!" Lothar Frey tried to cry out, but two mountain clansmen silenced him and dragged him away.
Sweat trickled down Walton Frey's forehead, but he forced himself to speak. "My lord… am I—?"
"You wish to inherit The Twins?" Tyrion asked. "By succession, yes—it falls to you. You are Lord Stevron's last surviving offspring, uninvolved in the slaughter, and the one who opened the gates."
Walton Frey nodded with frantic eagerness.
"You and your two sons—Steffon and Bryan—may take the black and serve the Lord Commander at Castle Black," Tyrion said. "I promised your lives, not your inheritance."
"Tyrion," Aunt Genna murmured cautiously as she stepped closer. "You should simply kill them."
"Speak to Bronn. Have him do it on the road," Tyrion whispered to her, then addressed Walton again. "Lord Walton, anything more to say?"
Walton Frey said nothing, his face twisted with despair, and he departed with his sons.
"Bring in the esteemed Lord Walder," Tyrion said. "The late Lord of the Freys—though now he should be called the Frey of the Wedding Massacre."
Walder Frey lay on a wooden plank, his once-lavish litter likely chopped up for firewood long ago. Three daughters and a wife carried him, struggling even under his slight weight. The old man hadn't lost an ounce during the siege—no doubt one reason his children had turned on him.
The women set him on a long table.
"Lord Walder, do you have any last words?"
"Damn you Lannister whelp." His pink, liver-spotted bald head jerked toward Tyrion. "Lannisters are liars. Do it. The Others will tear your guts out and eat your heart—"
"So you're placing your hopes on the Others?" Tyrion sneered, leaning close. "I should tell you—this isn't done. I know you still have a son in the North, serving under Roose Bolton—that back-stabbing Red King. And do you see the red-haired lady beside your seat? My betrothed, Sansa Stark. We'll be holding our wedding here, in your castle."
"As the saying goes, a dying man speaks kindly. Care to offer a wedding blessing before you go? Wish me twenty children, perhaps—just like you?"
"Bah!" Walder Frey spat, every breath dragging him closer to death. "Boy, when your Lannisters turn into gold for real, then your wife will bear you brats. You'll see!"
I've heard that somewhere before, Tyrion thought as he raised his sword.
"Goodbye, old man. Rest easy. Perhaps Robb has a welcome waiting for you below."
The blade came down. The old weasel's blood didn't splash far. Tyrion handed the sword to Podrick to clean, then called for a maid.
"Clean this filth properly. Especially the table—wipe it several times. I don't want to smell blood at the wedding."