The Walder Frey that Karl saw was a frail old man slumped on a cushioned stool. Bald, nearly toothless, and with skin dried and wrinkled like old parchment, he looked as if a strong breeze could blow him over. Yet his eyes—narrow, sharp, and glinting with a weasel-like cunning—betrayed no weakness.
Despite his appearance, this man was still the Lord of the Crossing, guardian of the Twins and wielder of enormous influence in the Riverlands. The title "Marquis of Riverrun" suited him poorly in Karl's eyes, but no one could deny the political weight Walder Frey carried.
His face, dotted with dark brown age spots, only added to his unseemly, almost lecherous demeanor. He made no attempt to hide the sly smile curling his lips as he greeted his king and his king's hand.
Even while unable to rise from his stool, Frey wore a bright expression as King Robert Baratheon and Duke Eddard Stark approached. Standing around him were at least two dozen young men and women, all dressed in similar colors—an unmistakable Frey uniform of sorts. Karl counted more as they moved; the family truly bred like rabbits.
Closest behind Frey stood a girl who looked no more than a child. This was, according to Frey's proud introduction, his eighth wife: Qiaosusan Enford, sixteen years old, thin as a reed, pale from poor nourishment, and lacking any charm aside from the silent obedience in her downcast eyes.
The formal greetings between King Robert, Eddard Stark, and Walder Frey were brief and mechanical. None of the three men had much patience for pleasantries.
Once the customary words were exchanged, Frey personally beckoned the royal party into the Twins. The northern soldiers, exhausted from the long march, were ordered to make camp on the plains north of the fortress. Even the livestock had nearly collapsed from the travel; rest was no longer optional.
Eddard followed Frey inside after giving orders for the camps to be set up. A grand feast awaited them.
Bread and salt were offered, securing guest right, and then everyone was led into the candlelit hall—long tables stretching from wall to wall, packed with Frey descendants and retainers.
Even Karl and his companions, King Robert's guards, were seated among them.
Robert, seated at the high table, devoured only a few bites before tossing aside his utensils and lifting his goblet of red wine. He slammed it down after a long gulp, wiping his mouth before his eyes locked onto Frey.
"You ignored your liege lord's call to arms, Frey," the king said bluntly. "So you must know exactly what's happening in the Riverlands. Speak plainly. I want every detail."
Walder Frey remained unfazed. He set down his own utensils, waved lazily for one of his numerous sons to refill the cups, and turned back with a crafty smile.
"Yes, Your Grace. I am old, too old to respond quickly to war calls. My legs fail me more each year. And so, I was unable to ride at Lord Hoster Tully's summons."
He paused, lips twitching.
"But perhaps that was fortunate. My sons and grandsons were not slaughtered, nor—" his tone sharpened, "captured as tools to threaten their lord."
Robert's expression hardened, but before he could explode, Eddard stepped in.
"Marquis Frey, no one is blaming you for age," Eddard said calmly. "His Majesty is simply anxious to understand the situation."
Frey gave a small, mocking smile, lifted his goblet again, and sipped slowly before answering.
"Very well. Let us discuss the Riverlands."
Below the high table, Karl and the other soldiers were being served by Frey children and grandchildren. The sheer number of Freys was overwhelming—Karl wondered if even the old man himself remembered all their names.
Karl ate quietly, but Jon Snow was far more distracted. Despite holding a spoon, Jon spent most of his time staring around the hall with wide, curious eyes.
Karl leaned closer and whispered, "Keep staring like that and they'll think you're shopping for a bride."
Jon blinked, confused. "But, Lord Karl… aren't those girls all staring at you?"
Karl froze.
It was true. Many of the Frey girls—on his side of the table and the opposite—kept sneaking glances at him. Even some of the men eyed him, likely curious about the imposing northern warrior with striking features.
Before Karl could respond, Dog Tooth Kexi and the others slid over, grinning.
"That's because our boss is handsome," Kexi declared proudly. "Clean up your face, shave those whiskers, and maybe girls will stare at you too."
Laughter followed.
"Best to get used to a few women, boy," one added.
"Unless they like goat's milk pudding faces, they'll want men who look tough."
"Tough!"
"Hard!"
"Hahaha!"
Jon, cheeks turning red, finally understood their teasing. He lowered his head and returned to eating, chastened.
At the high table, Walder Frey cleared his throat and began speaking, drawing the full attention of the king, Eddard, Lord Bolton, and the other northern lords.
"Tywin Lannister crushed Edmure Tully's forces at Golden Tooth," Frey began. "Crushed, Your Grace. It was a slaughter, not a battle."
He paused, letting the words sink in.
"Few survived the ambush in the valley, but those who did brought us all the needed information."
"And then?" Bolton asked, raising his goblet. His voice was cold. "What was Hoster Tully thinking? Sending his son to block Golden Tooth? A child could see the error."
Frey ignored the mockery but didn't deny it.
"After the victory, Tywin did not slow. He marched straight through the Riverlands unopposed. House Tully was caught completely off guard. Riverrun found itself surrounded soon after."
"And he threatened Lord Hoster with Edmure?" Robert growled.
"Indeed. Tywin chose intimidation over direct assault. Wise, considering Riverrun's defenses."
Eddard lifted his eyes. "If I recall correctly, only Riverrun and Casterly Rock have never fallen in the Seven Kingdoms."
The hall quieted. Eddard's words held weight.
Frey smirked. "Correct, Duke Stark. Riverrun's stores could feed an army for two years. I have no worry for my liege lord."
Then his smile faded, replaced by something more solemn.
"But I do worry for Edmure," he said, glancing at his own brood of children. "If Hoster Tully loves his children as I love mine…"
Robert slammed the table, startling everyone.
"Eddard," he snapped, "stop assuming every man acts on honor alone. We must be realistic."
"Yes, Your Majesty," Eddard murmured, lowering his gaze.
Robert turned back to Frey. "And Tywin? Don't tell me the old lion sits still with a prize he can't swallow."
Frey's sly grin returned.
"Your Grace, Tywin Lannister is no fool. He knows he cannot breach Riverrun quickly. And so…"
He leaned forward.
"…he waits. And he plots."
The hall grew heavy with tension.
Karl could feel it. Jon could feel it. Everyone understood:
The Riverlands were on the brink of collapse, and the North had only just arrived.
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