"House Frey is a tough nut to crack," Lord Hoster said slowly, his voice heavy with exhaustion. "And this time, they are late again."
The war council tent was quiet except for the distant clatter of soldiers rebuilding defenses outside Riverrun. The siege had been lifted, but the scars of battle lingered everywhere—burned fields, shattered gates, and weary men who had seen too much bloodshed.
Ser Edmure Tully had summoned his vassals to defend Riverrun, yet one banner was conspicuously absent.
House Frey.
Under normal circumstances, as sworn bannermen of House Tully, the Freys should have marched at once to answer their liege lord's call. Yet, just as during the Battle of the Trident years ago, Lord Walder Frey had chosen to wait… and watch.
Lord Hoster's distrust was not unfounded. House Frey had long maintained suspiciously cordial relations with Casterly Rock. Old Walder had even married one of his sons into the Lannister family—Tywin Lannister's own sister. It was a calculated move, one that reeked of opportunism.
House Tully lacked the iron grip of the Lannisters. Not every house possessed the immense wealth, political cunning, and ruthless decisiveness of Lord Tywin.
"Frey swore fealty to you," Gendry said calmly. "If he refuses your summons, then it is rebellion."
The word hung in the air like a drawn blade.
This time, however, the Riverlands were not as fragmented as before. Tywin Lannister's brutal campaign of burning villages and slaughtering smallfolk had terrified many lords into unity. Fear had driven them to rally behind House Tully rather than scatter in self-preservation.
"It is rebellion," Lord Hoster agreed after a long silence.
The bond between liege and bannerman was sacred—but it was also practical. Walder Frey's delay was not mere caution; it was contempt. He had made no effort to conceal it.
"But House Frey commands a considerable force," Hoster continued, worry lining his aging face. "They hold the Twins, and the Twins is no ordinary castle."
The Twins—two massive fortresses guarding the crossing of the Green Fork. Whoever held the crossing controlled movement between north and south.
"I have a way to breach it," Gendry replied.
Hoster studied him carefully. "Good. Then let me be the villain this once. I have played the good lord all my life."
His voice trembled slightly.
"I will declare Walder Frey a rebel."
Gendry allowed himself a faint smile. "Then I will remove this thorn as your gift."
The old lord waved his hand, sorrow and relief mixing in his expression.
"It is my failure," he said quietly. "I failed to judge my daughters correctly. I failed to manage my bannermen. And my son…" He glanced toward Edmure. "My son lacks the steel required of these times."
House Tully's legacy rested on three children—Catelyn, Lysa, and Edmure. Each significant. Each flawed.
If Edmure possessed stronger command ability, perhaps the Riverlords would not be looking toward the Young Wolf of the North instead of their own lord's heir.
The Riverlands had never been a stable realm. It was a crossroads of war—claimed in different eras by Storm Kings, Ironborn reavers, and Targaryen dragonlords. It bent to strength. Always.
"Will you deal with the North as well?" Hoster asked cautiously.
"If Lady Catelyn and her son Robb are wise," Gendry replied, "they will pass through the Twins without conflict. I bear them no ill will."
Hoster understood immediately. The Twins controlled the Green Fork crossing. If the Northern army wished to march south without taking the longer Kingsroad, they must negotiate with Walder Frey.
Whoever secured that crossing secured leverage.
"My agents are monitoring King's Landing," Gendry continued. "We are doing what we can to rescue Lord Eddard."
"That is good," Hoster nodded. "I will send word to Catelyn."
The situation had shifted dramatically. Gendry's army had relieved Riverrun. That victory carried weight. The people would remember who had saved them.
Power belonged to the one who defended them.
"All these matters," Lord Hoster said, voice firm despite age, "I entrust to you. But I wish to hear a king's promise."
"I will protect House Tully and Riverrun," Gendry said.
Hoster's tired eyes gleamed.
"Some oaths are written in ink. Others are written in the heart. I believe I stand before a true king."
After a pause, he added quietly, "Governor of the Trident…?"
Gendry did not answer directly.
"Winter is coming," he said instead. "And when it does, titles will matter less than survival. If Lannister triumphs, there will be no Governor—only ashes."
Hoster gave a bitter laugh.
"Perhaps Edmure is fit only to be a castle lord. I schemed for years, yet here I stand, back at the beginning. But if I see Walder Frey fall before I die…" His eyes hardened. "Then I will count that as victory."
"Is winter truly coming?" he asked softly.
"The summer has lasted nearly ten years. When winter comes, no house will survive alone."
"Just survive…" Hoster murmured.
After a long silence, he said, "Send Edmure in."
Edmure entered the tent and froze at the sight of his father's fragile state.
"Remember our words," Hoster said sharply. "Family. Duty. Honor."
"Catelyn forgot duty. Lysa forgot honor. You must remember both."
"What is happening?" Edmure asked, confused.
"Kneel," Hoster commanded.
Edmure hesitated only briefly before kneeling before Gendry, placing his sword at the young man's feet.
"Long live King Gendry," he said.
Gendry stepped forward and helped him rise.
"You must listen carefully," Hoster continued. "From now on, your loyalty must be absolute."
Then he delivered the blow.
"Lysa Tully is no longer of this house."
Edmure staggered as if struck.
"Father… what are you saying?"
"She is implicated in Lord Jon Arryn's death," Hoster said coldly. "And her ties to Petyr Baelish endanger us all."
Edmure's face drained of color.
He knew of Lysa's instability. But murder? Treachery against the Vale?
The joy of victory evaporated into horror.
"I am her father," Hoster said, voice breaking. "And yet I must cast her aside. That is the burden of a lord."
Edmure clenched his fists.
"I will remember: Family. Duty. Honor."
"I will kill Littlefinger," he added hoarsely.
Hoster nodded faintly.
"If Catelyn asks, explain this to her. Spare her what pain you can."
"I understand."
"Good. Send Lord Tytos in."
Count Tytos entered with fire in his eyes.
"Now that Riverrun is free, we must march south! Harrenhal must fall. Tywin must be crushed before he regroups."
"We will march," Hoster said. "But not south."
Tytos blinked. "Not south?"
"Our target is the Twins."
"The Twins? Now?" Tytos protested. "We finally have momentum!"
"This is not resentment," Gendry said evenly. "It is strategy. Frey's four thousand men threaten our rear. If the North marches south and Frey closes the crossing, we are trapped."
The logic was undeniable.
"Frey mocks weakness," Hoster added. "Then let him learn what strength truly is."
"But the Twins are nearly impregnable," Tytos argued.
"Nearly," Gendry corrected with a faint smile.
He leaned over the map.
"We have ravens. We control the narrative of Riverrun's relief. We have captured Lannister mercenaries willing to spread misinformation."
Tytos frowned.
Gendry continued, "Walder Frey waits for certainty. He only commits when victory is assured. If we convince him that Lannister strength is collapsing… he will hesitate. Hesitation creates opportunity."
"You plan to draw him out?"
"Or divide him."
Silence filled the tent as the strategy began to take shape.
Hoster finally spoke.
"Then we return to Riverrun. We prepare carefully. I may be an old man who fears the cold… but I will not leave my house vulnerable again."
Outside, the river flowed quietly under a fading sky.
War would not pause. The Lannisters still gathered strength in the south. The North marched uncertainly. King's Landing simmered with intrigue.
But before all that—
The Twins would fall.
And with them, the illusion that oaths could be broken without consequence.
Winter was coming.
And only the strong would endure.
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