Robb Stark was furious: he was twenty years old and had been engaged against his will to a seventeen-year-old maiden he had never even seen before his wedding day. No one listened, and his mother punched his so hard in the face that the wall gave his a second one. Everyone heaved a sigh of relief when, with winter approaching, Robb Stark held a grand wedding in the halls of Winterfell Castle. Roslin Frey had turned seventeen a few days earlier and was already a woman. It was the destiny she had been raised to fulfill since birth. Queen of Winterfell, wife of Robb Stark. All day long the bells rang, and the nobles of the House of Frey, the dignitaries of the Twins, came to shower the newlyweds with expensive gifts and finery. At the festive feast, servants brought the dishes from the kitchen on generously laden platters. The tables, pushed together and covered with silver threaded tablecloths with a wolf pattern, were overflowing with more and more food. The starters were truffle pâté, boiled apple soup with ox tongue, red wine deer stew with bread crumbs, wild mushroom stew with tarragon, black venison soup and sour cream and cottage cheese casserole. There was also a succession of delicious poultry dishes. Foie gras abraded in its own fat, crispy turkey, roast bustards, rooster stuffed with apples, peacock in pepper sauce, crane, pheasant, quail, duck legs seasoned with cloves, ginger and cardamom spice, all served in separate bowls with fruit and meat sauces. The main course was spit-roasted pork ham, mutton loin cooked to the bone, oxtail with garlic, saffron-flavoured beef shank with bacon, tender lamb roasted to a crisp, honey-roasted bear's foot cake with bacon, venison in saffron sauce with bacon and mushrooms, and spit-roasted bison roasting over the fire until late in the evening. Its crispy skin had wild pears in the cut slices. And for dessert, a small cinnamon-dipped doughnut, quince and pomegranate cakes were served. In the meantime, the barrels were tapped and the wine, beer and rum were already being poured out for the wedding guests. Light, strong, sour, sweet, everyone drank what they liked. The House of Stark welcomed its noble guests with several barrels of excellent drink. Roslin, the young consort, ate every course with the good taste befitting a Frey woman, and handsome Robb also devoured the food and drank the drinks set before him. At the royal banquet in their honour, Robb did not eat his fill of food primarily to indulge in gluttony, but so that they could pay their respects to each other as quickly as possible and get down to business with Roslin.
- "I didn't think you'd invite your father's bastards to your wedding, son," Catelyn leaned over the dinner table, trying to speak loud enough so that Jon Snow and Casta, seated to her son's right, could hear her words over the sharply echoing music of drummers, rattles and bagpipes.
- 'I'm sure they're better off here now than in the Night Watch, Mother,' Robb replied in a measured voice. Here, they don't suffer from the fierce cold, which, frankly, I often find hard to bear. Perhaps one spring or summer we shall have the opportunity to enjoy the hospitality of House of Frey in the Twins, but for now I wish only to discuss politics, war and other matters of the realm with Lord Walder. Such things are not for women's ears.
- "That depends," Catelyn smiled faintly, "on the woman in question."
"A woman should not interfere with men," Robb waved his greasy hands, "However, the wedding will be a very short one, which is why I have asked Lord Walder to be generous and dispense with formalities. As soon as we've discussed all the important matters, I'll leave these people.
- I hope you have no intention of welcoming Jon Snow and Casta into our family.
- No, not at all!" chuckled Robb in a bell-like voice, his short curls dancing on his head with laughter.
- Then enjoy the evening, which we have arranged in your and your wife's honour! Are you spending your wedding night with her?
- Of course, Mother.
- You do know how important it is to plant your seed in her, don't you?
- My wife is the daughter of a sycophant," Robb snarled in a voice that was hardly audible to others. - She's like the other Freys. Her legs are pretty, but her breasts are like a cow's. And I, my dear mother, am not in the habit of taking Lord Walder's daughters to bed.
- "Roslin is no longer a Frey girl," Catlyn said flatly. - She is a Stark now, and still bleeding. She's ready for you to make her a mother. It's late, time for me to retire.
- Good night, Mother.
Robb nodded, and soon another pint of wine was placed on the table. He topped it up and continued to fill his stomach as the atmosphere in the room grew hotter. The noblemen of House Stark and the wealthiest of House Frey were increasingly oblivious to the drinks being poured and danced around the tables, dishevelled, smudged, their clothes hanging off their belts. The Frey knights rioted even louder and wilder, and, having had great success, they started again on the previous tune, this time at a slightly faster tempo than the first. Robb Stark had finished his supper and was growing uncomfortable in his chair. Walder Frey thought that his son-in-law was tired of the feast and wished to talk to him about the war, but it soon became clear that something else was troubling him.
- "I hate this music," he said, shaking his head contemptuously. "If I hadn't married your daughter, I'd cut off the hands of all the bastards!"
"Come, it's only music," laughed the old man. "It's no bother, it's nothing more than a daring game. Look how much my boys enjoy it!
At that very moment, one of Lord Walder's sons caught a whore around the waist, threw her on the table, ripped off her shirt and started sucking her breasts right there and then. Another Frey knight cheered him on loudly, while the other ran to one of the large windows, but too late, for the vomit from his excessive drinking was pouring out of his mouth and nose. Casta loudly scolded those who could not hold their drink, and from somewhere he fetched a bucket, which the unfortunate Frey knight dumped on his head, which was filthy with his own vomit. This got everyone laughing so hard that beer was foaming out of their noses. The knights began to sing of whores and thieves as King Robb Stark and Queen Roslin Frey quietly left the hall.