Jon Snow was led through the winding passages of the Twins by a woman with a sharp, short chin. Her features bore the unmistakable stamp of House Frey—narrow face, watery eyes, and the faint resemblance to Old Walder himself. Likely she was one of his countless granddaughters, or perhaps even a great-granddaughter.Jon followed in silence. He knew enough of Walder Frey already: every gesture was a calculation, every smile a mask. The old man had summoned him here with promises of hospitality, but Jon did not doubt that beneath the courtesy lay a snare.The Freys would not move too early. Walder wanted him to sweat, to guess at the price. Let the boy-bastard feel important, then remind him whose halls he stood in.At last, Jon was brought to a side hall. To his surprise, it was not shabby. The floor was paved with polished bluestone, clean enough to reflect torchlight. Murals adorned the walls—pastoral depictions of the riverlands, the towers of the Twins painted proudly. The chamber carried a quiet, ostentatious wealth, the kind that House Frey rarely showed on the battlefield.At the far end sat Walder Frey himself, surrounded by a small host of sons and grandsons, their combined years stretching close to a millennium. Jon felt their eyes on him as he entered. Quite the audience, he thought grimly. This was no casual meeting—it was theater.He bowed low, voice steady. "Jon Snow, bastard son of Lord Eddard Stark, greets Lord Walder Frey, and wishes you long years and health."No arrogance, no presumption. His words were careful, respectful—more so than in their first encounter.Walder's wrinkled mouth curled into a smile. The old man leaned forward in his chair, bony hands gripping the armrests. "Jon, I have heard much. They say you turned defeat into victory, that without you, many of my sons and grandsons would now be rotting in Lannister chains. Remarkable. Truly remarkable."His watery eyes gleamed. "It seems Eddard Stark's bastards are finer than most men's trueborn sons. If I were him, I'd give you the Stark name myself."Jon inclined his head, masking the wariness stirring in his chest. The flattery was too direct, too sudden. Walder Frey was baiting a hook, and Jon meant not to bite too eagerly."You are generous, my lord," Jon said smoothly. "The valor of your house on the field has been a lesson to me."Walder chuckled, slapping the arm of his chair. "Ha! Hear him! Polite, clever—Eddard's son through and through. If it were any of my lot," he glared at the gathered Freys, "their tails would be wagging at the first hint of praise."The Frey brood laughed dutifully, bowing their heads as if his scorn were a crown.Walder leaned forward again, voice dropping to a tone meant only for Jon. "Listen, boy. With your victories, your name already carries weight. Robb is lord, aye, and heir, but you—your deeds have already won half the North. Granting you Stark blood and a fief will be no great trouble, once the war is done. It can be arranged."Jon lowered his eyes, feigning shock, even stumbling over his words. "M-my lord, such… such an honor…"He made his voice tremble, his posture deferential. No bastard in Westeros would not crave legitimacy. He knew Walder expected eagerness. Best to give it to him.The old man grinned broadly, his teeth yellow as old parchment. "Good. Very good. But I am no fool, boy. I never do business at a loss. If I lift you, how will you repay me?"Jon struck his chest with a fist. "I will fight your enemies. Be it mountains of steel or seas of flame, I will walk them for your sake."Walder threw back his head and cackled. "Ha! Brave words. But it needn't be so difficult." His face straightened, sharp as a knife. "Do you remember what I said before? That you could take a bride from among my daughters or granddaughters? That is my price."He clapped his hands. At once, several young women were ushered in, ranging in age from fifteen to five-and-twenty. They lined up beside Jon, skirts brushing the stone floor."They are mine," Walder said, eyes glinting. "Daughters, granddaughters—blood of Frey. Choose one, and I'll grant you silver stags equal to the combined weight of you and your bride."Jon's lips twitched. Seven save me. Is this a merchant's bargain or a marriage?He glanced over the girls. Few were attractive. The Frey bloodline stamped them with short chins, watery eyes, features that too easily slipped toward weaselish. His tongue almost betrayed him with a muttered, get a new batch, but he caught himself just in time.He knew better than to refuse outright. Better to play along, weigh the board, and bide his moment.Among the line, however, his eye did catch on one. A girl with chestnut hair in loose curls that fell to her waist, skin fair as cream, and large brown eyes that flicked nervously up at him before darting away. Compared to the rest, she was lovely—delicate, even.Walder's gaze followed his. The old man's smirk widened.A portly Frey beside him spoke up. "Her name is Roslin. She is my father's only daughter by Lady Rosby."Jon swallowed, remembering the awkwardness of his first encounter with a courtesan in another life. He forced a shy, stammering tone. "Mar… Marquis, Roslin? Is that her name?"Roslin's cheeks flushed pink, and her eyes dropped to the floor.Walder laughed, sharp and pleased. "The prettiest of my brood. You have taste, boy. But think carefully. What if Robb takes a liking to her? Would you yield her up to him?"Jon's thoughts sharpened like a drawn blade. Old fox. That's your game.It was plain now. Walder's offer was no simple marriage—it was a trap. If Jon chose Roslin and Robb later claimed her, bitterness would bloom between them. Brothers-at-arms turned rivals. Walder would then console Jon, win his loyalty with compensation, and have two Starks snarling at each other across his hall.It was cunning, cruel, and perfectly in character for the Lord of the Crossing.But Jon was not so easily caught.Without warning, he slapped himself twice across the face. The crack of flesh on flesh echoed in the hall. Two red marks bloomed on his cheeks.The Frey girls gasped and recoiled. Even Walder blinked, baffled.Jon bowed low, voice ringing with passion. "Marquis, I see your true test now. You wished to know if I would forget my father in pursuit of my own desires. He is imprisoned, perhaps condemned, and yet here I am, choosing a bride? That would make me no better than a beast."Walder froze. That was not what I meant at all, he thought sourly.Jon turned to Roslin, his voice softening. "Lady Roslin, you are fair indeed. Were I born a true Stark, perhaps I could dare to dream. But I am only a bastard. Your station is far above mine. Military glory alone cannot bridge such a gulf."Roslin's eyes lifted, shimmering with something unspoken.Jon faced Walder again, voice steady. "If one day I win my father's freedom, if I shed the name of Snow and am granted land and title, I will return. Then, and only then, will I come for Lady Roslin in a carriage fit for her grace."The hall went quiet. Walder's smile stiffened. He had nearly snared the boy, nearly tied him fast—but Jon had slipped the net with words that even sounded virtuous.Behind him, the Frey brood shifted uneasily. The old man's plan had been clear enough; for Jon to turn it so deftly left them unsettled.Jon pressed his advantage. "Marquis, King's Landing cannot yet know of the pact between the North and the Twins. Do you have word of my father's fate?"Walder opened his mouth, but it was the pot-bellied Frey who answered, kneeling as if cowed. "Lord Eddard was executed by Joffrey, condemned as a traitor."Walder slammed his cup against the table, feigning outrage. "Why was I not told sooner, you dolt?""Forgive me, Father!" the man wailed, forehead pressed to the floor. It was a performance, and Jon saw it.The truth struck him like a hammer. His father—dead.A roar tore from his throat, raw and wild. The sound filled the chamber, rattling the timbers. The Frey girls stumbled back in fright.Jon stormed from the hall, eyes blazing, voice rising in fury. "Joffrey! I will have your head! I will skin you for a rug and feast upon your flesh! Tywin! Old villain, traitor, snake!"His words rang through the Twins like thunder, silencing every Frey in earshot. Even Walder himself held his tongue, his sharp eyes narrowing as he watched Jon's back vanish beyond the door.The old man's plan had failed, and in its place stood a youth who bore grief like fire and spoke vengeance like prophecy.--
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