The weather at the Twins was as miserable as the man who owned it.
It wasn't just raining; it was a deluge. Strong winds whipped across the Green Fork, and the sound of the surging water was like the roar of a monster trapped beneath the bridge. The river had swollen by half its width, churning with mud and debris.
My four hundred soldiers were soaked to the bone, looking more like drowned rats than a legion. But as my black-and-white sunburst banner reached the gatehouse, the Frey guards didn't hesitate. They knew better than to ignore the King's Hand, even if the title had officially changed to "Commander of the River Crossing."
Two men emerged from the gate, wrapped in heavy black wool cloaks over fine steel chainmail. I recognized one of them immediately: Black Walder.
He was the second son of Ryman Frey, a man with a beard as black as his heart and a temper to match. He had a reputation for wanting to hang anyone who annoyed him. Seeing the Frey family tree always made my head spin; Walder had enough grandsons to form a cavalry unit of their own.
"What are the Karstarks doing here?" Black Walder asked, his voice dripping with arrogance. "Don't want to fight anymore? Trying to sneak back to the North? That's a hanging offense, you know."
I pulled back my hood, letting the rain wash over my face. After I gave him a cold, flat stare, his expression shifted to a sneer.
"Oh, it's the 'Prodigy.' I heard you're a Lord now. Earl of the Golden Tooth. Why are you visiting our 'small place' instead of sitting on your pile of gold?"
Black Walder and his father had returned early to handle Ser Stevron's funeral. He was clearly bitter. House Frey had sent four thousand men to bleed for the Starks and gained nothing but a dead heir. Meanwhile, I'd "flattered" my way into a fortress. To him, it was as offensive as a dragon mating with a sheep.
"The King appointed me Commander of the River Crossing," I said, my voice cutting through the wind. "I'm here to assist Lord Walder in guarding this bridge so the enemy doesn't find it empty. Unless, of course, you're planning on defying a royal order? Or perhaps you've already named yourself Lord of the Crossing?"
I wasn't above a bit of slander. Accusing a Frey of wanting to jump the line of succession was like poking a bruise.
"You...!" Black Walder's eyes flashed with rage. In the pouring rain, his face turned a dozen shades of red, but he eventually swallowed his pride. "My great-grandfather is in the hall. Come with me."
He looked at my men. "But your 'army' stays out here. Until the Lord confirms your story, no one enters."
"No problem," I said. I turned to Dita Calandre. "Set up camp. Get some meat soup going, plenty of ginger and white pepper. Lord Walder is an old man; he'll talk for hours before he lets us in."
The layout of the Twins was impressive, a stone fortress on each bank, high walls, deep moats, and the bridge itself, wide enough for ten thousand men to cross. It was the Frey family's personal gold mine.
I entered the dim, drafty hall. Lord Walder was curled up on the high seat, a mink robe draped over his knees. The old man looked like a weasel preparing to steal a chicken. He had no teeth left, and he leaned forward as he spoke, his watery eyes blinking incessantly.
"Young Master Eddard," Walder wheezed. "I heard you had a little 'disagreement' with my great-grandson. Don't mind him. When the thing between your legs works as well as mine does, it produces all sorts of little brats. Some of them come out with the temper of a wild boar."
"I didn't mind it, My Lord," I said. I pulled the King's command from my tunic and placed it on the table.
Walder didn't read it. He had a maester whisper the contents into his ear. His expression went sour. He'd just let Roose Bolton take the previous garrison away, and now Robb had sent a new "babysitter."
"Fine," Walder muttered. "The King says you stay. But your men are divided. Two hundred on the East Bank, two hundred on the West. Is that clear?"
"Perfectly," I said.
I didn't care about the split. I had used the march here to fill my 50 unit slots. I had eighteen soldiers with "Excellent" loyalty and thirty-one with "Good." Every single one of them was a veteran. Under my black cloak, I was wearing full plate. If Walder tried anything, I could activate Magic Armor and carry the old man out of the room with one hand while my retainers cleared the path.
"Good," Walder said. But then he leaned in closer. "I heard a rumor, Young Master. Someone told me that certain people tried to convince the King to break his word to the Freys. To marry the Rose of Highgarden instead."
He stared at me, his gaze trying to find a crack in my mask.
"It's true," I said, not missing a beat. "The suggestion was made. But King Robb is a man of honor. He refused to even consider it. You have nothing to worry about."
I knew where that rumor came from. Roose Bolton had been writing letters. He was trying to poison the well before I even got here.
"Is that so?" Walder muttered. He seemed disappointed that he couldn't catch me in a lie. He shifted gears, trying to pawn off a daughter or a widow on me since I was the new "Earl of the Golden Tooth." I shut that down immediately, claiming I was already betrothed.
"Hmph. Fine then," Walder snapped, his face clouding over. He felt the Karstarks were looking down on him. "I won't keep you. And don't ask me for food. We're stretched thin as it is."
"We'll buy our own supplies in the villages, My Lord. No need to trouble you."
I walked out of the hall without looking back. As I stepped into the rain, I heard him mutter something about me being a "polite child."
Old man, you're trying to nickel-and-dime me even while I'm leaving, I thought. I spat into the mud and headed back to my camp. I had a bridge to guard and a weasel to watch.