"What was she like?"

"Pardon?"

"Branda, my betrothed. I assume that you did secure the betrothal, seeing how you're not plotting to murder every Stark you can find."

He knows me too well. "If you're worried about your future bride, dear brother, you should have no serious cause for alarm. What was she like? Physically, you will hardly find her lacking in either beauty or strength. Mentally? The only thing sharper than her mind or her tongue is probably her sword."

I heard Kevan sigh. "Oh joy. No whores in my future then."

"Unless you intend to join the Unsullied, of course."

Kevan rolled his eyes. "My brother, the comic."

"I prefer the term 'humorosophist', thank you very much," I responded with a chuckle. Say what you will about Kevan, but at least he has a sense of humor.

"How long until our betrothal ends?"

"Three moons' time." There's that magic number again. Why is it always three months before weddings? Travel time? Tradition? Hell if I know.

An emotionally neutral "Hmm" was my only reply.

I stood up and walked over to a decanter, pouring myself a glass of Arbor Gold. Sure, I was drinking probably around five glasses of wine a day, but fuck it. If it's good enough for Queen Elizabeth, it's good enough for me. I'll definitely need it by tonight.

"You've something else on your mind, I can tell it." I forgot how good Kevan was at picking up my secrets, especially considering how I was less stoic than the Tywin he grew up with.

"You know me too well," I replied, sitting across from it.

"Out with it, then."

I sighed. "I - we - need to find a way to get Genna out of that thrice-damned marriage."

"Aye." A forlorn look drew itself across Kevan's face as he leaned back and sighed in return. "I'm surprised you didn't gut poor Emmon Frey the night of the betrothal. Or father, for that matter."

I mustered a weak chuckle. "Sometimes, I wish I had. It would certainly have made life easier in some regards."

"True."

We sat in silence in father's- my solar, the only sounds being the rushing of the wind past an open window.

"Must Emmon die?"

I sighed. "He must, Kevan, there's no other way to get Gen back. If we try to secure an annulment, the old weasel will probably make Emmon bed her the moment he finds out about it. Assuming he hasn't made him do it already, of course. Besides, Walder Frey is a prideful man, and the best way to make a foe of him is to make your slights against him public for all the other lords to see."

Kevan nodded with understanding. "I see," he replied, "but who is to say we can get away with it? With the Reynes, we could argue we were upholding the King's justice, but to murder a lord's son in cold blood leaves too many ways for it to go wrong."

"Plausible deniability, Kevan, plausible deniability." I stood up and started pacing about my chair. "It matters not whether half the lords in the Seven Kingdoms think we had a hand in the death of Emmon Frey. Hells, it matters not if they even know we were behind it. We only need to say two small, simple words: prove it."

Kevan stood up and started pacing too. Is it a Lannister thing, or is he just copying me? "'Tis all well and good, brother, but there are still too many chances for this to turn around and bite us. What if Frey takes offense to this and petitions his liege – or Heavens forbid, the King – for redress? More ambitious and powerful men have hanged for less."

"Fear not, Kevan, even if Lord Walder does demand redress, nothing will come of this. Hoster Tully has little love for the den of weasels, he would only do the minimum amount of help required for him to save face. Aerys is Prince Regent, so any demands to the Crown on Walder's part would be fruitless. And even then, most of the other lords would side with us out of pure spite! The scion of a house that ruled since the Dawn Age rescuing his sister the fair maiden from the clutches of the demanding upstarts who have only been lords for six hundred years? Not even the bards could write something so poetic!"

Kevan barked out a laugh. "Fair enough, Tywin. The only thing I fear is how Gen would react. I think that any lady would take the news that her own brothers murdered her lord husband in cold blood rather poorly."

"Ah, but Kevan, you make one fatal mistake:" I pointed a finger up for emphasis. "This is not any lord husband, but Emmon Frey, Lord of the Nebbishes!"

"Lord of the Nebbishes? I thought he was the Chinless Wonder!" Kevan's chuckles had turned into full-on laughter.

I soon found myself laughing just as hard as him. "I heard that he loses a hair every time his father beds a maid!"

Our laughter soon turned to hearty guffaws, leaving us winded as we collapsed back into our chairs. I genuinely appreciated that moment of pure mirth; it helped take my mind off the rather grim subject matter that we were discussing both before and afterwards.

The next hour was spent hashing out the details of our plot to murder Emmon Frey. His Patheticness was staying at the Twins for a season with his betrothed, and they would return to Casterly Rock in six months or so for the actual wedding. We couldn't wait for them to return- neither of us were fond of potentially being caught and breaking guest right under our own roof, and the longer our scheme ran, the more opportunities for Walder to find out and rush the marriage ahead. So, Emmon had to die sooner rather than later.

Our alibi would be that I was traveling to White Harbor on important trade matters, and I would stay in the Twins on my way North. I would partake in Lord Walder's hospitality while I was there, which would inevitably include some sort of hunt. My retainers would provide a distraction, Emmon would suffer a tragic fall, and I would liberate Genna from the Twins under the cover of night before anyone figures out what's going on.

There's no way this could go wrong, right?

I wasn't relieved to be at the Twins. I was relieved that I was at a castle, while simultaneously disappointed that said castle happened to be the Twins. The distance from Seagard to the Frey's holdfast was further than Castamere to the Rock, so this was probably the longest I'd spent in the saddle in both my lives. Then again, I would trade all the saddle sores, numb legs, and bug bites in the world for a different destination.

The Twins didn't seem like a necessarily bad castle, just… tacky. Everything about it felt like it was designed by a lord who tried to make his castle seem as grand and powerful as his ancient forbearers, and failed miserably at the task. Windows with ornate pediments that seemed like they were designed by a stonemason who had heard of Casterly Rock's from hearsay, crenellations that were equally imposing and impractical, and turrets jutted out of the two keeps like they had never heard of balance and symmetry. I was wondering what seemed so particularly terrible about it, but then it hit me: it was a medieval McMansion.

As we came out of the light woods surrounding the road, we could at last see the western bank of the Green Fork river valley unimpeded. The sun was just beginning its descent, painting the hills and fields of wheat a rich orange. It was like a Hudson River School painting come to life, vibrant colors and all. I would have to see about getting a room high up in the Twins, seeing how it would be the only place my view wouldn't be obstructed by it.

I was dragged out of my gawking by the sound of hoofprints. Leading the approaching party was a man of around thirty with a face that, if not for his hooked nose, weak chin, and already-receding hairline, would be considered fairly handsome. However, it all combined to make him look more like a mangy owl… or a weasel.

"Ah, Ser Stevron," I called out jovially, "a pleasure to make your acquaintance!"

He came to a stop, bowing his head graciously. "Likewise, Lord Tywin. My father has been eagerly anticipating your arrival at the Twins."

I stretched my smile as far as I could without breaking the illusion of enjoyment. "Very well, then, let us be off!"

As we trotted up to the gate, I leaned over to Arnaud and whispered, "What do you think of them?"

"Ah don' like it a wee bit, milord. Truth be told, the Freys seem they're up to summin' more than we are, an' it scares the shite outta me."

"Me too, Arnaud, me too."

Compared to the gaudy façade, the inner courtyard of the Twins' west tower seemed rather drab. Blank stone walls, unpaved dirt paths, and the occasional unadorned window were the only notable aspects. Only a few servants stocking larders seemed to be anything of note.

"Pardon, Ser Stevron, but where is everyone?" I asked.

"My apologies, Lord Tywin!" he chuckled. "My father prefers to call court for important guests in the East Keep's great hall, 'tis the older of the two and more suited for regal accommodations. Your quarters are in the Water Tower, right there." He pointed to the small tower in the middle of the bridge, visible between the bars of the portcullis. "We can ride across the bridge, or would you rather walk?"

"I may be a bit weary from my travels, Ser Stevron, but I'd be even more so if we walked. Let us ride on!" And so we continued through the second portcullis and onto the bridge itself.

The bridge was mildly interesting from my perspective, which meant it was utterly pathetic to someone who only knew Westerosi architecture. A bit narrower than a four-lane road, cobblestone surface, and a knee wall with little crenellations shaped like miniature twin towers along both sides. The sun was setting further now, and the two towers' long shadows crept their way across the fields. When our little entourage got to the Water Tower, two of the pages peeled away and dismounted to unload my luggage and make sure the quarters were sufficiently ready for my arrival, i.e., sweep it for hidden passages, secret compartments, false doors, and anything else a spy or assassin might use to eavesdrop or enter unseen. Call it paranoia if you like, but Westeros isn't a place where the trusting types survive very long.

The eastern tower's courtyard was identical in structure to the western one, but it was certainly more inhabited. It was swarming with people, common and (dubiously) noble alike. A few vaguely weaselly-looking children scampered out of the way as our horses came to a halt, and were eventually led away by some pages (one of whom did look rather weaselly), while we walked into the jackals' den known as Walder Frey's court.

I had expected the inside of the Twins' court to continue the trend that its outside did, but the interior proved itself to be comparatively sparse. The walls and floor were plain stone, decorated with the occasional rug or tapestry, and all the furniture was unpainted wood. I glanced up and saw a ring of balconies around the throne room, and I couldn't help but hum the first bars of The Rains of Castamere.

Lord Walder's ever-growing brood lined the walls. A few of them seemed fairly normal, while some of them made me feel like I had just wandered into a McPoyle family reunion. One of them in particular had a listless look in his eyes, occasionally giggling at nothing in particular. That one's probably Jinglebell. No sign of the wives, though.

At the end of the hall, upon an oaken throne carved in the shape of his castle, sat the man himself. He looked just like David Bradley from the show at age fifty, which only made me wonder how he'd look in another forty years and another forty grandkids. His wife (which one was this, third? Fourth?) stood next to him, visibly pregnant.

I bowed low enough to indicate respect but not enough to indicate subservience. "Lord Walder."

"Ah, Lord Tywin, you grace my house with your presence!" he replied, his face somewhere between a smile and a sneer. "But first, let us partake in the old traditions of guest right."

He waved his hand, and a servant brought forth a platter with bread and salt. Despite knowing that Lord Walder paid as much heed to it as he did to family planning, I still ate the bread. Wouldn't want to give him any more reasons to hate me.

"I thank you for this sign of your hospitality, Lord Walder," I replied.

"Yes, yes," he said, with a wave of his hand. "No self-respecting house even as low as the humble House Frey would ever let themselves forget the importance of guest right."

Okay, George, stop fucking with me.

"Of course, I would presume nothing less. House Lannister may punish those who disrespect it, but it does not forget those who treat it worthily." Might as well stoke his ego a bit.

The majority of the remaining conversation was an introduction of his ten sons (with an eleventh on the way) and his eldest son Stevron's own children. I wasn't really sure what to do with Jinglebell, so I just sort of patted him on the head. Probably the nicest thing anyone's done for him in the last week.

I excused myself to get to my quarters, ostensibly to wash up and prepare for dinner. Not that I wasn't going to wash up – I had dust in places I didn't know dust could go – but I needed to be as far away from potential eavesdroppers as possible so I could meet with the real target of my stay.

The walk halfway across the bridge to the Water Tower certainly feels a lot longer on foot than on a horse, but I got to enjoy the view more. It's honestly kind of surprising that nobody else built a bridge at another major point along the Green Fork, especially considering how much money you'd make with an "I'm not a Frey" pitch. Maybe have a temporary pontoon bridge out of river barges lashed together?

The Water Tower was fairly tame compared to either main keep at the Twins, lacking any random turrets, twin-castle-shaped crenellations, or grotesques on the corners. Instead, it looked like a long box dotted with arrow slits and topped off with a slightly larger box. However, this also meant that the spiral staircase inside was devoid of any sort of decoration, and I found that heading up it was quite monotonous. Step, turn a bit to the right, step, turn a bit to the right, step, turn a bit to the right…

When I got to my room, I trudged over to the bed (which had posts carved to resemble the Twins, no surprise) and plopped face-down on the bed. After a few minutes of vegging, I'd wash my face, change my outfit, and then wait for Genna to arrive. Speaking of which, how long until-

"If this is how you treat your family, I'd hate to see how you treat your guests at court."

I immediately sprang up and turned around. Genna was leaning on the back wall by the door, reveling in the feeling of going unnoticed by her older brother. She was wearing a roughspun brown dress with a white apron, and her hair was up in a bun beneath a sackcloth cap. If nobody looked too closely, she could've passed through the castle as a maid unnoticed, and nobody really questions a maid traveling on foot between the two towers.

"It's good to see you, Gen." I stood up and put my arms around her, and she returned it – though not as eagerly as a brother-sister reunion would entail. From what I remembered from the books, Tywin and Genna had a fairly rocky relationship, mostly due to Tywin's… thorough methods of dealing with his enemies. Even the Tywin corner felt a little awkward hugging her like this.

After a couple seconds, Genna pulled herself out of the hug. "Let's not mince words, Tywin. You came to get me out of here, didn't you? Here, hide these in your bags when you leave." She reached into a laundry basket sitting on the floor and pulled out several jingling cloth bags. "Some gold I've saved up from an allowance, along with my jewelry. Don't want the old weasel giving these to his fifth wife when I'm out of here."

Good to see that Genna's on the same page as me, at least. "So, did you and Emmon ever… you know?"

Genna's look could only be described as one of utter disgust. "Me? And Emmon? Gods, you must hold me in lower esteem than I thought. Relax, Tywin. I took care to never be alone in the same room as him, and I made sure to never even be in the Sept when he was; stops the old bastard from claiming we eloped before our official date out of sheer love or whatever."

"And something tells me Emmon is hardly the kind to initiate, anyways."

"His father, however, is a far different story. Always trying to get us alone together, encouraging us to share a room, constantly talking about his adventures with his latest wife to 'know what we can look forward to.' Ugh, I never want to break my fast with sausage again."

"As much as I love talking about Walder Frey's sex life," I replied, "we should probably focus on why you came here in the first place. Tomorrow, I've arranged for myself to go on a hunt with the Frey boys. I want you to gather some necessities - a set of good riding leathers, a cloak, and a dagger just in case – and make your way down to the quay beneath the west keep by dusk. I'll slip away from them in the woods, meet you, and we can go from there."

Genna nodded along, but paused at the end, a look of confusion creeping along her face. "Why the quay? Your hunt is on the west bank of the Green Fork, no? Then why not just pick me up and we can ride homefrom there?"

Clever girl. "When we make our escape, the first place the Freys will assume we go is back toward Casterly Rock. If we cross the bank, it can buy us some more time. My plan is to stick to my original plan of riding for White Harbor – I do want to negotiate some new tariffs with Manderly traders – while I send you back to the Rock on the first ship I see."

"Well then, older brother," she grinned, "you'd best rest up a bit. All that plotting must have tired you out."

"Very well, I'll see you at supper." I leaned in and gave Genna a hug before she departed. She returned it, hugging a little tighter than last time.

Ah, nature. The wind rustling through the leaves, the patches of afternoon sunlight dancing along the forest floor, the crunching of dry leaves beneath my horse's hooves, it was always something that could always help me feel at peace, in my body or Tywin's. It was like a symphony playing out all around me.

And like someone whose phone rang in the middle of the symphony, the Frey brothers were always lurking behind me to ruin the mood. I was currently burdened with five of them – Stevron, Emmon, Aenys, Jared, and Stevron's eldest son Ryman – and each of them seemed to annoy me in their own way. Stevron was fairly nice, but had the habit of interrupting everyone else when he wanted to say something. Emmon's voice was high and nasally. Aenys would pull pranks on Jared when nobody was watching. Jared would loudly whine and then threaten Aenys to a fight before settling down. Ryman stank.

It's okay, just breathe in, breathe out. Try to ignore it…

"Ow! Stevron, Aenys jabbed me with an arrow!"

"I have no clue what you mean, Jared, I was all the way over here!"

Just ignore it, just ignore it…

"Apologize or I'll… I'll jab you with an arrow!"

"I'd like to see you try, you little worm- let go of my reins!"

JUST IGNORE IT. JUST IGNORE IT-

Thankfully, one of my pages ran up not a moment too late. "Milords, the hounds picked up the scent of deer, a small herd of them! I fear they scattered when they heard us approach, unfortunately."

As the only landed lord and guest of honor, the Freys looked to me as the hunting party's de facto leader, a role which I eagerly took up. "What luck on our first day! Very well, then," I replied, "we should split up and fan out to have a better chance of finding them. Stevron and Ryman, you keep along the path. Aenys and Jared, you follow that creek to the right. Emmon and myself shall go to the left. We can each find our way back to camp, so we should return by nightfall at the latest."

The rest of the hunting party acquiesced (though with some grumbling from Jared), and we all split off and went our separate ways, each of us led by a page – of course, the one from my retinue made sure to be our guide. It took about a few hours on horseback until I felt that we were in a good enough spot. If my back-of-the-parchment cartography was correct, we had essentially looped around and were heading back to the Twins while still remaining a ways off the path we took heading out this morning.

"Uh, Tywin," Emmon squeaked, "are you sure this is the right way? These woods hardly seem familiar to me, and I oft hunted here."

"Trust me, Emmon, we are close to a successful hunt yet." I then started loudly whistling the opening bars to 'The Maple Leaf Forever' to see if it would garner a reaction from him. However, he hardly even looked in my direction, silencing my fears that I would end up killing any dimensionally-displaced Canadians.

At last, we were at the location I had planned. The small creek beside us had grown into a wide, rocky stream that would eventually feed into the Green Fork. It was all still on Frey lands, and there weren't any smallfolk villages closer than half a day's ride. More importantly, it was where Arnaud was waiting.

The instructions I gave him were simple enough: sneak out of camp in the morning, walk south until you find a stream, than follow it upstream until you hear the sound of horses, leave a signal, hide, and wait. If all went well, we should be crossing paths soon.

And so, we rode in silence for several more minutes, as I surreptitiously scouted the terrain for a sign that Arnaud had passed through. At last, I saw something: a small scrap of blue cloth knotted around a piece of driftwood stuck in the mud. Shortly after, I stopped my horse in front of Emmon and turned to confront him.

"Emmon," I said with a mix of formality and steeliness, "I should be honest with you. There is an issue of most pressing importance that I feel I should discuss with you."

"Is this about your sister, Lord Tywin? I intend to wait until our wedding night, I swear! I haven't laid a hand on her!"

I permitted myself a chuckle, trying not to look in the direction of some rustling bushes. "Fear not, Emmon, This is about dear Genna, though I'm hardly concerned with that. This is more with the… political ramifications of your marriage."

"If you think that I'll press my children's claims on Casterly Rock, I would never dream of such a thing! I would never act against my betrothed's family like that!"

"This is not about that either, Emmon." Just a little closer, Arnaud… "My objection is not about claims or politics, but rather the fact that my sister's betrothed is you. I'm sorry that you won't have the opportunity to think about what comes next, but I hope you'll understand. It's nothing personal, it's just another move in the game."

Emmon opened his mouth to say something, but all that came out was a startled yelp when Arnaud pulled him off his horse. One hand wrapped around Emmon's throat, the other covered his mouth. As the Frey kicked and struggled, Arnaud briefly scanned the ground. A foot away was a rock about a foot wide that tapered at the top into a blunt point. With the speed and precision of a chef cracking an egg, Arnaud dropped down and brought the back of Emmon's skull down on the point of the rock. A sickening crack was heard, Emmon's movements degenerated into small shudders, and then he stopped moving at all.

I tried my best to avoid staring at the body once known as Emmon Frey as Arnaud washed the blood and bits of brain from his hands in the stream. It was over. A necessary casualty of the game of thrones.

Guilty conscience or not, the plan still had to go on. I turned to the page and told him, "Take Emmon's horse, ride for Seaguard, sell it, and use the money to buy passage back to Casterly Rock. Arnaud, you ride with me; we have a boat to catch."

The sun was dipping below the horizon when the Twins came into sight. Before we passed out of the tree line, we dismounted, unloaded the saddlebags, and sent the horse running off into the woods before sneaking along the riverbank to the quay. At this time, the long shadows over the Green Fork would make it harder for us to be noticed.

The quay was deserted, with the exception of a lone cloaked figure. I crept up behind them and whispered, "Which direction did your bedroom windows face?"

"I know it's you, you oaf." Yep, that's Genna alright.

We operated in complete silence after that. A small rowboat, only a bit wider than a canoe, sat under a tarp, waiting to be used. Arnaud and I (mostly Arnaud, though) picked it up and lowered it into the water as quietly as possible.

"Now remember, Arnaud: don't row until the Twins are out of sight, then row like the Seven Hells for the eastern bank."

Arnaud nodded curtly before gingerly climbing in the boat, followed by Genna and myself. With only a gentle push, we were silently drifting and bobbing down the waters of the Green Fork.

For what seemed like an eternity, the three of us sat perfectly still, as if the slightest movement would alert the Freys and send a hail of flaming arrows down upon us. It was only really once the Twins were out of sight and we were standing on the eastern bank that we started cheering. We were free.

As we had hoped, several pages were waiting with horses for us. High in spirits, we eagerly saddled up and tried to put as much distance between us and the Green Fork as possible. Next stop, White Harbor.