Words of outrage threatened to escalate into fights in choice areas of the great hall where the Northmen squared against their own. Tallhart men at arms stood nose to nose with their Glover neighbors spewing challenges, the only Northern House on the western coast not rallied to Lord Bolton's side. A meaningful glance from Catelyn to Olyvar told him that the time had come to grab Robb and the young squire made for the door, only to find it guarded by a Bolton man at arms.

"Stand aside, ser," Olyvar demanded. "I mean to bring our King here to end this madness,"

"I have my orders that not a man is to leave this hall," the man stood shoulder and head over Olyvar with shoulders half again as wide.

"I'll give you one last chance," Olyvar said lowly, feeling bolder than he felt as he placed his hand on the hilt of his sword.

The man sneered and shoved Olyvar forcefully, "Eat shit, Frey. I'll take orders from a squire when the blizzards reach Dorne,"

Olyvar gathered himself and drew his steel, "Then we have no other words to speak to each other," Olyvar made to thrust his sword into the man's belly but the guard stepped out of the way, drawing his own sword. Other Freys made to join Olyvar, Perwyn among them with his hand on his hilt, but he gestured for them to stay back, "I mean to make this man answer for his words with a squire's sword in his chest,"

"Then we dance, Frey,"

The Bolton man swung his sword for Olyvar's neck but the young Frey ducked beneath the arc. Olyvar had known men such as this, strong and not without skill but lacking in stamina. If he could make this brute swing and miss he would tire quickly. Olyvar brought his sword in a sweeping gesture at the man's legs but it was blocked. Another swing from the man was greeted with a swoosh as his blade cut open air. The man overextended his swing and Olyvar saw his chance, sinking the tip of his steel into gap between his adversary's armor above his breastplate and through the hollow of his throat, pinning him into the door behind him. Scarlet blood gushed out of the open wound and mouth as the guard gurgled a fierce protest.

"I suppose I was never much of a marksman," Olyvar said as he pushed the blade further into the man's throat, pushing him flat against the door. Wild arms reached for Olyvar's eyes and throat but the fingers soon lost their strength.

Olyvar turned to see his Frey brothers astounded looks shared by most other occupants of the large room.

"Olyvar…" Perwyn's sentence trailed off as his jaw remained dropped in astonishment at the ferocity with which his younger brother had dispatched his enemy.

"Bloodshed at a wedding is forbidden, squire," Lady Dustin hissed. "Cursed are the Freys from this day forth,"

"Cursed?" Olyvar shot back. As he strode away from the guard still gurgling his last words, he became dimly aware that all eyes were on him still, "You call us cursed? Your Queen is my sister, my lady. You make cause against our King on the night of his wedding and you call us cursed?"

"We make cause for the North, Frey," Lord Bolton said, his voice barely a murmur. "Our lands are under assault, something you would not know about,"

"Your lands?" Olyvar shouted, outraged. "The Dreadfort is hundreds of leagues from the ironmen,"

"I do not need to have a castle at the front of the invasion to know that this invasion is a threat which must be answered," Roose replied. "I mean to take the Houses that would join me and march north and reclaim our lands,"

"Take half of our King's host north when there's still a war down here to win?" Olyvar bellowed back. "And another thing, get your feet off of King Robb's seat,"

Roose looked down, realizing he still had himself raised in the King's chair. Looking at the crowd which now looked with angry expectation back at him, he stepped back onto the floor.

"Break faith with your King by marching with Lord Bolton, my lords," Olyvar continued. "And he will finish with the Lannisters, march back North and take each of your heads himself. I've seen him do it before, we all have,"

The uproarious mob had settled under Olyvar's words, somber and still when they had just a few minutes ago been ready to tear itself apart.

"Look how with a few words we have forgotten ourselves. When King Robb crossed the Twins with this host I saw an army with a purpose, a mission. Now you fight amongst yourselves like spoiled children," Olyvar ranted, slamming his hands together for emphasis. "If we stick to the plan, if we march west, we'll be a stone's throw away from the Iron Islands themselves. We'll have the chance to repay them in kind, to take away their homes in one swoop. Marching north, showing our backs to the Lannisters will weaken our resolve in their eyes quicker than letting any hostage live,"

The door with the Bolton guard skewered to it burst open and half a dozen Stark guards burst forth, "My lords! There has been a raid! Small teams of Freys and ironmen breached our perimeter and made our way to the dungeons, they were attempting to free Lord Tywin and Theon Greyjoy," They produced two men gagged and bound with rope. "These two were left behind,"

"Emmon and Cleos Frey," Lord Stevron stepped forward from the crowd. "I'd know them anywhere. You shame us, brother. You have brought dishonor on our House. Remove his gag,"

The elder of the two spat as his tongue was freed. "You have brought destruction on our House, Lord Stevron!" Ser Emmon shrieked. "You would condemn your own father, our father, to death so you can take his seat for your own! You have cursed our House forever!"

"It suddenly becomes so clear," Olyvar made his way to stand at Catelyn's side, "You have brought shame on yourself, Lord Bolton. I saw you in the dungeons leaving my father's cell the day that the Imp was sent back to King's Landing. You planned this entire thing: ensuring that Emmon had a window of opportunity to rescue Tywin Lannister by causing discord in our ranks!"

The roar of outrage had resumed only now the Bolton men at arms stood alone in protection of their lord. "There will be no more bloodshed!" Sansa cried. "As your Princess, I order you to place Lord Bolton in chains!"

Umber, Karstark, and Glover made to move towards Roose but his guards drew their swords. "Men of the Dreadfort!" Catelyn shouted. "Your liege has dishonored his name and House! Do not caste away your lives and share in his disgrace! On my honor as the mother of your King I swear that any of you who lay down your swords and stand aside will be forgiven!"

To their credit, the Boltons did not budge an inch away from their lord. Whether it was out of loyalty to him or their recollection at the Dreadfort's sigil could not be said.

A pointed look was barely caught by Olyvar between Roose Bolton and Emmon Frey. Ser Emmon nodded and in the silence that had followed the standoff between Roose's men and the rest of the room, a faintly tune escaped from the manacled Emmon Frey's lips. His whistle was mocking and robust, the melody almost sneering into the faces of all who heard it.

And who are you, the proud lord said, that I must bow so low?

Olyvar gazed in bewilderment at his second eldest brother's apparent loss for wits. Out of the corner of his eye, men were shifting in their places around him. Brothers, uncles, grand uncles, cousins, nephews, men born bastard and noble alike of the Crossing changed position to the outer perimeter of the room. The Crakehall Freys, amonth them Ser Hosteen and his sons, stood near the large door where Olyvar had slain the Bolton who had challenged him and were eyeing the nearby brood of Ser Aenys Frey darkly.

Only a cat in a different coat, that's all the truth I know.

Ser Hosteen lifted the bar on the door and opened it, allowing several more men at arms bearing the sigil of the Twins on their chainmail.

"Ryman?" Lord Stevron bellowed to the man at the front of the newcomers. "You were to hold the Twins as my heir! What is your part in this madness?

A fat middle aged man with a broad and fleshy face, the conniving grin matched the small eyes as Ryman Frey responded, "Lame Lothar holds the Twins as our Steward. You showed no interest in waiting for your turn to be Lord Frey, father. Why should I wait for mine?"

"You insolent bastard! I took the title out of duty and to protect what's left of our family's honor! You mean to usurp what is mine by right out of nothing but greed!"

"Speak not to us of honor when you betray your own father, grandfather," Edwyn Frey stood beside his father. "Hypocrite," he muttered.

"Greatjon," Olyvar whispered through gnashed teeth and a clenched jaw. He saw that the Lord of Last Hearth had heard him, "Get. The Princess and her mother. Out of here,"

In a coat of gold or a coat of red a lion still has claws.

The Greatjon grabbed the two Starks by the wrists and made for the door but it was barred shut again by Ser Hosteen, his and Ser Ryman's guards threateningly placing their hands on their hilts and eyeing the Greatjon darkly.

"Trapped," Olyvar heard Catelyn whisper. Olyvar gave a look to Perwyn, privately hoping he hadn't had any part in this insanity. His brother shook his head vehemently, a denial that Olyvar believed. Judging by the conspiratorial looks and anxious glances being exchanged between the different groups of Freys it appeared Hosteen and the recently departed Jared Freys' broods had joined with Emmon. The traitors could be named for days, as Olyvar recognized some of Lame Lothar's brood that had joined Ryman in his march south from the Twins. Olyvar also noted, regrettably that some from Lord Stevron's own branch had apparently joined with Ryman as well, with Black Walder and Petyr Frey moving closer and closer to the Lord of the Crossing with daggers drawn.

Olyvar saw it all happen almost in slow motion. Ser Hosteen's group joining with Ser Ryman's in moving from the gate to fall upon the men at arms from White Harbor, butchering Ser Wylis before his guards could move closer. The Bolton guards joined with Ser Jared's Freys in falling upon the Glovers with Ser Tytos catching a knife in the eye. Aegon Bloodborn and his men fought their way through the Karhold men and personally stabbed Harrion Karstark through the chest and soon different branches of House Frey soon found themselves fighting each other as oft as Robb's former bannermen found themselves fighting Lord Stevron's Freys.

And mine are long and sharp, my lord, as long and sharp as yours.

"Treason! To me, true men of the Crossing! Protect the !" Lord Stevron shouted, his sword nearly out of his sheath before Black Walder buried his blade between the Lord of the Twins' shoulder blades and the young man everyone had called Petyr Pimple dragged blade across his father's throat. Sansa's scream in horror came after a roar from the Greatjon as he tackled Ser Hosteen, leaving her and Catelyn vulnerable.

"Perwyn!" Olyvar called to his last remaining full brother as he saw Black Walder free Emmon and Cleos, "The Starks! Save them!" Edwyn and Steffon the Sweet had heard his cry and the former wolfishly grinned as he moved to Catelyn and Sansa, tossing his sword between hands maniacally. Perwyn had heard him as he and Olyvar rushed with swords drawn to the aide of the two ladies. Perwyn engaged Steffon while Olyvar put himself between the two Starks and the newest heir to the Twins.

"You know, our brother Elmar has learned quite a lot from Lord Roose," Edwyn sneered. "I'll have to get him to show me how to flay your stinking corpse, if I decide to leave enough of you left intact!"

Olyvar had been expecting the circular slash that had been aimed for his neck and blocked it with his own sword. The two blades exchanged sparks and stayed locked against each other, their two wielders pushing with all their weight against each other but neither gaining an edge. "I'm not impressed,"Olyvar grunted as he pushed the blade up and away using the blades crossguard.

Similar scenes were being mirrored throughout the Main Hall, brother against brother where different Freys had chosen to follow different Lord Freys. Rhaegar Frey found himself in a short battle against Daryn Hornwood which ended in a dagger in Daryn's shoulder but a sword through Rhaegar's belly. Merrett Frey fought Ser Wendel Manderly while Danwell fought Eddard Karstark, the both northmen enraged over their respective brothers' slaughters.

And so he spoke and so he spoke, that Lord of Castamere.

Perwyn fell at Olyvar's side after slaying Steffon only to have Arwood and Raymund Frey stab him repeatedly in the chest, stomach and sides with their daggers.

"PERWYN, NO!" Olyvar screamed as hot tears poured from his eyes and blood gushed from Perwyn's wounds. First Benfrey, now Perwyn. And where once it had been two brave men standing between the butchers and the Starks, now only stood Olyvar against Edwyn, Arwood, and Raymund.

"You'll see him soon, boy," Raymund Frey snarled, moving closer to the young squire.

"One day, I'm sure," Olyvar gritted his teeth and sidestepped as the dagger Raymund had thrusted towards his belly and took off his arm at the bicep. Raymund's howl was cut off as his head came next.

"Olyvar! OLYVAR BEHIND YOU!" A harsh cry came from somewhere and before Olyvar had time to react he had been knocked to his feet. He looked up to see the Blackfish with Edwyn Frey's dagger sunk into his side. Blood came from Ser Brynden's mouth and flowed down his chin and throat. Olyvar's cry was drowned out by Catelyn and Sansa's. Edwyn twisted the blade and pushed it deeper, pushing the elder man off his feet where he lay as a pool of his blood began to gather beneath him. Arwood leapt toward Olyvar, a dagger in each hand and a murderous snarl on his face.

And now the rains weep o'er his halls not a soul to hear.

Olyvar rolled to his right and his hand found the handle of fallen Frey's axe. Grasping the handle spinning to face Arwood, the young squire took out Arwood's leg from under him at the knee. Falling to the floor, he howled in agony until Olyvar silenced him forever. Chaos permeated throughout the hall as corpses soon littered the floor and cries of pain and anger echoed from the walls. Olyvar turned from the carnage to face the Starks, "I've got to get you out of here," he stated waveringly. "Please stay clo-" He was interrupted by a sharp blow to the back of his head and stars whizzed across his vision as he crumpled to the ground again and he heard a woman scream.

"Olyvar, get up!" Came a young woman's cry.

"To me, men! It is time to leave!"

Olyvar looked up to see Catelyn and Sansa being carried away by Roose Bolton and Ryman Frey, both woman fighting furiously as the two traitor's men circled around them in a protective perimeter. The wide circle slowly moved to the door as Olyvar found his way groggily to his feet as he willed his vision to focus.

"Don't," his words were slurred and muffled. "Don't do it, leave them,"

His voice fell on deaf ears, "Let any true northmen follow me back to our home to take our lands back from the Greyjoys! Stark has chosen which war matters more to him! Do not throw your lives away following this King Who Lost the North!"

"Olyvar! Please!" Sansa's voice was equal parts shriek and sob. "Help us!" She took a dagger from the new Lord Ryman's belt and tossed it so it landed mere feet away from Olyvar's hand.

Olyvar looked around to see who remained. He could see Lord Rickard Karstark's body near the high table, his throat cut and blood still flowing from it. Robett Glover lay near him with knife wounds scattered amongst his torso. Lord Jason Mallister had taken an axe to the chest, his corpse looking blankly at Olyvar in the face never to move again. Smalljon Umber's head rested on Harrion Karstark's chest, the two friends having fought and died together. Scores more of lords, knights, and squires that Olyvar had come to know as friends in the months of fighting since the Twins joined with King Robb.

"RYMAN!" Olyvar howled furiously.

The Boltons and Freys stood silent as Ryman Frey held Sansa close and regarded

"We made a pact with Winterfell! We gave our word!" He staggered forward, his steps becoming more assured with each one as he reached down and picked up the dagger. "They are our kin now."

"Leave Sansa, Lord Bolton," Catelyn pleaded. "I'll go willingly if you leave my daughter here, I swear it,"

"Lord Bolton and I already have our arrangement," Ryman sneered confidently. Olyvar caught Sansa's eye and mouthed the word "Down," Sansa nodded. "The ironborn stand no chance when I join my forces to his and his bastard at the Dreadfo- hyeck!"

Sansa's elbow had found Ryman's jaw and, after she had hit the floor and crawled hurriedly into the Greatjon's arms, Olyvar's dagger flew straight and true into Ryman's throat. Olyvar breathed a sigh of relief, he had been no marksman at throwing blades and had taken a serious gamble with his and Sansa's little trick.

"Lord Bolton enough! Let it end! Take me as a hostage!" Catelyn demanded.

Lord Bolton only nodded at Olyvar as his men began exiting the hall.

The door closed behind them and Olyvar turned away from Sansa sobbing into the Greatjon's arms to survey the aftermath.

Tables and chairs had been overturned, scores of pools of blood to accompany the bodies threatened to stain the stone floor, and the few injured slowly died. Olyvar found Lord Stevron cold and quite lifeless, Perwyn just the same. His two brothers, the ones that he had favored above all others since Benfrey had died.

He couldn't believe it had happened. In one foul swoop, at least a third of the northern leadership had been butchered with a good number of knights from his House among others also slain.

He looked around him to see that he was the last Frey left in the room. Stark or other Tully bannermen all regarded him with pity as the young squire fell to his knees and wept silently.

"He took mother?" Robb's voice broke. The morning light found Robb dressed in an unbuttoned tunic and loose trousers, his hair a disorganized mess, what common folk peevishly called "bedding hair". Sansa hadn't slept throughout the night, she had been too busy working with Olyvar taking account of their losses. They had kept the bodies in the in the main hall and had them washed, with severed limbs and heads were put into separate piles. Lists were for the dead and wounded, with Olyvar delivering it personally outside the bedding chamber where Roslin still slept peacefully.

The list of traitors had been the longest. Half his army riding with Roose Bolton, including the overwhelming amount of traitorous Freys that had rode south from the Twins for the wedding. They had caught on to Lord Roose's machinations and had saught to draw them out, only far too late. Plans must have been in motion for weeks, months, maybe. Robb swallowed hard and crumpled the list in his fist. Nearly two thirds of House Frey aligned with Bolton. LordBolton himself had taken not only his troops but a not insignificant portion form the Northern hosts as well. The Dustins, Ryswells, Flints, Tallharts, Mormounts, and Cerwyns had left with him to reclaim their lands lost to the ironborn.

Those that remained had taken severe losses; Rickard and Harrion Karstark, Robbet Glover, Smalljon Umber, Ser Wylis Manderly, Jason Mallister, Clement Piper, Norbert Vance, Maege Mormount, Tytos Blackwood and two of his eldest sons, Jonos Bracken, Lord Stevron and countless other Freys.

In most cases the eldest sons of the Houses whose Lords had been slain had been relatively close by, either having survived the feast or had been outside the castle walls in the surrounding camps. The Freys that had stayed behind were sorting themselves out with most of the regular forces taking their cue from Olyvar, if only for practical purposes of reaching word to and from Robb with speed.

Olyvar was covered from head to toe in dirt and sweat. He stood with four Frey and two Stark men next to Sansa.

"How did they manage to leave without going through the camps?" Robb asked.

Sansa bit her lip. "Olyvar was saying," she looked nervously to her side at Olyvar.

Olyvar stepped forward. "I believe we placed our guards most along the banks of the Red Fork believing an attack would come from that direction. Lord Bolton would have known that our northern side would be left guarded more lightly. He would be able to allow his men to gather out in the camps while he was in here with us and be ready to march north with all of us dead,"

"He would have taken us all out at once," Robb scratched Grey Wind's head. "Well done, boy. The guards told me he sounded the alarm with a she-wolf as big as him. I know it was Nymeria, Sansa" he regarded his sister, whose face looked uncertain. "This wasn't the first time Grey Wind's seen her. I also think they spend more time than I'm aware of,"

"What does Arya's wolf gain us?" Sansa asked skeptically. "You don't really think she'll be able to find Arya, do you?"

"The wolves are special, Sansa," Robb reasoned. "If I'm going into Grey Wind's mind when I'm dreaming, who's to say the others haven't as well? It might be possible that Arya is dreaming of Grey Wind through Nymeria's eyes. Not only will Nymeria hopefully lead Arya to us, she's also apparently the leader of a large pack of wolves, a herd really. They've harassed enemy troops on more than one occasion."

Sansa frowned and Robb could tell she was thinking of Lady and he instantly regretted bringing up the wolves.

"Arya could still be in King's Landing," Sansa replied. "The gold cloaks had all of the city's gates secured,"

"Something in Nymeria tells me she isn't in the city," Robb said. "It's in the eyes, it feels like Arya is staring right back at me."

Robb winced at his words, realizing how much Sansa must have missed Lady while being forced to endure Joffrey and Cersei.

"What will you do now that most of the Freys have gone?" Sansa asked, eyeing Robb's map carefully.

"We can still march west as planned," Olyvar supplied. "It'll just be a bit more dangerous. From what the Blackfish said, we should avoid the stronger castles at the border near Golden Tooth. We'll need to find a way around them,"

"The mountains stop here, near the mouth of the Tumblestone," Robb pointed. "If we follow the river upstream, I'm sure we'll find a path to march through,"

"Will the Kingslayer make for Casterly Rock or do you think he'll regroup with Ser Kevan and the rest of his army?" Roslin had adorned herself in a shawl and joined them.

"The sister he loves and the children he's made with her or the homeland he hasn't seen since he swore his white?" Sansa scowled. "I'm inclined to believe he'll want to defend the capital, word was already spreading that the Baratheons were getting ready to lock antlers before I left. Whoever wins will be quick to march on King's Landing. Surely the Kingslayer must know that his men are needed south,"

"The coin or the throne…. I wonder which they'll choose," Robb smiled musingly.

"There are certain settlements that I believe would make choice targets, Robb," Olyvar said, producing a map of the Westerlands. "Nunn's Deep, Castamere, the mines in the Pendric Hills are all up sitting on gold. We can use that for ships when we decide to go to the Iron Islands,"

Robb winced at the name of Theon's homeland. Sansa noticed, "You should go see him," she said sympathetically.

Robb looked to Roslin, who nodded agreeably. "He's not the only one I'll go see," he said, rising to his feet and drawing a cloak around him. He left the three in his study, his guards following in his wake.

The camps were a disaster. Even still the morning after the fact, the grounds surrounding the castle still had fires being put out from tents that had been lit ablaze and grey smoke clotted most of the air. All around Robb, bodies were being carried away and wounded men were screaming in agony. The smallfolk under Robb's protection had scrambled to restore the grounds from the earliest sign of sun light. Robb made his way to the dungeons, by now a familiar path, with Grey Wind at his heels.

The cold iron door slammed shut behind him. Robb saw Theon's head jerked awake from his seated position near the cell's door. Robb couldn't suppress a smile at his friend's look of relief at the small bundle of food Robb carried.

"I suppose this must be a last meal," Theon said in mock somberness.

"Blame Sansa, in my opinion it's a damned waste, considering I'll have to take your head soon," Robb joked standing before Theon.

"Swing hard, Stark. I wouldn't want to limp away from Ice, I've seen it's work," Theon stood and gratefully accepted the bundle, taking out a hunk of bread into his mouth and chewing hoarsely.

Robb smiled and let Theon eat, regretting everything about what he was about to do, "Theon, I have to put aside our plans from before aside for right now,"

Theon looked confused for a moment before nodding in comprehension, "Sansa," the name was a statement of understanding. There wasn't any argument from Theon, only a hint of sadness.

"Sansa," Robb confirmed. "I've spoke with my bannermen. All the ones that wanted your head on a spike left with Bolton. The ones that remain speak in favor of keeping you alive, but not of you marrying my sister. As far as we know, Bran and Rickon are still safe, but if the worst should happen Sansa will be my heir until Roslin and I have a child. Should you marry Sansa and I die, you rule Winterfell in her name,"

"Not what most Northerners would appreciate, I'm sure," Theon said. "Having to bow to Lord Greyjoy,"

"They just don't want to have to trade fighting one Greyjoy for bowing to another," Robb replied. "And that leads us to another thing,"

"Ugh, I know you have to kill my family,"

"I don't want to kill your family, Theon. If anything I would see them keep their lives and send them to the Wall.

"Asha?" Theon replied. "Asha won't go to the wall,"

"No…" Robb chewed his lip. He had been pondering this as well, since hearing of the attack. "No she won't."

"You'll marry her to someone," Theon said, slowly it dawned on him. "someone here on the mainland. Your uncle Edmure?"

"Pyke needs ties to the mainland, it's too rogue. And as I can't make you my goodbrother and Hand while your family reaves my lords' lands,"

"I've met your uncle Edmure," Theon snickered. "Him and Asha should get along famously,"

Robb ignored the comment, "I can't give you free reign of the castle, not like before. Nor can I let you ride beside me in battle. These things will return, but I can't be seen as being lenient to you, not with spies around us. But I can get you out of this cell and those shackles off of you. You'll be given your old room and be placed under guard. Your meals will be brought to you,"

"A prisoner," Theon bitterly replied.

"Only until after we're done with the Lannisters," Robb implored.

"I understand," Theon said as the guard unlocked his door and shackles, and Robb knew that he did. Robb nodded appreciatively and walked with Theon back to the dungeon's entrance.

"Families are sworn enemies, my bannermen are marching to fight yours," Robb smiled and offered Theon his hand. "Brothers?"

Theon accepted his hand with a chuckle.

"This'll be goodbye. We ride west in an hour," Robb said somberly.

"One thing I don't understand though. Why are your bannermen not calling for my head? The ones that marched with Bolton all had lands on the western coast, sure, but the rest are just as northern. My life can't mean much to them, surely,"

Robb frowned as he stopped at the door with Theon on the other side. "They are waiting for a possible hostage exchange with your people. They think that Roose Bolton will use his captive as leverage to trade for our lands back,"

"Who's his captive?" Theon asked as the one of the guards put a hand on his shoulder, moving him out the door,"

"My mother,"

The door shut behind Theon as Robb paid his next prisoner a visit.

Tywin Lannister looked very much the tired old lion. Filthy rags for clothes and bags under his eyes from lack of sleep, he paced his cell.

"The King in the North," he crooned. "I do hope you enjoyed your wedding, boy,"

"I'm sure your very pleased with yourself, organizing such a grand scheme," Robb moved closer to the bars separating them. "It must not have taken much convincing for some of the Freys that felt wronged after Walder Frey's death,"

"My joy at the nuptials is only outweighed by disappointment that my wedding gift missed you," Tywin replied. "Perhaps your uncle Blackfish knows where it was misplaced?

Robb didn't respond at first, only held Tywin's gaze. It seemed like forever, but Tywin's snort ended it. "How absolutely maddening for you,"

"What's that?"

"You've won every battle, yet with only a night's turn and you now stand on the knife's edge of losing the war," Tywin sneered. "all because you wanted to marry your sister to your boyhood friend. Not only that, but name him your own Hand! What had this Theon Greyjoy done that was so great to deserve such an honor? You had his loyalty, you had his support, and with the proper timing you may even have had his family's ships. You didn't need him to be your Hand,"

"And I suppose you have just the notion on who I should have made Hand," Robb spat.

"Roose Bolton is, in an understatement, not afraid to get his hands dirty," Tywin replied stoically. "Something I notice you Starks are loathe to do. Ned Stark would have seen the realm burn but for one girl. Lord Bolton's price was steep, but it wasn't impossible,"

"What did he want?"

"Lord Bolton intends to marry your mother, your Grace," Tywin's eyes danced merrily as Robb's jaw dropped. "After that, his title as Warden of the North will carry weight behind it with Ned Stark's widow as his bride. He'll want his bastard to carry his name, also, but this is exactly my point. No matter how just the cause, everyone has a price,"

"You're right, my Lord Lannister," Robb said. "He'll want Winterfell as his seat once the ironborn have left the North. I can't imagine a nightmare more terrifying, my sworn enemy preparing to take away the home I love." He stared meaningfully at Tywin as the elder man slowly realized the meaning behind Robb's words. "Terrifying, isn't it? You see, Lord Tywin, you can pay off Roose Bolton so easily because at his core he's always been ambitious. My lord father taught me about the Boltons of the Dreadfort, bitter rivals to the old Stark Kings of Winter. Time and time again, the Boltons have rebelled against Winterfell. It has almost led to a certain animosity between our Houses, certainly to the Boltons having a less than glamorous reputation for their flaying. However, if you think that paying off the ancestral enemies of my family to betray me is going to stop me, you're in for a rude awakening my lord. I'm not going to stop, I'm not going to give in, until I've found my sister, your armies leave our lands, your grandson tastes my Ice, the Greyjoys leave the North, the Freys have faced justices, and that Roose Bolton pays for his treachery. So go ahead, stack the cards however you like, it doesn't matter. If I fail, I die. It's that simple,"

With that Robb turned on his heel and walked out of the door, taking long deep breaths. The thought of his mother in the hands of Roose Bolton made his hands shake, but he forced himself to cool off. There was still time until the march began. Enough time to take Roslin in his arms again, to feel the cool press of her forehead against his cheek, perhaps even try urgently one last time to bring their child into the world. She would stay in Riverrun with Sansa and Theon and half of the remaining Stark household guard. Robb had debated bringing her along but knew it would be safer for her to stay behind. They would be venturing headfirst into enemy territory and both acknowledged that, gods be good enough to send them a child while Robb fought in the west, it would be safer behind the walls of the castle than caught in the middle of a battlefield at any given moment.

He made his way back to Roslin who was chatting with Sansa. "I won't see you for awhile," Robb said to her, hugging her tightly. "It seems like we had just all started to come back together," he choked down the rock in his throat.

"The sooner you beat them down here, the sooner you can beat them up there," Sansa said, kissing Robb on the cheek. "I miss Winterfell," She said finally.

"I didn't think I'd ever hear you say that," Robb smiled, grasping Sansa's hands in his.

"Win this war, Robb," Sansa blinked back tears. "Win so we can go home," with another hug, she took her leave. Robb turned to Roslin, radiant in the glow of the sun light shining through the windows.

"I would love to put a child in your arms when you return, my love," Roslin said, tugging at the cloak still draped around Robb's shoulders.

"Well, no need to twist my arm…" Robb said, smiling as he pressed his lips to hers and pulled her closer.

After, a knock came on the door. Robb pulled his robe on over his trousers and went to the door. Standing there, grim faced and scowling was Sandor Clegane, and he knew it was time. Nodding to the Hound, Robb turned to see Roslin pulling on her own robe. "It's time, isn't it?" She asked.

Robb nodded and began placing his leathers on, which was soon followed by the mail, and Sandor helped with the mail. "You'll look after them while I'm gone?" Robb asked, eyeing the Hound's burned face.

The Hound smirked, "Your sister foresaw this happening. She said her mind would be more at ease if I join you riding west. She's asked Ser Rodrik to stay behind with her,"

"I believe Sansa has the right of it," Roslin agreed. "Watch after our King, Sandor,"

The Hound grimaced at the sound of his name but soon recovered. "Yes, your Grace,"

"Ser Rodrik is an excellent choice, as are you," Robb said. "I haven't ever expressed my gratitude for bringing my sister safely here,"

Sandor snorted, "Yes, the whole thing was my idea," the sarcasm was not completely missed on Robb. "Ending Gregor was expression enough, your Grace. I am your man,"

Roslin grasped Robb's hand as the trio walked out of the castle to the grounds where the host had gathered. Fourteen thousand, roughly. Robb took Roslin's lips one last time and saddled his horse, giving her hand one last squeeze. "I'll bring you back a souvenir," he said, giving his stirrups a soft kick.

"Fool!" She called merrily after him. "Bring me back my husband!"

A/N: I really had to chew on this chapter a lot. These past two or three chapters were hard for me to get out. When I was thinking up this fic, these were the chapters that I definitely knew I wanted to flesh out. For the most part, Robb's part in this fic is done. I'm debating either doing different POVs or just continuing Robb's story in a sequel fic. The ripple effects of what has already happen should, in my opinion, be seen/felt throughout Westeros before we call this story done though. Thoughts? Comments? Leave a review. Do it. I think authors tend to enjoy getting them. Also, yes, OH MY GOD THE RED WEDDING HAPPENED ON THE SHOW! I can definitely say it was almost as hard to watch as it was to read. I remember reading the scene in the book and had to actually put it down for a couple weeks. Throughout that time, the biggest question on my mind was, "Okay, how could this have been avoided?" One aspect was through securing the Freys and Boltons, though I think realistically most of the Freys were pretty shady bastards to begin with. Anyways, I'd really appreciate reviews. Feel free to favorite/follow as well, the more the merrier. Also, NO, the title of the chapter is not a reference to Fifty Shades of Grey. I just thought that the Wedding was still pretty Red, even though different people die and it may not have been equally devastating, this would still be remembered as a huge atrocity.