The Late Lord Frey

“The Frey delegation brings news from the Twins. Lord Walder’s eighth wife died of childbed fever after giving birth to his latest son.”

The words of Catelyn’s son manage to break through her distracted haze, bringing her from her contemplation of the Stark position in this increasingly disastrous war. It came as a surprise to her that Lord Frey had managed to outlive yet another wife. He was two-and-ninety, if she recalled, and the girl had been very young. Perhaps too young to be giving birth. Catelyn remembered the late Joyeuse Frey, born of house Erenford. She had been a pretty thing, but very timid. She supposed Walder Frey demanded such from his wives.

Her thoughts were interrupted once again when her grizzled uncle spoke. “Another whelp? How has the old man’s cock not fallen off by now? Well, maybe he will be more amenable to making amends with us in his grief.”

Edmure interjected. “Grief? Walder Frey cared no more for this one than the first seven, I don’t doubt. The only thing he mourns the passing of is her cunt.”

Robb leveled a menacing stare at him. “Do not speak so around my lady mother.” Edmure was somewhat cowed by his chastening. “I had hoped to give Lord Frey your hand for one of his daughters as recompense, to cement our reforged alliance. It appears that will not suffice, however.”

A dark feeling settled over Catelyn. “What do you mean?”

Robb’s apologetic expression did not assuage her fears. “I’m sorry, mother. They were promised a king, they say, and now they will settle for nothing less than a queen.”

It was as she had feared. “I never took the title. Eddard was the Lord of Winterfell, and I am its Lady.”

“You are my mother, nevertheless,” Robb said resignedly. “And I have found myself the King in the North.”

“Do not make me do this, Robb. I loved your father. I cannot remarry. Much less to him.” Walder Frey had sought her hand when she was a young maid, before she was betrothed to Brandon. Her proud father had refused him, to her great relief. She remembered the way he leered at her.

Robb shook his head. The fatigue that had settled over him in the past months was more apparent now than it ever had been before. “He will die soon, mother, and then you shall be free once more. It is not much I ask of you. We are losing this war. The reports from Glover grow more dire by the day, and the North remains in the hands of the Ironborn. This alliance is our only hope. That bridge is our only hope. And don’t think I’ve forgotten you setting the Kingslayer free.”

Catelyn looked for support from her brother and uncle. She found none.