Not long after the new year began, the people of Westeros heard of yet another miracle — or rather, another legend. The news still ca from that "God-blessed land" called Draco.
The people had already grown numb. What new stunt was this?
Dragons.
Actual dragons.
It was as if the shadow of the Targaryens had once again fallen over Westeros.
This news shocked people far more than the previous claims of "Luke is the Son of the Seven Gods," "Luke can fly," or "Luke possesses magic." Many had not personally witnessed those things and had only heard rumors.
But everyone knew the phrases "the wrath of dragons," "blood and fire," and "the field of fire." House Targaryen had ruled Westeros for three hundred years.
The terror of dragons was etched into the mory of every person's blood and soul.
That "charlatan" Luke Jaqenion had actually hatched dragons?
Many sharp politicians and schers were already suspecting that Luke was a surviving Targaryen bastard… a remnant of the old dynasty!
Northeast of the God's Eye, three miles from Grey Glen Town.
Tywin and Jai Lannister led a scouting party, personally inspecting the defenses of Grey Glen Town.
If not for the Northern army pinning them down, Tywin would have long ago led his main force to crush Grey Glen Town and march into the so-called Draco. He very much wanted to see this "God-blessed land" for himself.
Three miles away stood a large fortress. It didn't look particularly tall — only about six ters high. Scouts reported that the fortress was extrely solid, ten ters thick, with living quarters inside and space for horses to run on top.
It was built using a material called "cent bricks" and "cent."
To build a six-mile-long, towering wall in just one year — was this the power of magic?
It was said that three thousand n defended it, superbly equipped. Their arrows had a range greater than any known bow, and they also had "scorpion ballistae," catapults, and rolling logs and boulders…
Tywin felt a headache coming on.
This was another tough nut to crack.
He had also heard that Draco had hatched three dragons, and it reminded him of his ancestors being forced to submit to Aegon the Conqueror. The words "Hear Roar" suddenly felt like they might beco a joke again.
Tywin narrowed his eyes, his voice icy:
"Once we finish off that little wolf pup Robb, I will raze this Draco to the ground. Whether he truly has dragons or not… even if he does, they are only newborn hatchlings!"
Northern Army Camp.
Robb Stark had also received news that three dragons had been born in Draco. It was a personal letter from his sister Sansa. No matter how unbelievable, it was the truth.
He only wanted to be King in the North and restore his ancestors' glory. Was that so difficult?
However, his thoughts were the sa as Tywin's. He believed Luke's dragons were only newborn hatchlings and posed no real threat.
At this mont, Robb was busy dealing with another matter: fulfilling his promise to House Frey by marrying Walder Frey's daughter — Roslin Frey.
Of course, the groom was not him.
It was his uncle, Edmure Tully.
Edmure strongly opposed it. He was a thousand tis unwilling. But pressured by his sister and nephew, he had no choice but to comply. Moreover, to firmly secure his position as Lord of Riverrun and make all the Riverland lords swear fealty to him, he also needed strong external support.
House Frey was an excellent marriage alliance!
Today was the wedding night.
The wedding was held at the Twins, House Frey's castle.
The torches in the hall burned brightly, and hundreds of candles lit the wedding as bright as day.
The long tables were piled high with roast suckling pig, venison stew, honey-glazed ham, and stacks of freshly baked black bread.
The guests were flushed with wine, their laughter, toasts, and playful banter blending into a cacophony that shook the roof beams.
Robb Stark sat at the high table, a full plate of food before him that he had barely touched. He was still uneasy about breaking his previous promise. Although his uncle Edmure's wedding had salvaged the alliance, he still felt sothing heavy weighing on his chest.
His wife, Talisa Maegyr, sat beside him, her belly already noticeably swollen… she was pregnant, already three months along.
The two were chatting and laughing, occasionally exchanging tender glances.
His mother Catelyn sat beside him, also not touching her knife and fork. Her eyes kept scanning the hall.
Those Frey people were smiling far too eagerly.
At the entrance, a servant entered carrying a silver tray with a piece of coarse bread and a small dish of salt.
Catelyn took it, broke off a small piece, dipped it in salt, and handed it to Robb. Robb chewed and swallowed.
This was the ancient right of guest protection: once you had eaten the host's bread and salt, you were under the gods' protection, and no one could harm you.
Catelyn ate a piece herself.
Only then did she breathe a slight sigh of relief.
But she failed to notice that Walder Frey, seated at the high table, had a smile on his wrinkled face, while his eyes were like two cold slits, fixed on Robb's throat.
The doors of the hall suddenly slamd shut.
Catelyn jerked her head up. The two heavy oak doors had been barred from the outside with a dull thud.
At the sa ti, the music in the musicians' gallery changed.
The cheerful dance tune they had been playing was replaced by a low, somber lody.
It was the Lannister war song, The Rains of Castare.
"And who are you, the proud lord said, that I must bow so low?…"
Catelyn's hand froze in mid-air.
She whipped her head around to look at Roose Bolton — the Northern lord who had been sitting beside her the whole ti.
Bolton was just rising, moving unhurriedly, but the hem of his robe lifted to reveal a glimpse of gleaming chainmail.
Why wear armor to a wedding?
The answer ca almost imdiately.
"Loose!"
On the second-floor gallery, the "musicians" who had been pretending to play suddenly threw down their instrunts and grabbed crossbows from beneath their feet. They lined up in a row, looking down from above. The sound of bowstrings being drawn was as uniform as a single sigh.
Then the arrows rained down.
The first volley pierced the Northern knights seated near the door. A man who had been raising his cup froze, looking down at the arrow shaft suddenly protruding from his chest. His goblet slipped from his hand, smashing on the floor as red wine and blood mixed together.
Screams exploded.
So shouted "Traitors!", others "Frey dogs!", and so who had just stood up were shot through the throat by the second volley.
Tables were overturned. Roast suckling pigs rolled onto the floor and were trampled with wet squelches. Blood splashed onto the honey-glazed ham, staining the glossy at dark red.
Robb had been whispering with his wife.
Suddenly, he froze.
Because a hand reached from behind, holding a sharp knife, and stabbed viciously into his wife's swollen belly — again and again, without rcy!
"Ah—!"
Talisa clutched her belly in terror and let out a piercing scream. Blood gushed from between her fingers, soaking her dress and Robb's hands.
"No—!"
Robb shot to his feet, reaching for his waist… only to find it empty.
His sword had been taken away at the entrance by the Freys under the pretext of "wedding etiquette."
An arrow struck his leg.
He dropped to one knee. Blood ran down his trouser leg, pooling on the stone floor.
"Robb!" Catelyn lunged forward, pressing her hand over his wound, but the blood still poured out between her fingers.
The hall had beco a slaughterhouse.
The Northern lords, unard, were cut down one by one by crossbows, daggers, and longswords. The young knight who had been dancing with the bride monts earlier was pinned to the table by three Freys. One slashed his throat, and blood sprayed onto a nearby candlestick, sizzling.
Wendel Manderly, the fat, always-smiling knight, was stabbed in the back and collapsed face-first into a half-eaten plate of stew, never to rise again.
Maege Mormont, the Lady of Bear Island, grabbed a dinner knife and lunged at the Freys, only to be run through the chest. As she fell, her eyes were still open, staring at the king she had sworn to protect amid the crowd.
Catelyn could do nothing.
She could only hold Robb, watching this bloody hell before her, listening to the haunting lody of The Rains of Castare playing over and over.
Soone stepped over the spilled food and corpses, walking toward them.
Roose Bolton.
His pale face showed no expression. He held his longsword reversed, the tip dragging on the ground and leaving a thin trail of blood.
He stopped in front of Robb.
Robb looked up at him… this vassal he had once trusted, this lord he had entrusted with the Northern infantry, this man who was now about to end him with his own hand.
Bolton spoke:
"I bring warm regards from Jai Lannister."
The sword tip plunged in.
Robb's body jerked upward, then slumped. His eyes remained open, his pupils slowly dilating as he stared at the flickering torches above and the blood-stained beams.
Catelyn let out a heart-wrenching howl — a sound not human, but like a hunted beast.
She threw herself onto her son's body, her hands trembling as she stroked his face, muttering words that could not be understood.
A Frey man walked up behind her, a dagger in his hand.
The blade slashed across her throat.
Her voice was cut off. She collapsed onto Robb, blood pouring from her neck and mixing with her son's, snaking through the gaps in the stone floor.
Outside the castle, the Northern soldiers' camp was also being massacred.
They too were unard, cut down in their sleep or drunkenness by swords and knives. Tents were set ablaze, flas shooting into the sky, screams drowned out by the rain.
Robb's direwolf Grey Wind was trapped in a cage, desperately biting the bars until more than a dozen arrows struck it at once.
As it fell, a low whine still escaped its throat, as if calling for its master.
Later, the Freys cut off Grey Wind's head.
They sewed it onto Robb's corpse.
A wolf-headed man wearing a crown, a lamb's leg stuffed into his hand like a ridiculous scepter.
Walder Frey sat on the high table, looking at the corpse, and finally showed a satisfied smile.
The hall finally fell quiet.
Only the lody of The Rains of Castare continued to echo in the empty hall.
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