Three days later, at the Twins.
Walder Frey sat in a high-backed chair, the fingers of one hand tapping lightly on the armrest while the other held a wine cup.
He was over ninety, his face as deeply lined as a dried-up riverbed. His small eyes were cloudy, but they still held a sharp edge.
He wore a gray coat and a silver chain around his neck, looking for all the world like a weasel too old to grow any older.
"Grandfather."
Lyman Frey stood before him and said respectfully, "The northerners are preparing to withdraw. I also learned that they're looking for ferryboats. It seems they intend to cross at the ferry crossing on the Trident."
"Ferryboats?" Walder Frey laughed, an ugly sound like a rusty iron gate creaking on its hinges.
He laughed for a good while before speaking again. "Do they think going around the Twins will really make crossing the river easy?"
"Grandfather, should we send men to the Trident crossing to cause a little trouble? Burn any ferryboats they might find, or ambush them while they're crossing?" Lyman Frey asked coldly.
Although Lyman Frey had previously accompanied his father, Stevron Frey, leading their house's soldiers in Robb's service, he still had little love for the northerners.
Especially after his father had died fighting for Robb, only for Robb to betray his marriage pact with House Frey for a young lady from a fallen house in the Westerlands.
"No."
Walder Frey waved a hand, a gleam flashing in his cloudy eyes. "Let them leave," he said coldly. "If Robb Stark won't come here to die, that saves us the trouble."
"Besides, do you think the northerners are all fools? Robb still has Brynden the Blackfish beside him. That old trout is a shrewd one. And getting