Inside the High Hall of Riverrun.
Music drifted through the air, yet there was something indescribably false and strange about it.
The bard was plainly playing a cheerful wedding tune, but to Edmure Tully, every note sounded like a funeral dirge.
He sat at the high table, his splendid formal attire binding him like prison clothes.
Roslin Frey.
A beautiful girl, yet as skittish as a startled bird, she kept her head lowered, afraid to look at anyone, mechanically taking tiny bites of the food on her plate.
Edmure's gaze passed over the House Frey offspring exchanging toasts with false smiles plastered across their faces, finally settling on the one responsible for it all.
Lysa Arryn was holding a wine cup and accepting House Frey's flattery like the lady of the house.
Her face, slightly twisted by obsession, bore a sickly flush.
Just then!
Boom!
The High Hall's two massive doors, built of oak and steel, were smashed open from outside by brute force!
The tremendous crash instantly drowned out the music and revelry!
The entire hall fell silent in an instant.
Everyone froze at the sudden disturbance, their eyes turning as one toward the doorway.
Who was it?
Who had the nerve to cause trouble at Walder Frey and Lysa Arryn's wedding feast?!
Several figures stood silhouetted against the light in the doorway.
At the sight of the two in front, everyone's pupils abruptly contracted!
Ned Stark!
He wore black leather armor beneath a gray cloak embroidered with a direwolf sigil.
His resolute, cold face looked like granite in the firelight.
His hand rested on the hilt of the Valyrian steel greatsword, Ice.
Beside him stood a woman.
Catelyn Tully!
She had returned.
Returned to the castle where she had been born.
But her face held none of the