The gates of the Twins could no longer be called gates.
That door had been a formidable barrier, several layers of oak sheathed in iron, strong enough to withstand days of pounding from a battering ram.
Now it hung twisted out of shape, half dangling from its frame, the other half driven deep into the stone paving beneath the gateway.
A fully armored giant was brutally smashing the remaining frame and masonry to dust with fists larger than millstones, widening the entrance blow by blow.
The Wildling infantry had not come. They still had to deal with the aftermath in the Vale.
Only the giants had been sent.
Now, joined by the armies of the North, House Tully, and the allied forces of the Riverlands,
they poured silently and swiftly into the once-impregnable castle like converging torrents.
Edmure Tully and Brynden the Blackfish led the way.
Behind them came all the lords of the Riverlands.
Every face bore a complicated mixture of shock, awe, and lingering dread.
They followed closely behind Lynn's nine "guards," as though only proximity to these silent warriors could offer them a pitiful shred of security.
Within the castle, all resistance had ceased.
The bastards and defenders of House Frey had completely lost their nerve after witnessing that apocalyptic siege.
They threw down their weapons and knelt on either side of the road, trembling violently as they awaited their conquerors' judgment.
"Seize every male bastard of House Frey!"
Edmure's voice was thick with suppressed hatred.
The Tully soldiers descended on them like ravenous beasts, roughly dragging the kneeling Freys out one by one and gathering them in the square.
Brynden the Blackfish directed another group to begin searching every house.
Anyone who dared shelter a Frey would share their punishment.
A bloody purge began.
Lynn took