Chapter 36. The Rains of Castamere.
Arthur rode hard with the captain of the Myraham, heading toward the Westerlands to find Robb Stark. He expected burned roads, scout lines, and perhaps a long chase after a moving army. Instead, near Stony Sept, he found the army itself.
Robb's host had turned east. Not toward a new battlefield, but toward the Twins.
"A wedding?" Arthur asked after the first explanations reached him.
"A wedding," Ser Patrek Mallister confirmed, riding beside him with the easy smile of a man trying to make politics sound less rotten than it was. "Ser Edmure Tully will wed Lady Roslin Frey. It repairs the offense caused when King Robb broke his marriage pact. Lord Walder gave men, passage, and supplies. This is the price."
Arthur looked at the army moving behind them.
Patrek followed his gaze. "About thirty-five hundred are the cavalry who rode west with the king. They are not suited for sieges, so they escort the wedding party and move on. Another thirty-five hundred were brought by Lord Roose Bolton from the North. After the wedding, they go north to fight the Ironborn."
Arthur studied the two halves of the host. Stark, Tully, and Mallister banners rode with worn but confident men, still carrying the pride of victories in the west. The other force rode beneath the flayed man of the Dreadfort and the sunburst of Karstark. Their men were quieter. Harder in the wrong way.
Karstark.
Ena had told him Lord Rickard Karstark had been executed by Robb for killing Lannister prisoners. That wound would not close easily. Now Roose Bolton rode with Dreadfort men and Karstark soldiers to a Frey wedding meant to mend another broken oath.
Arthur looked toward Robb, who rode ahead surrounded by commanders. The young king sat straight in the saddle, but exhaustion clung to him. Beside him, Edmure Tully looked far too pleased for a man being used as a political bandage. Roose Bolton spoke little, face pale and still. Walder Frey's men moved through the host with smiles that looked practiced.
Perhaps Arthur was overthinking it. Probably not. Overthinking had kept him alive more than once.
The Twins were Frey lands. Robb had elite cavalry. Guest right would be given. Nobles believed old traditions held the world together, which was sweet in the way children believed blankets stopped monsters.
Arthur made quiet arrangements anyway. He ordered Kator to return to Newroot and gather five hundred newer recruits who had been training but had not yet seen a major battle. They were to move near the Twins and wait for orders. The official reason was simple: attend the wedding, conduct drills nearby, and then join the northern movement against the Ironborn if needed.
Kator accepted the order without question and left.
Arthur delivered Lord Jason's letter to Patrek and passed the news of Balon Greyjoy's death to Robb's close men. The report was taken seriously, but not urgently enough for Arthur's liking. The wedding had swallowed attention. Men saw music and marriage, and suddenly remembered how to be stupid.
When they reached the Twins, the castles were dressed for joy. Torches burned along the walls. Banners fluttered. Music drifted from the courtyards. Lord Walder Frey greeted the guests personally with bent courtesy and a smile thin enough to slice fruit.
Bread and salt were brought before the feast. Lady Catelyn insisted on it. Arthur saw her take the bread, dip it into salt, and eat. Only then did some of the tension in the hall ease. Guest right. Sacred. Ancient. Once bread and salt passed from host to guest, no harm could be done beneath that roof without offending gods and men.
Arthur ate as well. The bread was dry, and the salt bitter. He did not feel reassured.
Roose Bolton sat too calmly. Some Frey sons smiled too quickly. Servants moved with more discipline than servants needed. It might have meant nothing. It usually meant something.
Arthur turned to Beland, standing behind him. "Return to our camp. Weapons close. Men alert. No drinking beyond sense. If anything moves wrong, send word."
Beland nodded and left quietly.
The feast rose around them. Roast pig, honeyed ham, stews, pies, fruit, and wine enough to drown judgment. Edmure flushed under toasts, holding his shy Frey bride while young Freys cheered too loudly. Robb sat beside Queen Jeyne, smiling for the hall as if the war had loosened its grip for one night.
Ser Patrek Mallister, already red from wine, stumbled over and grabbed Arthur by the arm.
"Ser Arthur, stop looking like a man waiting for the ceiling to fall. Hand over your weapons and enjoy yourself. Guest right has been given. What else is there to fear?"
Everything, Arthur thought.
But refusing too sharply would draw attention. He let Patrek pull him toward the center of the hall. A servant waited near the door with open hands. Arthur sighed and unbuckled his sword and dagger, handing them over. He kept the soft armor beneath his clothing. It was not enough. It was something.
He took a cup of dark wine and did not drink. Across the hall, he saw Ena near Lady Catelyn, sipping fruit juice and speaking quietly with a maid. She looked toward him and winked. The corner of her mouth lifted. Arthur felt some of the tightness in his chest loosen, despite himself.
Perhaps he was being too cautious.
Then the servants began closing the heavy oak doors.
"My lord," one said politely, "please step aside. We are closing the hall."
Arthur moved and looked once through the narrowing gap. Night. Torches. Distant campfires. Nothing wrong. Then the band changed its tune, and a slow, low, familiar melody rolled through the hall with enough poison in it to freeze his blood before thought could catch up.
The Rains of Castamere.
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