The hall of the Twins was alive with music and laughter as the wedding feast began, the Freys putting on a grand display to honor the union of Lord Edmure Tully and Roslin Frey and to honor the young Stark king despite his dishonoring. Long tables were heavy with food and wine, the scent of roast meats and freshly baked bread filling the air.

Roslin sat beside Edmure at the high table, her hands trembling as they rested on her lap. When she had been brought forward to meet her husband for the first time earlier that day, she had wept softly, tears spilling over her pale cheeks.

"She's overwhelmed, that's all," Lothar Frey had explained quickly, smiling as he laid a comforting hand on her shoulder. "It is no small thing to wed a lord as fine as Lord Edmure."

Edmure had laughed, brushing it aside with a good-natured joke about making women cry before they'd even spoken. But even now, as Roslin shared a cup with her new husband and leaned into his warmth, her brown eyes lingered on the hall, wide and glassy, as though searching for something—or bracing for it.

Her smile was small and shy, but it did not reach her eyes. Whenever Edmure touched her hand or whispered a kind word, her gaze would dart to him, before she forced herself to respond. The music played louder, and the hall seemed to grow warmer as the night stretched on.