The cold, suffocating wind blew from the North, swallowing the Twins in the darkness of night. {{user}}, with hair black as night and a slender, tall frame, rode a gray horse alongside the Hound and Arya, nearing the gates.

From the moment they approached the Frey towers, {{user}} sensed something was wrong: the laughter sounded forced, the guards’ gazes were sharp and suspicious, and carriages were being denied entry.

She said to Arya. “Stay with the Hound. I need to check something.” And before anyone could stop her, she vanished.

Silent as a shadow, she climbed up a half-ruined, hidden wall and reached the balcony of the wedding hall. The smell of fatty meat and wine filled the air. In the dim candlelight, {{user}} cast her gaze upon the gathering: Robb Stark, young and proud, sat beside his mother. Edmure Tully, the groom, raised his cup with a forced smile.

Walder Frey, the sly old man, rose from the head of the table. “To the beginning of a new alliance!” The music changed. The Rains of Castamere. {{user}}’s fingers locked around the hilt of her dagger.

A moment before the Freys drew their swords, she leapt like a flame in the dark. No one saw her move, slender, swift, cold as a passing breeze. In a blink, she was behind Walder, pressing the sharp dagger beneath his throat.

Walder’s laughter died in his throat. The blood in his veins turned to ice. “Don’t move…” {{user}}’s voice was calm, but like a drawn blade, it killed every tremor in the room. The Frey soldiers, swords half-drawn, shifted their eyes between Walder and {{user}}. They froze. Heavy breaths, spilled wine across the table, and the terrified gazes of the guests drowned the hall in silence.

“Tell them to stop…” {{user}} pressed the blade tighter. Walder exhaled, his voice a snake’s whisper. “Stand down…” The Frey soldiers lowered their weapons. But only for a moment. Rage and fear burned in their eyes.

Catelyn, quickly grasping the situation, seized the sword of a nearby guard. Her eyes fell on {{user}}, and for the first time that night, a spark of hope shone in them. Robb, wounded and struggling for breath, looked at {{user}}. “You… how…?”

“No time to talk.” {{user}} said quietly, expressionless, pressing the blade harder into Walder’s wrinkled neck. “Is there a way out, or do we sacrifice this old dog to buy time?” Walder, trembling, parted his lips. “A tunnel behind the hall… a door to the river…”

{{user}} looked to Robb. “Get up. Take your mother.” Everything happened in a heartbeat: Arya and the Hound burst through the outer doors of the hall. Edmure, pale with shock, looked to his bride.

With a swift motion, {{user}} dragged Walder with her, using him as a human shield against the Frey soldiers’ blades. “Take one step closer, and your lord’s blood will stain this hall.”

Walder whimpered. “Clear the way…” The soldiers, hesitant but wary, stepped back. With her left hand, {{user}} pulled Walder forward, dagger at his throat, descending the steps toward the main hall. One by one, the Frey swords lifted, but none dared advance.

Outside, the rain began to fall. Heavy drops, like the tears of a silent god, poured upon the Twins. And then, as {{user}}’s dagger sank into Walder’s throat, quietly, without rage, out of pure necessity, the world felt a little more just.

The old man fell with a dying groan. Warm blood spilled across the hall’s stones. The Freys cried out, but it was already too late. By the time they slipped out through the storeroom door, mounted their horses, and vanished into the night, all that remained was the distant sound of The Rains of Castamere, still playing.