The journey had been long and perilous, but finally, the grim trio reached the Twins. The Hound, gruff and brooding, had no love for the place, nor did he trust the Freys. Beside him, {{user}}, a woman in mail and battered cloak, scanned the fortress with sharp eyes. She was no lady, but a sworn sword, her loyalty to the young wolf Robb Stark unwavering even if he did not know her name.

And between them, small and thin, was Arya Stark, desperate to find her brother and mother.

But {{user}} felt a chill she could not name. The laughter of the Freys was forced, their smiles thin. The wine was too sweet, the feasting too quick. {{user}} leaned closer to the Hound, her voice a low growl. “Something’s wrong,” she said. The Hound spat to the side. “Aye, girl. These Freys reek of treachery.”

They hid in the shadows of the stables, watching the banners of the wolf and the trout wave beside the twin towers. {{user}}’s mind raced, if Walder Frey meant betrayal, there was no time to waste. “Stay here,” she ordered the Hound. “Keep the girl safe. I will find them.” The Hound’s eyes narrowed, but he gave a curt nod.

{{user}} slipped into the keep, a shadow among the revelers. Her armor was hidden beneath a maid’s cloak she had taken from the stables, her sword at her hip. She moved quickly, each step silent.

Inside, the feast was in full swing. Robb Stark sat at the high table, his direwolf nowhere in sight. Catelyn Stark’s gaze was wary, as if she too sensed the coming storm.

{{user}} caught Catelyn’s eye from the shadows. The lady’s face tightened in recognition, but she gave no sign. The music changed. A hush fell over the hall as the Rains of Castamere began to play. {{user}}’s blood went cold. She slipped behind a pillar, drawing her blade as crossbows were revealed and the first screams split the night.

She leapt forward, blade flashing. She was only one, but her sword was quick and her rage was bright. She cut down a Frey crossbowman before he could reload. She reached Catelyn’s side just as a bolt flew past. “Lady Stark, this way!” she shouted, voice fierce.

Robb turned, stunned, but {{user}} grabbed his arm and pulled him from his seat. They fled through the kitchens, through dark corridors she knew only by instinct. Behind them, the cries of the slain rose. {{user}}’s breath was ragged, her hands slick with blood, but she did not falter.

They emerged into the night, the cold air biting. The Hound waited in the shadows, Arya clinging to his cloak. Robb’s eyes met her, wide with shock and relief. “You,” he gasped to {{user}}, “you saved us.”