GOT: The Great — Chapter 294 - The Siege of the Twins

The night before, Drogo had given the order: pull in every fisherman's boat on the river, upstream and down, flat-bottomed ferries, wicker rafts, dugout canoes. All of it requisitioned.

At dawn, the first wave of White Harbor infantry stepped onto the far bank and drove the first Direwolf Banner into the muddy shallows.

Viserion skimmed the surface of the river in slow circles.

The soldiers of House Frey saw the dragon covering the crossing and held their ground, unwilling to risk a strike. All they could do was watch as the Northerners crossed in wave after wave, right before their eyes, drawing the noose tighter around the city.

By midday, more than half the Northern army had crossed the Green Fork.

They pitched camp to the south and west of the Twins, felled trees for palisades, and drove spears into the earth in long rows until the perimeter looked like an iron fence.

Drogo left Viserion on the western bank with the troops already across, to hold the western tower approach.

If House Frey wanted to break out, they would have to pass through dragonfire first. Then through a wall of spears.

Drogo sat outside his tent on the eastern bank and laid out his dispositions without hurry.

Sure enough, the afternoon sun had barely burned the last mist off the river when the city gate opened.

Five or six men came out. At the front was a middle-aged fat man on horseback, wearing gilded plate armor worked with the twin towers sigil, his horse picking its way at a slow walk, hooves striking dull thuds against the wooden plank bridge.

Ryman Frey. Drogo knew that face.

"King Drogo." Ryman reined in before the tent and climbed down. His knee bent as he landed and he grabbed the saddle to keep from going over.

"I suppose I should be calling you King now."

"The last time my grandfather sent me to Rosby to pledge fealty to you, you were still a Khal out of the Dothraki Sea."

"I believe I even presented you with a sapphire."

"I remember it well," Drogo said. "Your grandfather killed my wife's mother and brother at the Red Wedding. I remember both of those things clearly."

"We only recently learned that Lady Sansa had married you, my King."

Ryman's smile held, but it wasn't steady, the corners of his mouth kept pulling.

"When all is said and done, it was Robb who insulted the Twins first. He swore to marry one of my grandfather's daughters, then turned around and broke the betrothal."

"Then he sent us an uncle in his place. You know my grandfather's temper. The one thing he has hated his entire life is being made to feel small."

"He wishes to invite you inside the city to explain it all to you himself."

"Who the hell would dare set foot in your house as a guest?" Drogo said flatly.

Ryman stumbled back a step.

"Take him."

Soldiers rushed in from both sides. Ryman's attendants went down fast.

Two White Harbor men grabbed him by the arms and drove him into the ground.

Ryman's nose caught a protruding tree root. Blood scattered across the snow. He thrashed, and his plate armor ground against the stone beneath him with a harsh shriek.

"Tie him to a frame," Drogo said. "Then bring me the Bolton prisoners."

After passing Moat Cailin, Drogo had taken a handful of Bolton soldiers in the Neck.

He hadn't killed them. He'd kept them chained to the back of his horse and dragged them the whole way here.

"Flay him," Drogo told the prisoners. "Do not let him die before you have stripped every last piece of skin from him. If he dies before that, I will have you flay yourself."

A thin, tall prisoner pulled a skinning knife from his belt. The blade was thin and flat, the tip bent into a hook.

The first cut ran down from the back of the neck. Ryman's screaming went up into the air.

From the walls came the sound of arrows.

One came from a tower, angling toward the frame, trying to spare him, but it buried itself in the ground short of the mark.

A second arrow came down, closer. It caught one of the frame's legs. The shaft shuddered.

Before the third could fall, Rhaegal surged into the air and swept a low arc along the wall. Dragonfire drove the archers on the battlements back behind the stone.

After that, no more arrows came.

The skinner was not particularly good at his work.

Ryman's screaming went on, broken a few times in the middle.

He fainted. They brought him back. He fainted again.

When the flaying reached his chest, the tall prisoner spat on the ground.

"He's too fat. The skin just sits on the fat — it won't come away clean. The Ironborn were much easier."

A voice came down from the wall.

"Drogo!"

Walder Frey stood behind the battlements with both hands pressed to the crenellations, rings packed onto every finger.

Past ninety years old, and he could still bellow without drawing a breath. No wonder he kept taking young wives.

"Our cooperation in taking Riverrun went splendidly! Why throw that away — why break with a vassal loyal to you over a single woman?"

"House Frey has women aplenty, none of them worse than the Stark girl. Take your pick. As many as you like."

Drogo had actually liked Roslin Frey. But she had already married Edmure Tully and become his aunt by marriage.

He tilted his head back and looked at the gaunt old man on the wall.

"You are as good as dead, Walder Frey."

Walder Frey's face twisted. Then he started to curse.

The words came like filth backed up for decades behind a dam, finally breaking through all at once, every ugly thing he had.

"You bastard from Essos! Dothraki filth! A savage who rides on animals and eats raw meat!"

"You dare come and seize my Twins. I have more than thirty sons and more than fifty grandsons — you cannot kill off my bloodline!"

"You are nothing but a wild bastard born on horseback, a villain without a shred of honor! You have no right to stand on a single inch of Westerosi soil!"

Drogo waited for him to finish.

"You can break every oath you've ever sworn, but I'm the one who's supposed to stand here and talk to you about honor? Wouldn't that put me at quite a disadvantage?"

"In your Westeros, all the people who kept their honor were killed by men like you."

Lady Stoneheart stepped forward and stood at Drogo's side.

She raised the dagger in her hand and let the light find the blade. Then she walked to the frame.

She drew the blade across Ryman Frey's throat. No pause. Her wrist turned fast and steady.

The pleasure she had taken from his suffering was nothing compared to the satisfaction of cutting his throat with her own hand.

"Your other sons will die beneath the same blade."

"I will save you for last."

"I will make you watch the name Frey be wiped from Westeros entirely. In your own lifetime."

She tilted her head back. Her hood slid down to her shoulders.

Walder Frey's rings scraped a white gouge across the stone of the battlement.

His mouth was still open. The words had stopped.

He saw the dark red scar running across her throat. He saw the ash-grey hair. He saw the strips of dead flesh hanging from her face.

He knew that face.

His lips moved. Nothing came out.

He turned and vanished from the wall.

➤ Next: The Skin of House Frey