Weasel's Day
Eleventh Day of the Tenth Month 293 AC
Walder Frey, Lord of the Crossing and Master of the Twins, was a busy man. One might be forgiven for thinking otherwise upon seeing the old man take a bite with gusto from a spiced lamb rib, a goblet of Myrish wine in the other hand. Like much of what he did, this meal too was a matter of politics, three times over yet. Firstly because he would not be able to eat a meal this hearty without the Dragon fixing his teeth, secondly because it was an Essosi sort of dish prepared in the way it was oft served in Sorcerer's Deep, and thus likely to see the feast halls of King's Landing in the not too distant future, and thirdly it was because of the nature of his guest.
Ser Henry Wayn had a weak chin, a weak stomach, and a weak will to go with it, but he was the one his cousin and milk brother Lord Howard Wayn had chosen to travel to the Twins to talk trade. Hopefully drinking from the same teat hadn't made Howard as thick-headed as his cousin when it came to the realities of the Realm. "Heh... heard Hosteen found you in bed with a serving wench this morning. What's the matter, my blood not to your liking?"
"My lord, I would never..." the idiot stuttered.
Walder just spoke over him. "You know by now half the servants probably have my blood in them anyway, so you might as well take the offer while you have the chance." It had been long indeed since Walder had last held a sword, but his voice was steel. Enough to almost draw blood from the look on Ser Henry's face.
"I... your hospitality has been most appreciated, my lord, but I cannot..."
"Fuck your 'cannot,' boy. Say you won't, lest you want it to be said you can't get it up in the morning," Walder cut him off again, smelling blood. "Do you know how many kings I've seen buried? A round half-dozen..."
And the seventh's on his way to the cutting block. Though the words were unspoken, Walder doubted anyone in the hall, even Jinglebell the Fool, had missed it. Yet if asked, Walder could have simply said he meant to show his great age in some other way than just counting years, or winters. "In all that time, I've never seen much use for dithering when luck crosses your path, it's got a bald ass. Marriage is a time for a knight to consider where he might get lands right enough, but a good marriage will make it a lot more likely you'll get handed those lands."
"My lord, you are most generous," Ser Henry finally said, dropping his eyes in his stew bowl.
Finally... Walder leaned back in his seat, satisfied. Even a weak reed could make good leverage, with the right wife nagging in his ear, and gods knew Alyx would nag him well enough. Fair Walda would have been even better, but probably not worth the offer even if she had been here. Walder still was not quite sure how much a witch's hand in marriage was worth, and he was not in the habit of trading away things for which he didn't know the worth.
***
Later, in the privacy of his solar, Lord Frey was glad to dispense with the pleasantries that held his tongue in check in the main hall as he spoke to his sixth son, Ser Hosteen. "What's this about? Is your sister still being useless in getting her husband's nose out of the Seven-Pointed Star?" The inconvenient piety of his goodson, Lord Lucias Vypren, rankled like few things these days. "She should have drowned him in a barrel of wine while she had the chance."
"We cannot all be as blessed with forethought as you, father," the knight replied, with a hint of hard-won sarcasm. There weren't many at the Twins who could get away with even that much. "I have hopes that Damon might prove more reasonable than his father once the sky is full of dragons..."
"That's too late, too late by half," Walder snorted in disgust. "Everyone's 'reasonable' when they are shitting themselves with fear. There's no credit to be claimed then, trying to will just make us look like fools before the Dragon. Here is what you are going to do. Once your sister puts the old Master-at-Arms out to pasture you are to take his place and get to know the boy, open his eyes a bit so the Dragon won't boil them in his skull..."
"You believe Lythene can remove the Master-at-Arms?" Ser Hosteen asked cautiously.
"Let's just say he's about to come out at the wrong end of a love potion," Walder said, a cold smile curling at the corner of his lips. "Remember that Northern Singer who crossed three days ago?"
"The one who was hunting grumpkins..."
"
Wights, not grumpkins, and they're real enough to twist your fool head off, boy," the old lord snapped. How anyone could believe in a man who could turn into a dragon but not walking corpses of which there were a thousand tales, he could never understand. "As I was
saying, I convinced him to see to it that Lucias' master-at-arms gets caught with his pants down at the wrong time, which is where you come in. Talk some sense into Damon..."
"And if his father can be persuaded into the arms of the Seven earlier than might be expected?" Hosteen grinned in a way that made him seem very much his father's son.
"
Don't take any stupid chances, but yes, I would very much like to welcome my grandson as Lord of Viper's Nest," Walder replied without a moment's hesitation.
OOC: I hope I managed to capture Walder Prime's PoV properly.
