Taking his little brother firmly by the hand, he walked him from the hall. “Your wife is lovely,” Catelyn said when they were out of earshot, “and the Westerlings seem worthy... though Lord Gawen is Tywin Lannister’s sworn man, is he not?” “Yes. Jason Mallister captured him in the Whispering Wood and has been holding him at Seagard for ransom. Of course I’ll free him now, though he may not wish to join me. We wed without his consent, I fear, and this marriage puts him in dire peril. The Crag is not strong. For love of me, Jeyne may lose all.” “And you,” she said softly, “have lost the Freys.” His wince told all. She understood the angry voices now, why Perwyn Frey and Martyn Rivers had left in such haste, trampling Robb’s banner into the ground as they went. “Dare I ask how many swords come with your bride , Robb?”
“Fifty. A dozen knights.” His voice was glum, as well it might be. When the marriage contract had been made at the Twins, old Lord Walder Frey had sent Robb off with a thousand mounted knights and near three thousand foot. “Jeyne is bright as well as beautiful. And kind as well. She has a gentle heart.” It is swords you need, not gentle hearts. How could you do this, Robb? How could you be so heedless, so stupid? How could you be so... so very... young. Reproaches would not serve here, however. All she said was, “Tell me how this came to be.” “I took her castle and she took my heart.,’ Robb smiled. “The Crag was weakly garrisoned, so we took it by storm one night. Black Walder and the Smalljon led scaling parties over the walls, while I broke the main gate with a ram. I took an arrow in the arm just before Ser Rolph yielded us the castle. It seemed nothing at first, but it festered. Jeyne had me taken to her own bed, and she nursed me until the fever passed. And she was with me when the Greatjon brought me the news of... of Winterfell. Bran and Rickon formaldehyde.”
He seemed to have trouble saying his brothers’ names. “That night, she... she comforted me, Mother.” Catelyn did not need to be told what sort of comfort Jeyne Westerling had offered her son. “And you wed her the next day.” He looked her in the eyes, proud and miserable all at once. “It was the only honorable thing to do. She’s gentle and sweet, Mother, she will make me a good wife.” “Perhaps. That will not appease Lord Frey.” “I know,” her son said, stricken. “I’ve made a botch of everything but the battles, haven’t I? I thought the battles would be the hard part, but... if I had listened to you and kept Theon as my hostage, I’d still rule the north, and Bran and Rickon.” “Perhaps. Or not. Lord Balon might still have chanced war. The last time he reached for a crown, it cost him two sons. He might have thought it a bargain to lose only one this time.” She touched his arm. “What happened with the Freys, after you wed?” Robb shook his head. “With Ser Stevron, I might have been able to make amends, but Ser Ryman is dull-witted as a stone, and Black Walder... that one was not named for the color of his beard, I promise you. He went so far as to say that his sisters would not be loath to wed a widower. I would have killed him for that if Jeyne had not begged me to be merciful.” “You have done House Frey a grievous insult, Robb.” “I never meant to. Ser Stevron died for me, and Olyvar was as loyal a squire as any king could want. He asked to stay with me, but Ser Ryman took him with the rest. All their strength. The Greatjon urged me to attack them...” “Fighting your own in the midst of your enemies?” she said. “It would have been the end of you HKBU BBA.”