Chapter 18: The Calm Before
POV: Geralt
The great hall of the Twins had been transformed into a monument to excess and barely concealed malice. Tapestries bearing the twin towers of House Frey hung from every wall, but their blue and grey threads seemed to absorb light rather than reflect it, creating shadows that moved with sinister purpose. Long tables stretched the length of the hall, laden with silver and crystal that would soon be stained with blood.
"Last supper for the wolves," I thought, adjusting the wine pitcher in my hands as I moved between the tables with practiced invisibility. "And they don't even know it."
[Red Wedding Countdown: 18 hours, 34 minutes]
[Final Preparations: 94% complete]
[Target Marking: Phase Three active]
[Survival Probability: Fluctuating based on seating arrangements]
The feast tonight was meant to be a celebration of reconciliation—Lord Edmure Tully would marry Roslin Frey tomorrow, cementing the alliance between the Riverlands and the North. But I could see the truth in the way certain Frey men avoided eye contact with their Northern guests, in the forced quality of their smiles, in the weapons that bulged beneath formal doublets.
Everyone was playing their part in a tragedy that would be remembered for a thousand years.
I made my way between the tables, refilling wine cups and making the final adjustments to my sabotage preparations. Each table had been carefully rigged with weakened supports—not enough to collapse under normal use, but ready to give way under the weight of panicking men diving for cover.
Table Seven, where three Northern lords would be sitting, had loose floorboards beneath the benches. A hard stomp in the right place would open a gap wide enough for a man to slip through into the storage cellars below.
Table Four's wine barrels had been treated with a mild sedative that would make the Frey soldiers stationed nearby sluggish when the killing started.
Table Nine's seat cushions contained small metal objects that would create sparks when struck by swords—not enough to start fires, but enough to create confusion in a darkened hall.
[Sabotage Network: Table modifications complete]
[Escape Enhancement: 12 discrete survival advantages deployed]
[Confusion Factors: Maximum chaos potential achieved]
[Detection Risk: Zero - All modifications appear accidental]
But my most important work involved the people, not the furniture.
I'd spent the afternoon moving through the Northern encampment, distributing carefully crafted warnings disguised as routine service. A note left in Lord Karstark's tent about "unusual activity near the kennels." A whispered comment to Ser Wendel Manderly about Frey soldiers practicing with crossbows at night. A suggestion to the Blackfish that the river route might be worth scouting "for tomorrow's festivities."
Nothing direct enough to reveal the conspiracy, but enough to plant seeds of caution in minds trained by years of warfare to recognize danger.
[Warning Distribution: Subliminal threat awareness enhanced]
[Target Recipients: 11 Northern lords and commanders]
[Method: Indirect suggestion, apparent coincidence]
[Effect: Increased vigilance without revealing conspiracy]
The most delicate intervention involved Roslin Frey herself.
The bride-to-be was young, kind, and clearly horrified by what her family was planning. I'd watched her during the wedding preparations, seen the way her hands shook when she thought no one was looking, noticed how she avoided her father's eyes when he spoke about "the future of House Frey."
She knew. Maybe not the details, but she knew something terrible was being planned for tomorrow.
I found her in the chapel where tomorrow's ceremony would take place, kneeling before the altar in what looked like prayer but felt more like penance.
"My lady," I said softly, approaching with the deferential posture of a servant bringing refreshments. "Lord Frey sent wine for your prayers."
She looked up with eyes that held the kind of desperate sadness that marked people trapped by circumstances beyond their control. "Thank you. You may leave it and go."
I set down the wine, but instead of departing immediately, I allowed a piece of parchment to slip from my sleeve and land near her feet. To any observer, it would look like an accident—a servant dropping some trivial note.
But the message it contained was anything but trivial.
Tomorrow's joy may turn to sorrow swifter than summer snow. A bride who values honor might find ways to delay... or warn... or simply step aside when eagles and wolves begin to dance. Some songs are written in blood, but not all singers need perish for the music.
[Roslin Intervention: Anonymous warning delivered]
[Content: Cryptic advice about delay and warning tactics]
[Risk Assessment: Moderate - recipient must interpret correctly]
[Potential Impact: Ceremony disruption, guest warning capability]
Roslin read the note quickly, her face paling as she understood its implications. She looked around the chapel with newfound urgency, then carefully tore the parchment into tiny pieces and scattered them like flower petals.
"She understands," I realized. "The question is whether she'll have the courage to act on that understanding."
As I made my way back toward the great hall, I encountered a scene that made my blood run cold. Walder Frey stood near the main entrance, surrounded by his sons and grandsons, watching as Northern lords filed in for the evening feast.
The old man's expression was one of profound satisfaction, the look of someone who'd waited decades for this moment and intended to savor every second of it.
"Look at them," he wheezed to Black Walder, his voice carrying the venom of accumulated grievances. "So proud, so honorable, so utterly trusting. Tomorrow they'll learn what happens to guests who forget their place."
"The preparations are complete, grandfather," Black Walder replied. "Every exit is covered, every signal prepared. The musicians know their cues."
"The musicians." I'd sabotaged their instruments, but they might try to sing the signal instead of playing it. Time for one final intervention.
[Critical Threat: Vocal signal backup identified]
[Immediate Action Required: Musician voice sabotage]
[Method: Respiratory irritant in rehearsal chamber]
[Effect: Temporary hoarseness, unable to sing clearly]
I slipped away from the great hall and made my way to the musicians' chamber, where five men were practicing tomorrow's performance. They were running through "The Rains of Castamere" repeatedly, ensuring they could play it flawlessly when the moment came.
The solution was elegant in its simplicity. I opened a small vial of powdered pepper and other irritants, then knocked it over "accidentally" while cleaning near their music stands. The powder dispersed into the air they were breathing, invisible but effective.
Within minutes, all five musicians were coughing and complaining of scratchy throats. By tomorrow, they'd be hoarse enough that singing would be difficult, and their instrumental performance would be compromised by my earlier sabotage.
[Musician Sabotage: Vocal capability eliminated]
[Signal Reliability: Reduced to near-zero effectiveness]
[Backup Communication: Freys will need visual cues instead]
[Confusion Factor: Significantly enhanced]
The evening feast proceeded with the kind of forced joviality that marked occasions where everyone was pretending emotions they didn't feel. Northern lords raised toasts to Frey hospitality while Frey lords responded with smiles that never reached their eyes.
At the high table, Robb Stark sat beside his pregnant wife, his face bearing the weight of someone who'd made too many hard choices and wondered if he'd made the right ones. Catelyn Stark watched the room with a mother's protective instincts, noting things that seemed wrong even if she couldn't identify specific threats.
And at the head of the table, Walder Frey held court like a spider in the center of his web, savoring the last hours before his revenge would be complete.
[Behavioral Analysis: Tension levels critical across all parties]
[Catelyn Stark: Maternal intuition detecting threat patterns]
[Robb Stark: Political stress but no immediate danger awareness]
[Walder Frey: Barely contained anticipation of violence]
I moved between the tables, refilling wine cups and listening to conversations that would be the last some of these men ever had. Northern lords discussed plans for the spring campaign, strategies for dealing with Lannister forces, hopes for ending the war and returning home to their families.
None of them would live to see spring.
But some of them might survive tomorrow, if I'd done my job correctly.
"More wine, my lord?" I asked Lord Karstark, noting how his hand rested near his sword hilt despite the feast's peaceful atmosphere.
"Aye," he replied, but his attention was fixed on a group of Frey soldiers who were paying more attention to the Northern guests than to their own duties. "Strange how many armed men they have for a wedding."
"He's noticing. Good." The subliminal warnings were working, making experienced warriors trust their instincts even when they couldn't identify specific threats.
I continued my rounds, marking the final positions for tomorrow's intervention. The Blackfish sat near a tapestry that concealed one of my prepared escape routes. Ser Wendel Manderly was positioned close to a table I'd rigged for rapid collapse. Several younger Northern lords were seated where they could reach the exits I'd sabotaged to open at the right moments.
[Final Positioning: Optimal placement for maximum rescue potential]
[Escape Route Access: 73% of priority targets within range]
[Intervention Points: 17 discrete opportunities identified]
[Success Probability: All variables optimized within constraints]
As the feast wound down and guests began retiring to their chambers, I caught sight of something that made my pulse quicken. Grey Wind was being led toward the kennels by Frey servants, his massive form moving with the reluctant obedience of a predator who sensed danger but couldn't identify its source.
The direwolf's golden eyes swept the courtyard with predatory intelligence, taking in details that human senses would miss. When his gaze passed over me, I felt the weight of recognition—not of me specifically, but of something that didn't belong in this place of approaching betrayal.
"Tomorrow, boy," I thought, watching as they led him toward the kennels I'd sabotaged. "Tomorrow you run, and you take as many of them with you as possible."
[Grey Wind Status: Secured in compromised containment]
[Escape Probability: 67% with sabotage enhancements]
[Combat Effectiveness: Maximum lethality against designated targets]
[Collateral Protection: Scent markers will guide him away from allies]
The last guests disappeared into the castle's chambers as midnight approached, leaving only servants to clean up the remnants of what might be the final peaceful meal the Twins would ever host. I helped clear tables and wash dishes, my hands performing familiar tasks while my mind raced through final contingency plans.
Everything that could be prepared had been prepared. Every sabotage was in place, every warning delivered, every advantage maximized within the constraints of a fixed timeline.
Tomorrow would bring the Red Wedding, and with it, the most devastating betrayal in the history of the Seven Kingdoms.
[Preparation Phase: Complete]
[All Systems: Armed and ready for deployment]
[Timeline Status: Final countdown initiated]
[Personal Readiness: Maximum alertness, enhanced reflexes active]
[Mission Objective: Save as many lives as possible from fixed-point tragedy]
But as I settled into my servant's pallet for what might be my last night of sleep, I couldn't shake the feeling that I was missing something important. Some variable I hadn't accounted for, some element of the conspiracy that remained hidden even from my enhanced perspective.
"What aren't I seeing?" I wondered, staring at the ceiling and listening to the sounds of a castle settling into uneasy sleep. "What surprise is waiting for tomorrow that I haven't prepared for?"
The answer would come with dawn, when the wedding bells began to ring and the greatest betrayal in Westerosi history started its inexorable march toward blood and fire.
[Sleep Protocol: Light rest, maximum awareness maintained]
[Wake Trigger: First bell of wedding preparations]
[Final Status: Ready for Red Wedding intervention]
[Last Thought: Let the games begin, and may the survivors remember]
Outside my window, storm clouds gathered on the horizon, as if the very heavens knew that tomorrow would bring rain the color of blood.
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