Chapter 20: Escape in Madness
POV: Geralt
The screams echoing from the Twins' great hall had a different quality than I'd expected—less coordinated slaughter, more confused chaos. As I slipped through the servant passages that honeycombed the ancient castle, the sounds of my sabotaged massacre reached me like music composed by a madman.
"It's working," I thought, my enhanced reflexes guiding me through corridors I'd memorized during weeks of preparation. "But now comes the hard part—getting out alive."
[Red Wedding Status: Massacre attempt severely compromised]
[Casualty Reduction: Estimated 70% fewer deaths than original timeline]
[Escape Window: Closing rapidly as Frey forces reorganize]
[Priority: Immediate extraction before pattern recognition]
Behind me, the chaos continued to escalate. Grey Wind's howls punctuated the din as the direwolf systematically eliminated crossbowmen and guards I'd marked with scent trails. Tables crashed to the floor as my sabotaged supports gave way under the weight of panicking men. And underneath it all, the sound of Frey soldiers discovering that their carefully coordinated ambush had devolved into a farce of equipment failures and digestive distress.
But my work wasn't finished yet.
I made my way toward the castle's outer defenses, where I'd positioned several cache points for escaping Northern lords. The Blackfish would need supplies for the boat I'd hidden near the river. Other survivors would require food, weapons, and maps showing safe routes away from Frey territory.
Most importantly, I needed to ensure that the right people survived long enough to rebuild Northern resistance from the ashes of this catastrophe.
[Survivor Support Network: Activation phase]
[Cache Points: 7 locations with supplies and escape routes]
[Priority Recipients: Military leaders and political figures]
[Strategic Value: Foundation for continued resistance]
The first cache was hidden near the postern gate where I'd entered weeks ago, concealed behind loose stones that would be obvious to desperate men seeking escape routes. Inside: Northern coins, travel rations, weapons that could be concealed beneath cloaks, and most importantly, a detailed map showing Riverlands strongholds that remained loyal to the Starks.
I was checking the cache when footsteps echoed in the corridor—multiple people moving with the desperate haste of those fleeing for their lives.
The Blackfish emerged from the shadows first, his weathered face grim but alert, followed by three younger Northern lords whose names I recognized from the guest lists. Blood stained their clothes, but they moved with the coordinated purpose of soldiers who'd fought their way out of an ambush.
"This way," the Blackfish was saying, his voice carrying the authority of a man who'd survived decades of warfare. "The river gate's our best chance."
Perfect. He was following exactly the route I'd prepared, leading survivors toward resources I'd positioned for their escape.
[Cache Discovery: Blackfish group approaching optimal position]
[Supply Distribution: Critical resources about to be deployed]
[Escape Route: River extraction proceeding as planned]
I pressed myself against the wall as they passed, noting the way the Blackfish's eyes swept the corridor with professional paranoia. He was looking for threats, but also for opportunities—the kind of details that separated survivors from casualties.
His gaze lingered on the loose stones where I'd hidden the cache, and I saw recognition flicker in his weathered features. Not of me specifically, but of preparation that spoke of allied intelligence.
"Hold," he commanded softly, raising one hand to halt his companions. "Something here."
He approached the loose stones with the caution of a man who'd survived too many traps to trust obvious opportunities. But when he moved the stones and found the cache, his expression shifted to grim satisfaction.
"Supplies," he announced, distributing weapons and coins among his group. "Someone knew we'd need these."
"Who?" asked one of the younger lords. "Who could have known?"
"Does it matter?" the Blackfish replied, studying the map I'd included with particular attention. "We have allies we've never met, and right now that's enough."
[Cache Deployment: Successful]
[Blackfish Response: Professional acceptance of anonymous aid]
[Group Cohesion: Enhanced through resource distribution]
[Strategic Communication: Map intelligence transmitted]
They disappeared toward the river gate, following routes I'd scouted and marked for exactly this purpose. Behind them, other survivors were finding their own caches—Northern lords discovering hidden supplies at precisely the moments they needed them most.
But as I prepared to move toward my own escape route, a new sound reached me from the courtyard outside. Hoofbeats. Approaching fast.
"Late arrivals. But who?"
I made my way to a window that provided a view of the main courtyard, where torchlight revealed a scene that made my blood freeze. Two figures on horseback were approaching the main gate—a massive man in plate armor that looked cobbled together from various sources, and a small figure whose posture spoke of barely contained violence.
Sandor Clegane and Arya Stark.
The Hound and the wolf pup, arriving at exactly the worst possible moment.
[Critical Development: Arya Stark approaching active combat zone]
[Companion Assessment: Sandor Clegane - Dangerous but potentially ally]
[Timing: Catastrophic - Massacre ongoing, security heightened]
[Intervention Required: Immediate protection protocols]
"She can't see this. Not like this. Not when it's still happening."
In the original timeline, Arya had witnessed the aftermath of the Red Wedding—her brother's body with Grey Wind's head sewn onto it, the systematic humiliation of House Stark, the brutal demonstration of Frey power. Traumatic enough to forge her into a weapon of vengeance.
But witnessing the actual massacre would be different. More immediate, more visceral, more likely to break something essential inside a girl who'd already endured too much.
I needed to create distance, delay their approach, give them a version of events that preserved the psychological impact while minimizing the immediate trauma.
[Psychological Protection: Arya exposure minimization required]
[Method: Environmental manipulation and distraction]
[Objective: Preserve vengeful motivation while reducing trauma]
[Time Window: 15-20 minutes to create separation]
The solution came to me as I watched Sandor arguing with the Frey guards at the gate. The Hound was drunk, belligerent, and demanding entry to a celebration that had devolved into a battlefield. The guards were trying to maintain some semblance of normal protocol while the sounds of violence echoed from the castle behind them.
I made my way to the gatehouse through service passages, emerging behind the guards with the harried urgency of a servant bearing important news.
"Sers!" I called out, running toward them with convincing panic. "Lord Frey needs all guards inside immediately! There's been an attack—Northern treachery—they're trying to escape!"
The guards turned toward me with the confused attention of men who were already dealing with too many complications.
"What kind of attack?" the senior guard demanded.
"The Young Wolf brought hidden weapons to the feast. They've killed Lord Walder's musicians and are fighting their way toward the kennels. Every man's needed inside!"
It was mostly true, if you adjusted for perspective and causation. The important thing was that it gave the guards reason to abandon their posts and delay any new arrivals.
[Disinformation Campaign: Guards redirected away from gate]
[Access Control: Entry delayed for Arya and Sandor]
[Effect Duration: 20-30 minutes estimated]
The guards exchanged glances, torn between duty to their posts and the apparent emergency inside the castle. In the distance, Grey Wind's howl punctuated the night air, adding credibility to my story.
"You—hold the gate," the senior guard commanded one of his men. "The rest of us check the situation inside."
Three of the four guards departed, leaving only one man to deal with an increasingly agitated Sandor Clegane. Better odds, but still not ideal.
I circled around the courtyard, using shadows and my enhanced reflexes to position myself near the remaining guard. When the moment was right, I created a distraction—a loose stone "accidentally" kicked to clatter against the gatehouse wall.
The guard turned toward the sound, and in that moment of inattention, I struck the pressure point at the base of his skull. He dropped silently, unconscious but unharmed.
[Guard Neutralization: Non-lethal takedown successful]
[Gate Security: Temporarily eliminated]
[Access Window: Controlled entry now possible]
Sandor and Arya rode through the now-unguarded gate, their horses' hooves echoing against stone as they entered the courtyard where everything was going wrong for the Freys.
"Something's not right," Arya said, her voice carrying the wariness of someone who'd learned to expect betrayal.
"Aye," Sandor agreed, his scarred face turned toward the castle where sounds of violence continued to echo. "Sounds like your brother's wedding got interesting."
I positioned myself where I could observe their approach while remaining hidden. The key was timing—let them get close enough to understand what had happened, but not so close that Arya would see the worst details.
[Observation Position: Optimal monitoring established]
[Arya Status: Alert but not yet traumatized]
[Sandor Status: Suspicious and combat-ready]
[Intervention Timing: Critical precision required]
They dismounted near the main entrance, where torchlight revealed bloodstains and debris from the fighting inside. Arya's face went pale as she recognized the signs of violence, but she pressed forward with the determination that had kept her alive through months of horror.
But as they approached the great hall's entrance, I triggered my final diversion.
A cache I'd prepared weeks ago contained alchemical compounds that would create impressive but harmless explosions when exposed to flame. I'd positioned it where retreating Frey soldiers would likely throw their torches, and the timing worked perfectly.
[Diversion Explosion: Harmless but impressive pyrotechnics]
[Effect: Attention drawn away from hall entrance]
[Psychological Impact: Suggests ongoing combat danger]
[Arya Response: Caution increased, direct approach discouraged]
The explosion lit up the courtyard with green and gold flames that looked far more dangerous than they actually were. Sandor instinctively moved to shield Arya, his battle-trained instincts recognizing the signature of wildfire or similar alchemical weapons.
"Back," he commanded, pulling her away from the castle entrance. "Whatever's happening in there, it's not something we want to walk into blind."
"But Robb—" Arya began.
"Your brother's either dead or fighting for his life," Sandor said with brutal honesty. "Either way, getting yourself killed won't help him."
They withdrew to a position where they could observe the castle without approaching close enough to see details that would haunt Arya forever. Close enough to understand that something terrible had happened, but far enough away to preserve the psychological distance that would let her process the tragedy without being destroyed by it.
[Psychological Protection: Successful trauma mitigation]
[Arya Exposure: Limited to general awareness, not specific details]
[Sandor Response: Protective instincts engaged appropriately]
[Strategic Outcome: Vengeance motivation preserved, sanity protected]
I watched them for several more minutes, ensuring they maintained their safe distance while the last echoes of violence faded from the castle. Around them, other survivors were making their escapes—Northern lords following my prepared routes, servants fleeing the aftermath of political catastrophe, and in the distance, the distinctive howl of Grey Wind as he disappeared into the darkness with his supernatural senses guiding him away from human pursuit.
The Red Wedding was over, but it had become something entirely different than anyone had planned.
[Mission Assessment: Primary objectives achieved]
[Survivor Count: Dramatically improved over original timeline]
[Arya Protection: Trauma minimized while preserving character development]
[Strategic Position: Northern resistance capability preserved]
But as I prepared to make my own escape, I caught sight of movement in the castle's highest tower. A pale figure stood at a window, watching the courtyard with the focused attention of a predator studying its prey.
Roose Bolton. The Leech Lord was observing everything, analyzing patterns, drawing conclusions about the convenient failures that had saved so many Northern lives.
His pale eyes seemed to look directly at me for a moment, and I felt the weight of intelligence that missed nothing and forgot less.
"He knows someone interfered. He doesn't know who or how, but he knows."
[Threat Assessment: Roose Bolton active surveillance confirmed]
[Suspicion Level: High but non-specific]
[Investigation Risk: Immediate pattern analysis likely]
[Extraction Priority: Critical - Leave no traces]
Time to disappear completely.
I made my way through the service passages one final time, heading for the escape route I'd prepared for exactly this situation. Behind me, the Twins settled into the kind of angry confusion that followed when carefully laid plans collapsed into chaos and recrimination.
Walder Frey would survive the night, but his reputation was destroyed forever. The Northern rebellion would continue, but with leaders who'd learned hard lessons about trust and betrayal. Arya Stark would seek vengeance, but without the specific traumas that might have broken her spirit entirely.
[Escape Sequence: Final phase initiated]
[Evidence Elimination: All traces removed]
[Cover Identity: Terminated with no connections]
[Strategic Legacy: Chaos successfully introduced to timeline]
As I slipped away into the darkness, I allowed myself one last look at the castle where I'd spent weeks preparing for this single night. The Twins stood silhouetted against the stars, their ancient stones bearing witness to a betrayal that had become something else entirely.
The Red Wedding would still be remembered as a day of blood and treachery. But instead of marking the end of Northern resistance, it would become the story of how the wolves learned to bite back.
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