The twin towers banner of House Frey and Jon's white wolf on a black field hung side by side in the Great Hall of the Twins, symbolizing the highest level of welcome.
Inside the hall, singers and harpists sang loudly, their music flowing like water to accompany the men and women dancing in the center.
Even for those not dancing, it didn't matter; House Frey had prepared a sumptuous feast. They had served over twenty roast suckling pigs in one go.
The heat and aroma of the food raised the temperature in the hall by several degrees, leaving many sweating profusely.
Sandor looked with some disdain at the man in the grey robe—Qyburn.
He had joined Jon's group halfway, claiming he wanted to serve Jon. Jon accepted him and brought him along to the Twins.
Sandor knew why, though. Jon would be going to war in the Westerlands soon, and this guy wanted to get his hands on some fresh corpses.
Sandor might look fierce and act violently, but compared to a guy who was only interested in dead bodies, he felt he was incredibly kind and normal.
He didn't understand why Jon would accept such a notorious character. He had no right to interfere with his liege lord's choices, so he silently put some distance between himself and Qyburn, turning his gaze to the center of the dance floor.
Sansa was standing not far away, dancing with a Frey boy. But Sansa had been tormented by Arya all the way here, her whole body aching. On top of that, the Frey boy's looks were... underwhelming. Although Sansa tried her best to maintain her etiquette and reserve, the distaste was almost spilling out of her eyes.
The muscle soreness, in particular, made her wince occasionally, making it even harder to maintain her ladylike composure.
The Frey boy, completely oblivious to her disdain, just stared at Sansa foolishly, practically drooling.
Meanwhile, the "mastermind" behind all this, Arya, was sitting in a front-row seat, munching on an apple and giggling as she watched.
Next, Sandor spotted Davos in the crowd. Old Walder had a sharp eye; knowing of Davos's deeds, he had warmly invited him to dance as well.
Davos clearly hadn't been trained for this, so he looked clumsy, nearly stepping on his partner's shoes.
Finally, Sandor saw Jon in the very center of the dance floor. Jon was dancing with Old Walder's most beautiful daughter, Roslin Frey.
Even from a distance, Sandor could sense the atmosphere between them was off. Every movement of the pair seemed exceptionally stiff.
Jon, being in the middle of it, naturally felt awkward too.
He hadn't planned to dance, but Old Walder was insistent. What surprised him even more was that Roslin had actively invited him. But after the invitation, her movements and expressions were so stiff that Jon knew there must be a hidden story.
Fortunately, the awkward dance ended quickly.
Everyone returned to their seats. Jon walked to his high table to dine with Arya and Sansa.
Old Walder tapped his wine goblet with a silver fork, signaling everyone to look at him.
The music stopped, the footsteps of the maids ceased, and the nobles' whispers died down. Only the occasional clink of plates, the squeak of chairs, and a few coughs remained as the hall fell silent.
Soon, the entire hall was quiet, and everyone looked at Old Walder.
Old Walder raised his goblet high and announced loudly, "Let us congratulate Duke Jon! Long live Duke Jon!"
Led by Old Walder, the members of House Frey and the nobles from around the Twins raised their cups to cheer for Jon.
"Long live the White Wolf Knight—"
"Long live the Lord Duke—"
"Long live Jon Stark—"
The cheers were so loud that they caused ripples in the wine in the cups.
As the guest of honor, Jon stood and raised his cup, draining it in one go to thank the crowd.
After that, Stevron Frey and his band of old brothers stood up one by one to praise and congratulate Jon.
But once the pleasantries were over, the conversation had to return to business.
While others went back to eating, drinking, and chatting, Old Walder asked Jon, "Jon, you and Ser Davos are going to Riverrun to persuade Robb to give up independence. How confident are you? Do you need manpower?"
"Duke Walder, since His Grace has entrusted this matter to me, success or failure depends mainly on me. More people won't make much difference, but thank you for your kindness."
Rhaegar Frey, thinking perhaps Old Walder was being too subtle, spoke up as his mouthpiece.
"It's like this, Lord Duke. Although the Twins are strong, Robb has twenty or thirty thousand troops in his hand... We naturally hope you succeed, but what if Robb is determined to stay independent? The Northern army will definitely return to the North, and the Riverlands army certainly won't stand by while we cut off the connection between the North and the Riverlands..." Rhaegar didn't finish his sentence, but the meaning was clear: What if you fail to convince Robb, and he comes to attack us?
After all, Stannis didn't look like he had many troops to spare right now.
How could the safety of the Twins be guaranteed?
As Rhaegar asked this, Jon noticed the chatter in the hall quieted down. Many people looked in his direction.
No wonder Old Walder brought this up in a public setting; he likely wanted a public promise and guarantee.
Davos also put down his knife and fork, looking at Jon.
In fact, Rhaegar's question hit Stannis's biggest weakness. Their military strength was stretched thin, and it would take at least half a year to recover.
Before coming here, Stannis didn't have a good solution either. He could only tell them to play it by ear—fudging it would be best.
But Old Walder clearly wasn't easy to fool. Not far away, Roslin perked up her ears, wanting to know what Jon would do.
Jon lowered his eyes to look at the table, then stood up solemnly and said loudly, "Duke Walder, rest assured. If Robb chooses to keep his crown and remain an enemy of King Stannis, the Twins will bear the brunt. But please, rest easy. I will naturally bring troops to support you. And if fate dictates that I must kill Robb, then I will follow him in death. I only ask that when that time comes, Lord Walder, you will properly collect the bones of us brothers and send them back to Winterfell."
Jon's passionate and tragic words plunged the entire hall into silence.
Sansa, nearest to him, froze, her hand hovering in mid-air with a piece of pudding on her fork. Beside her, Arya asked anxiously, "Sansa, Jon... what is Jon saying? Why does he have to kill Robb? What does he mean he'll follow Robb? Sansa, Sansa, say something!"
Arya, who had been giggling all the way here, now had a sob in her voice. The sisters felt dragged back to the execution ground the day Eddard Stark died. The visceral pain of losing a family member seemed to return from memory and nightmare into reality.
Rhaegar Frey, who had asked the question, was rendered speechless by Jon's declaration. His mouth opened and closed, but not a word came out.
Davos unconsciously sat up straighter, thinking fate was too cruel to Jon. He had finally escaped the lowly status of a bastard, only to face such a difficult moral dilemma.
He wanted to tell Jon it didn't have to be this way, but he didn't know where to start.
Further away, Roslin threw all etiquette and reserve to the wind, staring straight at Jon, her brown eyes welling with tears.
She had harbored some resentment over the "breakup letter," but now she realized the choice Jon faced was a hundred times harder and more painful than her own.
Only now did she remember that, strictly speaking, she was a year or two older than Jon.
Resentment, pity, love—a mix of complex emotions swirled together, making Roslin feel like she was meeting this young man for the first time.
Sandor, the furthest away, heard Jon's words through the grapevine. He had only one feeling—
Hardcore. Too hardcore.
Someone like Jon, who could fight and didn't care about his life, was impossible to deal with. It was better to just obediently follow him.
However, Jon knew that once he had a real fiefdom and children, no one would believe such talk of mutual destruction.
After all, even Eddard, recognized across the Seven Kingdoms as a man of honor, chose to ransom his life with his reputation and admit to non-existent treason when Cersei threatened his daughter.
Finally, after a long silence, Old Walder spoke up to smooth things over. "Oh, Jon, we are far from that point. I am over ninety years old, and the only truth long years have taught me is that as long as you survive, problems will disappear on their own even if they aren't solved. A young hero like you must live well. Only by living can the family prosper."
"Exactly, Jon—Lord Duke. We are reassured by your words. But I believe the gods are merciful and will never allow such a tragedy to happen," Stevron comforted repeatedly.
After the banquet, Old Walder agreed to Jon's future request to transport the Mountain Clansmen. He even stated that when Jon attacked the Westerlands, he would send all of House Frey's knights.
Then, unable to refuse the warm invitation, Jon and Davos agreed to stay at the Twins for three days.
Of course, in reality, Old Walder was creating opportunities for Roslin.
Rhaegar Frey even revealed a perfect fishing spot to Jon, claiming that since getting older, he found fishing more exciting than hunting.
That day, Jon went to the appointment to fish with Rhaegar, but after waiting for a long time, the person who showed up was Roslin.
Although he had spotted her before she got close, Jon was still quite surprised.
"Lord Duke." Roslin knew her mission, but her long-held reserve made it hard for her to speak.
"Lady Roslin, I hope you have been well." How to interact with a woman he had already rejected was the problem of the century.
But Jon knew she must be here on a mission. Sure enough, he noticed Roslin had put a lot of effort into her dress today. Her chestnut hair was braided and adorned with small, plain flowers.
A silk ribbon at her waist outlined her curves, and she stood with her back slightly arched to accentuate her chest.
Her exposed white arms looked like lotus roots, and her fingers were slightly red from gripping her handkerchief too tightly. She looked like a rose waiting to be picked.
"Jon, I... I heard you are engaged? I... I mean, you and Lady Margaery..." Roslin stammered.
"Yes," Jon replied, noticing Roslin inching closer to him.
"I still remember the song you sang for me that day. I... I actually don't mind. I don't mind. I will always..." As she spoke, Roslin reached out a trembling hand to hook Jon's sleeve.
But Jon subconsciously stepped back, dodging her touch.
Roslin froze for a second, then tears began to flow uncontrollably. A bitterness mixed with humiliation, luck, and helplessness tore at her heart.
Realizing something might have happened, Jon asked, "Lady Roslin, can you tell me what happened? This isn't you. I believe this isn't you."
Hearing Jon's question, Roslin couldn't hold it in anymore and cried out loud. But no matter how Jon asked, she couldn't say it.
"Alright, Lady Roslin. Let me guess. It's your father, right?"
Roslin nodded, then shook her head as if in denial.
"He wants to use you to solidify the relationship between the Twins and me, correct?"
This time, Roslin neither nodded nor shook her head.
Jon looked at the weeping girl and sighed slightly. He sat down and said, "Lady Roslin, our feelings started with deception. Back then, I saw through your father's intent. He wanted to use you to sow seeds of suspicion between Robb and me. Earlier than that, he picked me out of the crowd to establish his authority. I was actually dissatisfied with him."
Seeing Jon being so honest, Roslin felt the situation was spiraling out of control. She didn't know what to do, so she just stood there blankly.
"The half-song I sang to you afterwards was also meant as a counterattack. I was thinking that through my raven, perhaps you could become my... eyes and ears in the Twins."
Roslin's body jolted. She felt like a small boat caught in a whirlpool; the maneuvering between Jon and her father made her shudder.
But what Roslin didn't understand was why Jon was telling her this.
"But I did consider marrying you." Jon met her brown eyes. "You have a pure heart. I know that spending the rest of my life with you would be very peaceful—especially after I take King's Landing and repel the Tyrells and Lannisters."
Roslin pursed her lips, pressing her hands to her chest, clutching them tightly as if trying to hold onto that fleeting dream.
"It's a pity Tywin escaped. If he had died in the trap I set for him, I wouldn't have needed anyone's help. I could have taken Casterly Rock and the Westerlands quickly. But fate is like that; it doesn't care what we think."
"Jon," Roslin's lips trembled. She wore no rouge, but her slightly moist lips were still soft in the light.
"Your father's conditions are tempting. I do need a lot of troops to attack the West. And gaining such an ally would make my position more secure. Plus, with a beautiful lover like you, I win no matter what. Refusing you does me no good..." Jon looked at Roslin, his words still brutally honest.
Roslin looked somewhat at a loss.
"However, I can give you a promise. Although I cannot give you a wedding, our children can inherit the Stark name. Their claim will simply come after the children of Margaery and myself. And one day, I will bring you to my side openly, just like Aegon the Conqueror and his two wives."