Tragedy

299 AC, Twins…

After the boisterous call for bedding rang through the hall, Lord Walder Frey's booming voice cut through the revelry, commanding his sons to escort the newlyweds to the grandest chamber beside his own. "The crown prince deserves the best!" he declared, his tone carrying a hint of satisfaction at the prospect of hosting such an illustrious event.

Rody and Jon, caught up in the tide of merriment and tradition, joined the throng as they ushered the bride and groom towards the designated room. As they made their way through the crowded hall, the atmosphere crackled with anticipation and excitement, the air alive with the sound of laughter and playful jests.

Amidst the chaos of the moment, Rody couldn't help but notice the fervor with which the guests embraced the age-old tradition of the bedding ceremony. Women reached out eagerly, their hands grasping at the fabric of the groom's clothing, tearing and rending until nothing remained but the soft, pale flesh beneath.

Rody's gaze flickered to the crown prince, who stood at the center of the frenzy, his expression a mix of amusement and discomfort as the ladies clamored around him, their hands roaming freely over his body. With each tug and pull, the fabric of his garments gave way, leaving him exposed and vulnerable amidst the sea of eager faces and grasping hands.

In the dimly lit chamber, the bride and groom found themselves enveloped in a whirlwind of laughter and embraces. Frey ladies lingered at the threshold, their eyes alight with curiosity as they listened intently for any sounds emanating from within.

Meanwhile, the menfolk returned to the hall, their spirits heartened by the festivities and the promise of merriment to come. Rody followed the group back, his senses alive with the energy of the evening. As he entered the hall once more, he couldn't help but feel a sense of awe at the spectacle unfolding before him.

At the high table, the king sat beside Lord Frey, engaged in animated conversation as they shared a small smile between them. Despite the tension that had lingered between their houses, it was clear that the king harbored no ill will towards his new ally. 

Taking his place amongst the revelers, Rody found himself seated between the young and newly appointed Lord Hornwood and Lord Karstark. The mood was jovial, the air filled with the heady scent of ale and roasted meat. With a tankard of mead in hand, Rody regaled his companions with tales of his adventures, recounting the daring escape from King's Landing and the trials he had faced along the way.

Lord Hornwood and Lord Karstark listened intently, their eyes alight with curiosity as they hung on Rody's every word. They laughed uproariously at his tales of disguising himself as a smallfolk, nodding in approval at his cunning and resourcefulness.

As the night wore on, the revelry continued unabated, the hall alive with the sound of laughter and merriment. Lords and ladies alike danced and drank to their heart's content, casting aside the burdens of politics and warfare in favor of celebration.

In the midst of it all, Rody couldn't help but feel a sense of gratitude for the bonds of friendship that had formed between him and his fellow Northerners. Despite the trials and tribulations they had faced, they had emerged stronger and more united than ever before.

And as he raised his tankard in a toast to his companions, Rody couldn't help but feel a sense of optimism for the future. For despite the challenges that lay ahead, he knew that as long as they stood together, they would overcome whatever obstacles came their way.

And so, as the celebrations stretched deep into the night, Rody found himself caught up in the joyous revelry, his heart full with the knowledge that no matter what the future held, he would face it with his friends by his side.

…

As Rody stirred awake, the dull ache in his head throbbed with each beat of his heart. Blinking groggily, he struggled to piece together the events of the night before. How had he ended up sprawled out on the cold stone floor of a dimly lit corridor?

Pushing himself upright, Rody winced as the pain in his head intensified. Rubbing his temples, he tried to shake off the fog of confusion that clouded his mind. He couldn't remember how he had wound up here, alone and disoriented in the depths of the castle.

With a groan, Rody pushed himself to his feet, his head spinning as he took in his surroundings. The corridor stretched out before him, its length disappearing into the darkness. The occasional flicker of torchlight cast eerie shadows along the walls, illuminating the path ahead in flickering bursts of light.

Shaking off his disorientation, Rody resolved to make his way to the great hall. If nothing else, he hoped to find some answers amidst the chaos of the aftermath. Stepping cautiously forward, he made his way through the labyrinthine corridors of the castle, his footsteps echoing softly in the stillness of the night.

As he approached the great hall, the sounds of revelry grew fainter, replaced by the hushed whispers of slumbering nobles. Pushing open the heavy wooden doors, Rody peered inside, his eyes scanning the dimly lit interior.

The sight that greeted him was one of disarray and debauchery. Northern nobles lay strewn about the hall, some sprawled out on the floor, others slumped over tables in drunken stupor. Greatjon Umber lay unconscious on the ground, his massive frame dwarfing the figure of Lord Galbart Glover, who lay draped over him in a comical display of drunkenness.

Across the hall, two Freys continued to drink and chat amongst themselves, seemingly unaffected by the chaos around them. The king and Lord Frey were nowhere to be seen, having likely retired to their chambers to escape the mayhem of the night.

As Rody stepped out into the crisp night air, he made a conscious decision to avoid the company of the Freys, particularly Black Walder, whom he had spotted among them in the great hall. The thought of engaging in conversation with them filled him with a sense of unease, and he preferred the solitude of the courtyard to the company of those he distrusted.

The yard stretched out before him, illuminated by the soft glow of the moon. The recent rain had left its mark on the landscape, turning the ground beneath Rody's feet into a patchwork of mud and puddles. He navigated his way carefully through the muddy terrain, mindful of his footing as he made his way across the yard.

Above, the moon hung low in the sky, its radiant glow casting long shadows across the courtyard. The clouds had cleared away after the rain, leaving behind a canvas of inky blackness punctuated by the shimmering light of distant stars. Rody couldn't help but feel a sense of awe as he gazed up at the celestial display, the vastness of the sky stretching out before him.

With a contented sigh, Rody turned and began to wander aimlessly through the yard, his footsteps echoing softly in the stillness of the night.

As Rody made his way around the castle grounds, his footsteps echoing softly in the stillness of the night, he caught sight of a familiar figure engaged in a heated exchange with the guards. Drawing closer, he recognized the man as Hunter. Curiosity piqued, Rody quickened his pace, eager to discover the reason behind Hunter's unexpected presence at the castle gates.

As he approached, Rody could hear the rising tension in the guards' voices as they argued with Hunter, their expressions stern and unwavering. The young man stood his ground, his eyes flashing with determination as he pressed his case to be allowed entry into the castle.

"Let him through," Rody interjected, stepping forward to address the guards. "He's with me."

The guards exchanged wary glances, clearly hesitant to defy Rody's authority. After a moment of tense deliberation, they reluctantly conceded, grudgingly stepping aside to allow Hunter passage through the gates.

"Thanks, Captain," Hunter muttered gratefully, shooting him a quick nod of appreciation before hurrying past the guards and into the castle grounds.

Rody watched him go, his brow furrowing in confusion. He couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to Hunter's sudden appearance than met the eye. With a sense of unease gnawing at his gut, he resolved to follow up on the matter and uncover the truth behind Hunter's unexpected visit.

"Wait," Rody called out, quickening his pace to catch up with Hunter. "What brings you to the castle at this hour?"

Hunter turned to face him, his expression troubled as he struggled to find the right words. "Commander Jon... he forgot something in the great hall," he stammered, his voice tinged with nervousness. "He sent me to retrieve it."

Rody's frown deepened at the mention of Jon's name. It struck him as odd that Jon would venture outside of the castle at such a late hour, especially considering the festivities that had transpired earlier in the evening. Something didn't quite add up, and Rody couldn't shake the feeling that there was more to this than met the eye.

"Jon sent you?" Rody questioned, his voice tinged with skepticism. "At this hour?"

Hunter nodded, his gaze darting nervously around the deserted courtyard. "Yes, he insisted that it was urgent," he replied, his tone growing increasingly agitated. "I didn't ask questions, I just did as he asked."

Rody bid Hunter farewell and watched him hurry off into the darkness of the castle corridors. With a heavy sigh, Rody turned his attention back to his own need for rest. The events of the evening had left him weary and drained, and the prospect of finding solace in the quiet solitude of his private quarters was a welcome one.

As he made his way through the dimly lit corridors of the castle, Rody's thoughts drifted back to the scene in the great hall. The sight of the northern nobles, passed out and in various states of disarray, served as a stark reminder of the excesses of the evening's festivities. It was clear that many had indulged in the revelry a little too enthusiastically, and Rody couldn't help but feel a pang of amusement at their expense.

His footsteps echoed softly against the stone floors as he rounded a corner and came face to face with Crag, the stalwart member of the royal guard stationed outside the king's chambers. Rody offered the man a nod of acknowledgment, a faint smirk playing at the corners of his lips as he struck up a conversation.

"Any mead for you tonight, Crag?" Rody quipped, his tone light despite the weariness that weighed heavily on his shoulders.

Crag snorted derisively, his expression stoic as ever. "Duty calls, no rest for me," he replied gruffly, his gaze fixed unwaveringly on the corridor ahead.

Rody chuckled softly at the man's unwavering dedication to his duty, though there was a hint of admiration in his voice as he spoke. "Ever the dutiful one, aren't you?"

As they continued their idle chatter, Rody couldn't shake the memory of his own unexpected blackout earlier in the evening. The realization that he had succumbed to the same excesses as his fellow nobles left a bitter taste in his mouth, and he couldn't help but feel a twinge of embarrassment at his own lack of restraint.

Before he could dwell any further on his own shortcomings, however, Crag's words pulled him back to the present with a jolt. The mention of Jon Snow and him being escorted to his room by Stark men-at-arms sent a shiver down Rody's spine, his instincts screaming at him that there was something wrong.

Without a word of explanation, Rody turned on his heel and broke into a brisk pace, his footsteps echoing loudly in the deserted corridors as he made his way towards the castle gates. Crag's voice called out after him, but Rody paid it no heed, his mind consumed by thoughts of Hunter who claimed he had orders from Jon.

As Rody hurried through the castle corridors, his heart pounding with a sense of urgency, he nearly collided with a servant who had just emerged from one of the side passages. Startled by the sudden appearance of the nobleman, the servant stumbled backwards, his eyes widening in alarm as Rody reached out to grab hold of him.

"Apologies, my lord!" the servant stammered, his voice quivering with fear as he recoiled from Rody's grasp.

Rody released his grip on the man's arm, offering a quick nod of acknowledgment. "No need for apologies," he replied curtly, his tone brusque as he fought to keep his impatience in check. "Have you seen a man with a bald head and dressed in black pass through here recently?"

The servant's eyes widened even further at the question, and he nodded frantically, his voice trembling as he spoke. "Yes, my lord, just a few moments ago. He went down that corridor," he said, pointing in the direction of a dimly lit passage off to the side.

Without another word, Rody set off in pursuit of his quarry, his footsteps echoing loudly against the stone walls as he moved with purposeful strides. The corridor stretched out before him, its shadows dancing in the flickering torchlight that lined the walls. With each step, his sense of unease grew, fueled by the knowledge that he was closing in on the truth.

As Rody rounded the corner, his eyes widened in alarm as he spotted a figure lying motionless on the ground ahead. Without hesitation, he quickened his pace and knelt down beside the man, reaching out to shake him gently in an attempt to rouse him from his slumber. But as his hand made contact with the man's shoulder, he recoiled in horror at the sensation of sticky warmth that coated his fingers.

Drawing in a sharp breath, Rody forced himself to push past the initial wave of revulsion and turned the man's body over, his heart sinking at the sight that greeted him. The man lay before him, his eyes wide open in a silent scream, blood gushing from a gaping wound in his throat. The shock on his face was palpable, frozen in time as if captured in a macabre tableau.

With a sense of dread creeping over him, Rody rose to his feet, his mind racing as he surveyed his surroundings. It was then that he noticed another figure slumped against the wall nearby, blood pooling beneath him in a crimson puddle. The realization hit Rody like a physical blow, and his stomach churned with a sickening mixture of fear and rage.

Clutching the hilt of his Valyrian dagger tightly in his hand, Rody broke into a run, his footsteps echoing loudly in the empty corridor as he raced towards the source of the commotion. As he neared the end of the corridor, he could hear the faint sound of voices up ahead, mingled with the unmistakable sounds of struggle and panic.

As Rody cautiously approached the first open door, his footsteps soft against the stone floor, he peered inside to find the crown prince lying on the bed, his deep snores filling the room. With a silent exhale of relief, Rody continued on to the second room, his senses alert for any sign of danger.

As he neared the second room, Rody's ears picked up the faint sound of voices, one muffled and urgent, the other pleading and desperate. With a sinking feeling in the pit of his stomach, Rody approached the doorway cautiously, his hand hovering over the hilt of his Valyrian dagger.

Peering inside, Rody's worst fears were confirmed as he beheld a scene of horror unfolding before him. A man stood with his back to the door, holding another figure tightly in his grasp. Rody's eyes darted to the bed, where an old man lay motionless, blood pooling around him in a macabre tableau of death.

As the pieces of the puzzle fell into place, Rody's heart pounded in his chest, adrenaline coursing through his veins as he realized the gravity of the situation. Before he could react, the man holding the dagger turned slightly, his face contorted with remorse as he whispered, "I'm sorry."

With a surge of adrenaline coursing through his veins, Rody lunged forward, his Valyrian dagger held tightly in his grasp. The blade pierced the air with lethal intent as he closed the distance between himself and the man. But in the chaos of the moment, the man's hand moved, the blade slicing through the air with deadly precision and slicing the woman in his grasp.

As Rody's dagger found its mark, sinking deep into the man's back, a strangled gasp escaped his lips. The man's grip on the dagger faltered, the weapon slipping from his fingers and clattering to the ground. His body went limp, sagging under the weight of his own treachery as he crumpled to the floor, a pool of blood spreading around him.

Meanwhile, the woman's gurgling sounds filled the room, her voice choked with pain and fear as she struggled to comprehend the horror unfolding before her. Blood gushed from the wound in her throat, staining her gown crimson as she fought to draw breath through the suffocating tide of red.

Rody's heart hammered in his chest as he rushed to the woman's side, his hands trembling as he sought to staunch the flow of blood from her grievous wound. With shaking fingers, he pressed a hand against her neck, trying in vain to stem the crimson tide that threatened to consume her.

But despite his efforts, the woman's strength ebbed with each passing moment, her life slipping away like grains of sand through an hourglass. Her eyes, wide with shock and pain, locked onto Rody's with a haunting intensity, silently pleading for salvation from the merciless grip of death.

A shrill scream pierced the air, shattering the tense silence that had settled over the room like a suffocating shroud. Rody's heart leaped into his throat as he turned to face the doorway, his eyes widening in alarm at the sight of the trembling servant, her hands clutching at her chest as she recoiled in horror.

"Wait!" Rody's voice rang out, but it was drowned out by the servant's frantic cries as she stumbled backward, her eyes wide with terror. The tray of cups slipped from her trembling fingers, crashing to the ground in a cacophony of shattered porcelain as she fled from the room, her panicked screams echoing through the corridors of the castle.

Rody's gaze fell to his hands, the crimson stains standing out starkly against the pale skin, a visceral reminder of the violence that had unfolded before him. With a heavy heart, he stooped to retrieve his Valyrian dagger from where it lay discarded on the ground, the cold steel heavy in his grasp as he rose to his feet once more.

As he turned back to face the room, another figure appeared in the doorway, his features contorted in shock and disbelief at the scene before him. It was Robb, the crown prince, his eyes wide with horror as he took in the grisly tableau spread out before him.

"Rody?" Robb's voice wavered, a note of incredulity creeping into his tone as he struggled to comprehend the sight before him. His gaze flickered between Rody and the lifeless forms of Hunter and his new wife… His mind reeling with disbelief at the magnitude of the scene that unfolded before his eyes.

Rody took a tentative step forward, his hands held out in a gesture of supplication as he sought to explain himself to the crown prince. "Your highness," he began, his voice trembling with emotion, "I can explain. This was not-"

But before he could utter another word, Robb recoiled, his features hardening into a mask of suspicion as he scanned the room for any sign of danger. His eyes settled on the dagger clutched in Rody's hand, his brow furrowing in consternation as he took a step back, his eyes searching around, trying to find something to defend himself.

Realizing the gravity of the situation, Rody released his grip on the dagger, allowing it to fall to the ground with a dull clatter. His heart pounded in his chest as he raised his hands in a gesture of surrender, his eyes fixed on Robb's face as the crown prince issued a terse command to the guards who had arrived on the scene.

"Seize him," Robb ordered, his voice tinged with sorrow as he turned away from the scene, his gaze clouded with uncertainty and dread. And as the guards closed in around him, Rody could only watch in silence, his mind racing with unanswered questions and unspoken truths, as the world he had known crumbled around him.