Enter the Freys

Despite the hasty nature of our union, my second wedding's attendance blew the first's out of the water. Not only did I have many notables from four Northern Houses and a dozen clans, but the Freys had enough members in their main family to equal us easily. Then you add in the cousins and other kin, and even my horde back in Rockhall fails to measure up. 

I tend to avoid deep diving into greensight unless my shallow wanderings of the future turn up danger or I am looking for specific outcomes, so I got to be surprised by the Frey side of the wedding calling for the bedding before my rowdy Northman horde. Specifically the Frey women. Though they had no chance of carrying me to the bedroom, the lot of them enjoyed sensuously removing my clothes as they herded me to plow their kinswoman. They saw more Northman that night than they'd ever expected and a great concern rose up as they pushed me into a corner and lifted my rod and stones for closer inspection.

"It's real!" one shouted over the squeal of the others, "I don't know how, but that's a real cock and balls." 

"It can't be!" another shouted and soon there was a pile up as hands began rubbing me from seemingly every angle, covering every inch of my exposed form. 

My new wife arrived like a warhorse in charge, plowing through the throng with a slightly torn dress and bloody knuckles. 

"Away sluts! Away!" she shouted as she yanked her kin off me. 

I was left before my new wife, degraded and dehumanized, as if a piece of meat at market. Exactly how I like my women to want me. The Freys on the individual level tend towards mid as fuck, but somehow they formed a zerg of wanton whorishness that left me with a cock hard enough to carve ice. Lythene saw this and seized me by the handle, leading me away like a bad dog while intimidating both the women and the men in attendance. 

Have I truly lived before this day?

Tiring of the game, I tossed the woman up onto my shoulder and continued the venture to our chamber. Walder proved his self preservation skills when the room looked like something expected from a wealthy family. The guest room accommodations are a great way of telling someone you hate them without telling them you hate them. Countless ways you can convey spite by violating the spirit while still fulfilling your role as host to the letter. I'm an expert in malicious compliance and so is Walder Frey. The Twins will never receive five star reviews, but I give the space three, two more than most get here. 

One doesn't throw a fourteen stone woman on a bed, especially not with the quality of mattresses used by most of Westeros, so she slid down my front before I stepped over to the end table and began oiling up my cock . 

"Please no." she cried out as she white knuckle gripped the sheets. 

"I haven't been with a virgin in a long time, and am in need of taking the edge of this erection before it begins taking away my capacity for complex thought." I explained to the woman before I turned and yanked her dress the rest of the way off. 

"Oh good." she let out a sigh of relief and leaned back, "I thought you wanted to take my arse." 

"Unless you desire to reveal a natural skill in anal acrobatics, let's keep things procreative." I stated before driving myself into her. 

The woman released something mixed of a scream, bark, and moo as we roughly explored the limits of her depth, and despite the bloodshed we soon transitioned into a healthy and stable rutting. As her climax neared, I dipped into the dark arts and willed my nut forth, ending the session simultaneously, before rolling over and pulling her atop me. 

"It'll be easier after the first one." I informed her as she idly played with my free hand. 

"I certainly hope so." she muttered, "It felt at first like you were trying to tear me apart." 

"I meant it'll be easier after the first baby." I corrected and she snorted like a sweet summer child.

"I've never seen a birthmark like this." Lythene Mormont mused as she traced the wine colored crow in flight mark on my palm. 

"It's not a birthmark." I shrugged with an ample ass overflowing around my other hand. 

"It doesn't look like a scar or burn?" the woman pressed and I chuckled. 

"A three eyed crow came to me in a dream and told me to fly. I strangled it, and woke up to find the mark on my hand." I fulfilled her curiosity. 

"How frightful." Lythene fake tittered as if I'd told a bad joke. 

Poor woman doesn't know I'm a magic man. 

"Will our children have green eyes like yours?" she asked and looked into my eyes, hers a dark brown. 

"No." I responded, "My eyes are blue, and all my children have blue eyes too."

"What… your eyes are… blue?" the vagaries of magic once more baffle the woman, but who can blame her. 

She sees green, but it is blue. The green in my eyes is the manifestation of Old Gods magic, but beneath the verdant glow, my born blue eyes remain. Rather than burden her with the nitty gritty of mystery, I grabbed on to her enormous teats and gave thanks to the departed Amarei Crakehall for passing down her bodacious breeder body to her daughter and granddaughters. 

Lythene is a rare steal, inheriting both the Frey longevity and and the Crakehall strength while being a daughter of a third wife, thus understanding the complexity of mixed families. A woman that won't suddenly perish and comes from the only families in Westeros similar to my own, along with more tits and ass than the ridiculous bear paws on the ends of my wrists can cup… it's a good thing Walder didn't sense the blood in the water, because she had me at hello.

Damn woman had me feeling like Ulfric. 

I rubbed those huge pink nipples on my face and felt true victory for the first time in a long time. 

The morning after, I went back to work. 

The boys and I met with Stevron Frey while his brothers rode out to rally their host. The Riverman had a good twenty years on me, putting him in his late forties and making him the most senior man in the room, and the only veteran of the War of the Ninepenny Kings. He would also command the largest group in the host, but didn't immediately start throwing his weight around to establish his place in the hierarchy; instead, the balding man ingratiated himself with my commanders with a few well humored jokes and an easy smile. He looks far less 'weasel' like than Catelyn Tully would describe, though as a woman from a good looking family, it's easy to see why she'd find fault with the next Lord Frey's appearance. He'd blend in well in any crowd of the highborn as a background character. Hugo Wull for some reason took to the man immediately and cleared some space next to him for the older man to sit. 

"Alright alright alright." I began the meeting and pat a pile of scrolls on the table next to me, "Brothers, there is a rare opportunity ahead of us. For the new blood, I'll explain our way of warring. We like our fighting smooth and easy, well planned, organized, and methodical. On the attack as much as possible." 

"I find that war is rarely any of those things." Stevron gamely stated with a horn of mead in hand. 

"It's much the same in my experience too." I agreed, "But when you take firm control of the things you can control, and commit to the right strategy, things get as smooth and easy as they can. And that's what we are going over today. The right strategy." 

On the wall hung a large map of the lands south of the Neck and north of Kingslanding, with the various castles and fortified manors owned by the Riverlord's and Crownlanders well indicated. I put a finger on House Charlton, the southernmost of the Frey vassals. 

"Everyone south of Charlton and west of the God's Eye have already answered the call of the Crown, and many already march to join the host called forth by Hand of the King, Jon Connington. The man is rallying to ride down Lord Robert Baratheon and the Stormlands host, and he has called for a great muster. All these lands" I indicated with my finger a route south down to Hayford Castle, "are depleted of fighting age men. These castles, and all their riches, are guarded by trusted garrisons. Not a single one will last longer than a handful of hours against us."

"You mean to rush them?" Stevron pulled a familiar face, like he bit a lemon, "The wealth of these castles will not be worth the blood of the slaughtered men we have to step over to get to them." 

"I guard the lives of my men more jealously than any husband guards his wife and daughters." I shook my head, "Right here are detailed plans of the fortifications we will encounter, and the methods of attack we will employ at each location." 

I handed each man a scroll and while the Northmen took it in stride, Stevron grimaced. 

"And how exactly did you come by this information?" he asked evenly then looked at the scroll held open by Hugo, "All so detailed? These documents would cost the Lannister's a bitter price for even one of these, let alone the pile you seem to have." 

"I made them myself, brother." I responded and the man flinched at the wildfire glow in my eyes, "I know every castle like I laid the foundation and raised the capstone myself. I know every secret entrance, every weak point, and I know them better than those that live there." 

"Best not to doubt Jorah the Great." Hugo comforted, "The man knows many things."

Stevron shook his head, but understood that the men around him were true believers. 

Poor man doesn't know I'm a magic man. 

"Once Darry falls it's on to Lord Harroway's Town, Saltpans, and Maidenpool. With that we'll have most of the wealth in the Riverlands and can split our forces to hit the minor houses." 

"And when word reaches the Crown's forces we'll be split apart and easy takings for their reprisals." Stevron detracted. 

"That's the best part of this plan." I grinned under my mustache, "They won't march against us." 

"We are to take their homes, wealth, and families, and the army will not march to stop us?" Stevron replied incredulously. 

"Jon Connington is an obsessive and stubborn man who believes that the capture and execution of Robert Baratheon will halt this rebellion in its tracks." I explained to the man, "He'll go after the Stormlords despite the protest of his banners, and once the first house deserts, the rest will leave in a hurry. Jon Connington will be left with force bereft of morale and cohesion, and our rejoined host will attack the disparate returning houses in the field. Once they are gone, the Crownlands are open to us."

Stevron took a deep breath and grunted, "Alright, this will require details… copious details." 

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