An oath of vengeance

My heart feels like it's been shattered into a million pieces, the pain searing through my veins like wildfire. They took my mother, her life snuffed out like a candle in the wind, and they dragged my sister away.

Walder Frey, the son of Walder Frey, a knight of the Seven Kingdoms, the man who should have been a beacon of justice and honor, has stained his soul with the blood of my innocent family. Why? What could we have done to deserve such a cruel fate?

My father, was away hunting in the forest. When he returned, he found his beloved wife lying lifeless, her eyes vacant, her body a grotesque reminder of the brutality that had befallen our home.

I demanded justice, my voice trembling with fury and grief, but my father silenced me with a harsh slap, warning me to watch my words in public. Justice, he said, would be sought not through violence, but through diplomacy.

"We will go to Lord Walder Frey," he declared, his voice heavy with sorrow, "and ask for the return of your sister."

Ask? Why ask? Why not demand? My sister, my flesh and blood, was taken from me against her will, and we were expected to beg for her return? 

My heart aches for my mother, her gentle touch, her warm smile, forever etched in my memory. And my sister, her laughter, her dreams, her future stolen by a cruel twist of fate.

With a heavy heart, I bid farewell to my dear friend Jason, his eyes filled with sympathy and understanding as I embarked on the arduous journey to the Twins, the stronghold of House Frey. My father, a man hardened by years of strife, remained stoic by my side, his silence a testament to the turmoil that raged within him. Together, we ventured into the heart of Frey territory, our spirits weighed down by the weight of our shared grief and the uncertainty that lay ahead.

My heart ached for my beloved sister, her laughter echoing hauntingly in my memories. I yearned to hold her again, to assure her that I would not rest until she was safe within my embrace. The promise I had made years ago, a solemn vow etched in my soul, burned with renewed intensity. I would not fail her again.

On the eve of our arrival at the Twins, my father and I huddled around a crackling campfire, the flames casting flickering shadows on our weary faces. The silence that had hung between us since my mother's tragic demise stretched like an abyss, a chasm of unspoken emotions. My father cleared his throat, his voice gruff and strained, breaking the oppressive silence.

"You will stay with a trusted friend of mine while I seek an audience with Lord Frey," he commanded, his tone laced with an authority that brooked no dissent.

A surge of defiance coursed through me. "Why?" I retorted, my voice trembling with anger and desperation. "I demand to see my sister! I failed her once, and I will not allow it to happen again!"

My father's eyes hardened, his gaze piercing through me like a sharpened blade. "There is no need for two envoys, boy," he countered, his voice stern and unwavering. "Your sister's safety is my paramount concern. You will remain under the protection of my friend until I secure her release. Is that understood?"

I clenched my fists, my knuckles turning white as I wrestled with my emotions. With a heavy heart, I acquiesced to his orders, vowing silently to defy them the moment I had the chance.

The Twins loomed before us, their imposing towers casting long shadows over the barren landscape. We paid the toll, the rat-looking figures scrutinizing us with their beady eyes before reluctantly allowing us entry.

My father, surprisingly surefooted, navigated through a labyrinth of narrow alleyways and hidden passages, his steps echoing in the eerie silence. Finally, we reached an unassuming door, blending seamlessly into the weathered stone wall.

With a confident knock, my father signaled our presence. A gruff voice boomed from within, "Who is it?"

"Honor among thieves," my father replied, his voice firm and unwavering.

"From whom do we steal?" the voice probed, testing our intentions.

My father's eyes flashed with determination. "The rich and cruel, but never the poor," he declared, his voice resonating with conviction.

The door creaked open, revealing a hulking figure with a massive scar running down his face. Upon seeing my father, a wide grin spread across his bearded face.

"Marcus!" he exclaimed, his voice filled with warmth and recognition. "I knew your voice sounded familiar."

He welcomed my father with a hearty embrace, their camaraderie evident in their easy banter. As we stepped inside, the man turned his attention towards me, his gaze scrutinizing.

"And who is this?" he inquired, his voice gruff yet not unkind.

"My son, Matthaus," my father replied, a hint of pride in his voice.

The man approached me, his eyes appraising me from head to toe. "A strong-looking boy," he remarked, a hint of sympathy in his voice. "The look in your eyes... it's not unfamiliar to me."

My father's expression clouded with sadness. "Igor," he began, his voice heavy with emotion, "I need your help. Please watch over my son, Matthaus, tomorrow. I must attend to an urgent matter."

My father proceeded to explain the situation to his trusted friend, Igor. Igor listened intently, his face etched with concern and anger. When my father finished, Igor nodded solemnly.

"Consider it done, Marcus," he assured my father, his voice filled with determination. "Matthaus will be safe with me."

"Who are you?" I demanded, my voice tight with suspicion, "And what was that about stealing?"

Igor guffawed a deep rumble that seemed to shake the stone walls. 

"Seems Marcus neglected to mention us," he chuckled. "We, my lad, are the Brotherhood of the Open Hand, and your father... well, let's just say he played a pretty mean tune back in his day."

He winked, the scar on his face crinkling like a roadmap, as he leaned closer.

"We take from the fat, corrupt nobles, those who bleed the land dry without a thought," his voice lowered to a growl, "and share the spoils with those who need it most."

The revelation hit me like a rogue wave. My father, the stoic, law-abiding man, a thief? My mind reeled, trying to reconcile this new image with the one I held so dear. 

"But that can wait," Igor rumbled, his rough hand resting on my shoulder. "Your father has your sister to bring home. Get some rest, lad. Your old man and I have a few things to chew on before the sun paints the sky again."

I woke with a start, adrenaline still coursing through my veins, the events of the previous day replaying in a feverish loop. As my father stirred outside, a desperate plan hatched in my mind.

Sneaking from beneath the tattered blankets, I pulled on my clothes, every movement silent and precise. Ignoring the ache in my muscles, I crept towards the window, the cool morning air sending shivers down my spine. With a muttered prayer, I squeezed through the narrow opening, landing on the soft earth below.

My father was already amongst the throngs of people filling the courtyard, his head bowed deep in conversation with a couple of Frey guards. Keeping a safe distance, I shadowed his movements, a wraith navigating the bustling crowd. I watched as he slipped past the gate, disappearing into the belly of the keep.

My own stomach twisted with a potent mix of fear and determination. I needed to get inside, to find my sister among the labyrinthine halls of this castle. Skirting the main building, I scoured the perimeter, my eyes flitting over crumbling stone and overgrown ivy. Then, tucked away in a shadowed corner, I saw it – a small, ragged opening, barely wide enough for my slender frame.

With a racing heart, I squeezed through the gap, the rough stone scraping against my skin. The tunnel stretched before me, dank and narrow, but hope flared within me. After what felt like an eternity, I found myself in a dimly lit corridor, the scent of wood smoke and old tapestries hanging heavy in the air.

Just as I breathed a sigh of relief, thanking whatever gods still listened for my fortune, a gruff voice startled me. A burly man, dressed in servant's livery, rounded the corner, eyes narrowed in suspicion.

"Boy, what in the Seven Hells are you doing here?" he growled, shoving a rough clay jug into my hands. "Get moving, serve the lordlings their ale before Lord Walder hears of your idleness."

Caught off guard, I stumbled back, momentarily frozen. But the thought of my sister, trapped somewhere within these very walls, spurred me on. With a curt nod, I grabbed the jug and followed the man, my heart pounding a frantic rhythm against my ribs. My plan may have been reckless, but I was already inside the belly of the beast, and I wouldn't stop until I had found my sister.

As I crept through a passage, the muffled sounds of a tense exchange drifted towards me. I recognized my father's voice, laced with a steely defiance, rising above the booming laughter of another – the elder Walder Frey. Curiosity and an ever-burning flicker of hope urged me onwards, and I peeked cautiously into the cavernous main hall.

The old Frey slammed his fist on the armrest, the sound echoing through the chamber. "A bastard in my halls, accusing my son of breaking his oaths and terrorizing innocents!" he bellowed, the wrinkles around his eyes crinkling with malicious glee.

My father, unfazed by the outburst, held his ground. "My lord," he stated with unwavering conviction, "there is no way the honorable House Frey would engage in such dishonorable acts. All I ask for is a chance to see my daughter, to speak to her and ensure her safe return home."

A tense silence descended upon the hall, broken only by the crackling of the fire in the enormous hearth. Then, the old Frey turned to a man standing by his side, his steward perhaps, and rasped, "Bring Black Walder before me, and fetch the girl as well."

The tension in the hall coiled like a viper, thick and suffocating. Every eye in the room seemed to burn upon my sister as she entered, flanked by the hulking shadow of Black Walder. Her appearance was a stark contrast to his brutish demeanor – her clothes torn and smeared, her eyes red-rimmed and filled with unspoken pain. Yet, the moment she spotted my father, a ray of pure, unadulterated relief broke through the clouds of fear.

With a sob of joy, she sprang towards him, her thin frame swallowed by his protective embrace. It was a tableau of tenderness amidst the icy formality of the hall, a silent testament to the unbreakable bond between father and daughter.

But the old Frey, a gnarled oak twisted by time and malice, remained unmoved. He turned to Black Walder, his voice dripping with feigned concern, "Is it true, son, that you took this girl against her will? Forced yourself upon her innocence?"

Black Walder, clad in the ill-fitting armor of a man who relished cruelty more than chivalry, smirked. "Father, why would I need to resort to such crude measures? This maiden," he gestured towards my sister with a callous swipe of his hand, "was smitten with a knight such as myself. She offered herself freely."

His lie hung heavy in the air, as foul as the stench of decay. My fists clenched, nails digging into my palms, the urge to lunge at him with the fury of a cornered beast warring with the cold calculation of vengeance.

"This...bastard accuses you of a grave crime, Black Walder," rasped the old Frey, his voice laced with a dangerous mixture of amusement and malice. "What say you, son? How do you respond to such slander?"

Black Walder, notorious for his cruelty and impulsiveness, puffed out his chest in mock indignation. "A duel, father! Let me defend my honor against this insolent whelp! Give him a sword and let us settle this!"

The guard's mocking laughter echoed through the hall as he tossed my father a rusted, short sword, its edge dull and pitted. Black Walder, resplendent in gleaming armor, wielded a castle-forged longsword that could cleave a man in two with ease. The disparity was brutal, a cruel joke played for the amusement of the Frey mob.

My father, stripped of his dignity, stared down his tormentor with eyes burning with defiance. Dodging every blustering swing, he retaliated with his pathetic blade, each clang against the steel wall of armor like a desperate knock on death's door. He was the better swordsman, his movements swift and precise, but against such brutal odds, his skill was a mere ember against a raging inferno.

The old Frey cackled, his amusement sadistic, his glee fueled by the suffering of innocent souls. He reveled in the dance of blood and despair, his eyes cold and hard as obsidian. The fight, an unholy mockery of justice, dragged on, until Black Walder, with a final cruel swing, snapped the rusted shard in two, sending the useless steel clattering to the floor.

The scream that tore from my father's throat tore a piece from my own soul. Black Walder, with a sickening relish, grabbed my father by the hair, his words dripping with venom. "Stubborn, just like your whore wife," he spat, "always praying to the mother for mercy." And with a swift, brutal thrust, he plunged his longsword into my father's heart, silencing his scream forever.

A cheer erupted from the Frey hounds, a monstrous chorus of bloodlust and barbarity. My own scream, a primal howl of grief and rage, echoed through the cavernous hall, only to be silenced by a rough hand clamped over my mouth.

Through a veil of tears, I saw my sister, her eyes dead and hollow, kneel beside my father's bloodied corpse. Picking up the shattered remains of his sword, she rose, her gaze sweeping over the jeering crowd. Our eyes met, a silent shared agony, a promise unspoken and yet understood. As a single tear traced a silent path down her cheek, she brought the broken blade to her own throat, the glint of steel swallowed by the crimson stain of my father's blood.

My world shattered. Fury, an inferno within, consumed me. I screamed, fought against the iron grip that held me captive, but it was Igor, his face etched with grief and a quiet, simmering rage, who held me back. His grip was gentle, but his eyes held a storm, a reflection of the one raging within me.

We left the hall then, shadows slipping into the darkness, carrying the weight of a thousand broken promises and a burning oath of vengeance. My father and sister were gone, stolen by the cruel whims of fate and the monstrous cruelty of House Frey. But I, the last ember of a broken family, refused to be extinguished. The fire of rage burned within me, a promise etched in blood and tears – justice for my family, or death for me.