299 AC- Twins - Third Person POV
The northern army stirred beneath the shadow of the Twins, their breath misting in the chill air. King Aemon Targaryen stood before his lords and soldiers, his dark cloak snapping in the wind. His grey eyes burned with resolve as he addressed the gathered host, his voice carrying over the murmurs of confusion.
"My lords," Aemon called, "prepare your men. When I give the signal, we strike. The Twins will not bar our path."
The northern lords exchanged wary glances. Lord Umber's brow furrowed, and Rickard Karstark leaned toward Robb Stark, muttering, "What's the lad planning? He can't mean to storm the gates alone." Yet none dared question their king aloud, not after his defiance of Walder Frey the day before. The army readied itself, swords sharpened and banners raised, waiting for Aemon's command.
Without another word, Aemon turned and strode toward the Twins' eastern gate, alone. His boots crunched on the frost-kissed ground, and the northerners watched, baffled, as their king approached the fortified towers. On the battlements, Frey archers nocked arrows, their eyes narrowing as Aemon entered range. At a shouted command, a volley of arrows arced through the sky, a deadly rain aimed at the solitary figure.
Aemon raised a hand, and the air shimmered with cold. Ice surged from the ground, forming a shimmering dome around him. The arrows struck the frozen shield, splintering harmlessly. Gasps rose from the northern ranks, and even Eddard Stark's stoic face flickered with awe. "Gods be good," he whispered, gripping the hilt of his sword.
Gasps rose from the northern ranks as Aemon raised a hand. Ice erupted from his palm, shimmering and crystalline, forming a towering shield around him. Arrows struck the ice and shattered, their tips useless against the unnatural barrier. Lord Umber's jaw dropped, his booming voice silenced for once. "By the gods," he muttered, gripping his sword hilt. "What sorcery is this?"
Rickard Karstark, his eyes wide, whispered to Roose Bolton, "He's no mere man. Targaryen blood, aye, but this… this is power beyond the Wall."
Roose's pale eyes narrowed, his voice a low hiss. "Aemon Targaryen wields the might of dragons and ice. We'd best pray he's truly ours."
On the Frey side, panic seized the archers. "He's a demon!" one shouted, fumbling his bow. Another, older and grizzled, spat over the parapet. "Targaryen witchery! Keep shooting, you fools!" But their arrows were futile, splintering against Aemon's ice as he broke into a run, his cloak trailing like a shadow.
The Freys atop the walls faltered, their shouts of alarm echoing. Aemon broke into a run, his cloak trailing like a banner. Another volley of arrows loosed, but Aemon summoned walls of ice, each one rising to deflect the barrage. The Freys' panic grew, their shots wild and uncoordinated. As Aemon reached the gate, he thrust his left hand forward, and a torrent of fire erupted from his palm, a blazing inferno that consumed the heavy oak and iron. The gate shattered in a burst of flame and ash, the explosion shaking the towers.
Aemon turned, his voice a thunderous roar. "Northmen! Charge!"
The northern lords snapped from their stupor. Greatjon Umber bellowed, "To the king!" and the army surged forward, a tide of steel and fury. Robb Stark led the van, his direwolf Grey Wind at his side, while Rickard Karstark and Lord Manderly rallied their men. The northerners poured through the breached gate, their war cries drowning out the Freys' desperate orders.
Aemon stormed into the Twins, his hands weaving ice and fire. Frey soldiers who dared approach were frozen mid-step, their bodies encased in glittering frost, their faces locked in terror. Others fell to his flames, reduced to ash before they could raise their swords. The northerners poured in behind him, cutting down the disorganized defenders. Within two hours, the Twins were theirs, the Frey banners torn down and replaced with the direwolf of Stark and the dragon of Targaryen.
In the great hall, Walder Frey and his sons were dragged before the northern lords, their wrists bound in chains. The old man's pinched face twisted with defiance, but fear glinted in his eyes. His sons, Stevron, Ryman, and others, stood silent, their heads bowed. The northern lords gathered, their expressions ranging from awe to unease as they regarded Aemon.
Greatjon Umber, still shaken, spoke first. "Your Grace, that was no mortal work out there. Ice and fire from your hands… you're a god among men."
Aemon's gaze was steady, but he shook his head. "Not a god, Lord Umber. A Targaryen, gifted by allies beyond the sea. My power serves the North, nothing more."
Rickard Karstark, his voice gruff, added, "I've seen men fight, but never like that. You broke their walls, their will, in moments. The Freys thought themselves untouchable. They'll sing of this day."
Roose Bolton, ever calculating, tilted his head. "A king who wields such power changes the game. The Lannisters will fear you, Your Grace. But so might some of our own."
In the great hall, Walder Frey and his sons were dragged before the northern lords, their hands bound in chains. The old man's face was a mask of defiance, though fear glinted in his rheumy eyes. His sons, Stevron, Lothar, and others, stood silent, their heads bowed. The northern lords gathered around a long table, Aemon at its head, Eddard and Robb flanking him. The air was heavy with the weight of justice.
"What's to be done with them?" Lord Umber growled, glaring at Walder. "The old weasel betrayed his duty and mocked our king. I say we take his head."
Lord Manderly nodded, his voice calm but firm. "Walder Frey's greed has cost lives. He'd have sold us to the Lannisters if it suited him. Death is the only answer."
Rickard Karstark leaned forward, his eyes cold. "And his sons? They're cut from the same cloth. Let them share his fate."
Eddard Stark raised a hand, his voice steady. "Justice, not vengeance. Walder Frey's crimes are his own. His sons may yet serve a purpose, but we cannot slaughter a house root and stem."
Aemon listened, his gaze fixed on Walder. Finally, he spoke, his voice carrying the weight of a king's judgment. "Walder Frey, you defied your liege, mocked your king, and sought to profit from the North's struggle. For this, you are sentenced to death. Your head will be struck from your shoulders before the day is done."
Walder's face twisted, but before he could speak, Aemon continued. "Your sons of age will be sent north, to the Wall, to serve the Night's Watch when their brothers come to claim them, or until this war is won. They'll rot in dungeons until then. Your grandson, Olyvar Frey, not yet of age, will wed the daughter of one of our allies and rule the Twins under our oversight. House Frey will continue, but it will bend the knee."
The lords murmured their agreement, and Walder's defiance crumbled, his shoulders sagging. The hall fell silent as the sentence was sealed.
That afternoon, Walder Frey was led to the courtyard, his hands bound. Aemon himself wielded the blade, Ice gleaming in the sunlight. With a single stroke, the old man's head rolled, his blood staining the stones. The northerners watched in grim silence, their victory tempered by the cost of war.
As the dust settled, the northern lords whispered among themselves. Lord Glover, his voice low, said to Umber, "Ice and fire in one man… it's unnatural, but I'll not deny it won us the day."
Umber grunted, his awe undimmed. "Unnatural or not, he's our king. Let the Lannisters tremble."
On the Frey side, the surviving kin were less reverent. A young Frey knight, chained and awaiting transport, spat to his brother, "Targaryen sorcery. He's no king, he's a monster. We'll have vengeance yet."
But for now, the Twins belonged to the North, and Aemon Targaryen's power had carved a path through stone and treachery alike.