Upon hearing the old knight's words, Blackfish immediately said to Robb, "This is very dangerous. Once we enter the castle, we'll be at his mercy. He can imprison you or kill you and send your body to Tywin, all according to his mood."
Theon Greyjoy also felt it was inappropriate, but he said nothing; in such matters, it was best to simply follow Robb's orders.
Robb felt indifferent. Most of the time, he fought alone. Let alone the small Riverrun, even in the magnificent capital, he could cut through it with just himself and his sword.
He might not be able to kill all four thousand guards in Riverrun, but if he wanted to leave Riverrun, no one could stop him.
Robb nodded to the aged knight, "Lead the way."
Admiration shone in the old knight's eyes, "My Lord, as you command."
On the way into the city, Robb struck up a conversation with the old knight, "I haven't asked your name yet. Do you call Lord Frey 'Father'?"
The old knight politely replied, "Stevron Frey, my Lord. I am merely an insignificant knight under my father. I have more than twenty younger brothers, and as for whether my father has other bastards, male or female, I am not sure."
Robb exclaimed, "Lord Frey is truly vigorous in his old age. With Lord Frey's grandsons and great-grandsons, he could probably assemble an army! By the way, do you have a son?"
Stevron Frey forced a bitter smile, "My grandson was born five years ago."
A look of regret appeared on Robb's face, "I heard you are Lord Frey's eldest son. That's truly rare; where in the world is there a sixty-year-old heir to a Lordship?"
Stevron Frey's expression subtly changed, as if Robb had touched a raw nerve, and he became taciturn.
Not long after, Robb met Lord Walder Frey in the reception hall of Riverrun.
He was ninety years old, looking like a shriveled pink Old Weasel, his head already bald and covered in age spots. Due to gout, he couldn't stand without assistance. A sixteen-year-old girl, pale and frail, walked in beside his stretcher.
Around the reception hall, the Frey Family members were seated, sons, grandsons, bastards, and some not-so-young great-grandsons, at least fifty people.
A pear tree pressing against a crabapple blossom—a long-forgotten poem surfaced in Robb's mind.
The old man sat on the Lord's throne, scrutinizing Robb with suspicious eyes, "You are Robb Stark? You look much younger than I imagined. Hah, a mere stripling. But you do have courage. I thought someone as noble as you wouldn't bother to see an old man like me."
"Father," Sir Steve Lun said reproachfully, "Have you forgotten? Lord Robb came at your invitation."
"Am I asking you? I'm not dead yet, so you're not Lord Frey. Do I look like a dead man? I don't need to hear your lectures."
"Father, is this not a proper way to treat a guest?" another younger son of his said.
"Even my bastards are lecturing me now?" Lord Walder's face darkened, "You all deserve to die. I'll say what I please. I've hosted three kings in my life, not to mention queens. Do you think I need you to teach me 'hospitality'? The first time I sowed my seed in your mother, she was still herding sheep."
His sons flushed with embarrassment from the rebuke and fell silent.
Robb replied truthfully, "I didn't expect you to be such a caustic old man, otherwise I wouldn't have come to see you."
The Old Weasel flew into a rage, "What are you saying! You brat, do you think this is Winterfell, surrounded by fools who play Lord of the manor with you? If I wished, I could have someone slit your throat at any moment, you..."
Lord Frey's curses abruptly stopped, his face flushed, and a look of fear appeared.
Robb watched him with amusement, "Go on, why stop?"
As he spoke, the dagger in Robb's hand lifted, and the cold metal made more intimate contact with Lord Frey's neck, a thin red line appearing on Lord Frey's throat.
None of Lord Frey's offspring saw how Robb appeared next to Lord Frey; they only felt a blur before their eyes, and Robb's figure vanished then reappeared.
Hound Footwork, a combat technique for rapidly closing in on an enemy.
Lord Frey's sons nervously stood up, then drew their swords and pointed them at Robb, as if afraid not to provoke him.
The old man was scared out of his wits and, disregarding the wound on his neck, cursed loudly, "You damned idiots, put down your swords! Can't you see I'm being held captive?!"
Robb watched their performance with amusement, "It seems your sons and grandsons are eager for you to die by my hand. It looks like we need to talk privately."
The Old Weasel desperately yelled, "What are you looking at? Get out! You too, you stinking woman, get out, get out, get out!"
His sons, grandsons, daughters, bastards, and grandchildren filed out of the hall. Robb clearly saw some hesitating whether to rush forward, though he didn't know if their swords would first aim for him or this old man.
Once everyone had left, Lord Frey immediately begged for mercy, "Noble Lord Robb, your father is imprisoned, and you will sooner or later be the Warden of the North, a high and mighty Duke. Trading your life for a lowly Lord like me would absolutely be the most unprofitable deal you could make."
Robb laughed heartily, removed the blade from Lord Frey's neck, then grabbed him and tossed him to the ground, "I still prefer your defiant demeanor from earlier."
Lord Frey was disoriented from the fall. He struggled to lift his head from the ground and saw Robb brazenly sitting in his Lord's seat. He considered whether to seize this opportunity to escape and call the guards to kill this damned scoundrel.
But he looked at his legs, which struggled even to stand, and silently dismissed the idea.
He couldn't guarantee that he would die after the other party.
"You cannot kill me. Unprovoked assault on a noble would make everyone cease following you. Do you wish to become the second Mad King?" Lord Frey struggled to get up from the ground, "And whatever you want, if you just kill me, my sons—even though they desperately want me dead—if you kill me, they will surely kill you too!"
Lord Frey was right; this was the rule of the noble game in Westeros.
Robb looked at him, on the verge of wetting himself, and said with a smile, "I had no intention of killing you. I just came to discuss terms, but your mouth is too foul, so I merely gave you a small lesson."
Hearing that his life was not in danger, Lord Frey immediately glared at Robb with venomous eyes.