[Chapter Size: 1000 Words.]
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The old Walder's eyelids trembled at the sight before him, though he quickly composed himself. Age and long years of scheming had made him cautious. With a wavering smile, he raised his voice to break the tension.
"Selena, your husband has come to claim you!"
At once, the crowded hall stirred. Voices echoed his declaration, and the gathered Freys, sons, daughters, and lesser kin, smiled awkwardly, turning their gazes toward a girl standing near the center.
"Yes, Selena," they chorused. "Your husband has come for you."
Walder Frey had once intended to wed his most beautiful daughter to Robb Stark. But Robb had broken that betrothal, and Edmure Tully had lost Riverrun. In response, Walder, insulted and enraged, chose blood over honor, slaughtering both men in the infamous treachery of the Red Wedding.
Originally, Walder had planned a different course: to divide the Riverlands with Theon Greyjoy, biding his time until Roose Bolton might be freed of obligations and join him in driving Theon back across the sea to the Iron Islands.
But Theon's strength had exceeded every calculation. From the reports of beaten soldiers out of Seagard, more than a thousand men had been stationed there, yet they had surrendered in less than ten minutes beneath Theon's furious assault.
Now, as Theon's four thousand hardened troops marched closer, Walder, who had already suffered grievous losses during the War of the Five Kings, saw prudence in a change of strategy. He would not oppose such might; he would wed his daughter to it.
As for Theon's supposed betrothal to Myrcella Baratheon? Walder hardly cared. In his mind, kings were above such trivialities. A king could take as many wives as he pleased; who would dare challenge him? In truth, Walder would not have blinked if Theon had wed two woman at once, so long as the power behind him remained unchallenged.
Thus, Walder smiled with a mixture of cunning and desperation. To him, Theon now seemed a worthy match, perhaps even a savior for his dwindling house.
"I hope you will take my daughter to wife," he said, his voice laced with both plea and calculation. "What do you think?"
"My wives are all my lawful wives," Theon declared firmly, leaving no room for misinterpretation.
Walder blinked in surprise. He had expected arrogance, but Theon's confidence carried the weight of certainty. Without hesitation, Walder ordered a feast prepared and pressed Theon to remain the night in the Twins before departing.
Theon did not decline. He agreed at once, and further demanded two thousand men from Walder's household to accompany him back to his domain. Walder, keen to secure the bond, granted the request without delay.
That evening, after the feast ended and the hall emptied, Theon carried Selena in his arms back to his chamber. She was of age, and though nervous, did not resist. Theon, long denied such comforts in his former life, over a decade without intimacy, did not act the gentleman. Yet he restrained himself somewhat, mindful that it was her first night. He took what he wished, but left her dignity intact, though not without a lingering sense of dissatisfaction.
By dawn, Theon rose with renewed vigor. With Selena now bound to him as wife, he returned to Seagate, leading the two thousand soldiers gifted by his new father-in-law.
Within the Great Hall of the Twins, silence hung after his departure. At last Walder, his tone carrying an edge of satisfaction and fragile hope, broke it.
"We have made the right choice."
Others followed his lead, voices rising in reluctant agreement. Still, though joy flickered at their seeming good fortune, unease gnawed beneath. All knew that once Theon began reshaping the Riverlands in his own image, their laughter might sour.
Meanwhile, in Seagard, Theon wasted no time. He commanded his followers to gather every refugee scattered across the war-torn countryside. From Riverrun and the Iron Islands, he demanded provisions.
Within two weeks, Seagard alone teemed with tens of thousands of displaced souls. To them, Theon first offered two full days of meals, bread, broth, and meat enough to fill their bellies, and then ordered them to bathe, washing away the grime of their long wanderings.
When they had finally regained their strength, Theon revealed his true plan. He would not allow them to rot in hunger and despair; instead, he imposed corvée labor. At the mention of work by the river, many refugees groaned in misery, believing the meals had only been a cruel prelude to exhaustion. Yet unlike their past hardships, this labor came with structure.
"The King decrees," a noble proclaimed, standing tall before them, "that all who serve in corvée will receive two full meals daily, along with one copper coin. You will be divided into production teams. The ten most efficient will each earn an extra bowl of broth and two additional coins!"
The announcement stunned the ragged crowd. Murmurs spread, and then a few dared to step forward.
"Master Knight… did I hear correctly?" one man cried, his voice cracking with disbelief. "Is it true?"
The noble, a stern son of the Iron Islands, looked down upon the kneeling figures. His first instinct was disdain. He nearly stepped back, but then checked himself, recalling Theon's commands. His lip curled as he spoke.
"Pitiful refugees, to know His Majesty Theon is to know the blessing of the Drowned God Himself!" With a dismissive wave, he turned and strode away, leaving the murmurs swelling into cautious hope.
Gold dragons and stores of food still remained at Theon's disposal. He had plundered the West, taken silver from Petyr Baelish, drawn resources from Tywin's coffers, and gathered supplies through his reach into King's Landing. From there, he stretched trade lines along the Blue Branch as far as the coasts near Seagard.
Every coin, every sack of grain, every refugee's hand, Theon bent them all toward one purpose: the strengthening of his rule.
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