Chapter 2: A Den of Snakes
The halls of the Twins were as miserable as I expected—cold, damp, and filled with the stench of too many people crammed into too little space. Servants scurried past, heads down, while men-at-arms leaned against the walls, hands on their swords, eyeing each other with suspicion.
I followed the freckled boy—one of my many half-brothers—through the corridors, my mind racing.
I was in Game of Thrones. In House Frey.
And that meant I was in deep, deep trouble.
Walder Frey was a man with a hundred descendants, both trueborn and bastard. Every single one of them wanted something—land, titles, recognition. The trueborn sons schemed against each other, the daughters were married off like pawns, and the bastards? We were barely acknowledged.
I was one of them. A nameless Frey bastard with no claim to anything.
But I had something none of them did.
I knew the future.
I knew that House Frey would rise to power through treachery—only to be wiped out in the most brutal fashion by Arya Stark. I knew who would win the coming wars, who would betray whom, who would die screaming.
I had two options: get out or take control.
And I wasn't the running type.
Meeting the Old Man
We entered the great hall. Long wooden tables lined the room, packed with Freys eating, drinking, and talking in hushed voices. At the head of the hall, on a raised dais, sat him.
Walder Frey.
The old man was exactly as I remembered—wrinkled, thin-skinned, with a sharp nose and watery blue eyes that missed nothing. He was draped in thick furs, despite the warmth of the hall, and his bony fingers tapped impatiently against the armrest of his chair.
"Ryker Rivers," he rasped, his lips curling. "I thought you had died in your sleep."
I forced myself to bow my head. "Not yet, my lord."
His eyes narrowed. "We'll see about that."
The hall erupted into laughter. Some of my half-brothers sneered, others ignored me. To them, I was just another bastard, one of many, unimportant and forgettable.
That suited me just fine.
Walder gestured lazily. "You're old enough to make yourself useful. Go train with the men-at-arms, learn how to swing a sword. If you're lucky, maybe one day you'll be worth marrying off to some merchant's daughter."
The mockery stung, but I swallowed it down. I wasn't here to beg for scraps.
I was here to survive.
And when the time was right, I would do far more than that.
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A/N: Hey guys if you like this chapter drop a review and some power stones 😁