By the northern moat of the Twins, a restless crowd had gathered, unable to enter the castle. Their frustration boiled over as over a thousand people hurled mud at the walls, cursing loudly.
"Should we open the gates or not?" Edmure was panicking.
If he refused, he would be locking the Freys out of their own castle, and his reputation as a duke would suffer when word spread. But if he let them in and they had already sworn loyalty to the vampires, the Twins would become a slaughterhouse.
None of the other Riverlords on the walls answered. Standing up at such a moment was unwise—no one wanted to be responsible for letting these people inside.
"We can't determine their true intentions yet. Let's buy time!" The only one to offer a suggestion was Thoros, Edmure's good friend, who had no ties to the Riverlands nobility.
Listening to the jeers from below, Edmure finally made up his mind. "Keep the gates shut! If they make any sudden moves, archers, open fire immediately!"
The Freys and their soldiers were trapped outside the moat. Swimming across or wading through the waters to scale the walls was impossible. For the first time, the Freys experienced the despair of being kept out by the very walls that had always protected them.
They did not flee—they knew they couldn't outrun vampires without horses. Their only chance of survival was entering the castle. Soon, the shouting died down as the gathered crowd outside the northern moat of the Twins began foraging for wild vegetables and grass to stave off hunger.
"Edmure! You'll die a miserable death!" A gaunt, pale-skinned man with a sharp nose and straight black hair—Edwyn Frey—called him out by name.
"My great-grandfather, old Lord Frey, is dead! My grandfather is dead! My father is dead! I am now the rightful heir to the Twins! Edmure, open the damn gates!"
But the drawbridge remained raised. After some time, Edwyn tired of yelling and quietly retreated back into the crowd.
More figures emerged from the woods, joining the group at the moat's edge. Though they had lost their banners, familiar faces still managed to regroup. More and more Frey family members gathered around Edwyn Frey.
Not wanting to watch any longer, Edmure turned away and called for Thoros, taking a few knights with him into the castle.
The hall of the Twins was small, resembling a chapel. Rows of tables and chairs filled the ground floor, while a gallery on the second floor overlooked the chamber.
As soon as he entered, Edmure slumped into the enormous black oak chair once favored by old Lord Frey. His energy drained, he weakly asked Thoros, "How long until reinforcements arrive?"
Thoros sat on a long bench near the main seat. "Aside from the Freys, the Riverlords are all in the south. Even if they march along the Kingsroad, it will take some time."
"Ugh," Edmure groaned. "Can we retreat south?"
"We can't. The northern exit is blocked by the Freys, and the south is just farmland and marshes. If those Freys really serve the vampires, we won't outrun them." Thoros lay back on the bench, shutting his eyes.
"We're trapped! Damn it! When will Wright come save us?" The only hope now was the dragon—its speed was unmatched.
Thoros, still resting his eyes, responded, "Wright went to the Wall. If the Wall falls, the entire continent is doomed. You should know what's more important, Edmure. Our weapons are coated with silver. We can fight vampires. We just need to hold out until the Westerlands knights arrive."
Edmure shouted to steel himself. "The Westerlands are sending only five hundred knights! How can they take on thousands outside?"
His anxiety was starting to affect morale. Seeing this, Thoros sat up, strode to the center of the hall, and glared at Edmure. Clenching his fists, flames ignited around his hands. "Those thousands outside have no armor! If Qyburn and I fight at full power, we can wipe them all out ourselves!"
He wasn't bluffing. Thoros' flames, combined with Qyburn's summoned creatures, were instant death for unarmored foes. And as a mage, Thoros didn't need to worry about friendly fire—he could unleash large-scale destruction without restraint.
"Let's hope so." Edmure sighed. "Get some rest. We'll need you in the battle to come."
He was truly afraid for his life. Against human enemies, surrendering was an option—ransom could buy freedom. But against monsters? The only outcomes were death, being devoured, or becoming one of them and meeting an even worse fate.
And so, the Freys and Edmure remained deadlocked at the Twins.
The standoff lasted through the night. But the next morning, Edmure, still asleep, was rudely awakened by the commotion in the castle.
"Open the gates! Open the gates!"
Edmure hurriedly dressed and rushed out of his chamber, only to see the soldiers in the city scrambling toward the walls. Grabbing one of them—a man carrying a large bundle of arrows—he demanded, "What's going on? Who gave the order to open the gates?"
"It was Grand Mage Thoros! The vampires are attacking!" the soldier answered anxiously before rushing toward the walls with his bundle of arrows.
"They can't just—" Edmure had barely begun to curse when an earth-shaking battle cry erupted from outside the walls, intermingled with the wails of women and children.
Women and children? Realizing the situation had changed, Edmure sprinted toward the battlements.
Soldiers braced their shields against the crenellations, while others piled bundles of arrows and barrels of fire oil along the parapets. Some wrapped strips of cloth around the archers' hands—preparations for a siege. Amid the chaos, Edmure's eyes found Thoros in the distance.
Unlike the others, Thoros stood alone on the ramparts, his longsword set aside. From his hands, fireballs streaked across the battlefield, trailing smoke as they soared over the frenzied crowd, past the grassy fields, before detonating amid the approaching monstrosities.
Boom! One explosion after another tore through the night. Fire and wind fused into devastating blasts. Yet as the flames dissipated, the creatures stood unharmed.
Beyond the treeline, about a league from the Twin, nearly three hundred vampires emerged. At their forefront stood a towering figure with blue skin, nearly three meters tall, wielding a massive battle-axe in one hand. He was bare-chested, clad only in a fur kilt, and five wooden spikes protruded from his back, each impaling a severed human head—one of which was the sightless, slack-jawed head of old Frey.
In his other hand, the vampire lord held a still-living human. Moments ago, his kind had hurled prisoners forward to absorb the brunt of the fireballs.
Lifting his prey to his mouth, the vampire lord sank his fangs into the man's throat, drinking deeply. As he feasted, he raised his battle-axe and pointed it toward Thoros atop the walls.
In an instant, a dozen blood-red magical projectiles shot forth from the vampire ranks.
Ssshhh! The spells exploded upon the battlements.
Thoros had already leapt down, turning to Edmure as he landed. "The range is too great. Both our spells and theirs are losing effectiveness at this distance."
He glanced toward the lowered drawbridge. "They cannot regenerate their bodies or restore their magic during the day. They'll attack in full force tonight. For now, they're only sending their human thralls to wear us down."
Edmure followed his gaze. The Freys were pouring into the city, the drawbridge packed with desperate bodies. Some unfortunate souls were pushed off, plunging into the moat. At the front were able-bodied young men, while the outer edges held the weak, the elderly, and the women and children who had fled back to The Twins only the night before—all shoving forward in blind panic.
The vampire lord tossed aside the desiccated corpse of his victim and raised his arm. At his command, the other vampires let out guttural roars toward the forest.
A fresh wave of figures emerged from the treeline—armed men carrying wooden spears, some clad in armor with finely wrought longswords. Their surcoats bore the sigil of House Frey, alongside those of knights and bannermen sworn to them.
"Kill!"
"Retake The Twins!"
The Freys and their soldiers charged as though they were the righteous ones.
"These traitorous bastards! They've betrayed humanity! They all deserve to die! Archers, cover the ones still entering the city!"
Edwyn Frey burst onto the ramparts, his face flushed with fury. Grabbing Edmure by the armor, he shouted, "Why did you wait so long to open the gates? My men are all dead!"
"Get your hands off me!"
Thoros seized Edwyn's wrist and, with a flicker of magic, sent flames licking up his arm. Hissing in pain, Edwyn recoiled, pulling his hand back.
The newly arrived Freys glared at Edmure with murderous intent, their hatred palpable. Edmure stared back, at a loss for how to explain himself. "If you were in my place, you'd have done the same!"
"You're not fit to be Lord of the Riverlands!"
Seeing that Edmure's men were outnumbered, Edwyn finally spat out the words he'd been holding back. The Freys behind him drew their blades.
Just as bloodshed seemed inevitable, Ser Harry Bracken stepped forward, unsheathing his own sword and shielding Edmure.
"What do you think you're doing?"
Thoros erupted in flames, forcing both sides to halt and look at him. "The vampires are right outside our walls, and you're already tearing each other apart?"
Edwyn shouted, "I am the Lord of the Twins now! That Edmure wanted to lock us outside the gates and leave us to die—why shouldn't we kill him?"
"Yes!" More and more Freys, along with their knights and soldiers, climbed onto the battlements, pressing Edmure's Riverlands men so tightly they could barely move.
"Look at this! The people are enraged!" Edwyn raised his longsword, pointing at Edmure, who was being guarded by more than a dozen men.
Thoros pointed beyond the walls at the human thralls charging towards the Twins. "House Frey has betrayed humanity, and you have yet to answer for it! King Robert sent us to investigate you, and the man leading the reinforcements from the Westerlands is Jaime Lannister! Edmure brought a host of Riverlords to save you, and this is how you repay him?"
Hearing that the King had given the order and that Westerlanders were involved, Edwyn hesitated. His younger brother, Petyr Frey, leaned close and whispered in his ear, "There are plenty who want to replace Edmure. This is your best chance. If he dies, you can just blame it on the vampires."
Edwyn wiped the wet strands of black hair from his face, straightened his back, and faced Edmure. "Edmure has lost the right to rule! Even if the King were here, he would owe House Frey an explanation!"
Thud!
Thoros kicked Edwyn to the ground.
Edwyn cursed furiously from where he lay. "Thoros, you damned mage! Since when do you meddle in Riverlands affairs?"
Thoros drew his sword, golden flames running along its blade, and pointed it at Edwyn. "Jaime and Edmure came to save you. And the one carrying the King's orders is Wright Baratheon! Are you sure you want to lay hands on his commander, Edmure?"
He then leaned down, his voice dropping to a whisper. "I swear, if Wright hears of this, he'll fly back here on his dragon and wipe out every last Frey."
"The knights and soldiers of House Frey are now under Thoros's command," Edwyn said, his fury vanishing in an instant, replaced by a smile.
The King cared for his reputation and had never razed a city, and the Freys could always negotiate their way out of trouble. The Westerlands also had good ties with House Frey. But Wright—Robert's brother—cared nothing for reputation. He had burned cities to the ground before. More than one.
Edmure gave Thoros a nod. With a greater threat looming, this was no time for power struggles, and he trusted Thoros.
Command of the Twins passed from Edmure to the Red Priest. The archers loosed volleys, cutting down most of the vampire thralls, though a few slow runners were caught and killed.
The initial count placed the number of people who had escaped into the castle at around 2,500. Thoros swiftly divided them into roles—everyone had to help. Women, children, and the elderly handled logistics, while every able-bodied man took up arms on the walls.
The assault didn't stop. The attackers were Freys too, just as familiar with the terrain as the defenders. Once the drawbridge had been raised, they prepared to lay siege. They had no need for trebuchets or catapults—their goal was simply to exhaust the defenders by day. At night, the vampires would use magic to break through.
Edmure's men carried weapons laced with silver, but the 2,000 who had returned with the Freys only had ordinary arms. Against vampires, they had nothing but fire. By the afternoon, every last piece of wood in the castle had been stacked at the base of the walls, with women tearing apart furniture for more fuel.
The attackers outnumbered the defenders. Both sides exchanged volleys of arrows, and casualties mounted.
"Edwyn cannot be left alive," Harry told Edmure.
"I know," Edmure replied. "But if we kill him now, the other Freys will stop following orders." He glanced at the wounded being dragged away. The number of men on the walls was dwindling, and his forces were far outnumbered by the Freys.
"I have a plan." Harry leaned in, whispering.
Edmure hesitated, then nodded. He wasn't sure if it would work, but there was no better option. "Fine. If you succeed, I'll see to it that his name is restored."
The siege lasted until nightfall.
Darkness fell. The defenders were exhausted, but at Thoros's command, they rallied their spirits. The next attack would not be arrows but vampires.
Torches flared to life. Silver daggers, silver-coated weapons, and fire—these were their only means of fighting the creatures that would soon scale the walls.
"Get down!"
More than a hundred blood-red magical orbs streaked toward the Twins. The blasts were too numerous to fully evade—some soldiers were caught in the aftermath, their flesh withering wherever the magic touched them.
Hissing sounds filled the air~~~
From the distance, monstrous roars echoed as the vampires launched their assault.
Claws grasped onto the walls, and creatures began to climb. Thoros raised his sword and shouted, "For humanity!"
"For humanity!"
"Kill them!"
The brutal melee began. The vampires wielded magic, claws, and weapons, their agility and strength far surpassing those of ordinary men. But among them were differences in power. The defenders, however, held weapons of silver, flames the creatures feared, and sheer human resilience. The walls of the twins became a chaotic battlefield where men and monsters clashed.
A figure wreathed in flames stood out in the night, his burning sword cutting through the darkness. Surrounded by a dozen vampires, Thoros struck down one, his blade slicing clean through its neck. Lightning arced from his sword, piercing through four or five more.
Yet the vampires were not without their own weapons. A longsword slashed toward Thoros from behind. He barely dodged, but the blade still pierced his shoulder. Before he could recover, a burst of magic sent him flying into the moat.
"Hiss~~"
More than a dozen vampires leaped off the walls, knowing Thoros was still alive, and dove in pursuit.
The battle between these two races was one of mutual annihilation.
Edmure fought with bloodshot eyes, hacking away at a wounded vampire pinned to the ground by his knight. He pulled out a dagger and stabbed the creature repeatedly.
The Freys fought desperately as well. The surface of the moat lit up intermittently with bursts of magical energy—Thoros was still alive, battling a dozen vampires at once.
Meanwhile, the traitorous Freys were dragging felled trees from the distant woods, crafting makeshift ladders to bridge the moat.
"Fall back to the keep!"
"Fall back to the keep!"
The casualties were mounting, the defense growing weaker.
Drenched in blood, Thoros climbed back onto the walls. He had won his battle, but his magic was drained, and his body was riddled with wounds.
The once-bright city was now a landscape of dying embers. The sounds of battle had faded; all that remained were the cries of women and children hiding within the buildings.
"Are we going to die here today?" Edmure's voice was hoarse, his body barely holding together.
Thoros, struggling to lift his sword, stood beside Harry, shielding Edmure. He glared at the advancing vampires and sneered, "At least we never betrayed humanity."
Only a handful of torches remained alight in the Twins. In the pitch-black night, the few surviving warriors huddled together, preparing for their final stand.
Boom~~~
Thoros's ears twitched. "Do you hear that?"
Boom~~~
"It's hoofbeats!" Edmure turned toward the east.
Harry shouted, "Westermen knights!"
From the treeline emerged five hundred knights of the Westerlands, charging in a wedge formation toward the besieging forces.
The thunderous rhythm of hooves shook the ground, lances held level, their golden-red armor gleaming even in the dim firelight—the Westermen had arrived.
At the forefront of the formation, a white horse led the charge. Upon its back, an old man in white robes, his long white hair and beard billowing in the wind, raised a staff high.
A blinding white light erupted from his staff, illuminating the Twins as if the sun itself had descended.
"Kill these bastards!" The white-robed mage spat, his voice laced with disdain.
Pale bones emerged from his body, forming an eerie skeletal armor. Two colossal skeleton giants materialized at his sides, wielding massive bone-formed axes, and charged alongside the knights into the enemy ranks.