The Coming of Snow: Chapter Eleven - The Imprisoned Eagle

Hey there! Welcome to this, another installment of this semi-popular series. Today is another new PoV for a character who does very little in the main series. Enter Patrek Mallister. I hope you enjoy.

Seagard had once been a proud place. A monument to celebrate the successes of the Mallister name, decorated with flags and banners. They had even had artistic tapestries that some said had been created by the Children of the Forest themselves.

He had never believed those stories. He had liked the art though. They had showed a crowned Mallister at the prow of the ship, looking off into the distance.

He had often done the same with the windows in his father's solar, when he had been younger. His father would laugh as he struck all kinds of heroic poses.

Nowadays the solar was one of the many rooms in his family's castle that he was not allowed to enter.

He was allowed to walk the corridors of his home, at least, which was more than could be said for his father and brothers, because the Freys needed a Mallister face that they could use for the smallfolk.

His father had been beloved in Seagard before the outbreak of war. He had been a fair and just ruler, not afraid to be strong when needed, but kind when not.

The new resident commander was anything but.

Black Walder, as he was called behind his back, was a dark man of evil heart and low morals. He bedded married women brought up to him from the town below, he ed unfair justice on those who were innocent. Since his arrival the number of executions in Seagard had doubled.

He sat up in a high chair that he had no right to. He was no lord, he was not even a knight, yet he claimed Seagard as his own.

The man was in his thirties, with a wiry frame and a black beard, peppered with grey hairs. His eyes were a cold blue, like drops of ice that contained fire and hatred.

The worst thing about him, however, was his second name; Frey.

He had been at the Red Wedding, where many good men had been killed. The Freys had brought down the wrath of the gods that day. They would pay for their butchery, and Black Walder would pay more than all.

He had gloated over the captives, showing the heads of those killed to them. He had forced one of the Northerners to kiss the lips of his killed son.

The man was cruel and heartless, yet here he sat, in the high hall of Seagard, a seat that rightfully belonged to Jason Mallister, Warden of the Bay to King Robb Stark.

He had fought by his father's side in aid of the young wolf's cause. He had been present when Tytos Blackwood had retaken Raventree Hall, he had ridden with Marq Piper and Brynden Tully against the Lannister freeriders.

All it had gained him was a cold prison cell. He had escaped that fate, yet now he was held captive in his own home by the very same man that had taken him prisoner.

It had been one of Walder's squires that had woken him from his sleep, a sandy haired boy named Olyvar.

He had vague memories of the boy squiring for the Young Wolf, but had never really known him. They had fought together in the Whispering Wood, at least.

He was thinner now than he had been then, his eyes deeper and bags formed underneath them. The boy was not healthy.

He had told him that he was summoned to the main hall, where the lord of the castle was waiting for his presence.

Walder Frey was indeed waiting, sitting on the chair that he had unjustly stolen, looking out over the room. As he entered a man was pulled from it screaming obscenities. Another one that had come seeking justice but had left with none.

Others had gathered in the large hall, most of them men brought by the occupant to hold his prize. They jeered at him as he walked down the middle. He took note of their names and faces.

Ser Raymund Frey. A man that was slightly older than Black Walder, with a pinched face and a hooked nose. He preferred to be clean shaven. He trained endlessly in the courtyard, and was one of the few gathered knights that was dangerous with a sword.

Harys, Donnel and Alyn Haigh, all knights. Harys and Donnel were both larger of belly than their younger brother. They spent too much time drinking and japing to pose any sort of physical threat. He was surprised to even see them up this early.

Lord Lucias Vypren, accompanied by his son and good-son. A dangerous man, thin and scheming, as was his own son. Jon Wylde was a different kind of threat. He stood at more than six feet tall, with a bald head and dead eyes. He was slow and stupid, maybe, but he could swing a sword with some power.

The last of Black Walder's cronies stood by his side.

Walton Frey was an old man with a lined face and a crooked nose, where it had been broken during his youth. He was a knight by name, but it was a title not earned by skill as a warrior.

He had been given the rank by his father when he came of age, an honour that Ser Stevron had bestowed on all of his children. Walton preferred the world of money and politics over the troubles of swords and conflicts.

He could have come to like the man, if he had been sent with a kinder job and a better name. As it was, he was a Frey, and the Freys had earned their punishment through their vile actions.

"You should bend the knee before your lord, boy."

Walder Frey called down at him from his seat, as he always did when he called him before him. Patrek did as he was told, ing the scars that Black Walder had given him when he had declined at first.

"Lord Walder, you called me for something?"

He had learned from past experience that Black Walder's alias should only be used when well out of earshot of the man or his cronies. Donnel Haigh had locked an elderly farmer in the stocks for three days for daring to use it in a tavern. The man had not survived.

"My uncle received a letter earlier today, Mallister. It tells me that I must abandon my castle and return to the Twins. King Tommen has issued an official pardon for you and your father, and unlike noble Lord Jason, I obey the will of my rightful king."

"Your brother, Hoster, is to be sent to King's Landing, to serve as a companion to the king. I have half a mind to take your sister with me too, chain her up in some dungeon and pay her nightly visits. What do you think of that, boy?"

His sister, Melara, had not been treated well since the Frey arrival. She was forced to serve meals to Walder's bawdy soldiers, who called for her to lose her clothes. She was no more than thirteen.

Walder himself would have taken her to bed twice, but he had been stopped on both occasions. Patrek would not let his sister fall into the hands of this man, even if he was bluffing.

"My sister is already promised unfortunately, my lord, otherwise we would happily see her wedded to you and unite two ancient houses."

He smiled at the word ancient, knowing that Freys hated to be reminded of their house's relatively recent origins. The Mallisters had been kings in the days of old, when the Freys had still been hedgeknights.

"Segard will truly miss you, my lord. The smallfolk have grown very fond of their kind and gentle saviour."

The man needed his ego massaging, but he could also tell when he was being mocked, and by the look on his face, he had crossed over that boundary.

"Do not play me for a fool, boy. My father taught me how to gut wingless birds like you."

Ah yes, Walder's father. A man that he mentioned near incessantly.

Segard had been the first to receive news of Ryman Frey's death, and Walder had led his knights out almost instantly.

He had left his uncle behind, however.

Ser Walton had been Ryman's little brother, and had mourned his brother's death more than any other. He had refused to eat for three days, starving himself until he went clammy and pale. Eventually they forced him into eating, but the man had never quite recovered.

Patrek wasn't sure what the man had seen in his brother. Ryman had been an arse on almost every occasion that he had encountered him. He spent half his time with whores and the other half drunk, with a fair proportion of overlap.

Walton had grown thin and underfed since his brother's death. He barely had the strength to wake up every morning and walk to his place beside his nephew.

Walder glared at Patrek from his place high above, his eyes cutting into his skin. The man was angered and wanted reason for a fight.

He would not allow blood to be spilled in his father's halls, certainly not any Frey blood that would call down the armies of the Twins and Riverrun.

Ser Emmon Frey held the Tully seat now, in the name of his father. A thin and watery eyed man. Patrek's father had welcomed the man to Seagard once, when he had been younger, and he ed being scared by the red teeth, always chewing.

Riverrun was the rightful seat of the Tullys, of his friend, Edmure, but the Freys had stolen that, like they stole all power.

Of course, they did not rule the Riverlands, even if the Late Lord liked to wish that he did. Petyr Baelish had been given that honour.

Baelish had been a young boy when last he had seen him, playing in the Godswood of Riverrun with Catelyn and Lysa. They had climbed trees together, laughed as the wind flew through their hair.

Edmure had always hoped that one day his friends would marry his sisters. Patrek had always preferred Catelyn, whilst Marq lusted for Lysa, but that would never be. They had been of too lowly a birth.

Baelish knew little of the Riverlands. He had not been born here, and spent but a few years sheltered away in the Tully castle as a child. He cared not for the river lords and their ways or their customs.

They would never accept him, and the Freys would never accept that he had been chosen over them.

"I will be having a feast this evening, to let the people celebrate my time as their lord. You will be in attendance, as will your father and brothers, seated apart, of course. I have had Ser Harys and Ser Donnel decide your outfit, and you will find it waiting for you in your chambers."

"The Mallisters of Seagard have betrayed their king once now, and they must surely pay for their treason. You will take a list of my demands to your father. See that he accepts them, boy, or I can promise that it will not be Marq Piper that takes your sister's maidenhead."

He stayed knelt through Walder's speech, and flushed at the last comment, anger boiling in his stomach. The comment brought forth laughs from Raymund, Donnel and Damon Vypren, the cruelest of the men that Black Walder had brought with him. He hated them all.

"My uncle will accompany you. To make sure that you and your father behave yourself, and that there are no plots afoot. You may rise now, boy."

Walder couldn't resist one more jab at him. As he rose from his kneeling position, the man called out to the room.

"Look at how well trained he is. I wonder what else he can do. Bark, boy."

He tensed up his muscles in anger, grimacing as he stared at the ground. He could feel his body visibly shaking. He barked. Men laughed, and Walder rose from his seat.

"That is a good boy. Maybe I will take you back to the Twins with me. Have you take the place of my uncle as the resident fool. We can make you dress like a dog and act like one too. That must be all that the heir to Seagard is good for."

The laughter around the hall grew to a more raucous level, with Harys and Lucias ing in now. Walton Frey stayed silent, staring into the distance straight ahead of him. Did he approve of his nephew's behaviour?

"We have had our fill of fun for today, boy. We must see your impression again at the feast, however. I am sure that it will make your father very proud."

Patrek turned then, his face still flushed from embarrassment. The laughter carried on ringing around the hall as he left, the old Frey knight following behind him.

The man stayed as silent here as he did in the hall, refusing to comment on his nephew's conduct, or to apologise for the actions of the knights that had been brought with him.

To get to the lord's solar of Seagard you must climb the flights of stairs in the tallest of the five towers. It was said that the castle had possessed a single tower when King Lyman Mallister had first raised the castle. Lyman had been succeeded by his brother, and him by his, and him by his, and him by his. None of the four older brothers had any issue, but each built a tower larger than the one before him. Eventually the youngest built the tallest tower, and his son made it the house of the king's solar.

The official rooms of the Lord of Seagard were in the oldest tower, built by the first brother, but Black Walder had taken them as his own. Jason Mallister was, as a result, confined to his solar.

The room was well lit, at least, with many glass windows allowing the sun to beam in. It was one of the few rooms in the castle that had kept the Mallister fineries.

Upon the wall was the tapestry created by the Children, saved from the fires that had consumed most of the Mallister flags and perishable artifacts. Opposite it was the armour that his father wore into battle. It shimmered white in the glare of the sun, and had a winged helm.

His father sat at his desk, staring at the surface below him. He was ed in the room by two other men.

Madwyn was the old maester of Seagard. He was bald, with long and pointed fingers and a hunched back. He had special robes created for him that served to fit around his deformity.

The other was Ser Gavin Grell, the former steward of the castle before the arrival of Walder and Walton. He was middle aged, and had grown up with Jason. The Grells swore themselves directly to Seagard, but Gavin's older brother had served at Riverrun for many years. He was large in belly, with a bristly red beard and a round face.

"I did not expect to see you this morning, Patrek, nor you, Ser Walton. What is it that brings you to my prison cell?"

Patrek stepped closer to his father's desk, and Walton slowly followed him into the room. His eyes darted around, taking in everything that he could, as if he had had never been this high up. That wasn't the case, he knew, Walton had visited his father many times during their imprisonment.

The old Frey stepped past him and handed over a single page of paper to the Lord of Seagard. Jason took it without any questions. He knew what it would be. Had Gavin already informed him what to expect?

His father's facial expression didn't change as he read, a bored look on his face. He put the paper down on the table.

"I will gladly send Hoster to serve as a squire and friend to the king. I cannot, however, bow to the demands made by the honourable Walder Frey, you must know this."

He rose from his chair and walked over to one of the windows. It looked out over the port town that the castle of Seagard protected. He had a quick memory of looking out of this window with his father when he had been young, before he had been sent away to squire at Raventree Hall.

The room stood silent for a few minutes as his father looked out, no-one making to move. Madwyn looked down at his feet, his hands clasped in front of him and his hooked nose nearly pointing straight down.

Eventually his father spoke.

"It saddens me that we have not talked in some time, Ser Walton. Not since before your brother died, I believe. I was sad to hear of that news. He was a good man."

That was a lie. His father had spoken with him many times about how he disliked Ser Ryman Frey, both during the war and on the few times that they had met since then. He had found the man to be a lewd bore, more concerned with his own reputation than the honour of his family. Why would his father lie to the Frey? Was he trying to comfort the man as he mourned?

"I fear that often the world makes those that are not at fault for the crimes of their family answer for said crimes. That is why it saddens me that Black Walder chose to send you to us, instead of Ser Raymund or Ser Harys. I would happily do what must be done to them."

He watched Walton pale and start to whimper. When the Frey turned to run he found Gavin Grell stood between himself and the door. There was no escape, and he was rooted to the spot.

His father, on the other hand, was not. He moved away from the window and over to the shaking Frey. There was the stench of piss about the terrified man.

"Face your death with some dignity, my friend. I am sorry that the god's have thrown you into my path. Truly I am."

His father grabbed Walton by the scruff of the neck, and Gavin Grell stepped aside, revealing the opening of the door. There was no smile on Jason Mallister's face as he carried the quivering Frey to the edge of the window that he had been gazing out of.

"May the gods forgive me for what I must now do."

None of them made a move to stop the action. Madwyn stepped forward and slipped a single page of paper into Walton's robes. The note that Black Walder would read when the body was discovered, confessing that he had jumped out of remorse for his brother's death. All faked of course.

It was all over quick.

One moment Walton was there, the next he was hanging in the air, trying to grab onto something, but finding nothing to save himself, the next he was gone.

Patrek breathed then, seemingly for the first time in an hour. It felt like a great weight had been lifted from his shoulders.

"We must move quickly to take best advantage of the situation. Madwyn, get down there and make sure that Black Walder finds the note. Gavin, go and get my son and daughter. Ride with them to Martlet Hall. Tell your brother to look after them until I send a raven."

Then his father turned to him, and Patrek saw how old he looked now. His face was more lined and there was more grey in his hair than any other colour.

"Patrek, you know your role. You have an additional companion riding with you now. Find him in the lower courtyard and ride like the wind. You more than any of us have to succeed."

He nodded, leaving the room before either of the other two. He took the steps down the tower two at a time, a dangerous approach. Even from here he could hear the commotion in the upper courtyard.

He turned left out of the steps. Right would have taken him to where a crowd was no doubt gathering around the corpse of the Frey that his father had just murdered. Did that make them any better than the Freys or the Starks? Walton Frey had not been an enemy, yet he had been killed under guestright all the same. He hoped that the gods would forgive them for what they had done. It was the only way.

The halls of his home felt colder than usual. Maybe it was the guilt of what he had helped do on his back, or that he wasn't sure when the next time he would be back here was. He missed his home whenever he left.

The lower courtyard was near deserted, with hardly anyone here. No doubt most of the men and women had gathered in the upper courtyard by now. The blacksmith's son was sparring with a wooden dummy, and the Master of Horse was trying to break in a young pony. His son was here also, standing in the stable with three horses ready. One of those would be for Gavin Grell, the others for the two younger Mallister children, he thought, his brother and sister.

Even now, the Mallisters were still loved within the city. The Warden of the Port still commanded the love and respect of his people. They were willing to risk this for him. They were willing to help his children flee.

Another stood in the stables, holding two horses in place. One of them was his own, a black stallion with a white birthmark on the right flank, whilst the other was a sandy coloured female, with a yellow mane, dirty and matted.

The man holding the horses looked ill, thin and pale. He had his face covered, but Patrek knew who this was. He had been woken by the man only that morning. Was it wise to trust a Frey with such an important mission? Maybe Lord Tytos had asked for a representative from the Twins too.

Olyvar Frey was silent as he offered the horse forwards, a wordless transaction between acquaintances. They had a long hard ride ahead of them. Maybe, in that time, they would grow to be friends.