His newest wife, a pale frail girl of sixteen years, walked beside his litter when they carried him in.
She was the eighth Lady Frey.
"It is a great pleasure to see you again after so many years, my lord," Catelyn said.
The old man squinted at her suspiciously.
"Is it? I doubt that.
Spare me your sweet words, Lady Catelyn, I am too old.
Why are you here?
Is your boy too proud to come before me himself?
What am I to do with you?"
Catelyn had been a girl the last time she had visited the Twins,
but even then Lord Walder had been irascible, sharp of tongue, and blunt of manner.
Age had made him worse than ever, it would seem.
She would need to choose her words with care, and do her best to take no offense from his.
"Father," Sir Stevron said reproachfully,
"you forget yourself. Lady Stark is here at your invitation."
"Did I ask you? You are not Lord Frey yet, not until I die.
Do I look dead?
I'll hear no instructions from you."
"This is no way to speak in front of our noble guest, Father," one of his younger sons said.
"Now my bastards presume to teach me courtesy," Lord Walder complained.
"I'll speak any way I like, damn you.