“The Red Wedding, the smallfolk are calling it. They swear Lord Frey had the boy’s head hacked off, sewed the head of his direwolf in its place, and nailed a crown about his ears. His lady mother was slain as well, and thrown naked in the river.”
At a wedding, thought Davos. As he sat at his slayer’s board, a guest beneath his roof. These Freys are cursed.