This is a one shot, so don't ask for it to be continued. Nine years after the War of Five Kings, Lord Edmure and Roslin Tully have a son, a daughter, and are expecting a third. On the day of the Red Wedding, Hoster comforts his father about the murder, letting him come to terms with the death of his nephew and sister.
Disclaimer: I don't own a song of ice and fire
Hoster Tully ran through the halls of Riverrun, flying past the torches flickering on the walls.
He was only nine, racing to find his father. He had just gotten a bulls eye outside, and he was about to burst with pride. Banging on the door of his father's study, he shouted "Father, father, you won't believe it!"
He waited for the sound of the door opening and his father's normally smiling face to appear from behind the door.
But the study remained silent.
Slumping his shoulders, he banged the door again. No one answered.
Tears pricked at his eyes, and he wiped them away furiously. He was a Tully, he wouldn't cry.
He ran for his mother's room, where she was nursing his little baby sister Catelyn.
"Mother, where's father? He isn't in his study." He told her, climbing to sit beside her.
His mother smiled at him, a sad smile that made him frown.
"Why are you sad?" he asked "what's wrong? Is it father? Is it cousin Sansa? What's wrong?"
His mother placed her hand on his arm and said "Today's a sad day for your father Hoster. Do you know about the War of Five Kings?"
Hoster nodded and said "Why, what's this about?"
His mother placed Catelyn on the bed and said "Well, today your father and I were married in the Twins, but it was burned to the ground years ago. Your father had a nephew, named Robb Stark."
His eyes went round like coins and he said miraculously "Robb Stark is father's nephew?"
She nodded and said "He and his army had arrived at the Twins, for our wedding. His mother, Edmure's sister Catelyn was with him."
Hoster nodded and said "that was the Red Wedding murder, when grandfather killed the Young Wolf and his mother."
She nodded and bowed her head.
"your father dreads this day every year, for he feels it was his fault that his sister and nephew were murdered. But it was all my fault."
Hoster saw tears fall onto her open hands, and he felt guilt welling in his chest. He made his mother cry, and it was his fault.
"I'm sorry mother, don't cry." He told her, hugging her tightly.
She looked at him and smiled, patting his curly red Tully hair.
"Your father likes to mourn by himself every year. Maybe you should go see him, ask him about your cousin."
Hoster nodded, and with a new mission in mind, ran from the room.
Roslin Tully bowed her head again and placed a hand on her stomach.
"Help your father, my son." She whispered into the silence.
Hoster knocked politely on his father's study door, and waited a moment before saying tentatively "Father?"
The room was dead silent.
"Father, who was the Young Wolf," he asked, rocking on his heels.
The hall was silent for a moment before the door creaked open, his father standing with a defeated slouch in his shoulders.
"Who was the Young Wolf?" he asked, as if not believing his ears.
Hoster nodded and looked at his feet.
"Well, mother said he was killed at the Twins, but I don't know where that it. And she said that he was your nephew, and that you think that it's your fault he died." He said.
Edmure Tully, the once proud Lord of Riverrun, bowed his head and said "come in Hoster."
He stepped inside, and the room was dark. Only a single candle was lit, with a letter and some scribbling beside it.
"What's that?" he asked, pointing to the letter.
Edmure blinked at the letter and said "just memories Hoster. Now, what was your question?"
Hoster bowed and asked "Who was the Young Wolf?"
His father sat at his desk and his hands clenched in fists.
"nine years to the day and already he is forgotten. Hoster, son, the Young Wolf was a young boy, only six-and-ten. He was no massive man like the Umbers or the north, or like those Boltons or Lannisters. He was a Stark, Robb Stark. He was my sister's eldest, and Lord of Winterfell. He was the King in the North."
He said it with reverence, like some hero of legend. Like from songs.
"the boys at the river say he rode on the back of a wolf, that he turned into a wolf and ate Jaime Lannister's right hand." He said, sitting beside his father.
Edmure laughed a little, a bitter laugh.
"He rode a horse like every other man, and he couldn't become a wolf. He did have a wolf, a direwolf he raised from a pup. The most fearsome beast in battle, Grey wind."
Edmure bowed his head and asked "Do you want to know the King in the North, the Young Wolf. Or Robb Stark."
Hoster looked his father in the eye and said "Robb Stark."
Edmure grinned ruefully and said "Robb Stark was like his father, Eddard. A Stark to the bone, and he was the most honorable man you would ever hope to meet. He was brave and fierce in battle, and won every fight. Treachery was the only way to kill Robb."
Edmure sighed and said "I was jealous of my nephew sometimes, when the men bowed to him and laughed at me. I was older, and I thought I was wiser and stronger and better then Robb. I wish I could have told him how much I loved him, him and Catelyn. My family."
Hoster glanced at his feet and said "Well, maybe they didn't need you to tell them. Maybe they knew already. You are a Tully, and our words are family, duty, and honor. We serve our family, we do our duty, and we do what is honorable. They knew, trust me father."
Edmure ruffled his hair and said "Maybe they did Hoster, but I wish I could tell them."
He looked him in the eye and said "I was captured by the Freys that night, after the wedding. They showed me around the hall where they killed Robb and my sister, and all his banner men. My sister's throat was slit. Robb was seated on a throne, his dead wolf's head sewed where his own was, a crown nailed to his head. They made me bow to my nephew's corpse, as it rotted. There were three quarrels jutting form his body and he was bleeding where Roose Bolton had stabbed him, in the heart."
Edmure stood and slammed his fist to the hard wood of his desk, and said "I went back after the war, and found their bodies stuffed to rot under the Twins. I took them, and sent Robb to be buried in the crypts of Winterfell, beside his father. Catelyn was missing, I couldn't find her anywhere."
Tears fell down his cheeks, and Hoster could see the guilt and horror in his eyes.
He stood and forced his father to look him in the eye.
"It is not your fault. It was Walder Frey's trap, him and Bolton. The maester tells me that the queen Daenerys had them killed for their murder, that Lord Stark had them killed for his brother and mother, after their bodies were rescued. After Cousin Brandon swore fealty to her and her dragons burned the Twins to the ground."
Edmure looked him in the eye, and Hoster said "Robb was killed. He couldn't be saved. If you had died, they wouldn't be avenged, I wouldn't be alive. Mother would be imprisoned in the Twins, and the Freys might still be alive today. Live for them father. Live for Robb, and aunt Catelyn. They would want you to."
Edmure stood and showed him the letter on his desk
It was Robb Stark's writing, a letter telling Edmure to be strong, because his was coming with an army to free them. It was signed by Catelyn and Robb both, and Catelyn had added a side note.
Family, duty, honor.
Hoster looked at his father and said "I wish Robb was still alive. That I could meet him, the King in the North. I wish that Aunt Catelyn was still alive, so that she could see you now and tell you it is alright."
Edmure hugged his son, held him tight to his chest as the tears dripped down his face.
Little less then a year later, Roslin had another son, with red curly hair and with odd, blue grey eyes and a stubborn, honorable look about him. Catelyn had loved him on sight, sleeping beside her newborn brother and squealing when ever he laughed.
Roslin let Hoster name him, since his father promised t let him name him.
He named him Robb. After Robb Stark.
The King in the North…
The North remembers.