Ser Brynden Tully was pleased to step off the riverbarge. He'd spent the last six days slowly ambling down the Red Fork. The Blackfish watched as his party of twenty guards, six squires, and their horses, all disembarked on village docks, a short ways north of Darry.
He paid the boatman the second half of the silver owed and hollered for his men to saddle their horses and tie on their saddlebags.
The Blackfish had received a raven from Lord Jon Arryn bidding him to help settle a dispute between the Waynwoods and the Hunters at the request of Lord Nestor Royce, the High Steward of the Vale. Brynden had held the honored post of Knight of the Gate for thirteen years. At Ser Brynden's recommendation, the Lord of the Vale named Ser Donnel Waynwood to replace him.
Old Lord Hunter's two younger sons had taken umbrage at not being considered for the honor. According to Lord Arryn, that neither of the Hunters was, in truth, fit for such a role had apparently eluded them. His raven from King's Landing said the dispute had already come to blows with the Hunter brothers breaking Ser Donnel's nose, then bloodying each other. As Hand of the King, Lord Arryn insisted that he could not break away from his duties to arbitrate what he called, "the nonsense of two lads who think themselves men."
Thus, that pleasant task falls to me.
Surrounded by men pulling horses and boys carrying saddlebags, Tully saw a young man approach on horseback. The plowman of House Darry was prominently featured across his tunic.
"Ser Brynden Tully?" he asked. "I bring a message from your nephew, Ser Edmure, by way of Lord Royce."
They stepped away from the commotion on the docks, and the messenger continued, "Lord Raymun Darry received the relayed letter. I was told to wait at these docks until I saw the Tully banner or your black trout. Ser, a band of brigands raided two towns, mayhaps more by now, and murdered a number of peasants. Valiant Edmure rode out to find them."
Brynden took the unsealed letter from the other man's hand. It confirmed everything he said. The letter included the barest information on where the raiders were and how they were equipped. The Blackfish worried that his nephew would charge into a fight without adequate scouting or planning. The brave fool.
"The Hunters' squabbles will have to wait. I must return at once. When did the raven arrive?"
"Only yesterday."
The parchment stated that the razed town was close to Riverrun and that Edmure, "expected to meet the outlaws the following morning or two days at most". Against the Red Fork's current, Ser Brynden had little hope of arriving in time to be of any use.
Still, he bought passage for himself alone in a narrow skiff with a furled sail and twelve oars, and Brynden set out in a matter of minutes. The Blackfish would make far better time in this boat, rather than the flat-bellied barge he'd arrived on. His men, though, would return on the same riverboat they just unloaded.
Outlaws were rare enough in recent years, and Brynden had never heard of them venturing so close to Riverrun. Either they are bold and cunning, or utterly stupid.
As the oars churned the water, he thought on the trouble facing the Tullys:
Could this be some trap to lure our men out of Riverrun? Is it by coincidence alone that the attack occurred after I left, or was that the brigands' intent? A plan such as this is one possible mode of killing the heir of Riverrun. But, who would benefit?
Could this be an act of Tywin Lannister?
We Tullys have held the Riverlands since Aegon burned Harren the Black. Now more than ever, we have powerful allies. My nieces' lord husbands and their bannermen would overwhelm the full force of the Westerlands. With Lysa's husband as Hand of the King, Lord Tywin would risk the might of the Iron Throne. The man is brutal, but never foolish.
No, the Lannisters can't be blamed. And such a gamble would be for naught, the lordship would pass to. . .
One of Lord Hoster's grandsons.
Could the Starks have plotted such a scheme? Might my sweet Catelyn have sent Jon Snow as her catspaw? Has she grown mad?
Her sister's years as Lady Arryn certainly haven't been kind to Lysa. Seeing her during only the seldom visits she made to the Eyrie was enough for me to understand how sickeningly attached she's become to that boy of hers.
How many years has it been since I last saw Cat? Has she likewise formed such a bond to her younger son? She's always been stronger than Lysa, but. . .
I refuse to believe it. Catelyn would never betray her family.
Ser Brynden swept such dark thoughts from his mind. However, he had difficulty thinking of anyone else who might wish to plot against Edmure Tully.
"They may yet prove to be no more than they appear, reckless outlaws," he reminded himself.
The skiff drew in its oars and coasted through the lichen-covered Water Gate of Riverrun. As soon as Brynden's boots touched the damp, stone edge of the landing, he ran to find someone who knew more about the events of the last few days.
He saw his brother's grey-haired, grey-skinned steward hurrying into the main keep. Brynden yelled after the man, but Utherydes Wayn didn't hear him.
He followed into the keep and toward the noise of the second floor meeting hall. The room was swelteringly hot, and Brynden could see it had been turned into a disheveled infirmary. He saw Ser Robin Ryger restraining a soldier while the Maester Vyman changed bandages and poured boiled wine on the young man's forearm.
The captain of the guard rose to his feet at the sight of the Blackfish.
"Ser Robin," Brynden addressed, "what in the name of the Seven happened?! Where is Edmure?"
"Best we speak in private," Ryger said.
He and Brynden left the room. They walked down the corridor and halfway up the stairs to the next landing. Ryger sat straight down on the sandstone steps and bid Ser Brynden to do the same. The echoes of the shouts from the meeting hall could still be heard.
Ser Robin began by telling Brynden about how Edmure led the hunt and soon after divided the men to follow two trails. He said, "I was with Ser Desmond's party when two of Ser Edmure's scouts, they and their horses covered in dried blood, caught up with us.
"He'd sent two parties of scouts in opposite directions along a stream, while the rest of the men set camp. Finding no tracks, the downstream scouts returned to camp late that night. By then, the skirmish was already lost. Our men and outlaws laid dead in the mud. The three scouts had to flee the remaining outlaws, and lost one more man in the escape.
"I am sorry, ser. . ." Ryger hesitated. "They say of Edmure's party . . . none but those two outriders survived."
The old captain dipped his chin and rubbed his bald head.
"No," Brynden protested. "That cannot be true. What of the campsite? And. . . who are those wounded men being tended? I just saw an infirmary full of them, Robin. Surely they didn't stab themselves while trying to cut their meat at a funeral supper!"
Ryger explained, "Those are men from Ser Desmond's half. The sun was up before the pair of scouts found us. We tracked the outlaws to a thatched shelter in the hills. Did for every one of them. Even found three o' ours. . . dead and tortured."
Brynden's face paled. Even on the Trident, his thoughts of Edmure's death were only worries. Yet, he knew the ways of rogue riders. They would not leave any alive to point a finger. A man facing the hangman is not like to hesitate in finishing a bloodied foe.
"After we killed the bandits, ser, I inspected the site myself. None of ours escaped. The only tracks we found were from Edmure's scouts or led into the hills and the bandits' camp. All of the knights, squires, and-"
Ser Robin stopped, then asked, "Are you certain you wish to hear this? You'll find no comfort in my words."
The Blackfish nodded.
"These . . . brigands," the captain spat, "scum that they were, stripped every man of weapons and armor before throwing them face-first into a pyre. The vicious cunts."
That was not the first time Brynden had heard of the tactic. "That is what such men do," said Tully. "It's an agreement among them, of sorts. If an outlaw's corpse is recognized, someone may take revenge on his kin. Burning the face off their dead prevents that. But to disfigure our dead? That could be for naught but their own amusement."
Lord Hoster Tully was despondent. He left his quarters seldom enough before his son's death that the Blackfish worried about him. After it, he outright refused. When Brynden sat with him, Hoster's words made little sense. Every statement seemed strung together from five and more unrelated thoughts. Yet still, through grief, sickness, and this madness, Hoster was able to convey his anger at his brother for not marrying that Redwyne girl a lifetime ago. It was the only utterance Brynden could make sense of.
"Perhaps you are right about a marriage, my lord," he admitted. "If my fears are true, we cannot let Riverrun fall to the next in line."
Lord Tully made no sign of understanding his younger brother's words.
"A son of mine would carry the Tully name. That may be enough to hold the castle, even if the king's law holds that a lord's daughter comes before his nephew."
End Notes: Thanks to everyone who's been reading and reviewing! I know this is a quick chapter, and I'll try to have the next one up this weekend. Cheers!
