Haven't updated in nearly a year, but I decided that I might as well. Been struggling with depression the past year or so, and have been extremely busy as well. No excuses, just keeping it real.

Quote of the Day:

"You shouldn't have threatened my family. You shouldn't have beat up my boy."

— Commissioner Liebowitz, Sin City

"I wonder what kind of man you'll be, Jon Snow?" Edmure Tully said more to himself than anyone else as he left his ancestral home of Riverrun behind him.

He had sent Catelyn a raven announcing his intention to visit Winterfell, and had waited only long enough to receive his sister's reply before he began his journey to the North. Ever since his Lord father Hoster Tully refused to foster Jon Snow like his sister Catelyn had asked of them, Edmure couldn't keep the thought of Jon Snow out of his mind. Perhaps this boy was something special that would make his sister Cat so willing to throw away what every man and woman in the Seven Kingdoms expected, and maybe even approved, of what they thought a Lady's relationship should be with her Lord husband's bastard. Perhaps this boy was destined to be a great champion of the North, or perchance Jon Snow would even grow to become a knight as fierce and beloved as Barristan the Bold. Or maybe, Jon Snow was just an ordinary boy who needed a mother to love him, and had found one in his sister. As the future Lord of Riverrun looked back at the castle where Catelyn herself had taken charge of raising him after the passing of their mother, he thought that perhaps his final musing was the best one.

Beside him, his uncle Brynden snorted at the question that Edmure had asked himself out loud. The future Lord of Riverrun looked over at his uncle, still not sure why the Blackfish had volunteered to accompany him in his journey to the North. Perhaps it was to keep him safe. Perhaps it was just another way for his uncle to find himself a momentary break from his father. Regardless of the reason, Edmure hoped that at least his uncle didn't try to undermine him in front of the soldiers, knights, and smallfolk that made up his entourage on the long trek to Winterfell.

"You know, nephew," the Blackfish, who was riding a horse beside his nephew, began a story that he thought would maybe bring this whole trip into perspective, "I met Ned Stark once. I left being just as impressed with him as I was angry after he brought his bastard home from the war."

"I hear that Ned Stark impresses most men," Edmure replied, glancing back at the castle that was becoming more distant with each stride of his horse. For some reason, even after all these years he still didn't know the truth about how his father felt when it came to the Lord of Winterfell.

"I had seen Ned Stark before at the Grand Tourney of Harrenhal, though I didn't think much of him back then," the Blackfish continued on with the story that no one had asked him to tell, "but I never really talked to him until after Robert's Rebellion."

Edmure nodded. "Ned was famous by then. He killed Ser Arthur Dayne."

"That's not the important part of the story," Bryden took time out of telling his tale to chastise his nephew.

"Right," Edmure said, not quite sure where his uncle was going with this.

"Anyways, it was a few years after the war when I finally found myself in Winterfell. I don't remember how much longer after the war, but it was long enough for Robb to learn how to walk, run, and sort of hold a sword."

"I don't remember going to Winterfell."

"I said I found myself there," the Blackfish emphasized, "I left from Riverrun with nothing but a horse, a map, and a sword at my hip. I had to see who this Lord Stark was for myself. I had to have a word with the man who thought it was okay to disgrace my niece."

For a moment, his uncle sounded just like his father. Edmure took a moment to look around at the different knights and guards and cooks who were pretending that they weren't eavesdropping on the conversation he was having with his uncle Brynden. Deciding to minimize the gossip, Edmure galloped his horse further up the path, the Blackfish following him as he did so.

"Do you know what the first thing I saw was when I finally arrived at Winterfell?" Brynden continued on at the exact same volume he was talking, not really caring who was around to hear them.

"No," Edmure sighed, deciding he was not going to bother anymore with trying to hide their conversation, "what did you see?"

"Jon Snow," the Blackfish said, the words almost sounding alien on his lips, "He was training by the side of little Robb as not only an equal, but as a brother as well. Ned was watching the both of them when Roderick Cassel brought me to him. He could not hide the pride he felt in his sons."

Edmure was quiet for a moment, thinking about the letter that his sister had sent to them. He closed his eyes, the young nobleman remembering what his sister's intentions were with the boy she now called Jon Stark. "Whoever his mother was, Jon Snow is Ned Stark's son."

"Aye, he is," the Blackfish finally said after a long moment, his voice starting out as a coarse whisper when he began to speak again, "Ned made sure I knew that when I confronted him that night after we had eaten dinner and wined together. I demanded that he send Jon Snow away to some other Lord's holdfast. I even told him to send the boy to the Dreadfort, to be raised with Roose Bolton's own bastard. I made my business clear to Ned. By not sending Jon Snow away, he was insulting the honor of House Tully."

"And what did he do?"

"He refused," Brynden couldn't help but find it odd that he was laughing about it all these years later, "he said that the only way I could ever make sure that Jon Snow's home was not Winterfell was if I marched North with an army and took the boy by force."

"A bold statement," Edmure said.

"I asked him if he was really willing to fight a war for his bastard," the Blackfish replied, his younger self having been bolder still.

"And?"

"He said he would fight a thousand wars for him."

It was then that Edmure stopped his horse. Although he didn't know what it was yet, there was something important about the story that his uncle had decided to tell him. "Why are you telling me this?"

"That's the kind of man that Ned Stark is. Those are the kinds of men that his sons will grow up to become," the Blackfish laughed, the old man smirking as he galloped ahead to leave his nephew alone with his thoughts.

Well, I'll try and update next week. No promises.