3rd Month of 298 A.C. Tumblestone
Ser Edmure Tully
They had marched out from Riverrun determined to end the Lannister threat from the west. The king was riding in the centre, and Edmure, well he had been given command of the vanguard. Some thirty thousand men had come from the Riverlands determined to destroy the Lannisters, and yet Edmure could not help but think that they would not be facing such a worrying invasion had the king not executed Jaime Lannister. The king who to him seemed to be over confident and cocky, who reminded him of a green boy despite the battles he had fought. It was worrying to him, that they were putting so much faith into this young man, that he could mess it all up seemed not to have entered into anyone's thoughts.
As the call to battle went up, Edmure put such thoughts aside and dug his spurs in leading the charge. The Lannister host was already there waiting for him, some forty thousand strong, raging and angry. Edmure and his men crashed into them, their lances raised, there was much chaos and activity. Edmure found his heart racing as they continued forward, the mass of bodies growing ever more present as they charge down the lines. He is screaming himself hoarse, encouraging his men to come with him, down to the pits of the seven hells if they must. Men are impaled on his lance and shaken off, and the drive continues, on and on it goes.
The lions are fighting hard, Edmure soon has to discard his lance for a true weapon. His sword is drawn and soon enough the fighting begins in earnest. Now all chivalry is forgotten and the true blood bath begins. His heart begins to beat much more rapidly, he can feel it thudding in his chest, his blood is pumping, and his vision is not as clear as it was, but it is also clearer than it was. He does not quite understand how that works, but he does not think to question it. Edmure reacts with instinct, using his sword to do what his mind knows it should but cannot truly do. His arms are beginning to ache now, but still he continues, something is changing inside him, it feels as if something has awoken, he likes this feeling inside of him, he likes the feeling of strength that this gives him.
Lions are everywhere, gods alone know how they will succeed, the Tumblestone roars to the side, and under them, and the Lannisters come crawling forward, rampant in their wrath. Edmure and his men soldier onward, determined to not break down. It is important they continue the fight, they must make the King's easier, despite his own reservations, and Edmure knows his father truly wants to make a good impression on the new king, and being too weak to lead the fighting himself, it is for Edmure to lead the Riverlords, and that is what he shall do. His sword is red from one end to another, and a sense of relief fills him, for his first battle he does not feel too bad, he does not feel as if he is in a league that is beyond him. He feels comfortable.
The slashing and swinging of his sword soon becomes the relative ease for him, it becomes normal. The fighting continues, hacking away, men are falling before him, one more body added to the count, parrying, ducking, the nerves continue to filter through. His chest is moving upward and downward with such alarming speed he does not truly know whether to be worried or carefree about it all. Deciding that such concerns can wait till after the battle, Edmure pushes on. He feels pain in his chest, from where weapons have struck him, but he is not sure whether or not the pain is real or imagined.
The Tumblestone roars in the background, the heat from his helmet is nearly suffocating, he does not know whether or not he can breathe properly, but still the energy he has felt since battle began continues. He swings his sword, and feels the satisfactory sound of steel clipping through bone, his tiredness begins to grow, and still he continues, spurring his horse further forward, ever forward. Going through it all, swinging his sword, slashing, cutting, ducking and parrying, doing all that is needed to remain alive in this sweltering heat. He is not sure why but he has the urge to get down and go for a swim, he desperately wants to be cool again, but his armour is cooking him alive.
Suddenly, his horse gives way and Edmure finds himself struggling to remove himself from the straps holding him to the saddle. Eventually he manages and he throws himself forward and ends up rolling into a ball on the ground. He quickly unfurls himself and gets up just as a man comes charging toward him. Edmure manages to move to the side, avoiding the swing, and scrabbling to find a weapon, grabs the first thing he can find, just as the man swings his sword at him once more. Edmure raises the weapon he has and blocks the blow, but soon enough the strain of holding the two together causes him to drop the weapon and take a step backward. Instantly he regrets that for he feels his foot get wet, the river is behind him, and the man is advancing on him, with several more men coming toward him.
Edmure begins backing further, and further back, feeling the river deepen around him, until he stops and it is up to his waste. He can feel it pulling him down, pulling him down and trying to tempt him to go under willingly. The men are standing there staring at him, their numbers, growing. Edmure feels his nerves begin to grow and then disappear, he says a quick prayer to the seven and hopes his father will forgive him, that done he charges out of the river and begins ducking and swaying, he tackles one man and brings him down, stealing his weapon, he parries one blow, and then another, and then another. Edmure finds that there are too many of the men before him, but he will not surrender, he refuses to do so. And instead he takes one man on and as the others stab him this way and that, he roars and roars, and then Edmure Tully roars no more.