Catelyn Tully, Eldest Child of Lord Hoster Tully
She could hardly believe it. The audacity of the Ironborn standing in front of her. Old Maester Kym, the Septon, and the Septas had all told her tales of Harren the Black and Dagon Greyjoy and a dozen other Ironborn raider Lords and Kings. They were the worst scum ever to grace the Seven Kingdoms, they said.
And while she believed them, or at least what they said about the old Ironborn raiders, she also knew that her Uncle Brynden had fought in a war with Lord Quellon Greyjoy. They had sailed his ships from Cape Wrath, while the Redwyne fleet and the Royal fleet sailed from Planky Town.
Uncle Brynden respected the boy's grandfather, and that was that. But she never knew he was in her father's lands. Her musings were interrupted when Uncle Brynden snorted and picked the apple from his hand. He looked at it, sniffed it, and then took a hearty bite from it.
She couldn't believe this was happening. They hadn't even been given bread and salt yet!
She instinctively looked to her left, where her mother would usually be standing, and suddenly, tears pricked at her eyes. A soft sob escaped her lips, and before she knew it, her father had pulled her up into his arms. She vaguely heard father tell Uncle to have the guests settled, after which he kissed her and whispered sweet nothings into her head.
Before she knew it, she was in the hallway leading to her rooms. It was just her and Lysa in this hallway until two years ago, but then Petyr came to foster at Riverrun. And now, there would be another room - for little Edmure. Her mother was gone, but she had left her a brother to care for.
Her father lowered her onto her bed of feathers and then sat himself at the foot of it.
"Cat, look at me," he spoke softly, but she knew it as a command.
Sniffing, she wiped her moist eyes, hoping they weren't too red - like the apple Rodrik had offered Uncle Brynden. An unbidden giggle escaped her, which she tried with all her heart to stop, but failed.
Her father looked at her oddly, and she squirmed.
"What?"
"Nothing, sweet child. I know you're sad. Your lady mother is gone, and I miss her too. Gods, how I miss her, but this is the truth of things, Cat. You're my eldest now, almost a woman grown. Our bannermen will need to see a strong Lady Tully to be ensured of the strength of House Tully. For me, Cat, for your mother, you have to be strong. Do you understand?" He looked at her imploringly.
"I understand, father. But why is a Greyjoy here at Riverrun? And why did he say that to Uncle Brynden?"
Father took a deep sigh, "It is a deal between the Greyjoys and House Mallister. One that I fully approve of. You must understand, child, that the Ironborn are men of the Sea. Their barren isles don't allow them any luxuries. That is why they raid. But unlike his ancestors, I know Quellon. At least, I think I do. And, the arrangement with the Mallisters is for trade. Do you know why I, as Lord Paramount of the Riverlands, am happy with it?"
Cat thought for a few moments. "Because trade brings us more coin?"
Hoster smiled.
"Not everything is about coin, Cat. It is a part of the reason, but the biggest factor is that if the Ironborn are busy sailing vessels for trade, who is there to raid our ships and coasts?"
Catelyn's eyes widened. "Oh! So because of this deal, our people are safer, and we also get coin out of it?"
"Aye, Cat! Think of it. For Mallister's trade relations, Old Man Quellon is willing to trade his iron and furs through the Riverlands, busying his best captains and sailors while doing it. If the best sailors sail for trade, then three things happen. The Ironborn are not just some of the best sailors; they are the best fighters on the sea. Their ships are the fastest. So, trade happens quicker, safer, and with little to no risk to our standing trading alliances. More coin for everyone involved! In turn, the Mallisters will supply the Iron Isles with food during the winter and foster the third son and the eldest grandson of the Lord Paramount of the Isles."
Cat nodded eagerly as her father explained the alliance. She knew Petyr would love to be here for this conversation, but alas, that was not the case. But she would make sure she remembered what her father said. Petyr was not easily interested unless it was a matter of coin. He wasn't a fighter, and Uncle Brynden had dubbed him Littlefinger when he stayed shortest between himself, her, Lysa, though being a year her elder.
But he was the only company she had when her father was busy with his lordly duties and Uncle Brynden was out riding through the Riverlands or partaking in tourneys. He usually spent all his time with Maester Kym, but Cat knew he was easily bored and sought her company. Now, at least, she would have something to discuss with him.
"Aye, father, I understand. But why did he say that to Uncle Brynden? Isn't that improper?"
Father smiled at her again. "Aye, it is improper, that's true, but unless in the Royal Court, people don't care much. And while your Uncle Brynden doesn't say so, he enjoys bickering with anyone who would humor him. He is worse than a fishwife in that regard."
"But, isn't that insulting to a High Lord?"
She still didn't understand how he could get away with talking to her Uncle like that!
"Well, he is the Heir to a Lord Paramountcy, Cat. And until a moon ago, your Uncle Brynden was heir to Riverrun as well, until Edmure was born. So, there is some leeway when lords of high standing speak with one another. Now, if he said something like that to a Lady, I would call him out to an honor duel. But he japed with your Uncle Brynden. He can defend his honor better than I can, love."
Catelyn didn't like it but let it go. The thought from earlier came back to her mind once again. She immediately blushed beet red.
"I'm sorry for crying, father, but now my face is ruined, and my eyes are all red - just like that apple!" she moaned.
"Red like… oh gods! You found it funny!"
Cat blushed red to her ear tips. Preposterous!
"No, father! How could you say that!"
Her father laughed at her instead!
"Aye, I understand now. Cat, stop, wait," he grabbed her and pulled her into his chest as she got up to bolt out of the room in indignation.
"Cat, listen to me. I understand that you're mourning for your mother, but that shouldn't stop you from enjoying the smaller things in life. And no one would be mad at you for smiling at a jape. Do you understand?"
She sniffled against his chest.
"Good, now go wash your face and get Lysa down to the courtyard in a turn of the hour. The Brackens and the Freys will be arriving soon. As much as I detest the latter, you both need to be seen. Lord Damon and the Whents should be arriving later in the evening. I will be busy with the guests for most of the evening, Cat. Now, you would be escorting either Elbert Arryn or Rodrik; they're both heirs to Lords Paramount, and I don't believe any others your age are coming, so it'll be just the four of you."
"Aye, father, I'll do that."
"Good, now be off. And remember, be at the courtyard with Lysa in a turn of the hour."
Hoster Tully, Lord of The Riverlands
Hoster chuckled to himself as he walked back to the courtyard, searching for Brynden. He should've been done settling the Blackwoods and Jason and be back in the courtyard by now.
While Brynden was spontaneous and unpredictable and utterly ungrateful in many ways, he never thought he would see his brother with his head dunked in a trough where the horses drank. The less he said about the guards laughing and gaping, the better.
"What in the Seven BLOODY HELLS is going on here!"
The chatter and laughter died out instantly.
"Brother, explain yourself!"
"What is there to explain, my lord. I lost a bet and am fulfilling the terms." Replied a soaked-haired and still dripping Brynden Tully.
Hoster's anger simmered underneath the surface. A bet. A fucking bet, on the eve of his wife's funeral. If there weren't so many people watching, he would strangle his brother.
"And what were the terms?" he said instead, prompting him to continue.
"Well, the Greyjoy boy said that he could ride my warhorse three loops around the courtyard unsaddled. Unsaddled! What was I to do? I told him if he did that, I would drown myself in the horse water. And here we are."
What.
An eight-year-old boy riding a horse - a fully grown warhorse, trained to throw anyone but its master off if attempted to mount - unsaddled too, three rounds around the courtyard without breaking a fall with his neck?
The world was going to shit. Squids taming horses. Bah! He had indeed seen everything now.
He looked towards the stable gates with raised eyebrows and saw the Greyjoy lad feeding Brynden's warhorse yet another fucking apple. How many apples did he pluck out of thin air?
"I can't fucking believe it!" he whispered to himself before he yelled, "Greyjoy!"
He saw the lad turn to him, give him a cheeky smile, as he patted the horse on its nose. The beast gently nudged him along as he walked towards the drenched Blackfish and himself.
"You rode the horse unsaddled? A fully grown warhorse? Are you completely MAD! You could've gotten yourself killed doing that, buy! What would I tell your grandfather then?"
"Wouldn't have happened, Lord Tully. I have a way with horses."
"A way with horses. A way with HORSES! Well, you can sleep with the horses tonight then."
A few guards nearby snickered, but a sharp glare of their Lord shut them up quick. He looked at Brynden then, who shook his head at him.
Hoster understood. He had gone too far. This was not the way to conduct himself in the company of the lords, especially not the evening before his dear wife's final rites.
He took a deep sigh and faced Rodrik again, standing silent, but the smile was gone, replaced with a slight frown.
"Apologies, I didn't mean to lose my temper like that. I was merely concerned for your safety - and the honor and reputation of Riverrun. I would rephrase my previous words. Young Greyjoy, I ask that you do not put yourself at risk in my halls again for the duration of your stay."
The tension seemed to lessen in the courtyard. Rodrik, in turn, responded, "I apologize for causing any undue trouble, my Lord, especially on a day of mourning."
Hoster nodded at that. "Aye, Brynden, please make yourself presentable; Walter and Shella are less than a turn of the hour away. Lord Rodrik, I would request that you accompany my daughters and another guest to the feast. They are closer to your age, and I would think, make good company for you."
Rodrik nodded and walked off. Hopefully, he remembered the way to his rooms.
Hoster and Brynden strolled, and as the distance between Rodrik and the brothers increased, Brynden came closer to Hoster.
"To be completely honest, brother, I can't say I have ever seen a more talented rider. With the right training, he could be a beast on the lists on any tourney. That is if he takes after his grandfather."
"That's good then since he'll be squiring with you till he's ten. Train him up whichever way you care. The coin coming from the Mallisters has nearly doubled. With this trade alliance, even if Tywin stops buying swords, we could join the alliance. Sell our surplus grain for good iron. And mayhaps apples as well, seeing how many of them the boy goes through in mere hours."
"When was this decision made, and why was I not told before, brother?" Brynden asked, slightly put off by this happening. This was the biggest reason for his dislike of Hoster, and Hoster knew that well.
"Damon wrote to me. The lad is a blessed child. Be it arms, sums, or riding. No one comes even close to his skill - at least for their age. He improved the harbourmaster's record-keeping methods, changed the inspection routines, and just that alone caused many a hidden coin to drop out of cheating merchants. He can fight his uncle Victarion, who will be here soon, and win three times out of ten, but Victarion is a promising warrior already. Jeffory loses to both most of the time. Jason, your squire, says he has taught the boy everything he could with the sword already. Everything that he can currently do with the strength and size of his body. The boy hasn't started training for the lists yet, but he doesn't have the strength to hold a lance steady yet. Still, you know how he rides. So tell me, is it too bad?"
Brynden stayed silent for a minute, mulling over Hoster's words.
"I'll train him, but the day he slacks off is the day he packs up and leaves. And brother, so that you know, I am not planning on staying in Riverrun for the next two years at the least. I need some time away from here; it would do us all some good."
Hoster nodded, choosing not to say anything. He knew that if he protested this decision at all, then Brynden would just become that much more insistent on it.
"Well, then I'll see you back in the courtyard once you're cleaned up. Try not to take any other ridiculous bets from the lad, will you? I've heard tell he swims in Ironman's bay early in the mornings. Damon says he's done it every day for the past three years he's been at Seagard. Mad, I say, but the Seven know how the lad thinks."
Brynden arched a bushy red eyebrow to that and walked away with a slightly mystified expression on his face.
"Let's just hope he doesn't leap into the Tumblestone," Hoster whispered to himself as he turned to take the staircase, asking a servant to send the castellan to his solar. He had to check one last time if Coldwater prepared everything for the evening feast.
Kym, Maester of Riverrun
Maester Kym was a man of faith and learning. He was from the Saltpans, and his father was a guard captain to Lord Cox half a century ago. When his father lost his arm in chasing a group of bandits that had stolen from the lord's favored merchants, he was given a dozen gold dragons and told to live out the rest of his life in peace. Kym's mother was long dead, gone to the pox when he was six, and his father earned all the coin that bought their bread and salted meats.
He was healing well, but the lost sword arm affected his mind more than his body. He was never really there anymore. Kym was just four and ten when his father gave him three of the remaining ten dragons and told him to find his way in life.
Seeing his father wilt away like a summer flower in winter, Kym decided to get himself passage on a ship to Oldtown. Another eight and twenty years later, he left Oldtown for the first time since he had arrived in the first place. He had forged his chain with links for Ravenry, Astronomy, History, Mathematics and Accounting, Healing, Warcraft, and a single link for Smithing.
While he was not the most accomplished Maester, he certainly had enough to get assigned to a Great Lord. And two moons before he turned three and forty, he received news that he was to be assigned as a Maester in Riverrun. And so, for six and ten years, he had been the Maester for the Tullys of Riverrun. He had delivered Lord Tully's children, then educated them in the knowledge all lords and ladies required. Lady Catelyn was a diligent learner but never really focused on her numbers. She preferred her tales and sewing with the Septa.
Lady Lysa was not as willful a child as her older sister. A meek and unconfident younger sister grew up in the shadow of her pretty and smart elder sister. While they were young yet - Catelyn eight and Lysa a mere six name days, Petyr Baelish heir to the Fingers in the Vale, was taken in as a ward by Lord Tully.
While Cat and Lysa went through the required readings in their own, slow, uninterested manner, Baelish was not. He was an intelligent child who preferred wits over arms. He read his assigned books on time and came up with challenging topics to converse and discuss. He was also very good with his numbers, so good that he could get himself on the conclave if he kept up with his learning.
Alas, as the sole heir to a holdfast, Lord Baelish had denied Petyr's request to travel to Oldtown and study under the most learned men in Westeros. Prodigious minds like young Petyr weren't common, even among nobility. But the nobility had the perceived notion that being more educated somehow made them a lesser man. The value they placed on martial pursuits was too high, he felt.
After all, if a martial man is relieved of their sword hand or just injured in any sense that brings them out of the field, what will he do then?
Alas, such things weren't in the hands of an old Maester like Kym. He had long lost hope that men could learn from others' experiences, over committing mistakes on their own. Or just simply not caring to acknowledge copper counting. Thankfully, Lord Hoster was not too bad in that regard.
The Lord of Riverrun was a consummate politician, of that he had no doubt. But a consummate economist he was not. Kym's four yellow gold links gave him a much more broadened sense of this alliance that Lord Quellon Greyjoy had formed.
The first insight he had, the biggest one and one that he kept for himself, was that there was no way this alliance would last.
The Ironborn culture was that the men of the Isles brought others to work for them as thralls. They did not sow. And while they would follow the orders of Lord Greyjoy to an extent, it would only take one high and mighty southern Lord to ruffle one captain's feathers, and things would go to shit.
Even if that didn't happen, it would take one disgruntled Lord of the Isles to rouse the men with the correct words. Kym could see it happening if he closed his eyes.
'We capture thralls and have them work for us. That is what we, as Ironborn, do! And what would the Lord Reaper have us do? For some handfuls of gold and silver, we would work for the mainlanders. WE ARE NOT THRALLS!'
And things would go to shit.
Or the disgruntled men could just wait till Old Man Quellon passed. Would the sons have the same dream as the fathers? Would they be content with trade? Or would they, after feeling stifled for years, and act out? He could imagine it, every single ship Ironborn longship raiding and reaving the coasts of Westeros. The tension in the courts was high, with the passing of the Hand's wife in childbirth and the King's mockery of the dwarf he had fathered. Kym shuddered at the implications of a catastrophe of that sort.
He stopped himself from progressing down this train of thought further. It would distract him when he needed all his capacities to be focused on the last rites tomorrow.
Though, it's not like he could speak of his true thoughts to Lord Tully, or anyone else, for that matter. So, with a deep breath, Kym collected the necessary items and lists before making his way to the Castellan's office. While Mark Coldwater was great at following orders as a castellan, he could not come up with them. Which made Kym the one he looked to when its Lord or heirs were away or busy. Now was one such time - as Hoster had just told him briefly all that needed to be done and expected him to get the job done.
He readily accepted the task. This was what he was good for, other than teaching Lady Catelyn and Lady Lysa their numbers and letters, now that even Petyr stopped frequenting his quarters. He needed something to keep him off his dark thoughts, and this was a reasonable enough task to do.
Just as he turned to walk to the door and go searching for Coldwater, a knock sounded on the door. Curious as to who would be looking for him minutes before the feast began, Kym opened the door to be greeted by the sight of the very subject of his dark thoughts this day.
"Maester Kym, is it? Could you spare a moment?" spoke Rodrik Greyjoy.
Clearing his throat, "Aye, my lord, what is it you require? Burn paste? Bruise balm?" he asked.
"No, no, Maester, nothing of that sort. I merely wanted to ask if you had a copy of Battles and Sieges of the Century of Blood by Mae…."
"...ster Joseth? Aye, I do. It is one of my most prized possessions, my lord. What of it?" Kym continued, now a bit more alert.
"Could I borrow it for perusal during my stay here, Maester? I came before the feast since I didn't know if you would be present or retire early. I've heard about it from the Maester at Seagard, and you probably already know my love for horses. I've wanted to read it ever since - see how the Dothraki operate and what led to the defeat of the once-mighty Kingdom of Sarnor."
Oh my! A Greyjoy asking to borrow a book? One of the lesser-known but most descriptively written books, at that? He would never have believed it if he hadn't asked him himself!
"Aye, my lord, I saw the commotion in the yard," he said, pointing to the window overlooking the courtyard below. "And I am willing to lend you the book, my lord, but I hope you would take great care of it. It is one of the two known copies in the Riverlands, and I have a copy I transcribed with my own hands. Only nine copies exist, my lord, as far as I could tell, making it a precious book."
Kym was willing to lend him the book. He was more intrigued than he ever had been since he had arrived in Riverrun. Most people didn't know of the existence of the text, and the few that did couldn't be bothered to transcribe it. Fortunately, or unfortunately, he had taken up the task to make his copy to keep, as many Maesters did with books they liked. It had taken him three months and two gold dragons' worth of paper to write.
As he pulled out the text from his chest, he could feel his arms buckling underneath its weight. The text was certainly eight hundred leaves, though only transcribed on one side of each to preserve it longer. It was done on paper, after all, since reproducing this on parchment would have cost him a hundred gold dragons easily!
Blowing the dust away from the text, he placed the book on his table, "I would have your word, my lord. No wine stains or wax droppings on the book. If you wish to read through the night, I can arrange a whale oil lamp for you."
"You have my word, Maester Kym, and aye, I would take you up on that offer. My thanks, Maester, I will not keep you from your business any longer," finished Rodrik, as he quickly picked up the book that had strained the aged Maester to lift.
As the young Greyjoy walked out of his chambers, Kym suddenly felt a tinge of worry. He couldn't pinpoint why, but he suddenly got the feeling that he should've asked Lord Hoster, or at least someone, before lending him the text.
But the 'why' of it escaped him. It was just a feeling, he told himself. It's not like he could amass a Dothraki tribe and bring it to Westeros. And he was the heir to the Iron Islands, Seven's sake! It's not like they could even foot a cavalry; they barely have enough to feed themselves!
Shaking his head, Kym brushed his dark thoughts aside for the second time this evening and continued on his way to Coldwater's chambers.
Catelyn Tully - Eldest Child of Hoster Tully
"Lord Elbert! Good, you're dressed. Come, as soon as Lysa is ready, we're to fetch Rodrik Greyjoy for the feast!" Catelyn called, seeing Elbert step out of his room while waiting for Lysa to come out. The ladies were helping Lysa with her hair, and they should be done any moment now.
Elbert Arryn casually walked over to her, offering her his arm, smiling softly. "And will I be escorting you for the feast, my lady?"
Catelyn winced. "Father paired me up with Lord Greyjoy, I believe. You'll escort my sister, won't you?" She watched as Elbert's face fell slightly, but he didn't let that keep him down.
"That is just for the entrance, isn't it?" He asked.
"Yes! After we eat, we can do as we like."
"Oh," was all Elbert could say, as Lysa's door swung open, and she walked out, dressed in a sky blue gown, contrasting pink of Catelyn's own, and matching the blue and white attire of Elbert's.
"Cat, Lord Elbert!" she called, excited but still subdued. Mother's passing had affected them all.
Being the polite young man he is, Elbert offered Lysa his arm quickly, and Lysa smiled a little brighter as she took it and hooked it with hers.
Catelyn smiled at them both, taking the lead as she directed them to where she knew Rodrik's room was. She blushed, thinking about the Knight who he was squiring for. Jason Mallister was a handsome knight, skilled with both sword and lance.
And dressed in his house colors of purple and white, he looked so regal! Alas, he was married just last year.
It didn't take too long for them to arrive at their destination. Elbert knocked twice, firm enough to be heard yet soft enough for it to be polite. He looked at her, then took a deep breath and back to the door, which quickly opened to reveal their guest.
Rodrik looked different, a lot more lordly than he did when he had arrived dressed in riding leathers and boots. Now, dressed in sea green overcoat with the Greyjoy sigil over the heart, he looked a lot more like the highborn he was.
"Ah, good evening, Lady Catelyn, Lady Lysa, and?" he started, with a kiss to both her and Lysa's knuckles and a nod to Elbert, awaiting the introduction. "Elbert Arryn, Heir to the Vale," she supplied.
It was quite a curious thing. Catelyn was tall for her age; Elbert was also a good height for a boy a year her senior. Rodrik Greyjoy, an eight-name-day-old boy, stood at height with her, just a hand's width shorter than Elbert. Were all Ironborn this big? Or did they just grow tall early and stop growing? She didn't know and didn't intend to find out.
Gracefully, she slid her arm into his and then proceeded to lead the way towards the great hall.
"My condolences for your loss, my ladies. I have heard your mother was a charming and well-liked person."
"Thank you, my lord, and yes, she was. We all loved her," Lysa said. "The Stranger shouldn't have taken her away so soon." she sniffled.
Rodrik turned to face Lysa when he responded, "Aye, certainly too soon. But the feast today is not just a feast to the departed, no? It is also a feast of celebration. For, even in death, she brought joy and relief to the Riverlands. An heir to the Tullys and a brother to the two of you."
A sad smile graced Catelyn's face. "Aye, that she did. Come, Father and Uncle Brynden await us at the door."
As they turned into the hallway that led to the hall, she could see her father and uncle standing there, conversing silently with the castellan. Uncle Brynden turned and spotted them and smiled at her and Lysa before he caught the eye of Rodrik at her elbow, eyebrow raised.
"You clean up well, boy. Couldn't've known it was you if I hadn't known you were coming with my niece." he snarked.
"You as well, Ser. The only reason I recognized you is that" he pointed to Uncle's face, "wisp of hay from the horse troughs earlier." He said, with a completely straight face, much to the growing concern of Catelyn and the horror of Elbert and Lysa.
Uncle Brynden, however, just stared back at Rodrik imperiously. "Your left eye twitched. Work on that. You couldn't fool a donkey with that line," he finished with a sly smirk characteristic to the Blackfish.
"Now, as much as I enjoy sharing japes, I don't believe everyone else would. So, drop that for now. When you get into that hall, you will walk Catelyn between the tables, take a left and climb up the high table. As the highest standing lord from the Isles, you get a seat on the high table. A handful of Riverlords would be up there as well. Jason, your Uncle, and the others will be at the lower tables. You may leave after the third course is finished and the wine is brought out. Go to the lower tables, or leave the feast to read that book you took from Kym - up to you. Don't stay up too late. We expect everyone up at dawn for the send-off."
Rodrik nodded along with everything Uncle told him, then smiled back at him. "I'll be up on time. You needn't worry about that, Lord Tully."
"Good, now I'll go in, and you will follow behind Lord Hoster. Elbert, hold off on the wine today. After breaking your fast, I expect you both in the courtyard on the morrow. You'll be drilling with the squires. That includes you as well, Greyjoy. Let's see what you can do with the sword."
And with that, he walked off. By then, Father had finished speaking with Master Coldwater. "Come, children. Chin up, Lysa, you're a lady of a Great House."
The doors to the Great Hall opened, and Rodrik led her through the route specified by her Uncle. Her eyes were going through the crowd, trying to recognize the familiar faces, and she smiled when they met the gaze of Lady Whent, or Aunt Shella, as she liked to be called. She was already seated on the high table beside Lord Walter Whent, who took the seat to the left of the Lord's chair.
Elbert took the seat to the immediate right of Uncle Brynden, as his current squire and his position of Heir of the Vale deigned. Lysa, as his escort, sat next to him. After that, though somewhat unusually, was Catelyn, and then Rodrik, towards the end of the table.
Catelyn leaned close to Rodrik and whispered, "Elbert is squiring for Uncle Brynden currently. Father invited Lord Jon as well, but he was busy with business at Gulltown."
Rodrik simply nodded and shrugged.
After everyone was seated, Uncle Brynden tapped his goblet with his knife. A sharp noise resonated in the great hall, and silence quickly followed. Father stood from his seat and began his address.
"My Lords and Ladies of the Riverlands, thank you for joining us today. This feast, as you all know, is in honor of my lady wife, who birthed House Tully a son and heir."
There were cheers in the hall, but not the boisterous kind. Everyone knew what followed.
"And that is what we eat and drink and be merry. Yet, we shall keep the memory of Lady Minisa in our minds and hearts, for she passed soon after Edmure Tully was born. By the will of the Seven, my son was born hale and healthy, and by their will, my lady wife can no longer join us in our joyous celebration. So today, we celebrate the future of House Tully and make merry. On the morrow, we observe the past and mourn for a loving wife, a caring mother, and a dutiful lady."
The crowd was listening, following Father's words, and nodding and shaking their heads at the right moments. She found herself joining them in expressing opinions. She heard her father take a deep breath and then raise his goblet to the crowd.
"To Minisa Tully, let's drink to honor our past." With a roar of Aye's, the crowd sipped at their goblets. "And to Edmure Tully, let's drink to a joyous and prosperous future." He sipped his wine, then, "And now, let us feast, and honor the present as well."
"Your father certainly has a way with words, my lady." piped Rodrik from her right.
She sniffed and just nodded to that. Having heard Mother brought up again made her throat choke up a bit, and she didn't trust herself to answer with words.
And yet, a response came out involuntarily.
"Why are the gods so cruel? What did my mother do to be taken away like this?"
"Do you honestly want to know what I think, my lady?"
The way Rodrik said those words gave her a pause. The dark, quiet undertone was not what she had expected at all. And yet, she found herself nodding. Dreading his answer, yet unable to refuse it.
"Death is a strange thing, my lady; it comes when we least expect it. With great care, one can delay it, but none can escape it. But no one is truly dead if we keep the memory of them alive. Keep it in your heart, take inspiration from it, and carry on. I find that writing about it helps. Ask your Maester for parchment and a quill. Remember the good times, the bad, the ones you cherish, and write them down. Ask your father, your uncle. Ask Lysa and Lady Whent, and ask the servants that worked under her. Tell those stories to your brother, who never knew your mother. Tell him so he could experience what you did, so he can remember her as you do. So he loves her, even though he never met her. So that her legacy lives on."
Tears pooled in her eyes, and she leaned in to give him a hug for those words. She missed her mother so much. And now that she thought about it, she knew what she could do. She would make sure Edmure knows how mother was. And that made her feel a lot lighter than she had been for the last fortnight.
The hand rubbing across her back helped, too.
At least until she heard the rough sound of her uncle clearing his throat, which jolted her back to the present. She quickly pulled back from the hug and stared at her food, blushing red from nose to ears.
Rodrik didn't say a word, but she couldn't bring herself to look at him yet. She glanced at her left, where her Uncle was still gazing at her with a soft smile. She saw him shake his head in nonchalance before returning to his food.
"Ah, smoked trout. You know, we don't get those in Pyke. We have plenty of Salmon and Cod, but never trout."
Rodrik said that loud enough to attract Lysa and Elbert's attention. She breathed a sigh of relief. The change in conversation was necessary for her to take her mind off of what had just happened.
"Well, do you like it?" Lysa asked.
She could see Rodrik taking a bite and chewing as if trying to judge its taste.
"It's good, certainly. Mmm, the butter on top makes it a lot better than it ought to be. And it's not as salty as the ones I'm used to having. I like it!" he declared triumphantly.
Elbert stared at him for a moment, then at Lysa, before the duo simultaneously fell into peals of giggling.
Catelyn, though, couldn't take her mind off of what Rodrik suggested. She knew that it would be tedious work. Just writing about all the memories she shared with her mother. But she would do it. She couldn't care what the conversation around her was about, and she didn't notice when Rodrik silently excused himself. She didn't see him walk down to the lower table, greet Lord Mallister and his uncle, and then leave the hall altogether.
All she thought of was what she would write first and her best memory with her mother.
She came back to her senses when Uncle Brynden tapped her on the shoulder.
"Let's put you to bed, little bird."
Catelyn responded with a yawn before sighing and letting Uncle Brynden pick her up. He would always pick her up after he called her 'little bird,' which was more of a reflex now. The hall was mostly empty anyway, and she couldn't care to be a proper lady - not tonight. It had been a long day, and she was tired, but she promised herself she would start writing on the morrow. She didn't register Uncle Brynden putting her on her bed nor covering her in the blanket.
And she didn't realize when she fell asleep. All she knew was that on the morrow, her mother would be sent off on a boat, never to return.
And on the morrow, she promised herself - Minisa Tully's story would begin again. Catelyn would be writing it.
Bonus Scene: The Cocky Little Shit
Ser Brynden the Blackfish, the first one on the list of my favorite characters I got to meet. Ah, what it felt to offer him that apple!
Anyway, we were inside Riverrun now. And since the Mallisters were distant kin to the Tully's, what with one of their grandmothers being one, they were to be placed in the guest suite.
As with most traditional Andal castles, each guest room was big enough to host a couple - or two people. Some even had a room for a squire attached to it. That was usually used when pages and squires were needed close by in times of siege.
Jason Mallister had just gone in to settle into his room and take a short nap to restore sensation into his buttcheeks and had sent me away. Now, as a squire, I would have usually been given the squire quarter attached to Ser Jason's room. Yet Ser Jason had written to Riverrun beforehand that he would be traveling with his wife and newborn. So, that room was converted into a nursery. And so, as befitting an heir to a Great House, I had a whole guest quarter all to myself.
"That is you." The Blackfish, none could accuse him of being a man of many words.
"Ser Brynden, might I ask who owns the fastest horse in this castle?" The other part of me insisted I do this. He wanted to mess around with these people.
"Who do you think?" He responded with a scoff.
"Why you, of course!" The time for trolling will arrive. I must not say 'Edmure,' no matter how much my other half wants me to.
"Aye!" He boasted with a fist to the chest. "Why do you ask? Plan to challenge me to a race?"
"No, no, nothing of that sort, Ser. But I will have to ask, would you be willing to let me ride it?" I knew this was a very major break of courtesy. No knight worth their salt would allow someone else to ride their horse. Horses are trained to pick up the rider's habits and respond to them. A new rider with a different style of commanding his horse would undoubtedly affect the horse's training. It was like handing over a child to someone to babysit. The child would pick up on their habits.
The Blackfish knew that, but did he know that I knew that as well? Or did he think it was just an innocent question asked by someone who loved horses and riding?
"My warhorse would never let anyone else mount him, boy! I've trained him personally to bash in the head of anyone that tries." He looked at me queerly. Well, that was a scare tactic if I ever saw one. The voice in my head agreed as well.
"I love horses, and the horses love me too! I could easily mount it and even ride it unsaddled!" Ah yes, bringing in the big cards. Let's see how he takes to that. An insult to someone's horse, which this most certainly was, would undoubtedly bring a rise out of them.
"He would kick in your teeth, spit in your face, and then go drink from that big bucket of his! Ha! In fact, how about this, boy, I'll take you to my horse. If you truly try to mount him, you'll die, so be prepared to run."
"And what if I mount it? What if I'm able to get him to gallop unsaddled?" I challenged.
"Then I'll be the one drinking from his fucking bucket! No way in Seven Hells is that happening." He was still acting amused, but I could see the glimmer of anger in there. No one had gone such lengths to insult him in his castle. Well, except for Hoster, but then he was the lord.
"I'll take that wager, Ser." I opened the door, dropped the bag with my change of clothes, and walked back out, tying the bag with the two remaining apples still in there.
"We'll see, boy, we'll see."
The walk back to the courtyard and the adjacent stables was a quiet one. The Blackfish held that amused smile on his face that scared the shit out of anyone in his way. I saw a blond-haired boy around Victarion's age walking towards Ser Brynden.
But then the boy saw the expression on his face and made an about-turn and kept walking. Smart lad.
"Is Crab saddled, Desmond?" He hollered to a man dressed in chainmail and leather.
"No, my lord. I wasn't aware you were to go riding!" came the confused response from the young man called, you guessed it - Desmond. Might he be Desmond Grell, who became the Master-at-Arms in Riverrun right before Catelyn's wedding to Ned Stark?
"Good good, no need for that. He's still in his stable then?"
"Aye, my lord. But why…?"
"Worry not, Desmond, the lad here says he can mount Crab and ride her unsaddled. What do you think, Ser Desmond?" The Blackfish unnecessarily exaggerated the name, making Desmond Grell blush.
"That we may need to tie a rope to his belt to pull him away when he's knocked to the ground, my lord. Mayhaps a blow from Crab'll bring him some sense."
"Ha! Exactly what I said." He turned to me, challenging me still, daring me to continue.
"Well, let's see Crab!"
The Blackfish sighed, and Desmond shook his head, "Seven help us."
The walk to the stables was silent, but I could see the servants in the courtyard paying us attention. It seemed like Brynden Tully's loud voice had garnered some attention. I chose to ignore them but smiled inside. It would make the wager all the more fun!
"There he is, a true beast of war," said Ser Desmond reverently.
I just pulled an apple out from my pocket, and just then, there was a slight tug in my gut. Well, it seems like Chrysaor was pushing his power through. But he didn't want control, as usual.
This was odd to me in the beginning. I had expected him to fight me at every turn, but he just left instructions on what to do and let me do it, preferring to take the back seat and only help when needed. The boost to my (our) physical prowess that came from his blessing was always active, but I knew what it felt like when he actually took control, and I was the observer.
The awareness granted from his instincts, the power, was palpable. I could swing a blunt sword and slice right through a mammoth's leg. But that wasn't usually needed. And he never really spent enough time in control to get used to our smaller body.
He intended to take the back seat until we were fully grown and then have his fun in our prime. Well, I wasn't going to say no to that. With his power coursing through me, I could suddenly feel all the horses in this wing of the stable. And indeed, they could feel it too. But I tuned out the dozen other voices, calling me Prince, and just walked up to the one called crab.
"Crab, that's your name, right?"
I said telepathically as I walked closer to him, extending a hand to rub his muzzle. He was a striking horse, with a red, muscled body, yet the hair he grew was all black. It fits, I mused.
"Yes, my prince. But who are you? And why haven't I ever heard of you before?"
Ah, he was probably confused. Since there never really was a Poseidon in this universe, the horses probably considered the Great Stallion of the Dothraki as their King. Not the Khal, but their God. If he even existed.
Other than the legends in the Age of Heroes, there were never really any historical characters that stood out as true Gods or Demigods. Magic was magic, but true godly powers? Nothing indicated that, at least directly. The closest thing to it would be the Night's King in the shows, but the Great Other? We didn't nearly know enough. And that doesn't include my insane uncle.
He was an anomaly altogether.
Focusing back on the eight-foot-tall warhorse in front of me, I continued brushing through his hair, soothing him as I answered his questions.
"I am certainly a Son of the Sea God. He made your ancestors from the sea foam, you know?"
"Bullshit, my prince! Wait, sorry! I didn't mean to curse, fuck! Oops, sorry again."
Keeping my face expressionless was starting to seem impossible now, but I tried not to let anything show. Thankfully, they couldn't see my eyes; Ser Brynden would immediately know.
"Don't worry about it, Crab. I wanted to ask you a question. Could you do me a favor?" I asked, hoping he would forget to continue on the train of thought that what I told him about his species was probably not the case in this world.
Oddly, it half worked. "And what would I get out of it? I don't work for free."
Thankfully, I knew from Chrysaor's experience how to deal with proud horses and sharks. I showed him one apple, and he suddenly neighed loudly.
"Is that a deal?" I asked.
"Fuck yes! Boys, I finally get a nice, juicy apple, hahahahaha! You ugly cocksuckers, enjoy your hay!" I had to feed my horse an apple that size in three bites.
This beast inhaled it.
But he agreed to help me out. So, without warning, I jumped onto the door to the stable, which was just around his chest height - or my actual height. That startled Desmond and Brynden behind me to curse in surprise. But before they could say anything to stop me, I kicked off from the door, hooked my left arm around Crab's neck, and swung myself onto him.
Jumping off the door inadvertently caused the hatch to snap off, opening the door, and off went Crab with me holding on to his mane, whooping in delight.
Chrysaor's powers kicked in, giving me instinctual knowledge of how the Blackfish trained this horse and how to get it to respond to my instructions. Everyone in our way to the exit dived for cover as we made our glorious exit to the courtyard.
Curious servants and staff who had waited outside for the Blackfish to return were shocked when instead of him, out came someone else on his great warhorse.
I took that opportunity to slow down to a trot as I neared the end of the courtyard before turning around and with a sharp 'Hyah,' Crab pushed himself into a gallop again, quickly nearing where the Blackfish and Desmond now stood, just outside the stables. Just before we would collide into them, Crab ground his legs into the ground and skidded to a stop, his nose now an inch away from the Blackfish's stunned face.
"Ah, he is one fine steed, my lord. Now, as promised, I'll uphold my end and make two more rounds around the courtyard. And," I trailed off with a mischievous smile.
"Fuck! Well, I gave my word, didn't I, boy. No need to remind me." And yes, by the time I faced them again from the other end of the yard, the Blackfish had pulled off his cloak and sword belt.
And by the time I made it back to him, he seemed to be smiling to himself, waiting for me to finish first, I see.
No one said anything, and the crowd murmured as I made a third run across the courtyard with Crab, and just as I swung off the horse, we heard a splash, and the crowd gasped as they saw Ser Brynden with his head inside the horses' trough.
Bringing out the other apple, I laughed to myself and fed it to the excited and very proud horse. The crowd was now chattering, and I could hear a few giggles and confused laughs.
It was then that over the other sounds, I could hear the yell of a confused yet furious Lord Tully, "What in the seven BLOODY HELLS is going on here!"
Oops, this could get awkward quickly. Before I could think of an answer to appease the demanding Lord, the Blackfish popped out of the trough, dripping wet. Spitting out the water and quickly swiping at his face, he looked to Hoster Tully.
"Brother, explain yourself," Hoster demanded.
"What is there to explain, my lord. I lost a bet and am fulfilling the terms..." replied a soaked-haired and still dripping Brynden Tully.
What a fucking madlad.