The journey from Highgarden was long and arduous. The Reach was beautiful, yes, but over time, the sweet scent of flowers and fruit staled; the once-warming glow of the sun turned into a constant, heating glare and over the weeks, young Hoster missed the confined walls of the Riverrun schoolroom and even the small, cosy library of his new home, Raventree Hall.
It was a rather vast party that departed from Highgarden to King's Landing: in the frontlines were the royal family, surrounded from the front to back with a big squad of knights and members of the Kingsguard; behind them were Hoster and his family and Ser Kevan Lannister and his eldest son Ser Lancel; following them were the other noble families from the Riverlands; and last in the immense party were an array of hedge knights, penniless knights and bards, the latter group no doubt hoping to find work at court in King's Landing.
It had been decided a few days before the departure time that there'll be a few more days of rest and recovery before Hoster and his family continued their way to Riverrun – well, in Hoster's case to Raventree Hall with the other Blackwoods. The thought of leaving Melia at Riverrun without him was disconcerting. Hoster loved his sister as a brother should; he was her knight in shining armour in all of the games they played as children. A lump formed in Hoster's throat. What if his sister will spiral further into…
He did not even want to say it. To say the word was…
"Is there something on your mind, my son?" His mother's gentle and soothing voice had interrupted his disturbed thoughts.
Hoster was about to shake his head. Mothers always know. He glanced around carefully. Good. No one was close to him but Mother. It seemed Melia had elected to sit in the wheelhouse for awhile. "I am worried," Hoster confessed quietly. "It's to do with Melia." Mother nodded slowly, her brown eyes glistening with concern. Hoster took a deep breath. "I'm afraid she is uh, afflicted with…with the illness of the mind," he muttered. "I have not talked to Maester Vyman, but I've noticed for quite some time that she is easily overexcited…so easily. I do not think many are aware of it," he added hastily in the hopes of comforting Mother. "I think for now, it is only I who know…and you…" His voice trailed away. For what seemed like an eternity, Mother remained silent. Hoster's stomach turned this way and that way as he waited for her answer. Only the wind talked to him. It hissed in his ear and whistled wildly, daring him to shout back at it like…like a madman. I am not mad, Hoster told himself fiercely. I am not.
"You are quite observant," Mother said finally with a soft, sad sigh. "I thought I was the only one who knew…when did you find out?"
"Before I started squiring for Lord Blackwood." In truth, he discovered it a few months after Grandfather Hoster's funeral. "Melia…she did not want me to leave Riverrun. She said Riverrun would be dull without me."
Mother frowned slightly. "Poor girl. She was such a happy child when she was a babe – you all were." She sounded wistful. "Do not tell your father this, Hoster, I noticed Melia's…illness earlier. It was about a year ago when Lords Bracken and Blackwood were at Riverrun again, bickering over land disputes again. When one of them suggested marriage between Melia and one of their sons, I thought I saw something flash in Melia's eyes. I feared she would scream at them and refuse the mere thought of a betrothal. I thanked the Seven she did not. If she had…it would not be long before everyone would've known the truth."
"Why is she ill?"
"Only the Seven know, my son. Perhaps the Seven cursed her for our sins."
"Surely there is another reason!"
"House Tully is an illustrious House," Mother remarked. "A Great House even. However, I've heard a rumour – a childish one – that ever since your grandfather married a Whent, the Harrenhal curse descended upon our House."
Hoster could not help being intrigued. A family curse?
"I'm certain you remember Maester Vyman telling you that no House was able to keep hold of Harrenhal for long," Mother went on calmly, as if she was reading him a bedtime story instead of informing him about a rumoured family curse. "If you cast your mind back to your history lessons, you'll remember that Harrenhal was passed from a number of noble houses of the Riverlands."
"Houses Hoare, Qoherys, Harroway, Towers, Strong, Lothston and now Whent," Hoster recalled without any difficulty.
Mother nodded. "I am not from the Riverlands yet I am aware of the curse. I'm certain that House Whent was a powerful house back in its day. All noble houses prosper at one stage, but then…if not careful, they would fall. That regards heirs as well. Some heirs will ruin their House; others will prosper it. I'll always think the best of House Tully…"
"What is it, Mother?"
With another quiet sigh, Mother shook her head. "You are still a boy, Hoster. I do not think you want to hear about my thoughts."
"I do Mother," Hoster urged. "I do."
"No. You are too young, a boy still. When you are older perhaps. Melia's illness could be due to the family curse…or something else." Hoster waited patiently. He had long learnt that the patient ones gained more information. "How do you like your Hightower cousins?" Mother said, changing the subject. "I'd hoped that once the Highgarden festivities were over, we would go to Oldtown for a few weeks. It would be nice for you to see my childhood home and meet your grandfather Lord Hightower who is ailing now. It seemed your father had other ideas."
"I like my cousins." The words sounded plain and emotionless. In truth, Hoster only knew his Hightower cousins' names, fought against the Hightower boys in a mock battle for squires and danced with the Hightower girls. Out of his maternal cousins, Hoster liked Denys Redwyne and Alyn Ambrose the most. Both were the sons of his aunts Lady Denyse, wife of Ser Desmond Redwyne, and Alysanne, the wife of Lord Arthur Ambrose and were a year or two his senior. "I'd be delighted to see them again soon," Hoster murmured.
Mother smiled. "My brothers were all keen for you to squire for them. When I told them you are squiring for Lord Blackwood, they were quite disappointed. It would be nice would it not, for you to squire for your uncle?" Hoster didn't point out that the wiser choice was to squire for a River lord and not one of his uncles from the Reach.
"Are all my aunts married, Mother?" said Hoster curiously.
"Most of them. Why?"
"You told me you had five sisters, Mother. I only saw three. Aunt Alerie, Aunt Denyse and Aunt Alysanne."
"You have always been a curious lad, Hoster. Sometimes being curious…" She shook her head. "If your curiosity can be quenched, I'll tell you my youngest half-sister Lynesse had disgraced both her husband's House and the illustrious name of Hightower. My siblings – under the instruction of our father – pretend that she is no longer our sister." She darkened. "Lynesse had always been a fool," she said more to himself than to Hoster. "I never thought Lynesse would be that foolish…" Mother sighed a third time. "Anyway, my eldest half-sister Malora, my brothers told me that Malora and our father had not descended from the Hightower in…a good many years."
"Why?"
Mother ruffled his hair fondly. "You ask too many questions Hoster. Much too many for a young boy."
"I am not a young boy, Mother. Bryndon is a young boy. Axel is a young boy. I'm almost a man, Mother."
"Almost, Hoster. Almost. Enjoy the view, Hoster. Ask less questions," she added with a smile. "If this is King's Landing, you would not want to inquire too much. It might give other people the um, wrong idea. Why don't you go and ride with your royal cousins? Talk to them. It will keep you occupied for a while." Suppressing a sigh of his own, Hoster spurred his horse forward, urging him to trot a little more faster. He glanced back. Mother had slowed down to a leisurely canter. Instead of riding to Prince Orys, Hoster rode to his uncle Ser Garth Greysteel, a knight of the Kingsguard. Hoster smiled. Uncle Garth did not seem to be on duty…
"Uncle!" Hoster called. "May I ask you something?"
The Hightower knight slowed his horse and smiled at him with a nod. His dark brown hair had slightly greyed since the last time Hoster saw him. "Do you wish for me to take you to Prince Orys?" Uncle Garth asked.
Hoster shook his head. "I want to know about Aunt Malora."
The smile disappeared from his uncle's face. "Ask your mother," he said flatly, about to ride forward.
"Mother would not say."
"For good reason." Hoster thought he heard Uncle Garth mutter. Hoster rolled his eyes. "Come now Uncle! It could not be so horrible!"
"There are some matters you should not hear," Uncle Garth said stubbornly. "I suggest you forget about…" His voice trailed off. Hoster waited patiently – it was wasted. His Kingsguard uncle sped ahead without looking back. Hoster sighed. It was honestly no surprise. He had never been particularly close with him – or any of his maternal relatives. Perhaps it was due to a lack of contact. I am not a young boy, Hoster thought obstinately. Why must I always be treated as one? He couldn't wait until he arrived at Raventree Hall. There the Blackwoods treated him as one would treat a brother or a noble squire. Besides, Hoster enjoyed having boys his own age to spar with immensely.
It all started with the annual journey around the Riverlands. Like the previous times, Hoster and Melia accompanied Father and Mother. That particular journey was more significant than before. For one, it was Rosaline's first trip around the Riverlands and secondly – and most importantly in the eyes of Father – the three of them and perhaps their brother Bryndon were old enough to be betrothed. All the River lords were aware of it and the welcome and farewell feasts appeared to be more lavish than before – with the sole exception of the two tedious feasts at the Twins. Though the stay at the Twins was as dull as the last, Hoster could not help but shudder as he recalled it from his mind.
Shockingly, the ancient Lord Walder Frey was still alive and well. Infirm, but a prickly man. "He had always been vain and prickly," Father had commented. "He was probably born that way." Probably. During the Frey feasts, all old Lord Frey grumbled about was the lack of respect towards him and he also foisted all of his daughters and granddaughters on him, his eyes glittering slyly. Would Lord Frey finally die happy with one of his children wedded to a Tully? Probably not.
Anyway earlier on, when Hoster and his family were guests at Raventree Hall, Hoster was invited to spar with Lord Blackwood's sons and two squires. Though they only sparred with wooden swords, Hoster enjoyed it. At Riverrun, only the master-at-arms and his instructor, Ser Desmond Grell, was unafraid of whacking him or hurting him.
"We are close to Bitterbridge," Hoster overheard a guard speak to another. "It is a few hours' ride, if not a little more. His Grace will no doubt wish to rest there for a day or two before we continue the journey. Do you think His Grace will have us travel to Storm's End?"
"No," the other responded. "A party as large as this? No. I am quite astonished that House Caswell has the means to host us for a few days. With His Grace's um, fondness for good food…"
"His Grace's brother Lord Baratheon is at King's Landing, not Storm's End. The king will not want to disturb Storm's End without its master present." Wasn't the king the Lord of Storm's End before he won the crown? Hoster kept his thoughts to himself as he continued to listen. It was known that guards liked to chatter like a bunch of idle women during travel.
"Isn't His Grace's good-sister at Storm's End though?"
"So? I hear that lady is a bitch from the Seven Hells."
"Careful there Wilbar," the other guard cautioned the first who glanced in the direction of the Lannister party. "The Lady of Storm's End is the daughter of Lord Tywin Lannister, one of the most powerful men in Westeros. Calling his daughter that…it will ensure you a painful death."
"Aye. Is it true that Lady Baratheon is entertaining a…a shadow binder?"
"Seven Hells Ulrik! That is old news! Lady Baratheon did entertain that lady of Asshai at Storm's End…many months ago. When Lord Baratheon found out, he'd sent a raven straight to his wife, ordering her to send the lady away! The only red woman in Storm's End now is Lady Cersei Baratheon in her gowns of scarlet." He paused thoughtfully. "Reckon she is still fair of face?"
"Banish those thoughts Wilbar. I shudder to think what Lord Baratheon would do if he hears you lust for his wife."
The guard Wilbar snickered. "It is not as if he needs a woman in bed."
Hoster slowly rode away as the guards' conversation turned from rumours to their experience with whores. Not long now, he thought. Perhaps at Bitterbridge I will have more luck finding out about this mysterious aunt of mine…
"Theon. Theon Greyjoy. Lord Theon Greyjoy."
By the Seven! Hoster would scream if he heard that bloody squid's name again – and by the lips of his sister! Hoster kept calm and forced himself to smile as his dear sister looked at him dreamily as if her mind lingered on a knight in the song rather than the Greyjoy heir.
"We are not at Riverrun," Hoster reminded Melia. "Are you ready?"
Melia nodded with a smile and took his arm. As expected, the Caswells had all insisted on honouring the king's stay with a lavish feast. Hoster would rather rest quietly in the guest chambers than attend a feast, but as the son and heir of Lord Edmure Tully of Riverrun and a nephew of King Robert Baratheon, he'd had not much choice but to go most reluctantly. Another cool autumn night to be wasted; guzzling down rich meat, sweet cakes and jellies, hot and cold soups and a dozen gallons of ale and Arbor gold and dancing with the beautiful maidens had all but lost their appeal. Who had the stomach to eat all night? Who had the strength to whirl around the dance floor until dawn?
"Do you think I will see Theon ever again?" Hoster glanced at Melia. "Perhaps," he said carefully, "or perhaps not." If he had his way, the cocky squid would lose his worthless life. Out of all lords, knights and heirs for Melia to fall violently and passionately in love with! Hoster studied Melia discreetly. She looked every inch a highborn maiden of House Tully. Her long auburn hair was braided and coiled, glistening with the silver circlet of tiny sapphires, pearls and rubies (a name day gift from the king and Aunt Catelyn); her gown also a dark shade of Tully blue. All her dance partners will die with envy, Hoster contemplated as he led her towards the Great Hall of Bitterbridge. Bitterbridge Castle itself was small and built from stone and timber. From outside, the keep looked quite tall, but when Hoster went in, it was not that tall. It was due to the land, Bitterbridge's maester explained. It was because of the low and flat land that enhanced the height of the keep. After a quick tour, Hoster had remembered the way from his chambers to the Great Hall. It proved useful as Mother asked him to escort Melia to the feast.
"I wish you will come with me to Riverrun," sighed Melia wistfully.
"I do too," said Hoster half-truthfully. "You survived a few months without me already. You can surely live through a year or two."
"When will you return then? Before I wed I hope."
Hoster shrugged. "I will visit from time to time. Quite often if Lord Blackwood intends to continue the feud against Lord Bracken. I suppose when I am knighted, I will return to live at Riverrun as Father's heir."
"I don't want to marry a Lannister, Hoster."
"Don't be silly Melia. You will be the wife of one of the richest men in all of the Seven Kingdoms. If Lord Tywin has his way, his imp of a son will be disinherited and your future husband will be the next Lord of Casterly Rock after his father. It will be wonderful for the Riverlands, Melia. Father had secured us the Reach – or part of it at least – and Aunt Catelyn the Crownlands with Aunt Lysa securing the Vale." Hoster's eyes gleamed with pride at the web of marriage alliances his lord grandfather had created. What a genius stroke in wedding Aunt Catelyn to a king and Aunt Lysa to the King's Hand!
"Why cannot I marry a Blackwood or a Bracken? Tully girls have married sons of River lords for centuries."
"Grandfather started a new alliance policy. Father seems to maintain it as well as keeping the old alliance policy in place." Hoster liked talking about policies. He had began learning about it before he left for Raventree Hall and Lord Blackwood was more than happy to educate him further in that field. "Not every ally remains an ally," Lord Blackwood had said to him one day after training. "My family had a hundred peaces with the Brackens, many sealed with marriages. There's a pint of Blackwood blood in every Bracken, and Bracken blood in every Blackwood. King Jaehaerys the First's Peace lasted half a century. But then some fresh quarrel had broke out, and the old wounds opened and began to bleed again. That's how it all happens, my father told me once. So long as men remember the wrongs done to their forebears, no peace or alliance will ever last. So we go century after century with us hating the Brackens and them hating us. Even now old Bracken is in his solar, plotting against me. There will never be an end to it, my boy. Marriage can seal alliances but at the same time, it can also break families apart." He had then proceeded to tell the tale of another segment in the Blackwood-Bracken feud that regarded his great, great, great aunt, a Bracken and a hedge knight.
"What do you think of Lord Caswell's daughters?"
"Pretty to look upon," Hoster responded, leading Melia to the high table. "They do giggle a lot." After everyone was seated, Lord Caswell made a short speech – it was thankfully much shorter than Lord Tyrell's ramblings – and declared it time to eat. Servants bearing the livery of House Caswell (a yellow centaur with a bow on white) filed into the Great Hall and served the tables with dishes of food and flagons of drink, beginning with the high table and ending with the table furthest away that was for all the hedge knights and bards.
Throughout the feast, Hoster ate little, drank a few sips and spoke politely and shortly when spoken to. Mostly, he watched, keeping a close eye on Melia. To his relief – and no doubt Mother's – Melia behaved well, smiling, laughing and acting the part of a highborn lady. She never mentioned the Greyjoy heir once and even danced with one of Lord Caswell's cousins. She should never have met Theon, he thought angrily. If she hadn't, she would not be so…so reckless at times. Oh Melia had never been particularly wild in movement, but her words…Father would not be pleased to hear some of them.
However, Hoster was a good brother. He kept his mouth shut and never once reported Melia's words to Father or Maester Vyman. His lips pursed as he stood up to dance with a Caswell girl. Mother insisted. Thankfully the dance was fast; it wasn't long before Hoster returned to his seat and both of Lord Caswell's girls on the dance floor, twirling and dancing with other knights. Hoster grinned as one of his favourite sparring friends sat down next to him.
"The king has no intention of leaving tomorrow morning," Hoster Blackwood, Lord Blackwood's third son and another namesake of the late Lord Hoster Tully remarked casually. "What say you to a training match in the courtyard tomorrow after we break our fast? No good if we sit here and do naught."
Hoster, heir of Riverrun, nodded enthusiastically. Tomorrow. Every day was a day further away from Greyjoy. Maester Vyman said that time was a good healer of wounds. Perhaps he was right. Maybe all Melia needed was a few more weeks and she would be cured of her infatuation with Theon Greyjoy. Mayhaps she will recover in a month or less and be ready to play her part as a Tully.
I'll bring greatness to House Tully, Hoster vowed as he listened vaguely to the other Hoster murmur about the smallness of the Great Hall. Whether through the art of diplomacy or battle…I will make Grandfather proud. And so will Melia…the day she is draped with the Lannister cloak and the smirking face of that Greyjoy wiped completely from her mind.
It would only take time.
Sorry for the long absence...again. Life was again hectic and I'm so glad it's the holidays now :) More time for writing! I originally planned a Davos chapter, but it did not work out so I tried the Hoster POV. I enjoyed writing it and I hope you liked reading it. Next chapter will be a return to an Ashara POV.
