The Riverlands – 267 A.C. / 1862 A.D.
The rushing waters of the Tumblestone felt cool against her bare ankles as she took in the woodlands around her.
It had been nearly three moons passed since Minisa Tully had fought her battle on the birthing bed. The sight of her babe, a daughter she had christened Lysa, was worth the hours of agony and pain. She had given her lord husband two healthy children, but she knew that her duty was not yet done. Her two children, Catelyn and Lysa, were daughters. And until she had given birth to a son, her duty would be incomplete.
House Tully needed an heir, and despite the love she held in her heart for her two daughters, she knew that that love was not guaranteed to them by the world. A son. A son was needed to keep House Tully's legacy secure. A son, a brother who would serve as guardian to her two daughters.
She nearly scoffed at the notion.
While she knew that any son she may have would grow to be noble and honorable, and would be raised to fight to the death if needs be for the protection of his sisters, she knew it to be just as wrong.
It was the duty of the eldest to protect the youngest, whether or not they were born with a cock. If anything, it ought to be her daughters who would grow to protect their younger brother.
Maiden above, I'm getting ahead of myself.
The sweet song of the bluebirds was enough to bring her back to the world around her. It had been far too long since she managed to enjoy the countryside. Her only ire was that she could not do it alone as she used to as a child.
"My lady! It's nearly midday, and Lord Hoster will be concerned if you're absent for luncheon!" One of her handmaidens called out to her.
"My husband loves me enough to wait should I be late for luncheon!" She called back.
"But, my lady – "
"Oh, alright!" She called back, rolling her eyes at her handmaidens' hysterics. "If only for the sake of your peace of mind, Emyly."
"It's not just my peace of mind, I'm worried about." Her voice shook as she looked around her warily. "There could be thieves and brigands in these woods."
"There aren't any brigands in these woods." She reassured her handmaiden as she put her boots back on. "Besides, even if there were, I think we should be more than safe from their kind."
Minisa dried her legs and put her riding boots back on before she climbed onto her saddle and rode up alongside Emyly, with her personal guard of ten horsemen, each armed with lance and shield and clad in full mail armor, following closely behind. She knew her husband had something of a protective streak, so she wasn't surprised when she insisted on her daily rides through the country that she be escorted always by a detachment of personal guards. When she conceded however, she expected to have two or maybe even four guards serve as escort. She did not expect ten of them.
At least I need not doubt my husband's devotion to my safety.
As they rode down the main path along the Tumblestone toward Riverrun, she could not help but feel amused thinking of how the smallfolk must have viewed their party. Twelve riders traversing the woods, bearing the standard of House Tully, all riding with vigor to the great keep that sat amidst the waters of the Red Fork. She imagined the smallfolk envisioning them as akin to the great host of Lady Agnes Blackwood during the Harwyn Hoare's invasion of the Riverlands, despite her knowing that that probably wasn't the case.
As they neared the castle, she was struck by the sight of manifold ravens coming and going from the maester's tower, all in a westward direction.
Something is happening…
Crossing the lowered drawbridge, riding under the raised portcullis, and into the keep, she noted the nervous energy that seemed to permeate throughout everyone in the castle, from the captain of the guards to the lowest stablehand. Dismounting, she was approached by her husband, Lord Hoster Tully. With piercing blue eyes, light brown hair, and a broad form, he had been the epitome of every maiden's fantasy.
"Minnie," He greeted her with a kiss, "Did you have a nice ride?"
"It was lovely." She responded. "I've never known the Tumblestone to glitter as it did under the midday sun."
"Oh? I'll have to join you the next time you go out riding." He proffered, as they walked across the courtyard. "We can make a picnic of it."
"Oh, that would be lovely Hoster." She smiled brightly at her husband. "We can bring the girls and make a lovely day of it. Speaking of which, I have to check on them first."
"Of course, of course." He smiled fondly at her before she began walking in the direction of the nursery.
Greeting the milkmaid as she entered, she spied her eldest daughter, Catelyn, fast asleep in her little bed. Walking to the cot on the other side of the room, she looked down to see her littlest babe Lysa fussing slightly, her face lighting up as she caught sight of her mother.
"I already fed her, milday. But she couldn't be put to nap." The milkmaid said from where she stood.
"That's because she wanted to see her mother before she could nap, didn't you my sweetling." Minisa smiled at her newborn before lifting her up from the cot and rocking her gently.
She carried on for a few more minutes until the babe let out a small yawn, much to Minisa's amusement. She wondered faintly if the babe would take after her in the coloring of her hair, given that Catelyn's wisps of red were already beginning to show. With little Lysa's eyes finally closed, she placed the babe back down in the cot before thanking the milkmaid and walking back to her room to change out of her riding clothes.
Wearing a modest turquoise dress, Minisa began her walk down to the Great Hall. Upon entering, she noticed her husband had a series of messages lined around on one side of where he sat. He was perusing through them with the same tense energy that she had seen in the keep upon returning from her morning ride.
"My love, what did I say about bringing work to the dinner table?" She scolded in a playful tone.
"I know, dear, but this is important." He answered, setting the papers aside as the servants arrived with their luncheon. "How are the girls?"
"They're fine." She replied. "I suspect that I may be Lysa's favorite."
"Oh? What makes you say that?"
"The milkmaid says that I'm the only one who can get her to nap." She smiled coyly at her husband. "What do you say to that, my dear husband?"
"That, conversely, it could just as easily mean that you're the only person capable of boring her to sleep."
"Oh, so I'm boring now, am I?" She playfully teased, giving a light smack on his arm.
"Unendingly dull." He shot back with a sly smile of his own. "After all, you still wouldn't let me do that thing you promised you'd let me do…"
"Gods, Hoster! Do we have to discuss this now?" She admonished him, a thick blush on her face. "The maester said that we are not to participate in such activities until I am fully recovered from the birth."
"You're well enough to go riding!" He shot back with a grin, his hand sneaking its way to hers. "Surely you're recovered enough?"
"Why are you so insistent on this?" She asked, her blush setting at the thought of what he wanted to do to her.
"Because I love you," He answered as he looked in her eyes, his voice calm and assuring. "And I want you to feel just as good when we couple."
Minisa shivered at what her husband was offering. Growing up in Harrenhal, she had always retained the lessons she was taught by her septa. Discipline, chastity, and devotion were the principles she held close to her heart until the gods saw fit to grant her a husband. And while she was not as devout as she had been in her youth, some of the more liberal activities her husband had suggested in the bedroom had managed to shock her. She wondered faintly if her husband's experience in the Stepstones had cultivated this hidden desire for carnal pleasures.
"We will talk about this another time, after I have talked to the maester." She insisted pointedly.
Hoster laughed softly, nodding to her. "Very well, Minnie. But don't think I'm going to forget."
Minisa merely rolled her eyes at her husband. She knew Hoster loved her just as she loved him, and that neither one would stray from the other. But why he had to bring up such lewd conversation while they were eating, and in front of the servants no less, was something beyond her comprehension.
The rest of their luncheon was filled with a comfortable silence and as they finished, she turned to her husband once more and inquired on the messages that were set aside on the table.
"They're messages to the coastal lords, mainly Lord Mallister of Seagard."
"Why are you sending messages to the coastal lords?"
A look of worry briefly flashed across her husband's face, disappearing as quickly as it appeared. "There are… rumors, that the Ironborn are amassing ships."
"How many ships?"
"Some say, nearly two hundred."
Minisa was surprised. She knew that the Ironborn had a habit of raiding the towns and villages along the western coast, but never had she heard of such a force of them amassing since the last Blackfyre rebellion. "Surely, they don't mean to attack us?"
Hoster sighed as he looked at her, concern in his eyes. "I don't know for sure. All I can do at the moment is send alerts to the coastal lords and prepare for any surprises those bloody bastards may spring on us."
Minisa nodded absently at her husband's words. There wasn't much they could do now other than wait and stand vigilant. But surely, they wouldn't dare to strike at the mainland. Her lessons with the Maester Amyn when she was a child resurfaced in her mind. She had learned that her family's seat had been built by an Ironborn king, Harren the Black. But Aegon the Conqueror and his dragons had seen to the Ironborn's destruction and exile back to the Iron Islands.
Quellon Greyjoy was the Lord of Pyke and was, by all the stories told of him, unlike most of the Ironborn. Apperntly he had a penchant for reading and rumors held that he had brought a maester to Pyke. Quellon the Wise, he was called by some of the smallfolk. A man like that wouldn't dare to run the risk of invading the Riverlands.
If another Ironborn invasion were to happen, surely the king would send aid…
Her thoughts were broken by her husband's hands on hers. "It's alright, Minnie. We don't even know if they plan to strike us. They could just as easily b readying to attack the Westerlands or the North. Everything that can be done, is already being done. And I promise that whatever happens, I will keep you and the children safe."
Minisa smiled and placed a quick kiss on her husband's cheek. As he left to continue his duties for the day, she tried to push the news of the Ironborn out of her mind. While she loved Hoster and trusted him, she couldn't help but feel like this was just a small part of all the odd goings on that had started since the end of last winter.
When news came from King's Landing that a foreign delegation hailing from a strange isle that had appeared up in the waters up North was arriving to meet with the king, she didn't know what to think. The stories coming from King's Landing told of how the foreigners had caused quite a stir when they arrived in three large black ships, all as black as the Blackwater Bay, without sails.
The stories spoke of odd men dressed entirely in blue, strange explosions being heard in the training grounds of the Red Keep, and of the king's endearing attitude toward the mysterious foreigners.
And just as mysteriously they had appeared, they had left suddenly with little warning. According to Emyly, she heard from her cousin who was one of the Queen's handmaidens that apparently a rebellion had erupted in their homeland and they needed as many available ships to aid in suppressing it.
Whatever the reason, the foreigners had left and no news of them had appeared since. Minisa, while not as religious as she was once, wondered if all these events were a sign from the gods. But a sign of what? Their pleasure or their discontent?
She sighed as she down in her solar with her handmaidens and continued working on her stitching for little Lysa.
In the years since the end of the last Blackfyre rebellion, Hoster Tully had never fully envisioned himself taking his father's seat as Lord Paramount.
He had always been something of a wayward spirit. While he wasn't one to disavow his house's words of Family, Duty, Honor, he always found it difficult to affect the same energy and guile he had for travel to those lofty concepts that were emblazoned in the minds of every Tully heir. His love of travel, more than anything else, was the main reason he had answered the Iron Throne's call to aid in subduing the traitor Maelys Blackfyre.
But when his father died, the realities of being the Heir to Riverrun came crashing down on him. He had thought, initially, that he would buckle under the weight of responsibility that came with being the Lord Paramount of the Trident. But it wasn't until his wife had told him that she was pregnant that he found the strength to shoulder that burden.
By all regards, he considered Minisa Whent to be more than he could have ever deserved. With bright red hair and high cheekbones, he was overwhelmed by how quickly she had captured his heart. As a daughter of House Whent, she had proven to be well adept at running a large household being more than familiar with the stresses that came with such a task. Her beauty, as far as he was concerned, was outmatched by any in the realm. And such beauty, he held to himself, should be treated with devotion just second to the Seven.
So, when he wed Minisa Whent, now Minisa Tully, he vowed unto himself to treat her as if she were the Maiden incarnate. He had never taken a lover before her and would take no other after her. Hoster's heart lay solely in Minisa's hands and whether or not she returned such devotion, he swore that he would love her all the same.
And by the mercy of the gods, she returned such devotion.
He enjoyed watching her squirm and moan in pleasure underneath him, as he continued his movements with his fingers and tongue. He had heard of such carnal delights during his travels but having never taken a lover he did not know if such an act could truly please a woman.
By his wife's affronted tone of voice when he first brought up his desire to try the act, he half-considered reneging his offer entirely. She eventually accepted, much to his surprise, but she acted as if she would not enjoy it.
"Oh… gods…" She shivered as he lapped at her folds. "H- Hoster…"
He smiled as he continued to delve his tongue into her, savoring her juices. When she eventually peaked with a drawn-out moan that turned into a silent cry, he gave out a heavy breath before kissing her on the lips.
He softly laughed to himself as they both lied down on the bed, their arms wrapped around each other and their legs tangled together.
"What's so amusing." She asked, her words leaning toward teasing rather than offended.
"Nothing, nothing." He waived off, before succumbing to her disbelieving expression. "It's just… I had thought that you wouldn't enjoy this."
Peering up at him curiously, she asked, "And why's that?"
"It's just that you were so hesitant to accept, and I didn't want… I didn't want to force you to do something like that if you didn't want to."
Smiling softly at his attempts to explain his insecurities, she brought her hand up and began to stroke his cheek softly. "Hoster, we've been wed for three years. I think you of all people should be able to tell by now when I approve or disapprove."
She scooted closer to him, the tips of their noses touching lightly. "And of that, I wholeheartedly approve."
He smiled again before leaning closer to kiss her. Another long night, I guess.
The following morning was filled with the hustle and bustle that came with life in the Riverlands. All the pleasure and ecstasy of the previous night seemed to be a distant memory as he worked through all the reports and managing and tariffs that flowed in and out of his office and into his personal records.
Sitting right in the middle of the Seven Kingdoms, his holdings sat on the intersection between the Neck, the Vale, the Westerlands, and the Crownlands. Trade was constant and with the added fact of being one of the most fertile regions in the realm, he found himself wrapped up in more paperwork than he had ever known in his life.
As frustrating as it could be sometimes, he found himself diligently working through the reports of his tax collectors with the same fervor he recalled his father having. He now understood how it felt to be in his father's position, working ceaselessly through the night with facts and figures going through his head, fueled by the care and want of providing the very best for his family.
Having finished the daily reports, he walked with Maester Kym over to his solar to see what messages needed to be seen and to be sent.
"… Oh, yes. And a raven from the capital arrived just this morning."
"News? What about?"
"Well, it would appear that the stories about the foreign delegation that had arrived earlier this year are substantiated." The maester answered, as he sifted through the stack of messages. "According to this, they've returned."
He was handed the message which still had its wax seal attached bearing the three-headed dragon of the royal family.
To all the Great Houses of the Seven Kingdoms
An official delegation from a kingdom known only as 'The United States of America' has arrived to establish official relations between our two realms. Given the strange circumstances that have led to their arrival, they are unfamiliar to our kingdom and have expressed a desire to meet with representatives from every corner of the kingdom.
As such, I, King Aerys II, order each of the Lord Paramounts to send a trusted representative to the court so that these foreigners may meet the best the Seven Kingdoms has to offer and see our unity in full.
Signed,
King Aerys Targaryen, Second of his Name, King of the Andals, the Rhoynar, and the First Men, Lord of the Seven Kingdoms, and Protector of the Realm.
Looking back up to the maester with a befuddled look on his face, he asked, "What in the seven hells is this supposed to mean?"
"Well, my lord, dare I say, I think that the message is quite straightforward." The maester answered.
"Straightforward? You expect me to believe this? That anyone will believe this?"
The maester raised his hands slightly, "I know that this may be difficult to believe, my lord – "
"Difficult?!"
" – but, this would give credence to the rumors surrounding the black ships that appeared in the capital the year prior."
"Yes, those damned ships." He growled out. "I have traveled to just about every port and city lining the Narrow Sea, and you should know just as well as I, that there is no such kingdom called 'America'."
"Unless perhaps they hail from the lands beyond the Bone Mountains."
"If they were why, then, would they send an official envoy?" He asked. "Surely the goings on in Westeros are of little consequence to them?"
"You raise a fair point, my lord, but the fact still remains that a royal summons has been decreed." He stressed pointedly, tapping at the message. "We must send representatives to the capitol."
Hoster could do little but sigh. He knew that to disobey a royal decree would mean nothing short of death.
"Alright, say that everything that the king has declared is true. Who do we send?"
"Given the unpredictable nature of the situation," The maester started, "it should be someone who is not only unwaveringly loyal, but skilled enough in both the art of negotiation and combat should events turn out to be less than favorable."
Hoster scoffed slightly. While he wasn't so paranoid as to think that all of his bannermen were despotic traitors, he would be hard pressed to find someone of quality who was imbued with all of the aforementioned traits. And even if there was someone amongst his bannermen who imbued such traits, they could just easily be among the coastal lords watching for an Ironborn attack.
Unwavering loyalty with skills in negotiation and a matching ferocity in combat? Ha! I ask who should represent the Riverlands, and he would demand no less than Aemon the Dragonknight!
Unless…
Opening the door, he turned to the closest guard on post. "You! Send for my brother."
To say that Ser Brynden Tully found himself bewildered by the chain of events that led him here, would be nothing short of an understatement.
Given the falling out that he had with his brother regarding Lady Bethany Redwyne, he had not expected to be issued a charge so important as the one he had been given. Still, he supposed that it was damn good improvement over having to train coastal levies up near Seagard. When his brother summoned him that night to tell him that he would be going to the capital, he half feared instead that Hoster would send him off to aid in the Freys' defense.
The last thing I need is having to stave off that ol'bugger Walder and his daughters.
After nearly three days of hard riding, they finally arrived at the Trident. Usually, he would just cut across the country to Harrenhal, then south on the Ki ngsroad, but ever since the last Blackfyre pretender had been slain, the smaller roads throughout Riverrun were said to be infested by broken men. At his brother's insistence, he and his half-score retinue had instead rode along the Red Fork until they reached the Trident, and from there down the Kingsroad to the capital.
Stopping at Harroway's town, he and his men sought shelter for the night at the local inn.
"Milord." A serving girl greeted him and his retinue with a small smile. "We have a room available should you need it.
"My men will be needing rooms as well." He nodded toward the guards behind him.
"I'll talk to the innkeeper." She nodded. "Shall I get you a drink, milord?"
"Ale." He answered before she walked off to the counter. Looking around the inn, he noticed that while there were a quite few patrons, there weren't as many as there ought to have been for a crossroad's town like Harroway. Taking a seat with his men, he thanked the serving girl for the ale and sipped quietly. Amidst the scattered chattering of the manifold travelers, his ear picked up an interesting conversation behind him.
"You were in the capital?"
"Aye."
"So, are the rumors true then? About the Bluecoats?"
"I can't say if they're all true, but I tells you this much: I ain't never seen a ship as large as theirs." There was a pause punctuated by a quick belch. "Bigger than those swan ships those Summer Islanders 'ave."
"Bigger?!"
"Aye, and the soldiers they brought with 'em…" There was another brief pause. "… I tells you Norwyn, I ain't never seen a group of fightin' men so organized. Hells, they could put them Golden Company boys to shame."
"Is it true they don't wear armor?"
"Aye."
"They don't sound all that dangerous."
A small laugh emanated from the other man. "Oh, just you wait, boy. Just you wait."
Their conversation then shifted toward another topic, and Brynden stopped paying attention. His men's hearty conversation working with his ale to drown out the sounds of the inn, he mused briefly on what he had overheard. Rumors had trickled down from the Vale and the North about these men in blue coats, but even when the stories of their appearance in King's Landing cropped up, he never gave much credence to them. When one of his Minisa's handmaidens had started talking about them one day during their daily rides along the Tumblestone, he had thought them to be utterly preposterous. If he were to believe the handmaiden's words, he would think these foreigners as no less than the return of the Valyrians.
The serving girl's return shook him out of his reverie as she smiled warmly to him. "Can I get you more ale, milord? Or something to eat?"
"Of course." He held out his tankard. "Do you have kidney pie?"
"We do, milord."
"That alright with you lads?" He asked his men, who all nodded in turn.
"Alright." She nodded as she poured them more ale. "Eleven kidney pies. I'll get those to you as soon as I can."
He nodded his thanks to her, and continued drinking. For the rest of the night, thoughts of what would be awaiting him in the capital swirled through his head.
Rested and well supplied, with a good night's sleep renewing his energy, he and his guards continued on the Kingsroad. Their ride was relatively uneventful, the only notable hallmarks being when he encountered travelers coming up from King's Landing. He noted with interest how all of the stories seemed to be more and more unified, their commonality withstanding the often-inconsistent nature of gossip.
After twelve days of riding, Brynden and his retinue rode down the last stretch of the Kingsroad before the capital, he mused briefly at the charge he was given by his older brother. Representing not just House Tully, but all the Riverlands in these negotiations was a great honor, yet he couldn't shake away the feeling that there was something off about the king's summons. This was not the first time a foreign envoy sought to forge a connection with the Seven Kingdoms. He recalled the delegation sent from the Summer Isles to the court of Jaehaerys II on the eve of the Blackfyre Rebellion. But the whispered rumors about these black ships only added another level of confusion that was already plaguing his mind.
With the odious sea air that he recognized as the capital permeated through the summer heat, he and his retinue crested the last hill before finally seeing their destination. King's Landing was as he remembered it: a cesspit of the foulest order. To his left, he could see the dark waters of Blackwater Bay. Floating on the wayside, away from the heavy traffic of ships sailing out of the city's harbor, he spotted three large shadows as black as the water below them.
These must be the… 'Americans'.
As he trotted his horse up to the Dragon Gate, he spotted royal banners just a way's off. A greeting party. Riding up to them, he saw the sight of Lord Owen Merryweather, who he had encountered at the Stepstones. He remembered thinking very little of the Lord of Longtable.
"In the name of King Aerys II, greetings!"
"Lord Merryweather," He acknowledged plainly.
"My Lord of Tully." The portly man smiled brightly. "I come on behalf of the Hand of the King, Lord Tywin Lannister to welcome you to the capital."
"Send Lord Tywin my thanks." Brynden answered roughly. "Now then, my lord, shall we?"
If the Reachman was offput by the less than eloquent greeting, he did not show it. "Oh, yes of course. Right this way."
"You must be awfully curious about the foreign delegation." Lord Owen stated, breaking the silence of the moment.
"I must admit, I am." Brynden responded. "We've been hearing queer tales from travelers as we made our way down the Kingsroad. It was difficult to tell if they were nothing more than gossip."
"Bah!" The fat lord shook his head in contempt. "I would not trust the words of the smallfolk regarding affairs as delicate as this. All will be explained once you are settled, my lord. I can promise you that."
"Very well." He nodded. "But perhaps you may do me a kindness and answer this question. If this isn't the first time these… 'Americans' have visited the capital, why are they sending another delegation?"
"I should not think that it would be a danger to answer your question, so I will." The Lord of Longtable smiled in that odd way all men seemed to in the capital. "The Americans' did send a delegation last year, but before any true diplomacy could begin, a message arrived from their world. Apparently, their kingdom had descended into civil war and so their king called for the delegation's immediate return, presumably so their ships may aid in their war effort."
"A civil war?" His brow furrowed at the notion. "We've received no news of any such conflict in the Free Cities. Surely we would have heard news of such an event."
"My dear Ser Brynden, you'll find that events surrounding the Americans are a lot more complicated than you'll ever expect." He laughed heartily, leaving Brynden to dwell in his confusion as the party approached the Dragon Gate.
With a nod to one of the Goldcloaks, the gates were opened.
Ser Brynden steeled himself, keeping his family's words to heart as he readied himself for whatever may come.
Family, Duty, Honor.
"That on the first day of January in the year of our Lord, one thousand eight hundred and sixty-three, all persons held as slaves within any State, or designated part of a State, the people whereof shall then be in rebellion against the United States shall be then, thenceforward, and forever free; and the executive government of the United States, including the military and naval authority thereof, will recognize and maintain the freedom of such persons, and will do no act or acts to repress such persons, or any of them, in any efforts they may make for their actual freedom."
Sorry for the late update. I've been busy the last month and I try to stay ahead of what I have posted with what I have written, so that means falling behind sometimes.
I wasn't planning on including Ser Brynden Tully's POV in this story at all, but with the way this chapter was flowing, it felt natural to end the Tully's perspective with the Blackfish.
Next up, the Stormlands...