There was great bustling to the Great Hall that morning. Lord Stannis Baratheon, one of the king's brothers, had returned from Dragonstone – and with prisoners! Before the servants could place his breakfast of bread, cheese and fresh salmon onto the table, the Lord of Riverrun had already dressed and headed to the Great Hall, more eager to bear witness there than eat breakfast alone in his chambers.
When the herald announced him, he noticed Lord Jon Arryn and a pride of Lannisters were already there. Catelyn was nowhere in sight. Hoster approached his good-son. "My Lord Arryn," he said with a nod. "You are here early."
"You heard the news Lord Tully?"
"Lord Stannis has returned?" Lord Arryn confirmed it with a worried nod. "Where is my daughter? She should be at your side."
"The king…he rages against Targaryens," Lord Arryn said delicately. "His rage can be strong at times and may even resort to bloodshed. I do not want Lady Catelyn to see it. It may frighten her."
Hoster nodded. "Will you return to the Eyrie soon?"
"Not as soon as I would like to. There's much to do here to consolidate King Robert's place and keep peace. There is still the matter of Dorne to settle. Even with dragons, the Targaryens could not subdue Dorne. The king has no dragons. I fear Dorne will raise a rebellion eventually. It must be stopped."
A few brown-haired Tyrells slipped into the Great Hall. They lingered quietly near the back. They will creep closer as time goes by. That was what Tyrells did. Creep closer and closer to power like creeping roses. "What of the Reach? They too may not love our king. Perhaps the Reach and Dorne will finally end hostilities."
Lord Arryn shook his head. "The Reach can be pacified – especially with the oaf Lord Mace Tyrell as the Lord of Highgarden. He has young sons and an unmarried sister."
Hoster frowned and lowered his voice. "Do you intend to offer good marriages? Must I remind you, Lord Arryn, that victorious allies are rewarded with grand matches, lands and power, not traitors?"
"There is this saying, Lord Tully. Keep your friends close and your enemies closer. It is clever is it not? I heard it the other day from Ser Lyn Corbray." Hoster stared at him in confusion. Was Jon Arryn growing senile? "I have no intention of rewarding Tyrells," Jon Arryn went on. "As I said before, Mace Tyrell is an oaf. Say we foster his children…he'll think it an honour." He smiled at Hoster who nodded thoughtfully. A clever plan to more or less ensure House Tyrell's obedience.
"Do you plan to foster all three Tyrell lads?"
Lord Arryn shuddered. "By the Seven no! One perhaps, but not all three!" He looked a little hesitant. "I may be asking too much, Lord Tully, but your heir Ser Edmure, needs a wife. Perhaps…?"
No, Hoster wanted to say at once. I will not have my only son wedded to the sister of a traitor. Was Mace Tyrell a traitor though? It was a war and the Targaryens thought the Baratheons, Arryns and Tullys were traitors too. Unease lurked in his stomach. Tullys usually married sons and daughters of their bannermen as Tyrells, Lannisters, Greyjoys and Martells did. Catelyn and Lysa's marriages were for wartime alliances – would his River lords be offended if Edmure was wedded to a daughter of a Great House? Yes. Ever since Catelyn was born, his River lords flocked to Riverrun. Brackens, Blackwoods, Darrys, Butterwells, Hawicks, Lychesters, Mallisters, Mootons, Pipers, Vances of Atranta and Wayfarer's Rest, Rygers and Freys only being a few – some carried marriage proposals from their fathers, elder brothers or uncles, lords offered their sons and daughters while others (notoriously, the Freys) declared themselves suitors for Catelyn and Lysa. Every time Minisa birthed him a child, Freys would arrive the very next day, always suggesting betrothals…even when Minisa died giving birth to that stillborn son. Hoster darkened.
"Lord Tully?"
"Forgive me," said Hoster quietly. "I was lost in my…thoughts."
"Quite understandable my lord." Lord Arryn looked at him expectedly.
"Who is this girl?" There was no harm making a simple inquiry.
"Lady Mina Tyrell, Lord Tully. She is Mace's youngest sister and is a maid of eighteen. Very pretty I hear, clever too. Her sister Janna had married Lord Mace's best friend and their cousin Paxter Redwyne, Lord of the Arbor."
"Lord Mace married a Reach lady yes?"
Lord Arryn nodded. "Lady Alerie of House Hightower."
A connection to the Tyrells of the Reach would be excellent for the Riverlands. With the North and the Vale as allies already…an alliance with the neighbouring Westerlands would be more than preferable, but the marriage agreements between Lannisters and Tullys often never fall through. Tywin Lannister, the Old Lion of Casterly Rock, refused to have his daughter Cersei wed to Edmure; Hoster would never recognise the Lannister imp as a prospective good-son when Catelyn and Lysa were unmarried. His daughters deserved a 'whole man', not a twisted dwarf who, if the Old Lion had his way, would not even inherit Casterly Rock.
Hmm…the Tyrells would have to do.
"Perhaps marriage will settle Edmure down," Hoster decided. "Yes, and a lady a year or two his elder will help greatly. Mina Tyrell eh? What if that fool brother of hers plans to wed her to the king?"
"I will not allow that to happen, Lord Tully. Besides, the Tyrells are in no position to ask the king to marry Lady Mina."
"Quite true," Hoster conceded.
"Shall I make inquiries on your behalf, Lord Tully? Mace Tyrell may be more inclined to agree to the match if the King's Hand suggests it."
Hoster nodded. "That is kind of you my lord."
"With the king and Lord Tyrell's consent, I plan to foster Lord Tyrell's heir, Willas. He is a boy of seven and many of my lord bannermen have sons around his age. I wonder if you will take in a ward too, Lord Tully? Riverrun is an excellent place to raise children I believe." He looked at him hopefully.
"No," said Hoster with more venom than he intended. "I will not take in another ward again. Ever." His fingers curled into fists and he shook with rage and strangely, sadness. He once had a ward, a small and clever boy whose weapons were his wit rather than a sword or bow. He would have gone far…if he had not disgraced himself so terribly. Once the only man able to anger Hoster to such an extent was his stubborn brother Brynden; now even the thought of his former ward infuriated him.
"My apologies Lord Tully."
More courtiers flooded into the Great Hall, excitement and apprehension written all over their faces. King Robert walked in, guffawing at a jape uttered by one of the lords of the Crownlands. It seemed he had already made new friends. Still laughing, he slapped the lord on the shoulder and climbed up the dais and sat down on the Iron Throne. The lords and ladies quietened and waited eagerly for announcements.
"Lord Stannis of House Baratheon!" the herald announced, reigniting the enthusiastic chatter. The great oak-and-bronze doors were pushed open once more and a number of men streamed in, a tall man in Baratheon colours at the front and Estermont men at the back. The Estermonts and Baratheons are cousins, Hoster remembered. They must be at the back to guard the prisoners; they were not sent there as a slight. His sharp gaze had returned to the front of the line. Only a Baratheon could be a large man with tall stature, broad shoulders, dark blue eyes and a heavy brow. Stannis Baratheon. Hoster had never met the middle Baratheon brother. While King Robert's cheeks were ruddy and smiled often, Stannis's face had a tightness to it like cured leather, and he had hollowed cheeks and thin, pale lips, no doubt due to living on the brink of starvation during the siege of Storm's End. Even now in his grand moment of victory, Stannis Baratheon bore a rather grim expression with no ounce of joy or triumph.
It was difficult to believe he was younger than the king.
The courtiers' chatter rose when they spotted the boy in chains. Hoster too gasped a little. Walking with his head held high and his wrists in chains was a Targaryen. The last Targaryen alive. The boy could not be older than seven; with a hard, gaunt face, he had looked a little older. His silver-blond hair fell fell limply over his lilac eyes that gleamed with fury. His small, petulant mouth was in a tight frown.
"Your Grace," Lord Stannis spoke quietly. "Dragonstone is yours and I bring the last remaining Targaryen men of the Dragonstone garrison as well as Viserys Targaryen, the younger son of the Mad King."
A broad smile appeared on the king's face. "Dragonspawn," he snarled. "The last of it, eh Stannis? Well done. Where is his bitch mother? I was looking forward to fucking her before I have her head cut off."
While some lords and ladies tittered softly, Stannis remained stoic and unsmiling. "I am afraid to say that she escaped," he informed the king calmly. "I was told that she was aided by Ser Willem Darry, four other Targaryen loyalists and a nurse. If we're lucky, the storm would have caught her. However, I have sent our cousins Ser Alyn and Ser Aemon Estermont with two galleys of the royal fleet to sail speedily to the Braavosian coast to capture the dowager queen if she happened to elude to storm."
To Hoster's surprise, the king did not rage or bellow angrily. He remained in his seat and said gruffly, "Very good, Brother. I received your raven earlier. An Estermont as castellan of Dragonstone eh?" He nodded approvingly. "Excellent choice."
"Usurper!" the boy screamed, pointing a thin finger at the king. "Usurper!"
One of the Vale knights drew his sword instantly. "He speaks treason," he declared at once. "Your Grace, allow me the honour of lopping off his head." Executing a child – even a horrible child – did not sit well with Hoster. He deplored killing in general, but killing men in a war was necessary. Killing children…he repressed a shudder. It was a barbaric act he hoped never to witness. The king seemed to be in deep thought. "Have him taken to the black cells," he ordered at last. "Perhaps a few nights there will whip this piece of dragonspawn into place."
"You will not have him executed, Your Grace?" spoke Lord Lannister, visibly displeased. "He is a pretender to your throne, Your Grace."
"Let him rot there for a night or two," King Robert growled. "Rhaegar Targaryen had killed my Lyanna! He let her die alone in some damned tower in bloody Dorne!" Hoster curled his fingers into a fist. If he had only agreed to the possibility of Lady Lyanna Stark dying! Catelyn would be queen in her place. The other lords and ladies began to murmur and whisper amongst themselves. Lady Lyanna is dead…the king needs a wife. Why not my own daughter or sister? Hoster shook his head slightly. He caught sight of Lord Arryn closing his eyes with a sigh.
The king raised his voice. "The small council and I will discuss the boy's fate in a few hours' time! That will be all! Remove the dragonspawn into a black cell! Now!"
Viserys Targaryens was dragged out screeching and the king waited for the court to settle down. Hoster smiled slightly. The king was about to announce the members of his small council. With Ned Stark absent, there was high chance he would take his place as the new Master of Laws.
"For his utmost loyalty and aid in securing Dragonstone and capturing the last of the dragonspawn, I name my brother Stannis Baratheon the Lord of Storm's End," the king declared, "he'll also have a place in my small council as Master of Ships." Was it just part of Hoster's imagination that Stannis's pale, thin lips curved into a small smile? "Stannis will also be Lord Protector of Dragonstone until our brother Lord Renly is of age to take up the duties of the Lord of Dragonstone," King Robert continued. "I've also elected to forgive House Connington for their role in siding with the dragonspawn. Ser Ronald Connington will keep his lands on the condition nine tenths of them are given to up to the crown. Ser Ronald will further lose the lordship of Griffin's Roost but will be the first Knight of Griffin's Roost instead.
"Grand Maester Pycelle will remain in the small council as will Lord Varys who will maintain his position as the Master of Whisperers. Despite fighting on the side of House Targaryen, Ser Barristan Selmy will retain a place in my Kingsguard and will be the Lord Commander. For those of you who do not know, I have appointed Jon Arryn, Lord of the Eyrie to be my Hand and as Lord Stark is in mourning, I have decided to choose Hoster Tully, Lord of Riverrun, to be my Master of Laws." Hoster bowed his head in thanks. He had already planned to cleanse King's Landing of corruption. "For my Master of the Coin, I have elected to pick Ser Kevan Lannister for that position." Hoster hid a smile. The king was not japing when he said he would put a Lannister in that office. He noticed a small smile on Lord Baratheon's slightly grim expression. Was he pleased no Reach lord was appointed a place in the small council?
The Tyrells will be your in-laws if Jon Arryn succeeds in brokering the match between Edmure and Lady Mina, Hoster told himself silently. He wondered if his son would be at all taken with this Lady Mina Tyrell. How will my bannermen feel? He suspected a great deal of unhappy words would be chorused at Riverrun by a dozen affronted lords, half of whom would no doubt be odious Freys.
Hoster's uneasy thoughts were interrupted when his brother Brynden appeared with a serious expression. That is not a good sign. "Brynden," said Hoster stiffly. "Do you wish for us to quarrel in front of the king's court?"
"It is not my intention to quarrel," Brynden retorted.
"What is it then?"
"The king wants me in his Kingsguard."
Hoster's blue eyes brightened considerably. House Tully was rising higher than ever now. What a piece of good luck it was to side with the Baratheons, Arryns and Starks in the war. "You deserve that honour," he pointed out. "You're a worthy knight – one of the finest throughout the Seven Kingdoms. I'd be astounded if you weren't offered a position in the Kingsguard. Have you accepted yet?"
"No," said Brynden quietly. "I refused the honour."
The memories of their loud squabbles reappeared in his mind. After hours of arguing, either him or Brynden would storm out in a fit of rage, cursing under his breath. They'd tried to resist quarrelling in front of the children – the one matter they had both agreed on was the importance of raising the children in a happy environment. "You are japing," Hoster insisted. "You must be japing."
Brynden shook his head. By the Seven! He was still as stubborn as a mule as he was a few months ago. "He smiled when the murdered Targaryen children were presented to him," he murmured softly. "He is a good warrior, aye, but a king? We do not know what sort of king he is. The Mad King…he had the finest Kingsguard – Ser Barristan the Bold, Ser Jaime Lannister, Prince Lewyn Martell, Ser Oswell Whent, the Sword of the Morning, Ser Jonothor Darry, the White Bull…the greatest set of knights in the realm. How many of them are alive today, Hoster? Ser Barristan and that Lannister who deserves a black cloak of the Night's Watch rather than the white of the Kingsguard. The finest knights all died in a war the king they sworn to protect, began.
"Our present king…he may be better than the Mad King, but what if there happens to be another rebellion in the future? What if it is our House and those of Catelyn and Lysa launch a war against the Baratheons? I will be forced to fight against you, Lords Arryn and Stark, their families and perhaps even Edmure. I will be a kinslayer on the orders of the king." Brynden sounded bitter. "That I can never accept."
Anger rose up in Hoster. "It is an honour to be a knight of the Kingsguard, Brynden. A prestigious honour! You refuse to marry and now you reject the honour the king heaped upon you! He handpicked you to be part of his Kingsguard, Brynden. Handpicked. First Bethany Redwyne and now this! Why, Brynden? Why?"
To avoid another scene, Hoster gestured for his obstinate brother to follow him out of the Great Hall. "Do you wish to disgrace our family?" Hoster hissed furiously. "I heard that singers had began to sing about your refusal to marry Bethany Redwyne. Is it your purpose to ruin the good name of our House?"
"Family, Duty, Honour, Hoster. For the sake of our family, I turned down the honour of serving in the bloody Kingsguard. Has your obsession with our family legacy changed you so much? I see you are now more Tywin Lannister than the brother I once knew. Do you not think it would be better if I return to Riverrun and help Edmure understand his duties as the heir of Riverrun."
"You are running away," said Hoster bitterly. "Shirking away from your duty as you always do. Utter craven."
"Craven am I?" Brynden leant closer. "I am doing what is best for our family. What of you? You married Cat off to a man old enough to be her father! By the Seven! Jon Arryn is even older than you!"
"He is a good man, Brynden. It is a good match."
"I do not understand you, Hoster. For years, you pestered me to find a wife and have children. If you are so concerned that Edmure will die with no sons, ending House Tully, why do you not marry yourself? Pick a fertile bride perhaps. I will not marry when you want me to or who you want me to wed nor will I join the Kingsguard and be obliged to call the bloody Kingslayer my sworn brother. As Master of Laws, you'll be stuck in this snake pit for years to come. I will return to Riverrun. Edmure needs to end his wenching days and take his responsibilities more seriously."
"So be it," muttered Hoster, visibly shaking with anger. "Go! Go back to Riverrun like a coward running from duty. You will always be the black goat of House Tully."
Brynden gave him a wry smile which only incensed Hoster more. "Blackfish," he said more quietly and calmly. His tattered cloak, fastened by an obsidian clasp in the shape of a blackfish, swirled around him as he stalked out. Blackfish.
Needing to cool down quickly before his first small council meeting, Hoster headed to Catelyn's rooms to visit his Arryn grandson. Playing with little Robert always mellowed his mood. Hoster smiled as he recalled the day he received the letter from Edmure that informed him both Catelyn and Lysa were with child. Months later, Catelyn gave birth to a healthy baby boy, Lysa a few days after. Thinking about his younger daughter worried him greatly – even now.
Was it wrong of Hoster not to tell Lord Stark that Lysa was no maiden? Would some consider him sly when he neglected to inform Lord Stark that Lysa had lost her virginity and was impregnated by his former ward Petyr Baelish? Was it cruel of him to force his daughter to drink moon tea to abort the bastard forming in her womb and send the boy back to his insignificant holdings somewhere in the Vale in disgrace?
"Cat, you'll wed Lord Jon Arryn; Lysa, you'll marry Eddard Stark of Winterfell." Would it have been better if Lysa married Lord Arryn instead? At least in that case, he would've been able to keep a close eye on her at court. No, Hoster thought darkly. It's much better that Lysa wedded Lord Stark. It is better she remains hidden in the cold North; my dear Lysa will not be able to survive the harshness of court.
Hoster watched two servants carry bags and furniture from Catelyn's chambers. She was to move to the Tower of the Hand shortly. He entered and smiled when he spotted his daughter and grandson sitting by a window. "Father," said Catelyn warmly, noticing him at once. "I thought you would be at a meeting with Jon today."
Jon. Catelyn calls her husband Jon already. "Later in the afternoon little Cat," Hoster replied. "I thought I would come and pay the little lord Robert a visit." He leant down to examine the babe's tiny fingers more closely as Catelyn bounced him on her knee. Little Robert gurgled happily. He reached out and pulled Hoster's auburn beard with interest. Hoster laughed and tickled him on the chin. Little Robert squealed delightedly, kicking his strong legs in the air. "He will be a robust boy, eh?" Hoster chuckled, picking him up from Catelyn's knee. "You and Jon are lucky to have such a healthy boy. I suspect he will have a bright future when he grows up." Little Robert pulled his beard again and giggled, his bright blue eyes sparkling with pleasure.
"I hope little Robert will soon have a baby brother or sister," said Catelyn, glancing at her flat stomach hopefully. So soon? Alarm shrieked in Hoster's head. Minisa had fallen pregnant so quickly and was greatly weakened by it during her last pregnancy. "I am not with child now," Catelyn assured him swiftly. Hoster sighed with relief. "King's Landing is no place for a child," he said tentatively. "The unhealthy air…the stench…would it not be better for little Robert to grow in a healthier climate?"
Catelyn nodded in agreement. "I will speak to Jon," she promised. "Our son's health is imperative. I wish little Robert can grow up in peace at Riverrun, but he is the heir of the Eyrie and the Vale lords will take offense if he is not raised there."
"Speak to Jon," Hoster affirmed. "If he agrees little Robert needs a brief respite or two at Riverrun, I will be most delighted." He chuckled again as little Robert lost interest in his beard and turned his attention to the silver fish brooch that clasped his blue and red cloak together. Little Robert prodded it with interest and tilted his head like a bird as he looked quizzically at it.
Children are the light of the world, Hoster thought as he reluctantly handed the baby back to Catelyn. Their innocent smiles, happy eyes, contagious giggles…children are the true gems of the world.
I always intended for Robert to give Stannis Storm's End - Stannis is one of my favourite characters after all :) I kind of based the scene with Hoster and his grandson on my own father with his baby great-niece (coincidently she is ten months old today). Robert marrying a Redwyne or Hightower will definitely bring benefits. I'm aiming for Robert to marry a Reach lady - probably a Hightower or a Florent, but a Redwyne would bring great benefits... Anyway, next chapter is another Ned chapter and it's followed by the first Lysa chapter :)
