HOSTER TULLY

Day 6, 12th Moon, 275 AC

In a silent, empty chamber, Hoster knelt beside a boat. Leaning forward, he cupped Minisa's lovely face for what would be the last time. The gods' generous mercy of last night were hours that would live on in his mind. Minisa had chosen against using Sweetsleep and slipped into eternal slumber within his arms after saying goodbye to her parents. Now, she was at peace.

She rested in the boat atop carefully placed firewood and kindling, a Tully banner covering her body.

Minisa had always been a caring woman granted both wits and beauty; at his side, she'd brightened his days. The love and support his wife always gave made him lighter when forced to make difficult decisions.

The infant deaths of their first two children, each time a son, had struck Minisa so fiercely that Hoster feared for her spirit. However, without letting it destroy her, sweet Minisa mourned each babe within Hoster's hold. She'd loved all their children equally. A heart so full of kindness even he hadn't deserved.

Minisa, each time with child, weakened while she bore them. When Catelyn survived infancy, Minisa cherished their surviving girl, raising Cat by her own hand and breast. Their child brought Minisa such joy, and Hoster spoke contentment for Catelyn to be his heir. However, Minisa desired more children, a large family, and he hadn't denied her.

Determined to ensure the best health, he'd sought the maester's help, who advised time between any further children so Minisa wouldn't suffer a strain. Fresher food, Riverrun kept cleaner, and ill servants only returned once their ailments abated. Anything that could have helped her, Hoster provided.

Two years after Catelyn, Lysa was brought into the world, and again, Hoster prepared to stop. However, his wife's determination for babes remained strong. Concerned, he'd told her they'd wait before having another. Eight years later, Edmure was another hale and healthy babe, but one who lifted a weight from Minisa's shoulders. Likely her relief of a living son. Hoster had been relieved Minisa survived.

However, when she carried Edmure, Minisa had fallen prone to illnesses as usual, but the vulnerability remained after their son left her body. When her belly swelled again, within a year and unintentionally, concern grew within him. Minisa's evident struggle made him fear the worst.

Hoster had pursued the use of moon tea with Minisa's consent, but too late, for the maester deemed having the child no more dangerous than using moon tea by then. Minisa begged Hoster, no matter what, to love and nurture their babe as he'd done with their other three. And he told Minisa she needn't have asked, for their child was a part of her, and there was nothing he couldn't love of his wife.

After the second twin son, Hoster had quietly spent an hour with Minisa and the infants before their daughters individually visited the chamber; their last night with their mother but unknowing.

The final girl to see Minisa, Sansa, was an exception. When she sat down, she deduced the truth and pleaded to be mistaken. An enigma of a girl. The day she arrived at Riverrun, something within him insisted on a strong blood kinship to her, but he'd hesitated to listen until recently. Minisa, however, had done the opposite.

His precious wife opened her heart to Sansa, and by the gods, both of them blossomed with happiness. The love between Minisa and this child had been near-palpable.

Due to Sansa's almost identical likeness to Cat, he'd taken her in as a ward bearing his name. But Minisa, his sweet-hearted wife and so taken with her, asked Sansa to be more. For him to accept her as one of their daughters like Cat and Lysa; to mean it in his heart when he called Sansa 'daughter'.

Hoster had watched and waited with caution to see if the girl deserved the title of daughter; he'd needed to know if she would be a danger to his family. In his mind, he'd refrained from associating 'daughter' with 'Sansa'.

Any final doubts were swept aside by the incident with the son of Lord Baelish. Lysa treated the girl as though Sansa was to blame, but Sansa did nothing to Lysa. Sansa held no threat, which lifted his concerns. So he commissioned a necklace for the girl's nameday next year and showed Minisa. It would tell Sansa she was considered one of the family.

His sweet wife…when she saw it, there were tears of joy, and Minisa told him he would never regret the decision to make Sansa their daughter. And he had yet to. Minisa may not have carried Sansa, but there was no denying the love the two had shared and Sansa's commitment to the Tully family. Granddaughter by Cat with Brandon Stark or not, Sansa was Hoster's and Minisa's daughter.

Leaning forward, Hoster gently kissed Minisa's forehead and untied the boat. It was time.

The boat holding his sweet Minisa drifted towards the middle of the river. Hoster bowed his head and released the portcullis of the Water Gate. Taking the stairs to the ground level of Riverrun, he continued to the highest of the castle battlements.

On the left stood his daughters within Brynden's and his goodparents' arms, all donned in black. To the right, at a respectful distance, Prince Oberyn Martell, the Lannisters and Riverrun's servants watched. Everyone wore dark tones, except one child. His focus on the river, Hoster watched and waited until Minisa's little boat drifted into view.

Accepting the bow from Brynden, he nocked and then held an arrow coiled with oiled rope inside a brazier until it caught aflame.

Waiting for Minisa's boat to reach the proper distance downriver, Hoster watched a nearby flapping flag and adjusted his angle. He took aim and released. Flying true, it travelled in an arch and the boat came alight, floating down the Red Fork. "I'll protect them, my love," he whispered to it.

Bowing his head, Hoster exhaled and watched the flame of Minisa's boat travel downriver until it disappeared around the bend. He would never forget her. A hand squeezed his shoulder; Brynden nodded when he glanced to his side. They had their differences, but not here.

Hoster stared at the water. Memories of life with his sweet wife flittered across his mind. Against either side of him leaned Cat and Sansa, Lysa burrowing her head against his chest. Walter and Shella neared and stood at his back. Remaining for a time, he mourned the beloved woman who'd touched all their hearts.

Straightening up and a rub to the backs of his daughters, Hoster led Cat while Shella and Brynden respectively led Lysa and Sansa to the Great Hall. Without their guests for a moment, his daughters with Shella's help made themselves a little more presentable using chilled spoons against their eyes, all three and Shella with varying redness.

Once finished, Cat and Sansa appeared the most composed of his daughters, Lysa slightly less. Hoster took his seat, and the girls followed suit with Brynden and the Whents across from them, where they awaited the guests. A few minutes later, a handmaid led in the Lannisters and Prince Oberyn, who took their seats.

The food served had evident signs of effort. Warm but moist, tender and seasoned. The group ate in silence out of respect for Hoster's wife and the loss of a mother and daughter. Although quiet, Cersei Lannister displayed shameless, blatant boredom. Ser Kevan and Lady Genna had no relation to the woman Hoster loved but exercised decorum and regard, as did the heir.

Lady Genna followed his gaze and turned irate with the younger girl. The Whents and Sansa's eyes stared hard at Cersei Lannister, but his daughter returned to her meal with no reaction while Shella and Walter glared as they ate.

Sansa always brought questions to his mind. An observant girl with control over her emotions when a situation demands it. However, she had a heart; she'd suppressed her pain and focused on Minisa in those final hours until her mother coaxed her to release her grief.

The sombre meal ended, and his daughters left with their uncle and grandparents. Prince Oberyn made a quiet exit while Lady Genna hastily took her niece out by the ear. The rest of the Lannisters flushed at the sight as they made to find quiet entertainment. For the rest of the day, the prince and the Lannisters were to give relative silence so his family could mourn.

In Minisa's bedchamber, Hoster sat in silence. With each child, Minisa marvelled at them here after the birthing chamber. He'd sat beside her and ran his fingers through her brushed hair and over the softness of the babe's skin while they rested. Their babe within her arms had always brought a smile to his face. A scene of peace. If only there was a portrait of one of those days.

Rising, Hoster left and approached Oswell's and Joseth's nursery to hold them. His and Minisa's youngest sons. The guards' purpose at the door against illnesses was mostly a pretence because the world was not a kind place. His most trusted men protected his sons from kidnapping or worse.

Hoster wouldn't lose the last children brought into this world by his wife. The idea tore at his heart and would've grieved Minisa if it happened.

Reaching the nursery, the standing guards bowed their heads, and he dismissed them for a reprieve. Hoster paused by the open door. Soft voices of two children came from within. Sansa, his mysterious daughter, and the Lannister heir, Jaime Lannister. On a seat by the door meant for the guards, Hoster used a window's reflection that featured the nursery and who was inside.

Hands resting on the cradle, Sansa looked at her brothers with a soft expression. "My mother truly fought to bring my brothers into the world," she sadly said. "Mother was so happy when she held them."

The Lannister boy had an empathetic expression and turned to her. "I'm sorry, Sansa. I wouldn't know how my mother felt about Tyrion. No one ever told me. I don't think they will or just don't know."

Sansa's face turned thoughtful, and she thumbed the rim of Joseth's cradle, lips quirked wryly, but it disappeared just as quickly. She gazed upon her brothers and faced the boy of nine. "I was told something once," she whispered. "That you have no choice but to love your children."

The heir met her eyes with a tinge of longing. "Was that only mothers, or fathers too?"

Jaime Lannister's expression hinted at something more. It was no secret Lord Tywin loathed his second son, Tyrion, an unfortunate babe with disfigurement. Lord Tywin was one of, if not the coldest men from his life of rebellions and embarrassments. The suggested extent of coldness by Lord Tywin towards his golden son surprised Hoster.

Sansa's eyes returned to the infants and her face melancholy. "Mothers," she said. "I was told by a mother in Harrenhal, but I imagine the same applies to fathers too." She'd never been to Minisa's girlhood home, or his goodfather would have mentioned it, but Sansa's opinion had a genuine voice.

A quiet scoff made Hoster focus on Jaime Lannister, who looked disbelieving.

Calm despite the reaction, Sansa remained patient. And an air of confidence. "You doubt me," she said, unsurprised. "What reason makes you doubt my words?"

The boy turned away. "Father," he said and nothing for a moment. "He's so busy as Hand that I wonder if he knows he is our father."

His middle daughter walked around until she stood beside Jaime Lannister on the other side of the cradles. "Did he spend any time with you and your sister?" she said, eyes bright and watchful. "I'm not a fool to ask about Tyrion."

Hoster nodded to her words although he sat alone. His daughter was quick to catch onto the behavioural traits of her company. She had an unusual and swift tendency to understand the nuances of certain people but needed extended time concerning others. Once she understood a person, it required a substantial difference of opinion for a dispute, a rare occurrence.

"He does," Jaime Lannister stiffly said and took a breath. "But not like a father. Not really. Just lordship lessons." The heir looked down at Hoster's sons, resting his arms on the cradle's frame. The boy's expression turned hesitant. "Do you blame the twins?"

Hoster stiffened. Sansa blaming her brothers would clash with her behaviour and Minisa's words. Once their daughter had forced herself to leave the childbed chamber, Minisa told him their daughter loved them already.

"For Lady Tully's death?" Jaime Lannister added.

With a trace of upset, Sansa's attention settled on the heir. She blinked and answered him with a question of her own. "Does a child choose the outcome when they're brought into the world?"

"I don't think so," the heir said with conviction.

His daughter gave Jaime a look of approval, but it vanished quickly. Lifting her fingers to the necklace he and Minisa gifted her last night, Sansa grew quiet, her eyes downcast when she took a breath. After a moment, she continued the conversation. "Every mother knows there's a risk when their belly swells with child."

Relief grew on Jaime Lannister's face. "So, will you love them anyway?"

Sansa looked up. "Do you love Tyrion?"

"He's my brother. Of course, I do," he whispered with indignation.

She smiled at him, eyes soft when she gazed at her brothers but turned back to face the heir. "And I love Oswell and Joseth as much as I loved Mother and my memories of her." Picking up Joseth, Sansa cradled the babe in her arms with care and faced Jaime Lannister. "Every child is innocent," she told him, tracing the cheek of Joseth with a light touch.

Gazing at the babe in his daughter's arms, the Lannister heir approached the window and turned back to Sansa. "If only Cersei believed that. She blames Tyrion for my mother's death." Turning away, the boy looked at something unseen. "Father hates him."

Sansa had no expression of surprise upon hearing this. "Cersei," she uttered for a moment before straightening up. "I believe Cersei blames him because his body is different. She wants something to blame her pain upon, so she blames his disfigurement." She put Joseth down and lifted Oswell, delivering a kiss to the babe's forehead. "Lord Tywin is not a man I believe to be a lackwit. He wouldn't have his reputation if he was."

The heir met her eyes, and his own held an unsaid question. "Father's no fool, but what are you suggesting?" he asked her uncertainly, watching her.

Licking her lips, his girl went to the heir and met the boy's eyes. "Mayhaps he cared for Lady Joanna to a point he needs to redirect the pain to cope, so he directs it at Tyrion," she guessed. "Don't take my word as fact though. I could be wrong. We've never met."

The Lannister shook his head at her. "You and my sister are both girls. But you don't hate your brothers. Why?"

"Between Cersei and I, the difference could be I acknowledge the boys had no control over what happened," his daughter said, stroking the sleeping babe in her arms. Closing her eyes for a moment, Sansa looked grieved and inhaled but looked back at the boy. "Accepting someone's death is difficult and painful; mayhaps Cersei has not."

"Ugh, I have," he groaned, running a hand over one side of his face. "Girls are confusing," he said, sounding ready to sit down and give up. Instead of taking the comment as an insult, his daughter smiled at Jaime with mild amusement.

Rocking the babe in her arms, she placed Oswell in the cradle. "We're all very different, I'm afraid, Jaime."

"I know. That's what's confusing."

Her lips quirked, and Sansa ran her fingers along the edge of the cradle. "Some are impulsive. Some are patient. Some are thoughtful. Some hold a grudge. And some make exceptions," she said and looked up with a smile. "There are others, but that's merely a few examples."

The heir rolled his eyes and leaned against the wall. "It's already a long list."

"The possibilities are endless," she teased from beside the cradles.

Jaime Lannister held his hands up in mock surrender. "You seem to have an answer for anything," he replied with a shake of his head. "Are you the Crone in disguise?"

That captured Hoster's interest. What other questions could she have answered for him already?

Sansa mayhaps used her wit to help Jaime Lannister in one thing or another. Unless the boy was commenting on her conclusion about his family. They were valid possibilities. A child of one-and-ten rarely had such insight as his daughter.

"No, Jaime, I promise you I am not." When the boy continued to look at her, she explained further. "I'm just a girl who watches people so I understand why they do and say certain things."

Jaime Lannister nodded and came to the other side of the cradles with a severe expression. "So you will always love your brothers?"

Sansa looked down from her side, but Hoster couldn't see her face. "No matter what, I know I will," she said, voice bleeding with certainty.

"That's good." The heir relaxed his shoulders.

She came around to Jaime's side. "You feared otherwise, didn't you?"

Contrite, Jamie fiddled with the cradle frame. Hesitant, he met her eyes. "No offence, Sansa, but yes. Cersei blames Tyrion; I thought you might become the same," he said, gazing at Sansa but his fingers restless.

"Never," she said. Looking into the cradles, Sansa whispered, and Hoster strained to hear. "I'd give my life for them if need be."

In his seat, Hoster took a breath and prayed it would never come to such a thing with any of his children. He'd already lost his wife; should Sansa die, it would leave a pain as though it was Cat or Lysa. She was family. To not care about Sansa after the love between Minisa and Sansa was impossible; they'd loved each other unconditionally, and Hoster had stopped resisting the pull of kinship. She was his daughter, semantics be damned.

"Sorry."

In the reflection, his daughter shook her head. "There's no need to apologise. What else were you to think? Cersei's the only other example you've seen, isn't she?"

He nodded. "It's why I want to become a knight; what Cersei does to Tyrion. 'Defend the weak. Protect the innocent.'" A bit uncomfortable, Jaime Lannister turned for the door, and Hoster made quick work of reaching his solar and holding the door half open as though leaving it. "Thanks for showing me the twins, Sansa. I best go to my chambers or something."

"You're welcome. I'll see you on the morrow."

It wasn't long before the heir was out of the nursery and heading off down the hall, appearing to have missed Hoster's presence altogether.

As an adult, Hoster rarely eavesdropped. However, the line of conversation had drawn him in. His daughter seemed well beyond her years for such an unusual topic. A topic good friends would share, not guests who arrived that morning. A curiously good rapport built so quickly.

What could have brought enough interest or ease between them to discuss something of such sensitivity?

He had to admit the similarity in the loss of their mothers. Yet to share thoughts on the subject surprised Hoster, for boys often held an interest in only matters such as arms training, lordships, and knighthood instead of talking about a tragedy.

Entering the nursery to hold his sons, he found Sansa standing over the cradles and gazing at her sleeping brothers. Her attention turned to Hoster, and Tully eyes greeted him. "Sansa?" he murmured, coming to her side.

"Father," she said softly. "Today was difficult on all of us. Is there anything I can do to help?"

He placed an arm on her shoulder with tentative care and gave a weak smile in reply. "I saw how much your last moment with your mother affected you, Sansa. You matter no less than your sisters. I see so much of your mother in you, Sansa. You have her heart."

Her eyes widened with tears threatening to escape. "Thank you, Father. I'm…thank you."

Bringing her into a slow hug, Hoster rested her head against his chest and shushed her. She gripped his doublet and quietly cried. Gaze on the heartbroken girl, the necklace that overjoyed Minisa brushed against his fingers.

Farewell, sweet wife.