"I have seen him," Lord Hoster said slowly, his aged eyes fixed on the young man before him. "I saw the King in his youth. You resemble him greatly—perhaps even more fearless, more reckless… and just as green as spring grass. King Robert led Eddard Stark to raise the banners of rebellion, and Lord Jon convinced me to support his cause."
His gaze lingered on Gendry's face, studying every feature.
When news first reached Riverrun that a relieving force was marching toward them, Lord Hoster had expected banners of House Stark or House Arryn. He had imagined grey direwolves or the falcon and crescent moon rising above the Riverlands.
Instead, the man standing before him bore none of the red hair of House Tully.
He was tall, broad-shouldered, with the ancestral black hair and piercing blue eyes of House Baratheon. Draped over his armor was a golden cloak embroidered with a quartered sigil: the crowned stag, the three-headed dragon, the direwolf, and the broken chains of a freed slave. Resting beside him was a horned greathelm that seemed almost alive, catching the sunlight like tongues of flame—like the Field of Fire reborn.
Gendry met the old lord's gaze calmly.
From Hoster's measured tone and cautious words, Gendry could tell the man was no fool. He was a veteran player in the game of thrones, quick to assess the shifting winds. The moment he realized that neither Stark nor Arryn banners had come to his aid, Hoster had begun calculating anew.
In truth, Hoster's past "persuasion" to join Robert's Rebellion had been nothing more than an exchange of interests. He had seen that the Mad King was beyond salvation and had swiftly abandoned ship. And for Lysa Tully—deflowered, disgraced, and having suffered a miscarriage—to marry a great lord like Jon Arryn had been an astonishing stroke of political maneuvering.
"The King is dead," Gendry said plainly. "He died in a Lannister trap—gored by a wild boar after drinking too much wine."
Lord Hoster inclined his head slightly. "The King… perhaps you would call him father. The late King, Your Highness. Whether you were close or not, for the sake of supreme power, one must sometimes put on a show."
Gendry nodded once. "The gift the late King gave me, I will repay."
He spoke evenly. He could perform the necessary gestures, but deep affection was difficult to summon for a man he had never truly known—a father absent for more than a decade of his life. Revenge would suffice as repayment.
"As long as appearances are maintained," Hoster murmured, satisfied.
His eyes drifted to the quartered sigil again.
"These banners of yours… I recognize some."
"You should," Gendry replied.
"I do. The stag and the dragon most of all. I once bent the knee for them and fought in their name. Now, I will bend the knee for you."
Hoster's voice grew heavy.
"Too much blood has soaked this land. Wars are fought by lords, but it is the common folk who suffer. I have heard of what has happened in the Riverlands—fires, massacres, fields burned to ash. The Lannisters have ravaged castles, lands, and people alike. I have failed them as their liege lord."
His voice softened into something close to regret.
"If it is within your power, protect them. The people and the land are the foundation of the realm."
"I will," Gendry said simply.
Hoster hesitated, then added, "Harming children is not the way of a knight. What Tywin did… I am ashamed. If you ever see that Targaryen girl—Daenerys, yes?—please offer my apology. I had my own difficulties. I was greedy… and afraid. The Mad King had already killed my son-in-law. Would he not burn me next?"
Gendry understood the unspoken truth.
The execution of Rickard and Brandon Stark had terrified every great lord in Westeros. If a king could burn a lord paramount and his heir alive, then none were safe. Hoster had chosen survival—and advancement.
"Back then, I sought to increase my family's power," Hoster admitted. "I thought myself fortunate that a renowned lord like Jon Arryn would marry Lysa. I knew he wanted my army. Still, it elevated House Tully."
"The past is like flowing water, Lord Hoster," Gendry replied. "King Robert is dead. Lord Jon is dead. We cannot return to what was."
Hoster closed his eyes briefly.
"In my mind, the King is still young—tall and handsome, wearing a stag's helm, wielding a warhammer, riding like a horned god across the Trident. His laughter echoed like thunder. His blue eyes were like mountain lakes."
A faint tremor entered his voice.
"I thought the new dynasty would bring lasting peace. Yet here we are—war again. And the King dies beneath a boar."
"Marriage brought misfortune to him," Gendry said bluntly. "He never truly wanted to be King. Authority slipped into Lannister hands. Lord Jon meant well, but both marriages he arranged ended in disaster. He was poisoned by Lysa. The King was destroyed by Cersei."
"Marriage…" Hoster murmured bitterly. "It can elevate a house—or doom it."
He straightened slightly.
"I once thought my alliances would secure Tully's rise. When I married, House Harroway was the wealthiest of my bannermen. Later, the curse of Harrenhal swallowed them. As for my daughters…"
His voice trailed off.
"The Riverlands lie at the heart of the continent," Gendry said. "When wars erupt, they bleed first. No alliance can change geography."
Hoster gave a thin smile. "Perhaps you are right."
After a long pause, he said, "I am willing to pledge the Riverlands to you. You have not yet been crowned. Why not do so now?"
"I am in no hurry," Gendry replied. "Recognition matters more than ceremony."
He studied the old lord carefully.
"Before that, there are two matters you must hear. One is ill news. The other may comfort you."
Hoster stiffened. "Speak."
"The first concerns Jon Arryn's death. It was not natural."
The old lord's breath caught.
"Lord Jon discovered evidence of a Lannister scandal. He intended to send his heir, Robert Arryn, to Dragonstone. Petyr Baelish persuaded Lysa to pour the Tears of Lys into Jon's wine."
For a moment, Hoster said nothing. Then his entire body trembled.
"No… no…"
"I warned you so you would not be blindsided," Gendry continued evenly. "Littlefinger will soon fall into my hands. Lysa remains in the Eyrie. The truth will surface."
Hoster's face drained of color.
"I urged Jon to rid himself of Petyr long ago," he rasped. "Send him to war, to some distant post—anywhere. But Jon spoke of honor."
"Honor has its limits," Gendry said quietly.
"If this is true… the Vale will demand blood," Hoster whispered. "House Tully will be stained by this."
"Truth cannot be buried forever."
"Bring her to Riverrun," Hoster pleaded weakly. "Let me see her before…"
Gendry did not answer.
"The crimes are grave," he said at last. "Poisoning the Hand of the King. Kinslaying in spirit if not in name. Defiance of the realm. There will be judgment."
Hoster sagged.
"And Robert?"
"He remains Jon's heir. But his health is fragile. A more stable arrangement may be required."
Hoster nodded faintly. "He is small… sickly. The gods are cruel."
"Lysa is no longer my daughter," he said at last, a trace of steel returning to his voice. "House Tully must survive."
Gendry inclined his head.
"I will summon Edmure and Tytos. I will put my will in writing before witnesses. Catelyn and Edmure love too fiercely. They must hear it from me."
"That would be wise," Gendry agreed.
He paused.
"There is another matter—good news, perhaps."
Hoster looked up warily.
"House Frey."
A shadow crossed the old lord's face.
"I do not trust them," Gendry continued. "They delayed. They weigh every side before committing."
"Are you planning to act against them?" Hoster asked sharply.
"I have secured their communications. The Lannister mercenaries have surrendered. Routed men must find new masters."
Understanding dawned slowly in Hoster's eyes.
"You intend to set wolf against weasel."
"House Frey has already defied its liege lord's summons," Gendry said evenly. "Disloyalty invites consequences."
Hoster inhaled deeply.
"If the Freys fall due to their own ambition… then Riverrun's honor remains clean."
He looked at Gendry with renewed calculation.
"You play a dangerous game, Your Grace."
Gendry's gaze was steady.
"No more dangerous than the one already in motion."
Outside, the banners stirred in the wind—the stag, the dragon, the wolf, and the broken chains fluttering together above the Riverlands.
Truth had been spoken.
Now came the choice.
Advance Chapters avilable on patreon (Obito_uchiha)