Riverrun
Edmure woke from his slumber, though he would have preferred to sleep away a century or two. He chuckled at the thought that his stats might actually allow him to hibernate for a few decades at the least. But the memory of his meeting with Lord Grell kept hammering at his heart. He had to throw himself into work, lest his brain notice the ache.
"Father, how about I hear the petitions from now on?" Edmure broached the topic at the dinner table. Seeing him energetic again, the others sighed with relief. Only Hoster and Elaena knew something was off. Elaena had witnessed the crash firsthand, and Hoster was too paranoid to dismiss the incident as an accident. He had interrogated everyone and pieced together a picture: something had happened in the Godswood, and the only other person present had been Lord Grell. Had Edmure not shown up for the meal, Hoster would have questioned the venerable old man. Things might have turned ugly, but Hoster would never hesitate when danger lurked so close to his family.
"No, spare the smallfolk," Brynden said, unaware of the tension. He remembered his nephew's way of handling justice—if it could even be called that. "You're a good fighter and a better craftsman, but you still haven't grasped the why of ruling. In ninety-nine cases, you might follow the laws and customs expertly and deliver a judgment agreed upon by all. But the remaining one will be catastrophic. For other nobles, it's no big deal; everyone sees it as a simple lapse. But you... you are far too self-righteous and self-sufficient. You would stick to your opinion to the bitter end. That is a recipe for disaster—maybe not for you personally, but for the wider world. Instead, why don't you train the men or take on some other task? I'm sure Vyman can help you with some pet projects." Brynden spoke with a clarity regarding the world's interests while completely ignoring the already burdened Maester Vyman's silent plea to reduce his workload.
Soon the meal ended, and Edmure walked away with Elaena and Elia. "Elaena, where are the women I rescued from Stoney Sept? Have they married, or are they living in some quarters?"
"None dared to marry them, your message was pretty clear the last time. All are living near the castle. And you didn't rescue them; you simply did what you thought was right." Princess Elia noted the details; she could see from the way Elaena carried herself that she had dabbled in the oldest profession known to mankind. Sensing Elia's thoughts, Elaena stopped suddenly and turned her neck unnaturally backward, as if her spine did not exist.
"That was a rebellious phase. You'll understand if you ever have a mother like mine." With that, she snapped her neck back to normal, leaving Elia jolted and entirely unsure if the sight had even been real. Elia seemed to hear Elaena's thoughts, though they were not carried by sound—as if Elaena could enter her mind whenever she wished.
"Lead me to their place. I want to see if they can be taught to work with woolen textiles. It's time to put the merchandise from that Myrish merchant to good use. Elaena, you take the lead on this. In two months, I hope that at least the women from our demesne are working on something easier than farming. For the next two or three years, the men in their families might be called away for extended periods of war. I don't want them to starve without an able workforce at home. I want everyone to know that even in such times, the families in the Tully heartland do not have to worry about survival." Edmure kept talking about his plan, missing the two women maneuvering for power just behind his back. Elia had fired the first shot yesterday using her political acumen; Elaena was responding in kind with her supernatural abilities.
For the entire afternoon, Vyman was made to work to the bone arranging the logistics for this venture. Edmure initially couldn't get used to the stench of raw wool, preferring linen, cotton, or silk. He motioned for Desmond to interrogate the expert he had brought from the capital with some zeal. Soon, the Norvoshi traitor spilled the secrets of removing scents and promised to hold nothing back.
"Ah, time well spent among beautiful women. It truly soothes both mind and soul..." Edmure was about to continue when Elia smacked him on the head. "Ah! Don't hit me there, or I'll become stupid. Then everyone will laugh at you for having such a husband."
"Then why don't I just break your legs? That way you'll be a cripple and I can have an affair with a stableboy," Elia retorted in a fury, seemingly adjusting to her fate of marrying this idiot.
"Haha! The joke's on you. I am the stableboy at this castle. If you don't believe me, ask anyone around," Edmure mocked.
"Child, that is not something to brag about," Elaena said, shaking her head. She feared the fever yesterday had truly turned the boy into an idiot. She might as well start a fight with her mother for breaking her toy.
"Okay, okay," Edmure waved his hands dismissively, stopping for a moment to listen to the grunts of men training hard. He knew that no amount of antics would delay the inevitable. His mood turned sour. Shaking his head, he walked toward the arena. "Ladies, if you'll excuse me, I have important business to handle. See you at dinner."
When Edmure arrived, he saw Lord Grell fighting Brynden. He could see that the old man was overexerting himself. If this continued, he would collapse within a month, let alone in battle. He decided to tend to the man's health, even if it meant preparing for his teacher's sacrifice. He threw everything else out of his mind and entered the arena. "Uncle, you train the knights. From tomorrow, I'll participate in your drills as a junior member. Then I will train my men-at-arms and work on armors for all the knights. Now, let me spar with my teacher."
"Don't get too tired, child. Fate is on our side. The West has started its preparations with great fanfare. Lord Lannister intends to make an example of us; this is no secret. Because of this, everyone is anticipating a cage fight, so we can prepare without restriction for the next few months. By the time the West is ready to attack, our rebellion will already be underway, with our allies beginning to trickle in. Even if we don't perform perfectly, others will pick up our slack. At worst, in the final settlements, we'll have to cede some eastern vassals. But with your growth, within a decade, all will bow to us anyway." Unlike Hoster, Brynden did not take politics that seriously. As long as the family was safe, he was willing to take the extra burden onto his own shoulders instead of whipping everyone into a frenzy.
Edmure gave no response, simply watching the teacher who was determined to die. "Catch your breath, old man. We'll fight your way. I hope you'll give me pointers—even if time is waiting for neither of us. For that is the way of the world."
"Haha! That is true. I heard you're a master craftsman. Can you make something sweet for me? I last enjoyed the taste many decades ago, and now I feel oddly reminiscent. Truly, time waits for no one." Lord Grell spoke in a seemingly cheerful tone, but Desmond felt something off. 'I should check on the old man', he thought.