Edmure Tully
His father died. It was a hard ti, yet none of the lords seed willing to understand his position—or even to offer a shred of sympathy. He beca a great lord, but only in the eyes of his own people. The northerners, Catelyn, and the Blackfish continued only to issue orders as before. Even Lysa Arryn sent letters full of advice on what he should do, and when!
Once, in anger, his own sister Catelyn told him that his heart was too soft—and that his wits were even softer.
In the end, they simply used him to plug a hole. Robb Stark swore to marry the daughter or granddaughter of old Walder Frey, Lord of the Crossing, yet he failed to keep his oath. In his camp there was the beautiful Jeyne Westerling. She smiled at the young king a few tis, then spread her legs—and now, look, she was leading him straight to the altar. And, of course, the Young Wolf forgot all about his promises! And what are vows worth, oh Seven, when such a girl slips into your bed and already has your cock in her mouth?
"It's ti to grow up, Ed, and think not only about yourself, but about your family as well. You need to help Robb and marry one of Frey's daughters," That's what Catelyn told him then. Damn, what a tily and profound piece of advice! She should've thought three tis before letting the Kingslayer go! And Robb Stark should have used his head instead of his cock when he forgot his oath.
And so Edmure Tully had to swallow it all and marry one of those cursed Freys—people he could not stand in the slightest.
Truth be told, old Frey wasn't a complete bastard. He gave him a lovely daughter nad Roslin—a petite, very pretty girl with snow-white skin and thick chestnut hair falling to her shoulders. Her modest, shy smile struck him straight in the heart. He had no reason to curse the Seven: he fell in love with his wife at first sight and spent the entire wedding night proving it to her.
They were so carried away that they did not even hear that, at the very sa ti, the Freys were holding another wedding—one that would later be called the Red Wedding. And how could he have noticed anything at all, when such a beauty lay beside him in bed and music played beyond the wall all night long?
At the Red Wedding, all the leaders of the North were slaughtered. Edmure was left alive—as a hostage. From ti to ti, he was allowed to see his wife, and, all things considered, he was not treated too harshly.
Then disaster struck, and everything was lost. With a single treacherous and monstrous blow, Walder Frey turned the fate of the Riverlands upside down. For Edmure Tully, the war was over…
He had ample ti to think in his cell. At first, it was unbearably hard to accept that those closest to him—his family, Catelyn and Robb—were dead. Dark, vengeful thoughts consud him for the first weeks, but the thirst for revenge slowly gave way to quiet, aching grief.
Ti heals all wounds… and he often wondered how it had all co to this. Despite his sorrow for his dead sister and nephew, truly seditious thoughts sotis crept into his mind: if his kin were still alive, the Seven forbid, they would once again descend upon him with accusations that everything was his fault!
Then the Freys moved him to his own castle. They erected a gallows by the walls and dragged him there day after day, threatening him with execution. By then his hair had nearly gone gray, and the first deep lines had appeared on his face. And the Blackfish, who commanded the besieged garrison, didn't even scratch his ass. Old bastard!
After so ti, Joffrey and Jai the Kingslayer arrived at Riverrun. These n had the strength and authority to take him from the Freys and offer him a bargain. That was when he first laid eyes on the king. At the outset, that na—Joffrey—was bound in his mind to pure hatred.
But their conversation was long. Very long. And Edmure could not help wondering: why had Robb, Catelyn, the Blackfish, and all the northerners been so certain that this man was nothing but a witless fool and a heartless sadist?
Edmure felt himself being ensnared in a web of words—skillfully woven, twisting his thoughts, playing on his emotions and feelings.
Deep down, he knew that keen intellect was not his strongest trait. He also suspected that they was trying to deceive him. The worst of it was that he never saw the snare itself. Yes, the terms of peace were harsh, and yes, there were threats hidden between the lines, yet no matter how he strained his mind, the agreent itself still seed fair—reasonable, even.
Tully's own vassals had rebelled from ti to ti, and they were dealt with in much the sa fashion.
What struck him most was that, despite everything in his past, Joffrey saw him as the Great Lord of the Riverlands—a man supported not only by a thousand years of ancestors, but by the weight and dignity of one of the most powerful Houses in Westeros.
Joffrey treated him as no King in the North ever had. There was respect in his voice. And Joffrey extended his hand.
It was a cunning, treacherous, deceitful hand—a lion's paw with sharp claws. But Edmure took it and shook it.
He decided then that his ti would co. Life does not stand still. He would never forget the Freys or their Red Wedding. And if King Joffrey failed in his duties, proved worse than he tried to appear, or behaved in a manner unbefitting a king—then Edmure would know what to do.
But for now, the ravaged and desecrated Riverlands needed peace. His people needed to breathe freely again, to sleep through quiet nights and live through calm days.
(End of Chapter)
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