Sadness permeated the air of Riverrun.
The funeral of Lord Hoster Tully was held according to the oldest traditions of The Riverlands.
House Tully were the rulers of The Riverlands, and their power and life originated from the Trident River.
Therefore, a water burial symbolized the dead returning and finally merging into the lifeblood of the land.
Waves eventually return to the stream.
Lord Hoster's remains were placed on a small boat carved with the trout sigil.
His longsword and shield were placed at the bow, and the boat slowly drifted away along the tributary of the Tumblestone River.
Along the riverbank, the vassals and knights of House Tully stood solemnly, their black mourning clothes flapping in the river wind.
Edmure Tully stood at the very front.
Now that his father was dead, he was the Lord of Riverrun.
This title felt like a mountain, pressing down on him until he could barely breathe.
According to tradition, he would personally send his father off.
A squire handed him a longbow and an arrow whose fletching was soaked in oil.
Edmure took the bow and lit the arrowhead.
The flickering flame reflected in his blue eyes, the same color as Lysa's, but his gaze was empty.
His father's boat had already drifted to the center of the river.
Everyone's eyes were fixed on him.
Edmure took a deep breath and drew the bowstring.
"Whoosh—"
The arrow left the string.
It traced a wobbly arc in the air before plunging into the river water a dozen meters from the small boat, letting out a faint "sizzle"... A deadly silence fell upon the riverbank.
Everyone kept their eyes down, pretending they hadn't seen anything.
Edmure's face instantly flushed crimson.
He felt hundreds of gazes behind him pricking his back like needles.
He gritted his teeth and practically snatched the second arrow from the squire's hand.
"Little brother, don't rush."
Lysa walked over, having approached unnoticed.
She was dressed in black gauze, weeping profusely, her voice carrying the perfect mixture of concern and sorrow.
"Father is watching us from the heavens, he will understand."
The more she spoke, the more frustrated Edmure felt.
He fiercely drew the bow again, this time using all his strength.
"Whoosh—"
The arrow flew high and powerfully.
Then, it whistled over the top of his father's boat and landed on the far bank of the river.
If the first shot was a mistake, the second was pure humiliation.
A few suppressed coughs were heard from the crowd.
Edmure's head was buzzing, and he wished he could sink into the ground.
He could even feel the icy gaze of his uncle, "The Blackfish" Brynden Tully, renowned for his martial prowess, coming from nearby—a look that could freeze him solid.
"I'm just too grief-stricken, I can't control my strength."
Edmure's hand trembled as he reached for the third arrow.
"Enough."
An old and stern voice sounded behind him.
Brynden Tully couldn't bear to watch any longer, and he walked straight over.
He did not look at his nephew, merely taking the bow from his hands with an expressionless face.
The Blackfish Knight simply glanced at the direction the banners were fluttering, and without even aiming much, casually drew the bowstring.
The movement was smooth and effortless, completed in one breath.
"Whoosh!"
The flaming arrow traced a perfect arc through the air.
It landed precisely on the pile of wood in the center of the small boat.
"Fwoom—"
Flames immediately erupted, and orange-red tongues of fire greedily licked the hull.
The fire quickly engulfed the body that had carried the glory of House Tully for half a lifetime.
Black smoke curled up, rising toward the sky.
Brynden did not spare Edmure a glance, tossed the bow back to the squire, and turned to leave.
That silent contempt hurt Edmure more than any reprimand.
It is worth mentioning that Bran might have inherited his uncle Edmure's terrible archery skills.
Edmure stood rooted to the spot, watching the burning boat drift farther away, feeling utterly cold.
Nominally, he was the new Lord of Riverrun.
Yet, there was no joy in becoming a lord in his heart, only a persistent sense of confusion and doubt.
Had Father truly changed his mind?
Had he truly agreed to Lysa's insane plan before he died?
Edmure asked himself over and over again.
In his mind, his father's words repeated again and again.
"The motto of House Tully is 'Family, Duty, Honor'."
"And she possesses none of the three."
"Riverrun will not shed a single drop of blood or lose a single man for her madness!"
That decisiveness, that rage, still echoed in his ears.
How could such a drastic change have occurred in just a few days?
Edmure's gaze involuntarily fell upon the figure weeping profusely nearby.
His sister, Lysa Arryn.
She was wearing black mourning attire, her body so frail that it looked like a gust of wind could blow her over.
She leaned against her maid, crying almost to the point of fainting.
That grief looked so genuine, so heartbreaking.
It was enough to make the Seven Gods weep!
But in Edmure's heart, there was a thorn that pricked him with dull pain.
He remembered the scene he witnessed when he rushed into his father's bedchamber that day.
Lysa was draped over their father, sobbing and shouting.
And their father had already stopped breathing.
Everything happened too fast, and it was too coincidental...
The funeral ended, and the crowd dispersed.
Lysa also notified Catelyn by letter to return to Riverrun as soon as possible.
As a daughter of House Tully, Catelyn had a duty.
Whether it was her father's death or Edmure inheriting the lordship, she could not refuse to return to Riverrun.
Edmure returned alone to the study in the main keep.
This was where his father used to conduct his business.
Now, it belonged to him.
He sat in the chair his father once occupied, looking at the mountain of parchments piled on the desk, feeling an unprecedented pressure.
He didn't know if he could shoulder this heavy burden, nor was he sure if he could reclaim the authority that had been ceded to other lords during Lord Hoster's prolonged illness.
"My Lord."
Maester Vyman silently walked in.
His face carried the same sorrow and exhaustion as Edmure's.
"My condolences, My Lord."
"Maester Vyman,"
Edmure looked up.
His blue eyes, the same color as Lysa's and Catelyn's, were bloodshot and confused.
"My father... were you present when he passed?"
A complex emotion flashed in Maester Vyman's clouded eyes.
He was silent for a moment, but eventually shook his head.
"His Lordship did not call for me; he likely wished to be alone with Lady Lysa for a while."
"However..."
Maester Vyman seemed to have made a decision.
From his wide maester's robes, he pulled out a letter sealed with wax.
"His Lordship gave this letter to me the night before Lady Lysa arrived."
"He said he knew his condition, and that his time was short."
"If... if anything happened to him, he instructed me to personally hand this letter to you the moment you became the Lord of Riverrun."
Edmure's heart gave a violent lurch.
He reached out a trembling hand and took the letter.
On the envelope, his father's once strong and vigorous handwriting was gone, replaced by shaky scrawls.
He couldn't believe his father, who struggled to move, had managed to write this letter through sheer willpower.
[To my son, the rightful heir of Riverrun, Edmure Tully]
Edmure broke the wax seal and unfolded the letter.
The contents of the letter were not, as he had imagined, filled with accusations and condemnation of Lysa.
It was simply a father's final instructions to the son who was about to inherit his legacy.
[My son, by the time you read this letter, I have likely gone to meet the ancestors of Riverrun.]
[Please do not grieve for me, nor weep for me. Death is the destination of all men; I am not one of the Seven Gods, and I am no exception.]
[I know I was strict with you from a young age, which left you lacking confidence, but from the moment you read this letter, you are the Lord of Riverrun, the Protector of The Riverlands. You must and are obliged to take on all of this.]
[This burden is heavy, I know. I never showed you enough confidence, and that is my fault, a failure as a father. I always compared you to your sisters, forgetting that you are the future of House Tully.]
[Edmure, remember our motto.]
[Family. Our family is not just those of us who bear Tully blood. It is every vassal sworn to us inside and outside the walls of Riverrun, every farmer tilling our lands, every fisherman netting fish in our rivers.]
[Their safety is our safety.]
[Duty. Your duty is to protect them. Not to lead them into a war they cannot win, and not to bleed them dry for the ambition of some madwoman.]
[The Riverlands is a battleground, defenseless. We have stood for centuries not through reckless valor, but through the wisdom of assessing the situation.]
[Honor. True honor does not come from a hollow victory, but from the steadfast resolve to protect our people.]
[Do not let the banners of House Tully be stained with the blood of the innocent, and certainly not the blood of allies.]
[Lysa... she has been blinded by hatred and obsession. She is a monster driven by desire. Do not believe a single word she says, but please, be kind to her. Her life has been too bitter...]
[My son, go and be a worthy lord. Cherish your people, keep your promises. This is my final wish for you.]
[Your loving Hoster]
The letter slipped from Edmure's hand.
He sat stunned in the chair, tears silently streaming down his face.
This letter was his father's true last testament!
Everything Lysa had said was false!
Father had never agreed!
Until his death, he had opposed this mad war!
A wave of betrayed anger and belated terror instantly swept over Edmure.
Lysa... she had not only driven their father to his death, but she was also dragging the entire Riverlands to be buried with her!
That lunatic!
Edmure abruptly stood up.
He had to find Lysa; he had to expose her lies face-to-face!
He would tell everyone that Riverrun would absolutely not shed a single drop of blood for her madness!
Just as he prepared to rush out of the study, the door was gently pushed open.
Lysa walked in.
She had changed out of her mourning clothes and put on a light blue gown.
The tear stains on her face had been wiped clean.
Although still looking haggard, her blue eyes held a calmness, like the clear sky after a rain.
"Little brother."
Her voice was soft and gentle.
Just as she used to call him in the gardens of Riverrun when they were children.
All of Edmure's fury miraculously caught in his throat at that moment.
He looked at Lysa before him, at this face bound to him by blood.
For a moment, he didn't know how to speak.
"I have... thought a lot just now."
Lysa walked to the window, looking out at the ceaselessly flowing Tumblestone River.
"Father's death has sobered me."
Her voice carried a hint of self-mockery and regret.
"Perhaps... perhaps I truly was wrong."
"I shouldn't have been blinded by hatred, and I shouldn't have dragged everyone into this disaster."
Edmure was stunned.
He couldn't believe his ears.
Lysa... was she confessing?
"I just... loved Petyr too much."
Lysa turned around, looking at Edmure, and her beautiful blue eyes became watery.
"Now, I have nothing left."
"Father is gone, Petyr is gone... I only have you and little Robert left."
Her voice choked up.
"Edmure, shall we... shall we go out for a ride?"
"Just like when we were children, riding our horses along the Tumblestone River to clear our minds."
"It's too suffocating here; I can barely breathe."
She reached out her hand to Edmure, her eyes holding a trace of pleading.
"Just the two of us, alright?"
Edmure looked at her, seeing the fragility and dependence in her eyes.
The suspicion and anger in his heart began to waver at that moment.
Perhaps... his father's death had truly brought her to her senses?
Perhaps she just needed time, and the comfort of family?
After all, he was Lysa's brother, her only remaining relative in the world besides her son.
His father had also asked him to be kind to her.
If that was the case.
"Alright."
Edmure heard his own voice.
He stepped forward, took Lysa's cold hand, and the two of them walked out of the room together.
The drawbridge of Riverrun slowly lowered.
Two fine horses galloped out of the castle, one following the other.
Edmure deliberately slowed his horse to ride alongside Lysa.
The afternoon sun was warm and gentle, and the river breeze dispersed the oppressive sadness hanging over the castle.
Edmure's mood also lightened considerably.
He looked at Lysa beside him.
She rode quietly, her face devoid of hysterical madness, showing only a near-peaceful sorrow.
Maybe, everything really would get better.
Edmure firmly believed this.
After all, they were both Tullys; the family motto was etched into the bones of every Tully!
They rode through a dense forest and arrived at an open riverbank.
The water here became gentle, clear to the bottom, where they could even see colorful pebbles.
"This is the spot."
Lysa suddenly reined in her horse and dismounted.
"When we were little, you loved skipping stones here the most."
She looked at Edmure, a nostalgic smile appearing on her face.
Edmure smiled too.
He also dismounted, walked to the riverbank, and picked up a flat stone.
Mimicking his memory, he forcefully flung the stone out.
The stone skipped lightly across the water.
One, two, three, four... before finally sinking to the bottom.
"Your technique has gotten worse, little brother."
Lysa's laughter was clear like a silver bell.
Edmure laughed along with her.
That long-lost familial affection seemed to return between them.
Just then, a flurry of hoofbeats came from the woods behind them.
Edmure subconsciously turned his head.
A dozen knights wearing the blue and white armor of House Arryn charged out of the woods.
They formed a semicircle, tightly surrounding them on the riverbank.
Leading them was the Knight of the Vale, "Bronze Yohn."
The smile on Edmure's face instantly froze.
"Lysa? What is..."
He suddenly turned to look at his sister, an ominous premonition surging in his heart.
Lysa remained standing exactly where she was.
The smile on her face hadn't changed at all.
Except that the smile no longer held any warmth or nostalgia.
All that remained was a coldness and mockery that chilled Edmure to the bone.
"My foolish little brother."
Lysa slowly walked toward him, every step feeling like it was crushing his heart.
"Did you truly believe that a few tears would make me abandon my revenge for Petyr?"
"Did you truly believe I would obediently listen to that old man, waiting for Robert's executioner's blade to fall while I offered up my neck?"
Edmure's mind exploded with a loud "buzz."
She actually called their father an old man who wouldn't die?
Edmure stumbled back a step, staring incredulously at the completely unfamiliar woman before him.
"You... you were faking it all?"
"What else?"
Lysa let out a soft laugh, which was shrill and piercing like a hawk's cry.
"Did you think I truly wanted to skip stones here with a useless idiot like you?"
"Father wouldn't help me, and you wouldn't help me either."
"It doesn't matter."
Her gaze was fixed intensely on Edmure.
"Starting today, I rule Riverrun."
"Ser Andar!"
Lysa's voice suddenly rose, filled with undeniable command.
"Seize the Lord of Riverrun!"
"If he resists, kill him on the spot!"
Edmure was dumbfounded.
For the first time, he regretted not practicing his fighting skills properly.
Dear Reader,
A special 60% discount offer available Don't miss this opportunity to enjoy your favorite stories at a greatly reduced price.
The offer is available for a limited time only — grab it before it ends!
Ãdvåñçé çhàptêr àvàilàble óñ pàtreøn luffy1898