The training hall of Riverrun was packed to the rafters. Two distinct camps were laughing, cheering, and boasting at full steam, while Hoster and the senior lords watched the scuffle from the gallery. They looked on with the nostalgia of men who remembered their own youth, back when they were just as eager to brag about who might marry a Targaryen princess. Jaime was already in the thick of it, trading blows with Ser Desmond Grell, while Tyrion sat relegated to a corner, watching with keen, mismatched eyes.
When Edmure finally arrived, the festivities had been underway for an hour.
"Good one!" Edmure called out as Jaime deflected a tricky slash. He strolled over to join Hoster's exclusive circle with a swagger that suggested he belonged there. "The Lion truly has a fine cub. Train him for another decade, and he'll be named among the finest in Westeros."
The surrounding lords gawked. Edmure was speaking of his peers as if he were an elder statesman judging a promising youth.
"Get lost!" Hoster barked, though his annoyance lacked its usual bite. "Get down on the field. This is no place for you to stand."
"Come now, Father, why the sour mood? I'm part of your exclusive club now. I've been formalized, remember?" Edmure grinned. "Let's call ourselves 'The Group of Lords of Westeros.'"
Hoster and Brynden shared a weary sigh, but Lord Lefford laughed until his large belly wobbled. "Then allow me to invite the Young Lord Tully to share a practice session with an old man like me," the Westerman interceded, eyes twinkling.
The guards erupted in cheers as Edmure stepped onto the sands to face Lefford. Edmure stuck to his trusty sword and heater shield, while Lord Lefford chose a heavy glaive.
"Are you perhaps a connoisseur of fine Dornish blades and women, Lord Lefford?" Edmure joked, testing his footing.
"Aye," Lefford replied, spinning the long-handled polearm. "But be careful, lad—both are poisonous."
Before they could engage, Jaime Lannister rushed into the circle. "I thought young Edmure was still sleeping in the bosom of some maid! Now it seems he won't even take me seriously. Fight me first, Tully, and let's see if you can do more than talk." Jaime was used to being the center of attention, but Edmure had barely spared him a glance, nodding instead to Tyrion.
"Very well, Jaime. Lord Lefford, pardon the wait." Edmure gestured for Jaime to begin, his voice dropping into a rhythmic, melodic baritone. "Allow me to entertain you with a song."
Jaime opened with a daring, two-handed lunge. Without a shield, the move was powerful but lacked subtlety. Edmure didn't dodge; he caught the blade on the rim of his shield, redirected the force into the dirt, and returned an overhand strike while singing loudly:
"The Dornishman's wife was as fair as the sun,
And her kisses were warmer than wine.
But the Dornishman's blade was made of black steel,
And its kiss was as cold as the brine!"
Jaime was infuriated by the mockery, but the crowd roared. Lord Lefford shot a look of mock pity at Hoster. The thought of raising such a cocky bastard was a trial for any veteran, but the tavern-goers in the room recognized the song with broad grins.
Jaime regained his posture, his footwork turning solid and defensive. He drew a massive upward arc from the bottom left, aiming for the gap where a shield-arm often wavered. He followed through with a vicious sideward slash. Edmure didn't just block; he parried the first blow upward, causing Jaime to lose his center and stumble. As Jaime overextended, Edmure delivered a flat-of-the-blade smack to the boy's back, continuing the tune:
"The Dornishman's wife would sing as she bathed,
In a voice that was sweet as a bird's.
But the Dornishman's blade had a song of its own,
And a dead man has no use for words!"
The murmurs died down as Jaime stood back up. He had a look of cold defiance that earned him the respect of the older knights. He turned aggressive, unleashing a flurry of slashes at Edmure's upper body, wanting to scar the Tully's face even if it cost him a wound. Edmure remained a pillar of standard response: block, deflect, adjust, repeat. When Jaime's stamina finally faltered, Edmure stepped in, swiped Jaime's lead foot out from under him, and sang:
"As he lay on the ground with the darkness around,
And the taste of the dust on his tongue.
His brothers knelt by him and prayed him a prayer,
And he died while the falcons still sung."
As Jaime tried to scramble up, Edmure stepped on the boy's sword-hand and flicked the Lannister blade away. He leveled his own sword at Jaime's throat. Lord Lefford moved to intercede, but Brynden held him back with a firm hand. Edmure finished the last verse softly:
"Brothers, oh brothers, my days here are done,
The Dornishman's managed to kill me.
But what does it matter, for all men must die,
And I've tasted the Dornishman's wife!"
"You fought well, Jaime," Edmure said, sheathing his sword and extending a hand to pull the Lion up. "Your strength will grow, and your moves will find a deadly edge. Keep practicing, and you'll be among the best of your generation."
Jaime took the hand, breathless and humbled. Tyrion hurried over to check on his brother while Edmure turned back to the Lord of the Golden Tooth.
"You have guts, young one," Lefford said, brandishing his glaive. "Let's see if you can handle an old man. If you do, you can address me as a peer."
Edmure swapped his sword for a spear. For the next fifteen minutes, the hall was filled with the rhythmic clatter of wood on wood.
They moved with a grace that made the tassels on their weapons dance. It was a masterclass in reach and leverage. The bout finally ended in a stalemate of breath and sweat. Edmure leaned on his spear, grinning. "Now, Leo... it would be quite awkward if anyone of here ended up with a Dornish wife in the future, wouldn't it?" Hoster shot a cryptic glance at Brynden while Leo laughed with characteristic belly wobble.
[The song is 'The Dornishman's Wife'. You can find a version at here: https://gameofthrones.fandom.com/wiki/The_Dornishman%27s_Wife]