The feast was in full swing, but unlike the rowdy energy of the training field, the atmosphere at the high table was one of measured observation. Edmure now sat with the Lannister boys. He pointedly asked the servants to pay attention to Tyrion's favorites; otherwise, the dwarf would have been treated as a mere foil.
Tyrion, yet to become a master of the witty mask, was the first to flinch. "Why pretend to be the gracious host now?" he asked, his bitterness cutting through the clatter of silverware. "You showed your disdain plainly on the field. Are we Lannisters merely puppets in your little show?"
The people nearby began paying attention secretly, pretending to continue their meals while straining to hear.
"Not at all," Edmure replied smoothly. "What happens on the field stays there. We nobles may be friends in private, yet we are fated to one day meet and kill each other's kin in battle. As for acting—our entire lives are a performance. Tell me, young Lannister, what is the most valuable possession a noble can hold?"
"Wealth and bannermen," Tyrion answered instinctively. "Family and skill at arms," Jaime added.
"Well, those are important, but not the most important," Edmure countered. "Power is. But one cannot see or touch power. So, how do you ensure you truly possess it?"
Brynden shook his head, drowning his exasperation in a fresh glass of wine. He knew his nephew's habit of lecturing all too well. Tyrion, however, rose to the bait. "Aren't wealth and men the very measures of that power?
"They are the results of power, not the source," Edmure said, raising his voice so the table could hear. "The source is legitimacy. Without it, why are we sitting here feasting while millions toil in the mud to feed us?"
Brynden simply kept the entire wine pitcher close.
"Because we are nobles," Jaime interjected, his logic as straightforward as a sword thrust. "Our families have always ruled. Our skill is the proof of our blood."
"Plenty of noble families with better pedigrees have died out," Edmure remarked. "House Hoare once ruled these lands before my family. Accidents make a mockery of skill. But society has to function, so they conjure some legitimacy criterion. In the Free City of Volantis, it is pure blood and votes. In Westeros, it is lineage, customs, and law. Then comes the question: how to gain legitimacy?" Edmure paused, looking at his uncle who was drowning himself in wine as if his lover were marrying someone else.
"We simply act as is expected of us," Edmure continued. "Both the expectations of our peers and of the people below."
Tyrion's bitterness faded, replaced by a sharp curiosity. "Then how does one act if he is... unworthy? Is there a way to bluff the world?"
Jaime looked at his brother with pity, paying close attention to see if this Tully brat had a solution.
"In Westeros? It is hard or simple depending on who you are," Edmure explained. "You first need to look competant while fighting. Not beautiful, and you don't even have to win. But your peers should agree it was a good fight. Being able to defeat a couple of peasants is the baseline expectation. Everyone has to achieve at least that. From there, it is your choice."
Edmure looked at the head of the table. "Some, like my father, have great diplomatic skills. Our vassal houses, the Brackens and Blackwoods, were about to tear each other apart a few years ago, but Father cooled them down. Some are extremely capable statesmen, like your father. Lord Tywin has definitely outdone his own sire in ruling the Westerlands."
Edmure's evaluation drew nods from those listening.
"If someone has talent in other areas," Tyrion muttered, "will he ever be treated normally?"
Jaime was about to butt in, but Edmure continued first.
"You have the mind your father was blessed with, Tyrion," Edmure said. "But remember: for a noble, hidden talent counts for nothing. Everything we do must be visible, pompous, and presentable. For you specifically... it is hard."
Jaime erupted. "That's enough! If you have a problem with us, then come at me. Leave my brother alone."
"I mean no insult," Edmure said, raising a hand in peace. "I am fond of your brother; his mind is a fascinating thing. I'm simply saying that if I were in your position, Tyrion, I would buckle up for some unique challenges."
"That a bookshelf doesn't come in my size? What else? Let me think of more dwarf jokes," Tyrion returned with a venomous jab.
"Just keep a servant; we're nobles," Edmure said, disregarding the sarcasm. "Train physically—not to be a knight, but to ensure you can defend yourself against a common thug. Then, keep your armor up. Assume the world wants to stab you, and don't keep obvious weaknesses like friends or lovers. Those who fear your father will strike at them instead."
"So I should stay in some hut for the rest of my life? Oh, this is a new one," Tyrion mocked. "What a novel way to insult a dwarf."
Edmure didn't mind the sarcasm; he had it in buckets himself. "Try to keep your father aware of what you're doing. No hidden achievement hunting. Even if you were to find your family's ancestral Valyrian sword, Brightroar, your father wouldn't give you a second glance. Instead of going against the flow, try to take up a role where you are in an important position but away from the center of attention. Once you gain experience in love, pride, joy, loss, and betrayal... then you'll be ready to live the life you want. You can leave everything behind, or sit before your father with your head held high. It's up to you."
Edmure's answer was like saying everything and nothing at once. People around the table thought for a while but failed to fully grasp it. Only the wise Brynden never paid attention, instead ogling a maid's assets. She blushed and Hoster found it amusing. Hoster had the longest contact with Edmure's thoughts and knew his son had a sort of detached mentality. After many exasperating quarrels, he had given up on mending his son's ways.
Tyrion thought for a moment. At least the Tully heir didn't call him a monster or mock his birth. He extended an invitation. "You know what I learned from my father? 'A Lannister always pays his debts.' I appreciate your advice, and now I invite you to Casterly Rock. If you want, you can spend a few years learning there. You'll love it."
"Don't be so sentimental," Edmure chuckled, dismissing the offer immediately. "I'm not sticking my head into the lion's jaws just for the view."
Jaime's brief moment of solidarity vanished instantly. He signaled for more fish, stabbing it dramatically with his knife, while Edmure calmly sipped a cup of milk, seemingly unconcerned with the tension he had just created.