"What are you doing!" Elaena barged in, her voice shrill with alarm when she saw Edmure calmly pricking his finger with a sharp hunting knife.
"Nothing," he replied, watching a the blade make screeching sound against his toughened skin. "I was just checking if it can actually hurt me. What brings you here so early?"
"Are you crazy? It might leave a scar!" she huffed, stepping closer to inspect the hand. "I hate nobles with scars. If you damage your body, I won't like you anymore."
"Don't worry, it'll take more than a kitchen knife to mar the Lord of Milk," Edmure joked, wiping the blade. "Besides, why are you so worked up? I heard you Lyseni still carry elements of Valyrian culture. Isn't 'Valar Morghulis' a popular phrase among your people?"
"That is different. What if you had some Ironborn blood and were going crazy with that 'What is dead may never die' nonsense?"
"Ah, a cultured woman. I must say, you're wasting your talent here, Elaena. Why not stay with me? You could see more of the world than the walls of Stoney Sept." Edmure's remark was casual, but Elaena flinched, the teasing light leaving her eyes as she grew quiet.
"Are you serious?" she whispered. "What? Our young boy can't hide his claws now?"
"Not at all. I merely value curious people. We can even be friends." Edmure's voice turned uncharacteristically grave as he looked into her eyes. "But a physical relationship is off the table. Not unless gods grant me the power to heal all diseases."
Elaena's gaze dimmed. She had anticipated this, yet it stung nonetheless. The Tully heir seemed approachable, even jovial, but his fondness for people was like a craftsman's fondness for his tools. He would care for them and be polite, but he treated the world as if it was just a stop on a long journey.
Seeing her mood drop, Edmure broke the stalemate. "Don't be sad. A square should never pretend it can fit into a circle perfectly. I never hide what I am. If you can accept that, we can see how far our friendship goes."
Suddenly, Edmure's head snapped toward the east. His Threat Anticipation talent screamed a warning. Something dangerous was approaching, still hours away but moving with intent. He grabbed his horn and blew a sharp, echoing blast.
"Danger is coming. I'll take my men to meet them. Stay in the camp; don't wander off in sorrow. We can sort our emotional issues over the coming decades—don't be the idiot who dies young." He donned his gear and strode out before she could respond.
"Gather everyone!" Edmure barked to his captains. "Twenty stay behind to protect the camp and the girls. Don't try to be heroes; just hold the line. Grell, with me. Take the best riders. These are no mere bandits."
Edmure led a hundred riders east. Since his Shield level had crossed 100, his threat detection had become a finely tuned instrument. He could sense the quality and weight of the approaching force. Within an hour, his scouts reported thirty men in tattered clothes, but through his Myrish eye, they spotted the glint of heavy plate beneath the rags.
"We'll ride in a loose swarm," Edmure instructed his men. "Do not get bogged down. Your job is to ride hard. Don't let them regroup. Attack when the opportunity arises, then ride past. Keep them confused and intimidated. We'll whittle them down."
As they made contact, the enemy attempted to gather into a defensive knot. They started shooting with practiced ease. "Shields up! Ride as planned!" Edmure shouted.
Instead of a conventional Westerosi charge, Edmure's force moved like a cloud of hornets. They galloped between the enemy groups, delivering quick, passing strikes before turning and looping back. It was disorienting and terrifying. The outlaws, expecting an honorable clash of steel, found themselves dying of a thousand cuts.
"Do you lack the courage of a maid, you whelp?" their leader roared, frustrated as his men fell one by one to the mechanical, relentless passes. "Face me if you dare! Stop this cowardly act!" the leader yelled again. "I demand a duel! I am a noble of House Toyne! Or are the lords of Rivermen no better than the fishermen they rule?"
Their numbers had plummeted. Only two men remained in fighting shape: Simon Toyne and a veritable giant of a man whose aura of danger was several times larger than his fallen allies.
"Very well," Edmure said, signaling his men to pull back. "I'll give you an honorable defeat. Everyone, retreat! I'll face the two of them. And you," he pointed to the giant, "aren't you going to introduce youself?"
"My sword will do the speaking," the giant laughed manically. "And when I kill all of you, I'll brag in every tavern on the Trident."
Edmure dismounted, sword and shield in hand. It was two against one, but to Edmure, this was merely a performance for his men. He rushed between them, forcing them to fight independently rather than as a pair. They were battle-scarred survivors, not tavern brawlers, and they struck with lethal precision. Edmure parried and dodged, weaving like a Braavosi water dancer.
"Who are you, anyway?" Edmure asked casually as he deflected a heavy blow. "Your boasts make it sound like you're a big deal. I'm the heir to the Trident; there are fewer than a dozen people who can speak to me in that tone. Sadly, you aren't on that list."
"Shut your trap!" Simon barked.
"I will enjoy whipping your corpse," the giant growled.
"Still in delusion," Edmure countered. "Let me tell you the outcome: you'll both surrender. Then I'll gather your comrades, clean them, and burn them on pyres."
"Mongreal!" Simon screamed. "These were good men who helped the commoners by robbing the evil! We are the Kingswood Brotherhood! They don't deserve such cruelty. Have you forsaken all honour?"
"That's admirable, I'll honour their death." Edmure said, his eyes going cold. "But I don't do it for cruelty. Have you forgotten where we are? This is the Gods Eye. This place has a habit of resurrecting the dead in the most inconvenient manner. Trust me—I have personal experience with how messy that gets. Let's end this." The lake near Harrenhall had place of multiple such resurrections in TV show. Lord Beric Dondarrion for countless times, even Catelyn herself walked undead.