Edmure brought his team back to camp just as the sun began to dip below the horizon. As he entered, he spotted a hooded man laughing, loudly demanding that Elaena serve him a drink. The girls looked visibly uncomfortable, while the man's companions lounged about with an air of arrogant leisure. Curiously, Edmure's own guards stood by, watching the scene as if the intruders were invisible. Elaena caught Edmure's eye, her gaze a silent plea for help.
"It seems we have uninvited guests. I hope my hospitality has not been lacking," Edmure called out.
Just as the leader of the party turned to offer a courtesy, Edmure vanished. He accelerated to his maximum speed in a heartbeat, a blur of motion that ended with him ramming the hooded man standing closest to Elaena. He made sure the blow wasn't fatal, but the impact was enough to keep the man grounded for days. The crowd gasped, and the tension in the camp spiked instantly.
"How insolent!" the leader shouted, throwing back his hood to reveal a shock of silver hair. Beside him, another hood fell away to reveal the familiar, smirking face of Jaime Lannister. "Is this how a Tully treats his guests? Do you even know whom you just struck?"
"Silver hair?" Edmure said, offering a shallow bow before signaling his men to lower their steel. " My apologies, Prince Rhaegar. But a man must make his intentions clear. No one touches my people or my castle."
"Still as cocky as ever," Jaime interjected. "It seems you think there is no one left to rein you in."
"What's the fuss? This is just how men settle things," Edmure dismissed the comment without remorse. He turned to the girls. "You may leave; we are hosting important people now. I shall take over the role of host."
He gave the girls a firm, supportive nod. It wasn't purely out of fondness; he simply refused to set a precedent where others could meddle with his personal interests.
The injured man on the ground grunted, struggling to find his feet. Edmure reached down to help him up. The man pulled back his cowl, coughing as he spoke in a strained voice. "It's good to see you, nephew!"
"Uncle Oswell! What a pleasant surprise!" Edmure exclaimed with genuine joy, pulling the Kingsguard into a rib-cracking hug.
While the onlookers assumed the situation had been resolved, Edmure did the most Edmure thing possible. He expertly knocked Oswell unconscious and handed the limp man to his guards. "Take him to a comfortable bed. That accident earlier must have been quite painful. I cannot bear to see my kin in such agony; that would be a poor show of etiquette, wouldn't it?"
"By the Seven!" Jon Connington shouted, his face reddening. "You've got to be kidding me!"
"Don't worry, Ser. Haven't you heard? A maternal uncle is born to clean up his nephew's mess," Edmure replied airily. "He'll thank me later for acting so selflessly."
"It seems the young lion was not exaggerating. You have a certain... air about you," Prince Rhaegar said, gesturing for his party to relax as he took a seat by the campfire.
"Was that a joke about the fish stench?" Edmure asked, ordering his guards to bring ale and food.
"Manners," Jon muttered, unable to hide his displeasure. The red-headed youth had a temper that matched his hair.
"I presume you're here for the Kingswood Brotherhood? Stoney Sept has little else of value—even the local brothel was closed by some asshole from neighborhood," Edmure said, sitting opposite Rhaegar. He ignored the irony as he directed his men to pour the ale. "We've dealt with most of them, save for their leader. Pass some ale to Lord Toyne over there."
"Bastard!" Simon Toyne yelled from his bonds.
Jon shot Rhaegar a look that clearly asked, Is anyone else as annoyed by this guy as I am? Jaime simply smirked, watching the Tully's brash performance with amusement.
"Are you still taking our duel to heart, Simon?" Edmure asked.
"They were my friends, you demon! Not toys! I will never be at peace with you," Toyne spat.
"What exactly happened?" Rhaegar asked. He had mixed feelings about the Brotherhood; they shared a history of grudges with the Targaryens, yet they had famously avoided harming the smallfolk, preferring to rob the nobility.
"Nothing much. We defeated them near the Eye," Edmure explained. "I had the fallen cleaned and given proper honors. I even asked the most pious among my men to offer prayers."
"And then you burned them!" Simon interrupted, his voice trembling. "You vile creature. You started babbling some folk stories while the pyres lit!"
Rhaegar nodded, understanding the friction. While the Targaryens practiced cremation, most Westerosi preferred the dignity of a silent grave.
"I thought the Tullys used boats," Jaime added, "sending the deceased on a final journey before shooting a fiery arrow. What madness spurred this change? Don't tell me there's a lecture behind it."
"Grab a cup and listen to a wise man," Edmure said, leaning in. "There are three ways of bringing the dead back to life in Westeros. First is the Faith of the Drowned God—a ritualistic thing on the Iron Islands. Then there is the Lord of Light, R'hllor; he brings a person back almost intact, as if waking from sleep, though the god is unreliable and the price is high."
He spoke of magic as if discussing the morning dew—knowledge that most nobles treated as myth or dark secrets.
"The third is the most dramatic," Edmure continued. "It's shunned by nearly every other god. It isn't 'returning to life' so much as someone looking at life and trying to perfect it—removing weakness, illness, and pain."
"Isn't that just immortality?" Jaime asked, intrigued by the prospect of a life that never ended.
"No. That is the opposite of life. Its patron is known only as 'The Other.' The Wall in the North was built specifically to keep that perfection away," Edmure corrected. "But let's forget the past. Lord Toyne, I didn't vandalize your men. I simply didn't want them rising as a mockery of the living. Now... to the main event. You twenty!"
Edmure pointed to the guards who had allowed the Prince's party to harass the girls. "You failed my instructions. Each of you pick a stick. The one with the shortest will be beaten until half-dead by the rest. I will not allow disobedience to breed in this camp."
"This is nonsense!" Jon Connington snapped, throwing down his gauntlet. "Come at me if you must, but stop this brutality."
"This is not brutality," Edmure replied in a flat, cold voice as he handed out the sticks. "It is statecraft."
The answer left Rhaegar's party stunned. They glanced at the unconscious Oswell, realizing the uncle and nephew were truly carved from the same river stone.
Near the God's Eye
A stone tablet now stands where the Brotherhood fell. The carving, etched in Edmure's distinct, precise style, reads:
'I deeply mourn the passing of the Kingswood Brotherhood. Such is the way of the world—that good men must spill each other's blood. I hope they find liberation from the cycle of reincarnation.'