"I concede; it's boring to fight you." Rhaegar dropped his sword and walked out of the ring.
It was the morning of the next day, and the Silver Prince had wanted to test the Tully heir. Edmure, deciding not to ruffle Targaryen pride, had adopted a purely defensive posture from start to finish. For ten minutes, Rhaegar had tried every flourish and trick he knew, yet Edmure simply absorbed the pressure behind his shield, as immovable as the castle walls.
"We're leaving. Tell me, Tully, what do you want? It was my job to solve the Brotherhood problem, yet you've done it for me. I owe you a favor."
"I've heard that Good Queen Alysanne gathered a private library," Edmure replied, wiping sweat from his brow. "Can you grant me access to it for a few months?"
Rhaegar looked surprised. "Sure. I thought you would ask for a spot in the Kingsguard or some dragon relic for your occult hobbies."
"If I ever want to cast a doom spell to destroy the world, I'll come seeking your help for the relics," Edmure winked.
"But seriously, why not ask for the chance to be knighted by a legend? I have a few in my company: Ser Arthur Dayne, old Barristan Selmy. Take your pick."
"Nah," Edmure shrugged. "Being a knight means taking an oath, and I don't like giving my word if I can't keep it. I never believe in loyalty until death. We're nobles; our loyalty is to personal duty and the sword. It is our fate to one day take up arms against our friends or kin if it comes to it. Such is the way of the world."
If anyone else had spoken such words, Rhaegar might have taken them as a declaration of treason. But he remembered a similar sentiment from years ago and remained quiet. After a moment, he asked, "What kind of prince do you hope I should be?"
"One that lives to long enough to sit on the throne. Remain king for so long that people forget all the stupidity of your youth," Edmure said with a dry grin. "Maybe then we can brag about you without blushing or hurting our conscience."
Jon Connington looked at Edmure as if he were seeing Oswell reincarnated in a younger, more insolent body.
"What if I can't live up to the realm's expectations?" Rhaegar asked. The Prince That Was Promised had carried a heavy mantle since childhood, yet his family life was a shambles and his political standing was fragile. Just few weeks ago, his wedding was called off.
"My Prince, you already have a very good impression among the common folk. I can't speak for your father, though—a man who refuses to bathe is beyond my understanding," Edmure said, making no effort to hide his disdain for the King. "As for the nobles? They'll never truly like you. What sheep likes the shepherd?"
"So am I to remain isolated? Jaime told me you have a certain... theoretical understanding. What should I do if I see the entire realm clamoring for my blood?" Rhaegar looked into the distance, his voice casual but tinged with a pain that only Jon seemed to notice.
Edmure looked up at the sky, wondering if the Prince was seeing dragon dreams—glimpses of a future that felt inevitable. "I have opinions, but I'm just a boy who reads too many books. In the worst-case scenario? Never let King's Landing slip. Those are your people; you can press them into an army at any time. The rest of Westeros cannot wage war for years on end; the levies must return to their farms, or famine will collapse the rebellion for you."
He paused, then continued, "Put someone competent in charge of your navy. Not to make them invincible, but to ensure stupid mistakes or bad weather don't sink your chances. Keep trade with Essos alive to bring in grain. Cut off everyone else's routes whenever the chance arises. Remember: the navy is your insurance to bail out of Westeros if everything goes wrong. Don't commit to needless engagements."
Rhaegar listened intently. "Once things stabilize after the first month, start retaking the coastal cities on the Narrow Sea. Not everyone will agree on who should lead if the Targaryens are denied. Reinforce loyal cities quickly using your fleet; that will prevent the rebellion from gaining momentum. After that, as long as no other Targaryen claimant pops out of the history books, you can deal with the rebels the good old-fashioned way. There's no shortage of men who know how to fight a war among your followers, my Prince."
Rhaegar remained silent for a long time. Finally, he addressed Jon. "Let's depart. Old Oswell needs treatment at his own castle. We'll stay at Harrenhal for a few days and then return to King's Landing with Lord Toyne."
The royal convoy pulled out of Stoney Sept, and Edmure decided it was time to return to Riverrun.
On the road to Riverrun
"Are you really bringing us to your castle, my lord?" Elaena asked as the convoy marched west.
"Why not? Haven't you heard that nobles like to abduct beautiful women?" Edmure replied. "Stay there for now. I'll be leaving for King's Landing soon, and we won't meet for a few months."
As they rode, Edmure estimated the progress of the infrastructure works. Some fords had already been replaced by sturdy bridges; the return journey would take a full day less than the trip out. He strategically shed small groups of guards along the way, leaving them to patrol and ensure the construction continued at his mandated pace.
On the Road to Harrenhal
Rhaegar watched the unconscious Oswell Whent and inspected the herbal remedies Edmure had provided. He remembered his first meeting with Oswell years ago. He had asked the knight if he would be truly loyal.
Oswell, still grieving the death of his sister Minisa, had replied: "Ours is the way of duty. Only sword and blood are our constant companions. If one day I must take up arms against my family for you, my sword won't flinch for a heartbeat. Such is the way of the world."
Meanwhile, in Riverrun
Catelyn lounged in a chair, engrossed in the books Edmure had gifted her.
'The President in his youth had a close friendship with a celebrity. He viewed her as his confidante...'
"What stupidity is this?" Catelyn muttered to herself. "Even if I'm unaccustomed to the world Edmure describes, I know how ridiculous this hero's action is. Putting another girl close when the heroine is someone else? Only amateurs make such a move."
Catelyn and several of her maids were now well-versed in dissecting the drama of the stories, unaware of the irony—that in books as in life, bystanders see the truth clearly while those involved remain hopelessly confused.