"This is the forty-seventh time! You guys should at least consider my horses. Dragging your bodies to the nearest castle every time is exhausting!" Edmure shouted, fending off yet another desperate lunge.
Those watching might have thought he was made of solid gold given how many robberies he'd faced. "Is there any law in this land? Are the leaders sleeping on the job?" Ignoring the irony, he checked his map for the nearest holdfast. He found a small fortification on the eastern shore of the God's Eye—the last scrap of the Riverlands before he crossed the border. Soon he'd hit the Kingsroad, and then it would be a straight shot to the capital.
For the past ten days, Edmure had been traveling non-stop, switching horses at local noble estates and calling in favors from the patrols he'd scattered on his last trip. He had underestimated how much greed can cloud the mind. Right after leaving the Tully domain, he had faced a string of ambushes.
Despite being the heir to the Trident, the bandits had little qualm about attracting the wrath of Riverrun. Edmure spent his days fending them off, hauling the survivors to the nearest castle, and forcing the local lords to put them on trial. The nobles had to punish them; to do otherwise would be to declare open rebellion against their liege.
Three days later, the massive silhouette of King's Landing loomed ahead. The giant gate, etched with intricate dragon patterns, welcomed him into the city. There, he saw the famous Gold Cloaks—the City Watch. It was a rare sight: a professional, state-sponsored police force. After confirming his identity, Edmure entered the city and was greeted by a marvelous, if decaying, view. He passed a ruin as large as the entirety of Riverrun—the Dragonpit. A passerby proudly explained that this was where the Targaryens once kept their dragons.
Edmure tossed a coin to a Gold Cloak and asked for directions to the nearest Kingsguard gathering. The city was so vast that walking in a straight line for a day might not get you where you needed to go. In times like this, having an uncle in a position of high authority made life much easier. After several hours and countless inspections, he finally spotted the men in white.
"Good ser, could you pass a message to Ser Oswell Whent? Tell him his kinsman seeks refuge," Edmure said, slipping a few coins to a group of older knights. He hadn't used currency much since arriving in this world, but he knew when to spend lavishly on someone else's turf. Ten gold coins could buy a full set of steel plate. The knights took the money, but instead of leaving, they looked Edmure up and down. The Tully banner on his cloak was obvious, but their eyes glinted with a strange sense of schadenfreude.
"Sure, lad. Oswell will be thrilled to see you here," a knight replied, whistling as if he were about to watch a particularly good show. "Wait here and don't wander. This is the capital; you might bump into someone you shouldn't. Just this morning, Lord Lannister, the Hand of the King, passed by to inspect the city."
While he waited, Edmure inspected the Kingsguard's gear. They wore scale armor, though some favored steel breastplates, supplemented with greaves and pauldrons. Every man carried a nasal helmet and a stark white shield. Edmure muttered to himself, reaffirming his decision to prioritize lightness in his own armor designs. "I need to see if I can gain a level in craftsmanship. The chainmail I make is fine, but a perk would push it further. Maybe I should look for that shop where Robert's bastard worked in the TV show. Or perhaps I should just go to the Great Sept of Baelor and seek a blessing."
"Ser knight, how far is the Sept? And where can I find better gear?" Edmure asked a nearby sentry. More knights began to gather, glancing at him as if he were an exotic animal. Edmure took no heed; his threat detection remained silent, so he assumed the attention was merely due to his connection to Oswell or the Prince.
"A pious child!" the knight smiled, making a prayer gesture. "When you're done with your uncle, come with me. That man prefers the tavern to the Gods' company." He paused, lowering his voice. "Be careful later; he's cooking up a prank for you."
The conversation was cut short by a hearty, booming laugh. "My dear nephew!" Oswell shouted, running toward him with open arms.
"Uncle Oswell, it's good to see you!" Edmure ran forward too, but in a moment of mischief, he shifted his pace mid-stride. As they hugged, Oswell flinched instinctively, trying to protect his neck from a imaginary strike. To cover his embarrassment, Oswell hauled Edmure up and spun him around.
"Come, I'll find you a place to rest. Leave everything to me; I have a certain... weight in the capital." Oswell realized his own preparations were still lacking and decided to postpone the thrashing plan until tomorrow. The speed his nephew had just shown might have looked normal to the onlookers, but up close, it felt like Edmure had vanished for a split second. He had heard of such things in Asshai—practitioners of shadow magic. He needed to confer with the Prince, who had interest in the occult.
"I'll obey! But you need to keep my belongings safe. Ser guard, bring my horse closer; I need my chest," Edmure told his Gold Cloak guide. He lifted the heavy chest himself and set it on the floor; only he knew the true, staggering weight of it.
"You and your fussy eating, always carrying a pantry with you." Oswell joked. "Catelyn once wrote to Shella to prepare spices and sweets if we ever hosted you." He flipped the lid open. The crowd stopped breathing. Inside was more gold than most of them had ever seen in one place. Casually filled to the brim of the weathered old box.
"By the Seven!" the pious knight gasped, staring at Edmure with wide eyes.
Meanwhile, in Sunspear
"I never knew the Tullys had someone this strong. Why is then Hoster the one sitting on the throne of Riverrun?" Princess Elia asked, her voice calm but her mind racing after a day of contemplation. "I heard rumors the brothers fought over a marriage and Brynden fled. I cannot match that tale with a man who can take a dozen of our household guards."
"Areo thinks Brynden could fight a senior bearded priest from Norvos to a draw," Prince Doran noted.
"It doesn't matter," Prince Oberyn said, his youthful enthusiasm unquenched after a day of interrogation. "I want to see the boy who trained him. The hallucinogenic forced the Blackfish to reveal a few... interesting things."
"So do I," Princess Elia added, her tone turning cold, her malice no longer hidden.