In Riverrun, the air was thick with the scent of damp stone and recent family upheaval.
"My Lord, was it truly wise to hand over such a staggering sum to the boy? He is not your son, after all," Maester Vyman said, watching Petyr Baelish retreat from the solar. Hoster had just provided Petyr with a significant purse of coin as a settlement for the fallout from Lysa's actions. "You have allowed Petyr to act entirely as he pleases in castle. If the Seven do not favor his union, why are you the one to bear the blame? Is it your conscience speaking, perhaps?"
"It is Edmure," Hoster replied with a dry chuckle at the mention of conscience. "The boy doesn't care much for Lysa's antics, and the last thing I want is for her to irk him further. If spending a thousand dragons keeps him insulated from this family drama, then so be it. As for Petyr—as long as he doesn't harm Catelyn, I'll let him be."
"Lady Catelyn has hardly spared a glance for young Baelish since Lysa's proposal. But what if the boy cannot handle such wealth?"
"I don't expect him to," Hoster said with a flash of pride. "Earning coin and owning it are two different things. I never bothered much with the former, yet here I sit upon a pile of hundreds of thousands, do I not?" Hoster's frugality, Minisa's dowry, and a lack of expensive feasts had turned the Tully coffers into a formidable war chest.
"I was merely doing my duty; no need to praise me!" Vyman joked. He often marveled at the Tully paradox: they weren't the strongest or the most ancient, yet they possessed enough gold to fund a war for years. Hoster's simple lifestyle was their greatest hidden asset; unlike other lords, he hadn't bankrupted himself on mistresses and tourneys.
"Enough, enough," Hoster said, turning serious. "Send a raven North. Inform the Starks of our intention to betroth Catelyn to Eddard. Mention exactly what Edmure revealed regarding Lord Rickard and young Brandon's deaths in the capital. Trust is bought cheapest with sincerity." Hoster's gaze sharpened, the cold calculation of a ruler peeking through. "And increase Catelyn's dowry to ten thousand."
King's Landing.
Edmure found himself escorted by the very team Oswell had assembled to defeat him. Dragging a chest of gold through the city was a chore, so he decided to secure it. Arthur Dayne suggested leaving it with the Prince, but both Edmure and Oswell shot that idea down. The royalty was notorious for lavish spending and poor arithmetic.
Instead, they headed to the Myrish district. Much like their Braavosi counterparts, the Myrish merchants operated a bank.
"Good sirs, keep my gold safe," Edmure told the Myrish bankers. "I am of the Trident, and the realm will soon have a great need for your expertise. Inform your masters that I intend to trade regularly; we shall discuss our cooperation in detail tomorrow." He kept a few hundred coins for immediate use and deposited the rest.
Edmure had a little success in merchant caravans in Riverrun. He hasn't obtained any good horses even after months of waiting. Furthermore, Myrish specialties like glass, textiles are needed for improving his realm. He was also going to use Myrish traders as middlemen for sourcing from other places. Be it spices for his food or exotic bows made from Goldenheart wood for his archery. Maybe a trade ship when civil war ends, though he lacks a place to anchor it. Commoners worry about carts while nobles dream of navy.
He was unaware that Westeros had a solid horse archer regiment during Blackfyre war. It was that group which killed Daemon. Edmure had previously assumed that this was just another case of dumb luck. He could check the nitty gritty of such unit in capital.
"Are you not worried they will abscond with your gold?" Arthur asked as they left the bank.
"No one can run from me," Edmure replied cryptically. "Especially not across water." His Running stat had recently crossed Level 100, unlocking Blink ability—a short-range teleportation that made distance an increasingly abstract concept.
The Gold Cloaks eventually dispersed to their duties, leaving only Oswell.
"I thought we'd splurge a bit," Oswell grumbled as they climbed the marble steps of the Great Sept of Baelor. "Buying a villa wasn't a bad idea. I could have looked after it while you were away."
"Uncle, let's leave our arrogance at the door of the Gods," Edmure chided.
"Hypocrite!"
They entered the inner sanctum, where seven towering statues stood in a silent circle. Edmure knelt before the Smith. The smith was in form of a man with hammer. There were only a few devotee before his statue. Edmure clasped his hands and began to pray aloud:
"The Smith, he labors day and night,
With hammer, plow, and fire bright..."
Oswell blushed, only remembering the first few lines of the Song of the Seven. He was about to excuse himself when Edmure's prayer took a turn into the absurd.
"Oh, Mender of Broken Things, who puts the world of men to right... heed my prayer. I am a lazy person with little skill in craftsmanship. I have a stern father who puts me to harsh labor. Can you make me good at the job? I'll even stop eating goat mutton for a month in return. Oh Higher Deity, heed the call of the meek and the goats."
"Are you sure he won't simply smash his hammer into your face for that?" An old septon in tattered robes asked, laughing heartily as he approached.
"Why worry about a lashing from our elders?" Edmure countered, rising. "Why feel shame in sharing our worries? He will guide me regardless; we are all children before him."
"He does indeed take care of his flock," the septon answered cryptically. "None are beyond his grace."
"Farewell, good man. I'll be staying nearby; we'll see each other again," Edmure said. He led Oswell toward a place to rent a house. His mind already shifting. The old septon was peculiar, but Edmure had a different mission tonight. Under the cover of darkness, he would begin his hunt for the wildfire caches.
Behind them, the old man watched Edmure go, his eyes narrow. "A man is no one," he whispered to the shadows, unsettled by the fact that this young boy seemed to exist entirely outside the reach of the Many-Faced God.
[The song is The Song of the Seven'. A version can be found at: https://awoiaf.westeros.org/index.php/The_Song_of_the_Seven]