Riverrun
"Why are you so happy, my child?" Hoster asked Catelyn during their meal. Without Petyr and Edmure, Hoster felt the halls were far too empty. He had eventually allowed Elaena to be present, though only after significant pleading from Catelyn. As for Brynden? Hoster never wasted a whiff of care on his brother's whereabouts.
"I am," Catelyn replied brightly. "Aunt Shella just sent word that Edmure sent a vast array of gifts home. Apparently, he purchased more glass than she has ever seen in her life. All for me, of course—so I am happy."
"Father pays the coin, and the brother gets the good name. What a cruel trick the boy has played," Hoster joked. He fell silent for a moment, pondering, before continuing. "This does present an opportunity. I can legitimately increase patrols in the eastern regions using this as an excuse. Plus, I received a raven from the North; the Stark convoy has left Winterfell. We will receive them in three weeks. Then you will marry, and they will leave for the tourney."
Hoster leaned forward, his eyes gleaming. "If we time it right, we can welcome them with Edmure and a thousand cavalry. A grand display—not even your mother had such a thing when we were married." Hoster was about to elaborate further when Lysa, unable to listen any longer, stormed out of the hall, weeping bitterly.
"Look at what you've done," Catelyn sighed. "You and your politics. Why be so petty, even for the welcoming of in-laws? Plus, can't you be more considerate of Lysa?" Catelyn had changed from a young maiden; she was beginning to observe the game of power. Even from Riverrun, she had remained in touch with the Whents of Harrenhal, her mother's family. Her pity for the weak had tempered; she could now at least discern a tragedy from self-inflicted harm.
"Let her be. Besides, aren't we doing this for you?" Hoster countered. "Your brother has a knack for trampling the pride of others. I am sure Lord Stark will be fond of such a junior. It seems the Lord of the Vale is also in their company, along with the new Lord of the Stormlands, Robert Baratheon. If they can bring so many unrelated people, why can't I indulge in a plan of friendly humiliation? What is the point of me owning this castle otherwise?"
"Father, your charade is collapsing. Do whatever you want, just don't scare off my groom," Catelyn said amusingly, leaving the hall with Elaena. That night, another raven flew toward Harrenhal, filled with pleasantries and a note about Lord Hoster experiencing a bloom in his old age. Who says I can't call my own reinforcements? Catelyn mused while picking up another book to read.
Sunspear
Another feast was underway in the Old Palace, featuring significantly less poison than the one in morning. Everyone was cautious in their dealings, leaving the hall thick with the scent of platitudes.
"If only my father were as enlightened as Your Magnificence, I would not have to bear such a burden," Edmure said, addressing Prince Doran. "My sister Catelyn is a much better heir than I. I prefer riding around, messing with things, and disappearing."
"How atrocious. I know a way to make things straight," Prince Oberyn interrupted, still fuming from the beating he had taken in front of his sister. "Why don't you jump into the sea? I'm sure many would thank you for the heroic sacrifice." Prince Oberyn had traveled far and wide and knew the boy was not natural. However, the world was large, and there were many ways to hunt such beasts; he was already considering if he should send out a contract.
"You surely jest. I won't diminish my image further in the Princess's eyes," Edmure replied. "Speaking of water, Princess Elia, do you Martells feel an inner calling? Toward Mother Rhoyne, perhaps? It hasn't been that long since the last Water Wizards walked Essos."
"Not really," Princess Elia answered. "People mistook Princess Nymeria, the first princess of Dorne, for a witch, but she herself could not use magic. There are tales that the people she brought included a few wizards who could make deserts bloom, but it has been more than a thousand years since then. We have no such people now. The most you could see is magic in the Water Gardens—the kind you are far too young to participate in."
Princess Elia's answer drew a chuckle from Prince Doran. He had been remarkably tense since the morning's affair, as the Tully boy had surpassed all his expectations. Prince Doran knew he had very few options to contain the lad if he chose to go on a rampage, and regardless of the outcome, the Martells would lose face. First, the marriage had been annulled by the High Nobles of the Westeros; now, there was a scandal at home. Yet, for some miraculous reason, the boy was tame in front of his sister. Perhaps the union could work in our favor, he thought.
"We Dornish people are more cosmopolitan compared to the rest of Westeros," Elia continued. "Though that is an Essosi trait, not unique to the Rhoynar. On a spiritual level, water and sheltered gardens do soothe our soul. Do you really think we are always bedding different people or poisoning them? Nobles need to have a pastime, don't you think?"
"Yes, indeed," Edmure agreed. "I always teach my sister that a man's true nature is revealed when he gains power. Look at me—accomplished so much at such a tender age." Edmure was about to continue when both Brynden and Prince Oberyn choked on their drinks. Not even seasoned tavern braggers laid it on so thick in public. Edmure ignored the troublemakers. "I am just eleven, yet I am already the heir to a realm, in control of family estates, and allowed my own troops for training. In fact, I was insistent on a friendship with Dorne; I value your fighting ways. I hope our relationship grows to a new level and you'll lend me a few trainers."
Amidst Edmure's self-praise, Prince Doran read the cues: the boy was truly valued by the Lord of the Trident. He cut into the bragging with a slight cough. "Speaking of which, your uncle promised us a tidy sum for his trade venture. Sadly, it came to naught, leaving us all stranded. It is a shameful display for noble houses like ours to strain relations over such minor matters. Don't you think?"
"Of course. I brought some money left over after purchasing my sister's dowry," Edmure said. "I was aboard a Myrish trade ship; their leader is staying in the Shadow City, ready to lend me a small amount of change. I hope this satisfies the Princess." Edmure's constant friendly overtures toward her puzzled Princess Elia. She could see he lacked any romantic fondness for her, but seeing a gullible sheep, she simply nodded.
"Let us toast to friendship, then. Bring some milk for our young friend. Just don't forget the ballistae you promised earlier. A dozen will please my sister," Prince Doran agreed, intent on milking the fat sheep while they could.
Late at Night
"Look at what you've done! You can't even handle a simple trade," Edmure barked at his uncle while tightening a spring. "You must have let your lower body do the thinking while leaving your brain to dry on the sands."
Edmure's Craftsmanship perk allowed him to imbue attributes like stiffness into the metal; the ballistae he was constructing were finished with the precision of a modern assembly. "Power reveals a man's nature, my ass! Ever since I've gotten strong, most of my time is spent either making chainmail or polishing wooden gears."
A drunken Brynden sensed there was a confusion left to unravel, but his mind couldn't think clearly. He simply accepted the lecture while passing a pair of tongs to his nephew. Meanwhile, back in Riverrun, Hoster, unaware of this pathetic display of his kin, was dreaming of bullying half the lords of Westeros.