Riverrun. Night.
Hoster was entertaining his Dornish guests with a lavish feast. Seeing the smug, lingering grin on his son's face, he barked, "Keep that attitude down. Manners, boy."
"Pardon, Father, but a child simply cannot hide his inner joy."
"Inner joy, my ass! You beat my bannermen mercilessly and then touted that it was done on my orders. You want a rebellion on our hands, don't you!"
Edmure had won dozens of consecutive victories in the arena since that afternoon. The veterans had been taught painful lessons from their youth: deflect, don't block, and don't swing wildly.
"I am worried about you," Hoster continued with a plain, stoic face. "You will only calm down when you are married. How about I betroth you to someone?"
Edmure failed to notice the predatory glint in his father's eyes, but someone else did. Brynden had been drinking steadily with Ulrick, but Hoster's innocent look jolted him out of his stupor. His mind began playing a montage of Hoster's most successful emotional pitches from across the years:
'My conscience cannot let me ruin a girl's life.'
'Brother, do you really want Minisa to marry you and live the life of a wanderer?'
'Minisa, I'm doing it for Brynden's sake; we did him wrong, and I have to make things right even if he hates me for it.'
"This bastard!" Brynden thumped his jug loudly on the table, startling Ulrick. Everyone looked toward him, but Edmure's immediate answer recaptured their attention.
"Sure. I don't mind, as long as you don't lie to them about me. I hate emotional complications most of all. Tell them that your son is merely the strongest warrior, an accomplished heir, and a natural prodigy."
The women at the table snickered. They were all too familiar with this tune—the sound of a man boasting as if it were entirely natural. Lady Ashara had certainly not forgotten the inscription the boy had chiseled into the rock; such boasts would put even a desperate bard out of business.
Seeing his son take the bait and wanting to prevent Brynden from blowing his cover, Hoster pressed on with a soothing voice. "Tell me, then: what else do you expect from your bride?"
Brynden was fuming at the lifelong charade he had just managed to unmask, but the past was the past. All he wished for now was Edmure messing up his brother's plans. But he knew his nephew far too well; the boy was about to walk into a snare while critiquing the quality of the rope.
Edmure simply looked around the table. He saw Elaena looking on expectantly, Lady Ashara ready to harvest new gossip, and Princess Elia sitting with practiced, regal poise. He decided to play it safe and follow the first rule of bureaucracy: 'Always butter up the most senior authority in the room.' And so, our genius protagonist found a sturdy chain and willingly tied it around his own neck while the rest simply watched him dance.
"If she is even a fraction like Princess Elia, I'll be happy," Edmure declared. "Her every action screams of an innate authority rarely seen in Westerosi women. Even our Catelyn hasn't quite imbibed that. Just don't bring me anyone crazy—the type that would have flings with stableboys or random bards. What would the stories say? That Edmure wrestled a woman away from a snotty-nosed, one-armed, dwarf singer and the couple lived happily? No. Even if I have to break up a couple one day, it has to be epic-worthy. If it weren't for my good nature, I would fight off Prince Rhaegar himself for the most beautiful woman."
Edmure's answer drew lingering gazes from the women. Their craving for such romantic tales was sparked; if they could see Edmure do exactly that, they would cheer from the sidelines. Across time and space, girls will form different groups to vehemently support the second male lead, the third, the fourth, ... even if the lady ends up with the prince.
Hoster, however, felt far too happy for himself. 'This trick always works; I almost feel like a villain.' Brynden saw a shadow of himself in Edmure, wondering just how many lives had been steered by his brother's vile schemes. His poor nephew was practically writing his own death sentence while commenting on the prose style of the words.
"Now, what about the deity you mentioned this afternoon?" Not wanting to let Edmure think too long on marriage, Hoster pivoted.
"I don't know which one it was, but I think it had a connection with Lys," Edmure said, looking toward Elaena. Apart from her, he had no connection to the island. Although Elaena had never triggered his Threat Detection perk, it had failed him once before, and he knew it could fail again. "Lady Elaena, can you guess what business I had with a deity?"
"It was one of my mother's associates," Elaena graciously acknowledged. "She asked a favor on my behest, and he taught you some smithing skills."
"Thought as much. I'll send you a gift after the wedding as appreciation," Edmure commented. The rest of the table exchanged glances. Hoster felt his son was incredibly lucky; even a random girl he befriended possessed the blood of the gods.
Casterly Rock
"Brother, the Tullys have started to gather a host. This is a provocation. Are we supposed to let this go? Let me lead our bannermen," Kevan Lannister said to Tywin. Also present was their sister, Genna.
"We will muster, and you will lead the men. But not now," Tywin spoke, his finger tracing the River Road from Casterly Rock to Riverrun. "The tourney is about to begin. We will start amassing supplies at the Golden Tooth; do it openly. My silence is as feared as my roar." He intended to attack in a few months and wipe away the humiliation within a year. He did not fear the Iron Throne; his personal honor was at stake.
"Very well. But our vassals are clamoring for a fight," Kevan added. "I know a man for the job: Ser Gregor Clegane, the young knight of Clegane's Keep. He has a reputation for being bloodthirsty and has a body to match. I'll send him to wreak havoc in the Tully countryside."
"Send Amory Lorch as well," Genna suggested. "That brute also revels in blood. Enough of this chatter; the Tullys won't survive your wrath. No one ever has, brother. But you should pay attention to young Tyrion; he is training all the time, hoping to gain your recognition."
Tywin had always valued family loyalty. He agreed to Genna's plea and went to visit his youngest son.