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Hanging Tree
🕑 Added 2025-11-06 07:09:13 +0000 UTC“Another!” Patrick exclaimed whilst slamming his mug onto the table. Drops of wine poured down his chin, and he was visibly swaying slightly in his seat.
Not that Edmure had the right to judge his friend. He was only slightly better off himself.
They were spending their afternoon at a tavern about half an hour ride from Riverrun. Edmure, Patrick, Jason, Marq, Robert and a few more of his noble friends were taking the opportunity to enjoy themselves. They had been there for a few hours now and were well and truly in their cups.
“So, I said to her that she had the nicest tits I had ever seen. It didn't take her long after that to show them to me.” Patrick laughed.
Edmure joined in before asking. “Did she?”
A frown of confusion came onto his friends' face. “Did she what?”
“Did she really have the nicest tits you had ever seen?”
Patrick smirked. “They were average.”
The whole table burst out laughing again.
Edmure gestured for another drink before gulping the remainder of his cup down in a few strong sips. Then he jumped back into the conversation that moved onto Jasons latest conquest.
It wasn't long before his drink arrived.
Unfortunately he didn't get a chance to enjoy it.
A boy walked up to their table, panting. Edmure recognized him as one of the servants from the castle.
Even in their drunken haze, his presence was enough to bring silence to the table.
“Milord!” He bowed. “Lord Hoster demands your presence in his solar.”
Edmure sputtered. “What? Now?” Doesn't his father know that he is busy?
The boy shifted, looking uncomfortable. “I was told to bring you as soon as possible.”
His shoulders slumped and he turned back to his friends. ”Sorry lads. I've got to go.”
He was waved off. His friends look remarkably less cheery now.
Edmure couldn't have that. He didn't want to be responsible for bringing down the mood. “Next round is on me!” He called out to the tavern as he stood.
He smiled at the cheers as he left.
The ride to the castle was a lot more difficult than he was expecting. Edmure was much drunker than he thought. He rode his horse into a wagon, almost fell off and even rode in the wrong direction for a bit.
Luckily, his trusted guards were there to direct him. Otherwise he doubted he would be seeing his father that night.
Time seemed to blur for Edmure and before he knew it, he was entering into his fathers solar.
Hoster Tully took one look at him, frowned and issued an order. “Sober him up.”
Edmure didn't even try to defend himself as he was dragged out of the room into the courtyard outside where the guards proceeded to pour cold water over his head.
His head immediately felt clearer. He wasn't completely sober, but he was definitely better off than before.
He took a small detour to his room to change his clothes before going back to his fathers solar.
Hoster nodded. “Better.” He then gestured to bread and pork on a plate on the table. “Eat.”
Edmure wasted no time. He didn't even bother asking any questions. This isn't the first time this routine has happened. He knows his father won't speak to him until he has eaten and is in a better state of mind.
Ten minutes later, Edmure downs a cup of water before leaning back and waiting for his father to speak.
Hoster who had been patiently waiting for him this whole time, looks up from the parchment he is writing on to stare hard at him for a few moments, before giving a sigh. “Must we do this so often Edmure?”
He just chuckles awkwardly. “How was I supposed to know you would have need of me? I thought I could relax the rest of the evening.”
His father didn't look impressed. “This wouldn't be such a problem if you limited yourself. You are to be lord one day. You need to spend more time working and less drinking with your friends. You need to take your duties more seriously.”
Edmure frowned, genuinely offended. “I have been taking my duties seriously father. I've spent more time on politics in this last year than the rest of my life combined. Even the drinking serves a purpose. I'm building a friendship with my future vassals.”
Hoster sighed and rubbed his temples. “Youve been doing better. I will give you that. I am proud of you for that, but sometimes you still worry me.”
“What did I do?”
“Friendships. That's the word you used, my son. While I don't deny that it is a good thing that you are building up those relationships, I fear you don't see the cost of the way you go about it.“
He frowned in genuine confusion. “What do you mean?”
Hoster looked tired. “Those boys see you as a friend first Edmure. They like you. Some might even have loyalty towards you and genuinely care for you; but they don't respect you or have any fear of you. Not truly. ”
He felt like he had been slapped. “They do respect me! And why would I want them to fear me anyway?”
His father looked dead serious. “They see Edmure their friend when they look at you. They don't see Edmure the Lord. They see a man who can make them laugh. Who can brighten up their moods or who is fun to drink with. They don't see a man who can lead them through war. Or if they do, I can assure you the veteran lords don't. They don't see a man who they must obey before all else. They see a friend they can argue with. It might earn you a few good friends my son, but it makes you look weak to most.”
He opened his mouth but nothing came out.
Hoster sighed but kept going. “A few of those boys are genuine with their friendships. Mallister, for one, seems to genuinely care for you and would no doubt make for a potent ally in the future. There are a few more like that. But there are also the snakes in the grass. Some of those boys just want to use you to advance themselves. They would happily sacrifice you for their own ambition. You need to learn to identify them. The trust, true trust, of a lord is a precious thing. You need to learn to spend yours more sparingly my son. Because trust can become a deadly poison if you aren't careful.”
He just nodded numbly. Not knowing what else to say.
Hoster sighed and leant back. “Don't get me wrong, Edmure. Youve been doing well. Youve taken my lessons far more seriously since you came back from the North.”
Edmure grimaced at the reminder of his journey North. At the humiliation he was forced to suffer at the hands of Hadrian Stark. His hands clenched at the memory before he forced them to relax and he calmed his breathing.
As much as he hates to admit it. He knows that a good portion of the fallout from that trip is his own fault. His father sent him to Winterfell to open up discussions about fostering one of his nieces or nephews.
Unfortunately, he was too cocky. Too confident. Too unused to speaking with an equal instead of one of his future subjects. He was too assured of himself and never even began proper negotiations. When he returned to Riverrun his father was livid with him, and in hindsight, after quite a lot of lessons on politics from his father he would admit that he was a fool.
Still, the current situation between Riverrun and Winterfell wasn't entirely his fault. Yes, he was a fool, but Hadrian Stark didn't have to escalate things so much.
Hoster saw the look on his face and softened. “Theres no use hanging on the past my son. What happened, happened. Best just to use the lessons it taught you in the future. “
He still couldn't help but grit his teeth. “Still...”
His father just waved him off. “Cat has been working on things on her side. It looks like Hadrian has started to soften his stance slightly. He won't be sending any family South any time soon but she has got him to agree to open up some trade. If for no other reason than to sell the things his fleet brings in.”
Edmure just took a deep calming breath.
“Why did you call me here father? Surely not just to talk about my failures and the North?”
After watching him for several seconds it seems that his father mercifully decided to move on.
“The issue with the Faith it becoming worse.”
Edmure snorted. “It's been growing worse for moons now father.”
He was about to continue before the sharp look in his fathers eye had him reconsidering.
After a moment of silence Hoster continued. “Yes, but not like this.”
A feeling of dread came over Edmure. “What happened?”
“Lord Blackwood was attacked in his own lands while he was out dealing justice to a group of bandits.”
His stomach dropped. “Is he okay?”
Hoster nodded with a relieved expression on his face. “Yes, he had some light wounds, but he survived. Most of his guards died though.”
Edmure slumped slightly in relief.
His father continued before he could speak. “Unfortunately, it seems that the group that attacked him were tracked to the Bracken lands.”
Instantly the feeling of dread returned. “Are you sure they were actually from there? Is it not just Blackwood throwing blame on Bracken like always?”
Hoster shook his head. “How I wish it were so my son. Unfortunately, some of my spies reported seeing quite a few Faith militant members on Bracken lands in the last moon. Lors Bracken has even been seen to meet with some of them.”
“Fuck.”
Hoster snorted. “Aptly put. This has the potential to spiral into an outright war between the two if we aren't careful. Which could drag the Riverlands into it as well. I fear that Bracken might actually have been involved in the attack. “
He turned his attention back to Edmure and studied him carefully. “What do you suggest we do son?”
Edmure thought hard. When he spoke, it was usure. “We can't let Bracken get away with this. Not only will it embolden him to be more direct next time. But it might give others the same idea of using the faith as a patsy.”
Hoster seemed to age before his eyes. “I agree. The problem is, if we move against Bracken and the Faith militant, it could cause us to be seen as traitors to those fanatics. It might stop the Faith or it might cause them to become even worse as they lose all restraint.”
“What about the King?”
Hoster snorted. “Robert Baratheon is only now starting to gather his banners. It will be at least a moon before he is ready to ride into the Riverlands at best. That's not even taking into account the fanatics that have started to pop up in Kingslanding, the Crowlands and the Reach. I fear this situation is only going to get worse before it gets better.”
The feeling of dread only grew. ”What do you suggest then?”
“We need to start preparing for war.” Edmure had never seen his father look so frail before. He was always a figure that seemed to loom large in his life, but now, he just seemed like a frail old man.
He felt fear at his father's words. After a few moments he gathered himself and straightened his shoulders as much as he could. “I will call the banners then.”
Hoster shook his head. “No, don't do it yet. It might just set off the spark to turn this into a full civil war. I fear that many houses might take this opportunity to settle old grudges if we don't navigate carefully. Many of them are still deciding which way to jump, if they go the wrong way then Blackwood and Bracken would be the least of our problems. No, I want you to get your friends to ride home in the morning and for them to slowly start building up their forces as quietly as they can. We will start doing the same. We will just gather our Knights for now. Once the King has properly started marching, then we will call the full banners. Fear of Roberts wrath should keep most houses from doing anything stupid. In the meantime I will write to Lord Blackwood to inform him of what we are doing and hopefully prevent him from marching on Bracken. Or at least delaying his march.”
Edmure felt tense. That didn't seem right to him. “Should we not march as soon as possible, before these fanatics cause anymore damage to our people?”
Hosters eyes softened. “You have a good heart Edmure. While I would like nothing more than to destroy these fanatics with the full power of the Riverlands, i fear the damage that can be done if we don't navigate carefully. A war always affects the smallfolk the worst. The longer it goes on, the more desperate they will become and the more will join up with the fanatics. No, i would rather the war be a short brutal one than one that drags on. When the Kings army is ready to join us, we will start scouring every river and hill for these fanatics and sweep them out of our kingdom as quickly and brutally as possible. In the meantime, i have written to my brother asking for him to return. His experience will be helpful.”
He felt some relief hearing the Blackfish would be helping but that still didn't get rid of the dread.
After a few minutes, he swallowed his pride to ask his next question. “What about the North? Shouldn't they send aid? They worship the Old Gods themselves?”
“Hadrian Stark has started to fortify his Kingdom, but has decided that he wont send any men South. He fears that it will only cause tensions to become worse. Leading more people to join the Faith Militant. For now, he has stated he would accept refugees from Old God worshippers. He will send ships to collect them at our ports during our trades but will provide no other aid.”
He grit his teeth. “Do you think he's right?” He bit out.
Hoster furrowed his eyebrows. “Possibly. It is difficult to imagine how a fanatic might react.”
It still sounded cowardly to him, but Edmure held his tongue.
“Was there anything else father?” He asked.
Hoster thought for a moment before shaking his head. “No that was all. You may go my son. Go back to the tavern and tell all your friends to have an early night. They must make haste home tomorrow to start building up their forces.”
Edmure just nodded and started making his way back to the inn. He didn't even think about getting more drinks or joining in on the fun. By now his mood had been thoroughly ruined.
He got back onto his horse and started riding back to the village. Luckily he was a lot more sober so the trip was much, much easier than before. Edmure didnt really pay much attention to his surrounding while he was riding, too caught up in his own head.
So it came as a suprise when he was flung off his horse when it was filled with arrows.
He landed painfully on his shoulder but, training and adrenaline made him rise fairly quickly.
Unfortunately, three of his six guards were already dead due to arrows with a dozen men charging his position.
Edmure wasted no time in turning to run as fast as he could. They were in a small forest of trees, blocking the view from the village. If he could just get clear, he might-
“AAAH!” He went down with a scream. Clutching his calf where an arrow had been embedded.
The pain was excruciating. White hot agony erupted in his mind, burning all thoughts except for the pain.
After a few seconds when he could pay attention again he found that he was surrounded.
Ten peasants wearing dirty clothes armed with knives and bows surrounded him. He knew then that his guards were dead.
“W-what do you want?” Edmure hated the crack in his voice.
The lead man sneered with a mouth that was missing half his teeth.
“Jus’ your death milord.”
His breath hitched. “Why?”
“Dunno, some rich fella gave us coin. Told us where you would be an’ how they want you to die. We jus’ doing dis fer the coin.”
Edmure had never felt so afraid in his life. He swallowed before speaking and even that was a chore. “Why are you telling me this?”
He shrugged as he stalked closer. “My boys an i were curious. Wanted to speak to the man that was worth a thousand dragons. Must say i am disappointed.”
Edmure wanted to laugh. He wanted cry. A thousand dragons! His life was only worth a thousand dragons!
Then he felt rage. Rage like he never felt before. Along with determination.
When the assassin got close enough he unsheathed his dagger and lunged at him. Ignoring the pain in his leg.
He must have suprised him because he only widened his eyes before the dagger entered his thoat. He ripped the dagger out, turned and lunged at the next one. If he was going to die, it would be on his feet!
Unfortunately, he took a slash across his chest before he crashed into him. He stabbed at the man savagely before he was pulled off and thrown to the ground.
“Careful lads! We have to string him up on the trees!”
While on his back he stabbed one man's leg, he went down with a cry. Unfortunately, that was when one of them kicked him in the head and everything went black.
When he next awoke, it was to the feeling of choking. His legs kicked at empty air, and his arms strained from where they were tied behind his back.
His last moments didn't last long, but the one thought that never left his mind was the question of who betrayed him?
Comments
HP-DG-AP-PN-RG-NR
I can't remember, it's been a while since I read this story. Is Baelish dead yet in this one?
Northern boy
Great chapter. Loving the story so far. Thanks for writing!
Asharzal
Yeah the Riverlands are about to turn into a complete clusterfuck. I bet that deed is going to be framed on worshippers of the Old Gods, if not Blackwood himself. Petyr Baelish can never suffer enough for all the lives he has ruined with his foul deeds.
