HOSTER | TYWIN
"May I come along, Father? I can be by your side and help."
That high-pitched voice echoed in the private dining room of the Lord of Riverrun. Hoster Tully stopped the knife over his plate, staring at his only son sitting across the table.
Edmure was still young. Although the boy always tried to puff out his chest to look like a grown knight, his cheeks were still round, adorned by the remnants of baby fat that hadn't faded. His blue eyes radiated a spirit and naivety that made Hoster want to sigh heavily.
Riverrun castle felt very quiet this morning.
Hoster looked at the empty chairs around the large wooden dining table. Usually, this table was filled with chatter and life. In the right chair, there would usually be Catelyn. His eldest daughter would sit with perfect posture, chewing her food gently, and occasionally scolding Edmure about his impoliteness if the boy spoke with his mouth full. Then in the left chair, there was Lysa who would giggle at her siblings' petty arguments, while Petyr Baelish would sit at the end, observing them all with his calm, calculating smile.
Now, that sight was merely a memory. They had all gone out into the world, fulfilling their respective duties and destinies.
Catelyn had become the wife of Ser Jaime Lannister. Remembering that alone was enough to make Hoster's chest swell with immense pride. It was the best, most perfect thing Hoster could give his eldest daughter.
Hoster loved Catelyn very much. She was a good girl, an obedient daughter who always listened when her father spoke, and comforted him when he was tired of dealing with the stubbornness of the Riverlands bannermen. Catelyn was always there. Her care was very gentle and warming, reminding Hoster of his late wife. And now, Catelyn was in King's Landing, married to the heir to Casterly Rock. Hoster had secured a future made of solid gold for his favorite child.
As for Lysa... Hoster chewed his sausage with slightly heavier thoughts. Lysa was his overly eager daughter, too easily carried away by emotion. Sometimes Hoster felt worried because his daughter was so close to Littlefinger in the past. He saw Lysa's gaze upon the boy, it was a gaze she should not have possessed...
Even after Hoster successfully agreed to the betrothal with Brandon Stark, uniting Riverrun with Winterfell, Lysa still had reluctance in her eyes. She cried and locked herself away.
But fortunately, the Gods were still kind to her. When Brandon came to visit Riverrun, the Northern youth was able to captivate Lysa's heart.
Brandon was indeed rough, his voice loud and his laugh booming, just like most Northerners raised amidst the cold winds. But the young man possessed a dangerous wild wolf charm, he was kind, gallant, and surprisingly very capable of giving sweet compliments that made a woman's cheeks blush. Lysa, initially reluctant, slowly began to smile every time Brandon looked at her. At least, Hoster hoped they would be fine and Lysa could find her happiness in that cold land later.
Hoster's gaze then shifted to the end of the table.
While his two daughters had flown the nest, Petyr Baelish was still here, cutting his bread and eating quietly. His lessons as a ward were not fully completed. Soon, in a year or two, he would become a grown man and could go back to his rocky origins in The Fingers. Honestly, behind his strict attitude, Hoster harbored a little affection for the young man. Of course, after all, they had shared the same roof for years. Petyr was smart, despite his low birth.
Hoster returned his attention to his pouting heir.
"You are still young, Edmure," said Hoster, his voice heavy and calm, leaving no room for argument. "The battlefield is not a playground to seek glory. Stay here at Riverrun, and be a useful squire to your uncle. When you manage to prove yourself in the training yard, when your shoulders are broad enough to bear the weight of iron armor without staggering, only then will I take you along."
"Is Uncle Brynden not coming either then?" Edmure pouted even more, putting down his fork a bit roughly so it clinked against the plate. "This is unfair. I want to see a real fight, Father! Not just hitting straw in the yard."
"Your Uncle Brynden is not coming, not because he cannot fight, but because he has a much more important duty here," Hoster said, staring at Edmure intently. "He is here to guard you. You are my heir, Edmure. The future of House Tully. And you must remain safe until you are big enough to protect yourself."
Edmure rolled his eyes, a habit Hoster disliked. The boy then turned to Petyr.
"And Petyr? Is he coming?" asked Edmure with an accusing tone, looking very annoyed. "He is weaker than me! He can barely even lift a longsword."
Petyr, who had only been listening silently, stopped chewing. He put down his knife, staring at Edmure with a pair of eyes that always looked like they harbored an amusing secret.
"Hey, you only beat me a few times in wooden sword fights, Edmure," said Baelish with a light tone that did not sound offended at all. "And even that was because my arm was a little sprained last week."
"Of course I won, I am younger but I am stronger than you!" Edmure snorted proudly, puffing out his chest.
"Exactly right," Baelish replied with a soft and soothing smirk, a smile that somehow always made his conversational partner feel like a child. "That is the point. You are younger, your bloodline is far more valuable. So a battlefield full of mud and blood is not yet suitable for you."
Edmure frowned, trying to digest Petyr's words, unsure if he was just praised or mocked.
Hoster sighed softly. He had no time to deal with children's squabbles this morning. His mind was already filled with strategies and maps.
They would leave today. The Riverrun forces had gathered outside the castle. Hoster would personally lead the soldiers to eradicate the bandits currently destroying many villages in his territory.
Hoster was very annoyed. No, he was more than annoyed, he was furious.
The bandits moved like water. They were too fluid, too organized to be handled by petty lords who only had a dozen guards. They were not just robbing; they destroyed, and terrorized the farmers trying to implement farming methods from the West. This was a direct insult to Hoster's authority and a real threat to the soaring prosperity of the Riverlands.
Hoster would not let his investments be burned to ashes by a bunch of street rats. He would get rid of them for good. He would hang every man who dared to raise a torch against the Riverlands' progress. Do not think they could get away with it after creating chaos.
"Enough," Hoster cut off the conversation, ending the debate with one firm word. He looked at Edmure who immediately fell silent.
"Just eat, finish your food, Edmure," ordered Hoster. "After this, meet Uncle Brynden in the yard. And do not make him angry."
...
Tywin and Steffon were currently outside, on one of the high balconies, observing the sea of workers moving large stones and tons of gravel into the giant sewer trenches below. White dust billowed into the air, obscuring part of the city view.
"You just agreed to it, Tywin?" Steffon asked him, standing beside him with a clear tone of disbelief. "Twenty percent of the profits, I thought you would ask for more... much more. Half, perhaps, considering you hold all the secrets."
Tywin did not answer immediately. His pale green eyes remained locked on the movement of carts in the distance. His face was hard and calm.
"My grandson will one day rule this realm, Steffon," answered Tywin finally. His voice was not loud, but its firmness pierced through the noisy sounds below them. "Aegon will sit on that throne. And I had better help him so the kingdom does not collapse first before he gets to wear it."
That was the fruit of an exhausting Small Council meeting. Rhaegar would build manufactories for cloth, paper, glass, and agricultural tools in King's Landing or the Crownlands with the investment support of other Lords, with Tywin providing the blueprints and the methods of production.
In return, Tywin received twenty percent of their net profits for the next ten years. Tywin did not care about the money directly, the gold in Casterly Rock was more than enough. He just wanted to make everyone know, without the slightest doubt, that it was the Lannisters who made all this possible.
Therefore, as one of the absolute conditions, he also proposed to Rhaegar that any other lords or merchant guilds wishing to make the same things must ask for official permission from him first. He did not want an embarrassing incident like the paper machine stolen and copied by the Citadel in Oldtown to happen again.
With this new rule, he could stop unauthorized competitors legally, without needing much violence, without needing to hire assassins or deploy armies. They named that legal concept 'Patent Rights'.
Of course, Rhaegar was not stupid. The young King requested further discussion regarding the terms. The King did not want Tywin playing loopholes in his laws to strangle the economy for an eternal monopoly.
Steffon fell silent for a moment, observing his friend. A smile slowly bloomed on the face of the Lord of Storm's End.
"Sometimes I am jealous that you can enjoy your life like this," Steffon laughed a little, his sigh sounding amused. "But I am also glad, because honestly since we were little you were always scowling everywhere. And seeing you able to release a little of that tension now, it feels so pleasant to see."
Tywin looked away, snorting softly. "Anyone would always scowl if facing every day with you. You are too noisy."
Steffon grinned even wider, not offended at all. "But that is my charm, is it not? I quickly became liked by many in this court."
"You are overconfident," Tywin replied flatly.
"Never mind, we had better go inside, the sun here is starting to feel hot making me uncomfortable," Steffon said while rubbing his neck, then turned entering the Red Keep hallway shaded by shadows.
Tywin followed beside him. As soon as they were free from the sun's heat, Steffon's facial expression was again pulled by the burden of responsibility.
"The chaos caused by the farmers in the countryside seems to be getting worse," Steffon continued the conversation, his tone now heavy. "Rhaegar strongly assumes they are funded by merchants in Essos. But there are many merchants in Essos. So far we are at peace with Braavos, the Iron Bank would not fund chaos here, although the others, like Pentos and Myr, are very doubtful."
"Those farmers won't have much of a chance," Tywin snorted, his voice filled with disdain. "They will be stopped soon by the Lords. Other lords wouldn't want to look weak in the eyes of their own people so they will handle this immediately... if only there wasn't a game of push and pull played by the rebels, and by those stingy Lords."
Tywin straightened his sleeves. Those rebels so far only messed up villages and petty lord territories. Even if their numbers were large, and even if they were funded with gold coins, they had no combat experience since childhood. Their bodies were weak from malnutrition, and their stolen food sources would eventually run out. It was only a matter of time before they finally exhausted themselves.
"Yes," Steffon nodded, massaging his throbbing forehead. "We will see how it ends later. Those remaining rebels cannot all be hanged and sent to the Wall, Tywin. Most of them surely just tagged along out of desperation losing their land."
Tywin didn't really think about it from a moral standpoint, but yes, practically it was indeed true. Killing them all was a waste of resources.
They might have to punish those people with working to build roads later. They needed a massive amount of manual labor to realize a network of cobblestone highways between kingdoms, who knows how long those roads would be built. This was the most ambitious project on a large scale, but its effects would also be massive.
Good roads meant transportation would move faster. Armies could move faster, food could be delivered faster, and it would make the realm increasingly advanced in terms of finances and stability.
"They will be useful later," Tywin agreed to the forced labor idea.
They talked about a few more things regarding taxation and port guarding, and then parted at a corridor junction.
Tywin continued his steps towards the Tower of the Hand. Midway, he saw Jaime walking from the opposite direction. His son was wearing a casual red tunic, and when their eyes met, Jaime smiled at him. A sincere and relaxed smile.
"Father, you seem to look happy," said Jaime when they faced each other.
Tywin observed his son. After years, this boy had grown into an adult man who dared to voice his mind directly in front of Tywin, without the paralyzing fear like before. It was a good development.
"Is there something you want to discuss, Jaime?" Tywin said, ignoring the comment about him looking 'happy'.
Jaime rubbed the back of his neck, chuckling slightly awkwardly. "A few things, you know. Catelyn is with child, right? She requested some strange unusual foods lately. It makes me a little dizzy."
Tywin raised one eyebrow. He was not used to being faced with domestic complaints. "What did she request?"
"Oysters," Jaime shook his head, a tired smile forming on his face. "She asked for oysters drenched in vinegar and pure honey. In the middle of the night. And when the servant brought ordinary roasted oysters, she cried as if I had just burned Riverrun. I had to go down to the kitchen myself and wake the cook."
Hearing his son's complaint, Tywin's face did not change, he maintained his flat expression. However, inside his chest cavity, something hard as stone suddenly softened.
A memory he had locked tightly for a long time broke in. A memory from decades ago, when Casterly Rock felt warm and full of light.
Joanna.
Joanna also did the exact same thing, thought Tywin, an aching and sweet longing rushing in his heart. When Joanna was pregnant with the twins, Jaime and Cersei, his wife once woke him in the darkest hour of the night. Joanna demanded sour peaches sprinkled with crushed black pepper. Tywin then found himself going down to the kitchen wrapped in a nightgown, looking for black pepper simply because he couldn't bear to see even a speck of tears in his wife's green eyes.
Those were the times when Tywin Lannister was willing to give the whole world just for a smile. Tywin took a slow breath, banishing Joanna's shadow back to its storage place, but the remnants of that softness still lingered.
He stared at Jaime, seeing the reflection of himself in his youth in his son.
"Just fulfill her request," said Tywin finally, his voice far softer than usual, almost sounding like ordinary fatherly advice... "No matter how strange it is. A woman carrying the successor of House Lannister in her body deserves all the oysters and honey in the Seven Kingdoms."
Jaime looked a little surprised by his response, then an understanding smile appeared on his face.
"Yes. Father. Of course," answered Jaime.
Tywin nodded slowly, then resumed his steps towards his solar. The burden of the realm was indeed heavy, but seeing his family's future secured, Tywin Lannister knew that all of this was worth it.
...
Power Stones would be greatly appreciated, it would also keep me motivated for faster updates. If we reach 300, I will upload an extra chapter.
Also, you can read early chapters at Patreon.com/Daario_W
Thanks for reading!