This is utter nonsense, Hoster," Brynden growled as he burst into his brother's solar, slapping the marriage proposal between himself and Bethany Redwyne on his brother's desk. "I refuse to let you sell me off like some piece of cattle!"
While it was clear that both men were brothers, there were slight differences between them. Brynden was lean, auburn-haired, and clean-shaven. His brother Hoster, on the other hand, had broad shoulders, brown hair, and a groomed beard. What both brothers shared, besides their immense pride and stubbornness, were their blue eyes.
It had only been a year since both brothers had marched men of the Riverlands south to the Stepstones where they fought in the War of the Ninepenny Kings. Both young men had distinguished themselves in several battles, alongside other young nobles such as Tywin and Kevan Lannister, Steffon Baratheon, and Prince Aerys Targaryen. When they had returned from the Stepstones, Hoster had married Minisa Whent. A calm, beautiful woman with soft hands and a warm smile. With their father dead, Hoster had been allowed to marry a woman he loved. A luxury that he was denying Brynden now.
"Maester Gort, Jasper, please give my brother and me privacy," Hoster ordered, addressing his steward and maester without looking up from his writing. The two men glanced worriedly at each other before bowing and leaving.
"I demand an answer," Brynden hissed. "Say something damn it!"
"Family. Duty. Honor," Hoster replied calmly as he looked up from his work. "A connection to House Redwyne could be very beneficial for us, Brynden. For our family. Besides, Bethany is a pretty girl and I hear that she is very good with the harp."
"Damn the girl, Hoster!" Brynden shouted. "You will not sell me off! I will marry a girl of my choosing and you will have no say in the matter!"
Hoster shook his head. "I'm afraid not, brother. Our actions in the war shed a favorable light on our house. We must make quick work of it before it leaves us. House Redwyne is close to House Tyrell. The wife of Lord Luthor is a Redwyne by birth. If we can connect ourselves to Highgarden, we may grow closer to the throne."
Brynden's eyes narrowed. "You intend to play the game."
Brynden wasn't a fool. He had a low tolerance for politics and the fools who pranced around in court. He was a soldier through and through. He could swing a sword as well as any man and knew how to inspire soldiers under his command. His father had made sure that both he and Hoster knew about the Game of Thrones. Most major lords south of the Neck did.
While Brynden could care less about the game, it seemed like his brother had other thoughts.
Hoster shrugged. "I don't see why not. I have no fantasies of a Tully sitting on the Iron Throne, but if we play our cards right, we could help shape the future of the realm. A future that rewards our family with wealth and prestige."
Brynden slammed his fist on the desk, making his brother's inkwell jump and rattle. "You're blind, brother! There is no playing in the game. You do not get to choose when you enter and when you leave. You win or you die! That's it!"
Hoster smiled slightly. "Then I should be just fine. After all, no one would ever suspect a trout to be dangerous."
"How many trouts were caught and baked when they tried to play the game?" Brynden challenged. "How many of our ancestors died young because they had the same foolish plans as you?"
Hoster rose from his seat and leaned forward, his smirk gone and replaced with a frown. When he spoke, his voice was deadly serious.
"You have insulted me for the last time, Brynden. I have listened to your rant and I've had enough. You will marry Bethany Redwyne and you shall do what must be done to see our House grow strong."
Brynden picked up the marriage contract and threw it into the hungry embers of his brother's brazier. Hoster held up a hand to stop him, but the damage was already done as the contract slowly turned to ash. Neither brother said a thing as they glared at each other, listening to the crackle of the burning parchment.
"You would reject your duty as a member of this House?" Hoster asked through gritted teeth. It was very clear that he was close to losing his temper, but Brynden didn't care.
"I am your brother. Not a fish at the market to be sold off to the highest bidder," Brynden spat. "Play your pathetic game, brother. Sell your children like you tried to sell me. I will have no part of it so long as I live. I am my own man, and I will make my own choices."
Before Hoster could respond, Brynden turned on his heel and strode out of the room, slamming the door behind him.
Line Break
The two brothers stood across from each other, both clutching the daggers at their sides. The rest of the dinner remained on the table, growing cold as the two men argued. Hoster's three children watched wide-eyed as their father, who was always calm and collected, and their beloved uncle shouted at each other.
Brynden loved his brother's children, despite the tension between him and Hoster. It wasn't hard to see that Catelyn, his eldest daughter, would be a great beauty when she grew older. She had inherited her mother's looks and kind heart. Lysa was a pretty girl in her own right, but she was a shy, awkward child who was just two years younger than Cat. Edmure, Hoster's third child, was only three, but he looked to have inherited the traditional Tully looks of auburn hair and blue eyes.
Cat looked more composed than an eight-year-old should, but Brynden knew the girl well enough to know that she was worried. Lysa's and Edmure's emotions were more apparent as the young girl hugged her brother close.
"You must marry soon, Brynden!" Hoster hissed, trying to contain his anger in front of his children. "You're too old for this nonsense! I have presented you with half a dozen women, all of whom would be fine matches for you and help our House, but you continue to defy me!"
Brynden snorted. "Brackens and Freys. Blackwoods and Mallisters. I want none of them."
"Then what do you want, Brynden?" Hoster demanded. "I have put up with your stubbornness for years. Tell me who you want to marry and I will see it happen!"
"That's exactly it, Hoster!" Brynden growled, stabbing his finger at his brother. "You want to meddle in my love life, a place you have no right to be! You may be my brother, but I am my own man who will make his own damn choices! I am no one's pawn, not even yours!"
Hoster threw his hands up. "You're mad!" he cried. "I offer you eligible women and you burn the letters from their families. I offer to help you find a woman of your liking and you throw my kindness back at my feet! There is no reasoning with you!"
"Kindness!" Brynden scoffed mockingly.
"Family. Duty. Honor. Those are the words of our house!" Hoster argued. "You refuse to help our Family! You spit on your duty! You dishonor me, your brother and lord!"
"Where is your love for your brother?" Brynden countered. "You dishonor me by trying to sell me off to the highest bidder! And you lecture me about duty? What is yours? To protect the smallfolk, pay taxes to the crown, and sell your family like cattle?"
Hoster gritted his teeth as his grip whitened on the hilt of his dagger. Brynden did not back down from his brother and kept a hand on his own dagger. They had sparred together as young men in the training ground for years. Brynden was sure that if their fight came to blows, he would win.
"Nobles into other families to build alliances," Hoster said finally, his voice heavy with disappointed and repressed anger. "This is the way of the world, brother. Are you content to be the black goat of the Tully flock?"
Brynden smiled, but it was devoid of humor as he pointed at the blue and red banner that hung behind his brother and around the hall. Like all the banners hung inside and outside the castle, it showed a leaping silver trout.
"We're fish, Hoster, not goats," Brynden spat sarcastically. "I'm a black fish."
Line Break
"Ser Brynden, you have a visitor," the sentry said from outside Brynden's tent.
"Send them in," Brynden replied as he shook himself from his thoughts.
There had not been much to do but think as Brynden and his army shuffled north along the King's Road. The wildlings that Ned had sent south to keep the road clear had done their best, but the snow fell faster than they could shovel. For every foot they cleared, another half a foot was already piling up. This had reduced the army's pace to just a few miles a day before the men were spent and the army was forced to set up camp on the road itself. Men were cold and miserable, bundled tightly in furs as they marched. Brynden hoped to reach Winterfell soon.
Brynden had been thinking about his late brother a lot as he made his way north. The battle against the elements had forced his consciousness inwards, where he was finally grappling with the thoughts and emotions that he had been repressing since his brother's funeral.
"Ser Brynden," Edric Baratheon greeted tiredly as he ducked into the tent.
"Edric," Brynden said. "What do I owe the visit?"
The lad had become a different man than the young lord that Brynden had greeted in King's Landing when he and his half-brother Gendry had ridden into the Red Keep. He was more serious now, and the twinkle that had been in his blue eyes grew dimmer by the day. Brynden had observed the change with others as well. The snow and ice were turning men into stone statues whose only emotion was misery.
However, there were some good changes about the young man too.
Since Garlan and Oberyn had led a group of their best warriors north, as per the instructions of the king, Edric had begun to spend his time in Brynden's war council meetings since he no longer had his brother to pass the time with. Gendry, oddly enough, had been one of the few asked by name to accompany Garlan to the Nightfort.
The boy had proven to be surprisingly observant and tended to ask good questions at the right times. Brynden would be the first to admit that he was growing fond of the boy, especially since he reminded him of a young Robert.
"I was just in need of some conversation, ser," Edric sighed as he dropped onto a nearby stool. "Lord Swann is a bit of a rambler."
Brynden chuckled. "So you turn to the wily veteran for conversation?"
Edric shrugged. "I have my reasons."
"And what would those be?"
Edric hesitated, and Brynden knew immediately that there was something the boy wanted. This was not some casual social visit.
"Lord Swann was working on a letter to his new lady wife," Edric explained. "He said that it wouldn't be long before I had a wife myself."
Brynden nodded. "The king was wedded when he was seventeen. Not many young nobles make it into their twenties without a wife or a betrothed. I'm sure Ser Cortnay has been juggling proposals ever since King Robb legitimized you."
Edric looked surprised. "Do you think he has?"
"I would be surprised if he hadn't," Brynden answered. "But you're new to ruling and I do believe that he didn't want to burden you with too many things. Now," the old knight leaned towards the boy, "why are you here, Edric?"
Once again, the boy hesitated before his shoulders slumped and he looked down at the ground.
"With Lord Swann talking about his wife and how I might one day be married…why did you never marry, Ser Brynden?" he asked quietly, almost sounding afraid.
Brynden grimaced and leaned back. "Do you know how many high lord's I've been around who have been too afraid to ask me that question? I was in the war council with Ned Stark, Jon Arryn, and your father Robert Baratheon. None of them dared to ask me such a question. Even my own brother gave up after a while."
"Sorry…" Edric said quickly, rising from his seat.
"Sit back down," Brynden ordered. When Edric was back on his stool, Brynden continued. "Look at me."
Edric's blue eyes came up to meet Brynden's. The old knight could see that the boy was frightened, not of the prospect of fighting the Others, but of offending him. He was the Blackfish. One of the most well-known and respected warriors across the width and breadth of Westeros. He was the survivor of half a hundred battles. He had fought against the last Blackfyre in the War of the Ninepenny Kings. He had helped topple the Targaryen Dynasty during Robert's Rebellion. He had been King Robb's principal advisor as the young northerner warred with Tywin Lannister in the Riverlands.
"You want an answer?" Brynden asked, still gazing at the boy. Edric struggled to keep looking at Brynden, but he finally nodded.
"I do."
"Very well," Brynden said simply.
"Really?" Edric asked.
Brynden made a vague gesture with his hands. "There's a good chance that this will be my last battle, boy. Might as well tell the story to someone."
Edric scooted forward expectantly. "So…why?"
"My brother had first tried to marry me off to a girl from the Reach. Bethany Redwyne," Brynden explained. "I was offended. He had gotten to pick his wife from the entire Riverlands and marry for love, yet there he was, straddling me with some poor girl that I had never met before and who didn't know me from any other sweat-stained knight. I took the contract and destroyed it. That's when my brother and I had our first argument over marriage."
"You didn't want to be forced into a marriage you didn't want, to a girl you didn't know," Edric said.
Brynden nodded. "For the next few years, so long as I resided in Riverrun, my brother continued to take offers from riverlords, valemen, westermen, and a few reacher lords. They offered their sisters, daughters, nieces, and any woman related to them who wasn't ill or deformed," the older man smiled slightly. "I was very desirable, believe it or not."
"Why didn't you just choose a girl the way your brother did?" Edric asked.
Brynden shook his head. "Because my brother would have tried to persuade me to another girl. I could have chosen a peasant girl and Hoster would have tried to convince me that Maidenpool is just a big village and that the Mootons are one of the lesser families, closer to commoners than the Tullys. He's always wanted a hand in my affairs, my brother, and I denied him every chance."
"You could have taken a wife when you were Knight of the Gate," Edric pointed out.
Brynden rubbed his jaw. "Perhaps, but by that time, the feud between my brother and I had grown too big. My own damn pride didn't allow me to even think of finding a wife just to spite my brother. I refused to give him the satisfaction of seeing me married."
"Do you regret it?"
Brynden turned his gaze away from the boy and towards the brazier that warmed his tent. Did he regret it? He had tried to answer that question for years, and for years, he had said "no" for the very reasons he had just told Edric. He would deny his brother what he always wanted most: a chance to be proven right. It wasn't about being alone. Ser Brynden was in his element as Knight of the Gate, surrounded by soldiers and knights. It was simply about spitting in his brother's face.
"I do," Brynden replied quietly. "We were more than brothers in our youths. We were best friends. We fought side by side in every battle on the Stepstones, carving a swath through the sellswords under the command of Liomond Lashare and slaughtered the thieves and bandits that served the Old Mother. I regret now that I let our bond be cracked and torn by the idea of marriage. I was a young man who thought that a few battles made him free from the duties to his family. I was wrong, and I was stubborn, and I regret that I never took the time to make peace with my brother before his final days."
Edric nodded slowly. "I am sorry, Ser Brynden, if my question has caused you pain."
Brynden shook his head. "No, your question brought me peace. I admitted my grief to both you and myself. Something I have been unable to do for the better part of thirty years."
The old knight looked at the boy. "Let me give you some advice, Edric. Learn from my failings. You have a brother now, and you are the two last males of your house. Never let a feud destroy your bond. Family is too precious to lose, and in our time, life can be snuffed out at any moment."
"I will do as you say, Ser Brynden, I swear," Edric promised. "And…thank you for sharing your story. I hardly doubt that I am worthy…."
"You are more than worthy, lad," Ser Brynden said, cutting Edric off. "You are the son of Robert Baratheon, a troubled man who was undoubtedly a good man and a better friend. You have his looks, but you also have his heart. I see that as plain as day."
Edric looked down and blushed. "Thank you, ser."
"You can go now, Edric, and ignore Lord Swann's words of marriage and love. You have a few years left before you must endure it," Brynden said with a slight smile. "Thank you for hearing the tired rant of an old man."
Edric rose to his seat and bowed to Ser Brynden. "Good night, Ser Brynden."
"Good night lad," Brynden replied as the young man left and disappeared into the darkness and snow.
Brynden sat back in his chair and stared at the brazier, his mind wandering the Stepstones and battles where he and his brother fought shoulder to shoulder, their swords singing their deadly songs. Back before their shouting matches that shook the walls of Riverrun. Before their bitter, tired goodbyes whenever Brynden left to return to his post the Bloody Gates.
Back before Brynden had shot the flaming arrow that had laid his brother to rest, with their feud still living on with the man known as the Blackfish.