Hoster II | Catelyn VI
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Daario
Getting sticky.
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HOSTER | CATELYN
Hoster Tully turned the roasting spit over the campfire flame with slow and steady movements. Above it, a large piece of venison, hunted by his scouts this afternoon, hissed softly as it touched the licking flames.
It was currently night, and the sky above the Riverlands was clear of clouds, showing off an expanse of shining stars. The air felt so cold, biting the skin through the gaps in the armor, due to the gentle breeze coming continuously without end from the north.
The sound of night insects could be heard chirring everywhere, filling the silence of the forest. Earlier there were many mosquitoes buzzing annoyingly around their ears, but since the fire was lit and the thick smoke spread, those insects retreated, making the atmosphere of this small camp much better and bearable.
Yellow fat oozed from the meat's pores when Hoster pressed it with his dagger. The fat fell into the embers, creating a momentarily dancing flame and evaporating fragrant smoke that immediately entered the olfactory senses. The aroma was very savory, wild, and mouth-watering, making Hoster's empty stomach rumble slightly, demanding to be filled immediately.
But this meat was not perfectly cooked on the inside yet, and honestly, Hoster really enjoyed this process. Staring at the burning fire and listening to the sounds of nature provided its own tranquility for him. It made his usually tangled mind clear again amidst the many things.
He turned slightly across the campfire.
"Do you think we can wipe out one of their groups tonight, Petyr?" Hoster asked.
Opposite him, sitting on a fallen tree trunk, his ward was wiping the blade of his longsword using a piece of oiled cloth. Petyr Baelish looked down, his eyes focused on the glint of metal in his hands.
Hearing Hoster's question, Petyr lifted his face.
"Based on the reports we received from the scouts? Yes, My Lord, of course," answered Petyr calmly. "The information we got is quite recent. They carry a lot of heavy loot, and based on the nearest unattacked village, their movements are very easy to predict. They are definitely camping in the valley near here."
Hoster turned his meat again, nodding slowly accepting the analysis. "Are you afraid to face them later, Boy?"
Petyr's hand slightly stopped its movement on the sword. A thin smile that was often difficult to interpret appeared at the corner of his lips.
"Not really, My Lord," he answered. "They are just former farmers rebelling out of hunger and anger. They swing swords like swinging hoes, and they have no skills, discipline, or formations that can match us. Honestly, we could probably even defeat and slaughter them all with fewer troops than we brought now. But, there is no use in underestimating the enemy, is there?"
Hoster snorted in agreement. Yes, Hoster would never underestimate the enemy, even one as small or weak as whatever. Desperation could make humans do crazy and irrational things.
The Lord of Riverrun stared at the boy with an assessing gaze. Petyr Baelish might not be very skilled in swordsmanship, his swordplay was very ordinary, far from the word talented knight, but the boy had a brain and self-control that made him dangerous in a different way. Petyr was very calm under pressure, never letting emotions rule him, and he was able to think faster than most adults in his castle.
"You look very sure of that," said Hoster, the hiss of falling meat fat heard again, signaling that their dish was almost ready.
Petyr chuckled softly, putting his cleaned sword into its scabbard.
"Previously rebellions like this have happened several times in the history of the Seven Kingdoms, My Lord. Although never as widespread and severe as this time," Petyr began to explain. "Only one or two villages at a time rebelling due to taxes or bad harvests. But they all lost, and they never won. Fighting a lord who has armor and horses is a futile act for the smallfolk."
Petyr leaned forward, bringing his hands closer to the fire seeking warmth.
"But this one doesn't seem too futile," continued the young man. "Because some lords, have started listening to them, haven't they? They all started considering creating jobs so things like this don't happen again in the future. They rebel, and they indirectly force the rulers to adapt."
Hoster nodded slowly. Some lords under his rule indeed as reported through letters, had started creating many small construction project jobs or expanding their new fields. This was something they should have done from the start, instead of just firing the farmers and washing their hands of it.
"This time the numbers are quite large. Rumors estimate tens of thousands of people joined and became bandits," said Hoster with a grim voice.
"And I think that is actually a good thing. Anyway," said Petyr suddenly.
Hoster raised his eyebrows, slightly surprised by the cold tone in that statement. "A good thing?"
"For now, My Lord, the production and distribution of foodstuffs in our kingdom is not fully stable in every region, especially in big cities," Petyr explained, his eyes unblinking staring at the fire. "And because of this act of rebellion, as well as disease and starvation in the streets, the population of poor people will decrease drastically. Because of that, we don't need to worry too much about food supply shortages for people who truly deserve it or can afford to buy it."
Hoster fell silent. It was a very brutal, calculating, and merciless perspective. Letting the problem solve itself by reducing the number of mouths to feed. But, in the realm of politics, it was an undeniable fact.
"Then," Petyr continued with a lighter tone, "the remaining defeated rebels later we can send them all to the North, to the Night's Watch. I heard that they are very short of members. And looking at the territory of The Gift, vast land that is never used to the maximum due to lack of manpower... that is very unfortunate. These rebels can work that land for the Wall."
Hoster had indeed heard from Lysa's letters in Winterfell that the Night's Watch was always asking for new members. They took them from city prison inmates, rapists, thieves, murderers, and so on. As far as Hoster knew from his childhood tales, long ago the Night's Watch was an honorable place that had tens of thousands of knights to eradicate Wildlings... or according to the tales, The Others.
Truly heartbreaking, thought Hoster, that the organization said to be so legendary and respected before could now become so degraded and merely a dumping ground for the dregs of society.
"So, from all these things and chaos, the one benefiting the most in the end is the Night's Watch," Hoster snorted roughly.
He checked his meat; its color was perfectly browned. The meat was cooked. He took two wooden plates from his provisions, placed those thick pieces there, and handed one plate to Petyr while he took a larger portion for himself.
Petyr received the plate and inhaled the aroma of the roasted meat with closed eyes.
"Well, they at the Wall will also be quite troubled to manage thousands of these angry rebels arriving suddenly at their headquarters, My Lord," Petyr chuckled opening his eyes. "But yes, once they wear black clothes, it is no longer our business in the South, right?"
"I cannot wait to eradicate them and finish this business," Hoster agreed.
He cut his venison into pieces and devoured it. The meat was a little tough when chewed, requiring more effort from his aging jaw, but it tasted very delicious. Salt, meat juices, and smoke flavor blended perfectly. Not bad at all for the size of a dinner in the forest. He saw Petyr also doing the same thing, cutting his food into neat small pieces before eating it.
"Have you considered what you will do when your duties here are finished and you return to your home later, Boy?" said Hoster, opening a new topic.
Petyr swallowed his food and nodded. "Yes, My Lord. I am considering opening some businesses at the port and utilizing the location of The Fingers. I want to make that rocky land prosperous. This might be very difficult and take a long time because we do not have mines or fertile soil, but we will see how everything will develop as time goes by."
"Good. You are smart," said Hoster praising sincerely. Even if not as smart as Jaime Lannister. Of course the last part went unspoken. But Hoster knew what intelligence could achieve.
"You can create or make everything better with that brain of yours, Petyr," continued Hoster. "I have seen what can be done with a brilliant mind, and you had better make the best use of your abilities."
"I thank you for your trust and upbringing all this time, Lord Hoster," Petyr smiled, bowing slightly from his sitting position.
After they finished eating and emptied their waterskins, the camp atmosphere began to turn busy. Hoster's subordinates came to give reports. It was time.
They all put out the campfires, kicking dirt onto the embers until no more smoke billowed. Everyone prepared to leave.
The sound of horse hooves and soft neighs were heard as they were mounted. The large Riverlands army began to move slowly, walking, then occasionally trotting through the dense trees. The air immediately felt colder and pierced the face due to the windbreak they created while riding. In the sky, the moon hung high and created a silvery light bright enough to let them move forward without needing to light torches.
After about an hour's journey, the vanguard suddenly stopped. Hoster spurred his horse forward.
A dirty-faced scout approached Hoster panting.
"We have found them. We can see many of them, my lord."
"Great," said Hoster. "Let us get rid of these pests ruining my land."
When they arrived at the top of the hill directly facing the valley, the sight down there was visible, they were moving. Hundreds of men in tattered clothes and armor seemed to be marching in a messy formation, walking through the darkness of the night, guided by torches flickering blown by the wind. Hoster Tully squinted his eyes, observing.
Without wasting time, Hoster raised his hand high. Along the tree line, a line of archers was immediately prepared. They moved, pulling arrows from their quivers and nocking them on the bowstrings. Hundreds of bows were drawn taut, awaiting the command. The atmosphere suddenly became very quiet, only filled by the sound of held breaths and the creaking of curving bow wood. Hoster let that be for a few seconds, ensuring every target was in optimal range, before finally he lowered his hand with one quick jerk.
The night air was instantly torn by a loud whizzing sound as hundreds of arrows were launched simultaneously. They shot arcing through the night sky, reflecting moonlight on their iron tips.
However, that deafening whizzing sound immediately became a warning to the mob below. The bandits, who apparently were indeed already on alert from the start, reacted with surprising speed. As soon as those shadows fell from the sky, they immediately raised leather-coated wooden shields and iron bucklers above their heads. A barrage of loud thudding sounds echoed throughout the valley as arrows hit shields, stuck into the ground, and some pierced the flesh of those less fortunate. Even though their formation was messy, that defensive reflex saved far more lives than Hoster expected.
From the midst of that chaos, instead of fleeing, the leaders of the bandit group started giving commands. Rough trumpet sounds and loud shouts echoed, organizing the rest of their forces. With drawn weapons, they actually changed direction and started running up the hill, charging towards Hoster's forces' position recklessly.
Hoster was undaunted. He spurred his horse forward, leading his heavy cavalry to meet the attack. Close quarters combat broke out immediately. Hoster swung his greatsword. His opponents were full of blind rage, their movements predictable and full of openings. Hoster parried an axe slash from a dirty-faced man, then spun his sword and slashed his attacker's neck in one motion. His warhorse joined in kicking and trampling enemies daring to approach.
He cleaved through the enemy lines like a sickle cutting wheat. His sword kept swinging without mercy, taking life after life.
...
"This embroidery looks very beautiful, Cat. You are truly skilled at this."
Jaime's voice sounded warm in their private room. The young man was sitting on the edge of the bed, grinning broadly. In his hand, he held a handkerchief that Catelyn had just finished embroidering. In the corner of the cloth, there was an image of a roaring golden lion, stitched with very neat and precise thread details.
Jaime held the handkerchief with a gaze radiating pure pride, as if Catelyn had just created a precious treasure out of thin air. Catelyn, sitting leaning back in her sun chair with soft pillows supporting her back, could not hold back a smile.
"The practice I did for a long time is what did all that, Jaime," Catelyn answered softly. "The Septa taught me to hold a needle since before I could even read fluently. It is the basic duty of a lady."
Jaime lowered the handkerchief, his smile not fading. He stared at Catelyn with his bright green eyes.
"If one day we have a daughter," said Jaime, "I want you to be the one teaching her how to embroider. I am not too confident in entrusting such an important task to a septa or other nurses. I want her to learn from the best."
Catelyn laughed. "You are exaggerating too much, my Husband. This is just embroidery. Thousands of women in Westeros can do it."
"Not 'just' embroidering, Cat," Jaime argued, stroking the gold thread on the cloth. "This is an extraordinary skill. An art. It takes high-level patience and precision. I couldn't even do it. If you gave me this needle, I would probably sew my own fingers together."
"Of course you cannot, because you are a man," Catelyn laughed harder. "You are not supposed to do that. Your hands are created to hold sword hilts and pens to lead."
"Who decided that? Where is it written that a man cannot sew his own clothes if they tear?" Jaime frowned, joking.
"The people, Jaime. Tradition. The Seven Gods," Catelyn chuckled, shaking her head slowly.
Her laughter slowly subsided, leaving a gentle smile. Catelyn stared at Jaime with a clearer and deeper gaze.
Since the arrival of the grain from the Westerlands easing the tension in the capital, Jaime had become much brighter. The burden perched on his shoulders for the past few weeks seemed to be lifted slightly. His green eyes again radiated the spark of life. However, Jaime became very busy. He lacked the time to be here, in this room with her.
Every morning, Jaime would leave for a meeting with Rhaegar or his father, then spend the afternoon supervising the cement manufactory or sewer expansion. Sometimes Catelyn wanted so much to come along with him, out of the walls of this Red Keep, accompanying whatever her husband was doing. But she knew it would look improper for a pregnant lady, and Jaime would surely forbid her due to reasons of dust and exhaustion.
Catelyn loved him. The Gods knew she loved this man more than she had ever imagined when their betrothal was first announced. And because of that deep love, she sometimes felt very afraid. Afraid that something bad would happen to her happiness.
With all the current problems, especially the invisible tension with the people of Essos, Catelyn's mind often wandered to the worst-case scenarios. Catelyn was afraid that someone across the sea there would try to send assassins.
She had read and heard about terrifying assassin guilds: The Sorrowful Men and also the Faceless Men who could change their faces like changing clothes. Was she exaggerating for thinking this?
It's impossible those foreign merchants would dare to do it, right? Catelyn thought inwardly, trying to calm herself. Jaime was the heir to Casterly Rock. He was the son of the Hand of the King and the King's good-brother Committing an assassination against him would result in open war that would destroy Essos's trade routes themselves.
However, cunning was not always in the form of blatantly drawn swords. At this time, there hadn't been many real actions King Rhaegar had taken to retaliate against Essos because they didn't have strong enough evidence to accuse them directly. But in the air, Catelyn could feel that right now something was brewing. A storm was gathering. And Catelyn only hoped that her feelings were not true.
She had already lost her mother when she was a little girl, a memory still leaving a hole in her heart until now. The pain of that loss was very real. She did not want to lose Jaime, someone who had just become her world.
And also... her father.
Catelyn bit her lower lip. May the Seven protect Father.
Lord Hoster Tully was currently far from the comforts of Riverrun. Her father had gone leading troops to eradicate the troubling bandits. Her father had indeed done such things before, he was a war veteran, but still, she was afraid something bad would happen. One stray arrow, one sword slash in the blind night... that was enough to make Catelyn an orphan.
THUMP!
Suddenly, a sharp yet dull jolt was felt in Catelyn's stomach.
Catelyn winced holding it in, her hands reflexively clutching her stomach. She felt the pressure again, a sudden movement from within.
Jaime, who had been watching her, immediately approached her in two long strides. He knelt straight on the floor beside Catelyn's chair, his face paling instantly. His panic was a sharp contrast to his fearless reputation.
"Cat! Are you alright?" asked Jaime, his voice rising, his hands hovering near Catelyn's stomach, hesitant to touch. "Does it hurt? Should I call Maester Baelin?"
Seeing the man usually so calm now panicking just because of this, Catelyn could not hold back her smile, even though the dull throbbing pain was still slightly felt. It was just a soft jolt, maybe their baby was moving or maybe kicking her womb walls.
"Yes, my Husband, I am alright," Catelyn laughed softly, grabbing Jaime's hand and placing it on her stomach so the young man could feel it himself.
Jaime sighed a long sigh, his shoulders slumping in relief feeling the subtle vibration from behind his wife's stomach. "By the Seven... you almost made my heart stop beating."
"But, you are with child, Cat." said Jaime after his breath returned to normal, his gaze becoming softer and probing. "Are you thinking about something bothering you?"
Catelyn looked down, sighing resignedly. She could hide nothing from Jaime.
"Only about my father," admitted Catelyn, letting her fingers stroke the back of Jaime's large hand. "I am thinking about his position right now. I am worried something will happen to him as he eradicates those rebels."
"No need to worry," Jaime assured her. "He is a lord very experienced in matters of war. His forces are large and well-trained. Those bandits will not stand a chance against him."
"Yes, I know that logically," Catelyn smiled sadly. "But these are just my thoughts as a daughter. I cannot stop it. I do not know how to make myself not worry."
"I will be here," said Jaime, pulling up a small stool to sit closer to her. "We can talk. About anything. Or I can read something for you. I will distract you until you forget it."
Catelyn shook her head slowly. "No need. It is just a small issue, like I said. Look, I don't even feel the pain anymore."
"You must rest a lot. Do not move too much or think heavy thoughts," said Jaime.
"You mean I have to stay sitting like this like a display statue?" Catelyn shook her head again, this time looking straight into her husband's green eyes with full seriousness. "Jaime, you treat me like I am made of thin glass that will shatter if blown by the wind. I am strong."
She stopped her speech for a moment, gathering her courage.
"Also, if we are talking about who should rest... it is you, Jaime."
Jaime frowned, disagreeing. "I am fine—"
"You are the one always running here and there taking care of many things every day," Catelyn cut him off with a firm tone. "Sewers, schools, road repairs, the King's security, your father's requests... I see it, Jaime. And I know that at night, when you stare at the fireplace, you have many thoughts you keep to yourself. You are slowly torturing yourself with all this."
"What we are discussing here right now is you, Cat, not me," dodged Jaime, trying to change the focus of the conversation back.
"I am discussing both of us," Catelyn continued, unwilling to back down. "I have seen what all these responsibilities do to King Rhaegar. He becomes alienated. He seems to have no time with his own son, you told me that yourself, didn't you? He rarely goes out, very rarely has intimate time to just see his wife relaxing, or just socializing freely."
Catelyn looked at Jaime with a pleading gaze, a gaze showing her biggest fear. "Will you become like that too in the future, Jaime? Will your projects and inventions take you away from me?"
Catelyn grasped both of Jaime's hands that were on her stomach, pulling them tighter.
"Your child later will need you, you know? They don't just need an heir and a castle; they need a father."
Hearing those words, Jaime's defensive expression collapsed instantly.
"By the Seven, Cat," said Jaime with a hoarse voice full of emotion. He leaned forward, pressing his forehead against Catelyn's forehead. "I am not going anywhere. I promise you. I will be here when this child is born, and I will always accompany them every step of their life wherever they are. You do not have to think like that."
Catelyn closed her eyes, feeling the warmth of her husband's breath hit her face. Small tears she hadn't realized dropped in the corners of her eyes.
"I know..." whispered Catelyn, her voice trembling slightly. "This pregnancy makes my emotions less stable lately. I think about assassins, wars, and loneliness... Forgive me for accusing you."
"There is nothing to forgive," answered Jaime, kissing the tip of Catelyn's nose. "You can accuse me anytime if it means I can prove that you are the most important thing to me."
Catelyn nodded in silence, grasping her husband's hand even tighter, letting the warmth of Jaime's embrace drive away the cold from her fears.