Chapter 181: House Tully

Hoster Tully, head of House Tully of the Riverlands, Lord of Riverrun, and Lord paramount of the Trident, was only sixty-four years old, yet years of illness had left him weak and frail, making him appear far older than his age.

In his youth, he had traveled widely and built many friendships. In his middle years, he fought in the War of the Ninepenny Kings, and later, he became a staunch supporter of Robert's Rebellion against the Targaryens. Among the elder generation of the Seven Kingdoms, he held considerable prestige.

Not long ago, Brynden Tully had secretly escorted Lysa Tully back to Riverrun. Though his youngest daughter had committed a grave crime, Hoster was still pleased to have his family reunited, if only for a short while, and to share a few meals together.

In Riverrun's small banquet hall, the Tully family was gathered.

Brynden stood to the side, silent. He had already done all he could, and with his brother present, it was not his place to decide the fate of his nieces and nephews.

Years ago, he and his brother had quarreled over marriage arrangements. But now, seeing Hoster's aged face and hunched posture, sensing that his brother did not have much time left, Brynden let go of his resentment. He remained at Hoster's side, keeping him company, reminiscing about their youth—their arguments, their adventures, their travels.

Edmure and Catelyn, who understood the full context of the situation, spoke with their father. Catelyn's tone became firm. "Lysa was deceived and manipulated by Littlefinger. He is the true culprit. She does not deserve to die."

Edmure scoffed. "Why didn't you say that in front of the Vale lords back in King's Landing? The evidence is undeniable. My stance is clear: for the sake of appeasing the Vale lords and preserving our family's honor, justice must be served—our sister and her bastard son must be executed."

Lysa paid no mind to the discussion, continuing to feed her son. Her gaze was filled with nothing but resentment for her family.

Hoster lifted his trembling hand and pointed at Lysa. "Where is Littlefinger?"

At that, Lysa suddenly shoved her son aside and stood up, grabbing the plate in front of her and hurling it at Edmure. "You want me dead, don't you? Then you die first!"

Edmure dodged, but broth and bits of food splattered onto his clothes, leaving him in a sorry state.

Lysa, still seething with rage, pointed at her father. "You! It was you, you old bastard! If it weren't for you tearing me and Petyr apart, forcing me to drink moon tea, and making me marry that toothless old corpse Jon Arryn at twenty, do you think I'd have ended up like this? I have always hated you!" She spat at him.

Hoster was heartbroken. He had taken in Petyr Baelish as a ward after the boy's father, a knight and Hoster's friend, had died during the War of the Ninepenny Kings. Lysa had fallen in love with Petyr and even became pregnant with his child. But Hoster, seeking a more prestigious match for her, had forced her to drink moon tea and wed her to Lord Arryn.

Though the Eyrie was not far from Riverrun, Lysa had never returned to visit in all her years of marriage. The older Hoster grew, the more guilt he felt over his treatment of her.

"Enough," Hoster choked out, tears tracing the deep lines on his face.

"I will never forgive you! Even in death, I will haunt you!" Lysa shrieked. She then turned on Edmure. "And you! Wishing for my death? I curse you—you will never have a son!"

Edmure, finally losing his temper, snapped back. "Lysa! You're mad! Utterly insane!"

"Enough!"

Hoster slammed his hand on the table, using all his remaining strength to shout over them.

Seeing his children finally fall silent, he turned to Brynden. "Brynden, lock Lysa in her chambers. Post guards at the door—only the servants may enter to bring her food."

Horst Tully, supported by his handmaids, slowly left the banquet hall. That night, the handmaid standing watch outside his chambers heard the old Lord weeping late into the night. The next day, he took a few personal guards and set out for King's Landing. Upon arriving, he knelt before the Red Keep and refused to rise, hoping to trade his own life for his youngest daughter's.

Horst Tully had cast aside his cloak and family sigil, presenting himself simply as a father pleading for his daughter. But he was still Horst Tully—how could he ever separate himself from the Riverlands? The younger nobles might not recognize him, but the older ones certainly did, and news of his arrival spread through the city like wildfire. All of King's Landing was abuzz, making Robert deeply uneasy. For the first time, he felt a headache even without drinking.

This was supposed to be a joyous day—Princess Jocelyn Baratheon was making her formal debut among the nobility, and Renly's young dragon was being brought out for the first time. But now, Robert and Renly's good mood had been completely ruined by Horst Tully's actions.

Sensing Renly's shift in mood, the tiny dragon, which had been wriggling inside his clothes, poked its head out of his collar, then scrambled up onto Renly's head, staring at Robert with bright, curious eyes.

"This is your dragon?" Robert reached out to poke its head. He dared not touch Odahviing, the large one, but this little one didn't intimidate him.

Dragons possessed not only an acute sense of smell but also bodies woven with magic. Their unique nature allowed them to detect blood ties. While Robert lacked a magical connection with dragons, his blood was still close to Renly's. As long as Robert harbored no intent to attack or mount the dragon, the creature wouldn't view him as a threat.

The young dragon's teeth were still tiny white nubs, much like a cat's. If it bit down hard, it could break skin, but it had already sensed Robert bore no hostility. With Renly beside him, the dragon enthusiastically bit at Robert's finger, engaging in a playful struggle.

Robert felt a slight pain but no real harm. Seeing such a recently hatched dragon so eager for battle, he got excited as well. He stood up, lifting his hand, and the dragon—still latched onto his index finger—hung in the air, its small wings flapping frantically.

Robert chuckled. "Brave little thing! Have you named it?"

Renly nodded. "Peytvahaaz. It means 'Mercy of the Spring Rose' in the language of dragons."

A few of Renly's sworn swords, all noble-born, had been waiting nearby. They had originally come to Red Keep's great hall to meet the little princess, but Renly had insisted on staying to watch over his dragon, and Robert had allowed them to follow. Upon hearing the dragon's name, they instinctively turned to look at Loras Tyrell, the famed Knight of Flowers, whose family sigil was the rose. Loras waved at them with a smile before turning back to gaze fondly at Renly.

Renly, catching Loras's glance, smiled back, then turned to Robert and said, "Maegaery, Little Rose is pregnant. That's why I chose the name."

Robert Smilled. "Well, congratulations! You must be very devoted to your wife. Highgarden's Little Rose—seems you want to protect her for a lifetime. It's a fine name."

Ser Barristan, standing nearby, overheard and glanced toward the queen, who was gently touching Lady Tyrell's belly. The two women were chatting happily, a sight that warmed his heart. Though he had sworn to forsake his own family, the Stormlands having an heir was something every noble would celebrate.

A knock came at the door. A soldier stood at the threshold. "Your Grace, all members of the Small Council have assembled in the council chamber."

Robert groaned. "Come on, Renly. Just one day to rest, and now I have to sit through another meeting." He turned toward the door, shaking his hand free, and the small dragon released its grip, tumbling to the floor before scampering back to Renly.

Renly scooped up the dragon and followed. "You say that as if you're diligent. When was the last time you didn't have the Hand hold court in your place?"

The nobles, originally gathered for the day's festivities, had been summoned urgently to the council chamber. As they passed through the Red Keep's gates, they already knew what this meeting would be about.

Stannis spoke first. "Your Grace, this should be Lord Denys Arryn's decision. If the Vale refuses to grant clemency, and you overturn the verdict because of a plea, the lords of the Vale will be outraged."

Renly, as Master of Laws, countered, "Denys Arryn and the Vale lords were the victims, but the sentence was issued in the king's name. If Denys agrees to a pardon, it must also come from the king."

Grand Maester Pycelle added, "This morning, Your Grace had me send a raven to the Eyrie. But ravens roost at night—it will take four days at best for a reply. Judging by Lord Tully's condition this morning, I doubt he can last that long."

Lord Mace Tyrell, Master of Coin, asked, "Then can we at least move him into the Red Keep? He can't just keep kneeling at the gate."

Ser Barristan shook his head helplessly. "We tried. The old Lord refuses to leave. Even if we forcibly carried him inside, he would protest with a hunger strike. And given his frail state, he could die at any moment if we mishandle him."

Lord Mathis Rowan, the Hand of the King, sighed. "It seems Lord Tully's wish is clear—he intends to trade his life for hers."

Robert's face was weary and frustrated. "That old fool! What is he thinking? He's putting me in a damned impossible position!"

It was a dilemma with no easy answer. The Vale's response would take too long, and Lord Tully might die at any moment. A decision had to be made—quickly.

If he refused to grant clemency, Lord Hoster would die kneeling before the Red Keep. He would have upheld the kingdom's laws, but if word later arrived that the Vale agreed to let the matter rest, he would have been the villain, disheartening some of the older nobles.

If he granted clemency, the kingdom's laws would lose their weight. If the Vale insisted on pursuing the matter, he would have offended all the lords of the Vale.

Sentiment, law, and the Vale's stance.

Robert slammed his hand on the table. "Seven hells! Varys, do you have any relevant information? Is anyone behind this, pushing Hoster Tully?"

Varys replied, "According to my sources, the old Lord has only met with his brother, Edmure, Catelyn, and Lysa—all Tullys. He hasn't seen any outsiders."

Stannis said, "Then let's vote."

Mace Tyrell interjected, "Wait. We don't necessarily have to grant her a full pardon—we could merely spare her from execution."

Grand Maester Pycelle added, "We could send her to a sept to live as a sister."

Renly objected, "No! Septas may renounce their family names and holdings, but they can still rise to become septas of the Faith, even High Septa. Don't forget—Lysa Tully is well-educated. If she ever attains such a position, do any of you want her officiating your children's weddings?"

Mace Tyrell suggested, "If we must spare her life, then cut out her tongue and make her a Silent Sister. She can spend her days tending to corpses. How about that?"

Renly retorted, "I oppose any clemency. She deserves death—her and her bastard!"

At that moment, Kingsguard Ser Lyn Corbray entered and announced, "Your Grace, my lords—Lord Hoster Tully has died at the gates of the Red Keep."

A life for a life. Since they could wait no longer, Robert had no intention of taking the blame himself. "Let's vote. Who supports clemency for Lysa Tully?"

Five raised their hands: Mace Tyrell, Grand Maester Pycelle, Lord Commander Barristan Selmy, Master of Ships Stannis Baratheon, and Master of Whispers Varys.

Renly, acting as Master of Laws, cast his vote against, speaking also for Wright. The Hand of the King, Mathis Rowan, likewise opposed.

Robert scowled, hesitating for a long moment. The chamber fell silent—no one dared to speak.

Finally, he spoke. "Barristan, send men to recover Hoster Tully's body and return it to Riverrun. Lysa Tully is pardoned from execution, but her tongue is to be cut out. She will serve as a Silent Sister in Riverrun for the rest of her days. As for the bastard Robert Arryn—the original sentence stands. He is to be beheaded. A Kingsguard will oversee the execution."

And so, the matter was settled—whether well or poorly, none could say. Some lamented Hoster Tully's devotion to his daughter, while others sneered at how the kingdom's laws had been trampled upon.

Three days later, ravens from the Vale arrived—not one, but many. Messages from various lords of the Vale were delivered to the Red Keep.

Denys Arryn, unwilling to sow hatred between the Vale and the Reach, agreed to commute Lysa's sentence to a lesser punishment. Other lords, however, were divided—some agreed, but others insisted that both Lysa and her son must die. Denys Arryn lacked the authority and prestige to unify the Vale's stance.

Ser Lyn Corbray arrived in Riverrun, bringing with him the King's decree and the body of Lord Hoster Tully.

Per Robert's orders, Lysa Tully was permitted to attend her father's funeral before her punishment was carried out.

The funeral was held according to Riverlands custom. Hoster's body was placed in a small boat, stacked with wood and doused in oil. His kin laid flowers upon him before setting him adrift down the river, where the closest relative would loose a flaming arrow to ignite the pyre.

On the banks of the Red Fork, the gathered lords of the Riverlands stood solemnly. House Frey alone took up a vast portion of the crowd.

Under Wright's influence, House Tully had grown slightly wealthier than in another timeline, but Edmure remained the same reckless young lord—wealthier now, but still unmarried, with women constantly at his side.

Lysa Tully, shackled and chained, shrieked curses throughout the ceremony, disrupting the proceedings. To silence her, Edmure sought to demonstrate the legendary archery skills of the Riverlands. Three arrows loosed—none struck the boat. He shot worse than in another world.

In the end, it was his uncle, Brynden "Blackfish" Tully, who salvaged the moment.

Brynden did not contest Edmure's claim to Riverrun—his nephew was Hoster's only surviving son, and so House Tully had no disputes over succession. Edmure was now Lord of Riverrun and Lord Paramount of the Trident.

Before the assembled lords of the Riverlands, and under the watchful gaze of the Kingsguard, Ser Lyn Corbray carried out Robert's decree—he took a dagger and cut out Lysa Tully's tongue.

Next was her son.

Robert Arryn, bound hand and foot, his mouth and eyes blindfolded, was dragged to the execution block. The headsman forced him down onto the stone.

Lysa, despite the blood pouring from her mouth, tried to crawl toward him, but the guards held her fast. No matter how she struggled, she could do nothing but watch as her son's head was struck from his shoulders.