Riverrun
"You're too bold, Hoster. There was no need for that."
Catelyn's wedding had been a success, and now the lords had begun their true work: the plan for rebellion. Jon Arryn disapproved of Hoster's recent actions, while Rickard Stark remained silent, looking as if something else were weighing heavily on his mind.
"What? The prank my child pulled yesterday?" Hoster replied. "I must say, Jon, your heir Elbert needs to steel his nerves. Why faint over such a simple matter?" Hoster knew his son couldn't stay quiet for long. When the young guests had tried to ambush the bridal chamber for the bedding, he had let them. Trusting that his son will take care of the peers who disobey him so brazenly.
"Not that. You Tullys are all the same. Brynden was pulling such cheap tricks in the middle of a war! And what was the result? Among us, he has the best songs," Jon grumbled. "I'm talking about the matter with Dorne. Do you really think others are fools? By the time the tourney begins, everyone will know who sabotaged Rhaegar's marriage."
"This is what my son wanted." Hoster felt no guilt in using Edmure as a shield. Jon dismissed the ploy as the shamelessness of an old man. Hoster turned his gaze to Rickard. "What we should be discussing is Lyanna's situation. Rickard, you can't expect this problem to sort itself out like the others. We need to protect her. What is the point of our power if we can't even save our children?"
Rickard grunted, hesitating over how much information to share with his allies. "I don't know how. On one hand, being a father is as hard as it gets. On the other... I don't know if this is the will of the gods. What if Lyanna has a much larger part to play in things to come?" Seeing the unease on Jon's face, Rickard struggled to find consolation. He was a straightforward man, like all Starks, but seeing Hoster's confident poise, he made his stance clear. "Don't get me wrong, I am committed to removing the Targaryens. If only this were as easy as a charge on the field, I wouldn't hesitate even if the King were riding a dragon."
"If I may, I can offer some advice on matters of love," Hoster began, but Jon cut him off.
"Don't spew your nonsense, Hoster. Do you really take us for fools? Do you think none of us knew how you won Minisa? Even Essosi sellswords don't stoop so low."
"But didn't I win her heart?" Hoster asked calmly. "We had a beautiful life, and when I die, I hope to meet her again in the next. She was worth it. In my youth, I too dreamed of having a dozen paramours. But I never regretted my choice—not for a second." Hoster could take any accusation, but his love for Minisa was self-evident; on this matter, he was as sure as the sun rising in the east.
Hoster's composure made the others hesitate. He wasn't lying; as far as their spies knew, his married life had been one of bliss.
"What do you propose, then?" Rickard relented, seeing that it was his daughter at stake. "Speak ill of Rhaegar? Refuse to let them meet?"
"No," Hoster chuckled, remembering how he had pried Minisa away from Brynden. "You do the opposite. Instead of restricting her, overwhelm her with options. Praise all the young men of high stature other than Robert and your sons. Jaime Lannister, Prince Oberyn Martell—the Tyrells have given birth to some of the finest-looking lads. Maybe some Essosi ruler, or even my boy."
"Bastard!" Jon slammed the table. "Are you trying to stuff all the girls in Westeros into your son's bed? Don't play such weasel tricks before me."
"Take it easy. The plan is to give the girl a wider perspective. We are noble; we are meant to enjoy life, not get bogged down by a single hurdle. Sometimes, children try to attract attention by acting out. Perhaps Lyanna will do the same if we press hard. So instead of looking at others, she'll be sticking closer to her brothers."
"But are we doing right by the Baratheon child? What wrong has he done?" Rickard asked. He thought this was plausible; as long as they got through this tourney, his daughter could marry whomever she wanted.
"Nothing; he is a good lad with a promising future." Hoster's plain words didn't match the villainous grin on his face or the way he rubbed his hands together. Jon, too, broke into a smile, thinking of the chance to pull a prank on his ward. In his opinion, the younger generation should be properly inducted into their venerable ranks—though in his mind, he was already preparing a much bigger initiation for the Tully brat.
"As a gesture of my sincerity, I'll have Edmure train Eddard. In less than two weeks, Eddard will be one of the best fighters in Westeros, barring the ones who won't participate in the tourney. Trust me when I say my son has an aptitude stronger than the monsters of legend. You can leave ahead for the tourney; we'll deliver Eddard safe and sound. That way, Lyanna will see her brother offering her the victor's laurel, making the tourney look like nothing more than the training fields of Winterfell."
Casterly Rock
"Brother, why are you suddenly interested in the Arbor? Are you afraid their fleet will disrupt our plans for the Riverlands?" Kevan asked Tywin, tracing his fingers over a map of Westeros.
"The Riverlands are nothing. What I want is my mark on the capital. I want that fleet for me. In three years, I'll start my moves against the King."
"Are you sure? Going against the Throne means all-out war. Many are already jealous of you; they won't let this slip. Furthermore, why would the Redwynes help us? They have nothing to gain and plenty to lose." Kevan didn't care about the reasons, only if his brother's orders could be executed.
"There are still others who will claim the Throne. Open talks with the Golden Company; pressure Varys to spill what he knows. As for Redwyne? Let me handle it. Have you forgotten how much we were bullied during our father's time? We did not lack men, gold, or legitimacy, but statecraft needs a steady hand—and there are ways to keep others unsteady."
Tywin spoke with a smirk. He had gathered information on the Tully brat and knew his abilities. Unlike a child who could only scribble on rocks, Tywin intended to rewrite history and the future with much less pomp.