Riverrun
On the same map where Edmure had explained his grand strategy, the true core of Riverrun's leadership was now fine-tuning the plans: Hoster, Brynden, Desmond Grell, Lord Grell, and Maester Vyman.
"Vyman, write to the Mootons; promise them a city charter in return for a thousand river barges for one year. Desmond, you are to retrieve all patrols from the eastern lands. Rebels we may be, but we will honor the majesty of the King. I hear from spies that he will attend the tourney in person. There is no need to tarnish our name by becoming a second Duskendale. We will rebel properly; Brynden will send the formal letter three months after the tourney."
"This bastard!" Brynden was shocked by the gall of his brother, who had stopped even pretending to be the nice guy. Brynden might have been a failure in love, but his reputation among the bards had always been that of an upright warrior. No matter what happens in the future, this order meant Brynden's lineage would bear the infamy of the formal secession. Not that he had any offspring, but this was a dirty scheme played in the open. He was about to retort when there was a knock at the door.
After a leisurely morning with his new wife, Eddard came to meet his father-in-law. Catelyn had insisted he treat the castle as his own, yet Eddard felt that living inside someone else's walls was a bit suffocating. He had come to ask permission to ride out and clear his mind.
"Ah, Eddard, come sit." Hoster pointed to the seat next to him. Brynden acted faster, however, grabbing the Stark boy by the shoulder and dragging him toward a chair. Years ago, he used to drag a taciturn Rickard Stark into taverns during the war in much the same way. Hoster shook his head and continued.
"Vyman, ensure the granaries never feel wanting. Desmond, maintain rigorous patrols in our heartland. We don't need you to win every fight, but how much the Riverlands bleed in this war depends on you. I want you to be mobile, rapidly answering threats. Do not worry about glory; House Grell will never lack for it in this conflict. None of you needs to conceal your operations; let everyone see that the Tullys are preparing for war. They will simply misunderstand which one."
Eddard felt a sense of respect that his in-laws were not keeping secrets from him. He glanced at the map on the table; it was a fascinating piece of work, though it seemed to lack any useful information.
"Enough of this. I'm taking Eddard out," Brynden said, noticing the boy's interest. He grabbed him and walked outside. "Eddard, that map was made by my nephew. He's a curious sort—more interested in scribbling paintings of places on parchment than actually enjoying the view. He once spent a whole day sewing an ugly piece of cloth instead of enjoying the company of beauties on the road. Our meeting just now was spent correcting his plans for rebellion. Meanwhile, I'm sure the lad is hammering iron in the smithy instead of wondering if his plan was even good. Let's go; you'll spar with him. I promised old Rickard you'd win the tourney."
Edmure was busy tinkering with the armor Petyr had gifted. He was improving it as much as he could without altering its original appearance, debating what attributes he should assign it, when he saw Eddard and his uncle approaching.
"Uncle, you always arrive exactly when I need you!" Edmure jumped up and ran toward them with the armor in his hands. His genuine joy made Brynden happy; the older man signaled to Eddard with his eyes as if to say, See? Told you he'd be in the smithy. "Eddard, this is the gift for you from Petyr and Lysa. I've tweaked it a bit, but I'm not sure how to improve it further. If it were for me, I'd just make it lighter, but what do you think? Do you people from the cold regions need extra paddings? Or should it be tougher to block attacks? Or something else entirely?"
"Don't babble," Hoster chided playfully as he joined them. "As long as the gift reflects the warmth of family, shares the burden of duty, and carries intent with honor, it is befitting a Tully." Eddard took the armor in his hands to feel the craftsmanship. He could see that significant work had been done over the original.
Not wanting to keep his brother-in-law occupied with trivialities, Ned spoke up. "I think lighter is better."
"Really? I knew it! You must remember: reducing baggage while maintaining readiness is the most important aspect of a long war. Many wars were lost because good men couldn't find weapons to match them." Edmure was about to launch into a lecture on logistics, but Brynden bonked him on the head.
"Enough chit-chat. We'll spar in the field. We need to intensify the training. I have a war to win and glory to earn. I'll show the Kingsguard what kind of fish I am. I'm the Blackfish!" Brynden spoke as if this were a grand boast. Seeing his uncle show off, Edmure decided to hide the fact that the Kingsguard already had a poor impression of Rivermen due to him and Oswell muddying their reputation.
Edmure simply applied the Lightness perk to the armor in Eddard's hand while running to grab his own gear. Eddard noticed that the weight suddenly reduced, almost to a tenth of the original. He weighed it in his palms, wondering if he was hallucinating, while Brynden realized what was happening and decided then and there to ask for one for himself. Eddard watched the boy run around casually as if this were normal. He looked toward the North, muttering that Winter was indeed coming.
Casterly Rock
"Are we really going to war?" Tyrion clenched his fists after a training session full of agony. His body was simply not made for fighting, but he had no intention of stopping. Aunt Genna was directing servants to prepare potions for his aching wrists. The Lannister mobilization was massive; even the servants understood that his father was amassing supplies and men. "But why? Can't we be friends?"
Genna was pleased but also felt sorry for her nephew's resolve. Seeing the boy work so hard, Tywin had softened his regular berating of Tyrion, but Genna could see just how much the child was suffering. She hoped for a miracle—that the family might live in harmony, having come so far since the days of her father's weak rule. She wiped Tyrion's brow and answered, "Child, personal relations and political stances are different things. Besides, that Tully child really infuriated your father. But you don't have to worry too much; we adults will take care of everything."
"If only I were stronger, I could fight him in a duel," Tyrion muttered. "Then I would defeat him and accept his surrender. Then we could remain friends."
Listening to the young boy, Genna chuckled, but she still corrected him. She did not want a child in the family to grow up naive. "Tyrion, you either make friends with someone or you obtain their loyalty by force. You cannot have both. But I look forward to the day you win your first duel."
Tyrion outwardly agreed, but thought to himself, 'If only I had a dragon. Then I'd make everyone understand.'