Roslin Tully
"It has exhausted all of us," Roslin nodded. "And I think the king no less than you."
"Well, what would he understand about warfare? Kings don't fight the way we do. They simply arrive at the future battlefield, a tent is set up for them, exquisite food is prepared, and they pass the time merrily while the rest of us get ready for battle."
"Perhaps. But a few days ago I saw the king training from my window. Lancel came out against him—the same Lancel who joined the Holy Order. You know him?"
"Of course. And what about the king?" Edmure asked with interest.
"Lancel accidentally broke his nose. The blood was flowing terribly. Lancel was so frightened he turned as white as a sheet."
"And Joffrey?"
"He didn't seem to mind at all. He laughed, clapped Lancel on the shoulder, and ordered water to wash his face—and then some wine."
"You know, he's unusual," Edmure said, stretching out beside his wife and sighing with contentment as he extended his legs. "I first met him beneath the walls of Riverrun, when I was still a prisoner. Back then I thought that was it—death was near, and I would never see you again."
At those words Roslin took his hand and moved a little closer. She adored her husband, though at times he irritated her with his naivety and shortsightedness. Still, he was kind, generous, and brave. As for wit… well, the Seven do not place the same measure of it in every head.
"At the time I thought he was a complete fool," Edmure continued. "But he talked me around so cleverly that I realized he's a master at conversation. And now this as well…"
"There is much about him we don't know," Roslin said cautiously. Having spent several months in the Red Keep, she had seen a great deal, reconsidered many things, and begun to understand a few of them. It seemed her father's lessons had not been wasted. Even at her age she had learned to read people fairly well. "Not long ago, when we were sitting together—just our little circle: the queen, Myrcella, Sansa, and I—the king came into our chambers. Do you know what he told us?"
"What?"
"At first I thought it was a fairy tale—about the stars and the Sun, about gods and heroes, about the Wall and what lies beyond it…"
"He's interested in such things? Where would he learn about them?"
"Myrcella asked the same question. He said he had read about it in books. And that he has dreams as well—dreams in which he has seen the gods."
"And?"
"Nothing more. He simply told the story. It didn't matter to him whether we believed it or not. The king was merely entertaining us."
"Yes… one must be careful with such a man," Edmure said thoughtfully. "If he speaks of the stars, there's no telling what else might be in his mind. What do you think—how should we behave?"
Roslin smiled. All this time she had been quietly but persistently giving him advice and guiding him. And although he made many decisions himself, she could see her power and influence over her husband steadily growing. More than once she had suggested something that later proved beneficial, and Edmure had noticed—and shown his gratitude.
"Do not betray him, Ed," Roslin whispered, moving close and speaking almost inaudibly into his ear. "I know your uncle, the Blackfish, or your sister Lysa Arryn will surely send you a letter and offer something very tempting. And they'll sing songs about family, duty, and honor. Do not listen to them. Please."
"I've thought about that," he murmured just as softly. "You're right—they will surely send a letter… But I swore an oath of loyalty to the King, in front of hundreds of witnesses. Now I feel as if I'm caught between two fires. Nothing about this is simple!"
"Look at our little boy. He is the first swallow. After him will come the children of Sansa and Margaery. Then it will be Myrcella's turn. The king adores his sister—he makes it clear again and again, speaks with her often, and gives her wonderful gifts. And if things don't work out with Trystane Martell, he will find her another husband. She will have children too. Think about who our son might grow up alongside, who he might become friends with—and what may follow when he is grown. He might take one of those children as his bride. I have grown close to Margaery, but our son may grow even closer. He will become a friend to the Lannisters, the Baratheons, the Tyrells, and the Starks…"
"That is an unexpected turn," Edmure said after a long moment of thought. He pulled back slightly and studied his wife with new attention. "How did you manage to think of all this?"
"My father, Lord Walder Frey, liked to teach me. He called me Little Fish. I often stood among his other children, grandchildren, and great-grandchildren, watching and listening as he spoke with lords and knights. And afterward he would summon only the two of us—me and Liata—and ask, 'Well then, Little Fish and Squirrel, what did you notice? What did you remember? What remains in your pretty little heads?'"
Roslin gave a faint smile.
"And we would tell him what we had understood—and what we had not—and he would explain the hidden currents beneath it all, drawing our attention to the details."
Roslin sighed and fell silent.
She did not tell her husband that many lords and knights considered old Walder Frey a foul-smelling goat, a lecher, and a disgusting old man. In truth, he was all of those things. But he was also very clever, observant, and cunning. And he took his children and grandchildren very seriously.
His granddaughters as well.
She remembered how he would speak with each of them, testing their wits, their memory, and their loyalty to the house. And afterward he chose the most beautiful among them and instructed them personally, explaining how great lords lived and what they desired—what they dreamed of and what they feared, how they might be deceived, and how they could be persuaded to do what was required.
(End of Chapter)
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