Chapter 9: Chapter 8 : The Funeral (1)
(8 Days Later)
[William's POV]
Long before my grandfather's final breath was taken, Hoster had already instructed Maester Corwyn to send ravens to every corner of the Riverlands, spreading the news of his death. Some messages were written with care, imbued with solemn respect and grief, meant for the Lords he favored. Others were more curt, stripped of any pretense of sympathy or grace, reserved for those he barely tolerated. Regardless of the wording, the core message remained the same ; William Tully, former Lord of Riverrun and the Riverlands, had passed, and all Houses sworn to the Tullys were summoned to Riverrun to pay their respects.
Now, both Hoster and my father ensured that I was kept in the loop regarding what was coming, making sure I wasn't insulted or caught off guard by it, because as expected, the funeral would be far more than a solemn farewell to my grandfather.
To begin with, there was the issue of Olenna Tyrell, something I was mostly left to deal with on my own, a problem far beyond what I should be facing at this stage. Then, there was Hoster's agenda. As for him, the funeral was first and foremost an occasion for political maneuvering, alliances, and subtle threats. With all the Riverlords gathered, he would make the most of it and I didn't hold it against him ; I understood his reasoning. It was the perfect moment to reaffirm his power, remind our bannermen of his influence, and secure our future plans. My grandfather's death would be overshadowed by political scheming, and I had to accept that. Whether his grief was genuine or not, I knew that Hoster's ambition would take priority.
I was pulled from my thoughts by the sound of heavy footsteps approaching. Gareth, one of the taller guards stationed along the walls of Riverrun, stopped beside me. He let out a grunt and nodded toward the horizon. He didn't need to speak for me to know why he was here.
I glanced up from the book I had been reading on the cold stone floor of the battlements, stretching my legs before standing, "Which one is it?" I asked, trying not to sound too eager. Gareth's face remained impassive, though I thought I saw the slightest hint of amusement in his eyes.
He nodded once more, this time gesturing toward the distance, "Blackwood." He said in that quiet, almost gruff tone of his.
A thrill of excitement shot through me at the mention of House Blackwood. I scrambled to the nearby arrow slit, pressing myself against the stone to get a better view. Sure enough, the banner of a flock of ravens on scarlet surrounding a dead weirwood tree fluttered in the breeze, unmistakable.
I couldn't help but grin, "You know, I am starting to think you have voluntarily undervalued your knowledge just to win a few extra coins." I teased, turning back to him. It was a game between us, a lighthearted wager. Every time Gareth spotted a banner on the horizon, if he recognized it, I owed him a copper. If he didn't, the copper was mine. Sometimes, I suspected he let me win just enough to keep things interesting.
Gareth raised an eyebrow, though a hint of a smile tugged at his lips, "Maybe." He said with a shrug, playing along.
"I never took you for a cheat." I shot back with mock accusation, tossing a copper coin his way.
Gareth snatched the coin midair, a sly grin spreading across his face, "Only when the reward's tempting enough, m'lord." He said, spinning the coin between his fingers before tucking it away.
I fixed Gareth with a long, narrow-eyed stare, as if he was the most untrustworthy soul I had ever met. Then, I turned on my heel, "Cough... thief." I muttered through an exaggerated cough, just loud enough for him to hear.
With a final glance at the approaching Blackwood retinue, I grabbed my book, dusting off my clothes as I headed down from the walls. The arrival of the Blackwoods was worth a closer look.
(Several minutes later)
Standing at the edge of Riverrun's lowered drawbridge, surrounded by my family, I watched as House Blackwood's retinue made its steady approach. The familiar banner fluttered in the breeze, and soon enough, the unmistakable figure of Lord Blackwood came into view. His face was as grim as I remembered.
House Blackwood, an ancient house, their roots stretching back to the First Men. They held a reverence for the Old Gods that ran deeper than any of the House of the Riverlands that shared the same faith. And while I admired their dedication to tradition, it came with an ever present solemnity that made them frustrating at times. Had they not been locked in an eternal, ridiculous feud with the Brackens, they would likely have been the most dependable of our bannermen. But despite their quirks, they were loyal, to their people, their Gods, and to us. Something that I valued greatly.
Still, there were days when their strict adherence to the past felt suffocating. The Blackwood-Bracken feud had always struck me as a monumental waste of time and energy. It was a war with no real end, a bitter conflict carried out of sheer stubbornness. Yet, for all my frustrations with them, I respected their resilience. Lord Quentyn Blackwood, though rigid as an iron gate, commanded that respect. His son, Tytos, however, was still finding his way, though I did see potential in him from my understanding of him in the books. Pity he inherited his father's lack of humor.
As the cortege drew nearer, my attention was pulled away from the main group to something less noticeable, a humble hay cart trailing at the back. Perched on its edge were two boys, roughly my age, their legs swinging idly as the cart creaked along. They were filthy, their clothes tattered, their hair wild. At first glance, they seemed like any other peasant children, but there was something about them that was different, something that I couldn't put my finger on yet. The older boy's sharp blue eyes held a guarded, untrusting look, the kind that only comes from learning too early that trust can be a costly mistake. His thin frame and angular features spoke of hunger and survival, while the younger boy was a different story. His round face was flushed with anger, brows furrowed in a way that seemed far too fierce for someone his age. His fists clenched at his sides, and his dark eyes flashed with a simmering rage that flickered with every creak of the cart beneath him. They didn't belong in this scene, yet their presence felt far from accidental.
I turned my attention back to Lord Blackwood and his son, Tytos, as they rode up to us. Quentyn was every bit the imposing figure I recalled, sitting tall on his horse, while Tytos, five years my senior, looked like he was still learning what it meant to ride at his father's side. There was a resemblance between them, sure, but Tytos hadn't yet developed his father's hardened demeanor. In time, I knew he would.
Once they dismounted and knelt before us, Hoster, as Lord of our House, was the first to approach. His voice was formal, but warm enough to feel genuine, "Lord Blackwood." He began, placing a hand on Quentyn's shoulder to urge him to his feet, "It is an honor to have you and your heir with us on this solemn occasion."
Quentyn stood slowly, his movements stiff with age, "The honor is mine, Lord Tully. My House stands with yours, in grief and in duty."
Next came my father, who, unsurprisingly, broke all formalities with a wide grin and an outstretched arm, "Quentyn! It's been far too long!" He clasped the older man's arm with far more warmth than protocol would have demanded. Their bond ran deeper than titles and ranks. They had fought together in the War of the Ninepenny Kings, and battlefield camaraderie tends to strip away the rigid rules of noble society, even for the Blackwoods.
"I trust you have been keeping your offspring in line." My father added with a sly glance toward Tytos, the lightness in his tone momentarily lifting the weight of the occasion.
Lord Blackwood's stern face softened into something resembling a smile, "Barely, Brynden. Barely." His voice held a rare hint of amusement, though it was fleeting.
As my turn arrived, I moved forward and offered a slight bow, "Lord Blackwood, welcome to Riverrun." I greeted him, my words polite. He gave a friendly nod in acknowledgement, and I shifted my attention to Tytos, "Tytos, I trust your journey went smoothly?"
He nodded stiffly, his manners far from polished, "It was... long." He muttered. It wasn't much, but it was enough to tell me he still had a lot to learn. I couldn't help but smile inwardly.
"Of course." I replied smoothly, holding back a chuckle, "The road to Riverrun always seems longer than it should."
As I stepped back, letting the courtesies continue, my attention drifted once more to the hay cart at the rear of the procession. The two boys hadn't moved. They sat quietly, eyes downcast, as if trying to disappear into the background. I caught my father's eye and nodded toward the cart, my curiosity piqued.
He noticed the boys as well and, without missing a beat, turned to Lord Blackwood, "Those boys." Brynden said casually, "They don't look like they belong with your entourage."
Quentyn's face darkened, "No, they don't." He admitted grimly, "We found them on the road, just before we crossed into your lands. Ironborn had raided their village, burned it to the ground. These two were the only survivors."
Brynden's jaw tightened, "Ironborn, you say?"
Quentyn nodded, "Aye. We couldn't leave them behind. They have nowhere else to go."
Hoster frowned, the wheels already turning in his mind, "We will speak more about this in private." He said, his tone leaving no room for argument.
With that, he motioned for the Blackwoods to follow him into the great hall. My thoughts lingered on the two boys. Survivors of an Ironborn raid left to their own devices. It would be a waste if this was the end of their story.
(Several hours later)
[???'s POV]
The night was cold, and the air hung heavy, like it was trying to push me down. It made the work harder. My hands tightened around the wooden handle of the fork as I threw another load of hay into the trough. The horses didn't care. They just chewed, eyes empty, like none of this mattered.
I glanced over at Edric, working beside me, as quiet as ever. He hadn't said a word since we arrived, and that just made my anger worse, "They throw us in here like feeding horses is doing us some kind of favor." I muttered, stabbing the fork into the hay and letting it fall to the ground, "Like we should be thankful they're letting us stay at all."
Edric didn't say a thing. He didn't even look up. He just kept working, acting like none of this bothered him. But I knew better. It bothered him, just like it bothered me.
I picked up the fork and tossed it down with a loud clang, the sound echoing in the stable, "What's the point, huh? You think the lords are going to do anything about the Ironborn? They won't lift a finger! Our whole village is gone, burned to ash, and they're up there, eating their fat meals like nothing's wrong!" My voice came out hot and angry, bouncing off the walls like it was mocking me.
Every time I closed my eyes, I saw it, the fire, the screams, the Ironborn ripping everything apart. My parents were gone. And Edric… I didn't even know how he was still standing, after what they did to him. Nothing felt right anymore. Not for me. Not for him.
Normally, Edric would try to calm me down, say something soft, something that'd make me feel like the anger didn't matter. But this time, when I looked at him, I saw something else.
His hands still moved, but his jaw was clenched tight, his eyes cold in a way I hadn't seen before. "They took my sister." He said, his voice low, like he was trying to hold back the storm inside, "I will never see her again."
I blinked, caught off guard. I knew what had happened to his sister, I was there. But in my anger, I had made everything about me. I'd forgotten that Edric lost more than anyone. His sister had been all he had left even before they took her.
"I..." I tried to say something, but the words stuck in my throat. What could I say? 'Sorry' felt too small, too empty. My anger, which had felt so big before, seemed to shrink next to his.
"I just want to make them pay." Edric's voice cracked as he slammed the fork into the hay, "I don't care about the lords. I don't care what happens to me. I just want to make them pay."
His words hit me like a punch. Edric, who never let his anger show, was breaking. And suddenly, I realized he wasn't so different from me. His rage, his pain, it was the same as mine, just quieter, buried deeper.
"The lords will never help us." I muttered, the weight of it pressing on my chest, "We're nothing to them. They don't care."
The stable fell silent. The only sound was the quiet munching of the horses. I kicked at the hay, the frustration boiling inside me. But what could we do? Two boys with nothing but anger and no power. No way to fight back.
And then, a voice broke the silence.
"Okay. And what are you going to do about it?"
I jumped, my heart skipping a beat. Spinning around, I saw him, a boy a little younger than us, sitting on the roof of the stable, legs dangling over the edge, eating a piece of chicken. How long had he been up there? How much had he heard?
Edric and I stared at him, unsure of what to say. He wasn't like us. He was one of them, a lord's son, well-dressed, clean, a full belly, and sheltered behind castle walls his entire life. What would he know about what we'd been through?
The boy, still chewing, raised an eyebrow, "You two are angry. Good. Anger's useful when you know how to use it."
I frowned, confused and caught off guard, "What do you want?" I snapped, though my voice came out weaker than I meant. This was strange, this boy, talking to us like what we wanted to do mattered.
He tilted his head, like he was weighing his words carefully, "I want the same thing you do. I want the Ironborn to pay."
I stared at him, my confusion growing, "You? You don't even know what they did."
The boy's eyes darkened, and for a moment, something in him shifted, something serious, "I know they raid, I know they kill, and I know full well what's happening to the women they captured in your village. I know enough. The Ironborn have destroyed hundreds, most likely thousands of villages in the Riverlands throughout history, not just yours. If you think you are alone in your anger, you are mistaken."
He hopped down from the roof with surprising ease, landing in front of us. His eyes were sharp, calculating, "Sitting here, waiting for the lords to fix things? You are right, that's a waste of time. If you want them punished, you have to take matters into your own hands."
I frowned, trying to make sense of what he was saying. "And how are we supposed to do that? We're just…"
I trailed off. We were just two boys with nothing but our anger, no power and no way to fight back, I told myself once again.
The boy smiled, a knowing smile like he'd been expecting that question, "First, you eat." He said, holding out the chicken leg in his hand, "Then, we talk. I have a plan. You want to make the Ironborn pay? Stick with me, be patient and I will show you how."
I glanced at Edric. His face was unreadable, but I saw the fire in his eyes, the same fire I felt burning inside me. We didn't have many choices. Feeding horses wasn't going to bring our families back. In fact, nothing could. But maybe, just maybe, this boy could help us do something.
With a sigh, I reached out and took the chicken from his hand, "Alright." I said quietly, more to myself than to him, "We're listening."
The boy's smile widened, "Good."
CREATORS' THOUGHTS 
Barbare
Barbare This chapter was a bit more challenging to write than usual, so I hope it didn’t come across that way. If you enjoyed it, feel free to leave a comment, drop a review, and don’t forget to use your power stones here. As for the Patreon, I’ve made some progress, but I’m still working on offering perks that will really be worth it. I should have more to say on that by Wednesday. Until next time.
Weekly Power Status
-- Power
Ranking 
-- Power
stone