In two days, Edmure and his father would depart for their southern tour. For ten days, Edmure had maintained his relentless routine, but he planned to keep the final day clear for rest. Maester Vyman had already begun directing funds toward Edmure's growing requirements for the stables, armory, and smithy. Lord Hoster had simply allowed the investment, perhaps distracted or quietly impressed.
Edmure thought his day was over. However, just before he retired to sleep, Hoster summoned him to his solar.
When a sleepy Edmure arrived, he found the room full. Hoster looked grim, like a pressure cooker on the verge of exploding. Maester Vyman, who had become much more relaxed since pledging his personal loyalty to Edmure, wore a smirk of pure schadenfreude. The star of the ensemble, however, was Catelyn. She looked like a maiden with a broken heart.
Only then did Edmure realize what was happening. He had been so busy grinding levels and expanding his stables that he had completely forgotten about the plan to trap Petyr.
The next morning after Catelyn's night visit, Edmure had spread the news to the Septa and the servants with a flourish of overacting. Catelyn and Hoster had clearly done the rest.
"I'm sorry, Catelyn," Edmure said, his frank rebuttal cutting through her sobs. "I don't want to say it, but I must: I told you so."
Hoster's furious gaze snapped to him, but Catelyn only murmured through her tears. "How could he? Why did he need to do that? Why couldn't he tell me directly? Why did he go to a place like that?"
Edmure drew a quick conclusion and raised an eyebrow. "Father, who is the most famous prostitute around the castle?"
"You bastard!" Hoster roared, finally losing his patience. "How dare you, boy? How dare you mock me? Not even Brynden had such gall. All the Seven Kingdoms know my devotion to your mother. It seems I've been too easy on you."
"Father, calm down. I was merely asking," Edmure said smoothly. "I thought Petyr lost his nerve, couldn't hold it in, and blew the coins on a girl."
Catelyn broke down further, but she defended Petyr even through her weeping. "He is not that kind of person! He did go to a woman, but it wasn't for himself."
"Not for him?" Edmure guessed. "Let me see... he planned to gift a woman to someone else. An important guard, perhaps? Ser Desmond? Maester Vyman? Or maybe Father—"
Hoster threw an apple directly at Edmure's face to silence him. But joke aside, Edmure recognized the future Master of Coin's modus operandi. The man would one day bankrupt the Iron Throne with his brothels.
"Wipe that smirk off your face," Hoster hissed. "That scoundrel was paying a woman to seduce you! You, Edmure Tully! Remember this: if I ever hear of you spending time with such women, I'll break your legs and give your title to Catelyn."
"What? Me?" Edmure blinked. "Should I thank him? We don't get many brothers-in-law so concerned with our education. But gratitude aside, isn't it a bit early? I'm ten. What am I even supposed to do?"
"The scoundrel paid a woman to entice you so he could spread the word that the heir of Riverrun had become a degenerate at a young age," Hoster explained, his voice thick with rage. "It would have made me a laughingstock. The gall of that boy!"
"That's it?" Edmure asked. He was genuinely disappointed. Had Petyr only dug a single, shallow trap?
"Do you think that isn't enough? Look at Catelyn. Look how miserable she is." Hoster's voice grew heavy as he calmed himself.
Catelyn seemed to realize how much her affairs had fatigued her father. He was leaving on a tour in mere days, yet she had dragged him into this mess. "I'm sorry, Father. I'm sorry, Edmure." She bowed to them both, her voice choked. "I'll return the gold. I'll ensure Petyr never harms you again. Father, please, I beg you—do not punish him. I'll agree to whatever you ask."
She was ready to bargain with her life. She knew marriage plans were already being whispered for her and Lysa, and she was prepared to accept any fate to save Petyr.
Edmure cleared his throat. "When I said 'that's it,' I meant I thought Petyr was capable of more. This was him barely putting in any effort."
Vyman, sensing a performance, asked, "What is he capable of then?"
Satisfied with the audience, Edmure replied, "I thought he would put the woman in someone else's bed for a start. Over time, he'd turn that into an enterprise, turning those dozen golden dragons into hundreds."
"I think you need a beating," Hoster interrupted, seeing the light dim in Catelyn's eyes.
"Well, what can I say? Exploiting women is a favorite pastime for weak men," Edmure continued carelessly. "The other option is poison. Two kinds: one easily identified and cured, and another obscure and fatal. You wait for an opportunity—perhaps the betrothals of Catelyn or Lysa. You poison me and the groom at once. It creates total chaos."
Catelyn almost lost her footing. Her brother was casually describing his own murder and that of her future husband as if it were a common chore—and on a wedding day, no less.
"Which poison would be given to you and—" Vyman began, but Hoster's glare silenced him.
"Depends on who Petyr hates more," Edmure rambled on. "If he gives me the dangerous one, we can be happy that he cares for Catelyn's future. If he gives it to the groom, we know he values her past family more."
"This farce ends now," Hoster groaned. "How unlucky am I? My ward and my son have both lost their way. Neither of you cares for Catelyn's feelings. Vyman, what books have you been feeding this boy?"
"I fed him no such things," Vyman insisted.
"And I concur. Father, forget this happened. Consider it a lesson for Catelyn. Catelyn, you must forget this too. Forgive Petyr and move on."
"How can it be that easy? How can I forgive him?" Catelyn barked like a cornered puppy.
"Trust me, it's simple in love," Edmure said. "If I were Petyr, I would simply act as if nothing changed. If confronted, I would confess everything. I'd offer no defense, accept all punishment, and offer no excuses."
Hoster, Vyman, and Catelyn all watched him, bewildered. Edmure continued, dropping to his knees and producing real tears with practiced ease. "Then, I'd spout nonsense: 'I did it because I felt unworthy. I couldn't get your attention. I thought you didn't need me... but I need you. My life has no meaning without you. I was so afraid of losing you that I did something terrible, thinking it would make things go back to how they were.'"
He stood up, wiping his eyes. "See? That's how you pull it off. There are a hundred ways to salvage this. The story goes on, and the couple reunites. Trust me—humans have a soft spot for broken things."
"Is any of this real?" Hoster asked, looking at his son as if he were a stranger. "Are you bullshitting your own father?"
"Yup. Trust me, I've been rehearsing these things for a long time."
"You bastard," Hoster sighed, moving into the tone of a weary parent. "Vyman told me about your unfaithful tendencies. I truly wish I could send you to the Wall. Only there would you suffer."
"So, sister, cheer up," Edmure said. "Enjoy the show when he puts it on. Pat him on the head if you must. But remember: charity is done with crumbs, not your entire fortune. I don't care about your relationship with Petyr; for me, this was a small prank. But do not sacrifice your fundamental interests for a moment of pity. By the way, was the Septa involved?"
"No, it was a maid," Vyman said. "Septa Mordane was admirable; she advised Catelyn against using the funds for a man outside her family."
"A pity. I wanted to catch her in the act. Regardless, if you're going to punish the maid, give her to me instead."
"Why?" Hoster erupted again. "Do you also pity broken things?"
"No, Father. This entire farce was a game of power between the powerful. The weak have no place on the board or in the dungeon. If we aren't punishing Petyr, we shouldn't punish her. I have my pride; in my game of thrones, only kings and princes will suffer."
With that, Edmure swaggered out toward his solar. He would sleep the entire day tomorrow. After that, it was time for his tour.