Side Story - Hoster Tully

Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or the world appearing in this story, they are creations and property of the fantastic George R. R. Martin. I'm not sure if I can claim my OCs as my own, so I'll play it safe and dedicate them to GRRM.

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Author's Note: This chapter is not a must-read for keeping up with the story. I wrote this as an exercise to get an idea of what Hoster's viewpoint could be. This is a companion piece to chapter seven.

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[Year - 293 AC]

Hoster Tully sat in his solar as he watched the Red Fork and Tumblestone flow at furious speeds. From high up in his castle, the rivers seemed almost pleasant; but he knew how deafening the sound would be if he were to leave his chair and go down to the shore.

Currently, he was enjoying some well-earned peace and quiet after a busy morning. Unlike other days, the day's court had been very animated and had taken a lot out of him.

House Goodbrook and House Lychester had had poor yields this harvest. Hence they wouldn't be able to feed their villages if the current tax rates were to be applied. Of course, they claimed to not have enough, but he would wager that their castle stores were lined to the brim. Although, he could hardly issue a search for such a minor issue.

And then there was The Twins. The Freys were always up to something or the other; he could not afford to take his eyes off that slimy bastard. Today, however, he had gotten news that Walder's last wife had passed – making him survive seven wives on the count. It was the one whose wedding he'd missed.

He sighed as he leaned into the chair. Things were not very bad, but at the same time, he had a feeling that everything was going to shit.

There was a knock on the door, which pulled him away from his thoughts. 'Maybe at the right moment too,' he thought to himself. Any more of those dreadful thoughts and his day might have been ruined.

"What is it?" he called out.

A young lad, by the name of Tommy, opened the door and stepped inside. "There are visitors at the checkpost, milord."

"Visitors...?" Hoster repeated. He certainly wasn't expecting anyone. "Who is it?"

"They are from Winterfell, milord. They claim to be escorting Lord Stark," the lad replied.

"Lord Stark?" He repeated in confusion, more to himself than anything else. Leaving his seat, he dismissed the lad.

He couldn't think of a single reason why Eddard would visit him. Maybe he was passing through? However, if Catelyn was with him, it would definitely uplift his day.

Thinking of Cat lifted his mood instantly, and he hurried down the stairwell. Cat had always been special to him, she was the one who had been with him through everything.

He could still recall those days when he'd been young – when he used to journey across the lands. He would tell Cat to wait for him at the castle, keeping watch, and she would nod so adorably. Then when she'd grown older, he'd taken her along on his trips. He smiled at the thought. Before his wife had borne him a son, she'd been everything to him, his heir and his beloved daughter.

He loved Edmure and Lysa – he didn't need a reason to. He loved his son for simply being his son, and Lysa too for the same reason. But they weren't Catelyn. She was the brightest of them. And so fierce and clever.

Hence, he'd wanted to make an advantageous match for her when the time came for her to marry. And he'd done it too by betrothing her to Brandon Stark when she was two and ten. Catelyn had favoured the match as well. The Starks were an honourable house, and the boy was easy on the eyes.

Then, by the seven hells, everything had gone to shit. After all of his careful deliberations, everything was lost within months. The mad king had named the Lannister for kingsguard, ruining his negotiations with Lord Tywin. And Brandon Stark had gotten himself killed, ruining the advantageous match he'd made for his daughter.

However, things had turned around. And he'd taken full advantage of the situation. He'd been able to marry off his daughters to the lords of two Great Houses.

Then everything had gone wrong once again when Eddard came back – with those two boys. Not only had he dishonoured his daughter, but now his grandchildren wouldn't rule North when the time came.

He'd seen his daughter's face, the pain in her gaze, and so he had questioned. He had questioned the boy's parentage. Eddard had gotten angry at that. He'd tried to hide his anger, but the boy was never well suited to politics; he was too honourable. Enraged at him, Eddard had left the castle. Taking with him his daughter, her son, his bastard and Brandon's heir.

Catelyn had come to live a good life at Winterfell over the decade – she'd said so as much in the letters. She'd had three more children after Robb, and they were growing up well in the North. He only hoped to be able to see them soon one day.

She had also written about Brandon's boy in the letters. His blood boiled even thinking of it, but she had come to care for the boy over the years. She'd described him to be clever and well-mannered, but Hoster couldn't give a shit even if the boy vomited gold. She'd also however talked of maybe betrothing her daughter to the boy when they came of age. That gave him pause. It wasn't the best he could hope for, but it was what he could salvage from the situation. He'd have to think more about it in the years to come.

As he made his way outside the castle gates, he could already make out the outsiders. They stood out very easily amongst his people. However, the large wolf would have made it easy for anyone.

"Where's Eddard?" He asked the huge knight in the group with the Manderly sigil on him.

The knight turned to him with a raised eyebrow. "Lord Eddard is not with us," he said after a moment of thought.

Hoster furrowed his brows. Was this bear of a man taking him for a fool?

"Lord Tully, I think you've misunderstood. It's not my uncle, but rather I who's visiting," He heard a youthful voice from behind. And his heart sank. Not grandfather, but Lord Tully.

Turning around, he came face-to-face with a boy. He was round-faced, which was even and symmetrical. His skin was pale but not so much as a typical Stark, and his hair black. However, it was the eyes that helped him identify the boy in an instant. He had seen the same eyes, nearly a decade ago.

All notion of civility fled from him as he gazed into those eyes.

"What are you doing here?" he asked, trying to keep his voice as even as possible. But it still came out clipped and broken.

The boy raised an eyebrow at that. "I'm on a trip to the Citadel, Lord Tully. I'm merely passing through your castle on this journey."

"The Citadel?" he questioned, a little taken aback. His surprise worked wonders in keeping away the anger from his voice.

"Oh yes," the boy said, "I'm to study with the maesters for a few years and earn a few links if possible. Before returning to Winterfell for my duties."

That made his mood even fouler. "Is that so?" he said, "How many days will you be here for?"

"We were thinking of departing once we had replenished our supplies, Lord Tully," the boy answered.

The way the boy spoke; it grated on him. Lord this – Lord that.

"Show this lot into the castle," turning away, he said to Tommy, who'd followed him. Turning back to the boy, he said, "I am hosting a few of my bannermen – I need you gone by the day after."

The boy narrowed his eyes, and he could see the Northern men tense behind him. He took a little satisfaction in looking forward to their response.

The boy lifted his head to meet his eyes and held his gaze for a moment. Breaking it, he turned back to his men, motioning them to stand down.

"As you say, Lord Tully."

Hoster walked away without a word. He was simmering in fury. To steal what was his and come to his castle asking for hospitality. He'd been wrong when Tommy had roused him of his thoughts. He'd have had a happier day if he'd been left alone with his thoughts.

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