Chapter 7 : Farewells (end)

(Several minutes later)

[William's senior POV]

Running away never solves anything. But Hoster never seemed to learn that. Every time something didn't go his way, he would turn his back. Now, I can only blame myself for not fixing that flaw when I had the chance.

Years ago, I thought he would be a better Lord than I ever was, for our House, for the Riverlands. Back then, that was enough. But the stakes are too high now to settle for just 'better'. House Tully has the chance to be more, a force that no one, even the King, can belittle. And Hoster is ready to throw that away, because of his pride.

I can't overlook his shortcomings anymore just because he's capable. Soon, being capable won't be enough to protect this family, not with what's coming. The rise of our House will eventually make us a target, and when that day comes, I can see Hoster holding his ground but not crushing our enemies. He isn't the one supposed to lead us to greatness. His children won't be either. That's William's path. But he refuses to see it.

He is forcing my hand, leading me to a choice that will break my heart, but which I'm certain I will not regret. Since he made it clear that if Minisa bore him a son, that child would become his heir, I would have to ensure that day would never come.

KNOCK

KNOCK

'That's not William.' I thought, eyes moving to the door. Too heavy a knock. That's Brynden.

"Come in." I muttered, my voice ragged from yelling earlier. Anything louder would have me coughing up blood.

The door groaned as Brynden entered. He approached the bed but kept a respectful distance. However, unlike Hoster, he didn't carry the same tension, there was less guilt burdening him.

"I passed Hoster on the way here. He looked rattled. Should I expect you to shake me up as well, Father?" He asked, half-joking but with that serious edge.

A wry smile crossed my lips, "Maybe... unfortunately." Without delay, I pressed on, "So... the Queen of Thorns... is leveraging my death... as a reason... to meet William?" I asked, my brow furrowing.

At the mention of her, Brynden's face tensed. He gripped the bedframe tightly, the wood groaning beneath his hands, "She made it perfectly clear that her sights are set on William."

"She knows that... if we keep growing... we will be a threat... to her House." I continued, reading his thoughts.

"If her spies are any good, yes. We have some time before the Lannisters make a move, but the Tyrells… that's another story. What I can't figure out is what she wants from William. Does she know how... different he is?"

I didn't have any reassurances to offer, "She must have... some idea... or she wouldn't be... this determined."

Brynden's face flickered from irritation to anger, then to a colder fury. I broke the silence, "She will try to use... his mother."

He paused in thought for a moment, then slowly shook his head, "William's attachment to his mother is built on gratitude rather than sincere love. Olenna Tyrell would need more than that to sway him."

I sighed, "That's just one tool... in her arsenal."

Brynden raised an eyebrow, "What else?"

I initially hesitated to tell him, but ultimately decided I needed him to know, "Hoster won't make William... his heir... if Minisa gives him... a son. Olenna can exploit that."

Brynden parted his lips, yet no sound followed. Though he privately conceded that William was the most suitable successor to Hoster, he never openly supported it, sharing Hoster's view that succession should remain within his own direct line.

Brynden gave a faint shake of his head, as though yielding to an unavoidable reality, "We cannot deceive ourselves into thinking William won't one day seek the mantle of Lord. His ambitions are undeniable, and he's destined to lead. Should Hoster remain firm in his stance, a rift will form. In time, William will come to understand that simply serving this House won't satisfy him if he's not at the helm of it."

A dangerous thought crossed my mind, "Perhaps... that's why Olenna... wants to meet him... to see if she can control him... if she gives him the chance... to fully realize his potential."

Brynden's eyes widened, "You think she would meddle with Hoster's succession?"

"She likely believes... that if Hoster's heir is a son... we will inevitably become enemies. But if it's William... she might think... she can turn the situation... to her advantage... because of their blood ties. I wouldn't put it past her... to harm Minisa or her child... if she thinks... it could work in her favor." I offered my speculation. Whether or not it held truth, Brynden's lingering suspicion of Olenna was exactly what I needed.

Brynden's grip loosened from the bedframe, "I trust William. One meeting won't make him her pawn. But I'm more worried about what she might do to Minisa and the child."

I nodded, then added, "True... but one meeting... could plant seeds of doubt... in William's mind. And Olenna... would see that as a victory."

"Guh!" Instantly, a stabbing pain ignited in my stomach, like fire roaring inside me. I grimaced, hands pressing against my abdomen. However, the pain, though intense, was one I had come to recognize. It was going to be temporary.

"Father! Should I get William?" Brynden asked urgently, thinking it might be my final moment.

"No... bring Corwyn." I said through clenched teeth.

Brynden nodded, rushing toward the door.

Realizing it was my last chance to speak to him, I called out, "Wait!"

He stopped and turned, his eyes meeting mine. I spat the blood gathering in my mouth and took a few steady breaths.

"You have been... a good son to me... and for that... I thank you. My hope is that... when the time comes... you can offer... the same sentiment to William."

Brynden opened the door and paused, "It will be difficult with a boy as reckless as mine." He muttered jokingly before exiting the room.

(Several minutes later)

Maesters are learned men, healers and scholars, drawn from all walks of life and bound by a singular Order. Their purpose is the relentless pursuit of knowledge and the service of the Realm. Educated at the Citadel in Oldtown, the world's foremost seat of learning and the headquarters of their Order, they are dispatched to advise the lords of Westeros once deemed suitably equipped with the wisdom required for their role.

When perceived in these terms, the Maesters appear as paragons of virtue and service, which, in part, they are. Nevertheless, I can cite numerous instances where their actions tell a different story.

To begin with, the way the Maesters carry out their duties is questionable. Much of the knowledge they hold remains closely guarded, as their control over information cements their indispensability to the nobility.

Furthermore, the question of a Maester's loyalty is inherently unclear. In principle, a Maester's loyalty is primarily directed toward the Citadel and its ideals of neutrality and service to the realm. However, in practice, a Maester is generally loyal to the house to which he is assigned, while still expected to remain neutral in political affairs.

In our case, House Tully has been fortunate with the Citadel's choice of replacement following the unfortunate 'incident' that caused Maester Kym's death. Maester Corwyn brings an unconventional and open-minded approach, unlike any Maester I have encountered before. His fresh perspective is a welcome shift, particularly when dealing with one particular member of our House who may initially appear somewhat unusual.

Aside from that, Corwyn's loyalty is well-placed. He's sometimes even more passionate than I am about ensuring William's ascension as the Lord of House Tully.

BANG

Corwyn barged into my room without so much as a knock. The old man's manners had always been polished, so something told me Brynden had made sure he understood the gravity of the situation.

Out of breath, he dropped onto the stool by my bed, fumbling through his robes like he had never held a vial in his life.

"I came as fast as I could. How are you feeling?" He gasped, hands shaking as he rifled through his tools.

COUGH COUGH

I let out a cough, clearing the blood clogging my throat. I saw him pale at the sight, but I wasn't about to let him think I was ready to float down the Red Fork just yet.

"I still have... some time left... don't you worry." I rasped, looking him dead, "Just... give me some... milk of the poppy... for the pain."

He nodded, calming down, "As you wish, William." He replied, using my name. He was a friend to me, not just a Maester.

As he searched for a particul vial, I pressed on, "I spoke to Hoster... about his succession."

Corwyn's eyes flickered, his hands slowing just a fraction.

"He won't name William... his heir... if Minisa bears him a son... he's set on it." I said, watching Corwyn's face harden.

Without missing a beat, Corwyn asked, "When should I act?"

"The day... doesn't matter... as long as it happens... shortly after... she gives birth... and after... my funerals." 

Corwyn's hands trembled again, "Both?" He asked, voice barely steady. He was hesitating. I couldn't afford hesitation.

"Minisa must die... if she's pregnant again... it's the same problem. If it's a girl... let her live. But... if it's a boy... you know what... has to be done."

He gulped, louder than I liked, but nodded, "Very well... I will do what needs to be done." He said, though his face betrayed the weight of the task.

Satisfied, I let out a shallow breath, watching as he uncorked a familiar green vial and poured a small dose of milk of the poppy into my mouth.

"Drink the rest when you are ready to go." He said, setting the vial on my bedside table.

"I will bring your grandson now." He added, with a hesitant smile, reaching for the door.

I offered a faint nod in return, accompanied by a ghost of a smile.

"That won't be necessary, Maester Corwyn. I'm already here." Came a voice from outside, shattering the brief calm in the room.

[William's POV]

My grandfather always warned Hoster, Minisa and my father not to underestimate me, despite my age. Ironic, really, considering how he thought this whole scheme would fly under my radar. Maybe he believed I wouldn't connect the dots in time, or worse, that I wouldn't connect them at all. Arrogance tends to blind people that way. Every word he just said confirmed what I already knew.

All those veiled remarks about Minisa's health, about the sacrifices required for the good of our House, about taking destiny into our own hands. The constant reminders of my future responsibilities, of how my talents would be wasted if my only prospect was to become Hoster's assistant.

What did he expect? That I would just nod along like a fool? Smile politely while ignoring every hint? Or, better yet, that I would never imagine him capable of something so ruthless?

No, that wasn't my style. I mean, sure, since it was my grandfather we were talking about I had my doubts, but they were fully confirmed after overhearing his conversation with Maester Corwyn through the door of his chamber.

Annoyed by their silence, I walked in uninvited. The look on their faces was priceless ; Shock, fear, the whole spectrum. I didn't even glance at Corwyn before ordering, "Leave us. I need to speak with my grandfather alone. I will deal with you later." My eyes locked on the old man's bewildered face.

Corwyn lingered for a few seconds before he finally stumbled out, the door slamming behind him. The man who betrayed me and our family sat there, mouth half-open, probably preparing some flimsy excuse. I silenced him with a simple gesture ; One finger pressed to my lips.

For twenty agonizing seconds (for him), we stood there. He, unsure of how much I knew. Me, letting him stew in his confusion.

Suddenly, I turned back to the door, threw it open, and looked both ways down the hallway to ensure we were alone, "It would have been foolish of me to be tricked as easily as you." I said, my voice laced with sarcasm, letting him know exactly why I had acted as I did.

"Did you... hear everything?" His voice trembled, shame already creeping in.

"Not everything." I replied, my tone heavy, "But enough to understand what's going on." I started pacing the room, as though seeing it for the first time.

I stopped by his bedside table, where a vial of milk of the poppy layed. I picked it up, turning it over in my hand, "Aside from being cruel, your plan is flawed." I said with a sneer.

"Flawed?" His eyebrow arched.

I nodded, "Let's assume the first part of your plan works ; Minisa and her child die. If Maester Corwyn doesn't cover his tracks well enough, which seems likely given how terrified he looked and how paranoid Hoster is, his first two sons did die in the crib, after all, what happens when Hoster discovers his wife and child didn't die naturally? He will realize it was done to force him to name me his heir. And he will hate me for it, no matter who ordered the murder. That's the kind of man he is and it is just one example of how everything could go wrong." I put the vial back down.

My grandfather looked at me, clearly startled by how calculating I could be, "Isn't it a bit hypocritical to look at me like that after all you have done?" I said, allowing some of my restrained anger to surface.

"You are right…" He murmured, his hand reaching out to rest on my shoulder. I didn't pull away, "But… this might be… your only chance… to become Hoster's heir… William. Even if there's a risk… are you really willing… to let it slip away?"

He probably expected me to give it some thought, but I didn't need to, "It's not the only way." I said firmly, "It's just the easiest one for you to consider. Refusing this madness doesn't mean I'm giving up on becoming the next Lord of this House. It just means I plan to do it my way."

His grip tightened on my shoulder, his eyes glassy, but a spark of hope lingered, "Then… how do you... intend to proceed, William?"

(2 hours later)

It had been about an hour since my grandfather had swallowed the milk of the poppy, aware that the end was near. Sleep came quickly, but serenity did not follow. Between bouts of ragged breaths, his body convulsed with violent coughing, and from time to time, a spasm left him vomiting blood.

During this time, I sat by his bedside, waiting. The room had been silent for two minutes now, his chest no longer rising or falling.

I slid off the stool I was sitting, walked to the bed, and checked his pulse. A single tear rolled down my cheek. I wiped it away with one hand, still searching for a heartbeat with the other.

"Nothing." I whispered, though it felt like a lie. Then, as if on cue, the dam broke. Tears streamed down my face, and I couldn't hold them back.

He was gone. And after everything he did, his betrayal, his selfishness, I still mourned him. My respect for him? That had crumbled. But the love? That, annoyingly, hadn't budged an inch.