Chapter 7: Tully Sisters

(1,200 words)

- Percival Bolton POV -

- Riverrun – Riverlands – Westeros – 269 A. D. -

Lysa might be sick and grotesque, both physically and in personality she was pretty bad, but Catelyn Tully wasn't that different.

In the TV series, the actress was quite old and horrible, but this may be different, since as I said, Roose Bolton showed other traits, although I couldn't be sure. But as I understand it, Catelyn Tully was described as a beautiful woman in her youth, on the level of Sansa Stark, so physically she would be a pass.

But his personality on the other hand. . . She's not crazy, but she's too stubborn and stubborn. A total idiot. Nothing would've happened to the Starks if I didn't catch Tyrion Lannister, trust Petyr, Littlefinger, Baelish, or arrange a marriage with the freys.

It was all with his recklessness, for without the first two things, Ned could have cultivated greater power when it came to making his move, for even before Robert's death and being betrayed by Baelish, he was in a delicate situation at court. All because of your wife's actions. Which also blindly trusted Petyr.

And to talk about the Freys. He greatly underestimated the affection that his vassals may have for House Tully. Why would they wait any longer? The Tullies were nothing until the Targaryen arrived, and yet they were, or in this case would be, the first to betray them after they were offered a commitment to a Stark and an Arryn. House Tully are rats and their subordinates are even worse.

- POV Catelyn Tully -

"Please girls, you should go say hello to our new guest", the seven told us as she taught us how to sew.

"But that's boring!" cried my sister, little Lysa, as she frowned.

"Hey! "Where are your manners?" I said in a tone I would, but the truth is he was smiling. She was very tender at only three years old. I was only two more than she was, so it wasn't much of a difference either. But I considered myself a pretty mature child for my age. I was raised as a sharp lady since I've had the power of reason.

"Boooooo!" shouted Lysa again as she pulled out my tongue, and I laughed at her behavior. She was my baby sister. But the next moment, the door opened revealing a figure of reddish brown hair, she was our mother, Minisa Tully.

"Seven, why aren't the girls getting ready to greet our guest and future pupil of Hoster?" he asked with a slightly frown. We had disturbed her with our disobedience. But as it should be, the mistakes of a Lord or Lady are not paid for by them but by their servants.

"Forgive me, Milady, we were about to finish and get going", said the seven as she bowed respectfully to my mother.

"All right. . . But don't be long, we can't leave a bad influence with someone from a relatively important house", said mother, and then retired. He always smiled, but he also walked haughtily. A little queen of rivers and fish.

I'm hoping to see if I can get a little higher. . . to be queen would be more than a dream, to be visited by a prince in silver armor riding a white steed. Who knows. . . Maybe I can fulfill my dreams? I hope so!

- Percival Bolton POV -

I had already packed my luggage in my room. Like Gregor Clegane, who had accompanied me, only not as a prominent figure, but as a mere servant, Silver.

The signs of extreme violence had already begun to appear even at the age of three. His eyes showed a fire when he saw violence being exercised by others. The strong attacking the weak. But that flame disappeared when I saw my figure, replaced with pure devotion. Abnormal for a three-year-old boy who sees his father, it was something deeper and more real. But that wasn't the important thing, because now, as I've said countless times. He's just a three-year-old boy, not "The Mountain" the strongest, physically, warrior in Westeros.

Physical strength isn't everything, though. Gregor Clegane was defeated by Ser Loras Tyrell in a fair by the use of cunning, and by Oberyn Martell by sheer skill with the spear.

Arthur Dayne was, most likely, superior to Oberyn at his best, which therefore makes him superior to Clegane as well. And I also believe that Khal Drogo would be able to defeat him. Not to mention a man like the Euron Greyjoy of books, who with enough preparation could also get a win.

But I must not be distracted from the subject. I had already packed my luggage, and was preparing to have my first lunch with the Tullies, where I would meet the infamous sisters, before they become as infamous as in the future.

"Lady Catelyn, Lady Lysa", I said respectfully as I entered the dining room where everyone was waiting for me. Seeing me, they were hypnotized looking into my black eyes. They were like a void where he felt part of the desperation that he was going through in that damn place. That's why I can't afford to die again, no matter what. Even if I have to kill my own brother or burn 1,000 children alive. I won't die!

"L-Lord Percival" replied Cat with a etiquette bow as well, lifting her skirt slightly with both hands. But you could see her restlessness after looking me in the eye.

I was beautiful, perfect and dangerously beautiful. Although not yet so clear, my features were fine and feminine, complementing my milky, completely pale skin. An unnatural but healthy pale, he was not something sick like the future son of the youngest of the Tully sisters.

Then it attracted all the attention of the ladies, in an excessive way. But it did not stop there, since it also attracted, to my disgust, many men. Because, like I said, my features are too refined for a man. Likewise, that impulse ran out when I looked back at them and looked deeply into my eyes. Some even urinated, which is normal, they're just garbage, they don't even serve as tools for anything.

After that brief greeting, and a reprimand from Lady Tully to Lady Lysa for not answering my greeting, we began our lunch, and at the end of the meal each went to his room, though I followed Lord Tully for our first lesson.

First we practiced a little swordfighting, in which he obviously defeated me, and then I accompanied him as he settled the affairs of his territory. A rather boring practice that I would have to repeat for almost a year. The days ahead, away from my lab, would be boring and unproductive, but at least I tried to practice my magic at that time. But it was clear that it would have been much more productive to be at home, but there was nothing I could do to change that, and I had to adapt. You can't cry for spilled milk, as the saying goes in America.