Trials and Tribulations of the Oathkeeper

Chapter 82: The Bastard and the Maiden Fair

—At Riverrun—

Within the ancient halls of Riverrun, the ancestral seat of House Tully, an old man laid on a bed. His eyes were closed, his long white beard trimmed, skin paled and wrapped in bandages laced with herbal poultices as a result of a deep stab wound he sustained. He'd been unconscious for about a while now; his arms and limbs only twitched as he dreamed. Tending to him was a rather young woman, waist-length brown hair, light skin, a pretty face with a small chin, delicate nose and big brown eyes. Lifting up the covers to his bed, she delicately removed the bandage and leaned to her left to pull out a fresh one.

"Mmmm..." the old man stirred. His closed eyes twitched and he began to stir.

The young woman in question paused and observed him closely. As he slowly opened his eyes—taking in his surroundings—he tried to move, but felt a hand press against his bare chest. "Easy now, kind ser," she beseeched calmly. "You're still in no condition to start moving about."

The old man looked at her. "Who... *cough* who are you, girl?" he asked wearily, his throat sore and dry.

"Lady Roslin Tully, kind ser," she introduced herself. "My husband is Lord Edmure Tully. I was born at the Twins a fifth daughter to Lord Walder of House Frey."

He blinked. "Edmure... you're his wife?"

Roslin nodded.

"Huh. *cough, cough* You're... you're not like the rest of Lord Walder's brood, rather pretty I might add."

"Thank you, ser. But again, please try not to move around so much. You're wounds still need healing."

Before he could speak, Riverrun's maester Vyman enters the room with a vial of milk of the poppy. Kneeling down to meet him at eye-level, Vyrman recognizes his patient. "Ah, so you're finally awake," he said examining the stitched wound before wrapping another wrap of bandages. "For a while there, we feared you wouldn't pull through, Bodrin."

Bodrin, one of Daveth's contacts and representative of King's Landing's smallfolk, slowly looked down to examine his stitches. The last thing he remembered was trying to prevent Stannis Baratheon's soldiers and Melisandre from taking Gendry, struggling against the Brotherhood Without Banners, Beric Dondarrion, Anguy, Thoros of Myr... and the blade impaling him in the gut; then after that... nothing. For a moment, Bodrin believed he was going to die. For him to be in Riverrun, barely alive, it was somewhat of a miracle, a small stroke of luck—considering his age and frailty. "How... how did you find me?" he asked.

Vyrman finished wrapping a new set of bandages. "One of our patrols found you laying in your own blood on the Kingsroad just a few clicks west of here."

"How bad were my injuries?"

"The blade was deep, but stopped a few inches short of hitting major body organs such as the stomach or the liver... Whoever did this hadn't had any real proper arms training; quite sloppy. As I said, you're lucky to be alive."

"It was *cough, cough*... it was the Brotherhood Without Banners," Bodrin revealed.

Roslin and Maester Vyrman stopped what they were doing and looked at him. "A band of outlaws did this?"

"They were... they were led by Lord Beric Dondarrion. Whatever they used to be, they... *cough, cough* I've seen them do things."

"What things?"

"It's like... magic none of us have ever seen," he explained, referring to Thoros of Myr's power of resurrection and the flaming sword trick. "Unnatural. I saw 'em use it twice when Sandor Clegane—"