A bitter, cold mist hung over the towers of Riverrun, turning the morning sunlight into a weak, dull grey.
Edmure opened his eyes in his dim bedroom.
Reaching out from under his warm blankets, he grabbed a thick, hooded wool coat from the bedside, wrapped it around himself, and sat up on his soft bed.
He slipped his feet into rabbit-fur slippers; the freezing air made him shiver, instantly waking him up.
The fire in the hearth had gone out.
Edmure grabbed the iron tongs and turned over the gray ashes to find a few unburnt coals.
He added two new logs, blew on them gently, and waited for the flames to catch.
As warmth filled the room, he used the firelight to start dressing.
It was the 287th year after Aegon the Conqueror’s coronation, five years since the War of the Usurper began, and the first winter Edmure Tully experienced since regaining his past memories.
His full memory had returned when he was nine years old.
Since then, he had lived through one spring, three summers, and an autumn.
Because of this, he was completely unprepared for the long, harsh winters of Westeros, and the cold, dismal weather made him feel gloomy.
Even so, his father, Lord Hoster, considered this winter to be mild.
The Red Fork river running past the castle had not frozen, allowing the common people to fish and make up for their poor farm harvests.
Thinking about this made Edmure shiver again.
He tried not to think about the legendary Long Night and its endless winter.
Without modern medicine, a simple cold or fever could easily be fatal here.
He moved a copper water jug from the hearth to the main fire pit, took off his silk pajamas, and put on warm linen underwear and wool socks.
Next came a layer of heavy wool clothes, followed by windproof leather pants and a matching jacket.
He traded his soft slippers for sturdy, high-top deerskin boots.
None of his clothing was dyed.
Walking over to his armor stand, Edmure took a breath and picked up a slightly oversized chainmail shirt.
He had asked for it as a gift for his fourteenth name day, and he rarely took it off except to sleep.
Thousands of small iron rings were tightly woven together.
Because it was oiled often, it glittered like silver sand.
Edmure laid the chainmail flat on the bed, ducked his head inside, and pulled it on.
The extra twenty-four pounds settled onto his shoulders as he stood up.
Fortunately, he was taller and stronger than the original Edmure.
His five-foot-eight frame was built as sturdy as a young stallion.
Constant practice had made him used to the heavy armor, so he could move quickly and swing his sword smoothly.
However, the icy chainmail still made him cold.
He pulled a plain dark blue surcoat over his knee-length chainmail, tightened his sword belt, attached a simple leather-sheathed longsword, and tucked a dagger behind his back.
By now, the water in the copper jug was warm.
He washed his face, put his thick wool coat back on, pinned it with a shiny silver trout brooch, and stepped out into the hallway.
“Good morning…
ah, Edmure,” a guard leaning against the wall yawned as he greeted him.
The guard was a young man of about twenty.
Over his warm wool clothes, he wore a dull chainmail shirt, an iron helmet, a longsword at his hip, a shield on his back, and a plain wool cloak embroidered with a white trout—the mark of a House Tully guard.
He was two inches taller than Edmure, with black hair, dark eyes, a lean and tough build, and stubble along his sharp jawline.
“Good morning, Bronn.
Let’s go grab breakfast,” Edmure replied, completely ignoring the man’s lazy attitude.
Bronn’s presence at Riverrun was the result of pure luck.
When Edmure was seven and first gaining access to his modern knowledge, he suggested that his father build an orphanage for the Riverlands and train the most promising children.
That was how twelve-year-old Bronn was found.
In Westeros, a twelve-year-old was almost an adult and could look for work.
Since older boys were harder to train, Lord Hoster did not want to take him into the orphanage.
But Edmure insisted on making an exception for Bronn, bringing him to Riverrun and saving him from the violence of the war.
It turned out Lord Hoster was partly right.
After seven years of training, Bronn had not become a polite or noble knight.
He kept the rough, wild habits he picked up on the streets.
However, everyone had to admit Edmure had a great eye for talent.
Bronn was a fierce fighter in practice, like a hungry wolf.
Many experienced knights could not beat him because his dirty, practical fighting style was so hard to counter.
Edmure knew this Bronn was much better than the original version from his memories.
With good food, proper training, and an education, he could even read and write—a rare skill in a world where most people were illiterate.
Most importantly, Bronn felt loyal to Riverrun.
He wore the Tully symbol proudly and was completely dedicated to Edmure, acting as his personal bodyguard.
Breakfast was served in the main keep’s small hall.
Unlike the Great Hall used for court and ceremonies, the small hall was close to the kitchens and much warmer.
Since winter started, the castle residents and guards usually ate here.
Large fireplaces roared at both ends of the room.
Three long wooden tables were set up in front of them, filled with dozens of guards who had just finished their night shift.
Edmure took his usual seat in the middle of one table.
Bronn sat next to him, and servants quickly brought out hot food and drinks.
Everyone received the same meal: a cup of hot apple cider, a thick piece of dark bread as heavy as a brick, a half-foot-long smoked river fish, two slices of fried salty ham, a small piece of cheese, and a large bowl of vegetable soup made from wilted greens and dried beans.
More people entered the hall.
A small group gathered around Edmure’s table to share the meal.
Bronn sat on Edmure’s left alongside other young men who had grown up in the orphanage.
After turning sixteen, they had been chosen to serve House Tully in administrative or military roles.
On Edmure’s right were the sons of Riverlands nobles.
They were Edmure’s friends and classmates.
Three years after starting the orphanage, ten-year-old Edmure had proposed another idea to his father: he wanted to open a school at Riverrun and invite Maesters from all over the Riverlands to teach.
Anyone living in the castle could attend the classes.
Edmure wanted to spread knowledge and educate his people.
He did not want his future army to end up like the Night’s Watch, which barely had twenty literate men out of a thousand.
The easiest source of good teachers were the Maesters who advised the lords.
At the same time, Edmure wanted to build strong relationships with the noble families, bring the Riverlands closer together, and train the next generation of leaders.
So, while inviting Maesters to teach, he also invited noble children over the age of ten to join.
In Westeros, young nobles were usually sent to other castles around age ten to serve as squires and learn knighthood.
Because of this tradition, lords did not mind sending their children to Riverrun.
Since children had to leave home for training anyway, sending them to the castle of the Lord Paramount made complete sense.
It was a great way to build political connections.
Lords who sent their children were also happy to lend their Maesters to teach them.
By 284 AC, after the War of the Usurper ended, the Riverrun Academy officially opened.
Though it started small, Edmure knew that starting something brand new took time.
To teach the students, several Maesters arrived wearing different metal links—bronze for astronomy, silver for medicine, copper for history, iron for military strategy, and gold for economics.
Edmure also convinced Lord Hoster to invite famous knights to teach combat skills on a rotating schedule.
This made the Riverrun Academy look like a serious institution rather than just a passing trend.
Seeing that the school offered real benefits, the Riverlands nobles began to take it seriously.
Lords who had hesitated before changed their minds, and some even sent all of their sons over ten years old.
Lord Hendry Bracken, who had no sons, even sent his nephew.
Soon, the school grew quickly.
Edmure had calculated the costs beforehand, and running the school was surprisingly cheap.
Teaching at the liege lord’s request was considered a high honor, so the Maesters and knights were paid very little.
Hiring private tutors as a wealthy merchant would have cost far more.
Furthermore, the seventy or eighty students served as a helpful workforce.
Just like normal squires, they helped maintain the armory, warehouses, stables, hunting grounds, library, and main hall.
Edmure worked alongside them to set a good example.
He knew everyone was watching him, and he needed to prepare for the difficult future ahead.
After three or four years, the best-educated young men in the Riverlands had formed a strong group loyal to the heir of House Tully.
Only one Riverlands family was completely left out.
They never received an invitation for teachers or students, even though they were House Frey—the richest, most military-powerful, and most populous family in the region, as well as the least loyal to Lord Tully.
Ever since Edmure had regained his memories, his main long-term plan was simple: destroy the power of the Freys at the Twin Fortresses.