Ser Andar Royce's body lay nearby, blood still gushing from the wound in his neck and staining the cobblestones beneath him an ominous crimson.
His eyes, still wide in death, stared fixedly at the sky.
As though silently demanding an answer from the Seven.
Why had honor ended in such a vile death?
Edmure trembled all over, his teeth chattering uncontrollably with a soft clicking sound.
He wanted to beg for mercy, to say he would do as he was told, so long as he could live.
But just then, the words in his father's letter seemed to burn inside his mind.
[Edmure, remember our words.]
[Family, duty, honor.]
[Do not let the banner of House Tully be stained with innocent blood.]
Edmure's gaze slowly shifted from Andar Royce's young but lifeless face to his sister's face, twisted by madness.
Family?
For a dead man, she was willing to send her own brother to his death and force their entire family to perish with her madness.
Duty?
As the Lady of the Vale, she had murdered a vassal loyal to her with her own hands, merely to assert her authority.
Honor?
With the vilest ambush and betrayal, she had disgraced House Tully and House Arryn, trampling their honor beneath her filthy feet.
Suddenly, Edmure stopped trembling.
The chill deep in his bones gave way to something far more searing.
It was anger.
Anger at being deceived.
Anger at the murder of his kin.
And above all, anger at the trampling of House Tully's dignity!
He was Edmure Tully.
All his life, he had been a useless failure.
He could not shoot straight, could not fight a war, and was not particularly bright.
He had always lived beneath his father's harsh judgment and in the shadow of others' brilliance.
But now,