Chapter Text
Thunder echoed across the horizon as if the seven gods were marching in the clouds above. The rain had yet to arrive, but the dark clouds had been looming since dawn and now blocked out the moon and stars, leaving a darkness incomparable to any other. Riverrun was a glowing light in the dark night, as all castles and keeps were, with hearths, lanterns and torches flickering golden light so guards and staff could still find their way through the ancient halls.
The battlements of the castle were unique, with a triangular courtyard and three rising towers built on the banks of the Trident's fork. Accessible only by a single bridge across the water with gates at each end and a heavy metal side sealing the castle. It was known it was impossible to siege, and its roots ran deep into the water below with secret tunnels through to the banks on all sides. Its stores were vast and well defended too, even with fully sealed gates, a full garrison, staff and court of lords; all could eat well for three years without replenishment.
But Riverrun was not only a fortress, but a home built for humble moments; its grand hall smaller than most keeps of Noble houses. That space instead was given up for the godswood, filled with fine flowers and trees, and the sept where the seven gods were proudly displayed.
The castle also had a feature that many others had not bothered to put such effort into. All castles had solar's of course, space for more intimate meetings between family and deer friends but Riverrun's Solar was large taking up the whole of the south tower, with it's own kitchen at the base, a huge living and dining room with a grand fireplace and windows out across the river, and rooms for endless family, suites for those of all ages from nursery rooms to ageing assistance beside the servants quarters. And the very top was the suite for the Lord Paramount of all the Riverlands, with its own stone bathing chamber attached, a vast wardrobe and the proud bed with leaping trout as bedposts.
But... this space was now, all but silent and a shell of what it once was. Most of the chamber sat empty, sealed and dusty; no fire had burnt in it for years now. Guards barely entered the tower, and whenever staff did, they were sure to be silent and quick, as if frightened by the place.
It held only a single resident now.
He was the last of his house; the gods had clipped each branch of his family tree, leaving only one soul left.
The Lord Paramount of the Riverlands was a title gifted to House Tully when they bent the knee to Aegon Targaryen, and the minor kings of the Riverlands gave up their crowns to swear their fealty. Each head of the household had held the title and held Riverrun since Axel Tully, his sons and sons in turn, all the way to Lord Grover Tully.
He held the lordship longer than any of his father's before him, being handed the lordship when his father passed, himself merely a boy of seventeen. He wedded the daughter of a local lord, the Lady Elisa Wode, and the two shared only a few years together. She gave Grover his only child, a son whom they named Elmo and declared as the sole heir. But Elisa had been travelling to visit her family, and her horse spooked, tossing her off it and sending her to meet the gods. Grover never married again, even if his lord often suggested daughters and sisters of fine beauty. But Grover refused and raised Elmo alone.
Elmo found himself a wild boy, often taking chances he shouldn't; he liked to climb, to ride, to sword fight recklessly, regardless of his father's concerns. He met a young maiden, Lady Lara Roote, whom he quickly married and bedded even quicker. Some even dared to whisper that Lady Lara was pregnant before the wedding was held, but Grover would often threaten anyone who dared speak ill of his beloved daughter-in-law.
One cold and rainy evening, Lara gave birth to two sons. Twin boys, with the proud Tully features the Riverlands expected. They named their boys Kermit and Oscar. Kermit is set as Elmo's heir. But... he would not be for long.
The birthing bed proved to be too much for Lara; the stress of two sons was impossible for her to survive. The maester stayed at her side for hours, but nothing could be done, and she met the gods before either of her children ever said a single word.
And one never would, Kermit, the boy who had emerged first. One evening, only days after Lara's death, he began to go cold, his body turning pale and blue, and meeting with the gods and his mother.
The loss was discordant; Elmo and Grover wept openly when their bodies were sent down the river, and Oscar was treated as if he were made of fine porcelain, never without a maid and guard at his side.
His father rarely saw Oscar, as if afraid he would in some way lose his last son. Instead, his recklessness grew more intense, often causing arguments between Elmo and Grover. Until Elmo went to handle a petty argument between some minor lords, and with only a single stray arrow, he too met the gods.
When Grover heard the news, he ordered that Oscar was never to leave the castle walls! He would be protected and concealed from this world, naming him heir even if he was only a boy of seven years.
But Grover soon fell ill, age and stress becoming simply unmanageable, spending his days in bed attended by his lords and maester.
Riverrun sat on a knife-edge, prepared to grieve at a moment's notice. Lords around them began to whisper about rebellion, of displacing the young Oscar and taking Riverrun for themselves. But the men of the castle remained loyal to a fault, willing to defend their lord and heir until the last.
When a raven came from Harrenhal, Grover was far too sick to even leave his chamber, so Oscar went under guarded escort.
There he met with the rogue prince Daemon Targaryen, the man he had heard of only in grand tales. He fumbled with the audience and was sent away without a single care. But... when he returned home, his grandsire was already gone.
As such, he inherited everything: Lord Paramout of the Riverlands, of all Riverhouses, of Riverrun, of House Tully. And all before he had even become a man.
But the loss changed him; the weak boy changed almost overnight as he sat alone in the empty solar, reminded of all those who had already left him, and he refused to allow any more loss. He had the blacksmith craft him new armour, a sword, and a helm all emblazoned with Tully scales and tails. He took his beloved mare and rode back to Harrenhal, not with an offer... not a grovel of a pitiful boy, but with a threat.
With the words of his ancestors and the pride of his lands, the rogue prince was given an ultimatum that he simply couldn't deny.
And so Oscar went to war, without an heir, without his family, but with men who would walk into dragonflame on his word. The first few battles were rough; his bones ached, and the scent of blood seemed sickening, but he soon found his footing and even found moments of brief joy between the endless terror and fear.
He marched his men on his queen's orders and even granted a knighthood in the great throne room of King's Landing.
Oscar returned to Riverrun, a knighted lord. A war hero with stories for the ages and a few scars. But... the crushing silence of the castle weighed heavier than anything else.
That first night, he couldn't sleep. He had never actually spent a night in the paramount suite, but the bed felt wrong, as if he betrayed his grandsire by sleeping there. The silent halls felt haunting after so long in war camps. He often found himself wandering the halls, sword in hand, in the middle of the night, scaring any maids half to death.
Or worse... if sleep did find him... he would find himself haunted by dragon fire in the sky, the clank of iron swords, the horrors of war and the screams of those he failed to save. Along with endless halls of haunting voices, echos of his ancestors, and they were angry with him.
He often invited friends from the war to Riverrun, allowing them to stay as long as they wished, in the hope of distracting himself, but all eventually went home, leaving him in an empty castle.