hoping for shore

Edmure’s finger hovered over the doorbell of his sister’s house, or rather, Robin’s now.  With the last interaction between uncle and nephew not being one of great amiability, the older man hesitated as he collected his thoughts.  His nephew’s words of ‘then do something about it’ had struck him a bit harder than he thought they would, and he found them echoing in his mind for day after.  The doing of things always seemed to be where Edmure faltered, to the seeing of things through.  But not this time.  While before he had been concerned of the weakness that would be assumed if he spent too much time grieving his sister’s death, he now realized making sure those who caused it payed would be only a show of strength.  A reminder to all that the River Kings were here before them and would be here after, because they look after their own, regardless of changed names or syndicates.  So he would do what Robin had asked, avenge his mother, but first he had an offer to make him.  So finally, his finger depressed that small white button, and he listened as the bell rang out, and he waited at the door step, eager to see what his nephew’s answer would be when he asked.

Everything about Edmure screamed that he was out of his element; from his work clothes that suggested blue collar (despite being what all would consider white collar), the way he uneasily took one step in front of the other as he travelled between the pieces unsure if this is how one perused a gallery, to the fact that his quick glances at the art before moving on to the next showing his lack of interest or knowledge in the matter.  But he wasn’t here for him, he and his fiance’s anniversary was coming up and they were someone who enjoyed these things, so Edmure attempted to care as well (although, could one really call it an anniversary if it was simply a year since their parents suggested an arranged marriage to shore up business?).  Despite his attempt to care about what he was purchasing, he was still completely vexed on what made a good piece of art, and found himself leaning to his right slightly, prodding for the opinion of a nearby stranger.  “What do you think of this one?  Is it any good?”

Edmure was in search of answers, ones that he so far had been unable to find by his own means.  He had sent his people out looking for them, for the reason of the wedding massacre, and more importantly, for Lysa’s death. And despite finding no real reason, he considered himself sated with his efforts, that is until his own nephew asked him just what he was doing about it.  That’s when he knew sending his people out wasn’t enough, and that’s how he found himself in the back corner of the Red Keep, eyes searching the crowded bar for a painfully familiar face.  He was a bit paranoid about being seen with Addam in public, but he figured a rowdy, busy bar with views constricted by the large boxing ring in the middle and the industrial pillars every few feet, a corner booth in the back was inconspicuous enough.  His fingers traced the rim of his scotch glass (he was normally a beer guy, but was in desperate need of something a bit more numbing), mind caught up in exactly what he’d say to the man who he had such a long history with, enough so that he seemed to have missed his approach.  

Why had it taken him so long? His mind provided the thought for him, though the thought did not burn his tongue. Wasn’t family supposed to look out for each other? Or was it just because he had a different last name? How he hated the way this city was run; how he hated how it pushed him away from everyone else, the only survivor of his immediate family. He had never felt so alone before. “How does it look like I’m holding up?” Robin snapped in response, the poison touching his lips despite any effort he may have made to hold it back. He knew he certainly looked worse for wear; even though his clothing was as fine as ever, he had yet to touch any garments in his closet that had any touch of color aside from black. He was very clearly still in mourning. “Where have you been, exactly, Uncle? If your intention was to make your priorities clear to me, congratulations, you’ve succeeded.”

——————————————————————————————

It was fairly clear from Robin’s face that Edmure’s absence had been noted and taken down in a spreadsheet of wrong doings, and with that realization he sighed. Of course he had attended the small, private funeral held for both Lysa and Peter, and while his sparse appearance may have seemed perfunctory, it was anything but.  He had so deeply wanted to stay (well, he wanted to do more than stay, he wanted to rage, he wanted to wail, he wanted to shake his fists at the sky), but as Admiral, with the RIver Kings so deeply in disarray, weakness could not be tolerated, and he knew if he spent any additional time with his family, it’d be seen as just that.  He had things he needed to attend to, and to push them to the side for even a moment could spell quite literally death for Edmure, or even for the River Kings as a whole.  “Well, let’s put it this way:  You look how I feel.  Not great.”  He and Lysa had never been particularly close, and had drifted even further since her move into the Valemen, but he still loved and cared for her, she and Catelyn both had such a strong hand in raising him that of course he was grieving, despite his outward appearance.  “You know I would have been with you if I could.” he whispered strongly, both trying to be discreet but also let his passion on the topic be known “--But ever since your grandfather died I don’t have that luxury.”   How childish would he sound if he said all he wished for was his father back?  For him to help him with all these newfound responsibilities that he know bore as Admiral?  “---But I’m...”  Sorry didn’t feel like enough, it felt hollow.  “...Just let me know what you need.  If you need help, or for me to leave you alone, or with packing up the house, whatever.”

He didn’t want to be there. In fact, the very last place he wanted to be was mingling with King’s Landing’s elite. How pathetic this whole thing was, so soon after the murder of his mother and they were all pretending like nothing had changed. Just another ordinary evening in King’s Landing, another boy orphaned without a second glance. As he sipped from his complimentary glass of champagne (slowly, he wasn’t willing to give money to anyone or anything that he couldn’t completely trust) - he let his eyes wander the room. Enemies, all of them. Unless someone could prove themselves a friend.

The event had been Edmure’s first real outing other than work since the so-called wedding, both out of grief and fear that he would’ve also been killed if he had been in attendance.  And despite his easy smiles and conversations where his charm was laid on thick, Edmure had a knot in his stomach the entire time.  Sure, this wasn’t a gathering of the families, it was a public event, but who was to say something couldn’t happen here just as it had at Lysa’s wedding?  After mingling for awhile, this feeling of inevitable dread drew him into closer and closer orbit of those he knew, and eventually he found himself next to his nephew.  He really wish he could have been more present in the last weeks, but despite Lysa’s role in the Valemen, the River Kings foundation still cracked in the wake of her brazen murder, and Edmure had been spending a great deal of time paving it all over, trying to make sure a crack didn’t become a fissure.  “How’re you champ?” he questioned.  It was stupid, he knew, but he didn’t really have the words to comfort a son grieving his mother, so brutally murdered.  “How’re you holding up?”

For the most part, Edmure liked to present himself as a man of all virtue and no vice, but he never could resist the call of the blackjack table...Or the craps table, roulette wheel, or really anything that could be found in a casino and a large amount of money could be lost.  Granted, he never went too far, he knew when to cut his losses and go home, but there was something exhilarating about the absolute chance of it all for a man who rarely took them.  And for charity? Well it just seemed like a win-win situation.  He also knew it was about time he showed his face after the wedding massacre.  He had been trying to lay even lower than usual, still somewhat convinced that if he had been in attendance he would have been on the list of those marked for death.  But he was the had of a syndicate, of course people wanted him dead.  If he refused to venture into public every time there was a conspiracy, he’d never leave the house.  

“C’mon, blow on them for me.” he pleaded of his craps table neighbor.  “It’s a tradition.  And hey, if I win big I may even cut you in.”  

Even with his new responsibilities as acting governor keeping him busy and on his toes, he still found time to go back to the familiar. He would always be drawn back to the places that he felt at ease and those would always be wherever there were crowds. Sociable by nature he thrived on interactions with others, new dynamics fuelling him and the little flickers of triumph over insights that he gained sustaining him. It was his element and the confidence that he exuded made sure that everyone else knew it too. Languid strides carry him over to the bar, as though he has all the time in the world. With a smooth movement he leads against the bar, easy smile settling on his lips as the bartender greets him. “I’ll take your best scotch, neat.” Casting his gaze around for someone he might entrap in a conversation, a warm offer was made to the person next to him. “I’ll happily make it two if you’d like? Or something that’s more to your liking.”

——————————————————————————————

With a job that starts as the sun rises, it was a rare occasion to see Edmure at a bar any time that they might consider their ‘busy time’.  But, after all that had happened in the past weeks, he thought he deserved it.  After Lysa’s death, and the idea that he could have also been six feet under, Edmure felt more loosely mored than even before, unsure of what next moves to take.  He didn’t want to be home, he didn’t want to visit his sister or his brood of nieces and nephews, he just wanted to be.  An impossible thing for someone who carried his last name and title.  And while he’d never show it, he was a bit miffed as the few moments of solitude and staring into space had been interrupted.  He debated whether just to ignore the person in hopes that he would get the message loud and clear.  But he knew Minisa Whent would’ve never stood for it, and he would’ve probably gotten a flick on the ear from beyond the grave.  Turning to the man, he brandished a smile, not quite the dazzling one he was known for, but it’d have to do.  Sighing, he shrugged “Well, I’m not about to turn that down.  Scotch is fine.”  He knew he was, of course, he’d be negligent of his duties if he hadn’t. 

Ever since that Gods forsaken wedding, Edmure couldn’t help but look over his shoulder wherever he went.  It seemed like heads from every major family were targeted, and he couldn’t help but wonder if Lysa was targeted as a Tully, an Arryn, or both.  And would things have been different if Edmure had been in attendance?  Had he been on that list of those with warrants for their death? There was another thought as well, festering in the back of his mind, feeding the suspicion he felt where ever he looked: the Krakens had killed their own, i what seemed to be a grab for power.  And Edmure couldn’t help but wonder if something similar could happen to him.  Despite what people thought, the man wasn’t stupid, he knew in the 8 or so months since his father’s passing, and since his ascension to Admiral, that things had not progressed the way some had hoped.  But he’d be damned if let his father’s legacy slip through his fingers, in fact, said fingers would have to be cold and stiff for someone to take it away from him and the Tully name.  

That being said, one of the only places he felt like he could take a breath, release the tension that rolled through his body, was at Catelyn’s.  Even more so than his own apartment, although why he wasn’t sure.  Ever since Catelyn had left the family home, Edmure would always find himself at wherever she was when he was stressed or needing to escape the oppressive need of pleasing everyone around him.  So at this point, he rarely bothered knocking.  

The man let his body melt into the chair across from where she had stationed herself.  “What’re we drinking tonight, Catey-Cat?”

----------- TASK 001

SEMI AUTOMATIC  |  boxer rebellion

SAILOR SONG  |  autoheart

RIVERSIDE  |  agnes obel

IF I HAD A BOAT  |  james vincent mcmorrow

LULLABY  |  lord huron

BLOOD UNDER THE BRIDGE  |  frightened rabbit

DANCE ON OUR GRAVES  |  the paper route

WHAT MAKES A MAN  |  city and colour

✦ ▓ AND WHO GOES THERE? oh, it’s just [ EDMURE TULLY ]. some say [ HIS ] resemblance to [ ERIC DANE ] is almost uncanny, but the [ FORTY-TWO ] year old has been in the capital for [ FORTY-TWO YEARS ]. many suspect that they are the notorious [ ADMIRAL ] of the [ TULLY ] family: perhaps that has made them [ IMPETUOUS ] && [ COCKY ] of late, when they used to be so [ DUTIFUL ] && [ WELL-MEANING ]. during the daylight hours, [ EDMURE ] can be found working as a [ HARBORMASTER ], but when night falls over king’s landing, they are best remembered listening to [ BRANDY (YOU’RE A FINE GIRL) by LOOKING GLASS ]. may the gods be with them in these dark streets.