The Trout
3rd moon, 279 AC.
The morning of Lord Maynard Charlton's departure from Seaguard dawned with a heavy mist clinging to the keep's towering walls. The scent of the sea was thick in the air, mingling with the distant cries of gulls as Jason Mallister and Hosteen Mudd stood at the top of the stone steps leading down into the courtyard. Below them, Charlton's men were making their final preparations, fastening saddlebags, tightening harnesses, and checking the straps of their armor.
Lord Charlton himself stood beside his horse, speaking in hushed tones to his captain. When he finished, he turned to Jason and Hosteen, his face composed but serious.
"We have spoken much these last days," Charlton said, his tone measured. "But there is one last thing I must impress upon you both—secrecy is paramount." His sharp blue eyes moved between them. "If Frey catches wind of what we have discussed, he will act swiftly. You must ensure that does not happen."
Jason nodded. "We will be careful."
Charlton exhaled, running a gloved hand over the smooth pommel of his saddle. "I have done my part by placing these documents in your hands. But mark my words—Hoster Tully will not act without undeniable proof. Words alone will not move him."
Hosteen, standing slightly apart, studied the man carefully. Charlton's distrust of Frey was genuine—there was no deception in him. He had risked much in revealing his lord's ambitions, and Hosteen had little doubt he would suffer for it if the truth ever reached the Twins.
"You have done more than enough," Hosteen said. "It falls to us now."
Charlton gave a small nod before stepping into the saddle. His men followed suit, the sound of hooves clattering on stone echoing through the courtyard.
As the drawbridge was lowered, the last of the Charlton banners disappeared into the morning fog. Jason and Hosteen watched in silence until the distant thrum of hooves faded into nothingness.
"This will be more dangerous than anything we've done yet," Jason said quietly.
Hosteen kept his gaze fixed on the mist-shrouded horizon. "That is often the way of things when the truth is involved."
They turned back toward the keep, knowing that their own journey was only just beginning.
They left Seaguard the following morning, riding eastward with a small escort. The Riverlands stretched before them, rolling fields and thick forests dampened by the early spring rains. Jason led the group, his face grim with focus, while Hosteen rode beside him, cloaked in his own thoughts.
Though their journey should have taken them along the main roads, Jason had chosen a quieter path, cutting through wooded trails and lesser-used routes.
"We don't need eyes on us," Jason had said when Hosteen questioned the decision. "If Frey has men watching the roads, I'd rather they not know where we're going."
Hosteen had no argument against that.
They rode hard, stopping only to rest their horses and take brief meals. On the second evening, as they made camp near a shallow stream, Jason sat across the fire from Hosteen, sharpening his sword with slow, deliberate strokes. The firelight flickered in his eyes, shadows dancing across his face.
"You've been quiet," Jason said without looking up.
Hosteen tossed a small branch into the flames. "Thinking."
"About?"
"About what we will find at Riverrun."
Jason set his whetstone aside. "Lord Tully is no fool. He's not one to be easily swayed by rumors, even if they're spoken by men he respects."
Hosteen nodded. "That is what concerns me."
Jason exhaled, leaning back against his saddle. "Frey is always scheming, always placing his brood where they can do the most good for him. I've known that since I was a boy. What I don't know is whether Hoster will actually move against him, even with proof."
Hosteen studied Jason carefully. "You do not trust him?"
Jason hesitated. "I trust that he will do what he thinks is best for his family and maybe for the Riverlands. Whether that includes dealing with Frey… I don't know." He sighed. "He has more pressing concerns than one ambitious vassal. There's talk in the east of King Aerys growing madder by the day. If war ever comes, the Riverlands will be caught between the storm and the fire."
Hosteen was silent for a long time. Then he said, "And if Frey betrays Tully in such a war?"
Jason's expression darkened. "Then he will have damned us all."
They sat in silence after that, the fire crackling between them. Hosteen watched the flames, knowing that soon, they would stand before Lord Tully, offering him a choice that could change the fate of the Riverlands forever.
The stone walls of Riverrun loomed before them, the great triangular keep nestled between the Tumblestone and the Red Fork, its towers standing proud against the gray afternoon sky. The river currents lapped against the castle's foundations, their steady flow a reminder that Riverrun had stood unconquered for centuries.
Jason Mallister and Hosteen Mudd rode at the head of their small escort, the weight of their journey pressing heavily upon them. They had ridden hard, avoiding the main roads, speaking only in whispers of the documents concealed in their saddlebags. Now, at last, they had arrived—but not with the warmest of welcomes.
The guards at the gate regarded them with suspicion, hands resting on the pommels of their swords. "No word was sent of your coming," said the serjeant, a man with a thick Riverlander accent and eyes that measured the two lords warily.
Jason reined in his horse. "I am Jason Mallister, Lord of Seaguard. This is Lord Hosteen Mudd of the Hammerford. We have come on urgent business with Lord Tully."
The serjeant did not move. "Urgent business should be announced by raven."
"We had no time," Jason said firmly. "And we would rather speak to Lord Tully himself than put our words to parchment."
The guard hesitated, glancing toward one of his men. "Wait here," he said at last, before disappearing through the gate.
They did not have to wait long. Soon, the sound of boots against stone echoed from the castle yard, and a figure emerged onto the bridge leading to the main gate.
Ser Brynden Tully, the Blackfish, walked with the sure steps of a seasoned warrior, his dark eyes sharp beneath thick brows. His cloak, embroidered with the silver trout of his house, billowed slightly as he crossed the yard. He stopped before them, taking in their dust-covered cloaks and road-worn faces.
"My lords," he said, his voice calm but carrying a note of reproach. "You arrive unannounced at Riverrun's gates, without so much as a word to prepare us for your coming. That is… unorthodox."
Hosteen, still mounted, met the knight's gaze. "It was necessary."
Brynden tilted his head slightly. "Necessary? Tell me, does necessity now outweigh respect?"
Jason shifted in his saddle. "We mean no insult, Ser Brynden. But what we carry cannot risk interception. The urgency of our message left no room for proper courtesies."
Brynden studied them for a long moment, weighing their words. Then he sighed, shaking his head. "I hope for your sakes that you do not waste my brother's time." He turned, gesturing toward the castle. "Come. I will bring you to him."
The solar of Riverrun was a stately chamber, its walls lined with shelves stacked high with records, ledgers, and old scrolls. The large window overlooking the Tumblestone was thrown open, letting in the crisp afternoon air and the sound of the river's constant rush below. Seated at a heavy oaken desk, Lord Hoster Tully studied the two men before him with a measured, if somewhat irritated, gaze.
His once-vibrant auburn hair had begun to turn gray at the edges, and there were lines of weariness around his sharp blue eyes, but he still carried himself with the authority of a man who had ruled his lands for decades. His fingers drummed absently against the polished wood of the table before him, betraying his impatience.
"Lord Mallister. Lord Mudd," he said at last, leaning back in his chair. "You ride into my hall without sending word ahead, without the proper courtesies due to your liege lord. I can only assume that whatever business brings you here is of such urgency that it outweighs both respect and good sense." His tone was firm, but not entirely unkind. "So tell me—why have you come?"
Jason Mallister stepped forward. "We meant no offense, my lord," he said, inclining his head. "But the nature of our visit demanded discretion. Had we sent a raven, there was a chance our words could have been intercepted."
"Intercepted?" Hoster's brows knit together. "By whom?"
Hosteen Mudd answered this time, his voice steady. "By Lord Walder Frey."
At that, Hoster's fingers stilled. His expression remained unreadable, but there was a flicker of something in his eyes—interest, perhaps, or caution.
"Lord Frey?" he repeated slowly. "And what of him?"
Jason and Hosteen exchanged a brief glance before Jason took the lead. "Seaguard and the Hammerford have suffered from banditry in recent moons, my lord. We assumed at first that it was nothing more than desperate men turning to crime, as happens in troubled times." He paused. "But we were wrong. This was no mere lawlessness—it was orchestrated."
Hoster studied them carefully. "Go on."
"The bandits we captured," Jason continued, "led us to a greater truth. They had been armed, supplied, and in some cases, even directed. And it was not out of some personal ambition of theirs—it was by design. These attacks were meant to weaken House Mudd."
Hosteen's jaw clenched. "And we have reason to believe that Lord Frey was behind it."
Hoster's expression did not change. "That is a grave accusation," he said evenly. "If true, it is treason. If false, it is disloyalty to accuse a fellow vassal of such a thing without cause." He exhaled through his nose. "Tell me why Walder Frey would go to such lengths to undermine one of our own."
Hosteen did not hesitate. "Because it is not just House Mudd he seeks to weaken. It is the Riverlands as a whole."
A heavy silence filled the room after those words. Lord Hoster did not speak, but his eyes remained fixed on them, urging them to continue.
Jason nodded toward Hosteen, allowing him to take the lead. "Frey is ambitious," Hosteen said. "We all know that. But his ambitions do not stop at ruling the Twins. He has begun weaving his influence throughout the Riverlands, seeking to expand his power beyond what is rightfully his."
Hoster's fingers curled slightly on the armrest of his chair. "Explain."
"Lord Frey has issued quiet orders to his vassals," Jason said. "If war comes to the Riverlands, they are not to march immediately to House Tully's aid. Instead, they are to hold back, waiting to see which side emerges victorious before committing their swords."
Hoster's jaw tightened. "You are saying he would abandon his liege lord?"
Hosteen gave a single nod. "Not openly, not in a way that would make him a declared traitor—but in a way that would weaken your position at the most crucial of moments."
Hoster's lips pressed into a thin line, but he said nothing, waiting for them to continue.
"This is not a sudden betrayal," Jason said. "Frey has been building toward this for years. His goal is clear: he wishes to bring more of the Riverlands under his direct control. He has long sought to claim House Ryger and House Paege as vassals. If war weakens them—or weakens you—he will seize his opportunity. Whether by marriage, coercion, or force, he will expand his reach. And once he has more lords beneath him, he will have the power to challenge your rule more directly."
Hoster's face darkened, but he remained still.
"He has positioned himself carefully," Hosteen added. "We believe he seeks to make himself an alternative power within the Riverlands. Should war come, if the realm is thrown into chaos, he will claim to be a stabilizing force—offering alliances, promising security to weaker houses. And if he succeeds, the day may come when the Riverlands answer to Frey before they answer to Tully."
Hoster's fingers curled into a fist against the table.
"You bring me troubling words," he said at last. "If what you say is true, Frey is more than a scheming opportunist—he is a danger to my house, and to the Riverlands as a whole." His gaze sharpened. "But I am not a man who moves on whispers alone." He leaned forward. "Accusing a vassal of treason is no small thing. If I were to act on false information, it would be I who would appear the fool. Or worse—a tyrant lashing out at those beneath him without cause."
Jason met his gaze. "That is why we have brought proof."
Jason reached into his cloak, withdrawing a thick roll of parchment tied with a leather cord. He set it upon Hoster's desk with deliberate care. "These documents," he said, "come from Lord Maynard Charlton. They detail Lord Frey's dealings—his plots against us, his attempts to expand his influence, his instructions to his vassals regarding their loyalty in a time of war."
Hoster's eyes narrowed. "Charlton? A vassal of Frey's?"
"A reluctant one," Hosteen said. "And a man who has grown resentful of Frey's ambitions. When he saw the extent of his lord's treachery, he knew it could not go unchecked. That is why he provided these documents—to ensure Frey is stopped before he causes irreparable harm to the Riverlands."
Hoster untied the leather cord, unfurling the first parchment. The silence stretched as his eyes moved across the inked lines, his expression shifting from curiosity to grim understanding. He turned the pages slowly, absorbing each detail. When he reached the last document, he set it down with an audible exhale.
The room was utterly still.
Finally, Lord Hoster Tully leaned back in his chair, his fingers pressed together before his face. His expression was unreadable, but the weight of what he had just seen was evident in his eyes.
"If these documents are true," he said quietly, "then Frey has been plotting against me, against his fellow riverlords, against the unity of this region." He paused. "And such a crime cannot go unanswered."
Jason and Hosteen waited, knowing that the decision made in this room could shift the course of the Riverlands forever.