Meetings at Riverrun

The Targaryen entourage was greeted warmly upon their arrival at Riverrun and Jon made sure to savour the memory before they set off further where it would mostly be living rough and lodging at the occasional inn. He enjoyed the meals that Lord Edmure had served up for him, drank the wine that was on offer and enjoyed the good cheer and merry making that the young Lord of Riverrun had offered for them.

It was a less formal setting than court, and Jon found himself far more at ease as he sat with his travel companions and shared ale and good stories.

“Your brother,” Edmure told him, struggling with himself after his eighth ale, “Prince Aegon, by the Gods, that man can fight. You should, should have seen...last week he cut down three of those damned bandits without the slightest hesitation.”

Jon nodded good naturedly, humouring his drunken host. “I hear he’s chased them all the way to the Saltpans by now,” he took a measured sip of his ale, “He’ll make a fine king.”

“And long may he reign!” Edmure cheered, spilling a good portion of his drink. “Though... not to say that I want King Rhaegar to go anywhere soon. No, not at all, he’s a grand king, noble.”

Jon just laughed at the man’s attempts at sychophantry and just allowed himself to enjoy the atmosphere of the feast. In the corner of his eye he witnessed a large collection of women move through the crowd towards the sides of the hall. The leader of this mob of woman had auburn hair not unlike Edmure. Faintly she recalled Jon’s Aunt Cat, but this woman seemed older, less refined and noticeably heavier. She seemed to feel his gaze on her and locked eyes with him for a moment before going on her way. Behind her the women following varied in appearance, ranging from fat to thin, ugly to somewhat pretty. All of them looked alike though, and he suspected they were of Walder Frey’s brood.

“Who was that I just saw?” He asked Edmure mildly. “The woman who left the hall? A kinsman of yours?”

Edmure flushed with embarrassment. “Aye, My Prince,” he rubbed the back of his head. “That is my sister Lysa and her gaggle of Frey handmaidens. You’ll have to forgive her impertinence, she...is not fond of...people and has remained unmarried,” he shrugged, “its really a shame, at her age she’ll most likely remain here with me forever, and I can tell you that I am not fond of that notion. That weasel Walder Frey sends his daughters and granddaughters by the dozen over here under the pretence of serving her, but really he is just hoping that I take a fancy to his kin.”

“It can’t be too bad,” Jon replied, “One of those Frey girls actually seemed quite pretty.”

“Roslin, Yes,” Edmure smiled faintly, “occasionally I have a mind to visit her chambers, but for the most part...the Freys aren’t worth getting into bed with.”

Jon pondered his words, and spent a few more hours enjoying the feast before excusing himself to bed. But once he got on his feet, he found himself walking in the direction of the hall that Lysa Tully and the Freys entered. He was drunk and tired, yet he had a craving for flesh. He weighed his options, and wondered if he would take the step of entering one of the bed chambers that lay before him.