The Starks still laid smoking in the halls of Kings Landing, the husks that once held their spirit unceremoniously dumped at the foot of the Iron Throne. Lyanna Stark had been abducted, and was somewhere in the wild, with the heir to the Throne. His son and heir, Brandon Stark, the betrothed to his beloved Cat, was dead. Lord Rickard Stark, Warden of the North, and a dear friend of House Tully, was dead. It had began with the ravens, many of them, flying from castle to castle, with the same message. The past week had been one of the most uncertain in Lord Hoster's life. The muddy shades of the Red Fork flowed strongly, winding its way along the eastern walls of the Tully's ancestral home. The sun was setting in the summer sky as Hoster looked from the windows in Riverrun's Great Hall. This, however, was one of those rare times. Whether it was riding out to one of his many tumultuous and quarrelsome vassals, hunting along the banks of the Trident, or caring for his children, there were few times that the Lord of Riverrun was in fact standing still.
Hoster of House Tully, Lord Paramount of the Trident, and Lord of Riverrun
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