#event: the funeral of grover tully

[calla-lefford]

The funeral of Grover Tully

Location: The Riverlands, Riverrun

Under the cut you will find Calla’s interactions at Grover Tully’s funeral with Wylla Tully ( @wyllatully ), Garrett Erenford ( @garrett-erenford ), Garland Hightower ( @garlandhightower ), Brynden Tully ( @rvrprnc ), Cedric Tyrell ( @visxionaries ), Harrion Stark ( @harrionstark ), Henry Lannister ( @henryoflannister ), Elyse Tully ( @goldcnaura ), Cian Tully ( @rxverlanders ), Hal Storm Jaehaerys Targaryen ( @targaryenstorm ), Mellara Tully ( @mellaratully ), Tyrin Lannister ( @tyrinlan ), Guinevere Lannister ( @gcuienveres ), Clare Tully ( @ladyotheriver ) and Araya Frey ( @ladycfthecrossing )

WYLLA TULLY: Planning and execution were two of Wylla Tully's greatest skills. There was nothing she couldn't put together that would not be excellent. A dinner to bring together the allied forces against Grover Tully in the very halls he used to roam on the same day he was buried as the Tully tradition dictated? Easy. A meal fine enough for kings but still tame enough for a funeral day was spread out for the family and their guests. As the last servant poured the wine and the last plate was brought out to pick from, she motioned for the family and guests to dig in. “Please, enjoy yourselves.” She kept her voice relatively somber, settling down in her chair fully after she spoke to the room, eyes settling on faces she'd never seen but had helped end her father's tyranny in one way or another.

GARRETT ERENFORD: The commander's respect for Grover Tully had been nonexistent, though a man in his position could at least pretend a certain amount of deference for the old trout. It was expected of him to be present at an event such as this one, he supposed, though he only found himself in attendance because of Grover's children, not the corpse himself. Some of them were family to him. As Wylla Tully spoke, he raised his glass and nodded in silence, knowing better than to offend her with condolences. He didn't say honorable words about the old man, all he hoped for was that the gods -if there truly were deities watching over this wretched world- would grant the Tully children long, better lives than that of their late father.

GARLAND HIGHTOWER: Garland didn't know why he was here. Well, he did, he knew his prince had decided on a deal with the Riverlands that made balancing the Reach's coffers and books more than a headache for the past few weeks as all the last details were ironed out between him and the Lord Frey in charge of the Riverland's gold. Sitting next to Cedric, Garland kept his wounded leg straight under the table while the good one bounced with anxiety as he drained his first glass of wine after given leave by the Tully princess. Such a position also let him favor the arm of his chair closest to his future king. “So far everything's settled in terms of the numbers, and we can start everything agreed upon when we return to Highgarden.” he said low enough to Cedric. “Unless you have last minute changes?”

BRYNDEN TULLY: There has been a long time coming. Between justice and un, the Tully children have been dealt a strong deal of both. Where they are now is not without the strength of family, duty, and honor that they make of their words and their values. Though, there was question brought to Brynden. What are they if not family? They stick together, their bond is true, but what are they if individual beings? A king is a king, not equal to one's brothers and sisters, nor even parents. A king is individual. Brynden could not be, he could not rule without his four sisters and half brother a title as great, and so would it be fair to call him king? Most especially after his findings? Findings calling another, king. There had been much thinking, observing done in the most recent of days. Questions of strength, self, and integrity. All Brynden knew he could be, or wanted to be was who he was before the war, and it was the version of self he would give it all up to go back to. His siblings would always be his siblings, and now he would choose to always be him, the Brynden that came before the neverending dance with spins and twirls. Brynden clears his throat, calling forth the attention of those who are seated around him. “Call it what you may, but this is an unfortunate passing, a passing that came not by traitorous acts, traitorous allies; worn masks by foes. Today I lost a father, and my siblings theirs. Today my father and mother meet again by the grace of the Seven. There is loss here, and there is sadness. And at the end of the day we all sit here, yours and ours,” he gestures to the parties joining the Tullys. “To bid farewell to one king and welcome another in his place. A place, that was meant for me.” His eyes move to Cedric, “but it is a place I cannot take, and will not take.” He raises from his lap a paper that he hands to him first, “It is for Cian to take. The legitimized heir, signed by with no other than the handwriting of my father.”

CEDRIC TYRELL: Cedric found himself remaining briefly in the Riverlands for the funeral of a king; an anointed king, with a bloodline that could be traced for a thousand years, he who seemed the most stable of all high within the walls of Riverrun. For the situation had grown effortlessly dire, with the River King remaining safe behind the walls of Riverrun whilst it looked as though they would have to siege; and all of Westeros knew, one could not siege Riverrun as though it were simply a castle made of paper cards. “See to it the books are kept safe under lock and key until we have returned to our soil.” Cedric spoke under his breath as he watched a serving girl pour him a glass of wine, turning his attention toward Brynden Tully, who had risen from his seat to utter some words. Family was a fickle matter; Cedric perhaps understood better than others how dire relationships between family could become, giving the correct circumstances. After all, were there not thoughts in the back of his mind, hoping the King of Thorns would befall some tragic accident?

Bringing the goblet of wine to his lips, he noticed the man's eyes looking over at him; they were beginning a new chapter of life around similar times. At least, that was until... his thoughts trailed to the books he had just spoken to his Master of Coin about; he had made his condition explicitly clear, it was only his childhood friend Brynden he would trust to start this journey with; with Reach money funding the Riverlands, there would be progress. Or would have been. There were no words to come from his mouth, his gaze remaining fixed on the man, his orbs becoming increasingly colder with each minute. Then, finally. “It would be wise to reconsider.”

HARRION STARK: Harrion felt like he had stepped back in time, sitting in the hall at Riverrun like he had done so many time during his time fostered here. And yet, so very much had changed. For one, Grover Tully’s formidable figure no longer sat at the front of the room. He had spent most of the day with his eyes trained like a hawk on Elyse, watching for any sign that she might not be alright, and moving to stand next to her or to throw her a smile across the crowd when it seemed so.

He had found a seat next to her during dinner, his leg pressed reassuringly against hers under the table in a manner neither of them had chosen to acknowledge. His wolfskin cloak, the best he owned, was draped over the back of her chair from when he had wrapped it protectively around her shoulders on their way back inside. Normally the loudest man in every room, his rough norther accent unmissable, he had grown quiet tonight.

When Brynden, the oldest friend he has, the closest thing he has to a brother next to Rodrik, clears his throat, Harrion’s attention is caught like a fish in a net. His head tilts ever so slightly to one side, a frown marring his brow, trying to figure out what it means. He manages to bite down on the curse against the dead man that threatens to leave his lips. It was not often he would willingly agree with a Tyrell, but he nodded his assent. “Bryn…” he looked from the man he had always assumed would take Grover’s place at the helm of the Riverlands and then the the Rivers bastard of the same auburn hair as the rest of them. “Surely not…”

HENRY LANNISTER: Truthfully; Henry Lannister little for the Grover king, and even less for the Tullys overall, for it seemed as though once again some element of family theatrics were spilling before the world stage. The man, dressed in velvet maroon and gold, was sat to the left of his siblings. he took a deep gulp of the Arbor wine in his goblet as the Tully prince stood to make a speech, no doubt regarding his limp, dead father. The man was expressionless, his eyes surveying the notable guests in attendance, those who had made their presence known, those who had sent delegates and thoughts and respects. In truth, such a man who would risk such turmoil upon his own lands would not be granted a funeral; but rather be hung, drawn and quartered. If one chose to behave like a thirsty animal in life, they would meet their end like an animal.

Though, his eyes looked up as it seemed Brynden Tully was renouncing his right to the River throne, all for a man called Cian to come and take. His gaze fixed upon the other Tully male, older than the prince in question, who looked as though the world had just been flipped from beneath his feet. Looking sideways at Tyrin and Guinevere, he simply shook his head. It was not something they should pursue any further, in his own opinion; they needed to ally with an experienced leader. “It no longer benefits this family.”

ELYSE TULLY: The mood had altered so much within the span of minutes that the Tully princess nearly felt faint. It made her queasy to think that things truly were out of their control. She had laid her eyes upon the lit boat, the flames embracing it had taken a liking to the river all the same. The girl had stood there, watching the flames for a moment too long before turning her back on whatever remained of Grover Tully. Harrion had been waiting for her, he had wrapped his cloak around her and she had gratefully accepted. Though the chills that claimed her body were perhaps not because of the wind.

Light gaze watched her brother as he stood, comforted by the presence of her family and the touch of the northern prince. she is unsure what she was expecting from Brynden but the words that spew from his lips… well, she was not expecting that. Gaze flickers instinctively to Wylla and she bites back a grimace as Cedric speaks. Eyes find her big brother, legitimized by her late father as a last means of perhaps being a pain even in death. She’s conflicted - Brynden had grown up expecting to take his father’s place, knowing he would and now… Cian was everything his siblings always saw him as. A Tully, not a Rivers.

“Cian?” Elyse calls quietly, glancing at him where he sat besides her. “Are you alright?” His life was about to change just as much as the rest of theirs and she cannot help but worry for him, wonder what exactly is going through his mind. Finally, her gaze finds Brynden. What was to come of him? “And what of yourself, brother ??” There’s heaviness in her heart, a silent sign she will not like his answer. Slowly, a hand finds Harrion’s beneath the table.

CIAN TULLY: The man remained sat as his brother rose to his feet, ready to make his euology regarding Grover Tully; and what a man he was, long before the dragons danced in the sky. He was a man that endured his bastard son was treated well within the triangle walls of Riverrun, ate at the same table as his siblings, was in family portraits, was called son regardless of surname; Cian himself never once felt a sense of resentment or anger toward his father, for it was his inviting nature and his prioritisation of family that gave Cian the confidence to be the man he was today. For yes, he were a bastard; but he were more than that too.

And yet, as Cian listened intently to the words of his brother, there were certain words he did not think to ever hear. For he had been legitimised; he was a Tully in name and heart. And yet, it came at a price, a price that could knock the wind from him. The man rose to his feet briefly, standing beside his brother and putting a hand on his shoulder, keeping his voice incredibly low.

“Come on lad..” Cian muttered, his tone concerned yet there was an element of irritation behind it, at the very back of his throat. “Think rationally, he wasn't in his greatest of minds toward his final days. This...” he trailed off, a slight laugh of shock escaping from his lips. “This isn't happening.”

HAL STORM JAEHAERYS TARGARYEN: Tension. It made him nostalgic for family dinners. He almost wanted to stand and give a speech. He didn't have a speech to give. He was hungry and he did want to eat. There were pluses. He could learn something new. There could be some information that he didn't know before. Jae looked around the table and smiled into his cup, taking another drink.

He didn't care about the Tullys. He didn't really hate fish unless it was in a stew. Maybe something thick cut. Jae put his cup down and considered offering something. He supposed that all funerals came with their own sort of tensions. Headaches. Dead men meant one thing. Schemes and Jae liked schemes. Especially schemes he could watch safely from the sidelines.

“Enjoy is a strong recommendation. give the circumstances. lovely table setting.”

MELLARA TULLY: The words from her brother clearly sent a shock wave throughout the entire hall. It was clear none of them knew this information was coming. Mel stared at her brother, dumbfounded he had no warned her of his news to come. After all the two of them had been through together. Everything at Dragonstone the two of them suffered, the night of the attack, the trials. Their time in the Vale, the war. All of that they had shared together and he could not tell her of this earth-shattering news.

Her eyes flickered over to Cian, clear by his expression he had little idea what was happening either. Cian was a good man, a good brother to them all. A Tully like he always had been. There was little doubt in her mind about that. But never had she thought of him becoming king, since that spot had always been in line for Brynden. And now everything was out of sorts. The quiet in the hall seemed never-ending as she waited for someone to say something. Lucian happily babbling away sitting on her lap stretching out his arms to his nearby aunts for attention, not aware of the changes his family was facing.

Mel wanted to say something to Cian but before she could, he rose from his seat and went towards their brother. Mel unsure of what to say or what even could be said. “Is this not something that should be discussed later?” she asked, her voice low hoping only her siblings could hear it. There were too many others here. But maybe that's what Brynden wanted. To announce in front of others. His words could not be taken back now after being heard by so many.

TYRIN LANNISTER: Tyrin is a man for surprises, but not this one. This news would mean that the Lannisters and the Westerlands would have to come up with a plan B, but they only ever needed their plan A's. There was frustration, anger within him. The wine he was to bring to taste, near came pouring out of his mouth. Who would give up their regency? And to a bastard? “You speak against your region if you speak for a bastard.” A bastard should never be king. Clare was better suited for queen than was a bastard and she was a full-blooded daughter when a full-blooded son was born and still breathed. The Tullys and Riverlands would be another weak link for the Lannisters and Westerlands. Already Alaric and his own wife failed them, his wife proving again the queen she is by not attending. “What better is it for a bastard to take the Riverlands based off of a dead man's word? A formerly mad dead man's word?” he near wants to laugh. “You favor not an alliance, but a foe when you choose to put a bastard on your already cracking throne to weaken your kingdom and those they align with.”

GUINEVERE LANNISTER: Guinevere's head had been leaning in her cousin Calla's direction, the girls engaging in some talk regarding the members of noble society that had made themselves present for what they all silently prayed was the final curtain call on the Tully matter. The topic of conversation had also fallen onto a certain Lord Hightower; whom her cousin would soon find herself wed to, should all go smoothly and according to plan. She fell quiet however when she saw a distant head of auburn hair stand upon their feet, setting her cold glass of water down and looking briefly across the faces of the Tully chldren; they were to be the next generation of their neighbours, and she truly hoped the two regions would be able to secure a benefit from their close geographical proximity.

The words of Brynden Tully had caught her attention, the words drying from her throat as she sat and fully contemplated the consequences. Her two brothers seemed to move first, as they always did, though she remained in her seat. She didn't look over at the prince, whom she had discussed a deal with; though a trip to the wall had been left out before she approached the matter with the Lion King. She bit back her words on the tip of her tongue, words that would no doubt only add to the tension. All the benefits for trade with the Riverlands still stood, though their leadership was now firmly under question. Was it a risk worth taking? There had to be more, another promise, another bind to the alliance; her eyes fell over to the Tully women, one she had never seen before... “Can we not strengthen this partnership by adding to it?” she asked, glancing slightly at Tyrin, before looking over at Harry.

CALLA LEFFORD: The eldest of the Lefford children behaved as the courteous woman her mother had raised her to be, offering condolences to the newly orphaned sons and daughters of Grover Tully. A plentiful dinner was served for those in attendance and Calla found her place by her cousin’s side. At any given situation she chose Gwen’s company above anyone else’s, and that was especially true throughout this dreary matter. They chatted privately regarding Lord Hightower, the man she was bound to marry. The crippled knight, she’d called him when speaking to her mother. If anything, this event might serve as an excuse to begin seeing if there was more to the man than being crippled.

Calla did wonder how many of those present here truly mourned the passing of the old king and how many found themselves present due to some requirement of some kind. She took some sips of her wine and watched the chaos erupt between the Tullys after Brynden’s unexpected announcement. She schooled her expression into a composed, dignified one; though she couldn’t help but feel partially amused by the sheer stupidity of airing these sorts of matters in front of an audience. What credibility could be in a house that didn’t have its own affairs in order? “Pardon me, my lords,” she glanced towards Brynden and then to Cian, “It must be the wine causing some confusion,” she smiled politely. She was perfectly sober in spite of the goblet in her hand, a drink she nursed slowly while continuing to pay attention to those around her. She never got drunk in public events. “So, who’s to be called king after all this?”

CLARE TULLY: Clare took her seat next to Wylla, knowing full well she could trust the other with the underhanded comments she would surely be muttering to her all evening. The last thing she wanted to do was play the part of the mourning daughter of Grover Tully in front of the many Kings, Lords, and Ladies of Westeros. It felt like putting on a mask. It was feign. It was exhausting. Clare was tired of the pretending, but she assured herself this evening would be the last, and then gods willing she would have to speak of Grover Tully no more. She took a long sip of wine, her second glass already, a choice she'd likely come to regret, but the bold flavors of the liquid filled her with a courage she feared she couldn't muster on her own. Along with her siblings, she knew she'd make it through this night. That was, until Brynden spoke, shocking the entirety of the dinner party in one fell swoop.

At Mellara's comment about private matters, Clare gave a firm nod and spoke quietly back, “It should have been spoken of earlier.” Her voice was harsher than she intended, but her frustration was clearly not aimed at her sister. Clare closed her eyes, only a few seconds, composing herself, especially of the Tyrell King's comment, before sitting straighter, formulating an appropriate, diplomatic response in her mind.  “Trust is not earned over dinner, alliances are not forged strongly in just one generation. Your graces, my lords, my ladies, surely you will give the Riverlands a chance to prove your trust would not be earned in vain. We, together, plan to continue our father's vision for our Kingdom, as duty, honor, and family are the core values we all hold dearly. Many of you put your trust into Brynden, and perhaps our father before him, I implore you to trust his decision in this, or at the very least, open your mind to it.” It was important to her to leave options on the table, and she hoped that even if one at this table took her words to heart, it might make all the difference.

ARAYA FREY: The passing of her great uncle was bittersweet for most of the river lands who had seen first hand how the man had slowly lost his mind, to put it ever so bluntly. She sympathized with her cousins of course, because mad or not he was still their father. The woman also could not help but recall the passing of her own parents on this day, and it made the whole affair all that much unbearable. Thus her goblet wasn’t without wine from the moment it had first been filled. It was when Bryn made his announcement that she finally had reprieve from the looming grief, a distraction. Her gaze sought out her brothers curious to see how he was reacting to this news, and then Garrett though ever so fleetingly. “And here I was expecting a peaceful dinner. ” She muttered into her wine glass. Though anyone who knew her at all could guess at how dreadful the idea of peaceful anything was to her.

WYLLA TULLY: She was seeing red. Her younger brother had gone and decided a public dinner with their allies was the best time to bow out and throw them a stranger, their brother, to rip apart while he ducked away from the throne. She could understand why, with what grover had put his heir through and perhaps how unprepared he might feel... but now was not the time to tell everyone. Definitely not the time to tell his own family. It was the foreign royalty that kept her mostly contained, but anyone could see a fire in the Tully's eyes as she stood, kicking away her chair and snatching their father's legitimization to read herself. “As the only sibling with free access to our father in his last days, I can attest our father was more intent on causing chaos than he was on domestic affairs. This surprises even myself.” She made her voice carry through the hall, the tone cold as she read the paper. She knew the handwriting anywhere, and it was real. Giving it back to her brother with a burning look in her eye to him, she turned to the room. “Cian was raised among us as a brother until he reached majority and left to start his own life, your highnesses. Never was he a bastard. To call him such is an insult to each and every Tully in this room.” Her eyes pass over the Lannisters and Tyrells, begging for a challenge from them, begging for an insult that she could unleash on them for. “We as a family will settle this matter privately, but rest assured both of my brothers always have the good of the Riverlands and our friends at heart. For you are our friends.” It was all she allowed herself to say, for she could not bear to start more trouble for her family when the last of it was sinking in the rivers and feeding the fish. Turning to her brothers though, her voice was low and left little room for argument. “Sit. We mustn't let them smell the blood in the water from this.” Wylla then sat and scooped up her nephew, holding him close so she didn't strangle one of them.

GARRETT ERENFORD: The commander was shocked by the news as he supposed everyone else was. All this time he’d expected to serve Brynden. Not that he would be any less honorable in his service to Cian but- Seven hells, what had possessed his friend to make this announcement now? He figured that after all their years of camaraderie there would be trust and honesty between them. But then again, Brynden had clearly blindsided his siblings so why should he expect special treatment? He would try and get a moment’s privacy with his friend after all of this was over.

He caught Araya’s eyes on him, even if she looked at him only briefly. He was subtle in the gesture but he raised his glass to her in the trajectory of raising the drink to his lips.

ELYSE TULLY: Chaos threatened to unfold and… in a way, had already done so. Her family was in discrete shambles, a brother had kept things from the rest, a brother was horrified, all three of her sisters were infuriated and offended. The kings did not understand, they saw a bastard where the Tullys looked at a brother. His lack of sharing a mother meant nothing to them just as Clare’s did. They were siblings, through and through. No one, not the Lion King or the Thorn Regent would change that. Elyse nods as her twin mutters the fact that these are private affairs and as the conversation continues, Clare’s irritation floods her tone and Wylla’s fire is mirrored in oceanic hues… the youngest stands. She abruptly does so, suddenly feeling as though the air is thick and the spoken words of others adds to it.

“Pardon me.” Her digits unthread from Harrion’s, releasing his hand suddenly and moving to exit the room. The soft voice of the princess is not as hushed as she excuses herself, no glance spared to any of her siblings so as to avoid Wylla’s particular one. The princess furrows her brows as she rushes through the halls and out towards the garden, breathless. “Gods…” she mutters, hands lifting towards her lifted hair. The pins holding it up are removed, held in her grasp tightly as long fiery locks cascade down her back.

GARLAND HIGHTOWER: With the announcement made, Garland looked between Cedric and the Tully family, before wincing from his leg. It was a legitimate pain, as it was always slightly aching, but he let it play as worse than it was on his face. “I need to retire, your grace. My leg.” He says loud enough for the rest of the room before making a bit of a production of getting up and walking out, leaning heavy on his cane until no one could see. The books were already locked away, but this would set him at the very least on a long night of new maths and figures that he didn't exactly want to set out on yet again.

CALLA LEFFORD: It didn't go unnoticed by Calla that some attendees were beginning to step out now that some of the complicated matters had been spoken. She took a sip from her wine and set the goblet on the table. Her attention went to Ser Hightower as he excused himself, making it known that his injured leg was troubling him in some way. “The wine is getting to my head, I need some air,” she said towards her cousin. Her eyes darted briefly towards the now empty sear of the Hightower lord and then back to Gwen. A spoken excuse for the rest, a truthful explanation for her cousin. Calla barely knew the man she was to marry and this served as a perfect opportunity to learn more about the knight.