"What can you tell me about Father's upcoming inspection to the south?" Edmure asked as the morning session wound down. "I want to know the specifics—trade flows, bridges in disrepair, peasant petitions for infrastructure. Is there a list of projects currently stalled?"
Maester Vyman looked at him with a mix of curiosity and caution. "I have noticed you pay an abnormal amount of attention to things, places, and logistics, Edmure. You spend less time on the people who actually move those things. I cannot tell you what kind of heir you should become, but I will equip you so you aren't blindsided when the unimportant details come back to haunt you."
Vyman leaned over a map of the Trident. "First, the people. Lord Vance of Wayfarer's Rest is one of your father's oldest friends. Then there is Lord Piper of Pinkmaiden—Marq's father—a man known as an honorable knight in these parts. You will likely break bread with both on this tour."
"And the infrastructure?" Edmure pressed.
"Considering your father's love for the rivers, he will stick to the Red Fork. You will pass many small hamlets. If you wish to meddle, I suggest focusing on water mills, boat slipways, and bridges—in that precise order." Vyman's tone adopted a pragmatic, almost cynical edge. "Water mills allow the peasants to grind grain, which the local lord then taxes. It is a win-win, provided you pay for the labor; the year's corvée is already spent. Unless you wish to be known as a tyrant, you must open the Tully purse."
Vyman pointed further downriver. "Slipways need constant dredging to keep the barges and small merchants moving. Again, the lord gets his tax, and the trade flows. Leave the bridges for last. Bridges are a headache. They invite roving bandits in the night, and a local lord will suddenly remember an ancient right to toll the crossing just as your father's wheelhouse arrives. Better to leave that tangle alone for now."
"How much does it cost? How long is the labor?" Edmure's mind was already building a spreadsheet. "Do you have design drawings for the mills? I need to know if I can oversee these remotely or if I must stay in the mud. And will the vassals resent me meddling in their back gardens?"
Vyman grunted. "A good lord indeed! Learning to exploit a poor old Maester before his voice has even dropped. I will compile the costs and drawings for you in two days, provided your father grants permission. House Tully has not fallen so low that it cannot manage the idle curiosities of its heir."
"Thank you, Maester. It is my luck that I have you. I find your lessons far more palatable than the Septa's or my father's lectures."
"I shall carry that secret to my grave," Vyman winked, just as the heavy tread of Lord Hoster echoed in the hall.
"Morning, Father! I'm off to the yard. Have a pleasant day!" Edmure made a hasty exit, not wanting to risk another interrogation.
Back in the yard, Edmure surveyed the field with a cold, analytical eye. "My strength is still a liability," he muttered to himself. "I can't even draw a war bow, and my arrows barely have enough force to pierce boiled leather at thirty paces."
He needed to optimize. If he couldn't use raw power, he would use technique. For archery, he would focus on trick shots—moving targets and varied elevations—to force the skill level up. For running, he began setting up hurdles, planning to run them without weight today and gradually add the packs back as his stamina adjusted.
He thought of the Shield skill he had just unlocked. The Threat Detection was already manifesting—a subtle, prickling sensation at the back of his neck, like a sixth sense. It was a safety net against the random dangers of a world.
"I need to see what the Level 10 perks actually do in practice," he thought, beginning his first lap. "And I need swordsmanship to provide a strength modifier. If the system works as I think it does, it will compensate for my child's body, bridging the gap between me and an adult knight."
With the southern patrol only a fortnight away, the time for theoretical planning was over. Every drop of sweat in the Riverrun mud was a deposit into his survival fund.