grover tully blinks into wakefulness and sees his father @firedreamt
in a sickbed in the tully chambers, in the red keep, on the 4th day after the attack
So everything was on fire. Every time he woke up he remembered, and then the milk of the poppy took over and he forgot. It was like remembering afresh, every time. His chest and back had a bright stretching ache that made him want to claw something out, and his mouth tasted like ash and bile and fear and something sour. Everything was fucking terrible, and whenever he remembered he felt terrible again. Dragons. Dragons! Dragons. So, everything was terrible, and everything hurt. He had never before been wounded so grievously the effect of milk of the poppy only turned the pain into a slightly less grievous version of itself. He knew everything hurt, because it did even when he woke. He took a sharp gasping breath as he tried to straighten or sit up or do something to ease the ache in his side, which was meaningless anyhow. Fortunately they (who?) had remembered to cover him with a sheet. He had the feeling he had vomited a little the first time he had seen his skin. "Fu—" he started, and he saw his father seated only feet away, and pivoted: "—ther. Seven Hells. Shit." A few grasping breaths before he was lying on his back once more. "You're still here." His voice came out cracking and muddled like he was drunk.
grover tully compares weapons with his dear cousin @fromashe
shortly before the melee, on the second day of the tourney
He held up his hammer in one hand, and a sword in the other. "What do you think?" he asked Aila, raising and lowering each. Grover was far more used to fighting with his hammer, and for the melee speed and comfort would be of the essence. Lose his grip on the weapon, and he'd be doomed. He would carry an extra, of course, but those weren't the most reliable. He gave Aila a demonstration: a practice swing of the hammer, a broad arc through the air, a quick series of raps against nothing the way he might if he was hitting someone's helm. On the other hand, literally: the sword was longer, and had better reach. They would be on horses, at least to begin with, and he didn't want to lean too far off his mount just to reach his competitors. Another demonstration: the sword sang an arc of steel through the air, and ended pointed to the distance. He threw it up a bit and caught it, trying to get a feel for its spin and weight, and maybe showing off a bit for the smith's apprentice who was watching them discreetly from across the line of tents, then looked back at Aila. "Or both? I could do both. What are you using?"
thus dripping with jewels and donning their preferred silks, were seen the lieges helvis baratheon, shiera waters, grover tuly, maelora celtigar, and arysa uller at the ball hosted by house martell at sunspear, in the first moon of the year 104 after conquest.
what happens if you don't come back? (amerei to grover)
a few short weeks before grover's departure to essos for what was meant to be a brief tour of the free cities, & shortly before amerei's wedding
It was not a silly question, not because there weren't any, but because the Stranger walked with them always. Still, so far as it was under his control: Grover had no intention of dying in foreign lands, at least not without enough gold they would not return his body to Riverrun to be sent down the Trident. Though... he may just get robbed. That would defeat the purpose. No gold, then. He would carry a note promising recompense and reward.
Deciding against saying any of this to Amerei, he propped his cheek upon one hand, and raised his brows. "Why would I not come back? I'm only going to Pentos, Ami—" his finest weapon, the childhood nickname from an infant tongue that tripped over that complicated mr, guaranteed to be convincing, "not to ride through the Dothraki Sea or sail to Sothoryos. I'll be back before you have time to miss me!" He grinned. "You especially, off in Seagard, eh, Lady Mallister? Perhaps I ought to ask what if you never return to boring old Riverrun after seeing their eagles?"
⋆✴︎˚｡⋆ the hand of the late king welcomes grover tully, the lord of riverrun, to the kingsmoot. the realm knows them to be carefree and enthusiastic, but the master of whisperers has unearthed information that speaks to their coarse and impulsive tendencies. to dream of them would be to dream of the finest leather boots unrecognisable for the mud ; running as fast as the wind, as though to stop would be to get caught. what by? who can say ; a shock of cold water upon skin, the laugh it elicits ; steel upon steel ringing together in a song older than words—this is what it means to be alive. they themselves dream of any house but tully on the throne. time is an unwieldy mistress, and only she may tell who will sit the iron throne when the dust settles.
basics.
name grover tully. titles a lord of riverrun; one among many. age six and twenty. alignment chaotic neutral. motivations have a good time, make some friends, win some fights if any occur, get good and properly drunk.
visuals.
height 6'0. eyes deep black. build well-muscled, though not particularly bulky; a decent athletic build, with a practiced physical form, and calves developed from horse riding. notable features hair usually tied back and worn long-ish. a fish pendant he never ever takes off... and scars! so many scars. scars on his arms. scars on his knees. also see: his beautiful smile <3
family.
father lord mordhred tully. mother lady nayana tully, née rivers Ⅹ. cousins lady amerei mallister tully, older cousin ; aila tully, younger cousin. aunts & uncles the oldest tully; sabitha tully; priya tully, mordhred's siblings. grandfather old lord balan.
timeline. always a wip
tw for illness, familial death (mother) and mentions of violence
i. a cheerful young boy, the grandson of the biggest fish in the riverlands, with a cousin already present & slated for greatness. the tullys need not doubt questions of inheritance. this one has no tie to the responsibilities of a future lord, a future heir, a future spare: only freedom, freedom, freedom. love and affection abound in this place of joy and laughter. swimming in the rivers, training with wooden sword, rolling down the stairs to the sounds of laughter below. this is the life!
ii. no stopping tragedy or time. illness comes to the house, and takes where it will. nothing quick or easy about this. the stranger stalks beyond the doors of his mother's room for a time he barely thought to measure before. all life ceases to a halt. love and affection go nowhere, but rot in this miasma. one might as well all be under the stranger's grip. what thought can be given to other pursuits, the little joys of life, in this place?
ii. there is a change. perhaps it is in the boy; perhaps it is in the home. what is riverrun less one rivers? where do the pleasures of childhood go when joy itself has been stolen? and what of the father and son, the left-behind? who are they to turn to but each other? a father's peace of mind; a son's need of support—it is the perfect match. a life: sidelined. there is nowhere else grover tully would rather be...
iii. but one can hardly stay home forever! time passes; grief dulls; and boy turns to man having seen no more of the world than he had at five. a proposition is made: perhaps one might travel? to step foot beyond the bounds of tully lands seems a risk—yet to stay further seems to be to suffocate oneself on the stale air of home. from those who love him best there is only encouragement: an eagerness to see growth where for years there has been only stagnation. a step away, just the one; just another. a few weeks, perhaps. or a few moons. or a few—
iv. if you don't look for other pursuits, they find you. a sword makes its way to his unknighted hand; coin gathered and spent, bargained and lost. new friends! new enemies! the only thing better than fucking is fighting, and the only thing better than fighting is winning. one remembers what was lost, all those years ago: in one word, pure and simply, fun. without the expectant eyes of family, it's easy. without the weight of sandstone and grief and rivers, it can be everywhere, and it's high time to regain it! all the world awaits, after all, and everywhere is a happier place than home.
summary.
the current generation of tullys are here to have a good time and not work hard, and gro is no exception. occupies some of the worst stereotypes about sellswords: careless, carefree, and with a penchant for violence that he's really pretending is perfectly normal. a bad tendency to get attached REAL quick, but a habit of moving on equally quick - if he hasn't written, oops, sorry - he was just distracted. has been a second son for the past four years, gallivanting around essos, and he has no intention of returning to that good house tully lifestyle. hit him up if you wanna party, wanna fight, or wanna fuck - but leave him out of this 'politics' nonsense !
