BLACKFISH: Other houses chose dragons, krakens, and lions for their sigils.
We Tullys took the trout, that most terrifying of fish,
especially when it leaps out of the water.
I suppose you don't have many options when you live in the Riverlands.
Could have been worse. We could have been minnows or wheat.
After all, we make a lot of it.
Though a land doesn't get as fertile as ours just by water.
The old River Kings, Storm Kings, and Kings of the Rock
spilled blood here for thousands of years,
squabbling like children over a new toy
until the ironborn came and spanked them with their axes.
Under Harren the Black, their kingdom stretched all the way to the Gods Eye,
where they built the largest castle Westeros had ever seen.
Maesters teach that Harren was a fool, but he had some sense.
If you're going to enslave and torture an entire people,
you'd best have thick walls to hide behind.
But the very day the last stone was laid in Harrenhal,
Aegon Targaryen landed in Westeros.
As soon as he saw Aegon's host on the horizon,
my ancestor Edmyn led the mass desertion of riverlords to Aegon's side.
I doubt Harren even noticed.
The problem with huge castles is they blind you to what's outside,
both by their size and the arrogance they inspire.
Not that the ironborn ever lacked for that.
They take pride in their ignorance of every trapping of civilization.
Though any baker could have told them that fire turns stone walls into an oven.
And so, Harren the Black finally lived up to his name,
and the riverlords swept the ironborn back to the sea.
In return for Edmyn's service,
House Tully was made Aegon's new Lord Paramount of the Trident
and all the other lords had to swear us fealty.
But old habits die hard.
The Riverlands are and always have been the middle child of Westeros,
caught up in every fart from one lord at another.
My ancestors knew that for the Tullys to survive
alliances must be made.
Our trout has swum up so many rivers over the centuries
and leapt onto so many plates
that it's a wonder half the realm's sigils don't have fins by now.
Thus, every Tully child is taught, "Family, duty, honor."
The Tully words, and pains in the Tully ass.
When I returned from the War of the Ninepenny Kings,
people called me Ser Brynden.
But my older brother Hoster called me engaged.
A great match with a very rich house, to be sure.
But I'd just fought and killed a great deal of men,
and had no desire to be told when and whom to marry.
I broke ties with him, earning the name Blackfish,
along with my personal sigil, a much more intimidating black trout.
I was too stubborn at the time to realize that while other houses fight with swords,
House Tully fights with marriages.
Then my niece Catelyn's betrothal to Brandon Stark
drew us into the war against the Mad King,
while my other niece Lysa's betrothal to Jon Arryn cemented the rebellion.
If I'd have obeyed my older brother earlier,
we'd have had the largest navy in Westeros with us then as well,
and our victory would have been swift.
Of course, I never mentioned this fact to my brother.
He'd have taken it as an apology.
My brother is dead now, and my nephew Edmure rules in Riverrun,
Gods help us.
A trout that can't tell the worm from the hook.
But he is a Tully, and he is unmarried, and there is a war.
We all know how this story ends.
Maybe she'll be beautiful. Maybe she'll be rich.
As long as she brings swords and men to House Tully,
she could look like the fish we hang all over Riverrun.
He'll honor his duty to family and swallow it.
One Blackfish per family can be overlooked.
Two, and we'd have to change all those pretty banners.