Chapter 14: This or That, a Trouble for Tarly
Disclaimer: I don't own the characters or the world appearing in this story, they are creations and property of the fantastic George R. R. Martin. I'm not sure if I can claim my OCs as my own, so I'll play it safe and dedicate them to GRRM.
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[Year - 293 AC]
Entering the room, Randyll subtly glanced at Harry, wondering if he should take his men with him into the welcoming chamber, but the boy showed no discomfort.
He thought it over; the boy had been nothing but courteous to him, even if he'd taken some liberties with approaching him. Taking a leap in good faith, he ordered his men to stay behind.
Harry sent him a smile, almost as if teasing him, as he lowered himself into a seat across, before turning and addressing a maid to serve them and the soldiers outside. Randyll waited patiently for his host to start the conversation.
"Thank you for meeting with me on such short notice, Lord Tarly," the boy said cheerfully, once he'd gone through the motions proprietary required of him.
Suppressing the urge to scoff, as if there had been a choice, Randyll composed himself and nodded with measured politeness, gesturing for Harry to proceed.
"I have this request I must impose upon you, Lord Tarly," he said with measured words. "As you might already be aware, I am to study at the Citadel for a few years."
"I am aware, Lord Stark," Randyll supplied.
"However, what you may not be privy to is my intention to limit my stay here to a mere two years, or perchance three at the utmost," Harry revealed.
Randyll accepted this revelation with ease, though in his mind, even a solitary year appeared to be an extended duration for one to spend within the Citadel, and he harboured no illusions that the lad would forsake his birthright in favour of donning the chains of a maester.
"I have formulated several plans for my time after I depart from the Citadel, Lord Tarly – plans that aid me with my aspirations. One of them being taken on as a squire under a capable lord and getting knighted ultimately," Harry disclosed, "and I would like to do it at Horn Hill."
Randyll's countenance betrayed his astonishment and he was rendered momentarily speechless. The unexpected turn of events had caught him off guard, leaving him lost in his own thoughts.
"Lord Tarly?" Harry's voice rang out, jolting Randyll back to the present and snapping him out of his stupefied reverie.
"You... seek to squire under me, Lord Stark?" Randyll questioned incredulously, his disbelief evident in his tone. The notion seemed improbable, even improper, in his mind. The idea of a lad like Harry seeking to become his squire was difficult for Randyll to fathom. The boy was of such high birth that even a royal wedding wouldn't be unfathomable to hope for. Albeit, the Tyrells were still of better standing, the Starks couldn't be easily discounted.
"Yes, you are the best I could hope to squire under, Lord Tarly," Harry said with confidence. The certainty in his voice disconcerted Randyll and caused a flicker of unease to ripple through him; it was as if there were hidden depths to Harry's intentions – intentions that remained beyond his current understanding.
Randyll found himself at a loss for words, torn between conflicting sentiments. On one hand, the prospect of hosting the heir to a Great House was an immense honour, a testament to his own standing and reputation. However, on the other hand, he remained bound by his duty to serve a different overlord, whose expectations and obligations loomed large over him.
"I don't understand, Lord Stark – why squire under me? Any noble house of the North would be honoured to extend their hospitality in fostering you. Even the king himself would take up this favour if your uncle were to ask him," Randyll said in a single breath, his words tumbling forward in barely controlled perplexity.
Harry chuckled. "I'm certain you speak the truth, Lord Tarly. The seven kingdoms are well aware of my uncle's friendship with our king, but you are undoubtedly missing my true aim. I'm looking forward to becoming a proper knight – not overinflating my ego by squiring under the king. The Lannisters have already excelled in that regard."
"People would undoubtedly talk, my lord," Randyll liked the lad's sense of humour but he still pressed on, his concern evident in his voice.
Harry's response came swiftly, with a touch of conviction. "Whose words would trouble us, Lord Tarly? If your concern lies with Lord Tyrell, I assure you there is no cause for worry. Lord Tyrell holds me in high regard, and our bond is strong enough that he would readily accept and support our arrangement with nary a thought."
"And what of the North, Lord Stark? The lords of the North may not look favourably upon a long line of Starks fostering outside of their ancestral lands," Randyll pressed even harder. The request before him was not one he could dismiss without reason, yet he also found himself inclined to consider it if there was a genuine possibility to do so.
"The lords are fickle with their whims, Lord Tarly," Harry stated, his voice carrying a hint of shrewdness. "Should it become necessary, I have means to sate their concerns through alternate avenues. As for my uncle, though he may initially hesitate, I am confident that he would ultimately acquiesce to my persistence. Furthermore, let us not forget, Lord Tarly, that Southron blood flows just as strongly within me as Northern blood."
"But why choose me, Lord Stark? I am by no means devoid of skill or wisdom, yet I believe you have a wealth of options at your disposal. You could foster in any region, even Dorne if it suits your preference. They boast some of the most formidable warriors the Seven Kingdoms have ever witnessed," Randyll inquired, his tone a mix of curiosity and a genuine desire to understand Harry's reasoning.
"I assure you, Lord Tarly, the Riverlands would be less than eager to foster me, even if it were a matter of life and death," Harry responded, his tone tinged with a touch of wry humour. "My intention is simply to squire under one of the finest commanders that Westeros has ever known," he continued. "I would not be so crass as to take names, but we both know that you did not receive the recognition you rightfully deserved for your valour and contributions during the rebellion."
The reminder sent a pang through his heart – for it was true. Randyll chided himself for allowing lingering resentments to hold sway over his thoughts for so long.
It had been his command that had won them the Battle of Ashford against King Robert's forces; in fact, he had cut down Lord Cafferen personally and presented the fallen lord's head to the then King Aerys II Targaryen.
However, when the time came, Randyll had refrained from retaliating or seeking acknowledgement when Lord Tyrell took credit for the triumph. It had been a dark time, and he understood that his personal dissatisfaction was a small price to pay for the stability and betterment of the realm.
Randyll found his thoughts to be in the midst of a tumultuous internal struggle. On one hand, he wanted to welcome this request; it would be an unprecedented opportunity to get a foothold in the traditionally secluded North but on the other hand – a lingering sense of unease nagged at him; that there were things at play he was not privy to.
His gaze wandered around the room and landed on the knight standing behind. Observing Ser Wendel's expression, Randyll gleaned a sense that even within Harry's own retinue, there had been some internal discord surrounding the idea. If he were a betting man, Randyll would have wagered that an argument had taken place before they approached him. However, it seemed that Harry had emerged victorious in whatever disagreement had transpired – for they had sought him out at the end.
"I… need some time, Lord Stark," Randyll said after a few moments of careful consideration. "While I'm inclined to agree to your request, I believe that there may have been a few aspects that we might not have considered in the fervour of our discussion. I must take some time to give careful thought to the matter at hand. I need some time," Randyll concluded, reiterating his earlier statement.
Harry looked a little disappointed at the declaration. While Ser Wendel on the other hand, looked delighted at the prospect – before his expression turned a little guilty; probably due to the realisation that he was taking pleasure in his lord's discontent.
"I am not witless enough to exert any pressure upon you, Lord Tarly," Harry responded with a sigh, accepting Randyll's request for time. "If you require it, then you shall have the time you need," he added, his tone carrying a note of resignation. "I can only hope that when you return with your final decision, it will be a favourable one."
Randyll simply nodded in acknowledgement, his mind consumed by the weighty task of crafting a response to the request.
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On the fourth day of their voyage to The Arbor, Randyll had finally arrived at an answer to present to Harry. Leaning over the ledge, he gazed out at the expanse of the sea, the waves rippling beneath the ship's hull. The vessel traversed the Redwyne Straits, the gentle breeze carrying a sense of anticipation. Their destination awaited them on the morrow.
If things were to turn out favourably, his time would be consumed by the task of shaping and guiding Samwell for the next few years. The prospect of moulding his heir demanded his unwavering attention and dedication. He simply could not provide anything but the best for such a pivotal matter.
Thus, with a heavy heart, Randyll came to the conclusion that he would have to reject Harry's request. The mere thought of it caused his heart to tighten with regret.
Harry was simply extraordinary.
Once the initial discussion had concluded, they had continued conversing for some more time, delving into various matters of interest. When he'd finally stood to take his leave, Harry had issued a challenge that he'd win a spar against one of his men. Randyll had not been impressed, taking it as an arrogant claim.
Choosing to go easy on the young lord, Randyll had selected one of his younger soldiers for the spar. He was taken down in mere seconds. Randyll, fortunately, had kept himself composed, although the same couldn't be said for his men. He was sure that the entire cobbled stone street had echoed with their excited shouts. Although by the knowing look Harry sent him, he could swear that the lad was aware of his stunned surprise behind the composed facade.
As the men took turns sparring with Harry, it became evident that the boy possessed exceptional skill and talent. He effortlessly defeated most of the less skilled fighters, only encountering some difficulty when faced with opponents of considerable strength. Even when faced with overwhelming strength, he used his agility and speed in unthinkable ways, his instincts were better than any warrior he'd seen. Although Randyll's men might not have been the finest in the realm, they provided a means to gauge Harry's potential. The thought of proper guidance and training ignited the belief in him that Harry had the capacity to even surpass the legendary Dragonknight he'd heard of in songs. Randyll couldn't help but perceive it as a missed opportunity, a waste to let such remarkable potential slip away.
With a heavy sigh, Randyll turned away from his position at the starboard of the deck.
Samwell remained confined to his cabin below deck, overcome by both anxiety and bouts of seasickness. His absence from the deck only served to further perplex Randyll, who struggled to comprehend how he had sired a son seemingly so weak. With mounting concern, Randyll's hopes rested on the slim possibility that Samwell would refrain from any actions that might jeopardise his carefully laid plans at The Arbor.
Arriving at Arbor, Randyll had met with Lord Paxter Redwyne to discuss the matters at hand. The two of them were well acquainted from their time laying siege to Storm's End, hence their dealings had been conducted without any significant difficulties.
Over the course of the following week, Randyll efficiently wrapped up his affairs at The Arbor, encountering minimal obstacles along the way. He had left Samwell at the castle to train and study with Lord Redwyne's children with hopes that he'd get acquainted with them. Lord Redwyne had brought up the possibility of squiring one of his sons at Horn Hill in exchange for Samwell squiring at Arbor, and while not as inviting as Harry, he was inclined to agree to it. He was also planning on bringing up an engagement and thus joining their houses through marriage if possible. And if he were to succeed, It would do well for Samwell to acquaint himself with Lord Paxter's daughter.
He'd believed everything to be going well, and the belief had kept him from keeping a close look at the happenings. But then upon his return to the castle, he found his son being belittled by Horas and Hobber, Lord Redwyne's sons, belittlement that went beyond childish teasing and moved closer towards insulting his house. While Randyll acknowledged his own lack of fondness for Samwell, he held steadfast to his principles; he was a martinet and his son disappointed him at every turn – but he would not allow his house's name to be associated with weakness and he would never let it be tarnished.
On concluding his business at The Arbor, Randyll made the decision to bring Samwell back with him to Horn Hill, laying waste to the plans he'd made with Lord Redwyne.
Thinking about his failed plans during the return trip, he adjusted them accordingly, taking the disaster at Arbor into consideration. Leaning over the starboard deck, as he had done during the arrival trip, Randyll sighed. He now had to change the response he had prepared earlier as the ship made its way to Oldtown.
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Author's Note: And thus, the opening act concludes.
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