Chapter 15 - Wolf in the South

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 - 298 AC]

Randyll was not one to take time out of his day for an inane purpose like leisure. Or at least not in broad daylight. He was firmly of the belief that a man could always rest when the sun hides behind mountains. But as he walked out of his solar, onto the balcony hanging off of it, he suppressed the nagging voice that was telling him off for doing what he detested. He could afford to take some time for himself, especially when things were as good as they were; now more than ever. If his intuition was to be trusted, things were all about to go sideways.

Looking to his side, he laid a hand on Melessa’s shoulder. She was not the comely woman she’d once been and he wasn’t the young man with a full head of hair. But she was his wife and she’d given him this family, flawed as it was – he still loved her for it. She glanced up and graced him with a smile. For the first time in probably a long time, he felt his heart soften at her smile. In fact, he wondered if he’d ever brought her to the balcony in his solar to show her the view. Tightening his grip he pulled her in.

Randyll loved his house and was proud of the name it had given him. Tarly. They were one of the strongest allies to their overlord and probably the most valuable in times of war. Thus, they had always been well favoured in their endeavours within the Reach. He had never been one to read books when he could swing a sword, so he didn’t know any more history than he needed to. Although, he had made it a point to at least learn the history of his own house. Learning of his house’s past and its honour brought him joy, but it also nauseated him at times. He didn’t really know what to think of being descended from two brothers who’d shared a wife, and a witch at that. He pulled his mind away from such thoughts – it was a good day and he’d rather not ruin it by thinking such things.

As he concentrated on enjoying the view, his ears picked up the soft clangs of metal hitting metal, probably his men being put through their motions. There was also a soft murmur in the air; the bustle of smallfolk getting carried up along with the wind. It was soothing to his ears, a reminder that he was a good lord. His children were kept busy with their morning lectures and classes, whereas Harry was out on a hunt. It shouldn’t be a pleasant hunt, however.

Bringing Harry to his house had caused him to feel a war of emotions over the years. It had been a wondrous experience which had come with its fair share of hardships.

It had had a special effect on his children most of all.

Dickon adored Harry, and it had done his son a lot of good. Harry’s passion for the sword had passed on to Dickon, who had taken to the sword like fish to water. Randyll was sure that the boy would become a warrior worthy of his name in the years to come.

Samwell had also changed, not all of it was to Randyll’s liking, but the boy had changed nonetheless. He still preferred his books to the sword, but he wouldn’t fall on his own dagger if it need be.

But most importantly, Harry had also solved the biggest problem that had warred inside him. As Dickon grew, he shone in every way, in every way his brother hadn’t. Naturally, his thoughts had wandered to the possibilities. Possibilities if Dickon had been his firstborn. And it had left him disappointed, both at the notion and at himself. He valued honour above most things and these thoughts were almost traitorous to his very being.

Harry had been friendly with Samwell for a long time now; they had been sharing letters even before Harry left the Citadel. Randyll had been aware of it and he’d allowed it. Having friends in high places was a good aspiration after all. When Harry finally arrived at the castle, Samwell had taken to following the boy rather than holding his ground, which had only added to further his disappointment and resentment.

But now – now Harry had managed to convince Samwell to return with him to the North, as his sworn sword and to give up his inheritance at Horn Hill. And Samwell had gone along with it, happily in fact.

Randyll knew why Harry was doing it, the boy was so remarkably sensitive that Randyll had at times wondered if he could read minds. Samwell as a sworn sword to someone was a  laughable notion. But for him to give up his inheritance in such a way would make it look very noble to outsiders. He might be ridiculed, but there would be no mention of deceit attached to the action.

However, the main reason for Harry’s presence was to squire under him, and Harry had excelled beyond measure at it.

The first year of his stay had gone very well, Randyll had taught the boy all he could about combat. Apart from that minor incident at Arbor, Harry had exceeded all his expectations. Over the next year, he taught Harry of the various fights he’d been involved in, from both the rebellions to other minor skirmishes around his keep.

Now towards the end of his time at Horn Hill, Randyll had taught him everything he could. And Harry had put it to good use in his patrols.

The people called him the ‘Wolf in the South’. Harry would oft joke with them to call him the ‘Star Wolf’, but they had always laughed it off. However, Randyll believed that the boy was utterly serious. It was times like this that humanised the boy to him. Otherwise, the boy almost scared Randyll with his single-mindedness towards his goals.

It has been towards the end of their lessons when Harry had asked to join the patrol groups to gather experience. Seeing no harm in it, Randyll had allowed it. And thus the bandit hunt had begun. Harry was very good – almost too good – at spotting bandit groups. Randyll had accompanied his group at the beginning, just to keep an eye on them. But he’d stopped once Harry had grown confident enough to take the lead. Harry would sometimes walk away for a moment and come back with precise locations of any bandit camp, almost as if he’d magically divined it. No amount of needling had gotten him anything other than Harry’s all-knowing, mocking smiles.

Harry’s awareness and tracking skills alone would have been impressive beyond measure, but the boy was even better at combat. At five and ten, Harry stood taller than him and he was built to fight. Randyll had witnessed Harry’s spars with Lord Garlan. The both of them were better with a sword than anyone he’d witnessed all his life. However, over the last year, Harry hadn’t lost a fight even against Lord Garlan.

Randyll had once thought rather stupidly that Harry might one day surpass the Dragonknight. However now he wondered if the boy hadn’t done it already. He’d heard his men raving over Harry’s fights in the past few bandit ambushes. He’d apparently held off four men on his own.

Harry’s success in clearing bandit groups was something of a legend in the Reach these days. Over the year, apart from minor thugs, Harry and his group had cleared tens of camps. Harry had built his group with a few of the men he’d brought from North and some of Randyll’s own. The group had quite the notoriety with the small folk. There was already a strummer, by the name of Cam, singing stories in the taverns, if what he’d heard was right. Randyll was thinking of inviting the man to court one of these days. The strummer had also been the one to take the liberty of coining Harry’s name as well.

It happened about two months ago. Harry’s group had set out on a patrol as usual, but when they’d returned, they’d been empty-handed. This in itself was not very unusual. Not all patrols lead to bandits after all. But this one was different. They had found a camp – only they’d killed every last man. Harry had not spoken to him of the incident, he’d had to gather the details from one of his men. The bandits had apparently ambushed a family of smallfolk selling various odds and ends and killed every last one except the women. After the initial scuffle, Harry had personally killed every single one they’d captured and hung them on poles alongside the road. The women had to be delivered the Gift of the Stranger, their torment had been beyond what they could handle. He’d had to deliver it himself as the lord. Randyll had witnessed Ser Wendel bemoaning not having accompanied them on the patrol.

Smallfolk had sung praises, but Randyll had had to claim that he’d called for the culling in order to keep any repercussions from befalling Harry. There had been no whispers of bandits for months after, but recently there had been some talk. And thus Harry’s group had set out yet again.

This was to be Harry’s last patrol before the tourney at King’s Landing. Randyll hoped that they would not face any issues.

He turned away from the view and moved towards his chambers. Melessa looked at him questioningly. He shook his head, assuring her that everything was fine. Holding out his hand he gestured with his head, pointing to their chambers, she took his hand. He could afford to get back to work tomorrow.

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“... so you didn’t kill anyone this time?” Dickon asked eagerly.

“Don’t be so thick Dickon!” Ryene exclaimed.

“Yes, don’t be so thick Dick,” Harry exclaimed, copying her intensity. Talla chuckled. Even Dickon did.

“What?” Harry claimed, trying desperately not to smile. “It’s his name!”

“No, it’s not! It’s Dickon!” Ryene dictated.

“Well – I call you Rye, so why can’t I call him Dick?” Harry asked with mock intrigue. He really did love riling up Ryene, she always reacted so strongly in contrast to her brothers and sisters.

Thinking he’d allowed it to go on for long enough, Randyll entered the hall. The day had just begun with the sun still hovering low in the sky. While Talla and his younger children had risen early and gathered at the hall to break their fast, there was no sight of Samwell or Selyse. Harry stood to greet him the moment he saw him.

“Good day, Lord Randyll,”

“I hope there weren’t any issues with the patrol,” Randyll stated as he sat in his seat. Although his statement had a question hidden within.

“None at all, we apprehended them without any loss of life. It was a poor lot really, not an ounce of fight in them.”

“That’s good to hear. I take it you arrived late at night?” Randyll asked as the maids rushed to set the table.

“No, we just arrived in fact,” Harry said as he tried to pat Ryene’s head, who in turn tried to glare at him.

“What have I told you about riding through the night, Harry?” Randyll asked sternly. However, he himself was aware of how safe the roads were currently.

“That it could be a strategic advantage in subterfuge,” Harry replied, sending a wink at Dickon.

Randyll only sighed. The morning indeed was good and he didn’t really enjoy lecturing Harry; especially when the boy knew everything already. “Just be safe, Harry,” He said finally.

“Aren’t I always,” He replied with a smile.

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“Sam, keep out of your father’s sight. Don’t rile him up at the last moment,” Harry said.

Sam nodded furiously.

“It’s alright, you can loosen up… somewhat. Just don’t read a book in front of him or something,” Harry listed out as he wondered if he’d forgotten something. “Always meet his eyes when addressed. Don’t be a pussy.”

“I will try,” Sam replied, and Harry was sure that he was only saying it to get him off his back. “We’ll meet again at Highgarden?”

“I would’ve taken you with me, but I’ll probably make detours,” Harry said as he glanced around.

“Selyse is still upset if you’re looking for her,” Sam said with a wry smile.

“I am making a habit of getting girls upset every time I leave a castle,” Harry said with a sigh.

“You should have been a little discrete then,” Sam replied, his voice carrying a judging tone.

“I was discrete!” Harry yelled, trying to defend himself.

“The girl was Selyse’s handmaiden…” Sam replied dryly.

“How might I ever have known that! Try asking a girl who she is, when she’s in your arms. Imagine how that conversation might go,”

Sam went red, as he so often did. Harry shook his head.

Lord Randyll chose that moment to make his appearance.

“You can sate her anger at a later time,” He said, “Let’s get our plans in order before your journey begins.”

Harry nodded. Nudging Sam, he moved to follow Lord Randyll.

“We’ll be joining the Tyrell party at Highgarden before the trip to King’s Landing?” Lord Randyll asked.

“Yes, I’ve arranged for it with Garlan already,” Harry replied, “He must’ve discussed it with his father already.”

Lord Randyll grunted in acknowledgement.

“I’ll send a raven as soon as I get to the castle – just to confirm the minor details,” Harry continued.

“Please do so. It would be quite… uncomfortable otherwise,” Lord Randyll said in his gruff voice.

Harry chuckled, “Garlan is responsible enough, but I’ve sent ahead a letter to Willas in addition. It shouldn’t be a problem.”

That seemed to put the man at ease.

“You seem to have a way with ravens, Harry,” Lord Randyll asked subtly.

Harry had to suppress a grin. Lord Randyll did this sometimes – digging to try and glean some of his secrets. All the man would’ve had to do was cultivate a good relationship with his older son. That would’ve provided him with quite a lot of information.

“Tricks I picked up at the Citadel, Lord Randyll. The place isn’t as embarrassing as you think it to be.”

Lord Randyll did not seem to think that his statement needed a response.

Harry grinned at him, a grin many had told him would make him look charming; although they had been girls, so it might not have the same effect on the older lord. He extended his hand to the man. Lord Randyll had lived up to his expectations over the years and he’d learned quite a few tricks during his time at the castle. Not to forget the various people he’d gotten acquainted with. Harry had really made the best decision when he chose to squire under the man.

Lord Randyll clasped his forearm easily. It was a ritual they had repeated every time Harry set out of the castle. Shaking his hand, Harry met his eyes and nodded.

“I’ll await you at Highgarden.”

He got a nod in return.

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