Chapter 13 - 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.

____________________________________________________________________________

Author’s Note:

Hello people, I am here.

This chapter is pretty much completely about the trouble I wrote of in the chapter’s name. Since the last chapter ended somewhat abruptly, I started with this chapter as soon as possible. Hope you like it and leave comments. Now you may read.

____________________________________________________________________________

[Year - 293 AC]

As they entered the room, Randyll glanced at Harry, wondering if he should take his men with him–to the welcoming chamber–but the young man showed no discomfort.

He thought it over; the boy had been nothing but courteous to him. Hence taking a leap in good faith, he ordered his men to stay behind.

Harry sent him a smile as he lowered himself into a seat across from Randyll–before turning and addressing a maid to bring refreshments for 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,” Harry said cheerfully, once he’d completed the tasks proprietary required of him.

Suppressing the urge to scoff, Randyll composed himself and nodded with measured politeness, gesturing for Harry to proceed.

“I have this request I must impose upon you, Lord Tarly,” Harry said, “As you might already know, I am to study at the Citadel for a few years.”

“I am aware, Lord Stark,” He 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 said.

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 earning knighted ultimately,” Harry disclosed, “And I want 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 noble and highborn lad like Harry seeking to become his squire was difficult for Randyll to fathom. The lad 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.

“Yes, you are the best I could hope to squire under, Lord Tarly,” Harry said with certainty. 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 uncontrolled 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 pressed on, his concern evident in his voice.

Harry's response came swiftly, with a touch of confidence. "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, my lord, 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 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 he would be stretching his capabilities to their limits.

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.

“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, Lord Stark,” 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 the time comes for 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.

____________________________________________________________________________

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 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 street had heard 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 he 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 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 reluctantly 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. And 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 with hopes that he’d get acquainted with Lord Paxter’s children. He was planning on bringing up an engagement and thus joining their houses through marriage if possible. It would do well for Samwell to acquaint himself with Lord Paxter’s daughter.

He’d believed everything to be going well, but then upon his return to the castle, he had found his son being belittled by Horas and Hobber, Lord Redwyne’s sons. 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 never allow his house’s name to be associated with weakness.

After concluding his business at The Arbor, Randyll made the decision to bring Samwell back with him; laying waste to his plans and expectations.

He thought about his failed plans over the return trip, and changed them accordingly taking the disaster at Arbor into consideration. He had to rethink his response before taking that one extra stop at Oldtown, before leaving for Horn Hill.

____________________________________________________________________________

Author’s Note:

Quick updates on chapters twelve and thirteen! Aren’t you happy?

Once again a chapter with no POV from Harry. In fact, this one is even more special in the sense that it has only one POV in the chapter. The entire chapter is from Randyll’s view.

Did any of you expect Harry to do this? If I missed anything then please let me know. While it is pretty uncommon to squire under a Noble House of a different region, I don’t think it’s prohibited. Or at least that’s what I found in my research. For the setting in the chapter, I remembered that Randyll had at some point taken Samwell with him to Arbor in an attempt to make him squire under Lord Paxter. So, I used it to my advantage. I’m not sure of the age at which Samwell had undergone this journey, but for our convenience let’s take it to be the age of ten.

Google tried to spell-correct ‘Squiring’ to ‘Squirting’ when I was re-reading the chapter… so that was fun.

I think the setting would be vastly different in the next chapter, I don’t want to set anything in stone before actually writing it. My ideas change so very often. Anyways, I hope you look forward to it.

I also want to thank Srikar and Pierre for taking me on as patrons. Thank you for your support guys.

That is it for the chapter. See you soon.