Randyll Tarly
He had never once regretted sending his son Samwell to the Wall.
At first, when the boy was born, he had placed great hopes in him. The Tarlys had always been known for their martial spirit and hardiness. Though, from time to time, even in their flock, a black sheep would appear. Sam had turned out to be just that. Or rather, he had failed to become a proper Tarly.
For the first eight years, Randyll had hoped to make something worthwhile out of his son. He taught him to fight, to ride, to read maps. It did no good. In the end, he had to summon maesters from the Citadel, and even warlocks from Qarth. All of it proved useless. Sam grew quiet, timid, and soft, putting on weight early, preferring rich food and books to martial exercise and the hunt. What more was there to say, when the sight of animals gutted after a hunt made him retch?! How could such a boy ever become the future lord of Horn Hill, or a warrior fit to bear the name Tarly? And his mother had spoiled him besides.
He simply could not pass on the majestic castle nestled among the wooded foothills to such a weakling. Nor did the great Valyrian sword, Heartsbane, deserve so feeble a hand. His forebears would have turned in their graves to see such disgrace!
It was a difficult time, as his wife, Melessa Florent, bore him three daughters in succession after Sam. But when the fifth child—Dickon—was born, Randyll shifted all his attention to raising him.
Hope that Sam might become something of value gave way to disappointment—and that, in turn, to contempt. Sam proved as useless as horse dung. When he turned fifteen, the lord of Horn Hill forcibly sent his own son to the North.
Much water had passed under the bridge since then.
During the War of the Five Kings, Tarly and his men had first supported Renly Baratheon, and after his mysterious death, like most of the lords of the Reach, had sided with the Lannisters.
In those days, Randyll proved himself a harsh and unyielding commander, putting to the sword all those who sought to support Stannis. He did not even spare his wife's kin, the Florents.
At the Battle of the Blackwater, Lord Tarly commanded the center of the army. Afterward, he led a combined force drawn from the Westerlands, the Reach, and the Stormlands northward, where, in the battle at Duskendale, he crushed the forces of Robett Glover and Helman Tallhart and took Maidenpool.
For the next several months, he held the region while his allies campaigned elsewhere. At first, he kept William Mooton as a prisoner, but later released him and even came close to wedding his own son, Dickon, to Mooton's daughter, Eleanor. In the end, the match never came to pass. As it turned out, matters resolved for the better, for greater prospects later opened before Tarly.
Throughout this time, he maintained iron discipline in his forces, forcing soldiers to rebuild the war-ravaged strongholds, believing that idleness was the most dangerous thing that could befall an army.
He also crushed the Brotherhood Without Banners, and many bandits and deserters ended up "hung high and short." The Brotherhood, which he had pressed hard indeed, had even given him the nickname Bloodsucker.
Then he returned to Horn Hill and remained there for some time. Soon enough, his talents were needed again—this time he was summoned by King Joffrey and Hand of the King Kevan Lannister.
He set out with Dickon to Bitterbridge, where he began raising a new army.
After that, he defeated the Golden Company, which had landed at Cape Wrath. In truth, there had been nothing particularly difficult about it. He understood what was happening around him and what the mercenaries were counting on. They had expected events in the north to turn in their favor. But Joffrey and the Kingslayer had survived the Boltons' betrayal—and more than that, they had preserved their host, withdrawing in good order to the Ruby Ford.
He had been tasked with dealing with the Golden Company, and he had done so as always—efficiently and methodically.
At first, their elephants had been an unpleasant surprise. In the rearguard engagements, he lost around three thousand men in total. Then came the realization that the beasts feared fire, and his archers began to shower them with flaming arrows.
The final battle took place at Rain House. He destroyed the Golden Company, took rich spoils—though the leaders of the mercenaries managed to board ships and flee to Essos.
That did not trouble him much. He had done what was asked of him and now expected his reward.
After visiting King's Landing, he realized that he would have to share the spoils with the Crown and, gritting his teeth, handed over half. His liege lord, Mace Tyrell, was there as well, trying to claim a portion. Randyll Tarly gave him such a look that the Fat Rose decided it was best to drop the matter.
In the capital, new prospects opened before Tarly.
"Did you like Princess Myrcella?" he asked Dickon one day, when they were in the chambers assigned to them.
"She's very beautiful," Dickon answered honestly. By that time, his son had grown tall, matching his father in height, broad-shouldered, and looked upon the world with a steady confidence. Nor had he been cheated in bearing, and tales of his skill at arms were already beginning to spread. Looking at his son and heir, Lord Tarly once again congratulated himself on the choice he had made long ago concerning Sam.
"Beautiful…" Randyll grunted, carving into a roasted pheasant with knife and fork. Bread, fruit, and a great flagon of wine stood nearby. Dickon sat beside him, working through an identical pheasant. They had dismissed the servants, the matter being too personal for other ears.
"When will you stop thinking with what's in your breeches and start thinking with what's on your shoulders?"
(End of Chapter)
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