"The Dornish Marches are hot and rugged, and the Red Mountains are even harder to traverse." On the march, Randyll Tarly never ceased instructing his second son, Dickon.
"When hunting, a hunter must adapt quickly to changes in the environment. As a warrior and commander, the same applies."
Dickon held the reins with one hand and wiped sweat from his forehead with the other. The young man straightened his back and replied in a still-boyish voice, "Understood, Father."
Randyll withdrew his gaze from his son and looked toward the distant encampment on the slopes of Falcon Hill.
The reason he had personally answered the summons was to take Dickon through a war, to temper and nurture him further, hoping he would become a true man.
Besides that, he was deeply interested in Arthur—a bastard who had become the Sword of the Morning, and then stepped on the Reach to become the Governor of the Dornish Marches.
He had carefully studied Arthur's command style and judgment, especially the battles Arthur fought against the Reach in the hill country and Oldtown.
Arthur's command differed from the traditional pitched battles of Westeros. Harassment, raids, night attacks, ambushes—he used every means necessary.
Moreover, he had a clear understanding of his own advantages. Even after achieving repeated successes on the battlefield, he remained rational and wasn't swept away by victory. Facing the main force of the Reach, he abandoned the idea of capturing Amberly and other castles, retreating instead into the Red Mountains.
Such a figure was worth a personal visit, to see how this Governor of the Dornish Marches would conduct his war against the wildling tribes of the Red Mountains.
As they drew closer to the Mountain Corps encampment, Randyll continued to lecture Dickon on how to choose a campsite.
"Proximity to a river for easy water access, open terrain to prevent ambushes, nearby roads for ease of assembly and attack..."
Just as Randyll was explaining, three scouts bearing the Starfall banner rode up to the Reach column. The lead scout raised his hand, signaling them to halt. His Dornish sand steed stamped its hooves nervously, kicking up red dust.
"I am a scout for the Mountain Corps." The captain removed his helmet. "May I ask who the commander is? What is your purpose in approaching the Mountain Corps perimeter?"
Two knights bearing the Striding Huntsman sigil rode forward. "We have come from Horn Hill, answering Governor Arthur's summons."
The older knight spoke with a booming voice, gesturing behind him. "The commander is my lord, Earl Randyll Tarly."
Hearing this, the scout captain scanned the Reach column, then nodded to one of his men, signaling him to return and report.
"Please forgive the intrusion, my Lord," the captain saluted, placing a hand over his chest. "Follow me."
Randyll nodded almost imperceptibly.
Even deep within friendly territory, they maintained active scout patrols. This vigilance raised his evaluation of Arthur by several notches.
He nudged his horse forward, and the column resumed its march. As the distance closed, the full view of the camp became clear.
Archers on the stone watchtowers became visible, and various banners fluttered above the camp gate.
"Test your heraldry," Randyll said, jerking his chin at Dickon. "How many can you recognize?"
By the time Dickon had identified most of the families behind the banners from left to right, the column had arrived at the camp gate.
"Lord Randyll, your personal arrival is a surprise and a pleasure."
Arthur observed full etiquette for Randyll Tarly's arrival, bringing a group of officers to welcome him.
Although he didn't know Randyll's purpose for coming personally, as the first Marcher lord to answer the summons in person, he deserved the proper respect.
Randyll dismounted. "Ser Arthur, you are the Governor of the Dornish Marches appointed by the Iron Throne. Horn Hill lies within the Marches and constantly defends against wildling raids. Since the Governor has summoned us to suppress the wildlings of the Red Mountains, Horn Hill naturally fulfills its duty and obeys the command."
Earl Randyll Tarly had a short, stiff grey beard and broad shoulders. Strapped to his back was the ancestral Valyrian steel greatsword, Heartsbane.
His son Dickon, likely less than ten years old, stood beside him like a squire.
After simple introductions and pleasantries, Arthur noted the absence of Randyll's eldest son, Jon Snow's Night's Watch brother Samwell Tarly. It seemed Randyll already considered his second son Dickon the heir to Horn Hill and was keeping him close for training.
After having Ser Carlo arrange barracks for the nearly one hundred soldiers Randyll brought, Arthur led the Earl to the main tent.
" Is this a topographic map of the Red Mountains?" As soon as Randyll entered, he was surprised by the three-dimensional sand table of the Red Mountains on the large wooden table in the center of the tent. "Modeled after the Painted Table of Dragonstone?
"What do these red, yellow, and green pins represent?"
"This shows the distribution of wildling tribe settlements in the Red Mountains," Bear Dee explained.
"Red represents tribes that have begun gathering warriors to resist. Yellow means they haven't declared their stance. Green means the chieftains have sent hostages."
"Sent hostages?" Randyll was first surprised that the unruly wildlings would surrender voluntarily. His impression of wildlings was that they either fought or fled; he had never heard of them surrendering.
Then he scanned the map and found the markings intuitive. Red and yellow pins dominated; green pins were few and far between—only three in total.
"Are the intelligence markings on this map accurate? Have they been confirmed?"
More than the wildling surrenders, the source of this intelligence puzzled and amazed him.
Well-versed in the art of war, he understood that if this map and its markings were accurate, its value for a campaign against the Red Mountain tribes was incalculable.
The two greatest difficulties in suppressing wildlings in the Red Mountains, aside from the rugged terrain, were locating their settlements accurately.
Arthur replied, "The intelligence is reliable."
"This is the result of cross-referencing information from careful scouting over the past month, captured wildling prisoners, and the chieftains of the tribes that have submitted."
Arthur chose to keep his warging abilities a secret from Randyll Tarly.
Randyll asked, puzzled, "In that case, when will we march on the Red Mountain tribes?"
Arthur said, "Once the representatives of all the Marcher lords have arrived, we will organize the advance. Based on the distance of House Swann of Stonehelm, the furthest away, it should be another week or two."
Randyll immediately understood the implication. The Governor before him didn't regard the Red Mountain tribes as a threat at all.
Waiting for everyone to arrive was a calculated move to use the suppression of the wildlings as a display of the Governor's strength.
Seeing Arthur's confidence, Randyll said no more. "Then I shall wait and see, awaiting Lord Arthur's command."
Randyll Tarly stayed in the encampment for over a week. He didn't know if Arthur was doing it intentionally or deliberately, but the five hundred well-armed soldiers of the Mountain Corps would begin their drills every morning before dawn, shouting slogans, practicing formations, and training their bodies.
The more Randyll watched, the more he felt that the crushing defeats of the hill country and Oldtown armies were not unjust.
He also understood why Arthur had such confidence and didn't take the wildling tribes of the Red Mountains seriously.