The Young Huntsman

Cider Hall was a modest castle. It's towers & walls were a similar heigth as most others, the moat's width & depth the same. Luckily, it was large enough to accomdiate for the thousand men Lord Randyll Tarly had brought with him from Horn Hill. His son Dickon was amoung them. The two Tarlys rode at the head of their company of landed knights & petty lords over the draw bridge, under the portcullis and into the main bailey of the castle. It was the seat of the Red Apple Fossoways, who were amoung the houses in the Reach who'd remained loyal to the Iron Throne instead of sending men with Olenna Tyrell to Dorne, where she was meeting Daenerys Targaryen.

Of course, the lords who remained loyal to the Iron Throne only did so grudingly. His father was amoung them, Dickon knew. Cersei Lannister was not a queen anyone in the Reach liked much, given the fact that she had caused the death of Mace, Margery & Loras Tyrell... At least that was everyone had deduced by themselves. No one could actually prove that Cersei was behind the destroying of the Great Sept. Those that remained loyal to her were afraid that the Queen on the Iron Throne would do something similar to them were they to choose the Dragon Queen.

The day the raven ordering Lord Randyll to take Highgarden arrived, Dickon had broken his fast while staring at the empty mantle piece. Samwell had disappeared the night following Father's chastisement, taking Heartsbane with him. The following morning Father had been furious, talking of riding out after Sam until Dickon & his mother joined forces to convince him otherwise, reminding him that Sam had spoken of how valyrian steel could kill the dead men he claimed to have encountered during his time beyond the Wall. Lord Randyll promised that should he ever see his firstborn son again, it would be the last time he saw him outside of a dungeon cell and sent out a group of his men to follow him to Oldtown. On that account, Dickon & his mother could not sway the Lord of Horn Hill. Dickon had sent a raven to the citadel of Oldtown addressed to his older brother to warn him of such. I pray he got there before the raven did.

After breaking her own fast, his sister Talla had gone outside in a thick winter dress to enjoy the snow. So had Mother. The pair of the them had built a snow man, albeit a small one, considering the sky hadn't been very liberal with the snow it dropped. Unarmoured and wearing his green woolen tunic, he'd joined the pair of them before he'd gone to Ser Eustace for his daily training. Dickon did his best to enjoy himself as much as Talla and Mother had, but it had been difficult to shake the knowledge that snow so early in winter meant it would be a difficult one. That's what the maesters have been saying for the last few years.

Dickon had been practicing swordplay with the Master-at-arms when Father came to him with the raven scroll. The day was bright and the air cold. It was a challege to keep his feet from slipping as Ser Eustace came at him with blunt steel. The young Tarly defended appropriately, only the old knight was able to wind around Dickon's blade to deliver a thrust into the centre of his breastplate. As they withdrew their blades, Father decided to interrupt.

"Ser Eustace, might I speak with my son alone?" Lord Randyll asked, though it was spoken like an order.

"Of course, My Lord," Ser Eustace replied, taking the blunt sword from Dickon. "Remember to keep moving while your sword is in the bind, staying still may lead to your defeat." Dickon nodded his acknowledgement and the old knight walked off. Lord Randyll looked as he always did when in his household, dressed neatly in a velvet tunic embroidered with the huntsman that was his family sigil. His balding head looked bright pink thanks to the chilled air and his was face was a sharp, stern piece of stone. Promptly he approached his son, handing over the raven scroll. It read:

Lord Randyll,

You are hereby ordered by the crown to make for the Roseroad via Cider Hall with all your bannermen entow. You shall meet a force of Lannister men a week after they leave Bitterbridge and proceed with them to Highgarden where you will lead the effort to take the castle in the name of the Iron Thron and Queen Cersei. The Lannister force you will be meeting is set to leave the captial in just under a week's time and will be commanded by Ser Addam Marbrand. Once the castle is taken you will return to King's Landing with every piece of gold and food that you find in its vaults.

Ser Jaime Lannnister,

Commander of Her Grace's armies

"Do you know what this letter means?" Lord Randyll asked.

"Queen Cersei is making moves to establish her rule," Dickon replied plainly. "Why have you shown me this father?"

"Because I think it's time you saw proper combat and not just clashing blunt steel with our Master-at-arms." That took Dickon off guard. I've have only just become a man. "Don't give me that look, you're the same age Robb Stark was when he began his war against the Iron Throne. When we and our bannermen march upon Highgarden alongside the men Ser Jaime is sending to help us, you will be by my side, learning how to properly handle a military affair."

Dickon read the scroll a second and a third time before returning it to Father's palm. "When do we set out?"

"It's at least a week from here to Cider Hall with the snow slowing us," Lord Randyll replied, "and just under another to reach the Roseroad one week outside of Bitterbridge. If the men Ser Jaime send us are in any way competent, they will send a raven to Cider Hall once they reach Bitterbridge to tell us they are there and when they will set out. We must be posted in Cider Hall to recieve that raven when it comes."

"So as soon as we are able."

Father nodded. "As soon as we are able." Lord Randyll placed an uncommon soft hand one his son's shoulder. "As much as I would rather it not be Queen Cersei who allows it, this is where the future starts for our house, Dickon. Should we perform well in this task, I expect there will be honours as reward."

Dickon nodded. "I understand father."

The suggestion of a smile appeared on Lord Randyll's lips. "Good."

After that, Dickon had returned to his bedchamber and removed his own armour. He'd been doing it since he'd first worn plate and planned to do it until he no long needed to wear armour. His bedchamber was on the southern side of Horn Hill with two large window's that let in plenty of light. The walls were painted dark green and autumn red, reminding him of the dense woods that surrounded his family home. Often Dickon went riding in those woods for pleasure or to hunt with Father for deer. But winter was here. The ground was like to be mud more than not and the cold air did not agree with him. His cheeks were quick to turn pink and fingers short to become numb should he not be wearing gloves.

Over the next few days, Horn Hill's nearest banners had made for the castle. Lord Randyll made sure Dickon was present when they were greeted. It'd seemed a bit tedious, were Dickon to be frank, greeting so many different men. He knew all their names and how many days ride their keeps & holdfasts were from Horn Hill because all of them made frequent enough visits to the seat of House Tarly. By a week after Ser Jaime's raven arrived, five hundred men were camping without the walls of Horn Hill.

It was a week of feasts with petty lords and landed knights. Of course, it being winter meant that those feasts were more accurately described as rationed meals. Wine was weak & watery for the most part and plenty of the talk amoung those who sat at the dinning hall tables centred on the trouble that winter would present to keeping their smallfolk fed and cared for. It wasn't uncommon to hear complaints from the Tarly bannermen about being sent off to take a castle while they would rather remain in their holdfasts and keeps to ensure that all was well for them & their people. Dickon couldn't help but worry that that sort of talk could be considered treasonous: if Father felt the same, he was not showing it, instead putting the comments to rest by saying, "I would rather remain at Horn Hill and see to my lordly duties, but the Queen has ordered us to take Highgarden so we will take Highgarden." They'd set out from Horn Hill once their numbers had swollen to a thousand men and those thousand men were now setting up camp outside Cider Hall.

The man who met Dickon & his father after they dismounted – their armour rattling – was Ser Tanton Fossoway, dressed in a yellow quilted tunic, a red apple embroidered on the breast, as well as thick breeches with a arming sword on his hip. He was tall, comely and well built. "Lord Randyll," he greeted them. "Welcome to Cider Hall."

"Ser Tanton," Father replied. "This is my son Dickon."

Dickon gave small bow and said, "Ser." Tanton replied with a nod.

"It was good of you to send a raven ahead, it meant we were able to call our own banners to join you in the siege," Tanton explained.

"I saw," Lord Randyll said. As they had seen the campsite two miles out from Cider Hall. The castle sat amoung some shallow hills that had been covered by tents & carriage, horse holds & cookfires. The grey smoke had been difficult to see against the clouds of the same colour and the soft, white snow falling from them. Aside from the petty lords and landed knights who were the Tarly banners, the host they'd brought from Horn Hill began to increase the size of the campsite made by the banners of the Red Apple Fossoways.

"Sutiable chambers have been arranged for you and your bannermen. You and your son have been placed next to each other." Lord Randyll gave a curt nod in response.

For the rest of the day, Dickon remained with his father as he spoke with his men about the organising of their forces. It was good learning for when Dickon himself would have to organise the forces on his own when he was Lord of Hill Horn himself. Father even got him to offer input on how the men should be organised and he suggested keeping them separated from the Fossoway men so it would be easier to filter the men into different ranks when it came to moving off from Cider Hall. It would also help to prevent the mingling of separtate food stores: they'd brought their own food and supplies for the express purpose of not eating into someone else's winter stores.

At supper, they were hosted in the main hall. Dickon and his father were given places of honour on the high table, to the right of Lord Fossoway: a tall, portly man of similar age to Lord Randyll, with a thick beard that was on its way to becoming grey. The Tarly bannermen mingled together with Fossoway's on the lower tables. The hall was smokey from the several lit hearths, noisey with the sound of conversation and filled with the rich smells of the food they were eating. Lord Fossoway was even willing to serve some stronger wine to his guests, drinking watered wine himself. The meal remained rationed – however – and Dickon did not mind in the slighest. Better to eat less each day and eat for longer than to run out of food sooner.

Lord Fossoway burped, covering his mouth, then asked Father, "Have you noticed that the red comet's returned?"

"I have," Lord Randyll replied. It had been a queer thing to see, Dickon had admitted to himself the first time he saw it. He'd not expected it to return after it disappeared toward the beginning of autumn. It's red light had bled through the clouds all the way from Horn Hill.

"I think it's a sign from the Old Gods," Fossoway admitted.

"Why? The Old Gods have no power in the South." Father sounded as if his host were speaking nonsense. Lord Randyll kept the Seven but had never been a particularly godly man.

"It's a similar colour to the leaves of those trees northmen worship and it first appeared when King Joffrey took off Ned Stark's head. Now it appears soon after winter begins and snow falls sooner than it ever has in living memory."

"So you think that the Old Gods are punishing the South for Ned Stark's beheading?"

"One wouldn't be mad for thinking such a thing. Stark's bastard is now King in the North and has taken his father's family name. Rumours have creeped south that this bastard died only to come back to life. A man less sane than me might even think that the Old Gods gave that boy powers to punish the South for their crimes against the North."

"Jon Snow was part of the Night's Watch. He's an oathbreaker to have taken the northern crown. My first son considers Jon Snow a good man, but then again, anyone who doesn't call him fat is a good man in Samwell's eyes."

"Father, surely you can give Sam's word some credence," Dickon felt need to put in. "Jon Snow took Winterfell. He's escentically the head of House Stark and all that's left of it besides his half-sister Sansa. Surely there must be some sense in him."

"At least some, I'll admit. That castle is as hard as the northmen House Stark rules over and it would take a proper northman to breach it."

"There's more than just Jon Snow and Sansa Stark to their house," Fossoway said. "Arya Stark has appeared in the Riverlands and slaughered a gathering of Freys. That is why Jaime Lannister is making his way north, to find the little she-wolf."

"How old would she be now?"

"Probably around fifthteen," Fossoway replied.

"Fifthteen!" Dickon exclaimed. "By the Gods, how could a girl so young do such a thing?"

"Disguised herself as a serving wench and slipped poision into the cookpots, least that's what the new Lord of the Crossing has been saying she did."

"I pray Ser Jaime finds her," Lord Randyll said, sipping his wine. "Someone like that is too dangerous to be left alive."

Two days pasted after their arrival at Cider Hall before a raven came from Bitterbridge. Addam Marbrand had written it: At Bitterbridge. Snow came down heavy during the last two days of riding. We should be off after four days rest. We'll meet you on the Roseroad. Lord Randyll penned a reply saying that the raven was recieved and understood. Dickon found himself almost giddy at the thought of riding out of Cider Hall with the next stop being Highgarden and his first experience of proper combat. When they eventually did leave, Dickon rode at the head of the column besides his father as well as Ser Tanton, who Lord Fossoway had sent to lead the Fossoway banners.