The group departed Pinkmaiden in the morning, continuing their journey upstream along the Red Fork. The headwaters of the river were home to two small villages; the group planned to visit them before beginning the return trip to Riverrun. For Edmure, a four-day journey was more than enough to satisfy his curiosity as the future heir. By midday, they made camp on a wide, level plain to prepare their meal.
Seeing the open expanse, Edmure turned to Ser Desmond. "Grell, can you show me how knights fight? Not in a one-on-one duel or a joust, but as a unit. How would twenty of you charge in a real battle?"
"Certainly, young lord," Grell replied. He began barking orders to the squires to fetch shields and lances and to help the guards into their heavy gear.
The saying that 'a knight rides clean' was true to a surprising degree. Aside from the immediate weapons carried on the horse, everything else was managed by the squires. Nothing was permitted to dangle or chafe, as anything that might irritate a precious warhorse on the march was considered a liability. Even Edmure's small heater shield was currently slung across his father's horse.
Soon, the plain began to vibrate with the rhythmic thud of galloping hooves. The noise flushed birds from the tall grass as the men assembled into a dense formation, with Grell at the forefront. Some carried lances tipped with fluttering banners. As the formation moved, it looked less like a group of agile riders and more like a rolling wall of iron. While the Tully retinue lacked the uniform plate armor seen in high-budget TV show, the sight of 500-kilogram masses of horse and man moving at charging speed was awe-inspiring.
The knights couched their lances under their right arms. The pace quickened, the order tightening until they moved as one. Edmure could practically see the physics involved: the sheer momentum of that much mass focused into a single point.
Grell performed a few maneuvers, but they were subtle, like slightly tilting the face of a hammer mid-swing. From a distance, the turning circles appeared slow and deliberate.
"Ser Grell, can you use other formations?" Edmure called out once they slowed. "I've read that a wedge—a triangle with the leader at the point—allows the unit to set pace and direction more easily. It seems it would make targeted charges simpler."
"We can," Grell admitted. "It is common practice for small units like ours. But in a large host, the wedge is less popular. It has only a single point of contact at the start, whereas a line delivers the impact of the whole group at once. In a massive charge, we aren't trying to kill every enemy individually; we want to disrupt their formation, trigger a panic, and force a rout. Plus you always get endless arguments on who should be in charge."
"I noticed you hold the lance very rigidly," Edmure observed. "You couldn't adjust the tip much during the run."
"A couched charge is the ultimate punch on the battlefield," Grell explained. "When I command my men to couch, I expect them to commit fully to the charge. They must never falter or slow down, or the man behind will stumble and the momentum will be lost. But when it holds? It is magnificent. The combined weight of the horse, the man, and the armor is delivered through the tip of that lance. Only another knight in a similar charge can meet it frontally."
Grell wiped sweat from his brow. "There is much to manage. The rider must use his shield to maintain posture, while gripping the horse with his thighs to transfer the shock of impact through the animal and the saddle. It's different from using a lance with both hands. With two hands, you aren't looking for a monstrous impact; you're making passes, stabbing as you ride by. That is for loose skirmishing, not the heavy, disciplined charges we use in a grand host."
Knights remained the kings of the battlefield. Back on Earth, only gunpowder and mass professional armies had dethroned them. Edmure knew his planned horse archers would remain a niche force—likely fewer than fifty even after two decades of training—he too wants to have thousands of knights under his banner.
The group reached the final village when an accident occurred. As Edmure went to retrieve his shield from Hoster's horse, a dog suddenly lunged from the shadows. To Edmure's shock, his Threat Detection failed to trigger. Fortunately, he already had his hand on the shield. He swung it with quick reflexes, catching the dog mid-air with a heavy bash. As the animal stumbled, Edmure pressed the advantage, pinning it down with the rim of the shield.
The guards sprang into action, rounding up the villagers to search for potential assassins. Interrogation revealed the animal was merely a hunting dog belonging to a local family; it had never been aggressive before.
"Let the dog and the villagers go," Edmure commanded, sensing the tension. "I don't want the realm laughing because the Heir of Riverrun spent his trip hunting mongrels instead of stags." Vyman caught Edmure's eye and murmured something into Hoster's ear. The ordeal ended, and the group resumed their journey.
Once they were back on the road, Vyman leaned in. "You noticed something, didn't you, my lord?"
Edmure let out a dry chuckle. He remembered Joffrey Baratheon and the incident with the direwolf from the first season of TV show. His own situation mirrored that closely, either its a freak accident, or the world loves that plot. "Father, Maester... in the lands beyond the Wall, there are people with certain gifts. They call them wargs. They can experience the lives of animals in their dreams. A veteran can even control them. Send birds in sky to monitor movements, use dogs to track prey in wilds and use large bears to fight."
He looked at the sky. "There is an existence that can reach even across the Wall. At this very moment, someone might be spying on King's Landing through the eyes of a raven."
"Do you mean...?" Vyman began, making the connection to their earlier talk of Bloodraven.
"Who knows?" Edmure cut him off. "But it pays to lay low when beings other than humans are playing their long games."
Hoster squinted at the horizon, realizing his son possessed a depth of knowledge that he had underestimated. The journey back began, and Edmure's standing in his father's eyes reached a new heights.