Riverrun
Edmure gathered a significantly larger force this time: twenty household guards, twenty mounted patrollers from the castle, and five new scouts in training. He planned to rendezvous with further reinforcements near the villages where the bandits had been sighted. It was one of the largest retinues to ride out from the castle in recent years.
By noon, the company caught the bandits' trail. After a brief interrogation, a group of charcoal burners confessed to seeing a party of thirty brigands earlier that morning. This matched the reports Edmure had gathered from the local villages. Anticipating that the hunt would take the entire day, Edmure sent riders back to inform Hoster that they would likely camp in the wilderness. The group made haste, hoping to force an encounter before nightfall.
Edmure adopted an expansive search operation, utilizing several Myrish eyes—telescopes—brought from the castle. While his preparations seemed excessive for a mere bandit hunt, Edmure was keen on refining the Tully military doctrine. At their absolute limit, the Tullys could now hope to raise 2,000 cavalry and 3,000 infantry—a result of the aggressive restructuring he and Hoster had planned over the last month, favoring a heavy mounted arm over slow-moving footmen.
"Grell, take twenty men to that hilltop and watch for movement," Edmure commanded, handing him a telescope. "Don't ride hard; we don't want the noise giving us away. Our goal is total envelopment. If you spot them, wave your banner. I can see farther than most humans."
"Yes, my lord," Grell replied. "I'll take the greenhorns; I have a few scouting tricks to teach them."
The search dragged on for hours, but just before dusk, the effort paid off. The bandits had made camp near a ford, busy slaughtering sheep and distributing loot. They had migrated from the Eastern Riverlands near the Gods Eye toward the west, hitting merchants and remote hamlets along the way. Because they had avoided killing villagers so far, they had expected to go unmolested for a year or more. They had no idea they had entered the sights of a new heir hungry for legitimacy.
Edmure began issuing rapid orders. "Check your steel and mounts. Watch for traps; they'll have staked the perimeter. Veterans lead the way; the green stay out of the melee. You'll get paid regardless, so don't take foolish risks. Grell, take the second company around the stream. Hit them from the rear when you hear my signal. My arrows will start the assault. Move out."
The idle chatter of the bandit camp was shattered by a sharp, whistling arc. An arrow struck a sentry on the outskirts, killing him instantly. Moments later, the ground began to vibrate. The bandit leader barked orders, trying to rally his men behind prepared stakes and shields. "Brace yourselves! If we survive, I'll shower you in silver! Archers, fire at will! No one runs!"
Edmure led seventy riders down the slope. His main company formed his signature diamond formation in the vanguard, while the rest advanced in a loose line to minimize the risk of traps. Edmure mapped the safest path in his mind and spurred his horse. A second signal arrow flew, and the charge began. Edmure discarded his bow, leveling a long, slender lance. With superior strength and control, he skewered a spearman, shattering their defensive line instantly. The veterans followed, breaking into small groups to mop up the survivors.
The bandit leader, realizing the day was lost, attempted to flee across the ford with five trusted men, hoping to disappear into the woods under the cover of night. However, his retreat was cut off by Grell and his thirty riders. The melee ended swiftly. As night fell, Edmure's men occupied the bandit camp, tending to wounds and cooking the captured sheep.
"Nice work, everyone," Edmure said, wiping blood from his blade. "I'll see you're all paid. Grell, how do we handle this? Do we distribute the loot among the men or return it to the villages?"
The Crownlands
In a village nearby, a celebration was in full swing. A young man with flowing silver hair addressed a cheering crowd of smallfolk.
"No need for formalities," Prince Rhaegar said, smiling as he declined a bow. "You are my people. Let us enjoy the game we hunted. Bring the ale! The bards won't stop singing, and we won't stop dancing."
The crowd erupted. Rhaegar took a horn of beer from a maid, preferring the company of the common people to the stifling politics of the Red Keep. He had been traveling the region when he heard of a pack of wild boars terrorizing the area; he had hunted them down and given the meat to the village.
The festivities continued until midnight, when a group of riders in white plate arrived. They bore the sigil of the Kingsguard and delivered a sealed letter to the Prince.
Rhaegar read the parchment, and his cheer vanished. "What does he want from me now?" he snapped, his voice tight with frustration. "He treats me like an enemy. Look at this nonsense." He thrust the letter toward his friend, Jon Connington. Jon read it quickly, his eyes meeting Rhaegar's with a silent question: When shall we begin?
Another man, leaning against a wooden post, glanced at the letter. "We can hunt the bandits, my Prince; they are a menace. But you should demand compensation for the Summerhall project. You are the Prince of Dragonstone; there is no need to be meek, even if the man is your father."
"I have little taste for such political games, Oswell," Rhaegar replied to Ser Oswell Whent, Edmure's uncle.
"It isn't politics, my Prince," Oswell shot back as he walked toward his horse. "It's statecraft."