Edmure began his training on the field with a renewed focus. The southern trip was only ten days away. After a careful inspection of the stables, he had selected a docile pony for the journey. He had also spent his morning session with Vyman asking a series of bewildering questions about the care and feeding of horses.
The look on Vyman's face when Edmure asked about poisons was one of deep apprehension. The Maester looked like a man resigned to serve a master who might be planning something heinous. In truth, Edmure merely wanted to learn how to take precautions. He was the heir now, and he knew that accidents tended to happen to those in his position. He needed to recognize the symptoms of foul play before it was too late.
The routine on the field and in the trees continued. However, he had no playmates today. Most likely, the noble guardians of the other children had explained the truth behind Edmure's white lie regarding Petyr. No one wanted to be caught in the crossfire of an unfortunate accident between the Tully heir and the Lord's ward. For his part, Edmure had no interest in taking Petyr's life. If his plans succeeded, Petyr would never be a threat. For now, Edmure would simply grind his levels.
In the evening, he visited the stables. Riverrun was a fortress, not a sprawling city, and everything within its walls was safe for a Tully. He personally groomed his chosen pony. He questioned the stableboy about her temper, eating habits, health history, and parentage. Edmure wanted to tend to the beast's health from a young age.
He hoped to eventually take charge of the Riverrun stables entirely. A horse could reveal much about the capability of a knight. A unit mounted on Sand Steeds could disengage at will, though they would suffer in a prolonged melee due to light armor. A heavy Charger, conversely, allowed a knight to smash through pockets of scattered infantry.
His preferred pony would grow into a fine Courser. It would not be as strong as a Destrier, but it would be perfect for his needs. He planned to maintain a stable of endurance-focused, speedy mounts for his personal guards. He did not elaborate on these intentions to Hoster. However, he planned to maintain fifteen or twenty riders—not knights, but a contingent of capable horse archers. He knew Hoster would not allow it yet, so he would act first and ask for permission later.
In the legends, figures like Daemon Blackfyre, Barristan Selmy, and Jaime Lannister became knights in their youth. Edmure had no such ambitions. Knighthood was a good addition to an heir's resume, but it was not necessary. He was an only son, and a knight had to take sacred oaths. Edmure did not want to bind himself to something he did not intend to follow. Like their master, his guards would follow a different path than a knight.
He envisioned a score of well-drilled cavalry. They would be trained to fight in open formations on uneven terrain with a focus on ranged combat. These men were not built for total war, but to accompany Edmure on his patrols across the Trident. He had no interest in winning glory in tourneys or the coming rebellion. He would relentlessly patrol his realm, picking apart bandits, deserters, and raiding forces. For pitched battles, he could always muster his vassals.
As long as his merry men did not shoot a highborn noble, the world would only see an effective patrolling force. Edmure would handle the duels himself. The land was still filled with stories of legendary duels from the Blackfyre wars. It was not yet the game of thrones seen in the TV show; the current generation still thirsted for the glory of the blade rather than titles and fiefs. He would duel the nobles; his men would provide the relentless pressure on others.
After two hours with the pony, Edmure made his way to the castle blacksmith. He chose a real weapon and armor for the trip. He took them to the old smith, who was resting at home after a long day at the forge.
"Mi'lord... do you need something from me? Are you perhaps not satisfied with my work?" The old smith was nervous. He likely feared a young lord might take a fancy to the women of his household and drag them off as maids.
"Pardon my intrusion," Edmure said, sitting nearby as if he owned the house. "I am busy during the day, and I have just chosen my first real weapon. I thought I could ask you about its maintenance. I want to know how to tell if a blade is sharpened correctly. I also have an interest in archery. My strength is lacking; is there a way to make arrows penetrate armor more easily?"
The smith eased slightly and gathered his thoughts. "Wait a minute, Mi'lord." He brought out an old sword and flexed the blade, tapping it to produce a specific ring. He then showed a second blade. "This was re-tempered this afternoon for Ser Grell. Notice the flex and the sound. On campaign, your squire will constantly keep the blade clean of blood and oil it. He will hone it lightly, but re-sharpening is usually left to the camp smithy. Overdoing it thins the edge too much."
"I will come to your shop tomorrow afternoon," Edmure said. "Show me the process in person. And what of the arrows? Are there different kinds of heads? If I provide better metal, can you make arrows with better penetration?"
"My apprentices and I will wait for you, Mi'lord. As for arrows, metal alone won't save you. The shape dictates the impact. We have broadheads to tear flesh and bodkins to punch through rings of mail. Steel heads will serve you better than iron, and that I can provide."
"What of the shaft and the fletching? I will check those tomorrow as well. Be prepared," Edmure commanded. "From now on, supply me with at least a hundred arrows every week. Between training and breakage, I will need them. Also, find me a master bowyer; I want one in permanent residence at the castle. I will have the Maester arrange your payment tomorrow."
Edmure returned to his solar. He knew it would take years of sweat to produce the master horse archers of his dreams.
"Perhaps I can obtain level-ups for training others, that can compress years of real life honing into process. Loyalty too would become a number than concept." Edmure mused. "But I don't know if the skill exists for levelling. So far, neither my Charisma nor my Etiquette has improved. Either I am naturally terrible at both, or this cheat was designed by an engineer. Only caring for the hard results."