The Sworn Sword

""Daeron was spindly and round of shoulder, with a little belly that wobbled when he walked. Daemon stood straight and proud, and his stomach was flat and hard as an oaken shield. And he could fight . With ax or lance or flail, he was as good as any knight I ever saw, but with the sword he was the Warrior himself. When Prince Daemon had Blackfyre in his hand, there was not a man to equal him… not Ulrick Dayne with Dawn, no, nor even the Dragonknight with Dark Sister.

""You can know a man by his friends, Egg. Daeron surrounded himself with maesters, septons, and singers. Always there were women whispering in his ear, and his court was full of Dornishmen. How not, when he had taken a Dornishwoman into his bed, and sold his own sweet sister to the prince of Dorne, though it was Daemon that she loved? Daeron bore the same name as the Young Dragon, but when his Dornish wife gave him a son he named the child Baelor, after the feeblest king who ever sat the Iron Throne.

""Daemon, though… Daemon was no more pious than a king need be, and all the great knights of the realm gathered to him. It would suit Lord Bloodraven if their names were all forgotten, so he has forbidden us to sing of them, but I remember. Robb Reyne, Gareth the Grey, Ser Aubrey Ambrose, Lord Gormon Peake, Black Byren Flowers, Redtusk, Fireball… Bittersteel! I ask you, has there ever been such a noble company, such a roll of heroes?

"" Why, lad? You ask me why? Because Daemon was the better man. The old king saw it, too. He gave the sword to Daemon. Blackfyre, the sword of Aegon the Conquerer, the blade that every Targaryen king had wielded since the Conquest… he put that sword in Daemon's hand the day he knighted him, a boy of twelve"".

""My father says that was because Daemon was a swordsman, and Daeron never was"", said Egg. ""Why give a horse to a man who cannot ride? The sword was not the kingdom, he says"".

The old knight's hand jerked so hard that wine spilled from his silver cup. ""Your father is a fool"".

""He is not "", the boy said.

Osgrey's face twisted in anger. ""You asked a question and I answered it, but I will not suffer insolence. Ser Duncan, you should beat this boy more often. His courtesy leaves much to be desired. If I must needs do it myself, I will-""

""No"", Dunk broke in. ""You won't. Ser"". He had made up his mind. ""It is dark. We will leave at first light"".

Ser Eustace stared at him, stricken. ""Leave?""

""Standfast. Your service"". You lied to us. Call it what you will, there was no honor in it. He unfastened his cloak, rolled it up, and put it in the old man's lap.

Osgrey's eyes grew narrow. ""Did that woman offer to take you into service? Are you leaving me for that whore's bed?""

""I don't know that she is a whore"", Dunk said, ""or a witch or a poisoner or none of that. But whatever she may be makes no matter. We're leaving for the hedges, not for Coldmoat"".

""The ditches, you mean. You're leaving me to prowl in the woods like wolves, to waylay honest men upon the roads"". His hand was shaking. The cup fell from his fingers, spilling wine as it rolled along the floor. ""Go, then. Go. I want none of you. I should never have taken you on. Go! ""

""As you say, ser"". Dunk beckoned, and Egg followed.

That last night Dunk wanted to be as far from Eustace Osgrey as he could, so they slept down in the cellar, amongst the rest of Standfast's meager host. It was a restless night. Lem and red-eyed Pate both snored, the one loudly and the other constantly. Dank vapors filled the cellar, rising through the trap from the deeper vaults below. Dunk tossed and turned on the scratchy bed, drifting off into a half sleep only to wake suddenly in darkness. The bites he'd gotten in the woods were itching fiercely, and there were fleas in the straw as well. I will be well rid of this place, well rid of the old man, and Ser Bennis, and the rest of them. Maybe it was time that he took Egg back to Summerhall to see his father. He would ask the boy about that in the morning, when they were well away."

"Morning seemed a long way off, though. Dunk's head was full of dragons, red and black… full of chequy lions, old shields, battered boots… full of streams and moats and dams, and papers stamped with the king's great seal that he could not read.

And she was there as well, the Red Widow, Rohanne of the Coldmoat. He could see her freckled face, her slender arms, her long red braid. It made him feel guilty. I should be dreaming of Tanselle. Tanselle Too-Tall, they called her, but she was not too tall for me. She had painted arms upon his shield and he had saved her from the Bright Prince, but she vanished even before the trial of seven. She could not bear to see me die, Dunk often told himself, but what did he know? He was as thick as a castle wall. Just thinking of the Red Widow was proof enough of that. Tanselle smiled at me, but we never held each other, never kissed, not even lips to cheek.