The Sworn Sword

"I don't think you'd kill a boy of ten", he said, hoping he was right. "Not this boy of ten, you wouldn't. You've got three-and-thirty men there, like you said. Men talk. That fat one there especially. No matter how deep you dug the graves, the tale would out. And then, well… might be a spotted spider's bite can kill a lion, but a dragon is a different sort of beast".

"I would sooner be the dragon's friend". She tried the ring on her finger. It was too big even for her thumb. "Dragon or no, I must have Bennis of the Brown Shield".

"No".

"You are seven feet of stubborn".

"Less an inch".

She gave him back the ring. "I cannot return to Coldmoat empty-handed. They will say the Red Widow has lost her bite, that she was too weak to do justice, that she could not protect her smallfolk. You do not understand, ser".

"I might". Better than you know. "I remember once some little lord in the stormlands took Ser Arlan into service, to help him fight some other little lord. When I asked the old man what they were fighting over, he said, ‘Nothing, lad. It's just some pissing contest.' "

Lady Rohanne gave him a shocked look, but could sustain it no more than half a heartbeat before it turned into a grin. "I have heard a thousand empty courtesies in my time, but you are the first knight who ever said pissing in my presence". Her freckled face went somber. "Those pissing contests are how lords judge one another's strength, and woe to any man who shows his weakness. A woman must needs piss twice as hard, if she hopes to rule. And if that woman should happen to be small … Lord Stackhouse covets my Horseshoe Hills, Ser Clifford Conklyn has an old claim to Leafy Lake, those dismal Durwells live by stealing cattle… and beneath mine own roof I have the Longinch. Every day I wake wondering if this might be the day he marries me by force". Her hand curled tight around her braid, as hard as if it were a rope, and she was dangling over a precipice. "He wants to, I know. He holds back for fear of my wroth, just as Conklyn and Stackhouse and the Durwells tread carefully where the Red Widow is concerned. If any of them thought for a moment that I had turned weak and soft.. ".

Dunk put the ring back on his finger, and drew his dagger.

The widow's eyes went wide at the sight of naked steel. "What are you doing?" she said. "Have you lost your wits ? There are a dozen crossbows trained on you".

"You wanted blood for blood". He laid the dagger against his cheek. "They told you wrong. It wasn't Bennis cut that digger, it was me". He pressed the edge of the steel into his face, slashed downward. When he shook the blood off the blade, some spattered on her face. More freckles, he thought. "There, the Red Widow has her due. A cheek for a cheek".

"You are quite mad". The smoke had filled her eyes with tears. "If you were better born, I'd marry you".

"Aye, m'lady. And if pigs had wings and scales and breathed flame, they'd be as good as dragons". Dunk slid the knife back in its sheath. His face had begun to throb. The blood ran down his cheek and dripped onto his gorget. The smell made Thunder snort, and paw the water. "Give me the men who burned the wood".

"No one burned the wood", she said, "but if some man of mine had done so, it must have been to please me. How could I give such a man to you?" She glanced back at her escort. "It would be best if Ser Eustace were just to withdraw his accusation".

"Those pigs will be breathing fire first, m'lady".

"In that case, I must assert my innocence before the eyes of gods and men. Tell Ser Eustace that I demand an apology… or a trial. The choice is his". She wheeled her horse about to ride back to her men.

The stream would be their battleground.

Septon Sefton waddled out and said a prayer, beseeching the Father Above to look down on these two men and judge them justly, asking the Warrior to lend his strength to the man whose cause was just and true, begging the Mother's mercy for the liar, that he might be forgiven for his sins. When the praying was over and done with, he turned to Ser Eustace Osgrey one last time. "Ser", he said, "I beg you once again, withdraw your accusation".

"I will not", the old man said, his mustache trembling.

The fat septon turned to Lady Rohanne. "Good-sister, if you did this thing, confess your guilt, and offer good Ser Eustace some restitution for his wood. Elsewise blood must flow".

"My champion will prove my innocence before the eyes of gods and men".

"Trial by battle is not the only way", said the septon, waist-deep in the water. "Let us go to Goldengrove, I implore you both, and place the matter before Lord Rowan for his judgment".

"Never", said Ser Eustace. The Red Widow shook her head.

Ser Lucas Inchfield looked at Lady Rohanne, his face dark with fury. "You will marry me when this mummer's farce is done. As your lord father wished".

"My lord father never knew you as I do", she gave back.