The Sworn Sword

Dunk grabbed her braid and pulled her face to his. It was awkward with the crutch and the difference in their heights. He almost fell before he got his lips on hers. He kissed her hard. One of her hands went around his neck, and one around his back. He learned more about kissing in a moment than he had ever known from watching. But when they finally broke apart, he drew his dagger. "I know what I want to remember you by, m'lady".

Egg was waiting for him at the gatehouse, mounted on a handsome new sorrel palfrey and holding Maester's lead. When Dunk trotted up to them on Thunder, the boy looked surprised. "She said she wanted to give you a new horse, ser".

"Even highborn ladies don't get all they want", Dunk said, as they rode out across the drawbridge. "It wasn't a horse I wanted". The moat was so high it was threatening to overflow its banks. "I took something else to remember her by instead. A lock of that red hair". He reached under his cloak, brought out the braid, and smiled.

In the iron cage at the crossroads, the corpses still embraced. They looked lonely, forlorn. Even the flies had abandoned them, and the crows as well. Only some scraps of skin and hair remained upon the dead men's bones.

Dunk halted, frowning. His ankle was hurting from the ride, but it made no matter. Pain was as much a part of knighthood as were swords and shields. "Which way is south?" he asked Egg. It was hard to know, when the world was all rain and mud and the sky was gray as a granite wall.

"That's south, ser". Egg pointed. "That's north".

"Summerhall is south. Your father".

"The Wall is north".

Dunk looked at him. "That's a long way to ride".

"I have a new horse, ser".

"So you do". Dunk had to smile. "And why would you want to see the Wall?"

"Well", said Egg. "I hear it's tall".