Quoted By:
“You should come with me to Tyrosh,” you toss out to your knight companion whilst fretting over the lamentable state of your hair in the warped glass windowpane of the inn. Grassy Vale is a short ride from here over less dusty roads. This is your last chance to see yourself outside of a puddle before you step into court. You have not yet been introduced to your lord uncle and would like to make a suitable impression. You’ve been told you take after your lady mother more than a little. At the very least, you both have the same hair and cheekbones. That might just work towards your advantage in treating with him.
“I have duties in Oldtown, my lady,” Ser Leo answers after a long pause.
“You are not a part of the Night’s Watch, ser. Duties change,” you casually say, turning towards him with a slight smile.
“They do. Even so, I see no reason to follow you across the Narrow Sea,” he says with the bluntness you have found he lets slip on occasion. There is a sweet honesty to him that you find refreshing after other company of late.
“Very well, ser. I will travel by my lonesome back to the very same sellswords who keep little girls for ransom,” you tease as you both descend the stairs for the stables. “I am sure they will treat me as honorably as you have.”
“Mayhaps I will suggest your lord uncle gift you some shackles before I take my leave,” Ser Leo tosses back.
“Shackles? You wouldn’t,” you say with mock gasp, finding the young Garth poorly pretending to mind his ears as he affixes saddles.
“No, I suppose not. Something softer would suit you better,” he glibly replies.
“Yes, we ladies of the Rainwood need a gentle hand,” you say with as much sarcasm as you can muster before turning to his squire, “Garth, would you defend me from the sellswords of Essos?”
“I’d try,” the boy musters, looking to his master uncertainly. His knight, your knight perhaps, only shakes his head and mounts in silence.
Your persistence doesn’t end there, though. Once upon the roughshod path leading into the verdant plains between Bitterbridge and Grassy Vale, your banter begins anew, words volleyed between saddles over the merits of service beyond that of an escort.
“How many knights would you say serve in Oldtown? A score? Or is it more?” you posit as you make camp for what might be the last time before you must face a return to court. Ser Leo tends the fire set astride a grove of pines, one of many clusters of light wood that sporadically dot the green pastures for the pleasure of the lords of these lands. This very spot might be your lord uncle’s hunting reserve.
