The Sworn Sword

Dunk had nothing to say to that, so they rode in silence for a time, till Ser Eustace coughed, and said, ""Ser Duncan, do you remember the story that I told you?""

""I might, ser"", said Dunk. ""Which one?""

""The Little Lion"".

""I remember. He was the youngest of five sons"".

""Good"". He coughed again. ""When he slew Lancel Lannister, the westermen turned back. Without the king there was no war. Do you understand what I am saying?""

""Aye"", Dunk said reluctantly. Could I kill a woman? For once Dunk wished he were as thick as that castle wall.

It must not come to that. I must not let it come to that.

A few green trees still stood where the west way crossed the Chequy Water. Their trunks were charred and blackened on one side. Just beyond, the water glimmered darkly. Blue and green, Dunk thought, but all the gold is gone. The smoke had veiled the sun.

Ser Eustace halted when he reached the water's edge. ""I took a holy vow. I will not cross that stream. Not so long as the land beyond is hers "".

The old knight wore mail and plate beneath his yellowed surcoat. His sword was on his hip.

""What if she never comes, ser?"" Egg asked.

With fire and sword, Dunk thought. ""She'll come"".

She did, and within the hour. They heard her horses first, and then the faint metallic sound of clinking armor, growing louder. The drifting smoke made it hard to tell how far off they were, until her banner bearer pushed through the ragged gray curtain. His staff was crowned by an iron spider painted white and red, with the black banner of the Webbers hanging listlessly beneath.

When he saw them across the water, he halted on the bank. Ser Lucas Inchfield appeared half a heartbeat later, armored head to heel.

Only then did Lady Rohanne herself appear, astride a coal-black mare decked out in strands of silverly silk, like unto a spider's web. The Widow's cloak was made of the same stuff. It billowed from her shoulders and her wrists, as light as air.

She was armored, too, in a suit of green enamel scale chased with gold and silver. It fit her figure like a glove, and made her look as if she were garbed in summer leaves. Her long red braid hung down behind her, bouncing as she rode. Septon Sefton rode red-faced at her side, atop a big gray gelding. On her other side was her young maester, Cerrick, mounted on a mule.

More knights came after, half a dozen of them, attended by as many esquires.