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She had not wanted to see Ser Duncan the Tall as he lay, lingering between life and death. He was no husband of hers, but after five husbands come and gone, she did not want to watch him die. But Maester Cerrick had insisted. The boy refused to leave Ser Duncan’s side, he told her. He would not even eat or sleep. Cerrick was a maester, sworn to serve. He would not have a child wasting away in his charge, but since the boy would not listen to him, it must fall to the lady of the castle to convince him.
Lady Rohanne stood outside the room at the top of the maester’s tower. Sat beside the great big knight he served, the boy looked tiny and helpless, dwarfed even by the sword that rested across his thighs. She knew he was anything but helpless. She had seen the ring. The blood of the dragon ran in his veins, and dragons aplenty she would have at her gates if anything happened to him within these walls.
“Boy,” she said, but the child did not move.
“Boy,” she tried again, but he remained still as a statue.
She glanced around the room then glanced back down the stairs outside. Empty. Not even a servant going about their work nor Maester Cerrick returning to check on his charges. The windows were closed tight, as sweet rain drummed against hard them. Satisfied, Lady Rohanne of Coldmoat closed the door behind her and said, “Your Grace.”
At that, the boy’s neck snapped up. He looked back at her with huge, dark eyes. Purple in truth, she knew, but in this light, only black. They were red and puffy with tears shed for his injured master. The blood of the dragon, squiring for a hedge knight. To think that Ser Duncan the Tall, baseborn as he was, was good enough to have a dragon for his squire but not a spider for his bride.
“Maester Cerrick tells me you will not eat or sleep. We need to fix that.” She crossed her arms and gave him her most imperious Red Widow look. The kind that could make even grown men loose their bowels in fear.
“You won’t tell anyone?” the boy asked, utterly unfazed and not bothering to acknowledge her words.
“That a dragon came to Coldmoat? Of course not. Ser Duncan made clear enough the dangers of that. And I would not betray his trust, not after all he’s done for Coldmoat and Standfast both.”
“Not that a dragon came to Coldmoat, that a princess came. A stupid little girl,” his tongue lingered on the last words, full of loathing for things he could change. Lady Rohanne saw the way his jaw worked, clenched fiercely tight. His already red-rimmed eyes glistened in the lantern light with fresh tears. One hand held tight at Ser Duncan’s and the other at the knight’s sword across his lap, refusing to let go of either.
“Ah. That.” She pulled over Maester Cerrick’s spindly chair and took a seat beside him. “I do not understand this—this thing. Your going about as a boy. But I think I understand the fear. I was about your age when I married my first husband. And I was no older when he and my father rode away to fight in the war to keep your grandfather on his throne. I was all alone, in the world, acting as lady of a castle as my father’s vultures circled around me, each hoping to sink in their talons into me and claim my lands and my seat should my father die at war. He didn’t die then, of course, but he did make me a widow. And you’ll recall, soon enough after that I was a bride again to a man older than my father. So I know a little of the fear of being a girl in this world. Perhaps not the same fear as yours, but I know enough. I will not speak of your secrets, no more than Ser Duncan has.”
“You will vow to keep your silence?” He narrowed his eyes, not truly believing the word of a spider who casts her web so far.
“I vow it by the old gods and the new and even that Drowned God of Maester Cerrick’s and all the gods of Old Valyria too.” That seemed to satisfy him. “There will come a time when your secret may not be so easy to hide with just a razor and a change of clothes.” The boy’s shoulders stiffened, clearly hating the reminder, but he remained silent. “Count on your Ser Duncan through all of that. He is a braver knight than most, and true. I do not think he will forsake you.”
“I know he won’t. Do not presume you know him better than I.” He glared at her with those, dark, dark eyes.
Insolent, this one, but she let the jab slide. “There is the matter of the food, and the rest. Maester Cerrick is loath to see you kill yourself while under his care.”
“I won’t leave him!” the boy spat out fiercely. “Ser Duncan would never leave me, he did not before, not even when I lied to him and betrayed him and made him look an utter fool and nearly cost him his head.”
Lady Rohanne sighed. This one was as stubborn as she was. “If you will not leave him, then at least eat and sleep. What do you think your father will do to me if you die of starvation or exhaustion in mine own castle? To all my smallfolk Ser Duncan so valiantly staked his own life to protect? Or even Ser Duncan himself? You are his squire after all. He is responsible for you.”
Finally, the boy looked chastened at the suggestion his devotion to Ser Duncan could do him as much harm as good. “Very well, my lady. I will do as you bid.”
“I will send up some food for you. For now just rest your eyes.” Violet eyes. Dragon’s eyes.